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Chapter Forty-Two: The Golden Edict of Erasure

  “When a truth cannot be silenced, it must be erased.”

  — High Celestial Decree 7:91, spoken during the Purge of the Void Scholars

  In the marbled halls of the Heaven Encompassing Court, where the laws of cultivation are etched into the very walls of reality, the gods convened.

  Each sat upon a Throne-Star, vast and luminous, their words forming sigils of divine order.

  One by one, they spoke.

  


      
  • “His path defies the Divine Chain.”

      


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  • “He teaches rebellion without teaching.”

      


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  • “Even the Golden Immortals begin to waver.”

      


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  The oldest among them — Vael’Ruth, the Golden Mind — raised her hand.

  “We will issue the Golden Edict of Erasure.”

  Gasps followed, even among gods.

  Such an edict had not been invoked since the Dawn Betrayer tried to create a second Heaven.

  “Let the world forget his name. Let the skies deny his Qi. Let even fate cast him into silence.”

  The moment the decree passed, golden light thundered across the realms.

  The Divine Chain pulsed violently — not in power, but in pain.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  For Li Fan was no longer on the path.

  He had become a scar upon it.

  And the Chain could not erase him — only reject him.

  In that rejection, a ripple tore through the heavens, and the sky itself bled.

  Unable to bind him, the heavens turned to destruction.

  Seven Celestial Assassins were sent — beings molded from raw will, draped in the divine aura of righteous extermination.

  They arrived at the Pathless Sect like falling stars, their blades made of law, their footsteps rewriting physics.

  Li Fan waited beneath a blooming peach tree.

  He did not rise.

  But Yueh Lin stepped forward again.

  And Bo Yao.

  And Little Hui.

  One by one, the disciples of the Pathless stood in a circle — not to fight, but to remember who they were before cultivation told them who they should be.

  “We were never meant to climb someone else’s mountain,” said Hui softly.

  “So we’ll walk our own,” said Bo.

  As the assassins descended, something changed.

  Their divine blades cracked.

  Their law-bound bodies flickered.

  Because in the presence of absolute freedom, law had no shape.

  The assassins fell — not in combat, but in collapse, undone by the paradox of Li Fan’s existence.

  Far above, the Golden Edict fractured.

  A single name refused to vanish.

  Li Fan. The Crownless.

  Not a title.

  Not a throne.

  Just a name too strong to erase.

  The gods whispered a second question now:

  “If he cannot be removed… what happens when he climbs?”

  And for the first time, True Gods trembled.

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