CHAPTER 39: INTERVENTION

The air froze. Wei Ji’s face darkened like a night sky without stars, and his expression turned blank—cold, lifeless, and unreadable. For a moment, it felt as if the entire courtyard stopped breathing. The laughter and murmurs that once filled the place died one by one, replaced by silence so heavy that even the sound of wind brushing across the tiles felt loud.

The crowd began to whisper, confusion and dread spreading like wildfire.

"What’s happening?" a servant muttered, clutching his sleeve tightly. "Why... why do I feel cold all of a sudden?"

Another man rubbed his arms, goosebumps rising. "It’s like... something is pressing on me."

"I can’t breathe properly..."

Even the elders of the Han Family felt it—the unseen weight pressing on their chest, the sudden chill that made their hearts beat faster. Their skin tingled, their backs stiffened. Every instinct screamed danger.

Han Zhanjian, the youngest brother, who had been silently hiding near the corner, froze in horror. He had been watching everything, praying that his elder brothers would stop before things went too far. But when he heard Han Zukong’s reckless question, his mind went blank.

"What... what did you just say!?" he whispered, eyes wide. He couldn’t believe it. Why would his brother even think of mentioning that?

Zhanjian’s fists trembled. "You fool," he hissed to himself. "Why the hell did you say that? Are you insane? You just signed your death sentence!"

Without hesitation, he pushed himself forward, striding across the stone floor, his heart pounding with every step.

On the other hand, Attendant Wu—who had been silent this entire time, his back bent and his eyes downcast—finally snapped. He dropped to his knees with a loud thud, the sound echoing through the courtyard.

"Young Master Zukong!" he cried, voice trembling. "Please, no more! Please take back your words!"

Everyone turned to look at him. The old servant’s body shook as he slammed his forehead against the cold stone, blood instantly blooming where skin met rock.

"Young Master, you don’t know what you’re saying," Wu begged again, his voice cracking with desperation. "Ask for anything, please, anything else! But not... not Young Master Ji’s wife! She must not be mentioned, not even once! Please! Spare us this doom!"

He kept bowing, over and over, forehead hitting the ground, each impact louder than the last.

"Please forgive this old fool for speaking out of turn! Please, don’t provoke the eldest! Please, Young Master Zukong! You don’t understand what you’ve done!"

"Wu!" one of the servants tried to stop him, but the old man only cried harder, his voice breaking. "You will doom us all! Don’t speak her name!"

Everyone stood frozen, unsure what to say, as the groveling attendant’s sobs filled the cold air.

Meanwhile, Wei Ji stood completely still. His eyes dimmed as his thoughts spiraled inward.

He remembered.

How lucky he was to be married—to her.

The Celestial Demon Empress.

His heart trembled as he recalled her shadow that lived behind Lu Shaohua’s gentle eyes. That unfathomable darkness, that eternal presence that even gods feared to name. He knew what she truly was. The world might see her as fragile, beautiful, pure... but Wei Ji had seen the truth—the sleeping abyss hidden within her soul.

He clenched his fist.

That thing. That demon. That eternal nightmare.

He thought of all the lives it had consumed in a future that only he could remember. The endless slaughter. The heavens burning red. The laughter of the Demon Empress echoing through ruins of worlds.

If she awakens... it will all begin again.

He had sworn to prevent it.

He could not let anyone, not even his brothers, draw her attention. He had to monitor her, control her, keep her close—because if she slipped too far away, if he couldn’t suppress her heart, the world would burn again.

"I’ll kill her with my own hands," he muttered under his breath, voice shaking. "If the day comes when her demon heart awakens... I’ll kill her myself."

His eyes turned sharp. His killing intent rose.

A cold, suffocating aura burst from him like a storm breaking through the sky.

BOOM!

The ground cracked beneath his feet. Dust and air rippled outward. The banners hanging from the walls trembled violently as everyone stepped back in shock.

"What—what is this pressure!?" Han Cui gasped, stumbling backward.

The Sword Shandian Sect representatives’ expressions hardened. One of them whispered, "That killing intent... how can someone of the Han Family possess such a thing?"

Attendant Wu collapsed fully to the ground, trembling uncontrollably.

Han Zukong’s face paled, but before Wei Ji could take another step toward him, someone suddenly moved between them.

A blur. A flash of silver.

Han Zhanjian stepped forward, sword unsheathed, its tip pointed straight at Zukong.

"What are you doing!?" Zukong barked, glaring at his younger brother.

"Saving you," Zhanjian replied calmly, though his eyes betrayed the fear he felt.

Zukong frowned, confused. "Saving me? From what?"

"From dying too easily," Zhanjian said, his tone low. "If I lose easily to you, that means you’ll die even faster. Because I... lost easily to him."

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

"What did he say?"

"Did he just admit he lost to the eldest before?"

"Then... that means..."

Murmurs spread like fire, disbelief etched on every face. The youngest, quietest of the Han brothers, the one known for his silence and lack of talent, was suddenly standing before them with his sword raised, defying his second brother.

Even Han Cui was stunned. He turned to the elders beside him. "Did any of you know this?"

They shook their heads. "No, Patriarch, we had no idea. It seems... only the brothers knew."

Zhanjian took another step forward, the tip of his blade brushing against Zukong’s chest.

"Take back your words," he said. "Now. Before it’s too late. You don’t understand. If you keep talking, he will kill you. Right here. Right now."

But before Zukong could respond, one of the Sword Shandian Sect representatives stepped forward, his expression calm but his aura commanding.

"Enough," he said. "Han Zukong is already a part of our sect. If your family wishes to settle this dispute, it must go through us. Otherwise, the Sword Shandian Sect will intervene."

The atmosphere tightened even more.

Han Zhanjian’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the man, his mind spinning rapidly. He remembered his eldest brother’s words.

"To understand your sword eyes... join a sect."

He exhaled slowly and then lifted his head.

"If I join your sect," Zhanjian said, "will I have the right to revoke what my brother said about our eldest brother’s wife?"

The representative blinked, caught off guard by the question. "That depends," he replied carefully. "If your talent surpasses his, then yes, you may have that right."

Silence fell again. Everyone turned to look at Zhanjian, who seemed to have already made up his mind.

"Alright," he said, voice calm and firm.

He walked forward, his sword trembling faintly in his grip. The representatives watched him closely as he approached the ceremonial swords laid before them.

Zhanjian extended his hand. His fingertips brushed the hilt.

DING!

A blinding light exploded from the blade, white and gold intertwining like lightning across the courtyard. The crowd shielded their eyes, gasping as the radiance poured outward, flooding the entire place with a divine brilliance that swallowed all shadow.

The sound of ringing swords echoed endlessly.

And when the light faded, silence returned—so complete it felt as if the world itself had stopped to watch what would happen next.