The cat demon had a pair of round, glistening eyes. Just a few days ago, they were filled with fear and wariness, but today, they already showed a hint of probing and closeness.

Grace Turner said nothing, nor did she dare to speak. She held her breath, even her breathing cautious and light. Despite being so timid, she still dared to secretly let someone go right under the wolf demon’s nose.

“Well done.” Meeting Evelyn Ward’s eyes that lit up for a moment, Grace Turner couldn’t help but smile. She stroked the uneven edge of the bamboo scroll, as if pondering something carefully. After a long while, she finally spoke, asking, “Are you willing to stay by my side?”

It was as if someone whose life hung by a thread had suddenly found solid ground. Evelyn Ward’s vertical pupils shrank to the extreme in an instant, then slowly returned to normal.

“I am.” Evelyn Ward nodded repeatedly, reciting words that were clearly taught to her by Laura Reed: “To serve by the lady’s side is Evelyn Ward’s good fortune.”

“You grew up in the mountains and don’t understand the ways of the world. That’s not important for now; you can learn slowly from Laura Reed in the future.” Grace Turner knew she was young and wouldn’t understand roundabout words, so she laid things out plainly: “But if you’re to stay by my side, there are two rules you must always remember.”

“First, no matter when, no matter what, no matter who you face, you must not judge unjustly, nor kill recklessly.”

“Second, betrayal is not tolerated in Yetu.”

Speaking of betrayal, Grace Turner couldn’t help but think of Brian Clark.

Back then, when she brought Brian Clark down from the judgment platform, she had solemnly asked the battered but grateful smiling youth if he was willing to work by her side.

It had to be said, the clear and gentle young man was indeed charming.

Among all kinds of people, he was the most unique one Grace Turner had ever met.

They say men should be calm, rational, and decisive.

Grace Turner was different.

She alone admired the youth’s heart, soft as water.

Recalling the past, Grace Turner curled her lips, pulling out a faint, mocking smile.

Just as Evelyn Ward was about to respond, a sudden gust of wind roared outside the window. Spiritual energy surged behind the west wing, quickly enveloping the surrounding dozens of miles, like a river appearing out of nowhere across the sky—imposing and overwhelming.

Grace Turner held her breath to sense it, then stood up. The shimmering pearl tassels at her slender waist, the long hem of her skirt swept gracefully from the chair, like a flower slowly blooming.

“Xihe.”

“It’s finally opened.”

===

In the deepest, most hidden prison of Xihe.

Here, darkness turned into viscous water, bit by bit eroding and devouring every trace of human presence. Any faint sound would be magnified countless times.

Dozens of huge cages resembled a gaping, pitch-black maw. Inside, all was deathly silent. Though people were locked within, their outlines were impossible to see. Only when the sound of chains dragging echoed could one catch a few faint breaths.

Those imprisoned here were all awaiting the judgment platform.

There were sixteen in total.

Brian Clark was locked in one of these cages.

It had been four days since he inexplicably returned and was thrown into this pitch-dark prison where one couldn’t see their own hand.

The tendons in his hands and feet were all severed. His body felt like a punctured balloon, every meridian screaming in pain. He wore only a tattered robe, the bloodstains on it not yet dry before new ones appeared, so dark that the original color was unrecognizable, and it reeked of rotting straw.

This was the second time he had endured such deep darkness, the second time he had suffered such grievous wounds.

He had only ever experienced such agony once before in his life.

Of course, he knew exactly what he was going through, and what point in time he had returned to.

From the all-powerful Heavenly Emperor to a despised prisoner, it was but the blink of an eye. The thousand years of struggle in between felt like a fleeting dream.

These days, Brian Clark had been burning with fever again and again. Whenever his pupils grew unfocused, he always thought of Grace Turner—her clear, cold face, always taut, but on rare occasions, her smile was as pure as a child’s.

But in the end, the image that surfaced most often was her, furious, doing everything in her power to kill him.

Brian Clark had bitterly smiled more than once, thinking, perhaps this was the retribution of karma.

She had trusted him so much.

Yet he had stabbed her in the back.

Locked up with Brian Clark was a young man, not very old, with a lazy look of indifference toward life and death. Even as the scent of death crept closer day by day, he seemed unaffected. When the guards came to deliver food, he was always the first to eat.

Anyone locked up here was no good person. Even sharing a cage, no one had the energy or mood for much conversation.

This continued until suddenly, light shone into the prison, and voices of conversation came from the distant guard post. The entire prison seemed to finally awaken, the sound of chains dragging and long, drawn-out, indistinct speech echoing one after another.

Brian Clark looked up as well.

“The Sacred Land is finally receiving guests.” The youth beside him raised an eyebrow, a red scar at the tip making him look both innocent and unsettling. He didn’t seem to care, casually wiped it, then stretched, the chains on his body jingling like bells. “The judgment platform is finally about to open.”

He said this as if saying, “Finally, we can go die,” with even a hint of anticipation in his tone.

Brian Clark couldn’t help but glance at him.