Yu Zhiling felt like she was already living a retired life in advance.
Mo Zhu handed her a spoon: "Master."
Yu Zhiling happily opened her mouth, swallowing the soup fed by her little disciple, tears of happiness nearly spilling from the corners of her lips.
Leaning against him, she narrowed her eyes contentedly and said cheerfully, "Mo Zhu, tomorrow, could you make me a more comfortable backrest? It must be quite heavy for you to support me like this every day."
Mo Zhu paused briefly in feeding her before replying calmly, "Master isn’t heavy. There’s no need."
No girl could resist such words—a boy who never complains about her weight is the cutest!
Yu Zhiling gave him a thumbs-up and nestled peacefully in his arms. "Good disciple!"
Mo Zhu remained expressionless as he brought another spoonful to her lips. "Master, more?"
"Yes!"
Yu Zhiling’s severe injuries were concentrated around her waist and back, making it impossible for her to walk or bend over on her own. Since she loved basking in the sun, Xiang Wuxue had set up a soft couch in the courtyard for her—though without a backrest.
Thus, her little disciple would sit behind her, letting her lean against his chest. With his support, she didn’t need to exert any effort, and Yu Zhiling naturally treated him like a human cushion.
She had been drinking medicine for some time now, and the incense burning in her room was blended with soothing herbs, leaving a faint medicinal fragrance clinging to her. When she leaned entirely into Mo Zhu’s embrace, he could clearly catch her scent—soft, lingering, slowly enveloping him as well.
Mo Zhu silently continued feeding her. Truthfully, he enjoyed these days of caring for her. Even though his free time was entirely occupied by her—even meals had to be spoon-fed—he never felt the slightest weariness or annoyance.
And she, it seemed, loved this life just as much.
Yu Zhiling certainly did. She sighed wistfully, "No wonder ancient emperors lived so luxuriously."
Mo Zhu blinked. "What?"
Yu Zhiling tilted her head back, nuzzling against his chest, her eyes crinkling with delight.
"Nothing, nothing. Just praising you for being such a good boy, taking such excellent care of your master."
Food delivered straight to her mouth, no need to walk—she only had to blink for him to know what she wanted. When he practiced swordplay, he’d arrange snacks for her and work tirelessly to earn merit points to keep her alive.
This kind of life? Yu Zhiling could live it for—
Another hundred years!!!
Mo Zhu chuckled softly, pulling out a silk handkerchief to wipe the soup from her lips before setting the empty bowl aside.
"Master, more? The kitchen has plenty left."
Yu Zhiling glanced at the remnants of the meal—she’d devoured a whole chicken, two bowls of soup, and two steamed buns.
She patted her slightly rounded stomach and said with dignified restraint, "Not for now. Save it for tomorrow. Eating too much at night makes you gain weight."
"Alright." Mo Zhu helped her sit up from his arms and onto the couch. "Master, I’ll clean up."
Yu Zhiling looked up. "Aren’t you eating?"
Mo Zhu shook his head. "I’m not hungry."
Yu Zhiling frowned. "You train so hard every day. You need energy!"
Mo Zhu: "...I’ve reached the fasting stage. I don’t need to eat."
Yu Zhiling spoke solemnly, "You must understand—people don’t eat just to survive physically, but to live spiritually. If you lose your appetite, what’s the point of working hard?"
Mo Zhu: "..."
Mo Zhu nodded. "Fine."
He never argued much with her, knowing full well his master had a silver tongue and an endless supply of absurd logic.
He picked up a fresh bowl and served himself some soup, drinking it under Yu Zhiling’s "loving gaze."
Yu Zhiling: "Have a little more."
Mo Zhu: "Really not hungry."
Yu Zhiling sighed and lay back, watching her disciple tidy up.
If not for the fact that his behavior had severely deviated from his original character—and her worry that prolonged delusion might damage his cultivation—she’d almost prefer he stayed "ill" like this. At least he was incredibly obedient now.
No more thoughts of killing her. When told to train, he trained. So well-behaved she wanted to hug him and shout at the heavens—
Oh heavens, who else would pamper me like a child?!
To think fate had blessed her with such a sweet little disciple.
Once the obedient disciple finished cleaning, he returned to the courtyard. Yu Zhiling instinctively raised her arms, looping them around his neck as he lifted her.
Mo Zhu turned his head slightly. "Master, time to sleep?"
Yu Zhiling nodded. "Mhm!"
She was indeed sleepy. Her excitement over the sudden surge in merit points had kept her awake all afternoon, and she hadn’t taken a nap. By dinnertime, she’d already been dozing off.
Resting her head on Mo Zhu’s shoulder, she let him carry her to the bathing chamber in silence.
As usual, she called for him after freshening up.
When Mo Zhu entered, he saw her standing there in plain inner robes, her waist-length hair cascading smoothly down her back, arms outstretched toward him.
He lingered at the doorway, reminding himself again and again—she’s forgotten everything, she’s badly injured, her dependence is natural. To her, I’m just a child. There’s no other meaning.
Yet he couldn’t suppress the unworthy thoughts in his heart.
What if… what if…
She relied on him like this forever? Even after recovering, even after regaining her memories—what if they never returned to a normal master-disciple relationship?
He’d gladly serve her like this for life—feeding her, tending to her needs.
Wherever she went, he’d carry her.
Whatever she craved, he’d bring to her lips, spoon by spoon, bite by bite.
But would she ever want that?
"...Mo Zhu?"
Her light voice snapped him out of his daze.
Mo Zhu suddenly refocused. She was tilting her head at him, concern in her eyes. When she saw him respond, she asked, "Are you too tired? Did I exhaust you today?"
Mo Zhu averted his gaze and stepped forward to lift her.
"It’s nothing, Master. I was just lost in thought."
Yu Zhiling had an epiphany.
Ah, he’s grown up. Has his own secrets now. As his elder, I shouldn’t pry. Must respect his privacy.
She promptly sealed her lips, unusually quiet.
Mo Zhu carried her to the bedroom, where the bed had already been prepared. After tucking her in, he took his usual place at the bedside.
"Master, sleep. I’ll watch over you."
Yu Zhiling burrowed under the blankets and murmured, "If I toss around later, don’t mind me. Just leave once I’m asleep."
Mo Zhu knew what she was referring to—she thought he had stayed in the room with her all night simply because she had held his hand and he couldn’t break free.
The young man lowered his long lashes, pressed his thin lips together, and nodded.
"Alright."
Mo Zhu then sat by the bedside, closing his eyes to meditate while waiting for her to fall asleep.
Yu Zhiling relaxed, lazily letting out a yawn before shutting her eyes to drift into slumber.
Her consciousness grew hazy, and a faint chill crept over her body. She tugged the blanket tighter, burying her head beneath it, thinking that would ward off the cold.
Yet, a voice seemed to whisper in her ear.
[Monitoring progress of virtue points—Host’s virtue points have reached one thousand. First stage activated.]
Activated?
Activated what?
A… system?
But Yu Zhiling couldn’t speak. She only felt a little colder.
Drip, drip. She heard the sound of rain. Then, abruptly, the rain intensified, urgent and violent.
A gentle male voice pierced through the illusion.
"The Eternal Autumn Lotus has withered. Zhuo Yu, your tribulation is coming."
The stone path was slick, rainwater dripped from the eaves, and two figures sat facing each other in the pavilion at the center of the lake.
A man in white robes with silver-white hair gazed beyond the pavilion, where a single lotus flower floated on the rippling waters.
"Zhuo Yu, the fateful tribulation Immortal Fuchun foresaw before her death is upon you. If you enter the Four Slaughter Realm this time, you will likely perish."
Zhuo Yu knelt on a cushion, her gaze fixed on the slowly withering lotus in the lake.
Her expression was cold and emotionless. Slender fingers traced the rim of a long-cooled teacup, and deep within her pupils lay a stillness akin to death.
She answered softly, "Mm."
Yun Zhi sighed. "You still insist on going?"
"Mm."
Yun Zhi looked at her, his voice warm. "Zhuo Yu, one cannot live in the past. It’s time to let go. Hatred will only trap you. This time, since you know he is targeting you, let Zhao Yan and me go instead. We won’t come to harm."
Zhuo Yu’s lips curled slightly, though her eyes remained devoid of warmth. She asked Yun Zhi softly, "Yun Zhi, have you ever seen a person whose bones were shattered, whose body bled from every orifice even after death?"
"…Zhuo Yu."
"But I have." Zhuo Yu shook her head, murmuring, "When my master died, every bone in her body was broken. I carried her back to the Yingshan Sect, and she bled the entire way—until there was no blood left in her."
"But why does a dead person still bleed?"
No one gave her an answer.
Yun Zhi simply watched her in silence.
Zhuo Yu lifted the teacup and drained it in one gulp before raising her dark, fathomless eyes to him.
"Yun Zhi, if I truly don’t return this time, please don’t tell my senior brothers and sisters about the tribulation."
Yun Zhi asked calmly, "Why?"
Zhuo Yu smiled, her features as delicate as a painting, her green robes fluttering wildly in the wind.
"Let them believe Yu Xiao Wu perished by accident, not by walking willingly to her death."
"Is there a difference?"
"There is."
Zhuo Yu stood, her black hair tied only with a ribbon, now tousled by the gale.
The rain grew heavier, splashing against the emerald-green lake, the droplets like scattered pearls.
Her voice dissolved into the storm.
"If I must die, then in their eyes, let it be an accident—not a deliberate act of mutual destruction. My senior brothers and sisters would carry that guilt for the rest of their lives."
Zhuo Yu turned and walked away. But after a few steps, she paused.
Without looking back, her voice was gentle. "Yun Zhi, there’s one more thing I need from you. Please take care of Mo Zhu. Don’t let anyone discover his identity. The serpent bracelet is in my room—give it to him when he comes of age. Whatever he chooses to do afterward, let him be."
"I hope he can find his own path."
Yun Zhi said nothing.
Zhuo Yu hesitated, then added, "Thank you."
She walked farther away, never turning back.
She did not hear the whisper that followed her.
"Zhuo Yu… what about you?"
Perhaps she heard.
But she still did not look back. And she never would.
Zhuo Yu stepped out of the pavilion, into the torrential autumn rain. Her green robes faded into the mist, and the lotus at the lake’s center withered completely—as if it were an omen.
An omen of her fall.
A scalding tear slipped from the corner of her eye, soaking into the embroidered pillow.
"Master?"
A young man’s murmur shattered the illusion.
The rain, Yun Zhi’s figure, Zhuo Yu’s retreating back—everything fragmented in an instant.
Yu Zhiling slowly opened her eyes.
Mo Zhu leaned down, his dry fingertips brushing away the tear at the corner of her eye, his gaze filled with unconcealed worry.
"Master, did you have a nightmare?"
His voice was soft, so soft, as he gathered her into his arms, blanket and all, gently patting her back.
"Don’t be afraid. Your disciple is here."
Yu Zhiling breathed in the soothing scent of Mo Zhu, her mind stripped of all thought.
Unconsciously, she pleaded, "Zhuo Yu… don’t go…"
Mo Zhu’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming its comforting rhythm.
"Master, what did you dream of?"
Yu Zhiling clung to him, her arms encircling his neck, burying herself against his chest.
She was cold. Outside, the steady patter of rain against the half-closed lattice window was too loud in the silent night.
But just that evening, the sky had been aflame with sunset clouds. Tomorrow should have been clear. Why was it raining now?
Her tears dripped onto his collarbone—her body was icy, but her tears burned.
She didn’t speak. She only wept.
Mo Zhu could only hold her tighter, his arms locking around her as if he could shield her from everything.
"Master, no matter what you dreamed, none of it is real."
But Yu Zhiling knew—it was all real.
Zhuo Yu hadn’t rushed to the Four Slaughter Realm to suppress the unrest there, only to be trapped inside for a month by accident.
She had known her tribulation was coming. From the very beginning, she had known she might die there.
She had said she was going to destroy herself along with another.
Who was that other?
Yu Zhiling could guess.
Perhaps from the moment she witnessed her master’s death, the fateful tribulation Immortal Fuchun had foreseen for her was destined to unfold.
The rest of her life had been spent walking toward that doom.
The rain had come too suddenly—starting in the middle of the night and continuing relentlessly into the day.
Zhongli Xun emerged, yawning, and spotted the figure standing at the end of the corridor. Rubbing his eyes, he approached.
"Elder Brother, why are you up so early?"
Zhongli Yang didn’t turn around. His hands were clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the puddles forming in the courtyard.
Zhongli Xun frowned. "You didn’t… stay up all night again, did you?"
The answer was obvious. Zhongli Yang was still wearing the same robes from the day before—he clearly hadn’t rested.
Zhongli Xun was instantly furious. "Elder brother, no matter how worried you are about Southern Capital, you must take care of your own health!"
"Ah-Xun, they're here." Zhongli Yang calmly interrupted his younger brother.
Zhongli Xun was bewildered. "...Who?"
"The Immortal Alliance."
The Immortal Alliance was overseen by three Immortal Venerables, but it was not limited to just them.
Beneath them were thirteen elders, hailing from the three sects and four great clans of the Central Continent. Among them, some had held their positions for over a century, having survived the great war six hundred years ago—a war that left them with an abiding hatred for demonic cultivators.
Six hundred years ago, the demonic race captured an elder of the Central Continent's Immortal Alliance and subjected him to a forbidden demonic technique—Soul Search—extracting the Central Continent's defensive secrets and causing devastating losses.
Since then, the Central Continent had strictly prohibited the use of any demonic techniques, especially Soul Search.
If used discreetly, away from the Immortal Alliance's notice, it might have been overlooked. But this time, Ning Hengwu's use of Soul Search had been too conspicuous. The Zhongli family had no shortage of the Alliance's informants, and the moment she succeeded, word had likely already spread beyond their walls.
"Ning Hengwu, elder of the Yingshan Sect, has openly violated the laws of the Central Continent by willfully employing the demonic forbidden technique of Soul Search. According to the laws of the Central Continent, she shall be punished with a hundred strikes of the Heavenly Lightning Whip, her cultivation sealed, and she shall be imprisoned in the Desolate Heaven Prison for a century."
"Yan Shanqing, leader of the Yingshan Sect, and Xiang Wuxue, elder of the Yingshan Sect, aided Ning Hengwu in her unlawful use of the Soul Search technique. According to the laws of the Central Continent, they shall each receive a hundred strikes of the Heavenly Lightning Whip."
Zhongli Xun, who had rushed over upon hearing the news, sucked in a sharp breath and couldn't help but curse under his breath. "Tch, sealing her cultivation and throwing her into the Desolate Heaven Prison? That's no different from throwing a mortal in there! Forget a hundred years—she wouldn't last ten! And the Heavenly Lightning Whip? Even a Mahayana-stage cultivator would be flayed alive from a single strike!"
Zhongli Yang pressed his lips into a thin line and stepped forward to intervene. "Elders, while Ning Hengwu's use of Soul Search was wrong, there were extenuating circumstances. The chaos in Southern Capital involving the Three-Eyed Serpent may even be connected to the death of Immortal Fuchun. Surely—"
"The law does not bend for sentiment."
Thirteen elders hovered in the air, their leader a long-browed, white-bearded man in ink-white robes that fluttered in the cold wind. Rain fell around him but never touched him, repelled by an invisible barrier.
He looked down with aged eyes devoid of emotion.
Zhongli Yang clenched his jaw but did not retreat. Instead, he took another step forward, preparing to argue further—but just then, the tightly shut doors behind him swung open, and a figure strode out unhurriedly.
Ning Hengwu walked forward with composed grace, lifting her gaze to the elders in the sky. "You only care that I used Soul Search. Then let me ask you—if Soul Search was the only way to obtain what I needed, what should I have done?"
"To use Soul Search without permission is a crime."
"You don’t even ask what I discovered?"
"Soul Search is a forbidden technique, a wicked path. Even if you obtained what you sought, it remains an affront to the Central Continent."
"An affront to the Central Continent?" Ning Hengwu let out a low, bitter laugh, her delicate face as cold as frost. "My master spent a century fighting for the Central Continent. Six hundred years ago, before she was even an Immortal Venerable of the Alliance, she used her first Windfrost Slash for Southern Capital. Seventy years ago, for Three Perils Mountain, she unleashed two more. Where were all of you then? The Immortal Alliance was closest to Three Perils Mountain—did any of you thirteen lift a finger?"
"After her death, my junior sister succeeded her as Immortal Zhuo Yu, suppressing the Four Slaughter Realms a hundred times and eliminating a thousand evils. Ten years ago, she disappeared in the Four Slaughter Realms—did any of you send anyone to search for her? The events in Southern Capital now are clearly tied to what happened seventy and ten years ago. The Zhongli family found no leads, so tell me—what was wrong with using Soul Search?"
She pointed accusingly at the thirteen elders as Yan Shanqing and Xiang Wuxue stepped out silently behind her.
"As disciples of Immortal Fuchun, we did nothing wrong. As senior siblings to Little Five, we did nothing wrong. Seeking the truth of our master’s death and protecting Little Five—what is wrong with that?"
Ning Hengwu had not cast a rain-repelling spell, and the downpour soaked her thoroughly.
Zhongli Xun, standing closest to her, couldn’t bear it and moved to shield her—but then he realized...
The oppressive aura radiating from Ning Hengwu was too much for him, a mere Golden Core cultivator, to withstand.
Not just her—even Yan Shanqing and Xiang Wuxue, who had remained silent, were the same.
Suddenly, Zhongli Xun understood. From the moment they used Soul Search, they had already anticipated this outcome. They had prepared to fight the thirteen elders of the Immortal Alliance.
They were gambling—on whether the three of them could defeat the thirteen elders.
If they won, perhaps Soul Search could be used openly in the Central Continent from now on.
If they lost, Ning Hengwu would be imprisoned, and Yan Shanqing and Xiang Wuxue would endure their punishment.
There were only two possible endings.
Zhongli Xun could hardly believe it. He had assumed they had an escape plan, but from the very beginning, they had never intended to walk away unscathed.
He turned to his elder brother, only to see Zhongli Yang exhale deeply and close his eyes in resignation.
Among the thirteen elders, one seemed moved and attempted to mediate. "Elder Jing Wei, these three are disciples of Fuchun, and Yan Shanqing is the leader of the Yingshan Sect. This use of Soul Search caused no harm to any disciples. Perhaps... perhaps..."
The one he addressed, Jing Wei, was the eldest among them, the longest-serving elder of the Immortal Alliance, and a survivor of the great war six hundred years ago. The elder who had been subjected to Soul Search back then had been his own elder brother.
Jing Wei had been the first to propose the ban on Soul Search.
Over the years, anyone who used it—regardless of status—ended up in the Desolate Heaven Prison if he found out.
Jing Wei’s expression remained impassive, but a shadow flickered in his eyes.
"Disciples of Fuchun or not, if we let her go unpunished today, where does that leave the authority of the Immortal Alliance? If others use Soul Search to uncover the Central Continent’s secrets—or worse, pass them to the demonic race—do you want a repeat of what happened six hundred years ago?"
The accusation was too severe. The demonic race had been suppressed in the Abyss of Demons, which lay within the Four Slaughter Realms—a place inaccessible to ordinary people. There was no way to send messages.
But Jing Wei was the most senior elder present, and the one who had spoken up in pity could only sigh and let the matter drop.
Ning Hengwu smiled, though the warmth never reached her eyes.
She tilted her head lazily toward the elders above, her voice dripping with scorn.
"You really are as disgusting and hypocritical as ever. Sitting high on your thrones, basking in the people’s gratitude—even though it was the three Immortal Venerables who suppressed the Four Slaughter Realms, the common folk praise the entire Immortal Alliance. But what have any of you actually done?"
One elder instantly flared up. "Ning Hengwu, do not overstep!"
"And what if I do?"
This time, it wasn’t Ning Hengwu who spoke—but Yan Shanqing.
"Sect Leader Yan?"
Yan Shanqing's expression was cold. "I never agreed to Xiao Wu succeeding as Immortal Sovereign back then. If not for our master's dying wish and your repeated pleas for Yingshan Sect to intervene in the chaos, why would I have relented?"
"Clearly, it was my master, Xiao Wu, Yun Zhi, and Zhao Yan who tirelessly served the Central Continent. You, as elders of the Immortal Alliance, merely sat in your halls spouting empty words, yet enjoyed the same reverence as the Immortal Sovereigns. Has old age thickened your skin as well?"
Jing Wei drew his horsetail whisk, roaring, "Yan Shanqing!"
Unfazed, Yan Shanqing unsheathed his sword and stepped forward, shielding Ning Hengwu behind him.
"Today, my actions have nothing to do with Yingshan Sect. I act solely as Hengwu's senior brother. We do not regret using soul-searching. If given another chance, we would do it again to uncover the truth. If you dare imprison my shimei, I dare kill you."
The small courtyard was packed with people as torrential rain poured down.
An elder urged, "Yan Shanqing, do you realize defying the Immortal Alliance will only worsen your punishment?"
"We know. And we do not regret it."
Under the stunned gazes of the thirteen elders, even Xiang Wuxue—the most even-tempered of Yingshan Sect—stepped forward, standing beside Yan Shanqing and Ning Hengwu.
The tip of his folding fan spun out a dozen sharp blades, pointing directly at the elders above.
Xiang Wuxue asked softly, "You refused to investigate the truth, so we used soul-searching to find clues. Would you care to hear them now?"
Before the others could respond, Jing Wei swung his whisk, sending a gale erupting around Xiang Wuxue.
Xiang Wuxue remained indifferent, not even sparing a glance.
Jing Wei gnashed his teeth. "The Immortal Alliance will never recognize evidence obtained through soul-searching! You juniors know nothing of the tragedy six hundred years ago. You wield it without guilt, unaware that soul-searching is why so many died in the Central Continent!"
"And what of it?" Xiang Wuxue retorted. "Were we the ones who caused those deaths?"
"Xiang Wuxue!"
His expression turned icy. "But Fuchun was our master. Zhuo Yu is our shimei. My master perished in the third Windfrost Slash, and my shimei unleashed the second. Time is running out. If soul-searching is the fastest way to uncover the truth and catch the culprit, we would choose it ten times over."
"If you had the ability to help us find the real culprit, why haven’t you? All you do is spout meaningless drivel!"
Jing Wei raised his whisk, bellowing, "Stubborn fools! Seize them!"
"Yes!"
The thirteen elders swiftly encircled the courtyard.
The battle erupted abruptly. Zhongli Yang quickly grabbed Zhongli Xun beside him.
"Elder brother! Do something! They won’t even hear what Elder Ning discovered—Chang Xun isn’t harmed! How can they condemn them outright?"
Zhongli Yang’s eyes reddened with anguish. "A-Xun, what can we do? Or do you want me to gamble the entire Zhongli Clan against the Immortal Alliance?"
He and Zhuo Yu had been close friends. Even when their families feuded, they had played together as children.
"If I were just Zhongli Yang, I would stand with them today. But I am more than that."
Zhongli Xun froze, his hand slipping from his brother’s grip.
He saw the fine wrinkles at Zhongli Yang’s temples, the dark circles beneath his weary eyes.
He understood.
The Immortal Alliance held absolute authority in the Central Continent. Yingshan Sect had always kept a low profile, and Immortal Zhuo Yu’s decade-long absence from suppressing the Four Slaughter Realms had already stirred discontent. Now, with three of its elders openly defying the Alliance for her sake, Yingshan Sect would surely face scorn hereafter.
No matter what Immortal Fuchun or Immortal Zhuo Yu had sacrificed for the Central Continent, one misstep—one act that harmed the masses—would erase all their past deeds. People would remember only their mistakes.
But the Zhongli Clan was different.
They remained the foremost of the Four Great Clans, their reputation untarnished.
Zhongli Xun stumbled back. At seventeen, he had lived none of the storms his two-hundred-year-old elder brother had weathered. His heart was still pure.
He shook his head.
"Elder brother, Immortal Zhuo Yu saved Nan Du. Immortal Fuchun saved Nan Du too. We shouldn’t—"
Among the thirteen elders, three were at the early-stage Divine Transformation, two at mid-stage, seven at peak-stage, and one at the early-stage Great Ascension. Yan Shanqing, Ning Hengwu, and Xiang Wuxue were only at peak-stage Divine Transformation—no match for them.
The elders’ killing formation was nearly complete.
Zhongli Xun turned and ran, ignoring Zhongli Yang’s shouts. He dashed through the storm, out of the courtyard.
He had to find Immortal Zhuo Yu.
The Central Continent’s strongest, Immortal Zhuo Yu.
But the moment he left the courtyard, overwhelming pressure erupted. The formation shattered, its shockwave collapsing the grand courtyard and the towering pavilions with it.
He was sent flying, slamming hard into the mud.
"A-Xun!"
Zhongli Yang rushed to help him up.
Zhongli Xun paid no mind to the filth staining his robes. He looked up at the sky.
There, where she should not have been, stood a figure in green robes, a single sword in hand, suspended in the void.
Though rain had been pouring endlessly, the moment she appeared, the downpour froze—droplets hanging motionless in the air.
A terrifying killing intent compelled submission. The pressure of peak-stage Great Ascension, half-step to Transcendence, was enough to shatter the nearly formed killing formation.
In Zhongli Xun’s memory, Immortal Zhuo Yu had never matched the Central Continent’s tales of her aloofness. She had always been kind, pure-hearted, like a girl next door.
Only now, witnessing her like this, did he understand.
The master of the Verdant Pursuit Sword, Immortal Zhuo Yu—the one who reached Nascent Soul at sixteen, Great Ascension at a hundred—was truly this formidable.
Jing Wei’s eyes widened. "Zhuo... Zhuo Yu?"
Ning Hengwu murmured, "Xiao Wu?"
She had told Mo Zhu to keep watch over her—hadn’t she?
But all confusion vanished when she spotted the black-robed youth standing calmly amid the ruins.
Mo Zhu shook his head at Ning Hengwu, Yan Shanqing, and the others.
He couldn’t stop Yu Zhiling.
Yu Zhiling’s gaze was icy, as though she had become a different person. Her thin green robes fluttered, her waist-length hair billowing wildly behind her.
Sword in hand, she stared down at the thirteen elders, her grip so tight her knuckles whitened. Her fury was unrestrained as she spoke, her voice cold.
"How dare you."
