Merin attends Chu Feng’s party with Yu Diexin.

The invitation leads them not into an ordinary hall, but into an illusion.

The moment they step inside, the world shifts.

Clouds stretch beneath their feet like soft jade, layered and luminous, while above them hangs a sky painted in impossible blues and silvers. A garden floats in midair—pavilions anchored to nothing, streams flowing upward before curving back down, petals drifting without wind. Every detail feels real enough that the mind stops questioning it.

This is not a shallow illusion.

It is a constructed space.

Guests move about in relaxed fascination, their vigilance dulled by beauty and novelty. Music carries softly, as if played from the clouds themselves.

Merin senses Diexin’s attention being drawn elsewhere—greetings, polite conversation, old acquaintances—and after a brief exchange of glances, they separate naturally.

For a few minutes.

That is all Merin needs.

Ye Weiran appears beside a stone bridge that arches over an empty sky.

In this illusion, she wears the body of a refined woman, robes simple yet flowing robes, her presence blending into the garden as if she belongs to it. To others, she is merely the salon’s mysterious owner. To Merin, she is something else entirely.

They stand together, looking out over drifting clouds.

Merin speaks first.

“What is your goal?”

Ye Weiran answers without hesitation.

“To develop faith.”

Merin nods slowly.

“Then it would be best to spread it in the barbaric regions of this world.”

Ye Weiran turns her head, studying him with mild curiosity.

“Our faith is not meant for barbarians.”

Merin understands immediately.

He has been a god before—in his third reincarnation—and memory stirs, not as emotion, but as method. Faith is not only worship. It is a worldview. Structure. Interpretation.

He tests his understanding aloud.

“You plan to spread your scripture.”

Ye Weiran inclines her head.

“Yes.”

Cultivating her scripture does not merely grant power.

It reshapes perception.

Those who follow it will begin to see the world as her scripture describes it—cause and effect, fear, transformation, puppetry—woven into a single explanatory truth. The deeper they cultivate, the more their understanding aligns with hers.

Devotion without prayer.

Faith without temples.

Such believers are difficult to create.

But once formed, their faith is pure.

Stable.

Powerful.

Merin does not advise her otherwise.

Every god walks their own path.

Their conversation ends naturally, without promises or threats.

When Merin rejoins Diexin, the party continues as if nothing significant has occurred.

—

The next day, Merin goes to work.

As his carriage approaches the Divine Guard building, his gaze flicks briefly toward the prison complex beside it.

Or what remains of it.

Part of the structure lies in ruins—collapsed stone, scorched markings, lingering formations hastily suppressed.

Not his case.

He steps past it without slowing.

Inside the building, colleagues greet him as he walks through the halls.

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Congratulations.

Admiration.

Thinly veiled curiosity.

He acknowledges them with nods, his expression calm, controlled, and enters his office.

Hours pass in steady work.

Then the summons comes.

Merin is called to Commander Di’s office.

Inside, the atmosphere is different from what it was before.

There is no ceremony.

No layered politeness.

Merin nods once and takes the seat across from Commander Di.

Neither of them bothers with formalities.

Commander Di knows Merin’s true strength.

Merin knows that Commander Di understands power better than etiquette.

The kingdom may believe in hierarchy and ritual, but the world itself bows only to force.

“Congratulations,” Commander Di says at last. “And… apologies. Important matters prevented me from attending.”

Merin inclines his head.

“It’s fine.”

He looks directly at Commander Di.

“Why did you call me?”

Commander Di’s expression tightens slightly.

“The culprit behind the sleeping case,” he says, his voice even, controlled, “has been identified.”

Merin lifts an eyebrow.

“How?”

“Military intelligence traced it,” Commander Di replies. “Among the mountain tribes, there is one known as the Meng Tribe. They worship a statue of the Dream Demon.”

He pauses briefly before continuing.

“It is a large tribe. Our military spies have kept it under surveillance for some time. Recently, they discovered that the tribe leader, Akun, suffered severe internal injuries during deep cultivation.”

Merin frowns.

“That alone doesn’t tie him to the case. Internal injuries can come from many sources.”

Commander Di nods, acknowledging the point.

“Normally, yes. But the drawing of the Dream Demon you provided matches the statue worshipped by the Meng Tribe almost perfectly. Furthermore, members of the tribe refine demons of the same lineage as their natal spiritual objects.”

Merin’s gaze sharpens, but he only nods.

“And?”

“The spies report that the mountain tribes have become increasingly restless,” Commander Di says. “If this continues, conflict could erupt at any moment.”

Merin’s thoughts shift to what he has heard in recent days—the court’s newly created post: Inspector of the Magoon Mountains. Officially, the role exists to foster alliances with the tribes, promote cooperation, and aid in the development of the region. Unofficially, it is meant to keep the tribes under tight control.

Understanding settles in.

Merin looks at Commander Di and says calmly,

“You want me to take the new position.”

Commander Di nods.

“It suits you best. You’re already in the limelight, and the royal family is aware of your strength.”

He pauses, then continues more bluntly.

“If you remain here under their constant watch, they will eventually act. You yourself may not be in danger—but your family will be.”

Merin considers this silently. He had already planned to move toward Wein Province; advancing the timetable by a few months changes little.

“Will the royal family agree?” he asks.

“They will,” Commander Di replies. “This position requires real strength. Prince Yuan is preparing to break through into the Origin Core Realm, and those already at the Outer Refining Realm are either tied down by other duties or simply not trusted by the court.”

Merin leans back slightly.

“So the royal family trusts me?”

“They don’t,” Commander Di says frankly. “But I will support you.”

Merin nods once.

“Alright. I’ll wait for your news.”

—

Merin returns to his office and summons his five captains.

Once they arrive, he informs them of the possible transfer and asks whether any of them would be willing to follow him. He does not wait for an answer.

“Think it over,” he says. “You can decide later. Inform your teams as well.”

The captains acknowledge the order and depart.

Not long after, a message arrives from Commander Di.

The position is his.

When Merin returns to his estate, he informs Housekeeper Chen, his brother, and Diexin of the decision. The household absorbs the news quickly; most of them will remain behind, continuing their roles as before.

The only uncertainty is Diexin.

Housekeeper Chen turns to her and asks gently whether she intends to leave the capital or stay behind.

Before she can answer, Merin speaks.

“Stay,” he says calmly. “I’ll send for you once I’m settled.”

Diexin looks at him for a brief moment, then nods.

—

A week later, Merin departs through the northern gate of the capital.

Ye Ran and Gong Qiu choose to follow him, each bringing their respective teams. The convoy moves steadily, banners fluttering lightly in the wind as the city walls recede into the distance.

Yu Diexin stands at the estate gate, watching until Merin’s figure disappears from sight.

A wave of sadness rises in her chest.

An emotion she does not want to feel.

She tightens her fingers at her side.

She has lost everything once because of this feeling.

She swears, silently, that she will never allow it to control her again.

Turning away, she returns to the estate.

—

Later that day, Diexin leaves for Prince Yuan’s estate.

After healing the youngest prince, she was asked to teach his twin sister, Song Rui. The appointment came quickly—almost immediately after the boy’s recovery—and Diexin accepted without hesitation.

Song Rui is curious, intelligent, and eager to learn.

Since the girl has not yet refined a spiritual object, Diexin does not guide her in cultivation. Instead, she teaches her the foundations—herbs, spiritual plants, poison identification, antidote principles, and the delicate balance between harm and healing.

The lessons are calm.

Orderly.

Unhurried.

When the teaching session ends, Diexin requests an audience with Prince Yuan’s fifth daughter.

The marriage to Shen Li is approaching.

Diexin wants to understand why.

And more importantly, whether it can still be stopped.

She spends the afternoon instructing the young woman under the pretence of medical guidance, listening carefully, observing reactions, storing every detail away.

Only after everything is done does she return home.

—

After lunch, Diexin heads to her clinic.

Now more than ever, appearances matter.

She has hired several low-level doctors to ensure the clinic remains open even in her absence. They handle common ailments and routine treatments, maintaining a steady flow of patients and income.

Diexin takes only the difficult cases.

The ones others cannot solve.

Cases that deepen her understanding, sharpen her skills, and quietly expand her reputation across the capital.

Before the clinic closes for the day, Chu Feng arrives.

His presence is unannounced.

Unaccompanied.

The waiting patients glance at him, sensing status even without an obvious display, and instinctively make space as he steps inside.

Diexin looks up from her desk, momentarily surprised.

“Chu Feng?” she asks.

He inclines his head slightly, his expression calm, almost casual.

“I won’t take much of your time,” he says. “I came to ask you something.”

She gestures for him to speak.

“Do you know why the marriage between Shen Li and Prince Yuan’s fifth daughter is taking place?”

Diexin frowns.

For a moment, she wonders why he would ask her this.

Then understanding dawns.

He is asking for her sake.

She shakes her head lightly.

“I don’t know.”

Chu Feng studies her face, as if gauging whether she is holding something back, then nods.

“I see.”

He turns to leave, pausing at the doorway.

“Take care,” he says. “If you learn anything, inform me.”

Diexin watches him go, her expression thoughtful, as the clinic settles into evening silence.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep