The Imperial Preceptor's vision suddenly changed. When the light returned to normal, he found they had arrived in a Heavenly Court: palaces soared magnificently, divine mountains stretched endlessly, and divine radiance illuminated countless worlds.
"Is this the world inside the painting?"
The Imperial Preceptor was utterly shocked. If this was truly a world within a painting, then its vastness was unimaginable!
He gazed out and saw the Heavenly Palace stretching beyond sight.
Gods filled the sky, each lofty and exalted—some towering, some sacred, some detached from the world. Most, however, wandered about, calling for friends, raising cups, and toasting each other in a swirl of revelry.
Quinn Shepherd led him into the painting and into the midst of this grand Heavenly Court feast. The corridors arched like bridges, rainbows and colors soared, pavilions hung with sun and moon, and in lanterns, divine birds of living flame served as candles, shedding both light and heat.
Goddesses plucked strings and played strange instruments; women danced gracefully atop lotus leaves in the air, surrounded by a shower of heavenly blossoms.
Drunken gods staggered to and fro, wine jugs in hand, teasing bashful goddesses who dodged away shyly.
The Imperial Preceptor could hardly take it all in. They stood at the very center of the grand feast, surrounded by countless gods, with distant divine mountains blazing with light.
Tu Bo, the Earth Sovereign, sat not far away, nine-bent horns atop his head, motionless and imposing, underworld fire swirling beneath him like an abyss.
Several other towering presences stood above all, their faces indistinct, their majesty no less than Tu Bo's.
"Preceptor, you look like a country bumpkin entering the city—just like I did when I first arrived in Dragoncrest City!"
Quinn Shepherd burst out laughing, snatched a wine jug from a tray carried by a passing goddess, and drank deeply.
The goddess was furious and scolded, "Where did this brat come from? That wine is for the high gods—how dare you touch it?"
"Enough chatter!"
Quinn kicked the goddess flying, caught another wine jug from the spinning tray, stuffed it into the Imperial Preceptor's hand, then leapt onto the jade table before a lofty god and drank again.
The god flew into a rage and swung a massive palm down. Quinn drew his sword; with a flash, the god's arm was severed.
Quinn laughed, flipped the jade table into the air, and shouted, "Sun and moon in poems, immortals in wine—soar from the earth, rise to the nine heavens!"
Ssshhh—
With a single sword stroke, Quinn beheaded the lofty god, grabbed the severed head, and stormed through the hall, causing chaos in the High Heaven. Countless gods rose to attack, but Quinn's sword flashed, sending gods flying and heads rolling. He fought his way to Tu Bo's side and hung the severed head on Tu Bo's horn, laughing, "Banished from paradise, outside the golden registry; decked in treasures, standing before the jade hall!"
Tu Bo erupted, his body swelling to ten thousand feet tall, with boundless divine fire swirling beneath his feet.
Quinn summoned his Sword Pill—eight thousand swords whirled around Tu Bo in the Winding Sword Form, slicing the great god into countless fragments. Then, with a twist of his hands, the flying swords surged forth like a dragon, sweeping in all directions. Exhilarated, he laughed, "A hundred-zhang dragon must appear, and again a forest of phoenix wings!"
Wave after wave of gods surged in, burying him beneath their numbers.
Divine light shot skyward as Quinn burst forth from the pile of severed limbs, singing and strumming his sword in wild abandon: "A thousand men dare not advance, ten thousand gods cannot contain me! Preceptor, I will break the god in your heart!"
The Imperial Preceptor laughed heartily, his earlier dejection swept away. Energized, he called out, "The god in my heart—why should I need you to break it?"
He strode forward, sword light flashing from his hand. His combat power surpassed Quinn's, and gods fell wherever he passed.
In the High Heaven Hall, countless gods and demons surged in to attack them.
Quinn and the Imperial Preceptor stood shoulder to shoulder, back to back, slaughtering at the gate of Heaven.
After a long time, piles of god and demon corpses covered the land, yet endless gods still surged forward, the sounds of battle shaking the heavens.
"How long will this killing go on?"
The Imperial Preceptor shouted, "You hold the gate—I'll go kill the Heavenly Emperor!"
Quinn replied, "Go!"
The Imperial Preceptor charged into the High Heaven Hall, where god-corpses littered the floor.
Boom—
The Imperial Preceptor was blasted back, crashing into the wall beside Quinn. Quinn was startled—these gods were all clearly weak, their power limited by the artist's skill, so even he could slaughter them freely.
Yet the Imperial Preceptor had been beaten back by the Heavenly Emperor!
Quinn blinked, inwardly uneasy: "This artist must be a sycophant—he probably poured all his skill into painting the Heavenly Emperor, which is why the Emperor is so powerful inside the painting."
Quinn had learned much about the power of paintings from Deaf, his master.
A painting's power depends not only on the artist's skill, but also on the subject.
The stronger and deeper the artist's skill, the greater the power of what is painted—of course, it also depends on how much heart the artist puts in.
This artist hadn't put much heart into painting the other gods and demons, so their strength was mediocre—even Tu Bo was only average.
And the subject itself is extremely important.
For example, when Deaf painted the Village Chief in his youth—the Sword God with his sword on his back—the resulting image had astonishing power!
This artist must have poured his heart into painting the Heavenly Emperor, capturing his divine charm. That's why the Emperor is strong enough to beat the Imperial Preceptor!
Quinn grew uneasy. He'd brought the Imperial Preceptor into the painting to break his fear, but if the Preceptor couldn't even defeat the painted Heavenly Emperor, such a setback might shatter his resolve completely!
Just then, the Imperial Preceptor climbed down from the wall and charged out again, his fighting spirit undiminished!
Moments later, the Imperial Preceptor was blasted back again. Quinn summoned his eight thousand swords, slaughtering the attacking gods, and glanced at the Preceptor on the wall—he'd been beaten black and blue.
"Ugh, this is tricky. The painted Heavenly Emperor's strength is probably above all these gods..."
Just as he thought this, the Imperial Preceptor charged forward once more.
Bang.
The Imperial Preceptor was beaten back again.
Again and again, the same result.
Before the gate of High Heaven Hall, the corpses of gods and demons piled high. Quinn was exhausted and out of breath, while the Imperial Preceptor kept hurling himself at the Heavenly Emperor atop the hall, only to be beaten back—each time more miserable than the last.
Quinn's eyes flickered—he was ready to take out the Five-Thunder War Gourd. "Even if I have to blow this place up, I can't let the painted Heavenly Emperor completely defeat the Preceptor..."
The Imperial Preceptor charged out once more. After a moment, all the battle cries abruptly ceased. Outside the High Heaven Hall, all the gods and demons looked terrified and scattered in all directions.
Quinn stared, then turned to see the Imperial Preceptor standing behind him, holding the Heavenly Emperor's severed head.
The Imperial Preceptor was battered and bruised, but he was smiling—a pure, genuine smile.
The two looked at each other and burst out laughing.
The Imperial Preceptor raised his arm and hurled the Heavenly Emperor's head far from the High Heaven Hall, shouting, "Blade drawn from the forbidden court, king's head in hand! Heavenblade's spirit is truly bold—at this moment, I finally grasp the essence of his saber-dao!"
Quinn, aching all over, walked into the hall and laughed, "You're a real monster—your insight is incredible. Butcher taught me for years before I even touched the heart of his saber-dao. You're a swordsman, yet you can comprehend his blade's essence. My comprehension can't compare to yours."
The Imperial Preceptor turned, speaking earnestly: "A person's insight grows with broader horizons and deeper experience—wisdom too. Your cultivation isn't strong enough yet, but when you reach my level, you'll be able to unravel all mysteries. One day, you won't lose to me—you'll surpass me. You thought to use the Heavenly Court banquet to break the god in my heart and restore my dao-heart, while I never would have thought of it. Cult Master, why belittle yourself?"
Quinn walked to the Heavenly Emperor's throne, dragged the headless corpse aside, and plopped down on the seat. Surprised, he asked, "You think I can surpass your straight line?"
The Imperial Preceptor laughed, "You're the junior—if the next generation can't surpass the previous, wouldn't the world be a sorry place? Besides, you're an Overlord Body."
Quinn, full of confidence, nodded, "That's true—I'm an Overlord Body, so I must be stronger than you."
The Imperial Preceptor's face darkened.
Quinn scooted over, offering half the seat. "Come, sit in the Heavenly Emperor's chair."
The Preceptor hesitated. "Isn't that a bit much?"
"Come on, sit. The view's great from here!"
"Alright."
The Imperial Preceptor sat down. The two gazed out at the scenery beyond the High Heaven Hall. After a while, the Preceptor said, "The vast world lies before us. Sitting here, one holds boundless power—every world, every living being's fate, all at a single thought. Cult Master, does this seat make you crave such power?"
Quinn sat there, relaxed. "If I said yes, would you kill me on the spot—to rid the emperor of a future threat?"
Their eyes met. The Imperial Preceptor looked away and said quietly, "No. I would just keep my guard up around you."
He stood, his expression calm once more—serene as ever, as if nothing could shake him. But Quinn knew: after this painted Heavenly Court banquet, the Preceptor's dao-heart had reached a realm beyond comprehension.
His dao-heart was now unbreakable.
At this moment, the Imperial Preceptor had no flaws left in his dao-heart.
Quinn stood and walked out of the painting, new understanding in his heart: "Only by breaking through despair can one ignite even greater hope and fighting spirit."
The two of them stepped out of the mural on the wall, feet touching solid ground again.
The Imperial Preceptor glanced back at the mural. The palaces inside were unchanged, but the painted gods and demons lay dead in heaps, and the survivors cowered in the corners, trembling with terror.
Quinn walked over and erased the few strokes he'd added. The mural returned to its original state.
Quinn scratched his head, puzzled. "The artist who painted this mural was truly skilled—no less than me. But why is a corner missing? With his mastery, he could have given life to everyone in the painting, made the whole scene come alive. But with that missing piece, the painting is dead."
"Maybe it was just damaged by accident."
The Imperial Preceptor headed outside. "The fighting outside should be over, too. It's time for Xiyu Bear to reclaim her title as Palace Mistress and for the Western Lands to join Everpeace."
Quinn caught up, smiling. "If you had the emperor's decree, now would be the perfect time to read it aloud and formally install Xiyu Bear as True Heaven Palace Mistress. It would be even more effective."
The Preceptor produced the decree. "Before I left, I had the emperor write it in advance."
"The emperor really is a sly old fox," Quinn sighed.
The two left the hall. Suddenly, a painted goddess in the mural moved, looked around, and—seeing no one—ran out of the painting, sticking close to the wall as she slipped away.
——— Third update! The author still hasn't eaten, off to eat and watch TV. Hunan TV, the author is on stage making a fool of himself, forgot his lines, stage fright—brothers, what are you waiting for? Go watch!