Chapter 169: The Fall of the Throne
The Veil Torn
The Empress staggered, her veil aflame, the crimson silk curling into ash. For centuries, she had ruled unchallenged — not by sword, not by sect, not by heaven itself. But Hei Long’s shadow had split her mantle apart.
She drew herself taller, divine fire wreathing her once more. "Then I will burn as the empire itself. If you would take my throne, you will destroy the heavens to claim it."
Her aura expanded, swallowing the horizon. Rivers screamed. Mountains groaned. The sky bled red.
The Sword’s Last Cry
Qingxue leapt again, her blade shattering against the Empress’s aura. Fragments of steel scattered like stars, but she did not fall. Gripping the broken hilt, she struck with pride louder than any weapon.
"I am his sword," she roared. "Even broken, I cut!"
The Empress’s shield faltered, crimson flames cracking under her defiance.
The Fox’s Inferno
Yexin hurled herself into the firestorm. Illusions shattered one by one until only she remained, her laughter sharp but trembling. She spun her fan once, twice, then hurled it aside.
"No tricks!" she shouted. "No masks! Only fire!"
Her foxfire collided with the Empress’s flames, burning illusions into reality. For a heartbeat, the phoenix crown itself bent.
The Healer’s Last Breath
Yuran collapsed to her knees, her hands trembling, blood spilling from her lips. Yet her glow did not fade. She pressed her palms together, light weaving through shattered steel, broken illusions, and inevitability itself.
"Even if heaven dies," she whispered, her tears burning, "I will breathe life into fire."
Her spirit threads wrapped around Hei Long’s shadow, steadying it, amplifying it, feeding inevitability until it consumed the sky.
Hei Long’s Hand
Hei Long raised his hand. His cloak devoured flame, shadow swallowing crimson. The cord at his wrist glowed like the measure of time itself.
"You wear the throne," he said, voice calm, merciless. "But thrones are built for men. Fire bows to none. Thrones melt before inevitability."
The Empress screamed, her aura breaking, her body fracturing into light and ash.
The sky collapsed. The earth split.
And when the storm ended, only Hei Long remained standing. Cloak trailing, eyes glimmering, his three flames at his side — battered, bleeding, but unbroken.
The Throne Falls
The Empress was gone. Her throne shattered, her crown consumed. The empire had no master.
Hei Long looked toward the palace, his voice carrying across the plains.
"The throne has fallen. The empire will burn. And from its ashes, inevitability will rise."
His women bowed their heads, their hearts bound not by chains but by fire.
The Empress was no more.The throne was ash.And Hei Long was inevitable.
The Empire Without a Throne
The throne was gone. Not stolen, not usurped — burned. The Empress’s veil had scattered into ash, her name swallowed by inevitability. For the first time in a thousand years, the empire had no crown.
Panic rippled through the capital. Nobles scrambled behind barred gates, sect masters whispered treason in their halls, ministers clawed at each other in desperate councils. Without the throne, their oaths meant nothing. The empire fractured into pieces before the body of its ruler had even cooled.
Whispers spread: A new ruler will rise. But none dared to claim it, for the shadow of fire still lingered on the plains.
In the Watchtower
Hei Long did not march on the palace. He did not raise banners, or carve his name into stone. He remained in the watchtower with his women, letting the empire’s panic spread.
Qingxue sat sharpening her broken sword, each scrape a vow. "They’ll rally again," she muttered. "Sect, noble, foreign king. They’ll all want to wear the crown you shattered."
Yexin reclined against cushions, twirling her fan. "Let them. The higher they climb, the farther they’ll fall. I almost pity them." Her smile was sharp, but her eyes lingered on Hei Long’s back.
Yuran’s hands glowed faintly as she stitched their wounds. "It doesn’t matter what banners they raise. Wherever you stand, that will be the center of the world." Her voice trembled, but her devotion did not.
Hei Long looked at them, his cloak brushing cracked stone. His silence pressed down heavier than any speech. Then at last, he said:
"Good. Let them scramble. Let them bleed. I do not need to seize a throne. I am inevitability. The crown will come to me — in ashes, or in chains."
The World Reacts
Beyond the capital, messengers raced across the empire. Neighboring kingdoms trembled, their rulers wondering if fire would cross their borders. Sect elders debated whether to strike or kneel. The people whispered in markets and inns:
The throne is gone. The fire remains. Perhaps inevitability has already won.
Foreign emissaries began their journeys, not to the palace — but to the north, where a broken watchtower stood against the horizon.
Embers Between Them
That night, silence fell over the watchtower. Not the silence of defeat, but of fire still smoldering.
Qingxue sat nearest Hei Long, her pride raw, her sword broken but unyielding.Yexin lingered close, illusions flickering faintly as her fan drooped in her lap.Yuran knelt at his side, her hands trembling but steady, her glow anchoring them all.
They were no longer rivals. They were no longer sparks. They were one flame, bound by inevitability, stronger for having faced the throne itself.
Hei Long raised his gaze to the horizon, his voice a whisper.
"The empire is dead. The world is next."
And his women, scarred, proud, unbroken — burned brighter at his side.
After the Throne
The empire was ash. Not conquered, not ruled — burned. Its crown scattered, its armies broken, its legends erased. Hei Long stood at the center of the smoldering world, yet he did not march on the palace or demand the title of emperor. He did not need to. The absence of the throne was proof enough.
Whispers spread through shattered provinces: He is inevitable. Some sects sent envoys, bearing cautious tribute. Others sharpened their blades, whispering alliances in secret halls. Foreign kings paced their courts, their eyes turned north in dread.
The world waited. But the watchtower was still.
A Night Without War
Inside, silence reigned. Not heavy, not fearful — but fragile. For the first time since the Empress’s descent, there was no clash of steel, no roar of armies, no rivers or flames threatening to swallow them. Only the crackle of a small fire in the hearth, the hiss of Yuran’s incense, the whisper of wind through broken stone.
Qingxue sat nearest the fire, her broken sword laid across her knees. Her pride had not dimmed, but her eyes were softer, weary from battles no steel could cut.Yexin leaned against a column, illusions flickering faintly around her like half-formed dreams. She smirked when she caught Hei Long’s gaze, but the exhaustion in her smile betrayed her.Yuran tended them both, her hands glowing faintly as she stitched wounds, her breath ragged but unyielding.
Hei Long watched them in silence. For once, inevitability did not press down like thunder. It simply lingered, steady, inevitable as dawn.
Sparks Into Flame
Qingxue broke the quiet first. "I swore to be your sword. Even broken, I cut. But tonight..." She hesitated, her grip tightening on the hilt. "...tonight, I wish only to remain at your side."
Yexin laughed, sharp but soft. "Listen to her, admitting weakness. If even the ice queen can melt, then what chance do I have?" She flicked her fan lazily, then let it fall. "I’ll say it plain. I don’t care if the empire rebuilds a hundred crowns. I care only if you look at me when it burns."
Yuran’s voice was quiet, trembling, but certain. "Even if I am weak... even if I am only breath in the fire... I’ll remain. Always."
Their words clashed, not like rivals, but like flames feeding one another until the room itself felt warmer.
Hei Long’s Silence
Hei Long rose, cloak trailing across the stone, the cord at his wrist swaying. He placed a hand on Qingxue’s shoulder, another on Yexin’s wrist, his gaze settling on Yuran’s trembling fingers.
"You are not sparks," he said quietly. "Not rivals. You are fire. And fire belongs to no crown, no throne, no heaven. Only to me."
None of them answered. None dared.
But in the quiet after the throne’s fall, their fire burned hotter than it ever had — not as weapons, not as rivals, but as inevitability bound together.
The Empire in Shambles
The capital lay silent, its once-proud banners torn by winds that carried only whispers of fear. Without the throne, the ministers clawed at each other for scraps of influence. Sects bickered over who would claim lost territories. Foreign embassies sent frantic riders to their kings, warning of an empire that had lost its crown and gained a shadow.
One phrase spread through markets, taverns, and battlefields alike:"The throne is gone. Fire remains."
The Watchtower Holds
While the empire bled itself with panic, Hei Long remained in the watchtower. His women gathered near him, closer than ever, their rivalry buried beneath devotion and exhaustion.
Qingxue had reforged her broken sword, its edge brighter, sharper, as if defiance itself had seeped into the steel. "The sects will march soon," she said coldly. "They fear you more than they ever loved the Empress."
Yexin smirked from her cushions, illusions dancing lazily at her fingertips. "Good. Fear makes the game interesting. Let them come with banners, crowns, or poison. I’ll burn them all until they see who truly rules."
Yuran knelt between them, her hands glowing faintly as she laid herbs into bowls. "If we face the world, then I will keep us whole. Even if it breaks me."
Hei Long listened, cloak trailing across the stone. His silence weighed heavier than steel. At last, he spoke:
"They will not unite to resist me. They will fracture to claim me. Nobles, sects, kingdoms — all scrambling for a crown already in ash." His eyes burned like coals. "And inevitability devours chaos."
Whispers of War
Reports came swiftly.
A southern sect raised its banners, declaring themselves "the rightful guardians of the empire."
Nobles in the west fortified their estates, each naming themselves heir.
Foreign kingdoms sent emissaries to the watchtower — not to fight, but to beg, bribe, or bend knee.
The empire had not fallen into silence. It had fallen into war.
Between Ashes and Affection
Yet in the quiet nights, Hei Long’s women burned brighter than politics.
Qingxue’s pride softened into rare warmth when she polished her blade at Hei Long’s side.Yexin’s mocking laughter broke into whispers when she lingered too close, illusions flickering like confessions she would never speak aloud.Yuran’s trembling hands steadied against Hei Long’s cloak, her breath anchoring even inevitability itself.
Together they were no longer sparks. They were fire. And fire spread best in ruins.
The Next Step
Hei Long looked north, where kingdoms stirred, and south, where sect banners fluttered. His voice was calm, merciless.
"The empire is gone. The world waits. Then let us not wait. Let us move."
His cloak flared. His women bowed their heads.
The watchtower was no longer a refuge.It was the center of a storm about to consume the world.