Upon waking up, the sound of her little disciple practicing his swordplay rustled outside.
The master, who had slept until nearly noon, felt no shame at all. She rolled over to the edge of the bed and, as expected, spotted the tea and fruits her disciple had left on the small table.
What a thoughtful little snake, Yu Zhiling chuckled to herself, grabbing the tea and drinking it. The warm water soothed her dry throat, and she sprawled out comfortably.
[Ding! The male protagonist has mastered the fourth level of "Dawnbreak Sword Art." Host gains +30 virtue points. Current virtue points: 1920. Keep up the good work.]
Yu Zhiling: “!”
[Ding! The male protagonist has mastered the fifth level of "Dawnbreak Sword Art." Host gains +30 virtue points. Current virtue points: 1950. Keep up the good work.]
Yu Zhiling: “!!”
Almost two thousand!
She had practically hacked the system. Aside from the more difficult secret techniques, it seemed that mastering an ordinary sword art or cultivation method granted thirty virtue points per level, with an additional fifty upon full completion.
"Dawnbreak Sword Art" had six levels in total. As long as she pushed him to master the final level, she’d finally accumulate enough virtue points—two thousand—to unlock the second phase of her memories.
Lying quietly for a while, she was on the verge of dozing off again when a knock sounded at her door.
“Master, are you awake? Miss Liu has prepared lunch.”
Yu Zhiling’s eyes flew open.
“I’m up, I’m up!”
Mo Zhu pushed the door open and stepped inside, parting the beaded curtain separating the inner and outer chambers. His gaze landed on Yu Zhiling’s dark, gleaming eyes.
When she looked at someone, she did so with intense focus, her eyes bright and lively. Fresh from sleep, her cheeks were faintly flushed, and the quilt only covered her waist, leaving the rest of her exuding an indescribable laziness.
Seeing him, she stretched out her arms. “Carry me to wash up.”
Mo Zhu’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he chuckled under his breath. She’s like a kitten.
A very cute, very clingy kitten.
Mo Zhu stepped forward and effortlessly scooped her up, but before he could take her to the washroom, she patted his shoulder.
“Put me in the wheelchair. The paths in the Thousand Mechanisms Pavilion are smooth—no need to trouble yourself carrying me. Just push me.”
Mo Zhu’s gaze flicked to the wheelchair by the window.
One of these days, I’m smashing that thing.
Despite his thoughts, his expression remained obedient.
“Alright.”
By the time Yu Zhiling finished freshening up, Liu Guizheng had the meal ready. The beauty wore a plain white robe today, accentuating her ethereal grace. Yu Zhiling wheeled herself over and measured Liu Guizheng’s waist with her hands.
Liu Guizheng blinked. “Zhiling, what are you doing?”
Yu Zhiling’s eyes widened. “Your waist is this tiny!”
She could practically span it with both hands!
Liu Guizheng froze, while Fucui, who was ladling soup for Yu Zhiling, burst into laughter.
“Immortal Master, my lady has always been frail. If not for your presence, she’d barely eat all year. Naturally, she looks thin.”
Yu Zhiling’s expression darkened as she grasped Liu Guizheng’s hand.
“Is there no permanent cure for your condition?”
Liu Guizheng shook her head. “If there were, you would’ve found it long ago. I was born with this weakness. After living with it for centuries, I’ve grown used to it. It’s fine.”
Yu Zhiling could only nod. “Alright, alright. Take care of yourself.”
Mo Zhu entered the hall at that moment, carrying a plate of peeled fruits.
“Master, have some scarlet berries.”
Yu Zhiling jolted. “You peeled them too?”
Mo Zhu nodded. “Mn. It’s hard for you to exert strength.”
Deliberately, he sat beside Yu Zhiling and pulled her wheelchair closer.
Her oblivious master, completely unaware of his intentions, kept praising her wonderful disciple.
The scarlet berries were sweet, but their shells were tough. Back in the Yingshan Sect, she’d had to beg him to crack them open. Now, her little disciple was proactively helping!
Mo Zhu set the plate before her, his dark eyes flicking briefly to Liu Guizheng before returning to his master with unwavering focus.
“Master, let me remove the bones for you.”
“Aww, you’re such a good boy!”
“Master, want some shrimp?”
“Yes! Five, please!”
“Alright, I’ll peel them for you.”
The young man kept his head bowed, not touching his own meal as he meticulously deboned fish and shelled shrimp for Yu Zhiling. To an outsider, he looked every bit the devoted disciple. Meanwhile, the happily oblivious Yu Zhiling accepted his service with practiced ease.
Liu Guizheng, however, was seething. She stabbed her chopsticks into a piece of chicken.
Crack—
The porcelain bowl split.
Yu Zhiling, mouth full of food: “…Guizheng?”
Liu Guizheng gritted her teeth. “Zhiling, have you heard the saying?”
“What saying?”
“‘Excessive kindness hides treachery.’” Liu Guizheng’s voice was icy as she glared past Yu Zhiling at the young man beside her.
Mo Zhu didn’t even look up, still peeling shrimp with an air of perfect docility.
Yu Zhiling: “Huh?”
She scratched her head, glancing between Liu Guizheng and Mo Zhu behind her.
“Guizheng, do you two have some kind of grudge?”
Why the passive-aggressiveness?
Liu Guizheng scoffed. “What grudge could I have with him? He’s just a child.”
She emphasized child, and sure enough, Mo Zhu’s hands stilled. His dark eyes lifted, cold and sharp.
Liu Guizheng wasn’t intimidated. She tilted her chin up, her gaze taunting—Yes, I mean you, you brat. How dare you covet your master?
Yu Zhiling: “…”
Fucui: “…”
Yu Zhiling quickly grabbed Mo Zhu’s wrist to stop him from lunging.
“Guizheng, that’s not fair. My disciple is seventeen—hardly a child anymore. He’s grown up.”
Mo Zhu hated being called a child!
Ah, the painful lessons of being his master…
Fucui hastily patted her lady’s shoulder. “Right, right! Young Master Mo is seventeen, and Immortal Master Zhuo Yu is still injured. He does need close care. It’s just peeling shrimp, after all.”
So please, my lady, shut up before that boy actually tries to eat you.
Her lady was only at the peak of the Golden Core realm—no match for that young man!
In the end, the meal concluded with Yu Zhiling forcing Mo Zhu to sit at the southern end of the table while Liu Guizheng and Fucui sat at the northern end, an entire table separating them.
Yu Zhiling couldn’t understand why Liu Guizheng harbored such hostility toward Mo Zhu.
Throughout the meal, every time Mo Zhu peeled a shrimp for her, Liu Guizheng’s face darkened.
When he ladled her soup, Liu Guizheng’s expression grew stormier.
And when he dabbed a drop of broth from her lips, Liu Guizheng slammed the table and stood.
“What are you doing?! Keep your hands to yourself!”
Mo Zhu replied lightly, “Master’s condition makes movement difficult. As her disciple, it’s my duty to attend to her closely.”
The young man lifted his eyes, his beautiful features curving into a smile. “Why are you so upset, Miss Liu?”
Yu Zhiling, clutching her soup bowl: “Um… can you two let me finish eating before you start fighting?”
Liu Guizheng had a small appetite. After just a few bites, she found an excuse to return to her room.
She entered the forging chamber, with Fucui following closely behind.
Standing before the massive forging furnace, Liu Guizheng’s slender frame seemed as if it could be toppled by a mere gust of wind. Having secluded herself indoors for years, her skin was as pale as frost.
Fucui couldn’t help but worry about her health and whispered, "Miss, Mo Zhu has been taking good care of the Immortal Venerable. Perhaps we shouldn’t interfere?"
Liu Guizheng’s expression remained indifferent. On the table lay a simple sketch drawn by Yu Zhiling—a plump little snake.
While mixing the materials she needed, she replied, "Mo Zhu’s origins are unclear. Have you found any leads on what I asked you to investigate?"
"No. We only know that Mo Zhu was once hunted down in his youth and was saved by Immortal Venerable Zhuo Yu… Over the past few years, it seems someone has been pursuing him, but he handles it himself, and there might even be others helping him."
"So now you understand why I object?"
Fucui paused, suddenly realizing. "You’re worried Mo Zhu might bring unforeseen dangers to Immortal Venerable Zhuo Yu?"
Liu Guizheng meticulously carved into a piece of jade, not lifting her head as she spoke calmly, "A person of unknown origins could bring greater risks at any moment. Zhiling is already exhausted—she shouldn’t have to bear any more burdens for his sake. The one by her side must be someone whose background is clear."
Fucui asked softly, "Immortal Venerable Wu Zhaoyan?"
After all, they were childhood sweethearts. The Wu family had deep roots in the Central Continent, and Wu Zhaoyan’s identity at least carried no hidden dangers.
Liu Guizheng said, "It doesn’t have to be him, but it cannot be that demon. Zhiling’s heart is as pure as a child’s now—she remembers nothing. That boy is too guarded, as if he’s hiding countless secrets. I don’t like him being near Zhiling."
She straightened up, ending the conversation.
"Fucui, come help me melt the jade."
Fucui knew she was about to forge the little snake Yu Zhiling had drawn, so she promptly dropped the subject and stepped forward to assist.
In the courtyard, Yu Zhiling ate her meal bite by bite, while the person beside her remained composed, as if nothing had happened.
Yu Zhiling couldn’t understand why Liu Guizheng disliked Mo Zhu. Was it because of his identity as a snake demon?
But Liu Guizheng herself had partial demon blood—she shouldn’t hold such prejudice against demons.
She shook her head, deciding not to dwell on it. After spending a few more days with Liu Guizheng, she planned to return to the Yingshan Sect. Her injuries would heal enough for her to walk in another half-month.
After lunch, Mo Zhu stood to clear the table, washing and tidying up. When he finished, he turned to see Yu Zhiling pushing her wheelchair into the courtyard.
The weather was lovely today. She tilted her head back lazily, her snow-white skin glowing under the sunlight, making her appear almost translucent.
Above her, a crabapple tree was in full bloom. As the wind blew, petals drifted onto her, but Yu Zhiling didn’t move, keeping her eyes closed as she basked in the warmth.
Mo Zhu knew she loved sunbathing—she adored anything full of vitality.
He didn’t disturb her, leaning against the doorframe to watch quietly. His heartbeat quickened, the fervor of youthful infatuation surging uncontrollably.
Suddenly, she turned and looked at him. Her bright, limpid eyes met his deep, dark gaze. Before Mo Zhu could conceal the emotion in his eyes, his breath hitched, fearing he had given himself away.
But instead of suspicion, she beamed at him and called out loudly, "Little Dumpling, bring me some fruit!"
Mo Zhu paused, then suddenly laughed.
"Alright."
His foolish master—completely oblivious to his feelings.
Mo Zhu brought her a plate of red-shelled nuts, already cracked open for her. He pulled up a stool and sat beside Yu Zhiling, listening to the crisp sound of her nibbling.
If nothing unexpected happened, she would nap in about an hour.
After staying with her for a while, Mo Zhu got up and went to the backyard to practice his swordplay. He never wasted a single moment—his desire to grow stronger burned fiercer than ever. He wanted to stand openly by her side and confess his feelings.
Yu Zhiling finished the plate of nuts and yawned lazily. The sharp, lethal sound of swordplay from the backyard reached her ears as her consciousness grew hazy.
Unconsciously, she thought: Though he was Zhuo Yu’s disciple, his cultivation seemed self-taught.
Mo Zhu’s sword intent was too ruthless—unlike Zhuo Yu’s life-saving blade.
His sword was meant for killing.
But since he was the protagonist, she still believed in his integrity. As long as she stopped him from slaughtering the Yingshan Sect, he wouldn’t break character.
Yes, she had to prevent him from going OOC—she couldn’t let him attack the sect.
Yu Zhiling grew drowsier and drowsier.
[Ding! Protagonist has mastered the "Dawnbreak Sword Art." Host’s virtue points +50. Current virtue points: 2000. Keep up the good work.]
Yu Zhiling felt muddled, wanting to open her eyes but unable to. Her consciousness sank deeper.
[Virtue points progress monitored. Host’s virtue points: 2000. Second stage activated.]
On the winter solstice, heavy snow fell.
Deep into the night, a green figure flashed past, the gust of wind shaking snow from the cypress branches. The fine powder swirled in the air, landing on fluttering black hair and emerald robes before melting into damp droplets.
Zhuo Yu’s hair was disheveled, her rapid breaths the only sound in her ears. Upon receiving the news, she had rushed here from a demon-slaying mission—a journey that should have taken five days, but she had run without rest for three.
Without hesitation, she dashed into the shadowy depths of Sanwei Mountain. At the mountainside, hundreds of terrified villagers scattered, mistaking her for the returning demonic cultivator.
The green figure moved too quickly for anyone to see her face—only a cold gust and a flurry of snow in her wake.
Zhuo Yu sprinted past the crowd, charging up the mountain.
"Master… Master…"
She sobbed, tears mingling with snowflakes on her cheeks. The night wind chilled her to the bone.
After three days of nonstop running—faster than a teleportation talisman—her legs were on the verge of collapse. But compared to the agony in her heart, the physical pain was nothing. She could only push forward, again and again.
Run. Faster.
Her master had to be alive. She just hadn’t answered the communication jade. She had to be alive.
Zhuo Yu broke through the dense forest just as the full moon rose high.
The disciple bond with Fuchun flickered wildly. The thick stench of blood was suffocating—it seeped into the snow, melting the old layers only to be buried under fresh crimson.
Her legs gave out. She collapsed, her once-pristine robes now filthy from days of relentless travel. She staggered up, took a few steps, then fell again.
Over and over, the short distance felt endless as she stumbled repeatedly, her green robes stained with snow.
"Master! Master!"
Zhuo Yu approached Fuchun’s side, her hands trembling as she reached for her wrist, yet not daring to truly touch her.
What if she was really dead?
What if… what if she was truly gone…
“Wuwu… Master, Master…”
She sobbed uncontrollably, unable to sense even a flicker of life in Fuchun.
Then, a hand brushed against her pinky finger.
“…Little Wu.”
The choked weeping ceased abruptly. Zhuo Yu stiffened, lifting her head to meet a pair of clouded eyes.
She blinked in confusion before realization struck. In an instant, she threw herself forward, her cries tearing through the air like shattered glass. “Master, Master, I was so scared! I’ll heal you—I’ll heal you right now!”
She was utterly terrified, her voice ragged and words disjointed as she knelt in the snow, gathering Fuchun into her arms to begin healing.
A bloodied hand pressed against her, stopping her.
“…Little Wu.”
Zhuo Yu’s composure shattered. “Whatever you have to say can wait!” she shouted. “Let me heal you first!”
Fuchun’s voice was hoarse, her throat thick with blood, each word forced out with effort. “Little Wu… you know what must be done…”
Zhuo Yu pretended not to hear, cradling Fuchun and gripping her wrist, channeling her spiritual energy into her meridians.
Fuchun’s eyes were half-lidded, watching as Zhuo Yu’s energy flowed into her—only to seep out through the shattered pathways.
Zhuo Yu acted as though she didn’t see, pouring her energy forth without restraint.
Fuchun let out a faint laugh. “Little Wu, my bones are crushed, my meridians severed… There’s no saving me.”
Still, Zhuo Yu refused to speak, stubbornly continuing to transfer her energy.
“Little Wu, you know why I summoned you here…”
“Little Wu, don’t do this…”
“Little Wu, listen to me…”
Zhuo Yu broke into anguished sobs. “How can you ask me to listen? How can I possibly obey you? How could I ever bring myself to do it? Please, Master, stop talking—just stop!”
Fuchun’s body was riddled with wounds. Zhuo Yu’s energy flowed in only to drain away, her own strength waning as Fuchun’s breath grew fainter.
Until Fuchun spoke again: “It’s useless. Listen to me, Little Wu.”
Zhuo Yu’s hands shook, her entire body trembling. Her sobs choked her, making it hard to breathe. Defeated, she slumped to the ground, Fuchun’s head resting on her lap.
“Master, Master, I’m sorry… I was too late… I came too late…”
The falling snow settled on Fuchun’s body, dusting Zhuo Yu as well.
The disciple wept in stifled agony, but Fuchun could no longer wipe away her tears, nor could she pull her close and comfort her as she had when Zhuo Yu was a child.
Her gaze grew increasingly unfocused, her voice quieter.
“Little Wu, you know… within my soul… there’s a demon seed… It’s devouring my spirit… If I die, it will take over my body… You… you must help me, shatter my soul…”
Zhuo Yu covered her face, tears spilling between her fingers.
She begged through her sobs. “Please… please, Master, don’t do this to me…”
A single tear slid from Fuchun’s eye. Blood pooled in her throat, her breaths labored as she struggled to speak.
“I didn’t dare die… I waited for you… Little Wu, you weren’t late… Not at all…”
She lifted a trembling hand, reaching for the person beside her. Zhuo Yu leaned down, pressing her cheek into Fuchun’s touch.
“Little Wu, after I’m gone… the Central Continent will be defenseless… Will you… will you guard it for me?”
“Only you… Only you can protect it… Only Little Wu…”
Zhuo Yu wept so violently she could no longer see Fuchun’s face. Her mind felt starved of oxygen, her head splitting with pain, her entire body aching. Tears fell in streams, landing on Fuchun’s cheeks.
“Master… don’t die, I beg you…”
Even though she knew her pleas were futile—Fuchun would die.
The third strike of the Frostblade had shattered her spirit and severed her meridians. The demonic cultivator had planted a seed within her, intent on wringing the last remnants of her worth dry.
Once Fuchun could no longer resist, on the brink of death, the demon seed would consume her soul and claim her body—a tactic commonly used by demonic cultivators.
From then on, Fuchun would become a demon.
Her vision dimmed, her pupils losing their light.
“Little Wu, the path I wish for you to walk… is one where you never, never, never look back…”
“Do what you must… Don’t seek vengeance… Protect the Central Continent with your senior brothers and sisters… Live on…”
“Little Wu… Little Wu…”
Zhuo Yu remained motionless, listening as her voice faded.
All she could hear was her own ragged breathing, the howl of the cold wind, and the slowing beat of her own heart.
She knelt there, dazed, for what felt like an eternity before finally whispering,
“Master?”
She felt movement in her arms and looked down.
Dark demonic patterns crept across Fuchun’s pallid face, crimson veins threading around her dull, open eyes. She was struggling—fighting against the demon seed’s grasp—but the inky tendrils slithered toward her consciousness.
A faint white glow flickered at her forehead—a mark of her purity as an enlightened cultivator, her soul untouchable by corruption.
The black threads coiled around her spirit, seeking to consume it and claim her body.
Zhuo Yu watched, expressionless.
The truth was… if the demon seed devoured her soul, this body would live on.
Her spirit would merely become demonic—her Master would still exist.
If she hid the demonized Fuchun away, kept her from harming others, if she and Yan Shanqing stayed by her side forever…
She could keep her.
She watched as the demonic energy swallowed Fuchun’s soul, as the body in her arms twitched and rose with unnatural movements.
Zhuo Yu remained kneeling, staring up.
Crack. Crack. Fuchun’s limbs twisted as the demon seed bloomed, birthing a new existence—a demon wearing Fuchun’s face.
“Master…”
“Master, will you hate me…?”
“Master… Master…”
But no answer came.
Just as the last glimmer of light at Fuchun’s forehead was about to be extinguished, Zhuo Yu suddenly laughed.
The laughter grew louder, hysterical, even as tears streamed down her face—a maddened mix of grief and delirium.
Her sword, Zhuqing, hummed in response, sensing its master’s killing intent.
Zhuo Yu closed her eyes and issued the deadliest command.
“Zhuqing… shatter her soul.”
The blade’s whistle cut through the air.
The sword techniques Fuchun had taught her as a child—now used to annihilate her Master’s spirit.
As the soul shattered, the demon seed had nowhere to hide. Zhuqing crushed it into dust.
The body fell from the void, and Zhuo Yu caught it.
But it was nothing more than an empty shell—not a single fragment of the soul remained.
Death of the body, annihilation of the spirit.
Zhuo Yu sat amidst the endless snow, cradling Fuchun’s lifeless form.
She still couldn't bear to let Fuchun, who cultivated the Path of the Clear Heart, become a demon. It would have been too cruel to Fuchun.
But shattering Fuchun’s soul with her own hands—wasn’t that just as cruel to her?
Fuchun clung to her last breath, not daring to die, waiting for her disciple to arrive and personally send her on her final journey.
Fuchun the Immortal perished on the winter solstice of the 510th year of Xiqing.
Yu Xiaowu also died that day.
Yu Zhiling opened her eyes, her gaze empty of emotion, yet she could clearly feel the coldness seeping through her entire body.
She struggled to breathe, her heart aching as if the pain from her past life’s illness had returned.
Yu Zhiling curled up, clutching her chest, gasping for air. Fresh oxygen filled her lungs, yet the pain in her heart only grew sharper.
She wanted to know why Zhuo Yu had become so cold and indifferent. She wanted to know how Yu Xiaowu—the one Yan Shanqing and the others had adored—had disappeared. How could Fuchun’s death alone have dealt her such a devastating blow?
How could the carefree Yu Xiaowu have turned into the reclusive and silent Zhuo Yu the Immortal?
But now that she had seen it with her own eyes, she almost wished she hadn’t.
To protect her master from becoming a demon, she had shattered Fuchun’s soul at the brink of death, cutting off any chance of reincarnation—how could Yu Xiaowu have endured that?
Yet what else could Yu Xiaowu have done? Watching Fuchun become a puppet of the demonic cultivators, enslaved by the demons—for a righteous Central Continent Immortal who upheld justice and cultivated the Path of the Clear Heart, that would have been the greatest insult, the cruelest fate.
Yu Zhiling’s emotions collapsed. Her chest ached unbearably, and the more she thought, the more aggrieved she felt. She screamed in fury.
“I want to go home! I don’t want to do this damn mission anymore—send me back! Even if I die, I don’t care! I don’t want to be here! Who wants to do this stupid task?!”
“What right do you have to treat me like this? What did I do wrong to be dragged here?! Damn system, come out right now!”
“Screw the merit points, screw the mission—I quit! I’m done! Why did you have to show me those things? This isn’t even my mission!”
Hearing her cries, Mo Zhu immediately stopped his sword practice and rushed to the courtyard, where he found her curled up in a chair, clutching her chest.
“Master, what’s wrong?”
Alarmed, he dropped to one knee before her, cradling her face—only to see it streaked with tears.
She looked utterly miserable. The moment her reddened eyes met his, she burst into loud, heart-wrenching sobs.
“I don’t know anything! Why do you keep forcing me to see these things?! None of this has anything to do with me! I want to go home… I want A’Gui…”
Home—was she talking about the Yingshan Sect?
A’Gui—was that Liu Guizheng?
Mo Zhu quickly gathered her into his arms, murmuring reassurances. “Do you want to return to the Yingshan Sect? Or do you miss Miss Liu? Should I call her here?”
But Yu Zhiling only cried harder, pounding her fists against his shoulders as if venting all her pent-up anguish.
“Not the Yingshan Sect! Not her! My home! A’Gui! You don’t understand anything—none of you do! All your kindness is fake!”
“What demon seed… Why did I have to kill you with my own hands, Master…?”
None of them truly cared about her—Yu Zhiling. They only cared about Yu Xiaowu.
The only one who had ever truly cared for her was A’Gui. Her home was only that little nest of hers.
She felt like an imposter, occupying someone else’s life, constantly wary—would Mo Zhu kill her? Would the Yingshan Sect discover something amiss? Would she lose everything in an instant?
Her weeping was so wretched that Mo Zhu could only hold her tighter, one hand soothingly stroking her back, his own heart in chaos.
He didn’t know why she was crying. He didn’t know where her home was. He didn’t know who this “A’Gui” was.
There were too many things about her he didn’t understand. And now, faced with her inconsolable grief, he didn’t even know how to comfort her.
How could he console her when he didn’t even know why she wept?
The only words he could offer were empty, useless reassurances.
“Master, don’t cry… I’m here.”
But Yu Zhiling didn’t need him. He wasn’t the one she wanted.
Over and over, she begged to go home, begged for A’Gui.
Where was her home? Who was her A’Gui?
He knew nothing.
Liu Guizheng sat outside the hall, her expression dark, slender fingers clenched into tight fists.
A small serpent-shaped jade pendant lay on the table—a simple trinket, one she could carve in an hour.
Inside, the young man tucked the blankets around Yu Zhiling, gently brushing the damp trails from her reddened eyelids.
“Master, just sleep. Everything will be alright.”
Yu Zhiling didn’t hear him. Her sudden emotional collapse had left Mo Zhu bewildered—just like that night in the Zhongli household, when she had woken in terror, clinging to him and sobbing as if haunted by nightmares.
But this time, her grief was even more overwhelming. She had wailed uncontrollably, striking him repeatedly in her distress, as though he were the outlet for all her pain.
After her outburst, the barely healed meridians in her body flared with fresh agony. Seeing her face pale with pain, Mo Zhu had no choice but to cast a sleep-inducing spell.
Now, he pushed aside the beaded curtain and stepped out, taking a seat across from Liu Guizheng.
His voice was low, tense. “Who is A’Gui?”
Liu Guizheng exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. It’s not me.”
“Did my master ever have another home?”
“She grew up in the Yingshan Sect. She was lively, beloved by all three sects and four great families. She had friends everywhere—she could find shelter anywhere. But if you’re asking about a home, it could only be the Yingshan Sect.”
Yet she had cried for home. For A’Gui.
Not the Yingshan Sect. Not Liu Guizheng.
Then what?
Mo Zhu drew a slow breath. This helpless ignorance filled him with a fear like never before—as if he truly knew so little about her.
Liu Guizheng asked, “What did she dream of just now?”
Mo Zhu replied, “She didn’t say. But… she mentioned the demon seed.”
Liu Guizheng’s grip tightened—the teacup in her hand shattered, porcelain shards embedding in her palm, blood dripping onto the table.
“Mistress!”
Fucui rushed forward to tend to her wound, but Liu Guizheng snapped, “The demon seed? That’s something only the Demon Sovereigns use—to control their captives. It erases the soul, turning humans or demons into mindless puppets for their armies. Only the Demon Sovereign can wield it. The Demon Sovereign resides in the far northern demon realm—how could a demon seed appear in the Central Continent?”
Her words struck like a hammer. Mo Zhu’s eyes darkened. “You’re saying only the Demon Sovereign can use it?”
“Yes. Few in the Central Continent even know what a demon seed is. But I do. During the great war, do you think the demons’ overwhelming numbers came from nowhere? Most of the missing cultivators and captured prisoners had demon seeds planted in their souls. At the brink of death, the seed consumes the original soul, turning them into demons under the Sovereign’s command.”
Mo Zhu spoke word by word, "If the Demon Seed can only be used by the Demon Sovereign, yet the Demon Sovereign was sealed in the Northern Demon Domain six hundred years ago, and the Four Slaughter Stele has remained unbroken all these years—meaning the Demon Sovereign couldn’t have come to the Central Continent—then how did my master know about the Demon Seed?"
"Wait, there’s also Fuchun the Immortal Venerable… My master just said something." Yu Zhiling murmured.
—Why did you make me kill you with my own hands, Master?
Mo Zhu’s clenched fists trembled, and an unbelievable suspicion suddenly crystallized into an answer.
His breath shook, his body turned cold, and his gaze stiffened as he looked past the beaded curtain toward the bed in the inner chamber, where she lay quietly.
He recalled her earlier frenzied state—when had he ever seen her so broken?
Liu Guizheng’s long lashes fluttered as she, too, realized the truth in that moment.
Her face paled further, and Fucui, standing beside her, grew frantic at her sudden distress, trying to lead her away to rest.
"Master, Master, what’s wrong?"
Liu Guizheng didn’t answer. Instead, she whispered under her breath, "Ah, Zhiling…"
Mo Zhu’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes reddened, and his lips trembled as he asked, "When the Demon Sovereign was sealed in the Demon Abyss back then… did anyone actually see it happen?"
"No."
Mo Zhu suddenly turned to look at her, his voice low and heavy. "No one saw it. So how can you be certain he was truly sealed away?"
Liu Guizheng pressed her lips together, silent.
Mo Zhu’s expression darkened. "He was never sealed at all. That demonic cultivator who’s been in the Central Continent all this time—it’s him, isn’t it?"
If seventy years ago, Fuchun the Immortal Venerable was implanted with a Demon Seed and slain by Yu Xiaowu’s own hand…
Yet the Demon Seed can only be controlled by the reigning Demon Sovereign, and the Demon Sovereign had already been imprisoned in the Demon Abyss six hundred years ago, after the demonic forces were defeated.
Then who was it that appeared on Mount Sanwei seventy years ago and planted the Demon Seed in Fuchun the Immortal Venerable?
Liu Guizheng murmured, "Yes… it was him."
