Wait, How Did My Digital Girlfriend Become a Sword Immortal? Chapter 856.28: The Oil Is Hot; Please Step into the Cauldron

Upper Realm.

Lingxiao Palace—devoid of day or night, it remains forever locked in icy solitude.

Floors of white jade stretch out, while golden dragons twist around towering pillars.

The three thousand fate-lamps dangling from the ceiling typically flood the grand hall with midday brilliance.

Yet today.

A shadow suddenly cloaked one corner of the vast chamber.

Two fate-lamps tied to immortal true gods had flickered out.

One was Bi Yue Wu's.

The other belonged to Tu Fu Xing.

They wavered first, then faded, and at last—

Pff.

Both snuffed out completely.

In the hall's eerie silence, that faint puff sent shivers down spines.

Behind the beaded curtain.

The silhouette on the Nine Heavens throne didn't so much as twitch an eye, merely drumming a finger on the armrest.

“Thud.”

One gentle tap.

Every Immortal Official prostrated before the throne pressed their foreheads lower, holding their breath.

“Thousand-Mile Eye.”

“Wind-Following Ear.”

The tone betrayed no rage or mirth, like a gust from some primordial ice field.

“Here… your servant is here!”

Two lanky Immortal Officials scrambled forward on knees, shuddering like chaff in the wind.

“How fares the Lower Realm?”

Thousand-Mile Eye gulped, invoked his power, and fired twin golden rays from his eyes, slicing through dense clouds to peer at the mortal world once their personal playground.

One look.

A horrified yelp escaped him, crimson tears pouring from his eyes.

“Em… Emperorsire!”

Thousand-Mile Eye clutched his searing eyes, wailing: “The Lower Realm… turbid qi surges upward! The Nine Heavens Refining Profound Array… lies shattered!”

“What?!”

For the first time, the figure beyond the beads shifted.

Wind-Following Ear's complexion drained white, black blood oozing from his oversized ears, clearly wounded by the roaring mortal clamor and the ascending turbid qi.

“Your Majesty… your servant heard…”

“Heard what?”

“Cheers.”

Wind-Following Ear's words quivered. “Mortals rejoice. That coffin-released turbid qi acts as nectar to them; all life surges anew, vitality blooms… yet… for us immortals…”

He lifted his gaze, terror brimming. “Down there, it’s turned into a boiling oil cauldron!”

“Turbid qi blankets the Nine Provinces. Any immortal dropping into the Lower Realm sees their golden shield erode, cultivation sealed, divine soul scorched in agony… like lingering dismemberment!”

Turmoil erupted within the hall.

Immortals exchanged glances, dread gripping each one.

The Lower Realm had served as their field for reaping incense and siphoning essence.

Now that field morphed into blade mountains and fiery oceans—how could they manage?

“Silence.”

The Haotian Emperor's voice emerged once more from behind the curtain.

Neither loud nor faint.

Yet it quelled the chaos instantly.

“If the formation breaks, mend it.”

“If the people scatter, hunt them down.”

The Haotian Emperor spoke with cool detachment, treating the fallen true gods like trampled weeds.

“If it’s an oil cauldron, then bear it.”

“The Celestial Court sustained you through ten thousand years, safeguarding your souls across endless kalpas, not to indulge your idleness.”

He flung a golden command token casually; it rang sharp as it hit the steps below.

“Twelve Yuanchen, heed the decree.”

“Muster all heavenly troops, plunge into the Lower Realm immediately.”

“Regardless of casualties, no matter the cauldron's searing heat.”

“Seize that formation-shatterer…”

The Haotian Emperor's grip tightened faintly, a frosty edge creeping into his tone:

“And deliver him… to me, alive.”

At the steps' base.

Twelve golden-armored Yuanchen true gods eyed the token, faces drained of color.

This order burned like a scalding iron.

Success brings lavish prizes.

Failure spells doom.

In the turbid Lower Realm, their power would drop by at least three-tenths, all while their immortal souls endured relentless erosion.

Whatever felled Bi Yue Wu and Tu Fu Xing remained a mystery, but their ends warned starkly.

Refusal, however, was impossible.

Defying heaven's will invited bone-scraping torment, flesh flaying, exile to the Nether Abyss.

“Your servant… accepts the command.”

The twelve quaking forms grasped the token, stood, and pivoted.

Their forms looked desolate, like convicts heading to slaughter.

…

One day up high equals a year below.

To the lofty immortals, mere moments elapsed; down below, three days unfolded.

Over those three days, Chen Huaian stayed rooted.

Cross-legged on a shattered cliff's brink, sword across his lap, he resembled an ancient stone sentinel.

The overhead sky had transformed.

Where the ruined array once bared clear skies, oppressive tribulation clouds now smothered everything in leaden gloom.

Those clouds hung oppressively near, almost graspable.

No thunder rumbled; instead, endless purple-black lightning snakes slithered mutely, weaving deep in the cloud mass,

crafting a colossal web poised to obliterate all existence.

The heavenly tribulation held back.

It lingered.

Awaiting the tribulation-caller to unsheathe his blade.

Meanwhile building a dread pressure to vanquish even a True Immortal.

Fiercer winds howled over the peaks, laced with the world's reborn vitality, lashing Chen Huaian's robes.

Abruptly.

The winds died.

The three-day brewing tribulation clouds stirred as if detecting peril, roiling wildly and splitting a thin sky-path.

Chen Huaian eased his eyes open.

“He’s come.”

Far at the horizon, the turbulent void ripped apart under unseen claws, tearing a fissure spanning tens of thousands of miles.

Boom—!!!

A grand immortal hymn boomed across the cosmos, striving to assert the Upper Realm's supremacy.

But upon invading the lower world, the chant warped into a raspy croak, like a rooster throttled mid-call.

Next.

Twelve radiant golden streaks plunged from the tear.

They were twelve deities in golden armor.

Riding divine chariots and spirit beasts amid swirling lucky clouds, they sought a splendid arrival.

Their splendor matched plummeting stars.

Unfortunately.

This was mortal turf, the reshaped Lower Realm—no longer the immortals' backyard.

The moment they breached the barrier and met the dense local turbid qi—

Ssssss—!

A grating sizzle of corrosion filled the heavens.

Their sacred, gleaming golden auras melted away like snow under boiling oil.

The lucky clouds beneath them dulled to ashen gray from the turbid qi.

Those twelve star-like golden trails shuddered in flight; graceful descent twisted into pathetic tumble.

It was the torment of worldly qi repelling them.

It was exalted gods mired in mortal sludge.

From his floating peak, Chen Huaian stood with hands behind back, gazing coldly as the twelve smoke-trailing forms hurtled groundward like flaming meteors.

A smirk tugged his lips.

The smile stayed cold, sharp as frost.

“The oil is hot now.”

Chen Huaian rose unhurriedly.

The Black Scales Sword in his grasp caught his killing aura, issuing a deep, eager growl.

Clang—!

“Please… step into the cauldron.”

…