Yan Shanqing and Xiang Wuxue arrived by evening.
Yu Zhiling was having her meal at the time. When the group entered, she sat cross-legged on a wooden chair, with Mo Zhu feeding her spoonfuls of porridge.
"Yu Xiao Wu."
A cold voice rang out.
Yu Zhiling stiffened, wishing she could vanish into the ground.
"What, afraid to look at me?"
Yu Zhiling swallowed hard, wiped the traces of soup from her lips, and turned around with a carefree smile. "Eldest Senior Brother, Third Senior Brother, you're here."
Yan Shanqing and Xiang Wuxue stood at the doorway, their expressions grave, looking travel-worn.
Mo Zhu set down the bowl and rose to bow. "Greetings, Sect Leader, Third Martial Uncle."
Yan Shanqing stepped forward and patted his shoulder. "You've worked hard these past few days, child."
Mo Zhu shook his head. "It was my duty."
Xiang Wuxue approached Yu Zhiling. "Give me your wrist."
Yu Zhiling timidly extended her hand. "...I really am fine."
Xiang Wuxue gave her a deep look but said nothing, focusing on her pulse. The longer he checked, the more severe his expression grew.
Yan Shanqing grew anxious. "Third Brother, what is it?"
Xiang Wuxue withdrew his hand. "Let’s wait until Second Senior Sister arrives. I’m not entirely certain."
"I’m already here."
The moment Xiang Wuxue spoke, a gentle voice drifted in from outside.
A woman entered, her features as delicate as poetry, clad in deep blue gauze robes that rippled like waves with each step. Her ethereal grace surpassed even that of an immortal.
Yu Zhiling: "!!!"
A beauty!
A beautiful elder sister!
The woman walked in and softly greeted, "Eldest Senior Brother, Third Junior Brother."
Yan Shanqing asked, "Weren’t you supposed to arrive tonight? Why so soon?"
"After receiving your message, I was too unsettled to delay," Ning Hengwu replied, then turned her gaze to Yu Zhiling, who sat curled up awkwardly.
Yu Zhiling stared at Ning Hengwu without blinking, her lips curling into an irrepressible smile, eyes shimmering with delight. "Second Senior Sister!"
Ning Hengwu’s fingers curled slightly at her sides, her throat tightening. Her eyes glistened as she forced a smile. "Xiao Wu."
So it was true, just as Yan Shanqing had said—she had truly returned.
Hearing this address after ten years nearly brought her to tears.
Xiang Wuxue stood and yielded his spot to Ning Hengwu. "Second Senior Sister, save the reunion for later. Check Xiao Wu’s pulse—something feels off."
Ning Hengwu’s expression darkened. She stepped forward, pressing her fingertips to Yu Zhiling’s wrist, channeling warm spiritual energy to probe her meridians carefully.
Yu Zhiling grew uneasy. Surely she wasn’t that badly hurt? Seeking reassurance, she glanced at Yan Shanqing and Mo Zhu, only to find their faces equally grim.
Mo Zhu gave her a nod, silently urging her not to fear.
Suppressing her panic, Yu Zhiling sat still as Ning Hengwu continued her examination.
After a quarter-hour, Ning Hengwu withdrew her hand. Her face was unreadable, her gaze clouded with emotion.
Yu Zhiling ventured, "Second Senior Sister?"
Yan Shanqing’s voice was icy. "Speak, Hengwu."
Mo Zhu frowned, his heart pounding.
Xiang Wuxue, seeing Ning Hengwu’s reaction, confirmed his suspicions. His voice was low and strained. "As I thought. My diagnosis wasn’t wrong."
Yu Zhiling: "Huh?"
No way—she couldn’t have some terminal illness, could she? Immortal Lord Zhuoyu was a Great Ascension cultivator!
Ning Hengwu demanded coldly, "Xiao Wu, when did you first use Frostblade Slash?"
Silence fell over the room.
Not a breath could be heard—only the wind rustling outside, the whisper of leaves, and the hum of cicadas.
After a long pause, Yu Zhiling swallowed hard. "Wh-what?"
Ning Hengwu’s face was pale, her composure barely intact. "Frostblade Slash leaves frigid wounds. Your meridians bear two distinct injuries—one fresh, from the backlash of your recent use, still unhealed. But I also found an old wound, long healed, unmistakably from Frostblade backlash."
"Xiao Wu, when was the first time you used it?"
But Yu Zhiling herself didn’t know. Her shock mirrored theirs.
Immortal Lord Zhuoyu... had used Frostblade Slash before?
"...Shizun?"
A hoarse voice spoke.
Yu Zhiling turned to see Mo Zhu’s ashen face.
The young man asked, "Shizun, think carefully. When did you use Frostblade Slash?"
Yu Zhiling shook her head. "I... I don’t know... I truly don’t remember..."
Yan Shanqing abruptly shoved Mo Zhu aside and gripped Yu Zhiling’s shoulders, his eyes bloodshot. "Yu Xiao Wu, when did you use Frostblade Slash? Do you even know what that is?!"
Yu Zhiling flinched. "Eldest Senior Brother, I—I really don’t recall..."
"Eldest Senior Brother, let her go."
Xiang Wuxue and Ning Hengwu pulled Yan Shanqing away.
Mo Zhu swiftly stepped between them, shielding Yu Zhiling.
The sudden chaos left Yu Zhiling distraught. "I truly don’t know! I don’t remember using Frostblade Slash!"
Yan Shanqing stared at her, lips trembling. "You... how could you use Frostblade Slash? Do you know what it is?... Xiao Wu, Xiao Wu..."
To the world, it was a salvation.
To them, it was a nightmare—a scar none wished to reopen.
But Yu Zhiling...
Genuinely had no idea.
The night deepened. Yan Shanqing and the others left Yu Zhiling’s courtyard.
Matters in Nan Du required urgent attention—Immortal Fuchun’s death now implicated the Yingshan Sect. Their responsibilities were no fewer than the Zhongli Clan’s, and Zhongli Yang soon summoned them.
As they departed, their gazes toward Yu Zhiling were identically conflicted. She could only lower her head, wordless.
Now, Yu Zhiling sipped the soup Mo Zhu fed her—her meal had been interrupted earlier.
Her appetite was poor tonight. After one bowl, she turned away. "I don’t want more."
"Alright."
Mo Zhu set the bowl down.
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Yu Zhiling spoke softly, her voice subdued. "Mo Zhu, I truly don’t know when I used Frostblade Slash."
She hung her head like a guilty child, too timid to meet his eyes.
Mo Zhu said, "Shizun, if you can’t remember, don’t force it. We’ll take it slowly. But first, promise me one thing."
Yu Zhiling’s voice was thick with congestion. "What is it?"
She kept her head lowered, so he couldn’t see her face.
Mo Zhu half-knelt before her, taking her hand in his. "No matter what happens in the future, promise me you’ll never use the third Frostwind Slash again, alright?"
Yu Zhiling lifted her head, replying dryly, "I... I know. I won’t use it a third time."
The Frostwind Slash—its first strike was fierce, its second valiant, but its third would bring death.
That was why Yan Shanqing’s emotions had surged so violently, why Xiang Wuxue and Ning Hengwu had struggled to remain calm.
On one hand, they couldn’t fathom what Yu Zhiling had endured to be driven to such a desperate, self-destructive move—one that harmed the enemy a thousandfold but cost her eight hundred in return.
On the other, if she used it once more, they would lose her forever.
Beneath the storm of emotions lay heartache, dread, and worry.
Mo Zhu spoke softly to soothe her. "Then it’s settled. The sect leader and the elders will handle matters first and visit you again tomorrow. For tonight, don’t dwell on it. Just rest."
"Mm, alright." Yu Zhiling rubbed her eyes and reached out to him. "I want to wash up and sleep."
Understanding her meaning, Mo Zhu gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bathing chamber.
Once she had freshened up, he returned to lift her out and settled her onto the bed, tucking her beneath the embroidered quilt.
Yu Zhiling curled under the covers, her dark hair spilling over the silk pillow. After a pause, she murmured, "Where are you staying? This isn’t an inn—did Zhongli Yang arrange a room for you?"
Mo Zhu replied, "I’m in the chamber next door. Call for me if you need anything, Master."
"...Alright."
As Mo Zhu rose to leave, his sleeve was suddenly caught.
"Master?"
"Um... Could you... Could you stay until I fall asleep?"
Yu Zhiling peeked out from under the quilt, only her eyes visible.
The incident at Lianhua Marsh had left her deeply shaken. The thought of being alone stirred an indescribable fear in her—a lingering terror that made her recall the helplessness she’d felt there, as if closing her eyes would summon the voice that had tormented her.
Without hesitation, Mo Zhu sat back down beside the bed. "Of course."
Yu Zhiling exhaled in relief, burrowing deeper into the quilt. "Then I’ll sleep now."
"Mm. Rest well, Master."
She opened her eyes again. "Tomorrow, have Second Senior Sister examine your head. It’s too late tonight, and she’s busy. Your condition is serious—the sooner you’re treated, the sooner I’ll feel at ease."
Mo Zhu: "...Understood."
Only then did she close her eyes, reassured.
Yu Zhiling was a sound sleeper, especially when she felt safe. Within a quarter of an hour, her breathing steadied into a slow, even rhythm.
Mo Zhu should have left then, yet he remained motionless.
The room was lit by eight or nine night pearls, bright as daylight, allowing him to trace every detail of her face—the curve of her brows, even the length of each dark, delicate lash.
Seated at her bedside, his gaze darkened.
Recovering from the Frostwind Slash required a long convalescence. Yu Zhiling had reached the Great Perfection Realm a century ago, standing as the foremost cultivator in Zhongzhou. What kind of dire straits could have driven her to use such a self-destructive technique?
Moreover, none of her closest senior brothers and sisters had known she’d ever employed this move. When, then, had she vanished from everyone’s sight?
He had a suspicion.
Ten years ago, during her journey to the Four Slaughter Realms.
For an entire month, the Yingshan Sect had heard nothing from her. Yan Shanqing and the others had ventured into the Four Slaughter Realms time and again to search for her.
And when she returned, she had "changed."
Whether she’d been possessed or the real Yu Zhiling had been imprisoned elsewhere—replaced by an imposter—he still couldn’t say. But one thing was certain: someone had been watching them from the shadows all along.
So who, exactly, was the mastermind pulling the strings?
The death of Immortal Fuchun, Yu Zhiling’s transformation a decade ago, the shattering of the Four Slaughter Stele a month prior, the recent upheaval in Nan Du—even his own childhood ordeal might be connected.
After all, he would never forget the Eight Blades Killing Array.
Were these the deeds of the same person? Had Yan Shanqing and the others ever doubted the "Yu Zhiling" of those ten years? Had they realized the threads linking these events?
Under the lamplight, Mo Zhu’s expression grew increasingly grim, his aura icy and oppressive.
"Nn..."
A whimper snapped him out of his thoughts.
Mo Zhu blinked, realizing his killing intent had disturbed her. He swiftly reined in his aura.
Yu Zhiling’s faintly furrowed brow gradually relaxed. In her sleep, she turned over, mistaking her surroundings for home as she instinctively sought her sleeping companion—a plush cat doll.
Mo Zhu stayed perfectly still as her hand brushed against his, seizing it like a treasure before settling back into slumber, her cheek pressed against his palm.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, he sat on the floor beside the bed, letting her cling to his hand.
Over the past decade, he’d often thought that if she had willingly become so tainted, if she’d ruined herself, then perhaps he should kill her. That way, he could pretend she’d remained as pure as when he first saw her—the ethereal maiden in green robes.
But now, the real her had returned. Not the aloof, sparingly spoken Immortal Lord Zhuoyu of their first meeting, nor the carefree version from before Immortal Fuchun’s death—yet still unmistakably her.
Whether she was this sweet, guileless version or the coolly formidable one, she remained the master he revered most, his salvation.
The maiden in green. The one he’d sworn as a child to follow forever, to protect with his life.
Mo Zhu gently rested his cheek against the back of her hand, nuzzling it like an affectionate kitten. His whisper, thick with devotion, filled the room.
"Master, don’t worry. Whoever dares disturb your peace—be they god, demon, or ghost—this disciple will cut them down for you."
