Chapter 15: The Golden Throne
The golden hall gleamed with opulence, draped in imperial yellow, adorned with carved railings and painted beams.
Incense lingered in the air, the silence broken only by the crisp sound of chess pieces striking the board, each move echoing like a heartbeat.
“The Saint has emerged from seclusion and is heading to the Eastern Kingdom?”
“Reporting to Your Majesty, indeed.”
Two figures sat across from each other.
The one holding black pieces wore a dragon robe and imperial crown, his demeanor utterly casual.
Though relaxed, the emperor’s moves were merciless, each step pressing forward, brimming with killing intent.
The minister opposite him secretly sweated, trembling under the pressure.
The topic of the world’s top seat changing hands was the hottest issue, drawing the entire Xuanyu Continent’s attention.
In this context, Saint Zong Ji’s high-profile appearance in Shengyang, openly declaring his destination, was intriguing.
“So young, yet the world’s greatest. Truly, the young are formidable.”
Next year was the Eastern Kingdom’s once-in-a-decade grand event.
Perhaps he could use this to stir some momentum.
Dong Yan placed another piece, his dark purple eyes deep, countless thoughts swirling within.
Zong Ji didn’t care what others thought.
His goal of creating a buzz had been achieved.
Channeling spiritual energy, he rode the Mountains and Rivers Map like Aladdin’s magic carpet, moving swiftly.
With a “whoosh,” he reached the Eastern Kingdom, its towering cities and cloud-woven skies floating in the distance, mist rising like an immortal realm.
The Dark Hall’s contact in the Eastern Kingdom was a prince.
The kingdom’s political system was peculiar.
Every royal had a claim to the throne, not by bloodline, but by strength.
The monarch changed every ten years, triggering a royal free-for-all.
Whoever emerged victorious became the next ruler.
It sounded chaotic, but the Eastern Kingdom was a place where might ruled.
Royal kin were raised with imperial education, then pitted against each other to decide who was fit to lead.
The kingdom’s citizens loved this spectacle, eagerly cheering for their favorite princes every decade.
The Twelfth Prince, the Dark Hall’s ally, happened to lack talent in cultivation.
He possessed a mottled four-spirit root.
Such a root typically capped one’s progress at around the third tier.
On Xuanyu Continent, third-tier was average—not too low, but far from a powerhouse.
Yet the Twelfth Prince was ambitious, his mind sharper than his siblings’.
He proactively allied with the Dark Hall, passing internal intelligence to prove his loyalty.
Still, Zong Ji didn’t like him.
The Eastern Kingdom’s royals were ruthless, biting even their own in their frenzy, duplicitous and untrustworthy.
Emperor Dong Yan was nicknamed the Tyrant.
When Zong Ji wrote this royal family, he intended them as stepping stones for Jing Zhe, making Dong Yan utterly villainous and cruel.
Cruel or not, Dong Yan was politically adept, earning the title of an eternal emperor.
Had The Carefree Journey and One Sword to Immortality not merged, Zong Ji figured the Twelfth Prince had a seven-in-ten chance of winning.
With the world’s top figure backing him, he might even have claimed the throne.
But with the worlds merged, the original weak monarch was now Emperor Dong Yan…
Forget winning—surrender was the better option.
The Twelfth Prince’s petty schemes were nothing against Dong Yan, Zong Ji’s handpicked antihero.
Dong Yan was a formidable villain, far outclassing the Twelfth Prince, a nobody unmentioned in The Carefree Journey.
Still, having accepted the prince’s favors, Zong Ji had to make a token appearance in the Eastern Kingdom.
Just a show, nothing more.
Upon arriving in the capital, Baijing, Saint Zong Ji of Tai Xu Sect was warmly received by the Twelfth Prince.
With sincere words and joyful hospitality, the prince led a grand procession through the city, from the walls to his mansion, under the gaze of Baijing’s citizens.
“For the Hall Master to come is Dong Twelve’s honor.”
Incidentally, with so many royals, names were brutally simple, numbered sequentially.
Only the monarch earned the supreme right to rename themselves.
It was almost tragic.
If the royal family grew too large, someone ranked beyond a hundred might weep.
Dong One-Hundred-Twenty-Three—six characters, sounding grand and domineering.
“Hm.”
Zong Ji’s expression remained aloof, unmoved by the prince’s enthusiasm.
He even declined the invitation to stay at the prince’s mansion, stating he’d only appear at tomorrow’s banquet.
When establishing his Dark Hall Master identity, Zong Ji had orchestrated scenes to make it seem Tai Xu Sect’s top disciple had connected with the Hall Master over Shengyang City matters.
He staged several drinking sessions at Star-Picking Tower to cement the ruse.
Rather than hiding, it was better to align the identities.
The Dark Hall Master was elusive, rarely appearing, so the disguise held firm.
Zong Ji had been mildly curious about the Eastern Kingdom, but knowing Dong Yan was there dulled his interest.
He planned to coast through, half-hearted at best.
Why invest in a doomed venture?
The Dark Hall never put all its eggs in one basket.
If this egg wouldn’t hatch, it was time to move on.
After his act with the Twelfth Prince, Zong Ji visited the Eastern Continent’s Dark Hall branch.
The branch, in Baijing, appeared as a cosmetics shop.
But its basement held another world.
“Hall Master.”
The branch’s guardian was shocked, immediately saluting.
Zong Ji gestured for silence, peering below.
The branch was holding a new member induction ceremony.
A line of demons, devils, and humans stood together, led by senior Dark Hall scholars.
They raised their right hands, swearing solemnly:
“I swear—”
“To take the world’s welfare as my duty; to bring peace and prosperity; to uphold equality and humility.”
“To embrace the world, love all beings, brave fire, and tread blades.”
Different skin tones, eye colors, and races stood united, their expressions earnest, eyes gleaming with conviction.
Even Zong Ji couldn’t help but feel moved.
He loved meddling in others’ affairs.
Writing was one thing; living in his own story was another.
When writing, he crafted a chaotic world.
It had to be chaotic—only chaos bred heroes.
A peaceful era dulled claws and fangs.
He hadn’t thought much of it while writing.
But after transmigrating, witnessing war’s devastation—beacons blazing, smoke rising, people displaced—he felt regret.
What happens when your written world becomes reality?
Good and evil could no longer be brushed off lightly.
That experience of war’s cruelty drove Zong Ji to become the continent’s enforcer.
He founded the Dark Hall, embarking on a peacekeeping mission.
“My world, my duty to maintain its peace.”
That once-arrogant, laughable declaration had become reality.
From Zong Ji’s personal goal, it grew into the mission of countless Dark Hall comrades.
Reflecting on this, Zong Ji felt a rare surge of emotion.
Look, this is the empire I built!
Look, these are my loyal dogs! (Wait, no.)
“Those who join the Dark Hall must etch that oath in their hearts.”
A haunting voice echoed from above the vast hall.
The crowd startled, looking up.
The air twisted, chilling spiritual energy cloaking the figure above, leaving only a terrifying ghost mask, utterly fearsome.
“Greetings, Hall Master!”
The scholars holding books turned and saluted, their faces fervent with reverence, urging the new disciples to follow.
“Greetings, Hall Master.”
The new members, having heard of the Dark Hall Master’s fame, knelt trembling in respect.
When crafting the Dark Hall Master’s persona, Zong Ji tailored it to the demon sect’s aesthetic.
The Dark Hall’s peaceful slogan risked seeming weak, so the Hall Master had to be fierce.
Fierce and terrifying—scared yet?
Rumors about the Dark Hall Master were no kinder than those about the Demon Venerable.
As the Hall Master, Zong Ji represented the Dark Hall’s martial might.
Alongside his Number Thirteen Dark Guard, they formed the arbitration arm.
When factions fought and other departments couldn’t mediate, the Thirteenth Guard stepped in, enforcing peace through force.
This stark contrast protected Zong Ji’s disguise.
Many pitied that the Dark Hall Master, a supposed friend, might corrupt Tai Xu Sect’s pure, lotus-like top disciple.
Zong Ji: Hah!
I roam Xuanyu freely, my deeds and name hidden.