In the Burning Ice Pond, Fu HongJun remained unconscious, his small body floating gently beneath the shimmering surface. The earlier torment had faded not because the pond had grown merciful, but because Emperor Ye’s meridian seal had finally lifted. With the restriction gone, his physique stabilized, and the violent backlash settled like a storm dissipating into calm winds.

No more burning. No more freezing.
Only stillness.

Yang Po Jing observed from the side, his sharp eyes scanning Fu HongJun’s body. After a long breath, he spoke with a thoughtful frown.

“Tianhai,” he said, “go bring two bags of medicinal herbs. No!! make that three. This brat’s body... it’s not normal. He can probably endure more than we thought.”

“Yes, Father-in-law,” Xue Tianhai replied, bowing with practiced respect before turning and vanishing into the forest path.

Meanwhile, within the deep recesses of Fu HongJun’s consciousness, something stirred.

Though his body floated peacefully in the pond, his soul had been pulled elsewhere, drawn across the fabric of time and space into a vision not his own.

He stood or rather, drifted inside a strange, ethereal world. His feet didn’t touch the ground. His body felt weightless, incorporeal, like a flickering shadow watching a memory that didn’t belong to him.

Before him was a vast, storm-lit sky torn by currents of spiritual energy. In the heart of this chaotic void stood a man clad in golden dragon robes, a towering crown atop his head, and an aura so majestic it seemed to warp the very air around him.

The man stood alone on a floating platform, arms behind his back, unshaken.

Hovering in the sky before him were dozens of strange figures: men and women cloaked in divine light, beast forms, and armor forged from celestial fire. Their faces were hidden, their presences ancient.

Fu HongJun’s eyes widened.

“What… what is this place? Wasn’t I just training in the pond?”

His voice couldn’t reach beyond his thoughts. No one could hear him. He was a bystander trapped in someone else’s memory.

Then, a voice boomed across the heavens, cold and righteous.

From the crowd, a man stepped forward. He wore emerald-green daoist robes, and his long hair fluttered like silk in the storm. A white jade sword hovered in his grasp, its blade humming with divine judgment.

He raised the sword and pointed it toward the golden-robed figure.

“Yin Yang Emperor!” the swordsman thundered. “Today is the day of your execution! Speak your last words if you have the dignity to die properly.”

The golden-robed man smiled.

Not with fear. But with pure disdain.

“Oh?” he said, laughter creeping into his voice. “So the mighty Lords of the Realms have finally decided to gang up on me? What’s wrong? Afraid of what I might become?”

His voice rang like thunder across the void. He raised a single hand and the skies dimmed.

“I, too, have something to say…” he muttered, his voice turning cold.

“If you think my death is certain then come test it.
Let’s see who dies here today. Me…
or all of you.”

The air shook. Power gathered.

Fu HongJun watched, stunned.

He didn’t understand what this place was but something deep within him resonated. Like he had seen this before. Like he had been here before.

His fingers twitched slightly in the Burning Ice Pond.

In the vision, the man in golden robes suddenly drew a sword in his left hand and a saber in his right both appearing from the void with a flash of blinding radiance.

His voice echoed with chilling certainty.

“Life and Death Slash.”

He raised both blades and crossed them mid-air. The black and white qi around his body surged into the weapons, twisting into the form of a cosmic yin-yang symbol. Time itself seemed to halt as his killing intent blanketed the heavens.

“Since you dared to strike first… allow me to execute this lowly rebellion.”

Before the attack could fall, the cultivators in the sky reacted at once.

The man in green dao robes instantly activated a formation plate, flinging it into the air.
A bald monk followed, raising a seven-layered pagoda that spun with golden light and released waves of holy suppression.
Others summoned ancient weapons, spears, swords, talismans, even beasts made of spiritual force each one radiating the power of higher realms.

Fu HongJun’s eyes widened. These weren’t just ordinary cultivators. This was a battle between giant existences who could tear worlds apart.

Yet, the golden-robed man only smiled.

His eyes burned with disdain.

He formed a hand seal, and black and white qi erupted from his body like twin dragons ascending to the heavens. The aura of life and death twined together, forming a towering vortex behind him.

“Well then…” he said coldly, “My Life and Death Qi has been stagnant for too long.
Perhaps your corpses will serve as fuel.”

He raised his twin blades once more.

“Order of Death — Endless Slashes.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the world trembled.

The sky fractured.

A deluge of sword light : infinite, merciless, falling like divine judgment rained down from above. The cultivators’ defensive formations shattered on contact. The pagoda cracked. Screams and explosions echoed through the void.

Fu HongJun instinctively covered his eyes, but the light pierced even through closed lids.

And then
BOOM!

The vision exploded into a blinding, white nothingness. His mind was overwhelmed by light, sound, and raw chaos.

Back in the real world

Fu HongJun’s body trembled slightly in the Burning Ice Pond, his brows twitching as if reacting to something far away.

He didn’t awaken.

But a single tear trickled down his cheek and vanished into the water.

From within his sea of consciousness, Emperor Ye opened his eyes slowly.

His expression remained unreadable, but a faint flicker of light passed through his pupils.

He didn’t hear anything.
He didn’t see anything.
But he sensed it a strange, ancient force had momentarily seized Fu HongJun’s soul and then… let it return, as if nothing had happened.

He frowned.

“…Hmph. Who dares tamper with my disciple without leaving a trace?”

Slowly, Fu HongJun stirred.

His eyelids fluttered open as the afternoon sun stung his eyes. Blinking in confusion, he found himself lying at the edge of the Burning Ice Pond, body soaked and clothes clinging to his skin.

“Huh…? Didn’t I pass out inside the pond?”
“Why am I here…?”

Before he could think further, something flew through the air.

Thud!
A cloth bag hit him square in the chest.

“Eat that. Training’s not over yet,” Yang Po Jing’s gruff voice barked from nearby.

Fu HongJun looked down the mantou. Hard, dry, and plain. But his stomach grumbled like thunder, so he grabbed it and started eating without complaint.

Not long after, Xue Tianhai returned, carrying three large pouches of herbs and a sturdy wooden bathtub slung over his shoulder. With a respectful nod, he handed them over to Yang Po Jing.

Fu HongJun munched his mantou in silence, eyeing the scene with curiosity. He had no idea what they were preparing, but something in his gut told him it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

Yang Po Jing carried the tub to the pond’s edge, scooped it full with the icy water, and tossed all three herb pouches inside. The moment the herbs hit the water, steam hissed upward as the mixture began to bubble faintly.

“Kid,” the old man called. “Once you’re done eating, get in.”

Still chewing the last bite of mantou, Fu HongJun stepped forward and climbed into the tub without hesitation.

The moment his body sank in

“AAAAHHHHHH…..!!”

His eyes went wide.

A searing pain shot through his limbs. It felt like fire was crawling under his skin while icy needles stabbed into every pore. He tried to jump out

But Yang Po Jing’s hand clamped down on his head, holding him firmly in place like a tiger disciplining its cub.

“This is part of training,” the old man said flatly. “Sit there and suffer. Don’t even think about running.”

Like that, the agony continued until nightfall.

The sun sank below the horizon, casting long shadows across the training field. In the distance, the dinner bell rang,a distant gong echoing like a dream. But inside the tub, Fu HongJun was still gritting his teeth, his lips pale and trembling. He tried to endure it. Tried to adapt.

But the pain was still there. Searing. Constant.

Suddenly, a voice broke the silence.

“Kid. Come out.”

It was calm. Firm. Almost kind.

Fu HongJun slowly climbed out of the tub, steam rising off his soaking body. His uniform clung to his skin, plastered against his frame like a second layer of punishment.

He panted, chest heaving, every step shaky.

Then Yang Po Jing’s next words made him freeze.

“Now… let’s move on to the final routine.”

Final? Fu HongJun didn’t even have the strength to curse.