The Sacred Leaves Family's Wishes for Peace

When the Pill and Artifact Sect, which had previously been forced to relocate from Sacred City to the Western Region due to the Fang Clan's rise, heard what had happened at the Martial Arena in Ascension City, they were utterly stunned.

They had thought the Western Region would be a safe refuge, a place where they could still survive.

Never in their wildest dreams did they imagine that Fang Ting had already become an Emperor—and that Kongjing had gambled away the entire Western Region's Buddhist order!

Now, when they looked across all of Cangzhou, there was truly no place left where the Pill and Artifact Sect could survive.

So, gritting his teeth and stomping his foot, the sect master made a decision that went against generations of ancestral will:

He would dissolve the sect. From now on, everyone would go their own way—each person's fate would be their own to forge.

The Fang Clan's growth had been too rapid. Over the years, the Pill and Artifact Sect had lived like fugitives, always moving. The sect master was simply exhausted. He couldn't keep running.

If the sect was to be disbanded, so be it.

Let the disciples choose their own paths.

Upon hearing this decision, the elder council expressed their understanding and support.

Only the newer disciples, who had joined in recent years, were confused and reluctant. They asked for reasons, but neither the sect master nor the elders gave any answers. They simply advised them to take care of themselves.

And so, a modest sect that had passed down its lineage for thousands of years in a remote corner of the Great Qi Dynasty, dissolved silently in a remote part of the Western Region.

For them, it was also a form of liberation.

"Abbot… do we truly have to abandon everything and leave Cangzhou?"

Wu Wang of Ten Thousand Buddhas Monastery looked at his abbot with anguish in his eyes.

The other six abbots of the major Buddhist sects were there as well.

The abbot of Ten Thousand Buddhas sighed helplessly. "We've already sworn oaths before the Heavenly Dao. We have no choice. And that Fang fellow has said it clearly—if we don't leave within three days, he will kill us without mercy. If we delay, he'll have an excuse to wipe us all out."

The other six abbots let out heavy sighs, full of regret. Deep in their hearts, they all cursed themselves:

Why did we follow that old fool Kongjing and agree to such a reckless oath?!

Wu Wang, still unwilling to give up, asked, "What if we secretly take some of the legacies and resources with us? There's no one watching, right?"

As long as their Buddhist legacies survived—and they had some resources—no matter how weakened they were now, they could eventually recover. Given time, they could rise again.

But if they left behind everything—scriptures, techniques, artifacts—then there would be no future. They would never rise again.

This clause in the bet had been Fang Ting's masterstroke.

If not for this condition, the defeat wouldn't have been quite so devastating.

The abbot gave a bitter smile. "How do you know he isn't watching us from the sky?"

Wu Wang had no response.

If they secretly smuggled anything and were caught, it would constitute a breach of their Heavenly Dao vow—giving Fang Ting the perfect reason to strike.

In that case, everyone would die.

What was the difference between that and gambling again? And right now, the Buddhist sect couldn't afford to gamble anymore.

Still unwilling to accept it, Wu Wang said, "Don't we have powerful backers too? Why not ask them to intervene?"

The others perked up slightly.

Yes—Kongjing had always said that Ten Thousand Buddhas Monastery had backing just as powerful as the Fang Clan's.

Even if they had lost the bet, perhaps their powerful ally could intervene and mitigate the consequences.

The abbot sighed deeply.

"Among the twenty hegemonic powers in the Tianyuan World, there's an immortal sect called Mount Sumeru. Our grand-uncle master was from that very sect."

"But only he knows how to contact them. And even if we tried, with our current strength, it would take at least one or two years to reach Mount Sumeru. We don't have that kind of time."

Just like that, the final glimmer of hope was extinguished.

Everyone fell silent, their expressions bleak and lifeless.

The abbot understood their sorrow and resentment—because he felt the same. But there was no choice. A loss was a loss.

They had been too weak, too greedy—and now they were paying the price.

There was no path left but the one they'd agreed to walk. Even a minor breach of the terms would give Fang Ting cause to act.

Since they couldn't take legacies or resources, there wasn't much to pack.

It wouldn't even take the full three days—they could leave immediately. But they lingered.

Because it was hard to let go.

The Western Region, once a land bathed in golden light and Buddhist chants, was now saturated with sorrow and bitter regret.

And so, as stipulated:

All monks above the Dharma Aspect Realm from the seven major Buddhist sects departed from Cangzhou.

Those below that level were required to secularize and return to lay life.

All cultivation manuals, legacies, and resources were left behind.

"RUMBLE…!"

After their departure, all the towering Buddha statues in the seven temples collapsed one after another.

At the same time, Grand Qian's officials and troops began arriving in the Western Region to take control.

Everything the Buddhist sects left behind—what needed to be destroyed, was destroyed. What needed to be rebuilt, was rebuilt.

It wouldn't be long before all traces of Buddhism were erased from the land.

This was no longer a Buddhist holy land. It was simply another part of the Grand Qian Dynasty's vast territory.

From this moment on, Cangzhou had no more Buddhism.

On the very day the monks left, the Third Elder delivered an important message to Fang Ting.

Normally, minor matters were handled by either his second son Fang Kong, who managed state affairs, or his firstborn Fang Yundao, who oversaw the Fang family's internal matters.

Only major issues were brought to Fang Ting personally.

After reading the jade slip, Fang Ting frowned.

"'Duanshan City has been completely plundered'—what is this about?"

The Third Elder explained, "Previously, Tu Jiuming met with Fang Kong and expressed his wish to integrate Duanshan City into Grand Qian. Fang Kong agreed and was still in the process of selecting suitable officials for the city when this happened."

Fang Ting's brows knit tighter. "Duanshan City was a hegemonic power. With several Saint Kings, how could it be looted so easily?"

The Third Elder replied, "The attackers came from beyond Cangzhou. The weakest among them were at the True Saint Realm. They had far more Saint Kings than Duanshan City."

"They sealed the city with a great formation the moment they arrived, then rushed in and looted everything. It was methodical and fast—done in less than an hour. Anyone who resisted was killed. Even Tu Jiuming didn't survive."

"After stripping the city bare, they left Cangzhou immediately."

"Because the entire city was sealed, we didn't know what happened until after the fact. That's why it wasn't reported to you earlier."

Fang Ting's eyes darkened.

Duanshan City had just surrendered. Everything in it should've become Grand Qian's assets. And now, it was all gone.

Worse yet—they didn't know who these attackers were, or whether they might return.

"Call Fang Luo."

The Third Elder nodded and left.

Perhaps they could find some clues from Fang Luo, the reborn cultivator.

Not long after, Fang Luo and his companions arrived, having been briefed en route.

The moment they heard the story, the three exchanged glances—and simultaneously thought of one thing:

The time they had subdued the sea beast Hai Yuanbai, they had encountered a similar power structure.

They were almost certain: this was the work of the "Seven Kings City."