Mo Zhu rested his chin atop Yu Zhiling’s forehead, feeling the chill of her skin. His throat tightened with a pang of sorrow, and he could only hold her tighter, relieved that she hadn’t noticed his unease.
Yu Zhiling, however, was fixated on the demonic specters in the River of Unforgetting.
Those pairs of crimson eyes felt eerily familiar.
Just the sight of them sent her heart racing uncontrollably, as if she had encountered these specters somewhere before.
But why would she have seen creatures of the demonic realm?
Unconsciously, she clenched the fabric at Mo Zhu’s waist. The sudden pressure made him glance down at her. She was gathering her strength, and behind them, the disciples of the Wu and Yun Families were also taking a moment to recover—everyone had expended immense spiritual energy maintaining the formation earlier.
Mo Zhu asked softly, “Should we sit and rest for a while?”
Yu Zhiling nodded. “Mm.”
He settled onto the ground, spreading out the hem of his robe and pulling her down to sit atop it.
“Master, take a Spirit-Nourishing Pill.”
The so-called Spirit-Nourishing Pill was actually the renowned Revival Elixir of the Central Continent. For someone of Yu Zhiling’s status, even the rarest pills were readily available if she desired them.
She chewed one like candy, then pressed another to Mo Zhu’s lips.
“Here, it’s quite sweet.”
Mo Zhu hesitated. “Master, these were brought for you. There aren’t many left—you should keep them.”
Yu Zhiling scratched his chin playfully, and as his lips parted in protest, she swiftly popped the pill into his mouth and clapped a hand over it.
“If I give it to you, you eat it. Spit it out, and I’ll hit you.”
Mo Zhu’s eyes crinkled with amusement as he swallowed the pill. Then, while no one was looking, he pressed a fleeting kiss to her palm.
A tingling warmth spread from her palm to her wrist, leaving her arm momentarily weak. Flustered, she yanked her hand back.
Glancing around, she noticed Wu Zhaoyan seemed deeply affected, standing with his back to them. The disciples of the Yun and Wu Families had also tactfully turned away, not daring to look directly at Immortal Lord Zhuoyu—her reputation for icy detachment had been well-known in the Central Continent for decades.
Yu Zhiling scolded, “What are you doing? Can’t you focus on the mission?”
Mo Zhu caught her wrist, grinning. “Can’t we build a home and a career at the same time?”
She shoved him away. “Nonsense!”
He tugged her back, settling her beside him. “Rest a little longer. The disciples need time to recover their spiritual energy too.”
Yu Zhiling huffed but didn’t argue. Exhaustion was inevitable after such a drain on her power.
Her gaze drifted back to the demonic specters in the river. Their bloodthirsty crimson stares locked onto her, and for a moment, her heartbeat stuttered, her breath slowing as if time itself had stilled.
Mo Zhu noticed every shift in her demeanor. “Master, are you afraid?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not fear.”
It wasn’t fear—it was familiarity. As if she’d seen them before.
But Zhuoyu was not yet two hundred years old. The demonic race had been sealed in the Abyss six centuries ago, and the Central Continent had spent generations purging their remnants. If specters like these still existed, the great cultivators of Fuchun’s era would have exterminated them long ago.
Only in a forbidden place like the Path of Lingering Spirits could these creatures lurk, dormant in the river’s depths, unnoticed even by Fuchun. Otherwise, she would have led a cleansing expedition here.
So why did they feel so familiar?
Mo Zhu observed her unease but said nothing, his calm eyes fixed on the specters.
They were horrifying, yes—bloodthirsty abominations born of darkness—but Yu Zhiling wasn’t one to be easily frightened. She had slain even the dreaded Three-Eyed Serpent without flinching.
Which meant she must have encountered them somewhere.
He nuzzled her forehead. “Master, don’t dwell on it. The Path of Lingering Spirits is treacherous. Stay close to me once we enter—I won’t feel at ease otherwise.”
Yu Zhiling tilted her head up, frowning. “What did you see at the bottom of the river?”
She knew him too well to miss his tension.
“It couldn’t have been the formation that unsettled you—you’re not that easily shaken.” She paused, her gaze skimming over the sword at his waist, Wuhui, before meeting his eyes again. “Did you remember something?”
She glanced back at Wu Zhaoyan and the others, then cast a soundproofing barrier—one that even a cultivator of Wu Zhaoyan’s level couldn’t penetrate. At most, they’d only see the two of them sitting together.
“No one can hear us now,” she said. “Speak.”
Mo Zhu pressed his lips together, his grip on her waist tightening unconsciously. Yu Zhiling felt it but didn’t pull away, waiting patiently for his answer.
The youth lowered his long lashes, his Adam's apple bobbing as his voice turned hoarse: "Just fragments of memories. After the Yingshan Sect's annihilation, I chased into the Spirit Abyss Path. Back then, I was only at the Great Ascension stage—no idea how I got in. All I saw was darkness, and I just kept walking deeper."
"Then... I saw the Demon Lord."
A figure wearing a hood.
The Demon Lord, a pureblood demon who loathed light—perhaps also to conceal his identity—always wore that hood wherever he went.
He said to Mo Zhu: "Here to avenge her? You're far too late. Her soul must have shattered completely by now."
"She died long, long ago. Forgotten by all of you, she perished alone in the darkness."
"Poof—gone. Not a wisp of her soul remains."
He made a crushing gesture with his hand, delivering words that chilled Mo Zhu to the bone.
When Mo Zhu opened his eyes again, he was suspended at the bottom of the Unforgetting River. The blinding white light of a formation illuminated the river's depths, and on the surface, he glimpsed a faint reflection—light emanating from the mermaid pearl at Yu Zhiling's waist.
He rushed toward her. The moment he reached shore, his first words were a plea:
"Master, you must never leave me."
Compared to Mo Zhu's terror, Yu Zhiling herself remained composed.
She had her suspicions. During the decade when the impostor Zhuo Yu had replaced the real Yu Xiaowu, perhaps the true Yu Xiaowu had already died—or been trapped somewhere impossible to escape.
But she leaned toward the former.
If Yu Xiaowu hadn't died, how could she have allowed someone to steal her place, infiltrate her sect, and ultimately bring about the Yingshan Sect's destruction?
No matter how dire the prison, Yu Xiaowu would have clawed her way out to protect her sect.
What Yu Zhiling didn't know was whether Yu Xiaowu had been possessed—or if the person who returned had never been her at all.
From body to soul, entirely someone else?
Then how had Yan Shanqing and the others failed to notice?
There must have been something else masking the fake Zhuo Yu's identity, deceiving them all.
Mo Zhu held her tighter. As long as she was in his arms, as long as they stayed inseparable, she would be safe—at least until his own death.
It was the only way to smother his dread.
Yu Zhiling patted his head. "There, there. I won't leave you. Your master's at the Tribulation Transcendence stage now—the strongest in the Central Continent. Who could harm me?"
As she raised her hand, her bare left wrist caught her eye. The Verdant Serpent Bangle was missing.
Mo Zhu gripped her wrist. "Master, where's the bangle?"
Yu Zhiling blinked. "I stored it away, afraid it might break."
"Wear it," Mo Zhu insisted. "You must keep it on until the Demon Lord is captured."
Yu Zhiling nodded. "Alright, fine."
She retrieved the bangle from her qiankun pouch and slipped it on, waving her adorned wrist. "Happy now? Don't worry—the Verdant Serpent Bangle's a celestial-grade defensive artifact, and I'm a Tribulation Transcendence cultivator. Nothing will happen."
Yet Mo Zhu's unease lingered as he stared at the bangle. "Master, once we leave the Spirit Abyss Path, I'll give you something. You must carry it with you always."
Yu Zhiling humored him. "Yes, yes, I promise. Really, I don't need protecting."
Mo Zhu fell silent. He longed to shield her—to spare her from standing as the Central Continent's bulwark against the storm.
But what could his feeble self truly offer?
Right now, all he had was his devotion.
He studied her eyes—lovely, gentle pools that softened whenever she gazed at anyone. Everyone wished she'd never recall the past, that she could remain carefree forever.
But Mo Zhu knew. One day, she'd remember everything.
Yu Zhiling had already nestled against his shoulder, eyes closed in rest. She trusted him completely. During that month when Frostblade's curse had nearly killed her, it was Mo Zhu who never left her side—carrying her, guarding her sleep. Such intimacy had long become habit.
Mo Zhu's gaze dropped to the Verdant Pursuit Sword at her waist.
Back then, when she'd marched to her death in the Slaughter Realm, she would've taken Verdant Pursuit if she truly meant to kill the Demon Lord. Yet the sword had been brought back to the Yingshan Sect by the fake Zhuo Yu. After Yu Xiaowu vanished, Verdant Pursuit had sealed itself in slumber, refusing all wielders.
Could a sentient sword remember what happened in the Slaughter Realm?
Mo Zhu glanced at No Return at his own hip and tapped its scabbard, rousing the dormant sword spirit within.
No Return wailed, "Aaaah! Let me sleep!"
Mo Zhu narrowed his eyes and silenced its vibrations with a press.
No Return instantly cowered. Heavens, what did the little master want now? Dragging it into cultivation drills day after day—every waking moment was just sword practice!
After ensuring Yu Zhiling was feigning sleep, Mo Zhu covered her ears and whispered to No Return, "Can you communicate with Verdant Pursuit's spirit?"
Wu Hui gave a slight shake of his sword sheath—a prearranged signal between them, meaning "proceed."
Mo Zhu asked, "Have you asked Zhuyu? Does it know what happened back then in the Four Slaughter Realm?"
This time, before Wu Hui could respond, Yu Zhiling spoke first. "Zhuyu doesn’t know."
Mo Zhu lowered his head, while Yu Zhiling tilted hers upward.
Her voice was calm, almost detached. "I’ve asked before. Zhuyu’s memories were severely damaged. Since a sword spirit shares its master’s consciousness, there’s only one possibility—its master suffered a soul-crushing injury, and the backlash affected the sword as well. Its long slumber was likely due to its own severe wounds."
Yu Zhiling had inquired long ago, and from that moment, she had quietly accepted a grim likelihood she had already suspected.
Yu Xiaowu was dead.
Though she didn’t understand why Zhuyu now obeyed her, Yu Zhiling had to face the truth: the real Yu Xiaowu had died—perhaps in the Four Slaughter Realm, or more likely—
In the Demon Abyss within the Four Slaughter Realm.
She had been dead for a long, long time. From the very beginning.
Yu Zhiling didn’t comfort the stunned Mo Zhu. Instead, she leaned against his shoulder, closing her eyes as she murmured, "Yu Xiao—no, I... During that month I went missing, Yun Zhi, Wu Zhaoyan, and even my senior brothers and sisters turned the Four Slaughter Realm inside out but found no trace of me. Gui Zheng said I asked about the entrance to the Demon Abyss. It’s very possible... I did jump in."
That was why Yan Shanqing and the others couldn’t find Yu Xiaowu—because she was no longer in the Four Slaughter Realm. She had been in the Demon Abyss, a place teeming with countless demons.
No one would have guessed she had the courage to leap into the abyss. No one could have imagined she’d survive it.
"It’s all in the past now, Mo Zhu. Don’t grieve."
Mo Zhu’s breath hitched, a suffocating weight pressing against his chest. All that suffering, all that torment—reduced to nothing but a light, dismissive—
It’s all in the past.
How could it be?
What had she endured? The hatred, the pain, the decade of being forgotten by everyone—only to be brushed off with a single, careless phrase.
Yu Zhiling could let go of her suffering, but he couldn’t.
Mo Zhu’s breathing was heavy, his eyes rimmed red. He rested his chin atop her head, gently nuzzling her before turning to gaze at the vast, desolate expanse of the Spirit Nether Path behind them—an endless wasteland where the desert reflected the blinding sunlight.
The Spirit Nether Path—the land of eternal daylight. If Yun Zhi had truly been brought here...
Then perhaps he was here too.
Mo Zhu’s gaze turned icy before he looked away, pulling Yu Zhiling closer as she drowsed against him.
"Master, don’t worry. I will kill him."
He would carve him into a thousand pieces, shatter his bones, and scatter his soul.
Every pain she had suffered—he would return it tenfold.
A heavy rain poured over Yingshan.
In the teaching hall, a man sat by the window, one hand propping his chin, the other massaging his temples. Days of exhaustion had deepened the fine lines at the corners of his eyes.
A red-robed youth swaggered in and flopped unceremoniously onto the floor. "Hey, I’ve been guarding Yingshan Sect’s Spirit Armory for years now. Don’t I deserve some kind of reward?"
Yan Shanqing didn’t open his eyes, his voice hoarse from the sleepless night. "What do you want?"
Fu Zhao crossed his legs, grinning. "Let me go with Elder Ning. I’ll help her with chores."
Yan Shanqing: "..."
Yan Shanqing finally opened his eyes, his brows knitting. "Calling her ‘Elder’? The lot of us combined aren’t even half your age."
Fu Zhao chuckled. "I’m young at heart! And she’s so pretty. That time I got beaten half to death, she treated my wounds so gently. I think she likes me."
Yan Shanqing shot him a withering look before picking up a scroll. "Don’t flatter yourself. Hengwu is kind to all her patients. Has she even spoken to you lately?"
Fu Zhao flopped onto his back dramatically. "I don’t care! I want to help her!"
"You’re a monster. I won’t allow you near Hengwu."
"Mo Zhu’s a monster too!"
Yan Shanqing replied flatly, "He’s a Flying Serpent—royal bloodline of the Monster Clan."
Fu Zhao scoffed. "Royal bloodline? I went to the Monster Realm a few days ago. Word hasn’t reached the Central Continent yet, but the monsters have a new king."
Yan Shanqing’s grip on the scroll tightened, though his tone remained indifferent. "Who?"
Fu Zhao propped his chin on his hand. "Hmm... A serpent monster who served under the last Monster King—Mo Zhu’s grandfather. Flying Serpents and serpents share some ancestry, but you know Flying Serpents have divine blood. Their innate power is unmatched. The Flying Serpent Clan has ruled the Monster Realm for millennia."
Yan Shanqing nodded. "Right. Mo Zhu’s grandfather ordered the monsters to aid the Demon Lord’s invasion of the Central Continent. After the demons were defeated, the monsters were driven out too. The monster populace blamed the royal family, demanding answers. But things escalated, and the Flying Serpent King died in the uprising."
Fu Zhao smirked, his tone mocking. "That’s the story in the Central Continent? That the Flying Serpent King gave the order?"
Yan Shanqing's expression darkened. "Isn't it?"
Fu Zhao smiled. "Why has the Flying Serpent clan ruled the demon race for thousands of years? Your Central Continent’s administrators have changed multiple times, yet the Flying Serpents remain firmly on the throne. It’s because the royal family has never been warmongering. How long was Mo Zhu’s grandfather in power?"
Yan Shanqing hesitated. "He ascended at nineteen and passed away at fifteen hundred years old—a reign of one thousand four hundred and eighty-one years."
Fu Zhao asked, "Did he ever lead the demon race into war?"
Yan Shanqing: "Only the great war between the three races six hundred years ago."
Fu Zhao: "When the demons attacked the Central Continent, did you see the Flying Serpent royal family join the battle?"
That light remark sent a chill down Yan Shanqing’s spine, freezing his blood. His grip on the scroll tightened, knuckles cracking.
"...No."
"Not a single Flying Serpent?"
"...Not one."
"Then it’s even stranger, isn’t it? The royal family is the demon race’s main force. How could they not participate in the war?"
This was something Yan Shanqing had never considered.
Six hundred years ago, he hadn’t even been born. Fuchun, still young at the time, had defended the southern cities of the Central Continent, primarily battling the demonic forces, not the main demon army. Later, rumors spread that the Flying Serpent royal family had issued the war decree, so the Central Continent accepted it as fact.
Back then, Fuchun had also questioned why no Flying Serpents had appeared in battle. The Immortal Alliance dismissed her doubts, claiming the royal family had stayed behind to preserve their main strength.
Seeing Yan Shanqing’s stunned expression, Fu Zhao leaned back lazily, propping himself up with his hands.
"The Flying Serpent clan has never been warmongers. The royal family has always kept a low profile, never harboring ambitions to conquer the Central Continent. Back then, the previous Monster King suddenly fell into a coma, and the current one—oh right, that python—emerged with an edict bearing the Flying Serpent King’s spiritual seal. That’s why the demons obeyed and attacked the Central Continent. After their defeat, public outrage grew. At first, it was just impeachment, but somehow it escalated into a royal uprising. The Flying Serpents were nearly wiped out. Don’t you think it’s all too coincidental?"
The Monster King fell into a coma, yet left behind an edict to invade the Central Continent.
The demons lost the war, and the royal family faced public fury. Someone seized the chance to incite infighting, igniting a civil war that nearly exterminated the Flying Serpents.
A thought suddenly struck Yan Shanqing.
"Are you saying that edict wasn’t issued by Mo Zhu’s grandfather? But it bore his spiritual seal. Whoever could get close enough to the Monster King to incapacitate him and then issue orders in his name… must have been someone he trusted. And the ones who benefited from the Flying Serpents’ downfall were…"
Fu Zhao replied flatly, "The current Monster King, obviously. It’s a blatant usurpation—can’t you see that?"
Yan Shanqing stood abruptly, his voice icy. "Why should I believe you?"
Fu Zhao tilted his head back to look at him and shrugged helplessly. "Believe what you want. The bloodline of divine beasts is bound by heavenly law. Flying Serpents rarely bear offspring—over thousands of years, their main and branch families combined never exceeded two hundred. Most died in that uprising. The current Monster King has been hunting down the survivors. Why would he bother exterminating a defeated royal family? There are only a few dozen left—what threat could they possibly pose?"
Yan Shanqing asked, "To silence them?"
Fu Zhao curled his lip.
"Not just that. Eliminating witnesses is the main goal, but there’s also a treasure involved. The Flying Serpent royal family possesses a legendary artifact, rumored to hold immense power. Whoever wields it gains unrivaled strength. It’s also the symbol of the Monster King—like the Immortal Alliance’s jade tokens of authority."
"And where is this artifact now…?"
Fu Zhao grinned meaningfully. "Haven’t you noticed the new bracelet on your junior sister’s wrist? It’s already recognized her as its master."
Yan Shanqing’s lips trembled. He took a deep breath. "You mean the bracelet on Xiaowu’s wrist? Isn’t it just an ordinary accessory?"
Fu Zhao rolled his eyes. "That bracelet is anything but ordinary! The serpent coiled around it is a Flying Serpent—the first Monster King of the Flying Serpent clan, the one who underwent tribulation at just a hundred years old. Who would dare carve a Flying Serpent into a mere ornament?"
Yan Shanqing retorted, "But Flying Serpents have wings."
The serpent on the bracelet, however, was wingless.
"The Flying Serpent did have wings, but its entire body is a treasure. Its wings could forge the sturdiest of barriers. During the demon uprising, that king personally severed his own wings to create an indestructible barrier. That’s why the serpent on the bracelet has no wings—it’s the only wingless Flying Serpent in history."
None of this was known to Yan Shanqing.
The demon race had long kept to themselves, rarely appearing in the Central Continent. The war six hundred years ago had caught the entire Central Continent off guard, with the demons playing a key role.
But Fu Zhao’s words planted a suspicion in Yan Shanqing’s mind.
"Back then, Xiaowu brought Mo Zhu back, claiming she’d ‘casually rescued a child’… How could she not have recognized that child as a Flying Serpent?"
Fu Zhao lay on the ground, speaking lightly, "It’s obvious, isn’t it? Your little junior sister is hiding a lot. She must have a deep connection with the Flying Serpent—maybe even carries a serpent’s heart or scale within her. Otherwise, why would that serpent bracelet recognize her as its master? That’s a priceless treasure we’re talking about."
"And think about it—when the demon and monster races attacked the Central Continent, why didn’t a single member of the royal family step forward to clear their name or stop the war? Something grave must have happened during that time, something that left the entire royal house incapacitated. Do you really think an ordinary serpent could pull that off?"
Yan Shanqing paced back and forth in the room, his heart restless. A staggering truth had just crashed over him, and he couldn’t calm down. The version of events he’d heard from the elders of the Central Continent was far from the whole story. The real truth had been buried for six hundred years.
Suddenly, he whirled around, his voice sharp. "That serpent wasn’t just after the throne—he made a deal with the Demon Lord. The demons helped him control the royal family, and in return, he found a way to forge the war decree. Whether the plan succeeded or not, the Flying Serpent royal line was doomed."
"Yeah, exactly." Fu Zhao propped himself up on one elbow, grinning. "Mo Zhu is probably the last of the Flying Serpents. Want to take a guess whether the current Monster King knows he’s still alive?"
"And here’s another thought—that serpent just recently managed to silence the opposition and seize power as the Monster King. Now that he’s got real authority, don’t you think he’d reach out again to that Demon Lord who fled to the Central Continent? After all, as long as Mo Zhu lives, the previous royal line isn’t truly extinct."
"Monsters place great importance on bloodline, you know. For the past six hundred years, half the monster race refused to accept that serpent as their king. Many have been secretly searching for any surviving members of the Flying Serpent royal family. A lowly serpent’s impure blood could never earn their respect. But with the monster realm leaderless for so long, chaos was inevitable—he was the most suitable candidate, which is why he only recently took the throne."
But if the monsters were to learn that a pure-blooded prince still lived—the direct grandson of the previous Monster King, no less, with impeccable lineage and extraordinary talent, reaching the Nascent Soul realm by seventeen with limitless potential ahead of him—
Then the current Monster King would likely be overthrown in an instant.
Yan Shanqing’s mind raced. Without another word, he strode toward the door.
Fu Zhao scrambled up, shouting after him, "Hey, hey! I just gave you such crucial intel! Don’t I at least deserve a reward?!"
But Yan Shanqing had already vanished beyond the hall.
Fuming, Fu Zhao flipped over and stormed out, yanking the door open—
"Yan Shanqing, you—"
His words died in his throat.
Ning Hengwu stood there, holding a tray, her face a picture of confusion.
"What’s wrong with the senior brother? I brought food—why did he leave?"
Fu Zhao’s expression instantly brightened. He eagerly took the tray from her hands. "Isn’t this heavy? You shouldn’t carry such things—let him fetch his own meals!"
Ning Hengwu ignored him, turning to leave in pursuit of Yan Shanqing.
Fu Zhao trotted after her. "Hey, beautiful, do you need an assistant? Someone to dry herbs? Water the medicinal plants? I’m great at chores—let me help you!"
"I can do laundry, cook, anything! Need a servant? I’ll pour your tea, carry your water! Imagine the prestige—a Taixu Crimson Rhinoceros as your personal attendant! If you’re tired, I can even carry you on my back!"
"Hey, slow down! The wind’s strong today—aren’t you cold? Want me to fetch you a cloak?"
Ning Hengwu spun around, her face blank.
The red-robed youth immediately straightened up, beaming at her with hopeful eyes.
She snatched the tray back and said coldly, "Get lost."
Fu Zhao’s heart shattered into pieces.
"Beauty! My beauty! Just think about it—I’d work myself to the bone for you! You’re the most stunning person I’ve ever seen! I’ll wait for you forever!"
Yu Zhiling wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep.
When she stirred awake, she found herself nestled in Mo Zhu’s arms. The young man’s body radiated warmth, his Adam’s apple resting against her forehead. A faint glow shimmered around him—he was cultivating, seizing every spare moment to refine his skills.
Yu Zhiling lifted her head, studying Mo Zhu’s closed eyes. Up close, he was breathtaking—a kind of beauty words couldn’t capture.
His striking features had an almost overwhelming impact at first glance. She’d thought him handsome from the moment they met, and even now, she hadn’t grown tired of looking at him.
She carefully extricated herself from his embrace, and his outer robe slipped from her shoulders. She picked it up, smiling to herself.
Her disciple was surprisingly thoughtful.
"Need more rest?"
His voice, cool and amused, snapped her out of her thoughts.
Mo Zhu had finished meditating and was now watching her intently.
She handed him his robe. "No, let’s go find Yun Zhi soon."
Yu Zhiling stood up. In the distance, Wu Zhaoyan was sitting on a tree with his eyes closed, resting, while beneath the tree, disciples lay scattered in large numbers—some asleep, others simply gazing up at the sky.
Mo Zhu spoke from behind her, "Master, you only slept for an hour. These disciples expended a great deal of spiritual energy maintaining the formation. They’re exhausted now."
Yu Zhiling knew they were tired. Privately, she didn’t want to disturb their rest, but with Yun Zhi missing and no trace of him yet found, they couldn’t afford to waste any more time.
She stepped forward, suppressing the guilt in her heart, and cleared her throat. "Have you rested enough? Let’s move on. The Spirit Veil Path is treacherous—we shouldn’t linger. The sooner we find him and leave, the better."
Wu Zhaoyan opened his eyes and looked down at Yu Zhiling beneath the tree.
The disciples gradually rose to their feet.
"Immortal Lord, we’re fine. We can go."
"The sooner we find the family head, the sooner we’ll all feel at ease."
"You and Immortal Lord Zhaoyan are leading this mission. We’ll follow your arrangements."
None of them complained of exhaustion, easing Yu Zhiling’s mind slightly.
She tilted her head up to look at Wu Zhaoyan, her previously gentle tone shifting abruptly. "Are you coming or not? We need to find Yun Zhi."
Wu Zhaoyan glanced at Mo Zhu behind her. The young man was adjusting the sash of his outer robe, and when he sensed Wu Zhaoyan’s gaze, he lifted his eyes indifferently—cold and unreadable.
Wu Zhaoyan wasn’t blind to the way Yu Zhiling unconsciously relied on him, nor was he oblivious to how this young man indulged his master’s closeness—or perhaps, lured her into it.
He flipped down from the tall tree, landing before Yu Zhiling, who stood a head shorter than him. His throat tightened, a bitter ache swelling in his chest.
Yu Zhiling frowned, hesitating before asking, "What’s wrong? Are you tired?"
Why did he seem so upset?
Wu Zhaoyan turned his head away and exhaled deeply. "It’s nothing. The wind and sand are irritating. Let’s go."
Without looking back at her, he strode ahead.
The disciples didn’t dare speak, silently following Wu Zhaoyan.
Yu Zhiling muttered under her breath, "Why is he always so strange? What’s his problem now?"
Mo Zhu sometimes felt grateful that his master—whether as Yu Xiaowu, Zhuo Yu, or the current Yu Zhiling, who remembered nothing—was utterly oblivious to matters of the heart. Or perhaps, she simply didn’t care.
When one pursued greater ambitions, they wouldn’t be shackled by trivial affections.
Otherwise, with Wu Zhaoyan’s feelings so glaringly obvious, it was a wonder how these childhood friends had somehow turned into bickering rivals.
Mo Zhu took Yu Zhiling’s wrist, guiding his oblivious master forward.
"Master, let’s go. The Spirit Veil Path isn’t safe."
Yu Zhiling followed but glanced back at the dark, unfathomable River of No Return.
The demonic shadows still swirled in the water, refusing to leave.
She met their blood-red eyes, staring unblinkingly for a long time.
It felt like… a long, long time ago, she had seen them somewhere before.
She had seen even more of these demonic shadows—thousands upon thousands.
