The Boundless Realm fully unfolded, encasing Yingshan Sect like impenetrable armor.
It was curfew hour. Apart from the disciples on night patrol, the rest had long retired to their chambers. Yet a dazzling radiance engulfed the entire sect, startling many awake. Robes hastily thrown over shoulders, they pushed open their doors in bewilderment.
"Is this... a barrier?"
"Did Immortal Lord Zhuoyu create it?"
"Must be... She's been secluded at Listening Spring Cliff recently—perhaps crafting this very shield?"
Such formidable protective enchantments could only be the work of Immortal Lord Zhuoyu. Her name naturally surfaced in everyone's thoughts first.
A thousand miles away at the Slaughterous Expanse, towering trees erupted from the earth, their canopies layering like a sea of clouds.
A muffled cough escaped Yun Zhi’s lips as he turned aside, covering his mouth with his sleeve. The pristine fabric soon bore speckles of blood, swiftly concealed beneath his heavy cloak as if they'd never existed.
Wu Zhaoyan frowned. "If you're unwell, stay back. The Wu Clan affairs aren’t pressing lately. Should the Expanse stir again, I’ll handle it alone."
Yun Zhi shook his head, suppressing another cough. "Merely an old ailment. It’s nothing."
He turned fully toward Wu Zhaoyan, who stood before the Slaughter Stele, dark eyes scrutinizing Yun Zhi’s pallor as if weighing the truth of his words.
With a soft sigh, Yun Zhi added, "Zhuoyu must have recovered by now. If I were truly incapacitated, I’d summon her—though neither of us wishes for her presence here. For now, it remains just the two of us."
"What of your head disciple?" Wu Zhaoyan countered. "Train him to suppress the Expanse. Let him accompany me henceforth."
"Shu Feng’s cultivation is insufficient," Yun Zhi replied. "Even if taught, he couldn’t fully manage the complexities. Moreover..."
Moreover, the Slaughterous Expanse was no longer merely unstable. Fissures of collapse had begun to show.
Tasks once completed within an hour now demanded half a day or longer.
Wu Zhaoyan turned toward the gaping maw behind them—an abyss veiled by countless lethal arrays. Neither demons below nor humans above could breach it; any who leaped would be annihilated mid-descent.
"Do you think she could survive the fall?"
They’d only recently pieced together that Yu Zhiling might have once ventured into the Demon Abyss.
A conjecture without proof, known only to Yu Zhiling herself—who now remembered nothing.
Yun Zhi didn’t answer. Instead, he asked quietly, "Do you believe she could?"
Wu Zhaoyan’s jaw tightened, lips pressed into a thin line.
"You do believe," Yun Zhi murmured. "That’s why it’s unbearable."
With a low curse, Wu Zhaoyan spat, "That reckless fool! Even as a child, she feared nothing—but this? The Demon Abyss isn’t some trivial cliff!"
Yun Zhi stepped to the edge, gazing into the darkness. "What if she truly entered?"
"How?" Wu Zhaoyan stabbed a finger toward the abyss. "Surviving the descent is one thing, but the hordes of demons below would tear her apart. And even if she lived, how could she possibly return?"
Descending was perilous. Surviving the depths, more so. Ascending? Near impossible.
Yun Zhi’s voice turned featherlight. "What if she never intended to return?"
Wu Zhaoyan’s hands clenched. "You mean... she sought death?"
Yun Zhi held his gaze silently.
He alone, besides Yu Zhiling, had known of her fateful calamity. When she’d resolved to enter the Slaughterous Expanse, he’d understood.
That parting might have been eternal.
Wu Zhaoyan’s expression darkened. "You knew something. When we heard she might’ve jumped, you showed no surprise. Why? Weren’t you afraid for her?"
They’d all grown up together. Yet upon learning of Yu Zhiling’s possible plunge, Wu Zhaoyan had felt the world go silent, vision blurring—only regaining awareness when his disciple called his name, his body drenched in cold sweat despite the summer heat.
Yun Zhi, meanwhile, had sipped tea calmly, eyes serene.
"Ten years ago," Wu Zhaoyan pressed, voice rising, "we were meant to handle the Expanse. But after your visit to Yingshan Sect, you insisted we stay—sent Little Five instead! She vanished for a month. We searched repeatedly, yet she emerged unharmed... only to become a stranger."
His accusations hung heavy, but Yun Zhi remained unmoved.
"Speak, Yun Zhi," Wu Zhaoyan demanded, barely restraining his tone.
Yun Zhi met his glare. "It wasn’t my choice to stop you. It was hers."
With that, he cast a final glance at the abyss and turned away.
His voice drifted back through the trees.
"Zhaoyan, we’re no longer youths. Some paths... are chosen for us."
Wu Zhaoyan’s lashes flickered. He swallowed hard, staring into the void where even standing at the edge chilled the soul.
What madness had driven her to leap?
Why... wasn’t she afraid?
After a long silence, he exhaled and departed.
Beyond the Expanse, two spirit vessels soared into the night, bound for separate horizons.
Deeper the darkness grew, until a slender figure eclipsed the writhing shadows.
A pale hand reached out, brushing against the demon-repelling barrier. Flames erupted, searing flesh to bone.
Yet the man only chuckled. "How diligently they reinforce it. Yun Zhi and Wu Zhaoyan must exhaust themselves maintaining this. How long can they keep racing here every few days?"
Behind him, a woman’s gentle voice responded, "My lord, the Boundless Realm shields Yingshan Sect now. We cannot penetrate it. This failure is mine—I never imagined Immortal Lord Zhuoyu could craft such a barrier alone."
"Of course she could," the man mused, his gaunt frame towering. "She’s far beyond you. That woman once pulled my bones out one by one in that abyss—stabbed me a hundred times, shattered my soul with annihilation arrays. Yet here I stand. How amusing she’d find it, no?"
He sighed wistfully. "If her memories return, she’ll likely grab her sword and try again. Fierce as a storm, that one. Sixty years she hunted me—couldn’t even eat dumplings in peace without her blade flashing."
The woman listened in silence, accustomed to his ramblings.
After more grumbling, he murmured, "In all Central Continent, only Fuchun and Zhuoyu ever posed real threats. Yet stubborn as stone, she’d rather die than cease interfering."
With hands clasped behind his back, he strolled leisurely into the night.
The woman followed behind him, asking softly, "My Lord, the Yingshan Sect is likely inaccessible now. What should our next step be?"
"If we cannot enter the Yingshan Sect, what do you propose we do?"
"Yes, this subordinate understands."
Outside the house, Yu Zhiling kept her head lowered, the wooden table before her holding a scroll at its center.
The round table was surrounded, all five pairs of eyes fixed on her.
Xiang Wuxue’s voice trembled as she asked, "Xiao Wu... did you already know about the fate calamity?"
Yu Zhiling nodded quietly. "...Mhm."
She knew—but she hadn’t known it would be suicide. She had only been aware of its existence, and Yun Zhi had mentioned nothing more.
The atmosphere in the room was heavy. Yu Zhiling knew they couldn’t accept it, and she herself found it hard to believe. A cultivator who followed the path of clarity, in the end, would choose to take her own life.
Mo Zhu sat beside her, watching as she kept her head bowed, the nape of her neck delicate and fragile, her spine slightly pronounced. How could someone so slender harbor such immense courage?
Mei Qiongge’s voice shook. "Is... is it because of forging the Boundless Realm?"
Ning Hengwu shook his head. "Forging the Boundless Realm would only drain Xiao Wu’s spiritual energy—it would never shatter her state of mind. Those whose hearts collapse are always—"
Always those who have endured unbearable torment, those who have lost all hope to live, those whose dao hearts have shattered beyond repair. Those with broken hearts are prone to demonic possession—and just as prone to self-destruction.
Yan Shanqing, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke. "Mo Zhu, step outside for now. We need to speak with Xiao Wu alone."
Mo Zhu nodded. "Understood."
He rose and left, closing the door behind him, leaving the room to Yu Zhiling and the others.
Outside, Mo Zhu did not sit at the stone table in the courtyard but instead settled on the steps before the door.
Yan Shanqing had cast a barrier inside—he could hear nothing, but he knew the elders were likely shedding tears. They would want to avoid breaking down before a junior like him. Elders always cared for their dignity; they wouldn’t want to cry in front of him.
Though it was midsummer, the night wind carried a slight chill. Mo Zhu’s expression remained blank. He couldn’t hear what was being said inside, but he could guess—his little master was surely crying.
Yu Xiao Wu never hid her emotions. If she wanted to cry, she cried; if she wanted to laugh, she laughed. Only Immortal Lord Zhuoyu would swallow her pain in silence, neither weeping nor smiling, cold and detached.
Mo Zhu waited for them to emerge, wanting to comfort her alone.
He waited and waited, until dew settled on his shoulders, and finally, there was movement inside.
As dawn’s first light crept over the horizon, the door opened, and Mo Zhu snapped out of his thoughts, standing up.
At the forefront was Yan Shanqing, still composed as ever, though the rims of his eyes were faintly red.
"Your master is inside. Take care of her and ensure she rests. The Spirit Artifact Pavilion will open by tomorrow at the latest—don’t forget to go."
Mo Zhu nodded. "Understood. Thank you, Sect Leader."
He watched as Yan Shanqing left, followed by Xiang Wuxue, then Mei Qiongge, and finally Ning Hengwu.
Only after they had all gone did Mo Zhu step inside. Yu Zhiling still sat at the table, head lowered, lost in thought.
He approached her side. "Master."
Yu Zhiling rubbed her eyes and looked up. He had expected tears, but instead, he was met with a calm little master.
His little master asked, "Why aren’t you asleep?"
Mo Zhu knelt before her, smiling. "This disciple isn’t tired."
Yu Zhiling reached out to tousle his hair, muttering, "Your courtyard is right next door—you should sleep in your own room. It’s damp outside, and you’re all cold and wet."
Even as she spoke, spiritual energy flowed from her palm, wrapping around him and instantly drying his robes.
Mo Zhu’s eyes curved into crescents. "Thank you, Master."
Yu Zhiling poked his nose. "Rest early, Little Tuanzi. You can practice your swordplay in the afternoon. Tomorrow is the opening of the Spirit Artifact Pavilion—I’ll accompany you."
Mo Zhu shook his head, leaning into her with a whine. "No, I want to stay with you."
"What do you mean, stay with me? I’m going to sleep."
"You sleep, and I’ll watch over you."
"...I can’t sleep with you staring at me."
"But I’ve always watched you sleep before. You fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow—it’s so fast."
Her dignity as a master was mercilessly torn apart by her disciple.
On any other day, Yu Zhiling would have retorted sharply against this cheeky little disciple. But now, staring at Mo Zhu’s face, seeing the tenderness in his gaze, feeling his deliberate attempts to soothe her, her nose stung more and more.
Yu Zhiling rubbed her sore eyes and whispered, "Mo Zhu, do you ever get annoyed? I’ve been crying so much lately—I don’t seem like an immortal lord at all."
Mo Zhu wiped the tears clinging to her lashes, then brushed his fingers over her damp cheeks.
"Why must you force yourself to be Immortal Lord Zhuoyu? Master, just be yourself. Crying is your right—laugh when you want, and when you’re sad, why shouldn’t you cry?"
Yu Zhiling said, "I’ve remembered so many things... the more I recall, the sadder I get. And when I’m sad, I cry. But I wasn’t like this before."
In her past life, she had hardly shed a tear after growing up. Even through treatments, even when pain left her breathless after resuscitation, she never cried.
Mo Zhu looked at her. "I know. Master is actually a very strong person."
Yu Zhiling covered her eyes, not wanting him to see her tears. Her voice trembled. "I... I can’t control my emotions. Mo Zhu, I’m sorry—you always have to comfort me."
She was naive, exposed to memories that could break an ordinary person. She felt Yu Xiao Wu’s despair as she took her own life, becoming Zhuoyu. She had once held all the joy in the world, only to lose it in the end.
In her dreams, she was Zhuoyu—she felt her agony, her despair, her unwillingness and hatred. Every time she woke, those emotions threatened to crush her.
Mo Zhu knelt on one knee, straightening his back as he pulled her into his arms.
"Master, don’t apologize. This disciple is happy to comfort you."
He felt Yu Zhiling bury her face against his neck, her nose pressing against his pulse. Her tears were scalding, burning his chest with their heat.
Yu Zhiling clung to him as her disciple’s hand gently patted her back.
"Master, does your heart hurt?"
"Yes... it hurts."
"That’s alright. Then cry for a while. The sect leader and the others have already left."
She didn’t answer, but Mo Zhu knew she was weeping.
He simply held her in silence, letting her lean against him, nuzzling her cheek to soothe her—as though she were the most precious treasure.
Yu Zhiling’s head spun from crying, her mind foggy with exhaustion. Finally, she rubbed her face against his shoulder.
"I... I wiped my tears."
Mo Zhu nearly laughed. She had already wiped them—she wasn’t asking for permission. His master was always domineering.
"Go ahead. This disciple has plenty of robes."
Yu Zhiling smeared her tears all over his clothes, mumbling at the end, "...You smell so nice. What kind of incense do you use?"
Mo Zhu chuckled as he watched her pull away from his embrace. Though her eyes were still red, her emotions had stabilized considerably. After crying and venting her feelings, she was once again Yu Zhiling.
"Master, the Long Autumn Lotus has disappeared now. Perhaps your life calamity has passed. From now on, I will stay by your side every step of the way."
The matter of the life calamity had unsettled everyone. Mo Zhu couldn't suppress the turmoil in his heart and had to admit—he, along with Yan Shanqing and the others—were all more afraid than Yu Zhiling herself.
Yu Zhiling still appeared composed, patting her disciple's head gently. "I won’t take my own life. Living is far too precious. Don’t worry, I won’t abandon any of you."
Mo Zhu took her hand and pressed it against his cheek—a habit of his whenever he wanted to act spoiled with her.
"But Master, have you truly let it go? Will you still investigate Immortal Lord Fuchun’s death?"
If she pursued it, she might spend her entire life walking the path of calamity.
Yu Zhiling looked at him, silent for a long while, before suddenly asking, "Mo Zhu, if I were to die one day, would you let go of revenge?"
Mo Zhu shook his head. "Never. I would hunt them down to the ends of the earth to avenge you."
Yu Zhiling smiled faintly. "Then the same goes for me."
She felt herself becoming more and more like Immortal Lord Zhuoyu—that aloof, indomitable figure.
Killing intent and determination had taken root in her heart. The thought of Fuchun’s death made it impossible to suppress her fury.
"Whether in heaven or hell, I will drag that person’s head to my master’s grave."
Mo Zhu grinned. "Good. It doesn’t matter. I’ll stay with you no matter what you do. Where you go, I go."
As long as he never left her side, her life calamity would surely pass.
Mo Zhu’s affection was practically overflowing. Eyes could convey countless emotions, and Yu Zhiling had always thought Mo Zhu’s were particularly striking.
He gazed at her with those gentle, unguarded eyes, every glance telling her plainly:
Yes, I adore you. Mo Zhu adores Yu Zhiling.
A young man’s love was always fervent and bold.
Yu Zhiling turned her head away, coughing lightly as she pulled her hand back, muttering, "Dawn is almost here. Aren’t you going to sleep?"
Mo Zhu: "No. You’re not sleeping either, Master."
Yu Zhiling glanced at the sky outside and whispered, "Then come sit with me for a while. The sun will rise soon."
Mo Zhu stood. "Alright."
Her gaze lingered on the cultivation manual on the table. Pressing her lips together, she tucked it away.
Mo Zhu said, "Master, this was left to you by our grandmaster. It’s an excellent manual—you should try cultivating with it. Please?"
She had always known Immortal Lord Zhuoyu’s mind was unstable. Since arriving in this world, she hadn’t considered cultivation.
But now, she wanted vengeance for Fuchun and to protect the Yingshan Sect.
Yu Zhiling picked up the manual and stored it away. "I’ll cultivate with you from now on."
Mo Zhu’s eyes curved as he took her wrist, leading her outside.
"Good, Master."
He had always believed in her.
Yu Zhiling was a once-in-ten-thousand-years genius of the Central Continent—a Great Ascension cultivator at just a hundred years old. If not for Fuchun’s incident, she would have undoubtedly reached the Tribulation Transcendence realm before turning two hundred.
And now, it seemed that possibility wasn’t entirely lost.
Mo Zhu guided her out of the cottage. Morning light spilled over her face as he led her by the wrist—such closeness had long become habit between them. Yu Zhiling was completely unguarded around him, often oblivious to his deliberate or accidental intimacy.
At the peak of Listening Spring Cliff, he turned to look at her, meeting her clear, bright eyes.
She was one hundred and ninety-three this year. Seven more until two hundred.
But seven years was nothing. For Yu Zhiling, reaching Tribulation Transcendence wouldn’t be difficult.
Mo Zhu suddenly stopped.
Yu Zhiling tilted her head, puzzled. "What’s wrong? Sit—the sun’s about to rise."
Mo Zhu parted his lips. "Master."
Yu Zhiling lifted her face to him. "Hmm?"
He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"In the past, I didn’t care for my life. Living or dying meant nothing—only revenge mattered."
Yu Zhiling didn’t understand why he was bringing this up now, but she nodded slowly. "I... know. But that’s not right."
Mo Zhu cupped her face, his voice soft. "You’re correct. Because if I died, I wouldn’t see you anymore. I would die for revenge, but as long as there’s even a sliver of hope, I’ll live—for you."
His warm palms cradled her cheeks, his breath mingling with hers. Flustered, she took a step back, but the young man only stepped closer.
"Mo Zhu, you—let go of your master first—"
Mo Zhu smiled, leaning down to brush his forehead against hers. "Then promise me this, Master. You may seek revenge—I’ll go with you—but no matter what happens, you must live. For me. Alright?"
Yu Zhiling could barely breathe. They were too close—his exhales warm against her skin. Absurdly, her mind wandered: This disciple of mine is so fastidious. Always pristine, always smelling wonderful.
"Master? Promise me?"
Her legs felt weak. "Fine, fine! I promise!"
Only then did Mo Zhu release her—and the moment he did, his master bolted.
With his long legs, he caught up in a few strides, sitting beside her on the steps.
Shoulder to shoulder, they overlooked the entire Yingshan Sect from the highest vantage point of Listening Spring Cliff.
Disciples emerged from their quarters, some eating, some practicing sword forms.
The sun climbed higher, dispelling the morning chill.
"Mo Zhu."
He turned. "Yes, Master?"
Yu Zhiling grinned, eyes crinkling. "You’re nothing like a cold-blooded serpent. More like a little fox. Or a peacock."
Mo Zhu raised a brow. "Then have I charmed you, Master?"
Fox spirits were seductive; peacocks loved to preen.
And he wanted nothing more than to lure her in. His master favored those who were beautiful and kind-tempered—fortunately, he had both looks and endless patience for the one he loved.
Yu Zhiling narrowed her eyes, sniffing haughtily. "A master’s resolve is unshakable. Did you think such petty tricks would work?"
Mo Zhu sighed dramatically. "A shame. Then this disciple must strive harder."
She glared. "Focus on your cultivation. No more nonsense about romance—career comes first. Don’t be a love-struck fool."
She was certainly no fool for love, but her disciple? Absolutely.
The young man nodded solemnly. "Cultivation is essential, but so is marriage. My father wed my mother at seventeen. I ought to hurry too."
Suddenly, he leaned in, those striking eyes locking onto hers.
"Before I turn twenty. Any longer, and I might lose control. How about it?"
Yu Zhiling shoved his face away.
"Mo Zhu! You’re a heavenly serpent!"
He was a prince, a noble Teng Snake of such exalted lineage—how could his mind be so full of romance and love?
The snake had his own thoughts and pace. Unfazed by being pushed away by his master, he simply gazed at her with a smile and said,
"Master, I’ll be eighteen soon."
Yu Zhiling wriggled a step further from him and muttered, "Yeah, I know. Your birthday is on the twenty-first of September, three months from now. I’ll prepare a gift for you."
Mo Zhu shook his head. "No, Master. I don’t want your gift. Instead, I’ll give you something."
Yu Zhiling frowned. "You’re the one celebrating. Why give me a present?"
Mo Zhu insisted, "I must. It’s very important."
As the sun rose, the forest mist dispersed, bathing the two in golden light. For just a moment, Yu Zhiling felt warmth seep into her bones, but the brightness stung her eyes, forcing her to turn away and shut them.
The young man’s slender fingers lifted, shielding the side of her face—his palm large enough to cover it entirely.
With him blocking the sunlight, Yu Zhiling hesitantly opened her eyes.
Mo Zhu’s profile was bathed in daylight, his features sharp and striking.
"Master, tomorrow I’ll go to the Spirit Artifact Pavilion. Wait for me outside."
"As long as you’re there, I can do anything."
