Chapter 168: Throne Against Fire
The Veil Falls
The palace had not slept since the fall of the Generals. Ministers bickered until their throats were raw, sect elders debated which side would endure, and the common people whispered that the throne itself might topple.
And then, silence.
The Empress rose from her jade throne, crimson veil falling from her face. For the first time in a generation, her visage was revealed — flawless, ageless, radiant with the authority of heaven itself. When she stepped down, even the floor shuddered.
Yan Yiren trailed behind, her expression serene, but her fingers clenched tightly in her sleeves.
"This is no longer the empire’s war," the Empress said softly, her voice carrying like thunder across the chamber. "It is mine."
The March of the Throne
No drums, no armies. Only one woman walking. Yet with every step she took toward the northern plains, temples cracked, rivers stilled, and stars dimmed. Her presence bent heaven and earth alike.
Behind her came silence, but also inevitability. For those who saw her pass, it was as though the throne itself had grown legs and left the palace to hunt its challenger.
The nobles whispered: She moves.The sects whispered: She strikes.And across the empire, hearts bowed in dread.
The Watchtower Prepares
In the broken watchtower, Hei Long stood before his three women.
Qingxue’s blade was reforged, sharper than before, though her hands still bore the scars of river steel. Yexin’s fan gleamed, her illusions honed until each flicker threatened to split reality. Yuran’s hands glowed with threads of spirit light, her breath steady despite exhaustion.
They all felt it — the air heavy, the world bowing.
"She comes," Qingxue whispered.
Yexin laughed, brittle and fierce. "So the throne leaves its seat to meet us? Then she’s already lost."
Yuran lowered her head. "She is not an army. She is the empire itself."
Hei Long stepped forward, his cloak rippling, the cord at his wrist glowing faintly. His eyes burned with calm fire.
"Good," he said. "At last, not armies. Not legends. The throne itself. Let it come. Let it burn."
The Sky Cracks
Clouds tore apart above the plains. Crimson light spilled across the world as the Empress descended, her aura swallowing horizon and sky.
The throne had left the palace.The empire’s heart had come to strike.
And fire waited to consume it.
The Descent
The sky itself broke. Crimson light poured down like molten silk as the Empress descended onto the northern plains. Every step she took sent tremors through the land — rivers stilled, winds knelt, stars dimmed. She was not a woman now. She was the throne made flesh.
Yan Yiren followed at a distance, her robes whispering like secrets in blood, her expression serene yet watchful.
The watchtower stood alone against this storm, its shadow too small to resist, its walls already trembling under the weight of her aura. Yet within, Hei Long and his women waited.
The Last Night
The air inside was heavy, not with fear but with inevitability.
Qingxue sat cross-legged, her blade across her knees. She polished its edge until sparks leapt into the dark. "If this is our end, then let me cut until the end comes."
Yexin leaned against the cracked wall, fan flickering in her hand, illusions shimmering in the corners of the room. "If we’re to die tomorrow, then let the Empress see us laughing as we burn." Her voice was light, but her eyes betrayed the tremor.
Yuran laid incense at their feet, her hands trembling but steady. "If fire consumes us, then let my breath keep it steady until the last spark fades."
Hei Long stood at the center, cloak brushing the stone, cord at his wrist swaying. His gaze fell on each of them, burning with quiet certainty.
"Not sparks," he said softly. "Not rivals. Not sacrifices. Fire. And fire does not fade — it consumes."
They gathered closer, shoulder to shoulder, their breaths mingling. Pride, hunger, and fragility melted into one flame.
Dawn
When the sun rose, the watchtower no longer trembled.
Hei Long stepped into the light, his women at his side. The Empress waited across the plains, her veil shimmering with divine fire.
"Finally," she said, her voice like thunder woven in silk. "The pretender meets the throne."
Hei Long’s cloak rippled, his eyes glimmering.
"No," he answered. "The throne meets inevitability."
The sky screamed as their auras collided, flame against flame, shadow against crown. The duel that would decide the empire began.
The Sky Splits
The plains could not contain them. When Hei Long’s aura clashed with the Empress’s divine mantle, the sky itself tore open. Clouds scattered into ash, rivers turned still, the earth shuddered as if caught between two gods.
On one side stood the Empress, her crimson veil blazing, her every step a decree. She was not merely ruler — she was throne, empire, heaven itself.
On the other stood Hei Long, cloak rippling, cord at his wrist glowing like the measure of destiny. Behind him, his three flames gathered — Qingxue, Yexin, Yuran — their loyalty sharper than any spear.
When their powers met, the battlefield became unrecognizable: half drowned in flame, half swallowed in shadow.
The Sword Against the Throne
General Feng Jiutian had once split rivers. The Empress was greater. With a single gesture, she drew the rivers from the land itself, twisting them into a crown of liquid steel above her head. She hurled it down upon Hei Long like a mountain collapsing.
Qingxue leapt forward, her blade screaming against impossible weight. Steel bent, wrists bled, yet she did not yield. "If he does not bow, then neither will I!" Her sword split the current, sparks and water scattering across the sky.
The Empress’s gaze sharpened. For the first time, her power had not crushed a mortal instantly.
The Phoenix Crown
The Empress raised her other hand, flames wreathing her body. A phoenix of pure scarlet fire spread its wings, covering half the sky, blotting out the sun itself. Its cry burned the ears of soldiers miles away.
Yexin laughed through the terror, her fan flicking. Illusions bloomed into a thousand phoenixes, all shrieking back, drowning the Empress’s call in echoes.
"You’ll not blind me with fire," Yexin shouted. "His shadow burns brighter than your crown!"
Her illusions collided with the Empress’s flames, scattering light into chaos. For an instant, the heavens themselves could not tell which phoenix was real.
Silence and Light
The Empress whispered a word — and silence fell. Sound, breath, even heartbeat vanished. The world itself trembled on the edge of annihilation.
Yuran collapsed, choking against the weight. But her hands glowed brighter, threads of spirit light weaving through silence, stitching breath back into lungs, sound back into the air. She whispered through blood, "Even if heaven steals our breath... I will return it to him."
Her light cracked the silence. Hei Long’s shadow surged into the gap.
Hei Long Unbound
At last, Hei Long moved. His hand rose, and inevitability bent. The rivers crown shattered into mist. The phoenix flames curled back into embers. The silence broke with thunder.
"You wear the throne," Hei Long said, voice calm, merciless. "But thrones are built to be broken. Fire was here before you — and it will remain after."
His cloak flared, shadow swallowing horizon and sky. The Empress’s veil trembled as their powers collided again, the ground beneath them collapsing into a crater.
The throne and fire clashed — and the empire shook.
The Opening Blows
The battlefield was no longer earth. It was sky, flame, and shadow colliding, the plains themselves breaking under the clash.
The Empress swept her arms wide, rivers tearing upward again, phoenix fire crowning her head, silence smothering the horizon. She was throne incarnate — the sum of empire and heaven.
Hei Long answered with inevitability. Each river bent, each flame curled inward, each silence cracked beneath his step. His cloak flared like wings of night, his cord swaying with each decree. He did not roar. He did not falter. His calm was heavier than her storms.
Qingxue — The Sword Against Heaven
General Feng Jiutian’s ghost had split rivers; the Empress commanded oceans. A tidal wave roared down on Hei Long, vast enough to drown cities.
Qingxue leapt into it. Her blade sang, cutting a path through impossible weight, sparks scattering like stars. Her arms bled, her legs quivered, but she did not yield.
"I am his edge!" she cried. "And I will cut until nothing remains!"
Her sword split water into mist, a path carved for inevitability itself.
Yexin — Fire Against Fire
The phoenix above the Empress spread its wings, eclipsing the sun. Flames poured down, swallowing the land in crimson.
Yexin only laughed, her fan snapping open. Dozens of herself appeared, foxfire illusions rising like a storm of mocking shadows. Each one bore a phoenix of her own, shrieking against the Empress’s crown.
"Your fire blinds!" Yexin shouted, her smirk sharp through the inferno. "Mine deceives!"
Her illusions tangled with the Empress’s flames until even heaven hesitated to decide which fire was true.
Yuran — Breath Against Silence
The Empress whispered, and silence fell. Sound died. Heartbeats stopped. Breath vanished from the world.
Yuran collapsed, her chest heaving, but her hands glowed brighter. Threads of spirit light spilled from her fingers, weaving into her sisters’ chests, forcing breath where none remained.
Her voice cracked against silence, trembling but steady: "Even if heaven steals your breath... I will return it!"
Her light shattered the quiet. Sound returned in a thunderclap.
Hei Long Unbound
Hei Long stepped forward, his presence crushing rivers, flames, silence alike.
"You wear the throne," he said, calm as ever. "But thrones are built to rule men. I am not a man. I am inevitability."
His shadow flared, consuming horizon and sky. Rivers turned to steam. Phoenix flames curled into embers. Silence itself shattered into screams.
The Empress staggered, her veil trembling. For the first time, she looked less like throne — and more like a woman standing before fire.
And Hei Long raised his hand once more.
"The empire ends here."