The Spirit Artifact Pavilion had a hundred floors. The higher one ascended, the stronger the guardian spirit beasts became, and the more superior the artifacts housed within.
Mo Zhu stood in the first-floor hall, gazing up at the towering hundred-story building. The sword Yu Zhiling had asked him to retrieve, Wu Hui, was on the very top floor—the hundredth.
He adjusted Zhu Qing at his waist, his expression calm. The lower floors wouldn’t require the use of his sword.
"Junior Brother Mo."
A clear, youthful voice called from behind.
A young man approached him, his jade-like features refined and his posture upright.
Mo Zhu nodded slightly. "Senior Brother Zhan."
Zhan Shuo slung an arm over his shoulder with practiced ease. "My master sent me to retrieve a weapon too, but as someone who specializes in mechanisms, I’ve never been interested in these things. A pair of skilled hands is all I need."
He was the head disciple of Xiang Wuxue, and Mo Zhu had seen him many times within the Yingshan Sect.
Mo Zhu replied politely, "Third Uncle only has your best interests at heart."
"I’m just planning to take the saber on the sixty-fifth floor. It’s not the finest artifact, but its spirit is easy to handle. The blade is sturdy—perfect for chopping wood." Zhan Shuo shrugged, then asked, "What about you? Did Fifth Uncle send you?"
Mo Zhu nodded. "Yes."
Zhan Shuo raised a brow. "What are you aiming for? Fifth Uncle practices sword techniques, and so do you. The swords in the pavilion are mostly between the thirtieth and seventieth floors. You’re at the peak of the Nascent Soul stage—it shouldn’t be too difficult for you."
Mo Zhu’s gaze remained indifferent as he subtly stepped away from Zhan Shuo’s arm and strode forward.
"Wu Hui."
Zhan Shuo: "..."
Zhan Shuo: "???"
He hurried after him. "Junior Brother! Don’t throw your life away!"
The supposedly suicidal junior brother flicked his hand, sending a guardian spirit beast flying, then calmly ascended to the second floor.
Zhan Shuo whistled. "So this is the power of a peak Nascent Soul cultivator?"
Mo Zhu continued upward, Zhan Shuo trailing closely behind, still trying to dissuade the young man.
"Fifth Uncle might have too much faith in you, but you need to think this through! Forget Wu Hui—do you even know what kind of spirit beast guards the hundredth floor? It’s a monstrous thing!"
Mo Zhu had already defeated the second-floor guardian and was moving to the third.
"What is it?"
Zhan Shuo lowered his voice. "The Crimson Rhinoceros. The Void-Treading Crimson Rhinoceros—a demonic beast."
Mo Zhu paused. Standing a few steps above Zhan Shuo, he looked down at him.
Zhan Shuo thought he’d finally gotten through to him and sighed in relief. "You know what that is. Back then, it single-handedly ravaged the Void Realm. Our ancestor had to expend tremendous effort just to subdue it and leave it guarding the hundredth floor."
Mo Zhu nodded. "I see."
Then he turned and continued upward.
Zhan Shuo: "???"
He shouted, "Junior Brother! This isn’t a joke! Even our ancestor struggled—you’ll die!"
Mo Zhu acted as if he hadn’t heard, steadily climbing higher. The guardian beasts seemed like nothing to him; he cleared each floor with unsettling ease.
Zhan Shuo kept up his protests, but Mo Zhu remained indifferent. In the blink of an eye, they reached the thirtieth floor.
Only then did Zhan Shuo realize he’d followed Mo Zhu all the way up without lifting a finger.
Zhan Shuo: "…Free ride?"
He turned and saw a crowd of junior disciples trailing behind them, grinning when they noticed his glance.
"Senior Brother Zhan, Junior Brother Mo, good morning!"
Zhan Shuo knocked the lead disciple lightly on the head. "You’ve been following Mo Zhu the whole time?"
The disciple rubbed his head with a whimper. "Aren’t you doing the same? Don’t worry, we know our limits. We’ll only follow up to the fiftieth floor—no higher."
They were merely hitching a ride, conserving their energy since Mo Zhu had already cleared the path.
But simply reaching a floor wasn’t enough. To claim an artifact, one still had to face the artifact’s spirit in combat.
So these disciples followed in silence, stopping at their desired floors without greedily reaching for higher-tier treasures.
Zhan Shuo chuckled, but when he turned back, Mo Zhu had already surged ahead to the thirty-fifth floor. The recently defeated guardian beast was stirring, preparing to block their path.
"Move! While the beast’s still recovering, get to your floors!"
Zhan Shuo abandoned the banter and sprinted upward, the crowd of juniors hot on his heels.
Mo Zhu had known about the followers all along. With Zhan Shuo’s incessant chatter in his ear, he hadn’t felt like speaking, so he let them be. The Yingshan Sect disciples had always treated him well, greeting him and sharing fruits when they crossed paths.
From the fortieth floor onward, Mo Zhu had to exert more effort, though he remained unscathed.
By the fiftieth floor, no disciples followed anymore. The Spirit Artifact Pavilion’s hundred floors were divided into two realms—below the fiftieth, ordinary disciples could manage, but beyond that, injuries were inevitable.
Mo Zhu pressed on. By the sixtieth floor, he bore over a dozen wounds. Even with Zhan Shuo’s help, neither could avoid getting hurt.
The sixty-fifth floor was Zhan Shuo’s destination.
He grabbed Mo Zhu’s arm, his tone grave. "Mo Zhu, it’s not that I doubt you, but you’re only at the Nascent Soul stage. In the Yingshan Sect’s thousands of years, even elders at the Divine Transformation stage have tried—and not a single one has reached the hundredth floor."
Mo Zhu turned to look at him. A deep gash marred the young man’s neck from a recent skirmish, yet his bearing remained poised and unruffled.
"I have to go."
It wasn’t just about the promise he’d made to Yu Zhiling.
Mo Zhu tilted his chin up, staring at the remaining thirty-some floors. He could feel the oppressive aura from above—and the increasingly frantic pounding of his own heart.
As if something, somewhere, was telling him he had to obtain that sword.
He pulled his arm free and walked on without another glance at Zhan Shuo.
Unshaken, his back straight, he didn’t look back.
Zhan Shuo frowned, unsure whether to call it fearless bravery or sheer arrogance.
Above, the sounds of Mo Zhu’s battle with the next guardian beast echoed down.
Outside the Spirit Artifact Pavilion, Yu Zhiling cracked sunflower seeds one after another, her brow furrowed since Mo Zhu had entered.
Yan Shanqing, unable to take it anymore, snatched the bag from her table.
"Stop eating. Too many will make you irritable. Have something else."
Ning Hengwu, seated on Yan Shanqing’s other side, added, "Fifth Junior, you’ve had enough for today."
Mei Qiongge shook a small pouch. "Want some fish jerky, Fifth Junior? Royal recipe—I brought it back specially."
Yu Zhiling shook her head. "No, I’ll just drink some water and rest. Thank you, Fourth Senior Sister."
Whenever something weighed on her mind, Yu Zhiling would find ways to busy herself, diverting her attention. Ever since Mo Zhu entered the Spirit Armory, she couldn’t shake off her worry—especially now, as disciples began emerging with their chosen weapons. Two hours had already passed.
At the very top of the Spirit Armory, the Unreturned Sword stood silently, though the fierce winds around it had weakened slightly, as if it were drowsing. Yu Zhiling grew even more anxious, unsure how far Mo Zhu had climbed or what trials the Unreturned Sword might have set for him.
"Don’t panic. Didn’t you believe in him?"
A calm voice spoke beside her.
Yan Shanqing turned his head to look at her and added, "He’s a Tengshe, isn’t he? There’s nothing he can’t do."
Yu Zhiling’s fingers curled slightly against the table as she murmured, "Elder Brother… you knew?"
Xiang Wuxue leaned in with a smile. "We figured it out a few days ago. After he survived the lightning tribulation and returned to Listening Spring Cliff, the scales on his neck hadn’t fully receded. It wasn’t hard to recognize."
They had known but said nothing, understanding that Yu Zhiling and Mo Zhu had their reasons for keeping it secret.
Yu Zhiling nodded quietly.
When demons underwent tribulations, they often reverted to their true forms, which were far sturdier than their human ones.
She hesitated over whether to speak of Mo Zhu’s past. After all, the Tengshe clan had once been royalty, and there were still those hunting him. It could bring danger.
Yet Yan Shanqing and the others remained unfazed, as if it meant nothing to them.
Suppressing her explanations, Yu Zhiling sat back, her gaze drifting toward the distant tower.
She had grown so accustomed to Mo Zhu’s presence that a single day without him left her feeling hollow. Missing him, she stuffed a pastry into her mouth, chewing absently before washing it down with water as she waited for him to emerge.
Only three hours remained before the Spirit Armory closed. Cheng Feng had begun dozing off again, but thankfully, Mo Zhu had taken Zhu Qing with him. If he truly faced mortal peril, the sword’s spirit would rouse Cheng Feng.
Mo Zhu staggered forward, one bloodied hand pressed to his waist, the other braced against the wall. Each cough sent his ponytail swaying, flecks of blood spraying from his lips as a steady stream flowed from the wound in his side.
He had reached the ninetieth floor.
Wiping the blood from his hands, he drew Zhu Qing from his waist—the sword that had been humming incessantly.
By all rights, a sword with awakened consciousness shouldn’t allow anyone but its master to unsheathe it. Yet Zhu Qing didn’t resist him, and after Yu Zhiling’s instructions, the blade now yielded to his grip.
Shakily, he ascended, his steps unsteady but resolute, leaving a trail of blood on the stone steps.
A guardian beast lunged at him. Mo Zhu’s expression turned icy as he slashed downward.
Protected by the tower’s restrictions, the beast couldn’t be killed—so he fought without restraint.
It had taken him two hours to reach the ninetieth floor. The remaining ten, however, consumed another hour. By the time he dragged himself onto the hundredth floor, his legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees.
His hands were slick with blood, Zhu Qing’s hilt stained crimson. Coughing, he tugged at his tattered robes to wipe the sword clean.
Her sword… he had dirtied it.
Heavy footsteps approached, but Mo Zhu didn’t look up, meticulously cleaning Zhu Qing before sheathing it.
For now, he wouldn’t use it.
When he finally raised his head, his tattered clothing revealed countless wounds, the most severe being the gaping hole in his abdomen—pierced by the horn of a guardian beast.
That beast, the Taixu Crimson Rhino, lived up to its name—a massive, crimson demonic beast with a majestic form.
Unlike spiritual or demonic beasts, demon beasts could take human form. This one was no exception. It loomed over him before shifting into a red-robed youth.
Compared to Mo Zhu’s wretched state, the rhino—Fu Zhao—looked immaculate, adorned with silver ornaments that chimed with every movement. His crimson robes accentuated his slender frame, his face strikingly beautiful. Though he appeared young, he was millennia old, a veritable ancestor of the Yingshan Sect.
Fu Zhao crossed his arms, arching a brow as Mo Zhu struggled to his feet.
"You’re a demon too, reeking of demonic energy. But an early Nascent Soul demon like you—how did you make it to the hundredth floor?"
Mo Zhu wiped the blood from his lips and replied coldly, "How do you want to fight? I’m in a hurry to claim the sword."
Fu Zhao leaned lazily against the wall, smirking. "I owe that old man a favor, so I’ve been stuck here guarding this worthless sword. All I do is sleep. If you want it, take it. Once it’s gone, I’m free."
His duty was simply to guard the sword. If someone took it, his debt would be repaid.
Yet in all these years, no one had ever reached the hundredth floor.
Fu Zhao sighed. "I’d hoped Yu Zhiling would come for it. She could’ve climbed here easily. But she didn’t want it—went to the wildlands for that trash blade instead."
Zhu Qing vibrated furiously, demanding to be unsheathed and teach this insolent demon a lesson. Mo Zhu clamped a hand over the hilt, silencing it.
Zhu Qing: "How dare he insult me?! Beat him to death!"
Somehow, Mo Zhu always understood the sword’s tantrums.
Fu Zhao scoffed, stretching lazily. "I wasn’t going to stop you, but the old man said the Unreturned’s master couldn’t be just anyone. I don’t care how you got here, so—"
"Let’s fight."
The red-robed youth vanished, replaced by a monstrous crimson rhino. Its deafening roar jolted Cheng Feng awake outside the tower.
Cheng Feng: "???"
Someone had reached the top!
Zhu Qing begged to be drawn—a divine artifact like it would tip the scales in Mo Zhu’s favor.
But Mo Zhu had no intention of using it.
His eyes hardened as dark scales crept up his neck.
He shifted into his true form.
The rhino’s eyes narrowed. "A Tengshe?"
The Tengshe—royalty among demons, sovereigns of the demonic realm.
If he was a Tengshe, surviving to the hundredth floor made sense. Their flesh was nearly indestructible; short of striking their weak spot, even a pierced heart wouldn’t kill them.
Mo Zhu wasted no words. His demonic form, both resilient and lethal, was his only chance against this beast.
The two titans clashed, shaking the entire Spirit Armory.
Disciples inside panicked. Zhan Shuo, having just claimed a saber, paused on his descent, glancing upward.
"You really made it, kid."
Outside, Yu Zhiling bolted upright, hands gripping the armrests as she stared intently at the distant tower.
Yan Shanqing held her back. "He's reached the hundredth floor. Didn't you see the wind watching the show? The sword spirit isn't asleep. If Mo Zhu's life is truly in danger, it’ll intervene. He’ll be fine."
Xiang Wuxue and the others quickly added, "Little Five, don’t worry. Sit down."
Yu Zhiling fidgeted, alternating between standing and sitting, her anxiety growing with every moment. The tremors from the Spirit Armory made it seem as though the building might collapse at any second. She turned to Yan Shanqing in panic.
"Eldest Brother, will this tower collapse?"
Yan Shanqing chuckled. "Impossible. Judging by the commotion, they must have assumed their demon forms. Once a demonic beast transforms, it can withstand most lethal attacks—it’s easier to fight that way. Calm down."
The disciple jade token at Yu Zhiling’s waist hadn’t flashed red, meaning Mo Zhu wasn’t in immediate mortal danger. Still, she struggled to steady herself.
Being a guardian was so hard. She was nearly sick with worry for her little one.
Half an hour later, the tremors in the Spirit Armory abruptly ceased.
Yu Zhiling shot to her feet.
Yan Shanqing and the others exchanged glances at her reaction, pausing briefly before calmly looking away.
The way she acted—was this really just a master’s concern for her disciple? There was definitely something more beneath the surface.
Fu Zhao lay sprawled on the ground, kicking his legs weakly.
"Kid, enough! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Damn, that hurts!"
Having lived for thousands of years, he had never been in such a sorry state. His crimson robes were shredded by the serpent’s scales, and the violent beast had crushed several of his ribs when its tail coiled around the Scarlet Rhinoceros. The worst part was that Mo Zhu fought like a man possessed—while Fu Zhao valued his life too much to keep up.
Mo Zhu looked even worse. Leaning against the railing, he coughed violently, blood gushing from his throat with each spasm, pooling at his feet in a crimson puddle.
Fu Zhao craned his neck to look up at him, frowning. "Hey, brat, you’re seriously injured. It’s just a sword. No one’s taken it in all these years. With your talent, if you cultivate for another decade or two, you’ll surely reach the Divine Transformation stage. Why not come back for it then?"
Mo Zhu shook his head weakly, pressing a hand to his mouth to stifle the coughing, but blood still seeped through his fingers.
He couldn’t wait.
Standing on the hundredth floor, so close to the sword, the conviction in his heart grew stronger—an overwhelming urge.
Take it.
He had to take it.
Forcing his spiritual energy to suppress the bleeding, Mo Zhu fumbled for the healing pill Yu Zhiling had given him and swallowed it in one gulp.
Yu Zhiling had truly spared no expense—this was a top-grade recovery elixir. But his injuries were too severe; at best, it could only stop the bleeding.
Fu Zhao sprawled lazily on the ground, watching Mo Zhu stagger forward. "Why do you want that sword so badly?"
Mo Zhu replied, "No reason. I just do."
The red-robed youth crossed his legs, resting his head on his hands as if lounging on a soft couch rather than a battlefield.
"Let me give you some friendly advice. The Sword of No Return was forged from the Reincarnation Stone of the Taixu Realm."
Mo Zhu paused.
Fu Zhao grinned. "The Reincarnation Stone can help you find anyone—even the dead. Are you searching for someone?"
Mo Zhu remained silent, his gaze icy.
"Not looking for someone? Then aside from that, it’s just a Heaven-grade artifact. Why risk your life for it? The sword at your waist is a Divine-grade weapon... Wait, no—that’s not yours, is it? There’s only one Divine-grade sword. Is that Zhu Qing?"
He bolted upright. "You’re Yu Zhiling’s disciple?"
Ignoring him, Mo Zhu pushed open the door to the sword chamber.
The moment he stepped inside, his figure vanished, leaving Fu Zhao alone on the floor.
With a sigh, Fu Zhao flopped back down.
"Just like Little Five—stubborn and proud to the bone."
Only the best would do. Once they set their sights on something, they’d fight to the death for it.
He had a feeling that today, after centuries of waiting, this sword might finally be claimed by a seventeen-year-old boy.
While Fu Zhao muttered to himself outside, Yu Zhiling paced anxiously at the foot of the Spirit Armory, and Zhan Shuo leisurely descended the stairs with his newly acquired blade.
Inside the weapon chamber, Mo Zhu stood in absolute darkness—a void where not even his own hand was visible.
He understood immediately. The Sword of No Return’s trial was a test of the heart. The sword had no interest in battling a wounded youth; reaching the hundredth floor had already proven Mo Zhu’s strength.
What it wanted to test was his resolve.
For cultivators—whether human, demon, or monster—an unshakable heart, a clear mind, and fearless determination were the keys to boundless enlightenment.
Mo Zhu had already faced his inner demons during his Nascent Soul tribulation. The heavenly lightning had conjured illusions of his parents, tempting him with the illusion of their survival. Had he succumbed to that false happiness, he would have been trapped forever—and struck dead without mercy.
But Mo Zhu had seen through the illusion and shattered it without hesitation.
He feared nothing. The only pain the sword could dredge up was the death of his parents—the deepest wound in his memory.
The void around him began to shift. A sliver of light emerged in the distance, growing brighter, dispelling the darkness.
Mo Zhu tightened his grip on the jade token at his waist, engraved with Yu Zhiling’s disciple seal. Its cool touch anchored him.
—Don’t dwell on the past. The past cannot be changed. The future is what matters.
A future with the master he adored, the home he wanted to protect, and the Yingshan Sect.
The light exploded around him.
Suddenly, he was somewhere else.
Bodies piled high, blood cascading down stone steps, staining the ground in a macabre river. The sky was dark, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Mo Zhu lifted his gaze.
At the top of the steps stood a towering stone monument.
—Yingshan Sect.
And beside it, a figure knelt, head bowed. The clothes they wore made Mo Zhu’s breath catch, his heart skipping a beat.
Was this... his memory?
A man walked out of the gloom, passing by him. Mo Zhu turned.
The face he saw was older, sharper—more hardened than his own at seventeen. Dressed in black, the man carried a sword—
But not the one Mo Zhu knew.
This wasn’t the present.
This was Mo Zhu at twenty-seven.
The older version of himself stepped forward, boots splashing through blood as he climbed the steps.
The fallen disciples around him were faces he’d seen countless times. He even spotted Zhan Shuo’s corpse—the usually talkative senior’s eyes dull, a gaping hole through his chest.
Mo Zhu didn’t close his eyes. He simply walked on, toward the monument that symbolized the Yingshan Sect’s legacy.
He stopped before the stone, looking down at the kneeling figure.
A spear had pierced their chest. Their hair, streaked with white, spilled loose from a shattered jade crown, fluttering in the wind.
Yan Shanqing, the renowned saber master of the Central Plains and leader of the Yingshan Sect, had lost his right arm—the hand that once wielded his blade.
Mo Zhu crouched beside the lifeless sect master, whose blood had long since run dry.
He remained silent for a long time, his gaze drifting past Yan Shanqing’s figure to another corpse lying a hundred zhang away.
The red robes were indistinguishable from the blood, but the countless arrows piercing the body left no doubt—death had come long ago.
Mo Zhu rose to his feet, stepping over one corpse after another as he made his way toward the Yingshan Sect. He didn’t stray elsewhere, his boots splashing through bloodied puddles until he saw another figure.
Her lake-green robes were nearly dyed crimson, and she lay motionless on the ground, barely clinging to life.
Mo Zhu crouched before her, lifting her with detached indifference. He pried open her mouth and poured an entire bottle of life-preserving elixirs down her throat, but not a single pill stayed—each one was washed out by the blood.
Silent, he stubbornly continued feeding her the medicine.
Ning Hengwu’s breath was faint as a thread. She weakly turned her head away, avoiding the pills, her voice a ragged whisper.
"Spirit Abyss Path… Mo Zhu… take revenge… for your master…"
"And… find… find Xiao Wu’s… body…"
Her voice cut off abruptly, heavy with unyielding regret.
Mo Zhu watched her lifeless form, pressing a hand to her neck as if confirming something.
After a long moment, he withdrew his hand and laid her gently on the ground.
Then he walked on, arriving at Listening Spring Cliff, where he found Mei Qiongge’s longsword at the peak’s edge.
Mo Zhu stared at the pool of blood beside the cliff before lowering his gaze into the abyss below.
Thunder rumbled ominously, and the rain that had gathered all day finally poured down in torrents.
The downpour drenched him as he descended the Yingshan Sect’s steps, his sword in hand. The cascading blood stained the hem of his once-pristine robes, while behind him, the sect lay in ruins, littered with corpses.
Lightning split the darkened sky, followed by a deafening crash.
Darkness swallowed everything, the agonizing memories vanishing as Mo Zhu opened his eyes.
The seventeen-year-old youth stood in an endless void, his body trembling with cold.
"Huh? Why can’t I see anymore? Your memories just stop here—how am I supposed to test your inner demons?"
The voice was unfamiliar.
Mo Zhu turned toward the glowing white mist before him, his expression blank. Without hesitation, he raised his hand and slashed downward.
The light darted away, shrieking, "Ahhh! You’re cheating! I’m supposed to test your inner demons! I haven’t even found your most painful memory yet!"
Mo Zhu’s face was icy as he drew Zhu Qing from his waist. He had entered the sword’s consciousness, allowing him to hear the sword spirit’s voice.
Inner demons?
There was no need to endure such trials. Crushing it would suffice.
The glowing orb zigzagged frantically, screeching, "Why do you have a divine-grade artifact?! You can’t bring equipment in here! Aaaahhh!"
Zhu Qing was a divine sword, naturally suppressing lesser spirits.
The sword spirit chased gleefully as Mo Zhu struck with lethal precision—less like a challenger and more like a man venting fury, determined to annihilate this insolent spirit.
The sword, Wu Hui, narrowly avoided being cleaved in half and finally realized—this youth was furious.
As if understanding something, it scrambled to higher ground and shouted, "I’m testing your inner demons, so of course I need your worst memory! But I can’t see past this point! Why are you angry? You’re the one who came to claim me!"
Zhu Qing laughed. "Don’t run! Let’s play!"
Mo Zhu said nothing, his blade relentless.
Wu Hui cursed, "Screw off! Who wants to play with you? Divine artifacts think they’re so great!"
Zhu Qing delighted in tormenting others, its pursuit relentless.
Mo Zhu couldn’t suppress his emotions, Ning Hengwu’s words echoing in his mind.
—Find Xiao Wu’s body.
But she was alive and well—how could there be a corpse?
How could she die?
She was a Great Ascension cultivator—who could kill her?
The fleeing Wu Hui hid and yelled, "What are you even angry about? Those are your memories, not something I made up!"
Mo Zhu’s voice was frigid. "I have no such memories. My master isn’t dead. The Yingshan Sect wasn’t annihilated."
Wu Hui snapped, "Of course the Yingshan Sect wasn’t destroyed! But your memories show it! I’m forged from the Stone of Reincarnation—I see memories imprinted on souls, things even heavenly lightning can’t perceive!"
"Your soul bears these memories!"
Heavenly lightning had assumed Mo Zhu’s deepest pain was his parents’ deaths.
But Wu Hui knew better.
It wasn’t his parents. It wasn’t even the Yingshan Sect’s destruction—otherwise, Mo Zhu wouldn’t have broken free so quickly.
Yet beyond this point, it couldn’t see. Some force had sealed his memories, barring all scrutiny.
Mo Zhu simply kept striking, blow after blow.
Wu Hui couldn’t comprehend how this half-dead youth, bleeding from his wounds, could chase it for half a shichen with such ferocity.
Finally, Wu Hui gave up, wailing, "Fine! Fine! I yield!"
Zhu Qing halted just an inch from the white orb. Mo Zhu stared coldly, weighing its sincerity.
Battered and aching, Wu Hui hastily formed a contract sigil.
"Drop your heart’s blood here, and I’m yours! Just stop hitting me, for heaven’s sake! It hurts!"
Mo Zhu sheathed Zhu Qing, his face like frost as he sliced his chest and let a drop of blood fall onto the sigil.
The darkness receded, and he stepped out of the sword’s realm.
Outside the room, Fu Zhao sat up. "Huh? That fast? Less than a shichen?"
Mo Zhu ignored him.
Fu Zhao dusted himself off, grinning. "Well, since you’ve got the sword, I can leave too."
Mo Zhu staggered forward, gripping the railing as he descended. Climbing a hundred floors had been hard—going down was worse.
Each step threatened to send him tumbling. Fu Zhao trailed behind, eventually offering an arm.
"This young master will lend you a hand."
Mo Zhu didn’t respond. Step by agonizing step, he forced himself onward, collapsing repeatedly over the next half shichen until he finally reached the Spirit Armory’s gates, sword in hand.
He pushed the door open, greeted by the golden hues of dusk spilling across the sky.
A figure in thin green robes stood not far away, her eyes curved in a smile as she watched him.
—Find Xiao Wu’s body.
Ning Hengwu had said that to the twenty-seven-year-old Mo Zhu.
Tears he’d held back for so long finally fell. Limping out of the Spirit Armory, his lips trembled, his heart aching so fiercely he could barely grip his sword.
He moved toward her, and Yu Zhiling beamed as she approached her disciple.
"Did it hurt that much? Crying over your wounds? Don’t worry, your master has the finest—"
Mo Zhu lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her.
"Mo Zhu?"
He had never dared to soil her. Every time he saw her, he bathed meticulously. He washed his hands before embracing her, polished her sword until it gleamed.
But now, his blood smeared across her green robes, his rationality shattered.
Mo Zhu held her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his nose pressed against her pulse point—warm, alive.
Sobs wracked him as he clung to her, desperate to confirm she was real.
"Master, my master..."
Yu Zhiling blinked in confusion, then reached out to return his embrace.
"Mo Zhu, I'm here. I'll always be here for you."
