Chapter Four: The Azure-Plumed Sparrow

As the Fifth Emperor felt the golden radiance of the defensive shield before him, sustained by the Ninth Sovereign, he sensed its strength fluctuate, now brilliant, now dim. The Ninth Sovereign’s face was tranquil, as if he had sunk into an entranced state. Meanwhile, the Fifth Emperor swiftly circulated his inner energy, condensing an aura about him into a dark red shield. Compared to the golden barrier the Ninth Sovereign conjured, the Fifth Emperor’s shield was far more otherworldly—purple energy transformed into dense, swirling Sanskrit characters, spinning rapidly around the barrier. Observing this, the Ninth Sovereign withdrew his own shield and silently recited a calming mantra to stabilize the turbulence within his body.

As the purple energy thickened, the Ninth Sovereign glanced at the Fifth Emperor beside him, witnessing once again the formidable power of his younger brother. Alongside admiration, he felt a strange surge of jealousy rising in his heart, though he could not trace its origin no matter how he searched.

Outside the shield, the Crimson Cloud Tiger fell silent. It crouched low, its ghostly red eyes locked on the divine hall before them, as if ready to unleash all its pent-up power at the slightest disturbance.

When the Fifth Emperor sensed the atmosphere return to peace, he finally withdrew his defense, letting the dense purple energy dissipate. The other two, apart from the Fifth Emperor, were deeply shocked by what they saw: the divine hall was no longer an edifice of golden glass, but entirely shrouded in a dark, blood-red hue.

The walls were covered in bas-reliefs depicting all manner of demons and monsters. A suffocating stench of blood and decay filled the air, as if the trio stood at the threshold of a hellish asura realm, where cold winds bit into their souls.

With a hint of amusement, the Fifth Emperor looked at the motionless Ninth Sovereign beside him. The divine hall before them was no longer a sanctuary, but a prison sealing countless abominations—a true asura hell. He could faintly discern the roars of fiends, the wails of vengeful ghosts, and even cries of injustice spiraling within the gloom.

“Ninth Sovereign, do you still call this a divine hall?” The Fifth Emperor strode over to the Crimson Cloud Tiger and kicked its haunch. The tiger howled in a bizarre and comical way, then leapt forward, opening its jaws wide and inhaling fiercely toward the asura hall.

Instantly, the blood-red aura enveloping the hall was drawn into the tiger. In moments, the golden, majestic hall reappeared before them, radiating its former glory. The Crimson Cloud Tiger turned, sauntered back to the Fifth Emperor, shot him a glance from beneath raised brows, snorted, then padded over to Celestial Maiden Qingtian. There, it resumed the form of a plump cat, rubbing ingratiatingly against her ankles. Only when she felt the movement did she return to herself, crouching to pick up the tiger, who stretched its paw smugly at the Fifth Emperor.

“This is the Asura Hall—how can this be?” The Ninth Sovereign steadied his spirit. Just now, he had heard furious howls from within the hall, voices that seemed to seize at his heart, trying to drag him in. Gazing at the restored Northern Martial Divine Hall, he took a deep breath, drawing in the essence of heaven and earth.

“This hall was once the Asura Hall of the Netherworld. Someone unknown moved it here to serve as a seal. If not for the Crimson Cloud Tiger’s ability to discern demons and spirits, we may never have glimpsed this legendary palace. Please, Ninth Sovereign, do not speak of this to anyone else.”

With those words, the Fifth Emperor patted the Ninth Sovereign’s shoulder, thinking his elder brother truly bold. The first time he had seen the Asura Hall, he had nearly suffered a catastrophic blow to his soul.

The Asura Hall, according to the Treatise on Divine Halls, was ranked ninth among the celestial palaces. Within its halls, myriad wandering ghosts, fiends, and rebellious spirits suffered eternal torment. It was said that with each generation, when the God of War ascended to the heavens, he would refine his divine blood into beads and place them upon the seventy-two celestial columns at the hall’s entrance, eternally suppressing wickedness.

“You needn’t worry, Fifth Emperor. No third soul will hear of this,” the Ninth Sovereign said, then realized his mistake. The Fifth Emperor stared at his brother in disbelief; Celestial Maiden Qingtian stood innocently beneath the peach tree with the Crimson Cloud Tiger in her arms, casting a sidelong glance at the Ninth Sovereign—a look of disdain, despite her feline companion lacking whites to its eyes.

“Except for Celestial Maiden Qingtian,” the Ninth Sovereign added, coughing awkwardly. Seeing she took no offense, he relaxed.

“If there is nothing else, brother, I’ll take Qingtian away now,” the Fifth Emperor said, lifting the plump cat from her arms to set it on the jade table, then gently taking Qingtian’s hand and leading her away.

Qingtian tried to pull her hand free, but his grip was firm, and so she could only lower her head, following him out of the Northern Martial God’s Court. The Ninth Sovereign watched their departing figures, an indescribable feeling welling within him.

Suddenly, the Ninth Sovereign’s heart quaked and he coughed up blood. Swathed in his silver robe, he vanished from the rear courtyard of the Northern Martial God’s Court in a flash of light.

Celestial Maiden Qingtian followed the Fifth Emperor to the Spirit Abyss Pool of the demon realm. She gazed in disbelief at the scene before her: lush mountains and clear waters, myriad birds and beasts roaming the hills, schools of fish gliding in the crystal streams.

She realized now that her previous notions of the demon realm were but figments of her imagination. The Fifth Emperor lay on the grass, pulling Qingtian down beside him. The plump cat lounged in the grass, allowing butterflies to alight on its broad forehead, too lazy even to swat them away.

Here, the Crimson Cloud Tiger was a native—if only it weren’t so lazy, it might never have been captured so easily. It had been resting in the Spirit Abyss Pool when the Demon King seized it. Since the Demon King had promised its father, the tiger’s family had not intervened, allowing it to roam the vast worlds at the Fifth Emperor’s side.

“Qingtian, isn’t this place wonderful?” The Fifth Emperor chewed on a sprig of demon vine, gazing up at the sky. Being with Qingtian was his greatest joy, but he had no love for the heavens. He would rather forsake time with her to wander the ancient worlds. Now, with the Demon King missing, he had returned to the celestial palace to refine his knowledge, seeking a chance for supreme enlightenment.

“You’re not so bad yourself. This place is more enchanting than the heavens—I like it here,” Qingtian replied, lying on the soft grass.

The demon grass, long nurtured by the Spirit Abyss Pool, had grown sentient. Sensing the aura from Qingtian, it softened, creating the largest bed in all three realms for the two of them.

Noticing this, the Crimson Cloud Tiger hurried to the Fifth Emperor’s side, snuggling close. It found the grass beside them far softer than by the pool, where the grass often remained stiff, poking uncomfortably at its rear. Unable to outdo the local flora, the tiger simply settled in next to the Fifth Emperor.

The Fifth Emperor gently took Qingtian’s hand. She blushed, lips pressed tight, embarrassment refusing to fade. Suddenly, he released her hand, springing to his feet and dashing toward the pool.

Leaping from the cliff, he seized a flash of azure light from the air, then struck out at the void with a punch. Purple energy surged from his fist, forming a skull that blasted a black streak from the sky.

The black light retreated thousands of miles, landing atop a sheer cliff, transforming into a pale young man with eagle eyes and a hooked nose, blood at the corner of his mouth. Bowing in the direction of the purple skull, he murmured thanks for the Fifth Emperor’s mercy.

Sensing the distant thought, the Fifth Emperor smiled faintly and returned in a single bound to Qingtian’s side. Seeing her worried face, he flicked her delicate nose and produced the ball of azure light he had captured.

The light took shape—a palm-sized, emerald-green bird, with three hidden violet feathers among its tail plumes. Though small, the aura it emanated was anything but ordinary. Gazing at the Fifth Emperor with grateful, emerald eyes, the little creature knew that without his intervention, it would have been devoured by the Black Crocodile Eagle.

Qingtian took the little bird, stroking its crown. The creature nuzzled her fingers, while the Crimson Cloud Tiger looked on with disdain, inwardly cursing. If only it had learned to speak, it would have exposed this lascivious bird’s true nature.

“It’s so cute,” Qingtian said, cradling the bird and beaming at the Fifth Emperor.

“This is a Sky Beast recorded in the Celestial Bestiary—called the Azure-plumed Sparrow. Legend has it that its ancestor was a Peacock King who, for reasons unknown, devoured the blue segment of the Rainbow of Heaven and vanished. Years later, a fierce azure raptor appeared among the bird clans, establishing dominance and earning the title King of Azure-plumed Sparrows. This little one is still young, but someday it will soar freely through the nine heavens. I feared you’d be bored in the Palace of Clear Osmanthus; this sparrow arrived just in time, so I give it to you for company.”

The Fifth Emperor slipped an arm around Qingtian, who said nothing, but did not resist. They lay together in the grass. The Azure-plumed Sparrow perched atop the plump cat’s belly, dozing. The cat, however, would occasionally swat the bird awake just as it was falling asleep.

Thus began a battle of wills—the cat, trying to sleep, was pecked on the belly by the sparrow’s beak. Back and forth they went, until at last the sparrow collapsed atop the cat, and the cat lay sprawled on its back, sound asleep amid the demon grass.

An old man spoke softly, telling tales as he watched Jiang Pingchuan, who had already fallen asleep. The old man took up a long robe to cover him, but his hand paused mid-motion.

Looking at Jiang Pingchuan, he saw that though the young man appeared unchanged, a shadow stretched behind him—a black-robed figure with eerie violet eyes. The old man rose, approaching the shadow. Suddenly, it lifted its head, eyes fixed intently on him.

“Hearing you recount my story is quite an amusement,” the shadow said coolly, its tone as defiant as ever.

“The story of the Ghost King is one I could tell forever,” the old man replied with a genial smile.

The strange shadow, wreathed in ghostly crimson flames, was none other than the Fifth Emperor himself—the very protagonist of the tale. He chuckled, having come tonight just to hear a story, never expecting the storyteller to have tales of his own.

“Xuanming Celestial Venerable, you jest. I did not expect that tonight’s storyteller would be an old acquaintance,” said the Fifth Emperor, clapping ethereal hands together. The old man was, in fact, the Ninth Sovereign’s master, Xuanming Celestial Venerable—now, the ancestral master of Jiang Pingchuan.

“The Ghost King’s third life is this very boy, named Jiang Pingchuan. I wonder if you, Ghost King, can divine the secrets of heaven before this third cycle is complete?” Xuanming stroked his beard and gazed kindly at Jiang Pingchuan, seated cross-legged on the ground.

“Heh. Twice I have suffered calamity. In this third life, the Ninth Sovereign wishes to see me erased, but I have yet to find her, yet to take her across the world’s mountains and rivers. How can I let those so-called laws of heaven oppress me for three lifetimes? This time, I shall shatter the celestial taboo. I want to see if heaven and earth can bind me then!” The Fifth Emperor’s violet eyes flared with crimson fury as he faded into the cliffs. Xuanming Celestial Venerable returned to sit before Jiang Pingchuan, watching as the boy’s eyelids fluttered and he sighed softly.

“Master, why do you sigh?” Jiang Pingchuan murmured, rubbing his bleary eyes, seemingly unaware of the story just told.

Xuanming gently stroked his disciple’s hair, gazing into the endless night. He had erased Jiang Pingchuan’s memory of the evening, for he knew the figure just now was but a projection of the Ghost King. The Ghost King could no longer intervene in this third life as he had before—Jiang Pingchuan’s future would be his alone to forge.