The moment her voice fell, the suspended raindrops in the sky trembled faintly before crashing down in a torrent, pounding heavily onto the thirteen elders.
She was consumed by fury, her emotions spiraling beyond control. Seeing Ning Hengwu and the others drenched and isolated amidst the encircling enemies, her suppressed killing intent erupted violently, stripping away all reason. She longed to slaughter these thirteen men where they stood.
"Dare to harm my senior brothers and sisters? You deserve death."
Yu Zhiling gripped her sword with one hand, her blade intent merging with the rain to form razor-sharp water blades. Before Ning Hengwu and the others could even react to stop her, her killing strike exploded forth with blinding speed.
No one expected her to attack without warning. By the time they regained their senses, her unleashed sword energy had already split the air, the raindrops within transforming into lethal projectiles that pierced through the elders' shoulders, chests, and thighs.
Jing Wei's shoulder was also skewered by a rain blade, blood gushing out to stain his robes crimson. Clutching his wound, he snarled, "Zhuo Yu! How dare you act so recklessly!"
"Jing Wei, old fool, it is you who oversteps!"
A flash of green shadow blurred past. In the blink of an eye, Yu Zhiling—who had been hovering dozens of feet in the air—appeared right before him.
A searing pain erupted in his chest as she kicked him square in the heart. Despite being an early-stage Great Ascension cultivator, Jing Wei was sent flying hundreds of feet away, crashing into a pile of rubble before being buried under collapsing debris.
"Elder Jing Wei!"
"Little Fifth!"
Yu Zhiling was lost to bloodlust, her state clearly unhinged. She showed no intention of stopping, raising her sword to finish off Jing Wei.
Xiang Wuxue, the closest to her, reacted swiftly. In an instant, he appeared behind her and wrapped his arms around her, restraining her tightly.
"Little Fifth, Little Fifth!"
"You dare hurt my senior brothers and sisters? Scum, I’ll take your lives!"
Ning Hengwu and Yan Shanqing rushed forward, while Xiang Wuxue refused to loosen his grip, holding her firmly from behind.
"Second Senior Sister, something’s wrong with Little Fifth!"
Ning Hengwu channeled spiritual energy into Yu Zhiling’s consciousness while shouting sharply, "Little Fifth, Little Fifth, look at me! It’s your senior sister!"
"Little Fifth, we’re right here. Look at us!"
Blinded by her murderous rage, Yu Zhiling no longer saw the Zhongli family’s estate in the rain, nor did she see Yan Shanqing and the others standing unharmed before her.
Instead, she saw Ning Hengwu drenched in blood, lying lifeless in a pool of crimson, her once-gentle eyes dull and empty as rain pelted her corpse.
She saw Yan Shanqing missing an arm, a spear impaled through his chest, kneeling in a sea of blood.
She saw Xiang Wuxue pierced by countless arrows, his red robes unable to conceal the blood he had shed.
She saw the three of them—slaughtered in the most gruesome ways.
"You dare hurt them! You dare hurt them! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all!"
This bloodlust was the same as when she had learned of the Eight Blades Killing Array in Lianhua Ruins—an overwhelming, reason-drowning urge to slaughter.
Her mind screamed one thing:
Kill. Kill. Kill!
If she killed them all, her senior brothers and sisters would be safe.
If she slaughtered everyone, Yan Shanqing and the others wouldn’t die. No one else she loved would perish.
"Little Fifth!"
"Little Fifth, look at me! It’s your senior sister!"
"Master, it’s an illusion! Don’t believe it!"
Yu Zhiling’s ears buzzed with noise—too many voices shouting at once.
Then, she was embraced. Held tightly by many.
She caught the scent of Yan Shanqing’s bamboo fragrance, Ning Hengwu’s crabapple blossom sweetness, and Xiang Wuxue’s snow lotus chill.
"Little Fifth, your senior brothers and sisters are unharmed. We’re right here."
"Little Fifth, be good. Open your eyes and look?"
"Master, don’t believe what you see."
Slowly, she stilled. The embrace filled her with boundless security.
Yu Zhiling blinked, her vision clearing. She was surrounded, her senior brothers and sisters holding her close.
Beyond them, she spotted Mo Zhu standing some distance away, his black robes soaked by the rain, his face pale.
"Senior Brothers, Senior Sisters… Mo Zhu…"
So it was all an illusion. Yan Shanqing, Ning Hengwu, and Xiang Wuxue weren’t dead.
Yu Zhiling covered her eyes, her voice trembling. "I… I was terrified…"
The vision had been too real. Even now, her body felt icy cold, her heart pounding too violently to calm.
Yan Shanqing and the others didn’t know what she had seen, but it must have been horrific to drive her to such madness. If not for Xiang Wuxue’s intervention, she would have truly cleaved Jing Wei in half.
Meanwhile, Jing Wei had been dug out by the other elders. Once dignified, he now stood mud-splattered and disheveled, staring in disbelief at the weeping Yu Zhiling.
"Did you all see that? Zhuo Yu… Zhuo Yu has an inner demon!"
An inner demon—capable of stripping away reason, trapping its victim in fabricated nightmares.
A Celestial Venerable, one who cultivated the Path of Purity and Virtue, a natural enemy of demonic energy… How could she harbor an inner demon?
Jing Wei grabbed a nearby elder, pointing at Yu Zhiling. "She’s a demon! How can she remain a Celestial Venerable of the Central Continent? Kill her!"
"Who are you trying to kill?"
A voice, cold as death itself, cut through the air.
Jing Wei blinked, meeting a pair of golden, slit-pupiled eyes.
The youth before him was only seventeen—not even a fraction of Jing Wei’s eight hundred years.
Yet despite being a Great Ascension cultivator, Jing Wei felt an icy dread crawl up his spine. His breath hitched, and he instinctively retreated a step.
Those eyes…
Dark golden irises with swirling, luminous patterns unlike any human’s. Staring into them, his soul seemed ensnared—his mind growing hazier until, against his will, he raised his whisk…
Aimed at his own throat.
A sharp slap from a companion snapped him back to reality. "Elder Jing Wei!"
Jing Wei jolted awake.
He had nearly been goaded into suicide by a mere boy!
Terror gripped him. "What… What are you?"
The other elders turned toward the youth, only to see Mo Zhu standing meekly behind Yu Zhiling, head bowed in deference.
When Yu Zhiling reached to wipe rainwater from his face, he even bent down to accommodate her.
"Elder, this is Celestial Venerable Zhuo Yu’s disciple—just an ordinary snake spirit with slightly better talent. Why would you—"
Jing Wei brandished his whisk, beard quivering with rage. "Zhuo Yu! Is this boy truly just a snake spirit? Since when do serpents ensnare minds? His origins are dubious! Guards, seize him—"
"You dare?"
Two light words froze Jing Wei in place.
Yu Zhiling cast a fleeting glance, her face devoid of emotion.
Jing Wei’s face paled, his horsetail whisk nearly slipping from his grasp.
It was as if he had been transported back seventy years, to the time after Fuchun’s death, when Yu Zhiling had single-handedly stormed the Immortal Alliance with nothing but her sword, reducing the Elder Hall to ruins. Back then, none of the thirteen elders had been able to stop her.
She had been like a god of slaughter.
After demolishing the Elder Hall, she had turned and left without a word, as if nothing had happened.
But as she reached the entrance, she paused.
Jing Wei would never forget the look in her eyes when she turned back to them.
“Sanwei Mountain is only a day’s journey from the Elder Hall,” she had said. “Why did none of you go?”
Then she was gone.
That same day, the stone statue symbolizing the Immortal Alliance’s authority at the foot of the high platform had been shattered by her hand.
And it was on that day they realized—after Fuchun’s death, the only one qualified to take her place was Yu Zhiling.
Her strength far surpassed that of all the elite cultivators from noble families vying for the position at the time.
Seventy years had passed in the blink of an eye.
Jing Wei’s lips trembled. “Zhuo Yu, do you truly intend to stand in our way?”
Seventy years ago, she had taken on thirteen elders alone.
Now, seventy years later, she still wore her green robes and carried her single sword—but this time, she was not alone.
Her disciples stood behind her. Her senior brothers and sisters stood with her.
Yu Zhiling’s voice was icy. “And what if I do?”
“Your senior brothers and sisters have violated the laws of the Central Continent!”
“What laws? Soul-searching?” Yu Zhiling sneered. “When you banned soul-searching, was it truly for the good of the Central Continent—or for your own selfish gain?”
The prohibition on soul-searching had been Jing Wei’s proposal, and the other elders had no choice but to accept it.
In all these years, no one had dared to disrespect Jing Wei like this. His finger shook as he pointed at Yu Zhiling. “You insolent child!”
Yu Zhiling’s expression remained cold. “Six hundred years ago, a demonic cultivator used soul-searching on your elder brother and uncovered the Central Continent’s defenses. The casualties were devastating. When the people petitioned for your removal as an elder, you seized the moment to declare that as long as you held your position, soul-searching would be permanently banned. Jing Wei, was it truly out of concern for the Central Continent—or to preserve your own status?”
Jing Wei’s face flushed with rage, his lips quivering. “You—you—you—”
Yu Zhiling raised her hand slightly. The Zhuoqing Sword flew from her grasp, a flash of cyan light streaking through the air before the blade embedded itself into the ground. A fissure split the courtyard in two, dividing the space between the two factions.
“Today, anyone who dares cross this line—no matter who they are—I will kill.”
The thirteen elders exchanged uneasy glances.
The rain still poured relentlessly, but Yu Zhiling’s protective barrier shielded Mo Zhu and the others completely. She alone bore the brunt of the storm, her slender figure standing firm before them. The Zhuoqing Sword’s aura was as cold as frost and snow.
Ning Hengwu knew this was no time for tears, but as she watched Yu Zhiling’s back, she couldn’t hold them back. The first time she had seen her, Yu Zhiling had been nothing more than a babe in swaddling clothes. Now, in what felt like the blink of an eye, she had grown into someone who could single-handedly uphold the entire Central Continent.
One of the elders attempted to reason with her. “Zhuo Yu, do you understand the consequences of defying the Immortal Alliance? If word spreads, you may lose your title as Immortal Venerable.”
The title of Central Continent’s Immortal Venerable—one coveted by countless elite cultivators from noble families, fought over tooth and nail.
Yet in her eyes, it warranted nothing more than a dismissive reply: “Then go ahead and spread the word. Let the Central Continent decide whether they need you—or me.”
Her tone was flat, devoid of emotion, her face expressionless as she spoke.
Jing Wei was drenched, his meridians throbbing from the severe injuries Yu Zhiling had inflicted.
But worse than the pain was the weight of everyone’s gazes.
He scanned the courtyard. Many disciples of the Zhongli family had gathered, watching from a distance.
Zhongli Yang stood at the forefront, arms crossed, with Zhongli Xun at his side.
From their eyes, he saw the answer.
Who did the Central Continent need more—the thirteen elders, or Yu Zhiling?
Jing Wei closed his eyes in defeat. If the Central Continent were truly forced to choose…
The answer was painfully obvious.
They would choose Zhuo Yu, the Immortal Venerable at the peak of the Mahayana stage, half a step from transcending tribulation.
Yu Zhiling was determined to protect those under her wing. If they dared to lay a hand on her and she relinquished her title, where would the Immortal Alliance find another Zhuo Yu?
Worse yet, the Central Continent’s fury might very well turn against the thirteen of them.
A voice spoke beside him. “Jing Wei, let’s go. There’s no need to make this uglier than it already is.”
If they insisted on apprehending those who had used soul-searching, the Central Continent would lose Zhuo Yu.
Was it worth sacrificing the continent’s strongest cultivator just to preserve the dignity of thirteen elders?
The outcome was already decided.
Jing Wei’s injuries were too severe—Yu Zhiling had struck to kill. His ribs were shattered, his meridians half-severed. Another elder had no choice but to carry him on his back.
Under the scrutiny of so many, Jing Wei could only mutter weakly, “…Let’s go.”
Today, they had lost not just the battle—but the dignity of the Immortal Alliance’s elders.
Zhongli Xun hadn’t expected the matter to be resolved so quickly. He had braced for a brutal fight.
“Elder Brother… is it really over?”
He watched as the thirteen elders retreated. Aside from the collapsed buildings and the ravaged courtyard, there was little evidence of the near-catastrophe. In the blink of an eye, the flames of war had been extinguished—and the ones leaving were the thirteen elders who had ruled the Central Continent for decades.
Zhongli Yang glanced at his bewildered younger brother and flicked him lightly on the forehead.
“Ah Xun, if you had to choose between the Immortal Alliance’s elders and Zhuo Yu, the Immortal Venerable, who would you pick?”
Zhongli Xun rubbed the back of his head. “Huh?”
His gaze drifted to the center of the courtyard, where Mo Zhu was pulling the Zhuoqing Sword from the ground. Yu Zhiling seemed to be smiling—likely praising him.
Who would he choose?
Zhongli Xun stammered, “…I—I’d choose Zhuo Yu, the Immortal Venerable.”
Zhongli Yang’s lips curved slightly. “Why?”
Zhongli Xun answered honestly, “Because… the Immortal Venerable is incredibly strong.”
Seeing the amusement in his elder brother’s eyes, something clicked in his mind. He turned his gaze back to Yu Zhiling in the distance.
The surrounding ruins, the ground sunken dozens of feet deep, and the woman who had emerged from it all without a single speck of dust on her robes.
Fuchun’s disciple. Master of the Zhuoqing Sword. The one who had slain the Three-Pupiled Serpent alone, whose Frostwind Slash had shattered the Eight-Blade Killing Formation. The foremost of the Three Great Immortal Venerables, a Mahayana-stage cultivator not even two hundred years old—her potential was limitless.
Compared to thirteen elders who, despite their profound cultivation, had spent over a century issuing decrees from the Immortal Alliance without ever lifting a finger to slay a single demon or save a single life…
The choice was obvious.
Zhongli Yang shook his head. “Ah Xun, for the past decade, the Central Continent has had much to say about Zhuo Yu, the Immortal Venerable—yet no one has dared to force her out of the Yingshan Sect. Do you understand now?”
He did.
Because they feared losing her. Even if they resented her sudden indolence, they still didn’t dare provoke her.
Strength decided everything. It granted her absolute authority.
Zhongli Yang patted his foolish younger brother’s head: “Ah Xun, I’ll handle things here. You should go back first—”
“Little Five!”
“Shizun!”
Before Zhongli Yang could finish his words, he turned and saw Yu Zhiling collapse.
Yan Shanqing and the others swiftly caught her. The person who had just been cheerfully teasing her senior brothers and sisters now lay with her eyes tightly shut, her face deathly pale, her green robes gradually soaked with blood.
It suddenly occurred to him.
Seven days ago, Yu Zhiling had just used the Frostwind Slash, an attack that required at least a month of recovery—so severe she couldn’t even walk.
Yet today, she had come here.
How had she even managed to stand?
“Zhuo Yu!”
“Mo Zhu, light the calming incense.”
“Understood.”
The young man cleared the remnants of ash from the incense burner and inserted several sticks of soothing sandalwood.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Yan Shanqing about to close the window and quickly stopped him.
“Sect Leader, there’s no need to shut it completely.”
Yan Shanqing frowned slightly. “It’s raining today. Won’t leaving a gap let in the cold?”
Mo Zhu glanced at Yu Zhiling, unconscious on the bed, and swallowed before replying, “Shizun dislikes the smell of medicine. She also prefers the window slightly open.”
Yu Zhiling had never wanted Yan Shanqing and the others to know about her fear of darkness and enclosed spaces, so Mo Zhu could only help her keep it hidden.
“Fine, I’ll leave it slightly ajar.”
Yan Shanqing trusted him and didn’t question his words, pushing the window open just a sliver after having nearly sealed it shut.
But when his gaze fell upon Yu Zhiling on the bed, he couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh.
“This is my fault. I shouldn’t have made such a commotion and let Little Five find out.”
Mo Zhu said, “Sect Leader, it was my failure to stop Shizun.”
Yan Shanqing patted his shoulder reassuringly. “You’re still young. It’s no surprise you couldn’t hold her back.”
As their voices faded, Ning Hengwu withdrew her silver needles.
Xiang Wuxue, who had been sitting nearby, immediately asked, “Second Senior Sister, how is Little Five?”
Ning Hengwu’s voice was somber. “Her meridians were already half-shattered from using the Frostwind Slash. Now, after forcibly channeling spiritual energy, two-thirds of them are broken. She’ll need a long recovery. We should return to Yingshan Sect as soon as possible—staying in Nan Du risks further trouble.”
Yu Zhiling lay quietly on the bed. Ever since emerging from her recent seclusion, she had been full of energy, as if every day was an endless source of amusement, capable of entertaining herself even when alone.
Yet in just a few days, she had first unleashed the Frostwind Slash—an attack that cost her half her life—and then, despite her grievous injuries, forced herself to summon spiritual energy again to repel thirteen elders of the Immortal Alliance.
Now, in the silence, the atmosphere in the room was heavy. The group stood or sat in various positions, but all their eyes were fixed on the same place.
Yan Shanqing murmured, “This is my fault. As the eldest senior brother, I failed to protect all of you.”
Instead, it had been Yu Zhiling, the youngest among them, who had shouldered everything.
“Eldest Senior Brother, don’t overthink it. We’re family.” Ning Hengwu stood up, tucking the blankets more securely around Yu Zhiling. She stepped forward, forcing a smile. “We’re still alive, still together. That’s already enough.”
Yan Shanqing responded quietly, “Mn.”
Mo Zhu sat by the bed, keeping watch over Yu Zhiling. Seeing her pallid face, he couldn’t suppress the dark emotions rising in his chest.
If only… if only he were stronger, wouldn’t life be easier for her?
In truth, this was his fault too. He simply wasn’t strong enough.
A hand settled on his shoulder, and a gentle voice spoke from above.
“Mo Zhu, take good care of your shizun. Your senior uncles and I have some matters to attend to.”
“Third Senior Uncle.” Mo Zhu called out to Xiang Wuxue just as he was about to leave. Under the latter’s questioning gaze, he asked, “What did the soul search reveal? Can you tell me?”
Xiang Wuxue paused. “...Mo Zhu?”
Mo Zhu’s expression was cool. “Sect Leader, Senior Uncles, I’m no longer a child. There’s no need to hide things from me.”
He paused, glancing at the sleeping Yu Zhiling beside him, his gaze softening unconsciously. “I can protect Shizun too. I’d be glad to do anything for her.”
Yes, this was how it should be. Once the words were spoken, the boulder that had been weighing on his heart suddenly vanished.
He hated how they always treated him like a child—especially Yu Zhiling.
But the truth was… he could do things for her too.
Yu Zhiling’s fingers twitched. She seemed to be dreaming of something, her brows furrowing slightly as her hand groped blindly beside her.
Understanding, Mo Zhu immediately leaned in and whispered soothingly, “Shizun, don’t be afraid. Your disciple is here.”
Yu Zhiling grasped his hand, and once she confirmed someone was beside her, her tense expression gradually eased, her breathing steadying.
Yan Shanqing frowned, exchanging glances with Ning Hengwu and Xiang Wuxue before nodding at them.
Seeing how much Yu Zhiling relied on Mo Zhu, it was clear he had been taking good care of her. The boy harbored no ill intentions toward her—he was trustworthy.
Unnoticed by the three of them, Mo Zhu tightened his grip on Yu Zhiling’s hand. His expression remained calm, as if he were merely comforting his shizun.
Only he knew how violently his heart was pounding, loud enough to shatter his own eardrums.
He wanted to hold her hand like this—tightly, forever.
“Very well.”
Yan Shanqing agreed. He pulled out a chair and sat down first, while Ning Hengwu and Xiang Wuxue found their own seats.
Mo Zhu didn’t let go of Yu Zhiling’s hand but straightened his posture, waiting silently—clearly ready to listen.
Yan Shanqing spoke first. “Chang Xun didn’t collapse due to an old illness, just as we suspected. Someone made him faint. Since you were the only demonic cultivator in Nan Du, Zhongli Yang would inevitably seek your help. Once you entered Lian Hua Xu, the Three-Eyed Python would awaken.”
What followed was something they all knew. Yu Zhiling would never abandon Mo Zhu. She would enter Lian Hua Xu.
Slaying the Three-Eyed Python would weaken her. In that state, facing the Eight Blades Killing Array afterward would mean either failing to break the formation and perishing—or unleashing the Frostwind Slash a second time, inflicting fatal wounds upon herself.
From the very beginning, this had all been aimed at her.
Mo Zhu’s hand trembled, his breathing uneven. He was acutely aware of the murderous intent surging within him.
Yan Shanqing continued, “From Chang Xun’s memories, while patrolling the city as usual, he was lured by someone in a Nan Du alleyway. That person planted a demon seed in him, and once he returned to his room, he fell unconscious. The demon seed didn’t just induce a coma—it would erupt seven days later, killing him. By then, even a soul search would be useless.”
Fortunately, Ning Hengwu had acted swiftly. On the sixth day, she performed the soul search and detected the demon seed in his consciousness.
She extracted it, saving Chang Xun’s life—even if the process had involved searching his soul.
Mo Zhu knew Yan Shanqing hadn’t yet reached the main point.
The next moment, his voice turned icy, and the fierce energy around him shattered the teacup on the table.
Yan Shanqing spoke through gritted teeth, "That demonic cultivator… is the same one who appeared at Sanwei Mountain back then. I’d recognize him even if he turned to ashes."
He waved his hand, and a luminous screen materialized in the air. Mo Zhu looked over—it was the memory Ning Hengwu had extracted from Chang Xun’s soul.
The figure Chang Xun had seen was shrouded in thick black mist, wearing an eye-catching hood that revealed only a pale, gaunt jawline and thin lips curved in a lazy smirk.
"Young master, I’ve been waiting for you," the voice was cold, sending chills down the spine.
The vision abruptly ended, and Chang Xun’s memory of the encounter was sealed away before he returned to his residence in a daze and collapsed.
The screen vanished.
Yan Shanqing, Xiang Wuxue, and Ning Hengwu all wore expressions of murderous intent.
Yan Shanqing exhaled sharply, his voice tight with fury. "That man is the same demonic cultivator who appeared at Sanwei Mountain. Back then, the Eight Blades Killing Array appeared first. Just as my master used the second Frostblade Slash and was severely injured, he emerged to force her into unleashing the third. After that… Fuchun the Immortal Venerable vanished from the Central Continent."
He paused, glancing at Ning Hengwu beside him.
Ning Hengwu took a deep breath, steadying her voice as she continued, "Later, we began to suspect—was the Eight Blades Killing Array and that demonic cultivator’s appearance orchestrated from the start to target our master?"
After all, Sanwei Mountain was just an ordinary village—one of countless such places in the Central Continent.
But Sanwei Mountain had one peculiarity.
At the time, Fuchun the Immortal Venerable was nearby, exterminating evil. If anything happened, she would be the first to arrive.
Yet Sanwei Mountain was remote. The nearest of the Three Sects and Four Great Families, the Li Clan, was at least three days away. The Yingshan Sect was seven days distant. Aside from the Immortal Alliance’s Elder Hall being relatively close, no meaningful reinforcements could arrive in time.
But the thirteen elders of the Elder Hall never intervened in matters of evil.
Xiang Wuxue added, "So, if Sanwei Mountain was in peril, our master would stand alone. Using the fatal flaw of the Path of Clarity to eliminate the Central Continent’s strongest at the time—who wouldn’t call that a masterstroke?"
The moment Fuchun unleashed the first Frostblade Slash to break the Eight Blades Killing Array, she might have already stepped into the trap.
And now, history was repeating itself.
Seventy years ago, only two people in the Central Continent cultivated the Path of Clarity—a daoist method requiring absolute purity of heart and mind. Neither Yan Shanqing nor the others could master it. Only Yu Zhiling had entered the Path of Clarity at the age of three.
A soul of utmost kindness and purity, untainted by worldly distractions—thus capable of burning the power of the spirit.
The Path of Clarity had elevated Fuchun to the pinnacle of the Central Continent and allowed Yu Zhiling to reach the Great Ascension Realm by a hundred years of age.
The supreme technique of the Path of Clarity, the Frostblade Slash, had turned the tide countless times in the Central Continent’s long history, creating miracles.
Mo Zhu’s voice trembled. "So, that demonic cultivator used this method to eliminate Fuchun the Immortal Venerable seventy years ago… and now, he intends to use the same tactic to eliminate my master?"
"Yes."
The exact same ploy, targeting master and disciple alike.
Mo Zhu lifted his gaze. "Will he force my master to unleash the third Frostblade Slash again?"
"...Perhaps."
But in truth, they all knew the answer was inevitable.
Once Yu Zhiling recovered, she would still be at the peak of the Great Ascension Realm—perhaps even nearing transcendence. Few in the Central Continent could rival her in combat. If that demonic cultivator could kill her through sheer power alone, why go through such convoluted schemes?
He couldn’t kill Yu Zhiling or Fuchun outright, so he exploited the fatal flaw of the Path of Clarity instead.
A despicable tactic—yet ruthlessly effective.
Mo Zhu lowered his eyes, falling into prolonged silence.
The room was heavy with quiet, the rain outside pounding relentlessly against the windows and terrace.
After a long while, Mo Zhu suddenly spoke. "It won’t happen."
Yan Shanqing blinked. "What won’t?"
Mo Zhu met his gaze, his voice firm. "I won’t let my master wield the third Frostblade Slash. From now on, I won’t leave her side for even a step. Wherever she goes, I go."
"As long as I live, I won’t let her unleash it."
Yan Shanqing and the others said nothing—perhaps finding Mo Zhu’s words naive.
In this mortal world, who could follow another person without fail?
After sitting for a while longer, they finally sighed and rose.
Yan Shanqing stood. "Mo Zhu, we’ll take our leave for now. We must inform Yun Zhi and Zhao Yan. Once your master wakes, we’ll depart for the Yingshan Sect in the coming days."
"Understood."
Soon, only Mo Zhu and Yu Zhiling remained in the room.
He sat by the bed, his gaze fixed on her, unwilling to look away for even a second.
Why target Fuchun and Zhuo Yu?
He had his suspicions—perhaps Yan Shanqing and the others had reached the same conclusion, which was why they sought Yun Zhi and Wu Zhaoyan.
It was for the Four Slaughter Realms. More precisely, for the Demon Abyss within.
Eliminating two of the Central Continent’s mightiest cultivators would leave the land vulnerable. The remaining two Immortal Venerables, still in the early stages of the Great Ascension Realm, would be far easier to dispatch.
With three Immortal Venerables gone, the Four Slaughter Realms would destabilize, and the Four Slaughter Stele would inevitably shatter.
Demons would return to the Central Continent.
And that demonic cultivator they had just seen…
Mo Zhu’s lips pressed into a thin line. His grip on Yu Zhiling’s hand tightened unconsciously, his pupils dilating into vertical slits of dark gold. Fine black scales crept across his cheekbones as an overwhelming killing intent radiated from him.
He would never forget.
He would never forget, even in death.
"Mmm… Mo Zhu?"
A faint murmur broke the silence.
Mo Zhu snapped back to reality, meeting Yu Zhiling’s half-lidded eyes.
Realizing his grip, panic surged through him, and he immediately loosened his hold.
He knelt beside the bed, one hand brushing aside the disheveled hair at her temple while the other cradled her hand, pressing his cheek into her palm.
"Master, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to. Did I hurt you?"
Yu Zhiling couldn’t fully open her eyes, her mind still foggy. Her vision was blurred, but she could feel the scalding droplets falling onto her palm, trailing down her wrist and into her sleeve.
Her voice was hoarse, barely audible. "Mo Zhu, don’t cry."
Mo Zhu froze, reaching up to touch his own face in confusion.
He hadn’t realized he’d been crying.
Yu Zhiling struggled to speak. "Little one… come here. Let your master hold you. Don’t cry…"
She’d only been unconscious—why was her little disciple so distraught?
He must feel insecure. As his guardian, it was her duty to offer him a reassuring embrace.
With great effort, she lifted her hand, her voice a whisper. "Come closer… let me hold you…"
Her words still carried an unconscious tone of coquetry. Mo Zhu's Adam's apple bobbed, and before his mind could even process it, his body had already responded to her.
He leaned down, arms sliding beneath her back, pulling her into his embrace.
She was a treasure—one he cradled in his palms, terrified she might slip away. So he held her lighter, then lighter still.
Her scent enveloped him—the usual orange blossom fragrance now mingled with a hint of medicinal herbs. Mo Zhu buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling carefully, as tears spilled onto her collarbone.
Yu Zhiling was exhausted, barely clinging to wakefulness, but she forced herself to soothe her fragile little disciple.
"Don't be afraid, I'm here," she murmured.
"Shizun…" Mo Zhu choked out, unable to mask the turmoil inside him. What if the tragedies of his childhood repeated themselves?
She was all he had left.
Half-draped over him, Yu Zhiling’s eyelids grew heavy, but the boy kept crying, making it impossible for her to settle—she couldn’t lie still, couldn’t hold him properly.
With sluggish movements, she shifted slightly, clearing space beside her. "Sleep," she mumbled drowsily. "Shizun will stay with you."
Most importantly—let her sleep.
She was about to collapse from exhaustion.
Mo Zhu knew this was wrong.
Yet when he regained his senses, he had already shed his outer robe, clad only in black inner garments, lying beside her.
He didn’t share the quilt, but their heads rested on the same embroidered pillow, face-to-face as he watched her.
Yu Zhiling had fallen completely asleep, as if she’d never woken at all—her breathing steady, long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks.
A gap remained between them. Mo Zhu knew it was a boundary—one he, as her disciple, should never cross.
He shouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
But in truth, he had no control over his own body.
He closed the distance, shamelessly erasing that line.
"Shizun?" he whispered.
"...Mm."
She responded unconsciously.
Mo Zhu was a man, his body temperature far warmer than hers. Yu Zhiling shifted slightly, nuzzling closer until her head nestled against his chest.
He simply watched, waiting, as she inched into his arms, her hands slipping around his waist.
His heart pounded so violently he could barely breathe, his throat parched. This was no ordinary boundary between master and disciple—he had crossed it entirely. If Yan Shanqing or any of the others walked in now, he’d surely be expelled from Yu Zhiling’s tutelage.
But…
He wanted this.
"Shizun?"
"...Mm."
"Are you cold?"
"...Mm."
"Then hold me tighter. Your disciple runs warm."
"...Alright."
Tighter.
Tighter still.
Yu Zhiling’s nose pressed against his collarbone, her arms tightening as she burrowed into his embrace. His body radiated heat, carrying the clean, comforting scent of her young disciple—she adored it.
Mo Zhu, just as shamelessly, wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her flush against him, quilt and all. He was much taller, his chin resting perfectly atop her head.
From head to toe, she was in his arms.
Completely his.
He wanted to push further.
He wanted…
To lie beside her like this forever, to hold her day and night.
