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The tolling of a great bell, its sound vast and profound.

The sound rose from the depths of Taixu Hall, piercing clouds and cracking stone. It surged, vast and mighty, sweeping across the Wuji Holy Sect’s three hundred-plus Spirit Veins and its thousands of grotto-mansions and pavilions.

Nine tolls of the bell—the highest rite for summoning the Masters to a council.

Streaks of Escape Light—some brilliant, some dim, some sinister—rose from various mountain peaks. They streaked across the still-overcast Northwest sky, descending toward the heart of the Holy Sect: Taixu Hall.

The hall was majestic, its frame built from Ten Thousand Years Profound Iron and its tiles from Nether Ancient Black Jade. Its eaves were like swords pointing at the sky, the entire structure exuding the cold, heavy majesty of the Demon Dao.

The Masters stepped inside one after another.

The sound of their footsteps echoed in the vast, empty hall.

Faint, yet distinctly audible.

Every person’s expression was different.

Some looked curious; these were mostly Masters who had been recently promoted, or those who had always remained neutral and distant from the vortex of power. Their eyes darted around, taking everything in.

Their gazes ultimately landed on the Profound Gold Sect Leader’s Throne, which was suspended high above the Nine Level Black Jade Tier in the hall’s depths, and on the deep blue figure currently seated upon it.

Others had elated expressions, unable to suppress the delight at the corners of their eyes. Led by Qian Xin Master, with Qing Li Master half a step behind, this group—including Yang Cuan Master, Chi Yang Master, and others—stood at the front right of the assembly.

Their backs were ramrod straight, their gazes fervent as they looked toward the head of the hall, as if witnessing a long-awaited vindication.

There were also those with dark expressions and evasive eyes, radiating a thick sense of unease.

Most of these individuals stood at the rear left of the assembly, trying to shrink into the shadows of others. They suppressed their auras to the extreme, wishing they could transform into one of the hall’s pillars.

At their core were Fushan Master and Golden Halo Master, both former subordinates of Black Mountain Master.

But Black Mountain himself was not present.

According to rumor, Black Mountain Master had been ordered by the True Monarch of No Dao Extreme Law to enter secluded reflection in the Silent Demon Cave, forbidden from leaving unless summoned.

The atmosphere was silent and taut, like a fully drawn bowstring.

The hall’s golden and white light flowed across their faces, illuminating expressions that were complex and difficult to read.

After the last Master had entered, the hall’s doors were slowly pushed shut by two Dharma Guardian Warriors clad in Profound Iron Armor and wearing Evil Ghost Masks. With a heavy, muffled THUD, they sealed off all sound from the outside world.

Inside the hall, you could hear a pin drop.

Qian Xin Master took a deep breath, stepped forward, and bowed. His voice rang out clearly:

"We pay our respects to the Sect Leader!"

His voice ricocheted off the walls of the hall.

The other Masters, as if jolted from a dream, all bowed in unison, regardless of their inner thoughts. Their voices, some high and some low, merged into a ragged but sufficiently resounding chorus:

"We pay our respects to the Sect Leader!"

The wave of sound swirled beneath the vast ceiling, causing the flames of the lamps to flicker.

Seated upon the Profound Gold Sect Leader’s Throne, Qi Yun was still wearing his Deep Blue Daoist Robe.

He had merely added a black, gold-trimmed Great Cloak that symbolized the Sect Leader’s authority, embroidered with the gate insignia of the Wuji Holy Sect in Dark Gold Thread.

He lowered his gaze slightly, looking down at the bowing figures below.

Once upon a time, he too had been one of those bowing in the crowd.

No, even earlier, he hadn’t even had the right to step into this hall.

He was merely an ant, sold by a trafficker into the Demon Sect for a few pieces of broken silver to serve as the lowest-grade "Talent."

A hundred years had passed in the blink of an eye.

The damp, cold stench of the mines, the chilling malice of fellow disciples’ rivalries, the constant peril beneath the Spirit Mountain Buddha Country...

Countless images flashed through his mind, too fast to grasp, leaving behind only a cold, hard sediment deep within his Divine Soul.

Now, he sat here.

Wielding the authority of the Wuji Holy Sect, the Northwest Demon Path Champion Scholar.

The seas turn to mulberry fields; this was just such a transformation.

A faint smile slowly touched the corners of Qi Yun’s lips. He raised a hand in a gesture of support, his voice calm and gentle, yet it carried clearly to every Master’s ears:

"Senior Uncles, Junior Brothers, there is no need for such ceremony.

My qualifications are meager, and to have ascended to this high position so suddenly is truly due to the favor of the Great Sun Purple Extreme True Monarch and the esteem of Ancestor Master Wu Dao. My heart is often filled with apprehension.

In the future, for all matters great and small within the sect, I must rely on everyone’s unified effort to ensure that the traditions of our Holy Sect do not falter."

His words were humble and appropriate, yet they clearly stated the source of his authority, simultaneously announcing a blatant fact to all the Holy Sect Masters.

The True Monarch’s support.

The Ancestor Master’s approval.

Regardless of their own thoughts, everyone below put on expressions of "as it should be" and "the Sect Leader is too humble," cupping their fists in salute once more.

Yet, in this seemingly harmonious atmosphere, Qi Yun’s tone shifted as suddenly as a thin sheet of ice silently cracking across water:

"However, since I have received the trust of the Ancestor Master and the True Monarch and been granted this authority, I dare not fail their expectations.

The Sect is a foundation built over ten thousand years; strict laws and regulations are the very basis of its existence.

Recently, while reviewing the sect’s records and examining past cases, I discovered that in recent years, there may have been improprieties in personnel appointments, resource allocation, and even the enforcement of precepts. Abuses have gradually taken root, and if this continues, I fear it will damage the foundation of our Holy Sect."

The air in the hall instantly froze.

All the Masters, regardless of their prior expressions, felt their hearts skip a beat as a grim light flashed in their eyes.

’It’s here.’

’The reckoning is about to begin.’

Qi Yun’s calm gaze swept over the crowd below, pausing for a fraction of a second on the group with gloomy auras at the rear left.

Then, from his sleeve, he took out a Sect Law Iron Scroll—made of neither silk nor leather, but faintly shimmering with Dharma Light—and slowly unfurled it.

"Investigation has found that Fushan Master, during his time managing the Cold Iron Ore Vein, secretly concealed seven hundred catties of Top-Grade Cold Iron and over ten thousand of Middle Grade. The evidence is conclusive.

According to the law, he is stripped of his position as master of the ore vein, fined one hundred years of his stipend, and sentenced to one hundred years of wall-gazing. He is not to emerge unless summoned."

His voice was not loud, but every word landed like an iron awl striking the ground.

Fushan Master’s face instantly turned ashen. His lips trembled, and though he wanted to argue, his words caught in his throat when he met Qi Yun’s bottomless eyes.

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