CHAPTER 635: STRIPPED OF HIS RANK

Han Xin stood at the center, surrounded by the Council, his posture rigid, his gaze distant. His crown was the first to go.

Han Jun stepped forward, his expression carved from stone. With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached up and removed the gold crown from Han Xin’s hair. As it lifted, Han Xin’s snow-white hair spilled down his shoulders like a waterfall—untamed, unbound, no longer held by the weight of divine authority.

Next came the robes. Layer by layer, his immortal vestments were stripped away each one embroidered with celestial law, each one a symbol of his rank. Beneath them, he wore only a simple tunic, the kind worn by mortals who had never tasted the stars.

His sword, a blade forged from moonlight and oath was taken last. It was lifted from his side and placed into a sealed chamber, its glow dimming as if mourning its master.

Then came the final act. Han Jun raised his hand and pressed two fingers to Han Xin’s forehead. A radiant light burst forth, blinding, pure, and absolute. It surged through Han Xin’s body, severing his connection to the divine realm. His aura collapsed inward, his power drained like water from a broken vessel.

Han Xin staggered, breathless.

"You are no longer of the heavens," Han Jun said, voice echoing like judgment itself. "You will walk the mortal world for one year. Learn what it means to be powerless... Learn what it means to be seen."

Han Xin didn’t speak. He didn’t resist. He simply closed his eyes.

From the edge of the hall, a soft gasp broke the silence.

His mother, stood veiled in moonlight, her hands trembling. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she did not cry. To weep in the Hall was forbidden. Instead, she pressed a hand to her chest, as if holding her son’s name there, refusing to let it fall.

The light around Han Xin intensified. And then...he vanished. A burst of divine energy scattered like petals in the wind, and the space where he stood was empty. His turned away, her tears finally falling in silence.

***

Deep within the obsidian spires of the Demon Realm’s inner sanctum, past halls carved from volcanic glass and veined with crimson firelight, lay Xiang Yu’s bedroom. The room was vast, yet intimate. Its walls were draped in black silk, embroidered with infernal sigils that shimmered faintly in the low red glow of floating ember-lanterns. The ceiling arched like the ribs of a sleeping beast, carved from dark stone and etched with ancient battle hymns. The air was warm, heavy with the scent of iron and plumeria.

At the center stood a low, wide bed, carved from bloodwood and inlaid with obsidian. Its frame was adorned with claw-like motifs, and the mattress was layered in crimson silk sheets that gleamed like spilled wine. Pillows of black velvet were scattered carelessly all over the bed demonstrating how restless Xiang Yu’s sleep was.

A black chaise rested near the far wall, its curves serpentine, its surface worn smooth by years of silent contemplation. A rack of weapons including blades, spears, and a single cursed halberd, stood nearby, each humming with restrained malice. The floor was covered in a thick rug of deep red, patterned like a battlefield seen from above.

The lanterns cast a soft, flickering glow across Xiang Yu’s face, half-illuminating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the curve of his brow. He stirred, eyes fluttering open with lazy reluctance. A yawn escaped him as he shuffled beneath the sheets, muscles stretching with feline ease. He was just about to drift back into sleep when a jolt of memory struck him like cold water.

His eyes snapped open. He sat up abruptly, his breath caught in his chest. He was dressed in black innerwear, the fabric clinging to his form like shadow itself. His hands flew to his chest, searching for any signs of injury.

With a sharp tug, he tore the shirt open, letting it hang loose around his waist. His chest was bare, sculpted and intact. Only the faint shimmer of demonic runes etched into his skin remained, glowing softly like embers beneath the surface.

The last memory he recalled was the pain, blood and his energy being sucked dry. But there was nothing.

He was about to get up and check the mirror having remembered the blade had struck his back not chest, when he paused.

The air. The scent. The silence. He knew this place. His eyes widened seeing that he was in his room, in his palace, in the demon realm. He would never mistake it.

Xiang Yu swore under his breath and threw the door open. He stepped into the other room, heart pounding.

Lian and Mei sat cross-legged at the low lacquered table, their fingers moving swiftly across the game board, eyes narrowed in concentration. The soft clack of tiles echoed through the quiet chamber. The door opened suddenly drawing their attention. They looked up simultaneously.

"Master!" they screamed, voices overlapping in pure joy.

In an instant, they were on their feet, rushing across the room. Tears streamed down their faces as they collided into Xiang Yu, sobbing, "You had us so worried!"

Xiang Yu’s arms wrapped around them instinctively, his heart swelling with warmth. The weight of their small bodies against his chest, the tremble in their shoulders, it grounded him. They tackled him to the floor, clinging tightly, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief. His girls were safe.

He stroked their hair gently, whispering, "It’s okay... it’s all over now." But his words only made them cry harder.

When they had woken up back home, their limbs intact, they were so happy. But their joy had quickly turned to dread when their master wouldn’t wake up. They had waited, helpless and impatient. The physician they had kidnapped had been utterly useless. He had muttered that Xiang Yu was fine and would wake in a few days.

Now that he was awake, their relief overflowed. All the fear, all the grief they had buried, came pouring out in sobs and laughter. And Xiang Yu held them, letting it all wash over him.

Xiang Yu leaned down and kissed the tops of Lian and Mei’s heads, his lips lingering with quiet affection. Their sobs softened under his touch, and when the tears finally slowed, he gently helped them to their feet.