Yu Zhiling sat cross-legged on a soft divan outside the dense forest, a cultivation manual left by Fuchun resting on her lap.
Mo Zhu had already practiced this manual up to its final stage, though he had yet to master it completely. When he learned that Fuchun had spent twenty-three years personally writing this manual for Yu Zhiling, he knew he could no longer continue practicing it.
Inside the forest, a young disciple was cultivating. Yu Zhiling glanced into the shadowed depths, hearing no sound from within. Mo Zhu had retreated to the farthest reaches to avoid disturbing her—where the space was vast and spiritual energy abundant, the perfect place for his training.
With a sigh, Yu Zhiling opened the manual on her lap.
Since arriving in this world, she had never seriously cultivated. Zhuo Yu’s innate strength was such that she could live comfortably without effort. But this manual—Fuchun had spent twenty-three years writing it for Zhuo Yu.
Her fingers unconsciously tightened around the bamboo scroll. She had never cultivated on her own before and didn’t know if she could comprehend it without relying on Zhuo Yu’s foundation.
Calm the heart, anchor the spirit, and stillness will follow.
This was the first line Fuchun had left for her.
Yu Zhiling blinked, not yet grasping its meaning, when the dormant spiritual energy in her dantian surged, flooding through her limbs. She closed her eyes as golden light enveloped her, her consciousness slipping effortlessly into deep meditation.
Deep in the forest, Mo Zhu stood beneath a tree, sword in hand, his gaze fixed on the distant figure.
A Great Ascension Realm cultivator in meditation—even a hundred zhang away, he could feel the immense spiritual barrier around her. The woman on the divan sat straight-backed, the faintest gale stirring her thin green robes, her jade hair ribbon fluttering in the wind.
The golden light around her grew brighter within moments. The manual he had struggled with for so long—Yu Zhiling advanced a whole stage in mere minutes.
Mo Zhu’s gaze drifted past her, landing on two figures standing further away.
Ning Hengwu and Mei Qiongge met his eyes. He gave them a slight nod.
He wasn’t the only one concerned about Yu Zhiling’s state of mind. Yan Shanqing was busy with sect affairs, and Xiang Wuxue was hastening the construction of Yingshan Sect’s defensive formations. Though only Ning Hengwu and Mei Qiongge had come today, the hearts of her senior brothers were undoubtedly with her.
Watching Yu Zhiling reach the second stage so quickly, Ning Hengwu’s breath trembled.
"After our master’s death, she never cultivated again…"
From the moment Fuchun died, the Long Autumn Lotus that had closed around Yu Zhiling bloomed once more. When she saw the lotus in the pond that day, she understood—her fate was to walk the path of tribulation for the rest of her life.
Before her destined calamity arrived, all she could do was ensure the safety of her senior brothers and sisters, leaving them a secure refuge.
A cultivator of the Bright Heart Path, she had exhausted herself creating the Boundless Realm alone. After that, she could no longer practice any cultivation techniques.
"Little Five…"
Another moment passed, and Yu Zhiling entered the third stage.
The spiritual energy of the Bright Heart Path was purer than any of theirs, its golden radiance flowing over the mountain peaks, growing stronger, brighter.
Mo Zhu watched her cultivate, advancing to the sixth stage in just an hour. It was then that he realized—the gap between them was something he could never bridge in this lifetime.
Everyone around her believed he was unworthy of her. Mo Zhu knew it too.
Yet instead of bitterness, he smiled.
"So incredible, Master."
Yu Zhiling remained unaware of the gathering crowd. Free of distractions, her spirit wandered freely through a sea of consciousness blooming with spring flowers.
Clad in green robes, her waist-length black hair loosely tied, the plants around her brushed against her body as a gentle stream flowed past, her robes swaying in the water.
Zhuo Yu’s sea of consciousness—alive with birdsong, fragrant blossoms, and eternal spring.
Yu Zhiling didn’t know how many stages she had reached. The spiritual energy grew ever stronger, the flowers around her flourishing, the once-tiny stream now a vast river. She stood hidden among the blossoms, bathed in sunlight.
First stage, second stage, third stage…
The stream became a river, then expanded further into an endless ocean.
The flowers stretched for miles, transforming into boundless plains.
She felt the brush of wind, the hum of cicadas, the flutter of a butterfly’s wings—the surging waves, the tender sunlight.
She grew calmer, sinking deeper.
Thirteenth stage.
Only one remained—the final breakthrough.
"Little Five."
"Little Five."
"My… Little Five."
The voice grew clearer, closer, until it seemed to speak right before her.
Yu Zhiling opened her eyes, the light widening from a sliver to full clarity. Dazed, she looked up.
A figure knelt before her—robed in white with a layer of indigo-blue gauze, her hair pinned high with a jade hairpin.
She reached out, cupping Yu Zhiling’s face.
"Has my Little Five finished the manual I left for her?"
Yu Zhiling swallowed, smiling. "Almost."
The woman laughed. "When you’re done, I’ll roast chestnuts for you."
Yu Zhiling nodded. "Mm."
She clasped the woman’s wrist, nuzzling her palm like a spoiled child. "Yes, Master."
The woman’s eyes curved like autumn ripples, soft and tender.
She whispered, "Little Five, once you finish this manual, you must keep moving forward."
"It’s all in the past now. Go, walk your own path."
Her face shattered into countless spirit butterflies.
The dreamlike creatures fluttered around Yu Zhiling, their wings brushing her skin. She reached out, catching one—only for it to dissolve into motes of light in her palm.
Birds sang, flowers bloomed, the warmth of spring eternal. The spiritual energy from the manual swirled around her, the sea of consciousness vast beyond sight.
Yu Zhiling stood in silence for a long time.
When the flowers and trees before her began to dissolve, replaced by blinding radiance, she lifted her head.
"Alright."
Forward.
A path from which she would never, ever turn back.
Without hesitation, she ended her meditation.
Yu Zhiling opened her eyes. The bamboo scroll on her lap had turned to its final page.
Fuchun’s handwriting was bold and precise, each stroke carefully penned over twenty-three years.
Her fingers traced the characters, as if she could see the scene—Zhuo Yu meditating in the lakeside pavilion, Fuchun seated at a low table, sometimes spending an entire day to write just a few words.
Fuchun would occasionally glance at her disciple, wishing for her to grow stronger, her heart steady.
But when her gaze shifted away, it always returned to the Long Autumn Lotus in the lake’s center—praying for it to close once more.
Praying for her disciple’s safety, for her path to be boundless.
For everlasting joy, everlasting peace, everlasting progress—always forward.
Yu Zhiling chuckled softly, closing the scroll.
Only one stage remained. She was almost done—yet now, she found herself reluctant to finish.
Yu Zhiling spent twenty-three years composing a cultivation manual, yet her prodigious disciple mastered it in just a single day.
She lifted her gaze and spotted Mo Zhu leaning against a distant tree, his sword cradled in his arms. He must have been standing there for a long time—a withered leaf rested on his shoulder, unnoticed by her usually fastidious disciple, who simply watched her quietly.
Yu Zhiling sprang up from the bamboo couch and dashed toward him.
The moment she descended, Mo Zhu, who had been waiting by the tree, curved his eyes into a smile and stepped forward to meet her.
"Little bun, how much did you cultivate today?"
Her merit points were stuck at 2,950. She had expected the system’s chime to announce her breakthrough past 3,000, unlocking the third stage of her memories, but there had been no sound at all.
Mo Zhu shook his head. "None. I’m tired today."
Yu Zhiling didn’t mind. She patted his shoulder, brushing off the dried leaf.
"No worries. If you’re tired, rest. Cultivation requires balance. You’ve already made your master proud. Tomorrow’s the trip to the Spirit Artifact Pavilion, so take it easy today."
Mo Zhu smiled warmly. "Alright. Thank you, Master."
Grinning, she waved the bamboo manual in her hand. "Guess how far I’ve gotten?"
"The final stage," he answered.
Yu Zhiling’s eyes widened. "How did you know? Were you watching me all afternoon?"
Mo Zhu nodded. "Yes. I was watching you the whole time."
He had seen her effortlessly reach the pinnacle of the manual, even after decades without practicing any cultivation techniques. Once she focused, she could achieve in a day what others took years to master.
A manual in half a day, sword forms memorized in a single glance—by a hundred years old, she had reached realms others took seven or eight centuries to attain.
This was Zhuo Yu, the Jade-Cleansing Immortal.
Yu Zhiling saw the admiration in his eyes, the quiet joy.
She tightened her grip on the bamboo manual—a single scroll, condensed from twenty-three years of a peak Transcendence Realm cultivator’s lifeblood.
Her meridians surged with energy, her spiritual power boiling. The pressure around her had intensified since morning.
"Master, your realm is about to advance," Mo Zhu said.
Fuchun’s manual had been tailored for Yu Zhiling. One scroll of her teachings surpassed dozens of others.
Yu Zhiling knew this better than anyone. Smiling, she teased, "Your master might soon face heavenly tribulation. Are you happy?"
"Happy," he replied.
She narrowed her eyes. "You enjoy watching your master get struck by lightning? Such a rebellious disciple—plotting against me?"
Mo Zhu leaned down, his gaze level with hers, shimmering with warmth. "Because you’re growing stronger. I want you to become even more powerful, for more people to revere you."
For decades, she had poured her energy into forging the Boundless Realm, her cultivation stagnant. Yet before Fuchun’s death, Yu Zhiling had already stood at the threshold of Transcendence.
Had Fuchun not met tragedy, Yu Zhiling would have faced her tribulation within a year.
But now, seventy years late, the lightning was finally coming.
Mo Zhu had always possessed striking eyes, flecks of light spilling from them. When he smiled at her like this, it felt as though she was the only one he could see.
Yu Zhiling poked his nose, her own tingling with emotion.
"Mo Zhu, earlier… I thought I heard my master speaking to me. It felt like a dream. So strange."
"What did Grandmaster say?" he asked.
Yu Zhiling whispered, "She told me to keep moving forward."
Fuchun’s last words to Zhuo Yu before her death:
"The path I wish for you to walk… is one you must never, ever look back on."
Zhuo Yu had never looked back. She would never regret it.
Now, she said the same to Mo Zhu.
"Mo Zhu, I want your path to be one you never turn back from."
Mo Zhu stepped forward and embraced her, resting his chin against her shoulder. He breathed in her scent—light, soothing, like orange blossoms.
"Alright, Master."
He held her tightly as the sun dipped below the horizon, atop the highest peak of Listening Spring Cliff.
At seven, he had first led her here by the hand. At seventeen, he embraced her.
"Master, I will keep moving forward, following in your footsteps."
"You must keep moving forward too. Don’t look back for me. Don’t stop for anyone."
Those who loved her would catch up on their own.
Yu Zhiling didn’t resist his hold. Over his shoulder, she glimpsed the dark forest behind him—now illuminated by countless lanterns Mo Zhu had hung. The entire cliff was aglow with luminous pearls.
He spoke little but acted with meticulous care.
Tentatively, she raised her arms and returned the embrace, one hand patting his back gently.
"Mo Zhu… thank you."
The young man tightened his hold, murmuring against her ear, "Master… Master."
Yan Shanqing stood at the forefront of the crowd, hands clasped behind his back.
A disciple behind him bowed. "Master, the Chengfeng Blade Spirit has awakened. The Spirit Artifact Pavilion opens at noon. Three hundred twenty-one disciples have registered to enter."
Yan Shanqing nodded. "Understood."
"Mo Zhu, Mo Zhu! Take some food, just in case you get tired climbing!"
"Master, it’s just one day. I’ll be out by afternoon."
"No! The pavilion is tall! You’ll dehydrate! At least take some tea—the floral blend I made!"
"Master, really, it’s unnecessary."
Yan Shanqing turned toward the voices and saw the lanky youth approaching, trailed by his chattering master.
Yu Zhiling rummaged through a qiankun pouch with one hand. "Then take some fruit! Energy replenishment!"
Mo Zhu looked exasperated. "Master, if I aim for the top floor, I’ll be fighting the whole way. These will just get crushed. No time to eat."
She pulled out a pill bottle. "At least take these! Top-grade pills! I bought them just for you!"
Her insistence won. Mo Zhu accepted. "Fine. Thank you, Master."
Grinning, she peeled the tangerine she’d meant to give him and popped a segment into her own mouth.
"So sweet! Here, try!"
She held out a piece. Mo Zhu bent down and took it from her fingers.
"Sweet?"
His eyes crinkled. "Mhm. Sweet."
Yan Shanqing: "..."
Yan Shanqing: "Yu Xiao Wu!"
Yu Zhiling startled, blinking toward the voice. Only then did she notice her eldest brother standing afar.
Ever slow on the uptake, she shoved the tangerine peel into Mo Zhu’s hand and scampered over, clutching the remaining fruit.
"Big Brother!"
Mo Zhu silently pocketed the trash his master had discarded.
Some things, once started, became second nature.
Yu Zhiling ran over to Yan Shanqing’s side and politely handed her senior brother a share of the fruits.
"Try this, Senior Brother."
Yan Shanqing, seeing her carefree demeanor, couldn’t help but feel exasperated. "Yu Xiao Wu!"
Yu Zhiling tilted her head. "Hmm?"
Yan Shanqing: "..."
With a huff, he lowered his head and accepted the citrus she offered, muttering as he chewed, "He’s grown up already. Why are you fussing over him? It’s not like he’ll starve to death in there."
He was well aware of Mo Zhu’s feelings—Mo Zhu had never bothered hiding them from him.
Because he knew Yan Shanqing wouldn’t interfere.
Yu Zhiling pouted. "I just don’t want him to go hungry. That’s the highest level of the Unreturning Sword we’re talking about. I’m worried something might happen to him."
Every word dripped with concern. Yan Shanqing clearly saw the faint smile curling at the corners of the young man’s lips. Mo Zhu stood obediently beside Yu Zhiling, the picture of docility.
Then he glanced at his oblivious little junior sister and sighed inwardly.
Yu Xiao Wu had never lost a fight, and she was sharp-witted. But perhaps because she had been coddled by the entire Yingshan Sect since childhood, she had never shown the slightest interest in matters of the heart. The moment Fuchun brought up matchmaking, she would bolt—utterly clueless about romance.
Mo Zhu, on the other hand, was clearly more cunning. Having trained in Zhongzhou for years, his temperament was far steadier than his peers, and he had seen much more of the world.
Yu Zhiling continued munching happily while Mo Zhu fanned her gently, the little master living a life of carefree luxury.
Yan Shanqing said nothing, locking eyes with Mo Zhu. The young man made no attempt to conceal his affection for Yu Zhiling.
His gaze was unmistakable:
I’m pursuing our master.
Yan Shanqing pressed his lips together and looked away, silently permitting Mo Zhu’s actions.
As long as Yu Zhiling was happy, that was all that mattered. Whoever she ended up loving, as long as they brought her joy, it was fine.
After waiting outside for about half an hour, disciples began gathering in front of the Spirit Artifact Pavilion. Ning Hengwu, Xiang Wuxue, and Mei Qiongge arrived late.
The moment they arrived, they spotted the little tyrant of Yingshan Sect sitting cross-legged on a wooden chair, a table beside her laden with snacks. Behind her stood Mo Zhu, while Yan Shanqing sat at her side.
Yu Zhiling was cracking melon seeds. So was Yan Shanqing. It was obvious who had corrupted the Yingshan Sect’s leader.
The three: "..."
Mo Zhu reacted first, cupping his hands in salute. "Greetings, Senior Uncles and Aunt."
"No need for formalities."
Mo Zhu straightened and resumed fanning his master.
Yu Zhiling chirped cheerfully, "Senior Brother, Senior Sister, have a seat!"
There was a pavilion outside the Spirit Artifact Pavilion, prepared for the Yingshan Sect elders overseeing the event. Ning Hengwu and the others took their seats, and Yu Zhiling promptly slid a plate of melon seeds toward them.
"Senior Sister, Senior Brother, care for some?"
Ning Hengwu: "...Ah, Xiao Wu is so thoughtful."
The melon seeds weren’t important, but their junior sister’s kindness was.
Ning Hengwu glanced at Yan Shanqing, who was also cracking seeds, and caught the amusement in his eyes. They exchanged a look and chuckled in unison.
Seventy years had passed, but Yu Xiao Wu was still the same.
She loved food, fun, and dragging them along for the ride. She never kept the good things to herself—always sharing with her senior brothers and sisters first.
A clear bell tolled, startling birds from the trees. The Spirit Artifact Pavilion trembled with a deafening roar as the long blade at its highest level hummed violently.
In an instant, spiritual energy erupted from the blade, its terrifying pressure leaking out. Yan Shanqing, having anticipated this, waved a hand and cast a barrier, shielding all the disciples.
Chengfeng always threw a tantrum upon waking. The last time it had stirred was twenty-three years ago.
Yan Shanqing continued cracking seeds calmly, watching as the long blade above the Spirit Artifact Pavilion threw its fit. The barrier absorbed all the unleashed pressure, leaving the disciples unharmed.
Yu Zhiling leaned toward him across the table. "How many floors are there inside?"
"One hundred."
"That high?" Yu Zhiling gasped. "Are there elevators?"
Yan Shanqing: "...I don’t know what you’re talking about, but no."
Yu Zhiling: "The Unreturning Sword is on the top floor. Does that mean Mo Zhu has to climb all one hundred floors?"
Yan Shanqing: "Yes."
Yu Zhiling glanced back at Mo Zhu, still fanning her, and sighed while shaking her head. "Oh dear, you’re in for a rough time."
Climbing a hundred floors would be the death of her.
Mo Zhu replied, "It’s alright. I can manage."
Yu Zhiling pressed on, "Does he have to fight his way up floor by floor? Can’t he just teleport to the top?"
Yan Shanqing: "..."
Ning Hengwu and the others laughed.
Yan Shanqing retorted, "What do you think? Do shortcuts exist?"
Yu Zhiling: "Can they?"
Yan Shanqing shot her down mercilessly. "No. The higher the floor, the stronger the artifacts. Each level has a guardian spirit beast. How far you go depends on how many you can defeat."
The higher the floor, the fiercer the guardian beasts—and the more powerful the artifacts.
Yu Zhiling frowned. "So Mo Zhu has to fight a hundred spirit beasts?"
"Naturally."
Yu Zhiling couldn’t fathom how Mo Zhu had managed it in the original story—not just defeating them but also passing the Unreturning Sword’s trials.
The book had glossed over his blood, sweat, and toil.
A pang of regret struck her. She turned to Mo Zhu instinctively. "Just... stay safe, alright?"
Mo Zhu’s heart softened at her concern, his eyes brightening.
"Don’t worry, Master. Trust me. I can do it."
Yu Zhiling hesitated. "Take Zhuo Yu with you. It might help. If you get hurt, don’t push yourself. Just come out. There are plenty of good artifacts—we’ll take our time choosing."
Mo Zhu nodded. "Alright, Master. I will."
She handed him Zhuo Yu. The moment the emerald-green sword touched his palm, her vision blurred.
A flash of light, and a scene unfolded before her.
Under glaring sunlight, Mo Zhu stood clad in black, his hair tied high with a jade crown. A sword hovered before him.
He asked calmly, "Zhuo Yu, will you accompany me?"
Zhuo Yu dipped in acknowledgment and floated to his side.
Mo Zhu stood before the towering Spirit Artifact Pavilion, his gaze icy. Behind him stood Yan Shanqing and the others, equally expressionless.
He turned, clasped Zhuo Yu in one hand, and bowed.
"Senior Uncles, I’m going in."
They gave no reply.
As he stepped toward the pavilion, someone called out.
"Mo Zhu."
He halted but didn’t turn.
Yan Shanqing’s throat moved, his voice low and restrained. "What we need you to retrieve is the Unreturning Sword from the highest floor. Only it. It must be that one."
"Understood."
Without hesitation, Mo Zhu pushed open the doors and disappeared inside.
The light shattered, and the scene abruptly ended.
"Master?"
"Little Five?"
Yu Zhiling suddenly snapped back to reality.
Mo Zhu frowned slightly, gripping her shoulders as he asked softly, "Master, what happened just now? Were you spacing out?"
Yan Shanqing and the others quickly gathered around, their faces different but their expressions equally anxious.
Yu Zhiling looked blankly at Yan Shanqing. At over four hundred years old, he was still considered young among the cultivators of the Central Plains. His handsome features remained youthful, though faint lines at the corners of his eyes betrayed the exhaustion from his duties as sect leader.
But—
His hair was still thick and jet black.
Ignoring Mo Zhu’s question, Yu Zhiling reached out and touched Yan Shanqing’s temple.
Yan Shanqing furrowed his brows but didn’t pull away.
"Little Five, what’s wrong?"
Yu Zhiling blinked, murmuring absently, "Senior Brother, I think I just saw you with a head full of white hair."
She then turned to Ning Hengwu and the others.
"And Second Senior Sister, Third Senior Brother, Fourth Senior Sister… You all looked so much older, lifeless, as if…"
As if death had already claimed them.
As if they were mere husks, devoid of hope, walking without souls.
And Mo Zhu.
Yu Zhiling looked back at Mo Zhu, cupping her disciple’s face as she muttered, "And you… Why would my Zhuo Qing willingly follow you?"
Yan Shanqing and the others spoke in hushed tones, "Little Five, what’s wrong with you?"
Mo Zhu was equally confused. "Master?"
Yu Zhiling shook her head and pushed Mo Zhu lightly. "I’m fine. The Spirit Armory is about to open, right? Go on in—it only stays open for a day."
Mo Zhu gave her a long look. The other disciples had already entered the Spirit Armory, but he had stayed behind, unable to wake her earlier.
Now, seeing her dazed state, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
But Yu Zhiling nudged him again. "Go. You only have one day—you’ll need to come back out by nightfall."
Yan Shanqing straightened and reassured him, "Mo Zhu, go ahead. We’ll watch over your master out here."
Zhuo Qing, Yu Zhiling’s sword, had been entrusted to Mo Zhu. Though reluctant, the young man had no choice but to leave.
His mission was critical—to retrieve the Unreturning Sword from the highest level.
Mo Zhu nodded. "Understood. Master, I’ll return as quickly as I can."
Yu Zhiling grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. "Go on, my dear. Safety comes first. If you can’t get it, just come back."
"Mm. I will."
With one last glance at her, committing her smile to memory, Mo Zhu turned and strode toward the Spirit Armory.
As his figure disappeared through the doors, it overlapped with the shadowy silhouette from Yu Zhiling’s vision.
But unlike the Mo Zhu before her now, the one she had glimpsed was cold, his eyes devoid of warmth despite his youthful appearance.
And it wasn’t just him—Yan Shanqing and the others had been the same.
Ning Hengwu’s voice pulled her back. "Little Five, what happened earlier?"
Yu Zhiling lifted her gaze to see the four of them gathered around her.
Mei Qiongge asked, "You seemed trapped in a nightmare just now—we couldn’t wake you. Did you see something?"
Yu Zhiling chuckled and shook her head. "No, I just spaced out for a moment, imagining what you’d all look like when you’re old. Senior Brother would have the most white hair, like a little old man."
Yan Shanqing rolled his eyes and sat beside her. "Once a cultivator forms their golden core, their appearance stabilizes. Your senior brother isn’t going to age, so don’t worry."
Yu Zhiling giggled and shoved a handful of melon seeds into his palm. "Heh, of course! My senior brothers and sisters are all so good-looking."
She was back to her usual carefree self, and the others sighed in relief.
She must have just been teasing them—Little Five Yu always loved to joke around.
Yu Zhiling sat back with a smile, cracking melon seeds between her teeth, her cheerful demeanor unchanged.
But in the shadows where no one noticed, her smile vanished. Her expression turned icy, her throat dry, her limbs numb with cold.
She knew it hadn’t been a mere daydream—it was a glimpse of the original novel’s plot.
The book had glossed over how Mo Zhu became the Lord of Unreturning, but in truth, it was Yan Shanqing and the others who had sent him to retrieve the sword. And Zhuo Qing had gone with him willingly.
Except this time, it wasn’t Yan Shanqing who had spoken—it was Yu Zhiling who had urged Mo Zhu to take Unreturning and bring Zhuo Qing along.
But in the original story, had Zhuo Qing’s sword spirit ever awakened?
And when had Yan Shanqing and the others gotten involved with Mo Zhu? At this point, Mo Zhu should have been out hunting evil spirits, and the fake Zhuo Yu should have been in seclusion.
Yu Zhiling glanced at Yan Shanqing, Ning Hengwu, and the others beside her.
They were focused on guarding the Spirit Armory, ensuring the disciples’ safety.
Though weary from their recent burdens, their auras remained steady, their expressions calm and gentle.
Yan Shanqing had no white hair. Ning Hengwu and the others still smiled.
But in the memories she had seen in the Southern Capital, Yan Shanqing had lost an arm, Ning Hengwu’s meridians had been shattered, Xiang Wuxue had been pierced by countless arrows, and Mei Qiongge…
A sudden image flashed before her eyes.
A woman in golden robes staggered, her lips trembling as blood spilled from her mouth. The blade slipped from her fingers, and her body swayed before collapsing backward—
Into the abyss.
A voice, broken with despair and pain, faded into nothingness.
"Little Five…"
The memory shattered. Yu Zhiling took a sharp breath and gulped down a cup of tea.
No. Whatever had happened in the past, it wouldn’t happen again.
It wouldn’t.
Yu Zhiling leaned back in her chair, gazing up at the sky above Yingshan Sect. The Infinite Boundary had opened, enveloping the entire sect within its expanse.
Her face was expressionless, but her fingers clenched tightly. A cold, murderous intent simmered in her chest as she stared at the Central Plains’ most formidable heavenly-grade barrier.
She would not lose a single one of them.
For their sake, she would raise her sword.
Once, a hundred times, a thousand times over.
She would not let a single one slip away.
