Mo Zhu stood up, with Yu Zhiling right in front of him.
The fierce wind around her lifted her dark hair, strands brushing against his face, carrying her unique fragrance.
He finally recognized it—that floral scent.
A very light, very subtle orange blossom fragrance.
"Mo Zhu, step back. Your master will kill it."
—Child, stand behind me. I’ll kill it.
Her words overlapped with those spoken by someone many years ago. Time had passed, and he was no longer the same person he once was. But was she?
Was she still the same?
The Three-Eyed Serpent hissed, its crimson vertical pupils fixed on the two of them, a mocking glint in its gaze. "So what if you know my weak spot? Do you really think you can kill me?"
Yu Zhiling’s expression remained cold. "Just a serpent. Why wouldn’t I be able to?"
The serpent sneered and lunged at her, its scales hardening over the spiritual meridian at its seventh inch—its fatal point—forming an impenetrable shield.
Yu Zhiling met it head-on, her figure a blur as she forced the serpent away from Mo Zhu.
The shockwaves from their battle could flatten the depths of Lianhua Ruins, yet Mo Zhu stood unmoving, his heart eerily calm.
He watched as Yu Zhiling’s small figure darted behind the massive serpent. She was clever, always seeking an opening to strike its weak spot.
But the serpent was cunning too, concentrating all its cultivation into that single point, making the scales there the hardest on its body.
With Mo Zhu’s light dispelling her fear, Yu Zhiling’s killing intent surged, her attacks growing fiercer.
She shot forward like an arrow, her sword, Zhuqing, blazing with light as she slashed toward the serpent’s meridian—only for the strike to explode against the hardened scales, failing to penetrate.
Frowning, she twisted away from its counterattack, flipping onto its head and driving her sword into its right eye.
Flesh burst apart as the serpent roared in agony, thrashing wildly to throw her off.
Yu Zhiling steadied herself, Zhuqing still embedded in its eye. Gripping the hilt with both hands, she shouted, "Flame Seal, descend!"
Fire erupted from the blade, surging into the serpent’s wounded eye.
As it writhed in pain, trying to extinguish the flames, Yu Zhiling yanked her sword free and stabbed its third eye—the one on its forehead.
Now blinded, the serpent was at her mercy.
"You dare! You dare!" it shrieked.
Yu Zhiling remained indifferent, her hands weaving another seal.
"Chains of Restraint, descend!"
Spiritual energy solidified into thick iron chains, coiling around the thrashing serpent and flipping it onto its back, exposing the vulnerable meridian on its belly.
The serpent had poured all its cultivation into protecting that spot, leaving it powerless against the chains of a peak Great Perfection cultivator.
Yu Zhiling soared into the air, the mark between her brows flickering with a faint glow. She raised her sword, the snake bracelet on her wrist shimmering under the golden light Mo Zhu had left behind.
Mo Zhu looked up at her. Stripped of her usual playfulness, her delicate features were solemn, like an untouchable immortal above the clouds.
She glanced at him and smiled. "You once asked about this move. Now, your master will show you just how powerful it is."
"This technique is called—"
Spiritual energy surged into Zhuqing, her expression turning icy.
"Star-Shattering Strike!"
With her command, energy spiraled along the blade, the sword humming as its light intensified. A devastating slash tore through the air, leaving sparks in its wake, the aftershocks leveling everything for miles.
Mo Zhu stood firm against the gale, his gaze fixed solely on her.
The dust couldn’t obscure her face as the sword’s light exploded against the serpent’s meridian, scattering embers like falling stars or silver hooks plunging to earth.
Where the blade passed, stars were born.
Eleven years ago, when they first met, she had used this very move.
A month ago, when he tested her, he had asked about it.
Now, a peak Great Perfection cultivator unleashed its full might—shattering the serpent’s last defense. With a final, terrified scream, Zhuqing plunged into its meridian.
Flesh and blood erupted, yet not a single drop touched her, repelled by an invisible barrier. She recalled her sword, her clear eyes meeting Mo Zhu’s below.
The young man stared up at her in silence. Both were battered, neither unscathed. Yu Zhiling couldn’t help but laugh.
Pale and exhausted—having spent half her cultivation on that strike—she still managed to raise her sword triumphantly. "Well, little disciple, is your master terrifyingly strong?"
When she laughed, she seemed like a different person, none of the dignified Immortal Lord Zhuoyu left in her.
Mo Zhu’s lips curved slightly, his voice softening without him realizing.
"Yes. Terrifyingly strong."
Yu Zhiling’s brows shot up.
Wait, did Mo Zhu just… praise her?
Her arrogance returned instantly, her earlier fear of the dark forgotten. The image of a mighty master was restored in Mo Zhu’s eyes, and she grinned.
"Come on, let’s go back. Your master is starving—"
Before she could finish, Mo Zhu’s expression darkened.
A shadow flickered—in the next instant, he was before her, yanking her wrist and pulling her back hundreds of feet.
The serpent’s remains, scattered across the ground, had begun to glow faintly. The light grew brighter, the flesh melting away until it vanished into the earth.
Yu Zhiling gaped. "Is this… a crematorium?"
Mo Zhu didn’t understand her words, but his grip on her wrist tightened, his face expressionless—only the coldness in his eyes betraying his unease.
Feeling his tension, Yu Zhiling frowned. "Mo Zhu?"
He didn’t let go. In fact, he didn’t even realize he was still holding her.
Through gritted teeth, he said, "Master. This is the Eightfold Slaughter Array."
"…What?"
Yu Zhiling turned in disbelief.
Golden patterns emerged on the ground, intricate and ancient, spreading rapidly until the entire Lianhua Ruins was covered, the once-thick darkness dispelled.
She knew of this array—a forbidden technique that absorbed the life force of all living beings within its bounds. Once the eight nodes were linked, the central eye would form, tearing the earth apart and devouring everything.
Yu Zhiling murmured, "These eight nodes…"
Mo Zhu’s voice was icy. "They cover the entire Southern Capital."
Yu Zhiling gazed into the distance, where a storm seemed to be gathering—a raging column of wind pierced the heavens, as if determined to tear everything apart.
That was the eye of the Eight Blades Killing Array.
The Three-Eyed Python had merely been a decoy to draw their attention—or more accurately, a ploy to exhaust Yu Zhiling.
The true killing move was this array. After all, in all of Southern Capital, Yu Zhiling was the only one capable of shattering the Eight Blades Killing Array.
Mo Zhu had been staring fixedly at the distant array eye, his expression growing darker, his grip tightening until Yu Zhiling couldn’t help but gasp, “Mo Zhu…”
Only then did he snap out of it, releasing her wrist. When their eyes met, she caught a flicker of unease and even fear in his gaze.
Yu Zhiling rubbed her wrist, frowning at him. “What’s wrong? Do you recognize this Eight Blades Killing Array?”
A forbidden and sinister array, abolished centuries ago in the Central Plains for its indiscriminate slaughter—even Immortal Lord Zhuoyu, who had lived two hundred years, had never seen it. How could Mo Zhu, a mere seventeen-year-old, recognize it?
Mo Zhu turned his face away, his voice low. “No. I just happened to know of it.”
Yu Zhiling didn’t believe him, but before she could press further, a large group of people teleported into view. At the forefront was Zhongli Yang, clad in a violet robe embroidered with gold.
He had arrived faster than she expected.
The moment Zhongli Yang landed, his eyes locked onto Yu Zhiling. “Zhuoyu, are you unharmed?”
Yu Zhiling: “…I’m fine.”
Noticing the dust on her robes, Zhongli Yang’s simple mind seemed to jump to the wrong conclusion again. His expression darkened. “Suppressing the Three-Eyed Python is the Zhongli Clan’s duty. You didn’t have to risk your life for it. And even if you did, the Zhongli Clan wouldn’t reconcile with the Yingshan Sect over this.”
Yu Zhiling wanted to slap him. “Are you insane? I didn’t slay the python for your clan’s sake! If Southern Capital weren’t full of innocent people—if my disciple weren’t here—do you think I’d bother with you?”
Silence fell over the crowd.
Then, after a few breaths, murmurs erupted.
“Slain?”
“The Three-Eyed Python… is dead?”
“That’s a Great Ascension-tier demonic beast! No weak points, scales impervious even to Transcendent cultivators—no one could pierce its hide before!”
Zhongli Yang blinked. “…What?”
Zhongli Xun was even more stunned. “What? Dead?!”
Zhongli Yang glanced at the pool of blood in the distance and opened his mouth to ask more, but Yu Zhiling cut him off. “Shut up for a second! Can’t you see something’s wrong?” She pointed at the golden patterns swirling on the ground and the towering column of energy in the distance. “Do you know what array this is?”
Zhongli Yang’s expression shifted instantly.
Behind him, a crowd of Zhongli Clan disciples buzzed with speculation:
“Is that… the Flowing Ring Array?”
“It looks similar, but more like the Spirit Script Array?”
“I don’t think so. This array doesn’t seem lethal—more like a musical formation.”
Yu Zhiling heard every word.
Many of these disciples were older than Mo Zhu, and some were even Zhongli Clan elders—seasoned experts who had seen much of the world. Yet none of them recognized the array. So how could Mo Zhu, a seventeen-year-old, know it? And why had he looked so disturbed earlier?
Almost as if… he hated it.
Zhongli Yang frowned. “I don’t recognize it. Do you know what it is?”
Yu Zhiling answered without hesitation. “The Eight Blades Killing Array.”
Their eyes met. Zhongli Yang fell silent.
So did the disciples behind him. The air grew so still they could hear each other breathing.
Thinking he hadn’t heard her, Yu Zhiling repeated, “…The Eight Blades Killing Array?”
That was the name, right? Mo Zhu wouldn’t have spoken if he wasn’t sure. So why was Zhongli Yang reacting like this?
The next moment, Zhongli Yang turned on his heel and barked, “Zhongli Clan disciples—evacuate the city’s civilians! Ensure everyone is out within half an hour!”
“…Yes!”
The disciples scattered, vanishing as quickly as they had come. In moments, only a handful remained.
Zhongli Xun grabbed his elder brother’s sleeve, bewildered. “Brother, why evacuate? If we all leave, what happens to Southern Capital? It’s just a killing array—we can break it!”
“How?!” Zhongli Yang’s voice rose, his eyes darkening to crimson.
Zhongli Xun faltered. “…Why can’t we?”
Zhongli Yang took a long, steadying breath. “A-Xun, do you know how Immortal Fuchun died?”
At the mention of Immortal Fuchun, Zhongli Xun instinctively glanced at Yu Zhiling, expecting her to know—but her face was just as blank.
Zhongli Yang’s gaze, usually sharp and critical when directed at her, was now heavy with something unreadable.
Yu Zhiling swallowed hard, her lips parting soundlessly before she managed, “…What? What are you saying?”
Zhongli Yang spoke slowly, each word deliberate. “Seventy years ago, the Eight Blades Killing Array was discovered at Sanwei Mountain. The array eye fed on the life force of the entire city. When it neared completion and the earth itself began to collapse, Immortal Fuchun used her second Frostblade Strike to shatter the array eye.”
“After the array broke, Immortal Fuchun, gravely wounded, prepared to leave—but then the demonic cultivator who had cast the array appeared. For three days, she fought him across Sanwei Mountain to protect the civilians. In the end, with no other choice… she burned the last of her spirit and unleashed her third Frostblade Strike, crippling the demonic cultivator before her sword shattered… and she fell.”
“Immortal Fuchun used the Frostblade Strike three times in her life. The first was during the Central Plains’ great turmoil, when she slew a demonic general to save Southern Capital. The second was seventy years ago at Sanwei Mountain, against the Eight Blades Killing Array. The third was against that demonic cultivator—the strike that ended her life.”
What Yan Shanqing and Xiang Wuxue had glossed over, Zhongli Yang laid bare.
The Frostblade Strike—wind howled, snow swirled, frost honed the blade.
The first strike: magnificent.
The second: desperate.
The third…
Sword broken. Life extinguished. Spirit scattered.
“It’s one of the Yingshan Sect’s secret arts, created by its founding elder. A technique of the Bright Heart Path—it burns heart and soul. A cultivator may use it at most three times in their life. In the Yingshan Sect’s millennia-long history, only three sect masters have ever employed it… and all three stopped at three strikes.”
Like Yu Zhiling, Immortal Fuchun had cultivated the Bright Heart Path.
A mind unclouded could ignite the spirit’s power to unleash a strike surpassing one’s realm—a Great Ascension cultivator could wield the might of a Transcendent, and a Transcendent could touch the threshold of sainthood.
Yu Zhiling stood frozen, her face drained of color.
Mo Zhu’s expression was complicated. “Shizun…”
She didn’t respond, her throat working as if struggling to speak.
Zhongli Xun, the youngest present, still didn’t understand. “But… what does this have to do with abandoning Southern Capital…?”
Zhongli Yang angrily slapped him: "Immortal Fuchun is a cultivator at the Tribulation Transcendence realm. The Frostwind Slash is not used lightly. If the Eight Blades Killing Array were easy to break, why would she resort to the Frostwind Slash?"
"Ah Xun, look at the array's core. Do you think we can even get close to it?" Zhongli Yang's voice was nearly choked with emotion. "We can't enter. To shatter the array, we must reach its core, but the area around it is filled with gales sharp enough to slice apart even Tribulation Transcendence cultivators. The array feeds on the life force of the people—the more lives it absorbs, the stronger it becomes."
And Nan Du had over a million people.
More than the population of Sanwei Mountain back then.
So the only thing they could do was evacuate as many civilians as possible before the array fully formed, minimizing casualties.
Zhongli Xun's eyes reddened instantly as he stared blankly at the swirling clouds growing ever more powerful in the distance.
Even from this far, he could feel the killing intent and overwhelming strength radiating from the array's core.
"Then... what about Nan Du? Our home... their homes... are we just abandoning them?"
Zhongli Yang replied, "...We have to."
He turned to leave.
But Zhongli Xun grabbed his sleeve. "Elder Brother!"
The young man then looked at Yu Zhiling. "Immortal Lord Zhuoyu... isn’t she also a practitioner of the Bright Heart Dao? Can she use the Frostwind Slash?"
Mo Zhu's expression darkened instantly. "What did you just say?"
Zhongli Xun choked back a sob. "Nan Du has over two million people. Many elders can’t move quickly, and those living deep in the mountains—we can’t even evacuate thirty percent in half an hour. At least seventy percent will die. I... I..."
He dropped to his knees with a thud. "Immortal Lord Zhuoyu, I know I shouldn’t ask this. The Frostwind Slash burns the heart and soul, but you are the strongest cultivator in Zhongzhou. The other two Immortal Lords won’t arrive for another two days even if they rush here. By then, Nan Du will already be gone!"
"My Lord, only three people in the Yingshan Sect have ever used the Frostwind Slash. You’ve never used it, so there are still three chances left. Zhongli Xun begs you... please save Nan Du!"
There was selfishness in his plea, yet when directed at Immortal Lord Zhuoyu, it didn’t seem entirely wrong.
It was as if Immortal Lord Zhuoyu could accomplish anything. She was Zhongzhou’s most formidable cultivator, one who had reached the peak of the Great Ascension realm in mere decades. Since inheriting her title, she had suppressed the Four Slaughter Realms a hundred times, always vanquishing evil.
It seemed she had always fought for Zhongzhou.
Zhongli Xun remained kneeling, while Zhongli Yang stood beside him. Both of their gazes were fixed on Yu Zhiling.
But unlike Zhongli Xun’s desperate hope, Zhongli Yang showed no trace of excitement.
Yu Zhiling didn’t respond, her thoughts in turmoil. Mo Zhu called out to her, but she didn’t know what to say.
Her eyes met Zhongli Yang’s, and she saw him exhale deeply.
"Ah Xun, get up. It’s pointless."
Zhongli Xun nearly broke down. "Why is it pointless? Nan Du has over two million people! Elder Brother, we have to try! Half an hour isn’t enough to evacuate even a fraction!"
Zhongli Yang’s voice was calm. "It’s useless. Slaying the Three-Eyed Python already drained half of Immortal Lord Zhuoyu’s cultivation. Right now, she can’t wield the Frostwind Slash, nor can she shatter the array’s core. She’d only throw her life away for nothing."
"The one who set this array and awakened the Three-Eyed Python is likely the same demonic cultivator who indirectly caused Immortal Fuchun’s death. We can’t find him."
From the moment the Three-Eyed Python appeared, they had already fallen into the trap laid by the mastermind behind it all.
Zhongli Yang left to fulfill his final duty as the clan leader.
Zhongli Xun slumped, closing his eyes. "...My Lord, I apologize. That was selfish of me. I’ll go assist in evacuating the people now."
In an instant, only Yu Zhiling and Mo Zhu remained in Lianhua Ruins.
Mo Zhu called softly, "Master."
Yu Zhiling’s voice was stiff. "...Hm? I... I’m here."
Seeing her pallid face, Mo Zhu said, "Let’s go. Nan Du’s fate is sealed. There’s nothing you can do now."
Neither could he.
They had already lost.
But Yu Zhiling didn’t react, her gaze hollow.
Mo Zhu took her wrist through her sleeve and led her step by step out of Lianhua Ruins.
Yu Zhiling followed numbly as they walked across the shifting runes beneath their feet, faintly sensing their life force being drained. The path had been dark when they entered, but now it blazed with golden light—so bright it should have been comforting, yet it only made her feel colder.
She moved without thought, barely aware of Mo Zhu guiding her. Even if he abandoned her here now, she might not notice.
Her mind was filled with Zhongli Yang’s words.
Immortal Fuchun had died after unleashing the Frostwind Slash for the third time.
Immortal Fuchun.
Her master.
Her vision blurred. She couldn’t see clearly, but a faint silhouette gradually took shape. She strained to focus, and the figure slowly sharpened.
A woman lay on the ground, clad in frost-white robes now drenched in blood, her dark hair disheveled, the jade hairpin broken. Her hands trembled, slick with blood, as she reached toward a weeping girl beside her.
"Xiao Wu... after I’m gone, Zhongzhou will be defenseless. Can you... can you... guard it for me?"
Yan Shanqing had also said that Yu Xiaowu only inherited the title of Immortal Lord Zhuoyu to fulfill her master’s will.
Yu Zhiling murmured, "Master... Master..."
Mo Zhu led her out of Lianhua Ruins. Hearing her whisper, he turned—and his expression shifted instantly.
She was crying.
Even when she had been most terrified of the dark earlier, she hadn’t shed a tear.
But now, her face was streaked with tears, her eyes unfocused, as if she were seeing something—or nothing at all.
Her lips moved silently. Mo Zhu leaned closer and realized she was whispering:
"Master."
Immortal Fuchun.
Mo Zhu’s expression hardened. He gripped her shoulders. "Master, you’re trapped in a nightmare! If you don’t wake up now, your soul will scatter!"
But she wouldn’t rouse. His heart sank, lips pressing into a thin line as he channeled spiritual energy into her consciousness.
"Master, wake up!"
His voice shattered the vision. The image of Immortal Fuchun and the distraught Yu Xiaowu fragmented into countless shards.
Then, like a puzzle reassembling, the pieces formed a different face—sharp and composed.
She blinked, and a single tear fell.
Mo Zhu bent slightly to meet her gaze. Though his expression was cold, his voice softened unconsciously.
"Master, you were trapped in a nightmare."
He could guess what she had seen. Immortal Fuchun’s death was Yu Xiaowu’s lifelong heart demon. As long as she remembered, she would never escape its shadow.
Yu Zhiling whispered, lost, "I think... I’ve forgotten so much..."
Mo Zhu steadied her, his voice low. "Master, it’s better to forget some things."
Those who remembered would suffer endlessly, tormented every day they lived.
Finally, Yu Zhiling understood why Yan Shanqing and Xiang Wuxue had accepted her memory loss so calmly after confirming her soul was unharmed.
Because some things were better left forgotten.
The former Immortal Lord Zhuoyu had trapped herself in that inner demon for decades, but the person she mourned was long gone. For Yan Shanqing, Xiang Wuxue, and her two senior sisters wandering abroad, the living Yu Xiaowu was far more important.
Their only wish was for Yu Xiaowu to live happily.
Not just survive—but live happily.
"Mo Zhu…" Yu Zhiling called softly, "Do you think I should go?"
Mo Zhu knew what she was asking. His lips pressed into a thin line as he remained silent for a long moment before finally shaking his head. "No. You shouldn’t."
"...Why?"
"Knowing you’ll likely die, yet still rushing to your death for people who mean nothing to you—it’s like a mantis trying to stop a chariot, or a mayfly shaking a tree. A meaningless act. Why do it?"
"But if I don’t go, many will die."
"And if you go, many might still die," Mo Zhu retorted coldly. "Including you."
Yu Zhiling countered, "But I am Immortal Lord Zhuoyu."
Her words seemed to strike a nerve. Mo Zhu’s voice rose sharply. "Nothing you do matters! Why must you all sacrifice yourselves for others? You’d die without hesitation, but what about those left behind? What about family? Friends? Those who care about you?"
"...Mo Zhu?"
Meeting her bewildered gaze, his breath trembled, his plea almost desperate. "Shizun, can’t you… can’t you stop being so selfish?"
He might have been asking her—or himself.
The sky, clear just moments ago, darkened abruptly. Thunderclouds swallowed the sun, and a sudden downpour erupted.
Only half a day had passed since the last storm, yet another deluge arrived, heralding a tragedy that would unfold within the hour.
Drenched, Yu Zhiling blinked against the rain. Mo Zhu stood too tall; she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. "Mo Zhu, do you really think this is selfish?"
"Yes! Of course it is!" His eyes were bloodshot, droplets—rain or tears—streaking down his jaw as he shouted, "Just take care of yourself! Live your life, protect those you care about—isn’t that enough? Why throw your life away? Why play the martyr?"
"You all rush to die, but have you ever considered the living? Do you think they won’t suffer? That they won’t be trapped in the past?"
He was. And so was she.
Both of them, drowning in memories they couldn’t escape.
Yu Zhiling lowered her head, a bitter laugh rising in her throat.
Was she some kind of saint?
She was just an ordinary girl who’d stumbled into this world a month ago. Had she really convinced herself she was Immortal Lord Zhuoyu?
And yet… she’d been willing to gamble her life on a slim chance.
She’d truly wanted to save a million people who might perish within the hour.
She’d even—
She’d even felt hatred. Felt the urge to kill. To fight.
If the events of seventy years ago were repeating, if the demonic cultivator behind it all was watching from the shadows, waiting to see how Immortal Fuchun’s disciple would act—would she flee to save herself, or turn back to uphold her duty as Immortal Lord Zhuoyu, honoring her late master’s final wish?
Yu Zhiling stayed silent.
Mo Zhu pressed on. "Think of the Sect Leader. Think of Third Uncle. Think of your two senior sisters traveling abroad. To them, Immortal Lord Zhuoyu doesn’t matter. Yu Xiaowu does."
Yu Zhiling didn’t have to be a perfect Immortal Lord Zhuoyu. She could run from hardship, because Yan Shanqing once told her:
—Because you’re Yu Xiaowu. Yu Xiaowu is Yingshan Sect’s treasure. As long as she’s here, her seniors will keep moving forward, striving to become her strongest shields, so she can act without fear.
She could do anything. Her seniors would stand before her, weathering Zhongzhou’s storms in her stead.
All she had to do was be Yu Xiaowu.
But—
Yu Zhiling refused.
She wanted to hunt down that demonic cultivator. To kill him. To lay his severed head at Immortal Fuchun’s grave.
She wanted to gamble—to bet whether she could save those million lives in the southern capital.
She shook off Mo Zhu’s hand, gave him one last look, and vanished in an instant.
The thunder grew louder. Mo Zhu’s heightened senses amplified the storm’s roar until it felt like his eardrums would split. But the pain was nothing compared to the agony in his chest—an invisible hand clawing at his heart, carving it apart with a blade.
He watched her retreating figure. Her spine was always straight, her swordsman’s discipline making her unyielding. Neither wind nor rain could sway her resolve.
For a moment, he saw the past.
A tall man lifting his blade, turning to say, "A’Zhu, I must go."
And never returning—only his sword sent back.
Then his mother, taking up her husband’s weapon, leaving just the same.
Until he had… nothing.
The people who mattered most chose their ideals over him. Chose strangers over him.
What did that make him?
They could die for others, but never live for him.
Mo Zhu turned away, rain soaking his robes, mud splattering his boots.
Fine. Let her die.
If she was hellbent on defying fate, then she deserved it. He’d repaid any debt from her saving him long ago. Whether she was truly that person or not, he wouldn’t care anymore.
He wouldn’t.
Not even a little.
So why—
Why did his steps grow heavier until he couldn’t move?
—Mo Zhu, from now on, you’re my disciple. Once I return from the Four Slaughter Realms, we’ll formalize the bond. I’ll protect you with my life and teach you everything I know.
—Tingchun Cliff will be your home. I’ll be your family.
Mo Zhu collapsed to his knees, fist slamming into the mud. "Liar!" he roared. "You promised to be my family! You swore you’d protect me! Liar! Liar!"
He’d waited at Yingshan Sect’s gates for a month, heart full of hope—only for her to greet him with a blade, force-feed him the Heart-Devouring Gu, and spend years drowning him in cruelty.
Yet he’d still wanted to follow her forever. To train until he could shield her in return.
He’d…
He’d loved her so much.
Yu Zhiling felt she had gone mad—how could she be so reckless?
The system in her mind suddenly issued another warning: [This mission falls outside the host’s obligatory scope. No merit rewards will be granted. The host need not proceed.]
Yu Zhiling ran while retorting, "I don’t care about your measly merit points! Can’t I just be morally noble? But honestly, System, are you trying to stop me? Don’t tell me you’re secretly in love with me?"
She cracked jokes to ease her own tension.
The system repeated coldly: [Danger ahead. Host must leave Nan Capital immediately.]
Yu Zhiling actually laughed. "Not to sound conceited, but you really don’t want me to go. I know you’re just a machine without emotions, but ever since we entered Lianhua Marsh, you’ve been urging me to leave. Maintaining world stability is supposed to be my side mission, so why aren’t you issuing a task now? Do you think the emergence of the Three-Eyed Serpent or the annihilation of Nan Capital doesn’t threaten world stability?"
Yet these events were far more perilous than the earlier chaos in the Four Slaughter Realms.
Back then, the turbulence in the Four Slaughter Realms could be stabilized by the other two Immortal Lords, yet the system had pushed her to complete the side mission.
Now, a Great Ascension-level demonic beast had emerged, Nan Capital faced destruction, and tens of thousands would perish—yet the system told her to flee.
The warnings blared incessantly in her mind until Yu Zhiling, utterly exasperated, sealed off her spiritual senses with a surge of qi.
She approached the swirling storm.
The gales sliced like blades, each wisp of wind carrying overwhelming killing intent. Every step forward was a hundred times harder than usual. She inched toward the eye of the tempest, channeling her qi into a protective barrier.
The deeper she went, the fiercer the winds became. Millions of razor-sharp gusts slashed at her shield, cracking even a Great Ascension cultivator’s barrier. The protective dome around her body was already riddled with fractures.
And she hadn’t even reached the formation’s core—yet her shield had shattered three times.
Yu Zhiling gritted her teeth, enduring. Her robes were torn in dozens of places, each gale leaving deep, bone-exposing wounds. Pain wracked her body, her jaw trembling. She had never been particularly brave before, yet now, facing near-certain death, her heart was eerily calm.
As she pressed forward, the once-blurred path grew clearer. A surge of hatred propelled her onward.
Was this Zhuoyu’s lingering resentment?
She didn’t know.
But Yu Zhiling knew one thing—she hated.
She hated the demonic cultivator behind this. She hated the one who had indirectly taken her master’s life.
She wanted to kill them. She wanted to offer the fiend’s head in tribute to Immortal Fuchun.
Her shield shattered once more.
The gales tore into her flesh. Yu Zhiling clenched her jaw, gathering qi for another barrier—
Then a cold, scaly coil wrapped around her waist. She looked up into the golden, vertical pupils of a massive serpent looming above her.
"Mo Zhu?"
He didn’t answer. His serpentine body coiled tighter around her, shielding her completely. The tempest’s blades struck his scales with metallic clangs, like swords hacking at stone.
The Tengshe’s flesh and scales were far sturdier than hers—what would have killed her, he could endure.
But only for a while.
"Mo Zhu, you’ll get hurt!"
She struggled, but his grip was unyielding. Her cheek pressed against his cold scales, breathing in his icy scent. She heard the cracks as the gales chipped away at his armor.
"Mo Zhu! Mo Zhu!"
He remained silent, carrying her through the storm toward its heart. His golden eyes met hers briefly.
Yu Zhiling realized his intent and screamed, "Mo Zhu, don’t you dare—!"
But it was too late.
He ignored her.
The Tengshe expanded to his full thousand-chi length, coiling into a living fortress around her. Countless gales hammered against him, shattering scales, peeling flesh.
"Master, I can hold for fifteen minutes at most."
That was all he could give her.
Mo Zhu closed his eyes, enduring the agony of scales ripped away and flesh flayed. He would block every lethal gale so she could reach the formation’s core.
If he couldn’t destroy the array himself, this was all he could do—be her shield.
"Mo Zhu..."
If she failed, both of them would be obliterated by the backlash of the Eight Blades Annihilation Array.
Swallowing her anguish, Yu Zhiling turned toward the pulsating golden core of the formation. It had drained the life force of the entire city, its radiance blinding. Just nearing it made her internal organs bleed—even as a peak Great Ascension cultivator.
In her battered state, only one technique could break the array: a move that wounded the enemy a thousandfold while costing her eight hundred in return.
Yu Zhiling closed her eyes.
Qi surged through her meridians. Her robes billowed as a faint golden glow enveloped her. The emerald sword in her hand hummed violently. The howling winds faded—she stood in sudden silence.
"This master teaches you the supreme technique of the Clarity Heart Dao—Frostblade Strike. Little Five, this move will let you achieve anything. But remember: you may only use it three times."
"You must live to protect Zhongzhou. Never wield it lightly."
Frostblade Strike was a blade swung at the enemy—and a dagger plunged into her own heart.
She had three chances. This was the first... and she swore it would be the last. She would survive.
Win, and live. Lose, and die.
Yu Zhiling opened her eyes. Surging qi coalesced around Zhuoqing Sword as she soared into the void.
She glanced back at Mo Zhu. The Tengshe’s golden gaze held hers steadily, though his body was being torn apart. He wouldn’t stop her. He never did.
So she would gamble—on the slim chance they both survived.
Yu Zhiling turned, her eyes sharp with killing intent, and roared:
"FROSTBLADE—STRIKE!"
Ice encased Zhuoqing Sword as its light condensed into a crescent blade, slashing toward the formation’s core. She poured every drop of her qi into the attack—enough to unleash power rivaling a half-step Transcendence Realm cultivator.
The ground of Southern Capital trembled violently as the heavy rain abruptly ceased, replaced by frost and snow drifting down from the sky. The snowflakes melted into the rainwater on the ground. Though it was only May, it felt as if winter had arrived.
Zhongli Yang was busy evacuating the civilians when a snowflake landed on the back of his hand. He stared blankly as the delicate flake dissolved against his skin.
"Is that... snow?"
"But... it's only May..."
"Wait—the golden light on the ground is gone!"
He listened to the murmurs of the people and the disciples of the Zhongli family.
"Brother."
Zhongli Xun approached him.
Zhongli Yang straightened and looked up at the endless snowfall in the sky.
The snow melted against his cheeks, the cold sharpening his exhausted mind. Amidst the bewildering blizzard, he suddenly remembered his father's words.
"Ah Xun, so this is what Father meant by 'Windfrost Slash.'"
The supreme technique of the Clear Heart Path—Windfrost Slash.
Zhongli Xun murmured, "Was it... Immortal Lord Zhuoyu?"
Zhongli Yang didn’t answer.
They both already knew—it could only be her.
After a long silence, Zhongli Yang spoke softly, "Ah Xun, she’s still the same as when she was little."
Zhongli Xun asked, "What was Immortal Lord Zhuoyu like as a child?"
"Annoying."
"...Huh?"
Zhongli Yang chuckled. "But also very brave."
He patted his younger brother’s shoulder. "She always accomplishes what she sets her mind to. Yu Zhiling has a way of making things happen."
Once the formation’s core shattered and everything settled, the dust gradually dispersed.
Amidst the falling snow, Yu Zhiling lowered her gaze to the young man on the ground.
He had withdrawn his true form and taken human shape again, his black robes torn and tattered beyond repair.
She saw blood seeping from his wounds, pooling around him. The snow melted into the crimson stains, dusting his dark hair and shoulders.
He looked up at her intently, silent as always, yet no longer as cold as before.
Yu Zhiling descended, sheathing her sword, and sauntered toward him with a lazy grin. "Mo Zhu, see? I still—"
Before Mo Zhu’s faint smile could fully form, her voice cut off abruptly.
In her dizzying vision, she saw his stunned expression.
The last thing she heard was his voice.
"Shizun!"
"Word of Immortal Lord Zhuoyu’s condition has been sent back to the Yingshan Sect. Sect Leader Yan and Elder Xiang are already on their way. Additionally, Elder Ning has also sent word—she’s currently in Qiqiu City and should arrive in Southern Capital by tonight."
"Good. Has any demonic energy been detected in Southern Capital?"
"None... Fellow Daoist Mo, was the demonic cultivator who set up the Eight Blades Killing Formation really the same one who killed Immortal Fuchun?"
"Most likely."
"Tch... What does he even want? Why come to Southern Capital... Never mind. I’ll take my leave for now. My brother has already ordered a full investigation. We’ll discuss everything once the elders from Yingshan Sect arrive."
"Mm."
Too noisy.
Even though the two speakers had deliberately lowered their voices, Yu Zhiling could still hear them.
Then came the sound of a door opening and closing, and the room fell silent again. Footsteps approached, growing louder until the edge of the bed dipped slightly—someone had sat down beside her.
Yu Zhiling’s lashes fluttered as the light seeped in through a narrow slit before gradually brightening.
"Shizun?"
A cool, youthful voice spoke.
Yu Zhiling stiffened, turning her head toward the sound. A strikingly handsome face came into focus.
He still wore his hair in a high ponytail and black robes, faint scars lingering on his cheek. His complexion was slightly pale, but his expression softened as he saw her awake.
"Shizun, you’re awake?"
Obviously. If she weren’t, why would her eyes be open?
Every inch of her body ached, as if she’d fall apart with the slightest movement. She could only lift her hand with great effort.
Mo Zhu understood her intention and helped her sit up, supporting her shoulders. He placed a silk pillow behind her waist, letting her lean against the headboard. When he looked up again, he met Yu Zhiling’s accusing gaze.
Mo Zhu: "...Shizun?"
Yu Zhiling narrowed her eyes. "Did you secretly subject your shizun to the ten great tortures while I was unconscious?"
Mo Zhu: "?"
Yu Zhiling pouted, whining pitifully, "Then why does my whole body hurt so much? That doesn’t make sense—I’m a Great Ascension cultivator! I should be terrifyingly strong!"
Mo Zhu paused before replying evenly, "Shizun, the backlash from Windfrost Slash is severe. Many of your meridians are shattered. Sect Leader and the elders already know. They should arrive within the next two days."
Yu Zhiling shrank back in horror. "You told my martial brothers and sisters?"
"They needed to know."
"Mo Zhu!"
She didn’t even need to think—Yan Shanqing and the others would definitely be furious when they arrived. Windfrost Slash was a technique that could only be used three times in a lifetime, and the backlash was immense. They’d scold her endlessly.
But Mo Zhu merely responded indifferently, picking up a bowl of medicine. "Shizun, drink this."
Yu Zhiling turned her head away stubbornly. "...Candied fruit."
"Already bought. This medicine isn’t bitter—I had them add sugarcane sugar."
"...Then I’ll reluctantly drink it."
She had no strength, and Mo Zhu made no move to hand her the bowl.
Yu Zhiling was perfectly content to lounge against the headboard, letting him feed her spoonful by spoonful.
True to his word, the medicine wasn’t bitter at all. He must have specifically instructed them to sweeten it. What a thoughtful disciple!
As he fed her the last spoonful, Yu Zhiling reached for something to wipe her lips—only to see him smoothly pull out a silk handkerchief and dab the corners of her mouth.
Yu Zhiling: "..."
Yu Zhiling stared in shock.
What... what was wrong with him? Wasn’t she the one who fainted? Did she hit him on the way down and knock his brains loose?
Mo Zhu said calmly, "Shizun, Second Martial Aunt will arrive in Southern Capital tonight. She’ll personally examine you."
Yu Zhiling’s second senior sister, Ning Hengwu, was a medical cultivator.
"You... what’s wrong with you?" Yu Zhiling asked cautiously.
Mo Zhu looked at her without a word, his dark eyes swirling with something unreadable.
Yu Zhiling: "...Did you really hit your head?"
"Shizun."
He finally spoke.
Yu Zhiling: "...Yeah? I’m here."
Mo Zhu’s lips parted slightly. "Why are you afraid of the dark?"
Yu Zhiling clutched the quilt, unconsciously pressing her lips together. "I... I..."
He didn’t rush her, waiting patiently.
Yu Zhiling lowered her gaze, silent for a moment before organizing her thoughts. Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke.
"I... used to have dreams. In them, everything was pitch black. A voice kept asking me if I regretted it. I didn’t know what it meant. I just felt so cold, so much pain—my whole body hurt. That suffocating feeling... wanting to wake up but unable to. Being fully aware yet helpless as I drowned in it... Over time, I just... grew afraid of the dark."
"Without light, I can barely breathe. It hurts, it’s so cold, and I’m so scared. Deep down, I know it’s just that I haven’t been able to overcome this hurdle in my heart."
She had seen many psychologists and tried every treatment imaginable, but nothing worked.
Mo Zhu fell silent for a moment before asking, "Do the senior masters know?"
"...No. Can you not tell them?"
She glanced up at him cautiously.
Seeing the fear in her eyes, Mo Zhu had a suspicion he needed to confirm.
"Master, I can keep it a secret for you, but I need to ask you one more question."
"...Go ahead."
"Why did you come to me?"
Why? Why did she go to Lianhua Marsh to find him?
Didn’t she despise him? Didn’t she hate him enough to want him dead?
So why… did she seek him out?
Why?
Yu Zhiling wanted to know the answer too.
When she heard Mo Zhu might be in danger, she hadn’t even reacted at first. But before she knew it, she had already rushed out of the Zhongli household, teleporting frantically all the way to Lianhua Marsh. The moment she found him, guided by the disciple’s jade token, tears nearly spilled from her eyes.
Once she calmed down, all that remained was a wildly pounding heart and a lingering sense of dread.
"Master, why?"
When she didn’t answer, Mo Zhu pressed again.
He needed this answer desperately—to confirm whether the turmoil in his heart was justified.
Why, why? What was the reason?
He waited for her response, secretly hoping for an answer he had longed for, given up on, and yet still clung to in the depths of his heart.
And then—
He heard her say, "You are my disciple, so I will protect you with my life, pass on everything I’ve learned to you. We are family. Family protects each other without needing a reason."
—Mo Zhu, from now on, you are my disciple. Once I return from the Four Slaughter Realm, we will form the disciple’s jade bond. In the future, your master will protect you with her life and teach you everything I know.
—From now on, Tingchun Cliff will be your home, and I will be your family.
Suddenly, he covered his eyes, shoulders trembling as years of suppressed emotions erupted at once.
Yu Zhiling was startled, hastily reaching to wipe his tears with her sleeve. "Mo Zhu, why are you crying? Did I say something wrong?"
Before she could finish, a hand pressed against the small of her back, pulling her into his embrace. His nose brushed against the curve of her neck as he buried his face against her shoulder, his breaths ragged and uneven.
"...Master."
