He stood on the beach, the dying sun at his back.
The sunset was sinking into the sea, the boundless waters dark as an abyss, the waves churning crimson like twilight clouds.
"Crash—crash—"
The surf splashed onto the shore, one surge after another, red as blood, staining Luo Luo’s vision.
Then he turned around, gripping a battered sword, staggering unsteadily, swaggering as he walked toward her under the setting sun.
Luo Luo stumbled back a step, suddenly raising her right hand to cover her face. Between her fingers, her pupils trembled violently.
Tears spilled uncontrollably past her fingers, flooding the back of her hand, cold under the fading light.
She gasped for breath, her heart aching as if on the verge of death. Through blurred vision, she stared at his figure—greedy, desperate.
Closer. Closer still.
His robes were torn, his hair wild and unruly, his entire silhouette haloed in bloody light. When he reached her, he planted his sword before him, hands folded over the hilt, leaning down to stare at her.
A shadow, dark and heavy, reeking of blood.
Luo Luo couldn’t make out his face. She rubbed her eyes fiercely, only smearing the tears further.
"Hey. Hey, hey."
He called to her.
Luo Luo panicked, hastily wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
He tilted his head and grinned. "You didn’t think turning me into this sorry state would mean you could do whatever you wanted to me, did you?"
The storm raging in Luo Luo’s chest froze midair—clearly, these were not words a battle-worn, dying Li Zhaoye should be saying.
It was the Divine Sovereign.
She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbed them hard, then frowned and lifted her gaze to him.
He leaned in, his face inches from hers.
At this distance, the backlighting no longer obscured him. Luo Luo could see his features clearly.
"You—"
The storm in her heart surged again, crashing down with such force that her ears rang.
She knew the Divine Sovereign’s bone structure and features bore some resemblance to Li Zhaoye’s, but she never imagined that without those eerie crimson marks in his eyes, without the dark circles, without the hollowed cheeks, without the deathly pallor of a ghost… he could look this much like him.
Dazed, Luo Luo blurted the truth: "You look just like him!"
His lips twitched. He wiped his face as if disgusted, then glanced at his hand. "All this blood?"
Luo Luo: "..."
Her heart had become the sea—tides rising and falling, surging forward, crashing back.
She even forgot about Yu Fusheng entirely.
She leaned in, studying his face like a fool. "If you got some sun, some wind, if your skin were rougher, thicker, with a few scars..."
Then he’d be exactly like him.
His eye twitched. He raised a hand, pressed it against her forehead, and pushed her back.
"Back off," he drawled, shoving her a few steps away. "Don’t block my path."
Luo Luo: "Oh."
As he passed her, she stared at his back, eyes dark and unreadable.
Suddenly, he spun around, raising two fingers in a menacing gesture—Keep staring and I’ll gouge your eyes out.
Luo Luo: "..."
Before he turned seventeen, Li Zhaoye used to make the same childish threats behind their master’s back.
Her brows drooped. She obediently averted her gaze, watching him only from the corner of her eye.
Dripping blood, he wandered the beach in a slow, meandering circle before teleporting back.
"A romantic tryst under the open sky?" He eyed her, looking mildly scandalized.
Luo Luo: "..."
If she died now, it’d be from sheer injustice.
"No," she said through gritted teeth. "This is where Li Zhaoye died."
She had once sat alone behind that reef for ninety-nine days, scattering drops of her soul’s blood into the sea, searching for him.
He arched a brow. "Even in death, he was thinking about rolling in the sheets with you?"
Luo Luo bristled. "Not him! Me! I was the one who couldn’t forget him!"
He smirked. "Sounds like you were both equally obsessed."
Luo Luo saw red.
Li Zhaoye was her Achilles’ heel. She wouldn’t tolerate anyone speaking ill of him!
Before the Divine Sovereign could finish, she swung her sword, slashing at his face with all her might.
"Hum—"
The blade met empty air. A low chuckle sounded by her ear.
Her heart lurched. She twisted her wrist, raising her sword to block—but she was too late.
The tattered, wind-whispered blade struck her back with a dull thud.
She fought back, but another sound—the clatter of a discarded sword—reached her ears. He reversed his grip, cold laughter trailing as he drove the hilt straight into the pressure point on her arm.
"Clang."
Her sword, Autumn Water, slipped from her grasp. Before she could react, another blow crashed down like a tidal wave.
Darkness swallowed her vision. She face-planted into the sand, mouth full of grit!
Crunch.
The absurdity of chewing sand doused her fury in an instant. She sobered up fast.
He’s strong.
His movements were chaotic, instinctive—nothing like the disciplined forms of the Tai Xuan Sect.
And he hit hard.
Spitting sand, Luo Luo pushed herself up, feeling like a clam struggling to pry open its own shell.
"Shiiiing—"
The blade’s whistle cut the air as its tip stopped inches from her nose.
This pose… so familiar.
Every time Li Zhaoye knocked her flat, he’d point his sword at her just like this.
Her pulse spiked. Breath uneven, she looked up, stunned.
Backlit, his expression was unreadable—but his stance, his aura, everything about him screamed Li Zhaoye.
Their faces were alike. Their builds were similar. Even their speech and mannerisms—if she ignored the Divine Sovereign’s sinister, slithering presence—were nearly identical! (Firm nod.)
And now, he was pointing a sword at her nose!
Only Li Zhaoye ever did that.
Dizziness swamped her. In her daze, she wondered—would he next twirl his blade and offer her a hand up?
A lifetime of memories with him flashed through her mind in that split second.
Her heart hammered wildly, thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm.
Her fingers trembled. Her palms itched with phantom scent—the calloused grip of his sword hand, the heat and intensity of his presence, overwhelming enough to make her head spin.
Lost in thought, his voice snapped her back.
"Pathetic."
The words were lazy, almost amused. But in the next instant, she heard it—the whistle of something deadly.
Instinct screamed. Her pupils shrank. Breath stalled.
She rolled aside with every ounce of strength—but not fast enough.
Shink.
The blade pierced just below her left shoulder.
Pain came late. First, she registered the cold steel.
A broken sword pinned her to the sand.
Had she hesitated, it would’ve skewered her heart.
Horror prickled down her spine. I underestimated him.
"Shhk."
He yanked the blade free without hesitation.
The sound of metal scraping bone and flesh was ice in her veins.
Suppressing her fear, Luo Luo scrambled back, summoning Autumn Water with a flick of her fingers. Eyes narrowed, she studied him, wary.
He tilted his sword, wiping the blood from the blade with his fingers, and said leisurely, "If I were Chen Xuanyi, you'd already be dead."
The cleaned blade reflected a pair of icy eyes.
Luo Luo slowly turned her head and spat out a mouthful of bloodied sand.
She glared at him, her voice low and steady. "Not dead yet. Come at me!"
A flicker in her gaze, her pupils contracted—her hair and sleeves fluttered backward a split second before he struck.
There was no courtesy, no hesitation. He didn’t bother letting her make the first move.
Luo Luo had no doubt he truly intended to kill her.
Though it was unfair for someone of his cultivation to go all out against her, life and death had never played by the rules.
She raised her sword to block.
Blades clashed, their eyes locked—cold reflections mirrored in steel and gaze.
The corner of his lips curled as he suddenly asked, "Does the wound not hurt?"
A light, mocking tone, a question dripping with malice.
Luo Luo’s eyes sharpened. She twisted her sword downward—
Clang!
Thankfully, she’d predicted it. She barely intercepted the ruthless strike—he’d aimed straight for the injury below her left shoulder.
A curse burned in her mind.
No time to even scold him for this shameless Li Zhaoye-level trick before her back and waist took several brutal hits—not fatal, just the flat of his blade battering her.
A shred of mercy, but barely.
Thwack!
Another heavy blow sent her reeling. Darkness clouded her vision, but she caught herself on one knee, sword planted, then spun and launched upward, flinging a wave of sand at him.
Finally, a moment to breathe.
She noticed his movements weren’t as fluid as they should be—his injuries were holding him back.
But like Li Zhaoye, this man was ruthless to others and even crueler to himself. Even with gaping wounds, he could feign indifference, masking weakness flawlessly.
Only because she’d spent so long with Li Zhaoye could she see through the act.
This man was just like him.
If she guessed right, there had to be a severe wound beneath his right ribs, hindering his movements.
Mentally calculating her next move, she kept her gaze carefully away from his weak spot, barely parrying his heavy strikes as she staggered back, sand spraying underfoot.
"Stop! I can’t—I really can’t!" Her breathing grew ragged. "Let me rest—you’re not actually trying to kill me, are you?"
Her plea earned no mercy.
When she nearly tripped, distracted, he locked blades, twisted hers aside, and slashed toward her throat—
Cold steel kissed her neck.
This time, he meant to slit it.
The broken sword’s gleam couldn’t pierce the darkness in his eyes, the hunter’s killing intent freezing her spine.
This should’ve been the end.
But Luo Luo was ready.
He’d stepped right into her trap.
With every retreat, she’d kicked up sand, weaving a crude formation beneath them.
Just one moment of delay—
His blade swept out, his gaze already distant. He didn’t need to watch her throat being cut.
But in that lightning-fast instant—his right side lurched, sinking!
He’d stepped into her trap.
Hiss.
Before his eyes could flicker, Luo Luo moved.
Her sharp, dark-and-white gaze blazed like twin blades, locking onto his wounded ribs.
Her sword, Qiushui, followed her will—a streak of light, a lethal arc!
Screech—
She’d even predicted his counter. He’d teleport while blocking, but his injury would slow him—just enough.
Qiushui shot toward his undefended flank!
Her focus was absolute. Before the strike, she’d exhausted every calculation; now, the sword’s path belonged to fate.
She didn’t need to see. This strike would land—
Clang—screech!
Her thoughts shattered.
For a heartbeat, she saw nothing. When her vision cleared, Qiushui was spinning away, his calm eyes meeting hers as his broken blade plunged through her left chest.
The steel pierced clean through, his grip on the hilt bringing him close—so close it almost felt intimate.
Close enough to kiss her heart, impaled on the tip.
"What… move… was that?" she gasped. "Never… seen it…"
Neither defense nor offense—it defied the Tai Xuan Sect’s swordsmanship.
Darkness flooded her vision. Her ears drowned in blood, deaf to any reply.
(Luo Luo, deceased.)
Hall of Heart’s Trial.
Master Qingxu’s blatant favoritism toward Gu Meng made Master Lingxue’s frown deepen.
"Qingxu, you know what I teach is the right path. Cultivation is tedious—there’s no shortcut to mastery."
One glance told her Gu Meng’s progress was unstable.
Pumped up by spirit stones and pills, her foundation was hollow—a pillow stuffed with air. Without tempering, how would her meridians endure a breakthrough?
At best, stagnation. At worst, qi deviation, leaving her a cripple.
Despite her disappointment, Master Lingxue repeated the lesson.
Gu Meng, however, just shrank behind Master Qingxu, ignoring her.
Master Lingxue’s sleeve lashed out in frustration. "Qingxu, even at your most indulgent, you never joked about cultivation! Have you regressed into some doting mortal grandparent, caring only for momentary affection, not the child’s future?"
"You damned—"
"Hmph." Master Lingxue’s voice turned icy. "Or do you think your time is short, so the future no longer concerns you?"
Master Qingxu erupted, grabbing the nearest object to hurl.
Chen Xuanyi barely caught his sleeve in time.
"Let go!" Master Qingxu hopped madly. "Today, only one of us walks out alive! Release me! I swear, you meddlesome nun, even the heavens won’t stop me—"
Rip!
A crisp tear.
Chen Xuanyi stared blankly at the torn sleeve in his hand. Master Qingxu had leaped too hard, shredding his own robe.
Silence.
Master Lingxue: "..."
She’d seen enough farces. With a flick of her sleeve, she left, kicking the remaining half of the hall’s door off its hinges on her way out.
"Hey—you damned nun!"
Master Lingxue never looked back.
Chen Xuanyi smiled gently at Gu Meng. "Come. I’ll transfer more cultivation to you."
The two entered the inner hall, where Chen Xuanyi channeled the Taiyi True Breath, funneling the tainted spiritual energy—polluted by the underworld’s baleful aura and nearly impossible to purify—into Gu Meng’s body.
Gu Meng’s face flushed crimson, and she soon fell unconscious.
After dismissing all unnecessary attendants, Chen Xuanyi lifted his gaze to Master Qingxu. "Hold back a little. Don’t overact. If we really fight, be careful not to get caught..." He deliberately paused, then added with a mocking smile, "Someone here actually got pecked in the eye by a chicken once!"
Master Qingxu pressed his thin lips together indignantly, crossed his arms, and turned away with a huff.
Earlier, he had expended considerable spiritual power to rebuild Li Zhaoye’s sword meridians. Then, after stirring up chaos in the underworld and recently safeguarding Chen Xuanyi’s absorption of the Taiyi True Breath, his energy was thoroughly depleted, leaving him somewhat unsteady.
Chen Xuanyi, sharp-eyed as ever, immediately noticed the hidden injury.
"What, did you really go easy on him? Ah, I get it—father-son bonds, natural affection. No need to feel embarrassed."
Master Qingxu slowly turned his head back.
He wasn’t angry.
Instead, he mused, "That boy... truly a genius. Even with his meridians and bones shattered, he somehow found the strength to fight again and again, refusing to die. All for his junior sister—I know."
Chen Xuanyi shook his head with a laugh. "Utterly meaningless."
"Not entirely," Master Qingxu said, his expression wistful. "In the end, he comprehended a sword technique of his own. That one strike... was the finest I’ve ever seen. Nothing could surpass it. You missed your chance to witness it."
"Fine?"
Chen Xuanyi had never heard anyone describe a sword move as merely "fine."
Master Qingxu shook his head. "The Great Dao is formless, the grandest music is soundless, and the greatest techniques... are simply good. Perfectly good."
Chen Xuanyi scoffed, unimpressed.
Luo Luo gasped awake.
Before she could process that she’d just been killed, a terrifying heat surged into her bones, stirring a boundless spring tide that flooded her limbs.
Her breath came fast, the air thick with sweetness.
The figure swaying before her blurred into the face of Li Zhaoye—the last face she’d seen before death.
He pressed a cold hand against her forehead, keeping his distance.
"Don’t think of me," he said. "Focus on your dantian."
Luo Luo: "..."
So he’d killed her just to make her absorb spiritual energy.
Obediently, she redirected the flames of desire toward her dantian.
"Boom!"
Her mind nearly exploded.
Already trembling with unbearable pleasure, she forced it downward.
The sensation was utterly intoxicating.
Thankfully, he sat before her, icy and sinister, his face the picture of ascetic restraint.
Luo Luo, too proud to humiliate herself, clenched her jaw even tighter than his.
After what felt like an eternity, a surge of scorching spiritual mist finally condensed into a gentle rain, sprinkling over her tormented dantian.
She exhaled sharply, then opened her eyes to thank him.
He arched a brow, amused. "You’re really this calm? I killed you, and you’re not angry?"
Luo Luo deadpanned, "Why be angry? If you’re weak, train harder."
"Tch." His eyes crinkled with laughter. "So stubborn. Never took you for a kindred spirit."
Luo Luo looked away.
As if I’d ever be kindred with you.
