When had Mo Zhu first seen him?
It was when he was just old enough to remember.
The Tengshe clan matured quickly. By the age of three, Mo Zhu was as tall as a five-year-old human child. While Yu Zhiling could wield a sword at three, Mo Zhu could already transform into his true Tengshe form, soaring through the clouds on wings that carried him across the vast expanse of the Nether Sea. The land there was perpetually blanketed in snow, its bitter cold unbearable for humans—but for the resilient flesh and blood of the Tengshe, it was the perfect home.
The treacherous, ever-shifting terrain of the Nether Sea shielded the Tengshe from enemies, and its boundless waters provided ample hiding places.
Miao Wan often told him, "A-Zhu, never cross the boundary of the Nether Sea. The world beyond is not for us."
But on that day—his third birthday—he flew freely above the Nether Sea, drifting among the clouds for what felt like an eternity.
He had a dear friend, a thousand-year-old Black Tortoise, who was about to enter hibernation. Mo Zhu wanted to see it one last time.
Little Mo Zhu had no intention of crossing the Nether Sea. He simply followed the tortoise’s scent and found it near the border. Though he didn’t understand why it had gone there, he rushed to meet it without hesitation.
Then, hidden within the mist, he saw him—a young man clad in dark crimson robes, his pale hands slowly extracting a bone from the tortoise’s body.
"Still won’t talk? Where in the Nether Sea does the Tengshe clan reside?"
From the clouds, Mo Zhu locked eyes with the tortoise. Its shell had already been torn away, flesh clinging to its battered body. Its aged, clouded gaze unmistakably spotted Mo Zhu in the mist.
With just one glance, it calmly looked away.
"I’ve never seen them. I don’t know."
Blood gushed from its mouth as it spoke. Most of its bones had already been pulled out, white and bloodied, laid neatly beside its shell.
Mo Zhu burned with fury and panic, unable to bear seeing his friend suffer. He was about to charge out of the mist when—
The mutilated tortoise suddenly lunged forward, clinging to the black-robed man’s leg.
"Go back! Run! The Tengshe are in danger!"
Mo Zhu’s eyes met the man’s as he looked up.
Even from a distance, Mo Zhu could see his face clearly—pale, sickly, devoid of color. At the time, he had never seen a ghost cultivator, but if he were to describe him later, he would only think of one phrase:
Like a ghost.
Like a ravenous, bone-devouring wraith.
The man’s crimson eyes gleamed with amusement, his lips curling into a faint smile.
"A-Zhu, run! The Tengshe are in peril!"
With those final words, the thousand-year-old tortoise detonated its golden core, buying Mo Zhu a few precious moments.
Mo Zhu reacted swiftly, fleeing into the distance. The Tengshe could traverse a thousand miles in a day, but instead of returning directly to his clan, he wove through the mist and currents of the Nether Sea, circling endlessly to throw off the demonic cultivator’s pursuit. Only when he was certain he had lost him did he dare return home—ensuring his clan’s location remained hidden.
He shifted back into human form and threw himself into Miao Wan’s arms. "Mother, Grandpa Tortoise is dead!"
That night, Miao Wan and Mo Zhu’s father gathered every able-bodied warrior in the clan. They spent the entire night deliberating in a hidden cave, while little Mo Zhu wept alone in his room, mourning the loss of his friend.
He could never forget the sight of Grandpa Tortoise sacrificing himself to hold back the demonic cultivator. He hated his own helplessness—at barely three years old, all he could do was play recklessly across the Nether Sea. Why hadn’t he been strong enough to save him?
A month later, a stranger arrived in the village.
It was the first time Mo Zhu had ever seen an outsider. He peeked out from behind the eaves, his small head cautiously tilted in curiosity.
The woman wore a thin green robe, her silhouette slender yet unyielding, her posture straight as a blade. In one hand, she held a dark-blue sword, her black hair loosely tied with a single ribbon. The wind tugged at her clothes, sending the ribbon fluttering like a dancing serpent.
Sensing his gaze, she turned—but her face remained obscured by the strands of hair swept across it. All Mo Zhu could see were her eyes.
Empty. Cold. Detached. Yet somehow, they didn’t inspire fear.
When she noticed him, her eyes softened, the frost melting into something warm, like a spring breeze.
Flustered, Mo Zhu hugged his leather ball tightly and retreated to his room.
Later, Miao Wan returned and gathered him in her arms. "A-Zhu, would you like to leave the Nether Sea with your father and me?"
Mo Zhu asked, "Will Grandmother and the uncles come too?"
Miao Wan’s eyes reddened as she stroked his hair. "No. Just us—your mother, your father, our little A-Zhu… and my dear friend."
Mo Zhu nodded obediently and wrapped his arms around her neck. "Wherever you and Father go, I’ll go too."
When they first emerged from the Nether Sea, they were immediately pursued. Yet Miao Wan merely wrapped her cloak tighter around Mo Zhu, nestled in her arms, and fled without looking back alongside her husband.
They couldn’t turn back—their only choice was to escape to safety as quickly as possible.
Little Mo Zhu quietly peeked through a gap in the cloak, his dark, gleaming eyes glancing backward.
Before the tens of thousands of pursuers stood a lone figure, a sword in one hand, her black hair whipping wildly in the wind, her green robes billowing.
She was his mother’s dear friend, the one who intercepted the demonic forces lying in wait beyond the Nether Sea.
After fleeing to the Central Continent, he never saw that woman again.
Not until his parents died one after the other, and he, carrying the Huiqing Serpent Bracelet, spent two years on the run—only to be saved once more by Yu Zhiling.
She had saved him countless times. The sword in her hand had saved many.
Whether it was Old Tortoise, his grandmother, his uncles and aunts, or even his own parents—he had lost them all along the way. As a child, he couldn’t understand why they insisted on exterminating the Tengshe clan. He didn’t comprehend the saying, "A common man’s only crime is possessing a treasure." The Tengshe were coveted for their every part, and with the divine Huiqing Serpent Bracelet in their possession, it was inevitable they’d be hunted.
All he could do was resent fate’s cruelty and loathe everyone.
Until she saved him.
From a very young age, he had sworn that if he survived, he would protect those he cherished—he refused to lose anyone else.
And so, ten years passed in the blink of an eye.
Mo Zhu’s breath trembled, his grip on his sword tightening until his knuckles cracked.
"You killed Old Tortoise. You laid the Eightfold Slaughter Array in the Nether Sea. My entire clan perished in that formation. And my master… my master too—"
The young man raised a brow, smirking. "Ah, so you knew your master died once. But she wasn’t killed by me."
Wu Zhaoyan whirled around to face him. "What do you mean? What happened to Little Five?"
The other man’s lips curled, his tone lazy, as if discussing something amusing.
"Ten years ago, in the Fourfold Slaughter Realm, she followed me into the Demon Abyss. Hmm, she should be dead—shattered her own soul with the Frostblade. But how strange…"
He tilted his head, muttering to himself. "She clearly died, so why did she reappear unscathed in the Yingshan Sect? Ruining my plans—"
His words cut off abruptly, replaced by a low chuckle.
"Yu Zhiling truly is full of surprises. She hunted me for a month in the Demon Abyss, stripped me to the bone. She probably thought I died, didn’t she? Tsk. I’d love to see her again. I really do adore—"
"Shut your mouth!" The Wuhui Sword unsheathed in a flash, its edge slicing through the air as Mo Zhu teleported before him in an instant. "How dare you speak of my master, you vile creature!"
The young man sidestepped, crimson eyes crinkling with amusement. "No matter. I’ve been searching for both of you for so long. I’ll deal with you first, then find her."
Wu Zhaoyan barked a warning, "Mo Zhu, fall back!"
Yu Zhiling sat cross-legged on the ground, idly poking at the dirt with a twig.
Ants scurried about, butterflies flitted by, and spirit birds perched on branches—this place, teeming with life, stood in stark contrast to the barren desolation of the Lingyou Path. It felt like another world entirely.
She glanced at Yun Zhi, who sat meditating across from her, still recovering from his injuries.
She had lost track of how long they’d been here. There was no night—only perpetual daylight. She couldn’t fathom how this ecosystem functioned, so eerily similar to the Central Continent.
Yu Zhiling sighed, pulling out a chestnut her little disciple had shelled earlier to nibble on. Without Mo Zhu around, she felt oddly unsettled. She had grown accustomed to his care, to hearing him call her "Master" every day.
"Why the sigh?" Yun Zhi opened his eyes, his voice gentle. "Don’t want to stay here with me?"
The chestnut nearly choked her. She hastily gulped down some water.
"I was joking. Not funny?" Yun Zhi laughed, intending to lighten the mood, but Yu Zhiling only seemed more unnerved.
"You’re not cut out for jokes. It was like a bad pun."
"A bad pun?"
She set the water flask aside, shrugging. "You meant it as a joke, but it fell flat—awkward, even scary. Get it?"
Yun Zhi nodded. "Understood. You used to tell jokes often, and they were always amusing. I never quite learned how."
Yu Zhiling smirked inwardly. "Of course. Absurdity is an innate talent—not something just anyone can master."
Yu Xiao Wu’s temperament must have been much like hers, for not a single soul—not even Yanshan Qing and the others—had doubted her identity. They all treated her as if she were truly Yu Xiao Wu.
She had always spouted strange phrases, so Yun Zhi wasn’t the least bit surprised. Relaxing, he ended his meditation and asked, "Do you want to leave now?"
Yu Zhiling hesitated. "I’m worried about Mo Zhu and the others. I’ve been gone too long."
Yun Zhi rose. "My injuries have improved somewhat. Let’s go."
Yu Zhiling hesitated before asking, "Are you sure you can walk?"
Yun Zhi smiled faintly, stood up, and took a few steady steps. "What do you think?"
Yu Zhiling also rose to her feet, brushing off the grass and dirt clinging to her clothes, then crouched slightly in front of Yun Zhi.
"Come on, I'll carry you."
Yun Zhi froze. "What?"
Yu Zhiling turned her head to urge him. "I'm offering to carry you. I could easily carry two of you without breaking a sweat."
As a Tribulation Realm cultivator, her strength was immense, and carrying Yun Zhi wouldn’t be an issue. She saw nothing unusual about it—after all, helping a severely injured friend who could barely walk was only natural.
Yun Zhi’s ears reddened slightly as he took a step back, shaking his head. "No, I can walk on my own. It’s fine."
Yu Zhiling frowned. "Don’t be stubborn or worry about pride. Even though I’m a woman, I’m stronger than you right now. I’m a Tribulation Realm cultivator—there’s no need to underestimate me. Anything you can do, I can do too."
Realizing she had misunderstood, Yun Zhi cleared his throat awkwardly and averted his gaze. "It’s not that. I’m not underestimating you. I really can walk. Little Five, you’re our main fighter—if we run into danger, we’ll need you at full strength. Save your energy for now."
Yu Zhiling straightened up, studying him carefully. "You’re sure you can walk?"
Yun Zhi nodded. "Positive."
As if to prove his point, he paced in front of her a few times.
Seeing that he truly seemed steady, Yu Zhiling relaxed and waved a hand. "Alright then, let’s find a way out."
"Mm."
Yun Zhi draped his crane-feather cloak back over his shoulders and followed behind Yu Zhiling, watching as she strolled with her hands behind her back, her gait casual but swift.
He knew she was anxious—worried about what was happening outside, whether Mo Zhu and the others were in danger.
Softly, Yun Zhi spoke up. "Little Five."
Yu Zhiling didn’t turn around. "Hmm?"
"What’s going on between you and your disciple?"
Yu Zhiling’s steps faltered for a moment, nearly tripping over her own feet. She steadied herself, cleared her throat, and shot Yun Zhi a suspicious glance before pretending nothing was wrong.
"Nothing. Why do you ask?"
Yun Zhi answered bluntly. "I saw you embracing."
This time, Yu Zhiling actually tripped, tumbling into an undignified sprawl on the ground.
"Little Five!"
Yun Zhi hurried to help her up, dusting the dirt off her knees.
Yu Zhiling scrambled back a step, her face flushed. "W-when did you see that?"
Yun Zhi replied honestly. "At the Yingshan Sect. The night you came to talk to me. After I left, I worried you might still be upset, so I turned back and saw you and Mo Zhu hugging."
His tone was so matter-of-fact, as if he were merely commenting on the weather.
Yu Zhiling laughed awkwardly, trying to brush it off. "We had a fight and made up. Since I started the argument, I figured I should be the one to smooth things over. So I hugged him to calm him down. That’s all."
Yun Zhi didn’t believe her. His memory was sharp—he recalled every glance Mo Zhu had ever given Yu Zhiling. After that night, he had thought long and hard, reluctantly concluding that there might be something more between them, something beyond a typical master-disciple relationship.
The first person he thought of was Wu Zhaoyan.
Yun Zhi didn’t deny his own selfishness—if Yu Zhiling were to spend her life with someone, he would rather it be Wu Zhaoyan, one of their childhood companions.
He also knew Wu Zhaoyan loved Yu Zhiling. And it pained him.
Carefully, Yun Zhi asked, "Little Five… do you not like Zhaoyan?"
Yu Zhiling kept walking as she answered. "No."
"You don’t dislike him?"
"Not at all. I just enjoy arguing with him—it doesn’t mean I hate him."
She was certain she didn’t dislike Wu Zhaoyan. Even though they bickered constantly, if Wu Zhaoyan had been the one missing, she would have charged into the Spirit Path without hesitation to find him.
Yun Zhi gave a small nod. "Good. As long as you don’t dislike him."
She didn’t dislike him—but there was nothing deeper than friendship either.
Yun Zhi understood then. She and Wu Zhaoyan would only ever be friends. He didn’t press further.
Yu Zhiling found his behavior odd and glanced back at him, but she didn’t say anything more. Right now, she was far more concerned about the situation outside.
The rest of the journey passed in relative silence. Yun Zhi wasn’t much of a talker, and Yu Zhiling was too preoccupied to fill the quiet.
They had been walking for what felt like hours, following the main path without deviation. Yu Zhiling lifted her head, shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare.
"Yun Zhi, are you sure this is the right way?"
Yun Zhi shook his head: "I’m not sure, but there’s only this one path here."
Since there was only a single road with no branching paths, they had no choice but to keep moving forward. Yet after walking for what felt like an eternity, it seemed the road would never end.
Yu Zhiling took out the jade token at her waist and tapped it stubbornly: "Even the disciple jade seal is being blocked. There must be an array nearby."
Yun Zhi murmured, "You’ve already undergone your tribulation. For something to intercept your disciple jade seal—that’s not normal. There shouldn’t be any cultivator in the Central Continent stronger than you now."
"What about the Demon Lord?"
"He’s not as strong as you. I’ve fought him before—he seems to be only at the middle or peak of the Great Ascension stage."
Yu Zhiling grinned at that: "So he’s just a showy figurehead. Just wait—once we get out, I’ll smash his head in for you to avenge you."
Amused by her almost childish remark, the sternness in Yun Zhi’s expression softened.
"Alright, I believe in you."
Yu Zhiling turned cheerfully. "Then let’s keep going."
The road stretched endlessly, monotonous and dull. After another two hours, they still hadn’t found an exit.
Yu Zhiling stopped. "Something’s really off."
Yun Zhi nodded. "Mm. Don’t you think we’ve been going in circles?"
Yu Zhiling glanced at the towering tree beside them. "I’ve seen this tree twice now. But it’s the only thing that’s repeated."
Yun Zhi immediately understood her meaning and drew his sword without hesitation. "Let’s test it."
He swung his blade, the sword light crashing against the trunk with a resounding explosion—yet the tree, which should have been split in half, remained standing.
Both Yun Zhi and Yu Zhiling saw it clearly: the moment his sword light struck, ripples spread through the air like a drop of water disturbing a still lake.
Yu Zhiling unsheathed her Zhujian sword. "Yun Zhi, step back."
Without question, Yun Zhi retreated to a safe distance.
Yu Zhiling leveled her sword, gathering spiritual energy into the blade. The aura around her sharpened, a killing wind stirring as her black hair and green robes fluttered wildly.
She took a step back with her right foot and slashed downward. The sudden surge of pressure erupted like thunder, the overwhelming sword light sweeping forward like a storm.
Just like Yun Zhi’s strike, the light landed on the tree—but this time, the ripples in the void didn’t fade. Instead, they spread like spiderwebs, cracks multiplying until the entire space was fractured.
Then, a breeze slipped through, carrying the sweet scent of lotus.
Birds chirped, flowers bloomed in clusters, and the distant laughter of children could faintly be heard.
The illusion shattered before them. As the wind brushed past, Yu Zhiling sheathed her sword, and Yun Zhi stepped up beside her.
"We were trapped in an illusion just now, Xiao Wu. You broke it."
Yu Zhiling didn’t respond. Her heart pounded, her throat dry.
A phrase came to mind—one that fit perfectly.
A paradise untouched by time.
When they broke through the barriers, they entered a world completely detached from reality.
Neatly lined houses stood side by side, lush trees thrived, crops grew abundantly, and in the distance, a waterfall cascaded from the heavens, its rushing waters crisp and clear.
This was a place brimming with life—children played and laughed, women gathered by the river to wash clothes, and men toiled in the fields, sweat glistening on their brows.
Yet Yun Zhi delivered the truth mercilessly: "They’re all dead. Likely lingering spirits."
Yes, they were all dead. Yu Zhiling sensed no living aura among them.
She couldn’t explain the ache in her chest. While Yun Zhi remained composed, she felt as if her emotions had been seized—her nose stung, her heart unsettled.
Yun Zhi hesitated. "Xiao Wu, are you alright?"
Yu Zhiling shook her head. "...I’m fine."
Gripping her Zhujian sword, she strode forward without hesitation.
Yun Zhi didn’t stop her, following closely behind. Perhaps these people held the answers to why they’d appeared here.
The villagers turned to look at them one by one. Yu Zhiling confirmed it—these spirits could see her and Yun Zhi.
Ghosts were divided into vengeful spirits and benign spirits. Vengeful spirits died tragically, their consciousness lost to resentment, often becoming violent killers.
Benign spirits usually didn’t suffer wrongful deaths, harboring no grudges. They simply couldn’t enter the cycle of reincarnation for some reason, retaining their memories and awareness.
These people bore no malice toward her—at least, Yu Zhiling sensed none.
A few gathered, whispering among themselves before one hurried off, likely to fetch someone.
Yu Zhiling didn’t advance further, standing quietly with Yun Zhi by the riverbank as they waited.
After about a quarter of an hour, the crowd surrounding the two dispersed as if by tacit agreement. A woman stepped forward from among them—tall, with dark hair tied into a neat high ponytail, dressed in striking crimson robes, her beauty radiant, her gaze clear and penetrating.
"Saintess, these two intruded suddenly," someone reported.
Yu Zhiling stared intently at the woman, gripping her sword tightly, a sudden tension tightening her chest.
The woman first glanced at Yun Zhi and shook her head. "Your illness is severe. You’re afflicted with a deadly poison."
Yun Zhi offered a polite smile. "Indeed. My health has always been frail, and I am poisoned."
The woman in red then turned to Yu Zhiling. This time, she paused, studying her before speaking softly, "You’re not Rong. But you resemble her."
Rong?
—Before she died, she said her name was Yu Xiangrong, so I gave Little Wu the surname Yu.
That was the person mentioned in the Fuchun Chronicles.
Yu Zhiling took a step forward. "You knew Rong?"
The woman reached out, her fingers brushing toward Yu Zhiling’s cheek—only to pass straight through, as if touching air. She noticed, yet her expression remained unshaken.
Ghosts could not touch the living.
"I am Rong’s elder sister. My name is Ying." Ying’s hand hovered near Yu Zhiling’s eye, her fingers tracing the air as if caressing it. "You are her child. What is your name?"
"Yu Zhiling," she answered quietly.
Ying smiled. "You should have carried your mother’s surname. Yu Xiangrong was your mother, and Ying Chen your father."
Yu Zhiling retreated a step, evading the intangible touch. "I... I didn’t know. Why am I here?"
Yun Zhi seemed equally bewildered, his brow furrowing as he warily eyed the dozens of villagers around them.
Ying withdrew her hand, her composure unbroken, as though she had long accepted her death and found no surprise in Yu Zhiling’s arrival.
"Why have you come?" Ying asked, ignoring Yu Zhiling’s question. "Are you searching for your mother?"
Her mother?
Yu Zhiling saw the flicker of hope in Ying’s eyes but couldn’t fathom its source. Did she truly expect her to seek out Rong?
Yet she had to deny it. "...No."
Ying’s lashes trembled slightly, her calm fracturing for a fleeting moment. The villagers behind her couldn’t hide their disappointment.
Yu Zhiling pressed her lips together, hesitating before explaining, "I entered the Spirit Path to find a friend. But he was somehow brought here. I thought it was because of him that I ended up in this place. The illusions outside—they were your doing, weren’t they?"
Ying nodded. "Yes. This place is called Jinghong Village. The barrier outside was meant to conceal the village’s entrance. You shattered it."
"I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I can help repair it. But I need to leave—there are people outside who matter to me." Thoughts of Mo Zhu and the others surged in her mind, urgency tightening her voice as she stepped forward. "Please, tell me how to get out. I’ll fix the barrier right now."
Ying stood on a step slightly higher than Yu Zhiling, looking down at her with serene detachment.
"If those outside matter so much, do you not wish to ask about your parents? Are they unimportant?"
Yu Zhiling’s breath hitched. "That’s not what I meant. Let me save them first, and I’ll return immediately. I promise."
"No. I can only wait for you once." Ying turned away, her voice drifting back. "Come with me. Before I send you away, there are things I must do."
Yu Zhiling and Yun Zhi remained unmoving, still rooted by the riverbank.
From the highest step, Ying gazed down at her.
"Child, if you don’t come, I won’t help you leave. Without me, you’ll never escape this place."
Though her words were a threat, Yu Zhiling felt no anger—only a deep, aching sorrow as she met Ying’s tranquil eyes.
Yun Zhi murmured, "Little Wu, should we go?"
Yu Zhiling nodded. "We go."
She trusted Mo Zhu to hold on until she could reach him.
But before she was Mo Zhu’s master, she was Yu Zhiling. And if she had taken this body, she owed its original owner this much.
Yu Zhiling followed. Yun Zhi sighed but trailed behind her.
As they walked, a sea of villagers—men, women, the young and old—trailed after them, their gazes curious but not intrusive.
Their eyes lingered on Yun Zhi with interest, but when they looked at Yu Zhiling, there was something more—something like wonder, like joy.
When they reached a secluded spot, Ying halted. "Child, come inside with me. The young master will wait here."
Yun Zhi immediately refused. "No."
Ying merely glanced at him, unperturbed.
Yu Zhiling answered without hesitation. "Fine. I’ll go with you."
"Little Wu—"
"It's alright, nothing will happen."
She didn’t believe Ying would harm her. Besides, as a Tribulation Transcension cultivator, no one in the Central Continent could injure her through combat alone.
Yu Zhiling offered a reassuring smile, signaling Yun Zhi to wait outside as she followed Ying into the courtyard.
They passed through a long corridor, a thatched cottage, and a pond before arriving at a room at the far end.
Ying lit the candles inside, then sat cross-legged on a rush mat, gesturing for Yu Zhiling to take a seat opposite her.
Yu Zhiling obediently sat on the floor, feeling inexplicably nervous in the presence of this elder.
"Senior, what did you wish to discuss with me?"
Ying shook her head. "We’ll do something else first."
Yu Zhiling was puzzled. "What is it?"
Ying retrieved a wooden box from a small table nearby. "First, I’ll help you restore the soul energy your mother left you."
Yu Zhiling hesitated. "...Restore soul energy?"
Ying’s expression remained impassive. "Nearly two-thirds of the soul energy in your body is missing. Child, when did you use it? At critical moments, it can save your life. Even if only a fragment of your soul remains, it can preserve you. Have you ever been on the brink of death?"
"Or rather… have you ever been killed?"
Yu Zhiling clenched her skirt, her breath catching.
Was Ying referring to the inexplicable power Immortal Fuchun and Yun Zhi had mentioned? That force had propelled her cultivation to new heights, but it had also ravaged her meridians, nearly killing her from the strain.
Yet now, Ying claimed she had lost much of it.
Yun Zhi had also said that after her seclusion, her condition had improved—no trace of that overwhelming, chaotic energy remained in her body.
Yu Zhiling murmured, "It must have been in the Demon Abyss. Perhaps I died once."
She had shattered her own soul with the Frostblade.
Chapter 57: Love Can Drive One Mad
Opposite her, Ying remained silent for a long while. Though her face betrayed no emotion, her eyes were unnervingly calm. Yet somehow, Yu Zhiling could sense the heavy aura around her.
As if… she was angry.
Yu Zhiling hesitated before cautiously asking, "Senior, are you alright?"
Ying’s throat moved slightly before she spoke. "I’m fine."
She didn’t ask why Yu Zhiling had died once. Instead, she lowered her gaze and opened the wooden box. A rich, pure fragrance of lotus filled the air.
Yu Zhiling blinked in confusion. "This is…?"
"Heavenward Lotus."
Spirits couldn’t touch the living, but they could interact with inanimate objects. Ying traced the carvings on the box with a rare gentleness.
"I kept this from before. The Heavenward Lotus blooms once every century. This one can only restore half of your soul energy. You’ll need to retrieve another."
Yu Zhiling nodded slowly. "...I see."
Ying looked at her, her expression still cool, yet not entirely so.
"Do you want to know about Rong and Ying Chen?"
Yu Zhiling replied, "Even if I refused, you wouldn’t let me leave, would you?"
"No. You must hear this."
Ying admitted it plainly.
Yu Zhiling didn’t feel threatened. She straightened her posture and said softly, "Then please, go ahead."
Ying handed her a tassel. "This is your mother’s relic. I retrieved it myself. It will show you everything."
Yu Zhiling grasped the tassel—and her vision darkened.
The Hidden Swan Village was secluded within the Spirit Veil Path, a paradise hidden in a land of endless deserts.
The villagers knew nothing of how their ancestors had arrived here or what lay beyond their home. They had lived here for generations, undisturbed.
The River of Remembrance marked the boundary between the Spirit Veil Path and the Central Continent. Contrary to legends, the Central Continent’s people couldn’t cross not because the river was sacred, but because of a barrier maintained by the village’s priestesses.
Every villager was blessed by the Heavenward Lotus, granting them formidable soul energy. This power shielded the village from outsiders and could save a life on the brink of death.
Ying was seventeen years older than Rong. When Ying turned sixteen, her mother became pregnant.
After a grueling labor that lasted days, Rong was born—but their mother did not survive. Their father, consumed by grief, passed away three years later.
Ying was known for her cold, solitary nature. The villagers all knew she disliked her younger sister, rarely speaking to her. Yet despite her indifference, she raised Rong diligently while devoting herself to cultivation.
In contrast, Rong was warm and lively, beloved by everyone. But compared to her diligent sister, she was lazy, her cultivation mediocre.
When Rong turned sixteen, the previous priestess fell ill and passed, leaving the River of Remembrance unguarded. A new priestess had to be chosen. Ying, already a Nascent Soul cultivator with the strongest soul energy, was the obvious choice.
After becoming the priestess, Ying moved to a solitary peak, far from home.
Rong lived alone in the childhood home at the foot of the mountain, while her sister Ying rarely spoke to her. Everyone said Ying had abandoned Rong, and the two sisters had gone their separate ways.
Rong found Ying Chen when she was twenty-three.
At the time, she and Ying had just had a terrible fight. Rong had spent a month gathering mountain locust blossoms to make sweet locust flower cakes, hoping to mend their relationship. But Ying refused to see her, only telling Rong to go home and never come back.
Sitting in the room where the two sisters had once lived together, Rong tearfully finished the plate of cakes, nearly choking herself. Seeing the traces of their shared life everywhere, she covered her face and sobbed, unsure how to ease her sister’s hatred toward her.
With their parents gone and her sister distant, Rong was left alone in the house that now held only her. She cried until her voice broke, but the walls were thin, and the neighbors lived right next door—she couldn’t even weep loudly.
Rong left Jinghong Village and followed the familiar path of her childhood to the Neverforget River. The roaring waters drowned out her cries as she let out a wail, her eyes red and puffy like a pitiful little rabbit.
But after the tears, life had to go on. Rong washed her face in the river, deciding to make another kind of pastry for Ying in a few days.
There was no helping it—her sister never ate properly, and as her younger sister, Rong worried. The only thing she had to offer was her cooking.
It was then that she found Ying Chen.
A shadow drifted along the clear river surface, startling Rong. At first, she thought it was a dead fish—the river teemed with life, fish and shrimp alike.
She meant to ignore it. Dead fish would be eaten by larger ones, leaving no pollution behind. Rong stood up.
But it was that small movement that widened her view, revealing the dark figure on the water.
A young man in blue robes, his hair tied back with a jade crown, his features refined and ethereal. A jade pendant at his waist had formed a faint barrier around him, keeping him from drowning.
Rong had never seen anyone dressed like this before. With a gasp, she acted before thinking—she leaped into the Neverforget River. Having swum since childhood, she reached him quickly, using all her strength to drag him ashore.
Once on land, Rong crouched beside Ying Chen and poked his cheek. "Are you dead?"
An unconscious man, of course, couldn’t answer.
Rong couldn’t feel his pulse either. She pressed her ear to his chest for a long moment before facing the harsh truth.
Yu Xiangrong’s first attempt at rescuing someone had ended in failure—she’d saved a corpse.
Ying Chen was covered in wounds, as if he’d fought someone before falling into the river. Rong debated for a long time whether to toss him back. If he was truly dead, dragging him home would mean digging a grave.
But outsiders weren’t allowed to be buried in Jinghong Village.
With a sigh, Rong decided against throwing him into the river—the big fish would devour him, and he was too handsome to end up like that. Better to leave him whole.
She huffed and puffed as she dug a large pit by the riverbank, where the sandy soil made burial easier.
Once the hole was ready, Rong dragged Ying Chen into it, sniffling as she wiped away forced tears.
"Little master, I’ll come back to burn paper offerings for you. You’re the first outsider I’ve ever met."
She began shoveling sand back into the pit, slowly covering Ying Chen’s body. So focused was she on her task that she didn’t notice the man’s face turning red—until his eyes flew open, and he coughed violently.
"Ah!"
The sudden sound startled Rong, and she reflexively flung a handful of sand into the pit—straight onto Ying Chen’s face.
Gasping for air, Ying Chen inhaled a mouthful of sand and nearly choked to death again.
"You’re alive?!"
Rong scrambled into the pit and frantically dug him back out.
To make up for her mistake, she dragged Ying Chen home.
Her house was the one from her childhood—just three rooms. Aside from a study, there were only two bedrooms: one where her mother had lived and the other where she and Ying had once slept together.
Rong couldn’t let Ying Chen stay in her mother’s room, nor could she give him her own. So, she fashioned a simple wooden bed in the study and brought him a fresh quilt.
Ying Chen stood up, speaking softly, "Is my presence here troubling you, miss?"
Rong stole a glance at his handsome face and shook her head slightly. "It’s fine. I live alone anyway."
Ying Chen’s injuries were severe, nearly fatal. The Neverforget River was enchanted—only Ying could open the way for him to leave.
People from the Central Continent couldn’t cross over. Rong guessed that Ying Chen had survived the river’s killing array because of the jade pendant at his waist—it looked like a rare treasure.
With nowhere else to go, Ying Chen stayed at Rong’s house to recover. During the day, he never stepped outside, so the village remained unaware of the outsider in their midst.
Having an outsider in the house made life a bit inconvenient. Rong used to eat whatever was convenient for herself, but now that there was a patient to care for, she wanted to prepare proper meals for Ying Chen to help him recover. She had nearly buried him alive, after all, and even though he insisted it was fine, she still felt guilty.
After three consecutive days of wild chicken for meals, Ying Chen began to notice something was off—the household didn’t raise chickens. Watching Rong eat in silence, he lowered his gaze and quietly pushed the dishes closer to her.
The next morning, Rong got up as usual to go hunting in the mountains. But as soon as she opened the door, she saw someone sitting in the yard.
"Ying Chen?"
He looked up, slightly flustered. "I... I don’t know how to cook, but I can help hunt. Do you think I prepared these correctly?"
Rong stared at the three wild chickens piled in the corner of the yard. Under Ying Chen’s increasingly awkward gaze, she suddenly covered her mouth and laughed.
"But we only eat one chicken a day. You killed all three, and in this heat, won’t they spoil?"
Ying Chen didn’t even know how to properly butcher a chicken—he had simply beheaded them, leaving the guts untouched and the feathers half-plucked.
"Sorry, I’ve never done this before... I could use a freezing spell to preserve them..."
Rong shook her head, turned back to the kitchen to boil water, then returned with a pot of hot water to scald the chickens.
"You need hot water to pluck the feathers cleanly, and the innards must be removed too. You’re still recovering, so we should eat fresh food. Today, I’ll make soup with one, turn another into sausages to hang, and cook the last one as a dish—we’ll have plenty to eat."
Ying Chen watched Rong’s focused, delicate face, his lips curving into a smile. "Alright."
From then on, an unspoken agreement formed between Ying Chen and Rong.
Every morning, Ying Chen would go hunting, and Rong would prepare the meals with his catches.
He was skilled and quick-witted, always bringing back plenty of game, so their meals grew richer day by day.
Rong could tell Ying Chen came from a well-off family. His manners were refined, his movements graceful, and his speech polite and gentle. The pouch at his waist, called a Qiankun Bag, held trinkets from the Central Continent—things Rong had never seen before.
He would carefully feed her candied plums, blushing slightly when she ate from his hand. "These are sugar-preserved plums. I’ve always liked them."
He read Central Continent storybooks aloud to her since she couldn’t read the script. "When I was little, I loved these tales, but my mother always said I was meant to lead—to be the head of the family. She thought I shouldn’t indulge in such things."
Rong argued, "But your happiness matters most. It’s good to enjoy yourself—even cultivators need balance."
One day, Ying Chen gifted her an exquisite jade hairpin. "My mother gave this to me, saying it was for... for someone special. I... I think you’re the best friend I could have, so I want you to have it."
From then on, Rong wore the pin every day.
Until Ying Chen’s wounds healed.
Rong had hoped for his recovery, yet also dreaded it. She wanted him to stay but knew he should return to his family.
The contradiction tore at her.
Winter passed, then spring; summer faded into autumn. A year went by.
Ying Chen had stayed in Jinghong Village for a whole year, unnoticed by outsiders. He never ventured out when others were around.
But Rong noticed he seemed to have something to say. Whenever their eyes met, he hesitated, yet when she asked, he stayed silent.
Then one evening, after Rong finished cooking, she called Ying Chen to the table.
He had just cleaned a fish she planned to dry. Washing his hands, he walked over with a smile. "Rong, you’ve worked hard."
She filled a large bowl with rice and set it before him. "Eat up."
Ying Chen blinked. "I can’t possibly eat this much."
Rong replied softly, "It’s the last bowl."
As his expression froze, her eyes reddened.
"I know you’re struggling. You don’t want to leave me, but your family in the Central Continent is waiting. Family is important, Ying Chen. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to my sister and ask her to open the Unforgetting River for you. You should go."
His breath trembled. "And after I leave... can I come back?"
Rong shook her head. "Don’t. And never reveal Jinghong Village’s location. Once you’re gone... don’t return."
Ying Chen nearly begged. "Rong, come with me. Marry me. I, Jiang Yingchen, swear you’ll be my only wife—the Lady of the Jiang Family. I’ll take care of—"
"So your surname is Jiang."
Rong murmured the realization.
Ying Chen stiffened, confused. "I..."
She kept her head down, avoiding his gaze. "I never told you either. My full name is Yu Xiangrong. Now we’re even."
Ying Chen choked up as he asked her, "If I don’t go back, can I stay here forever?"
Rong glanced at him and asked, "What?"
Ying Chen nodded firmly. "The Jiang Family might think I’m dead. I have an elder brother at home, and the bonds between my family are weak. It won’t matter if I’m gone. Let me stay with you, alright?"
Rong whispered, "You truly want to stay?"
Ying Chen exhaled in relief. "Yes, I really do."
That night, Rong came to his room and asked, "My mother prepared wedding robes for me. I’ve reached the age for marriage. Will you…?"
She held out her hand to him, her eyes filled with hope.
Ying Chen’s throat tightened. In the candlelight, her face was as lovely and radiant as ever.
"...Alright."
He smiled, his handsome features softening further.
Rong didn’t notice the fleeting struggle in his eyes.
Rong and Ying Chen married in that small courtyard, with heaven and earth as their witnesses and no officiant.
Ying Chen said that in the Central Continent, marriages required a written vow. He taught Rong how to seal their union, and their names appeared together on the marriage document.
In life, one must act on impulse at least once.
For three months, Rong and Ying Chen lived as newlyweds—hunting in the mountains, cooking meals at home, sneaking out under the moonlight when no one was around. It was during those three months that she conceived their child.
The days passed peacefully—until one morning.
Ying Chen woke and instinctively reached for his embrace, only to find it empty. His wife, who usually lay in his arms at dawn, was gone.
He hurriedly dressed and pushed open the courtyard gate, only to see a crowd gathered outside.
Ying stood at the forefront, clad in red, her expression icy. Behind her were the villagers of Jinghong.
And at the very back of the crowd stood Rong, watching him silently.
Ying Chen instinctively moved toward her. "Rong!"
But Ying blocked his path.
The Holy Maiden of Jinghong Village spoke coldly. "You, an outsider, dared to seduce my sister. Sparing your life is already mercy. The River of Forgetting opens today. Swallow this gu, and if you ever reveal the secrets of Jinghong Village, you’ll die instantly."
Ying Chen didn’t take the so-called gu. He understood Ying’s meaning.
"You’re sending me away?" Though his words were for Ying, his gaze remained fixed on Rong. "Whose decision is this?"
Rong stared back at him, her face expressionless. Meeting his reddened eyes, she said coldly, "Mine. You don’t belong here."
Ying Chen nearly begged. "But… we’re married. I’ll stay for you. I’ll protect this place with you. I mean it, Rong. I really do."
Yet no matter how he pleaded, Rong—who had always been cheerful with everyone—remained unmoved. She turned and walked away without a word.
For half a month, Ying Chen waited at home, but Rong never returned.
When he went to Ying’s house to find her, Ying blocked the door.
"My sister refuses to see you."
After a long silence, Ying Chen looked at the shadow inside the house and said hoarsely, "Let me speak to her. One last time."
Ying agreed.
Ying Chen faced Rong. She wasn’t wearing the hairpin he’d given her.
He asked, "Do you not love me anymore?"
Rong nodded. "I’m not a person who loves for long. Everything I do, I lose interest in quickly. You’re handsome, but my mother always said we can’t marry outsiders."
"Not even a little love left?"
"Ying Chen, go back to the Central Continent. I have my own life to live."
"Look me in the eyes," Ying Chen said. "Look up."
Rong raised her head and met his gaze. Calmly, she said, "You’re disrupting my life. I have my own future ahead."
That day, Ying Chen left Jinghong Village.
Ying herself escorted him out. He swallowed the gu willingly.
Before leaving, he said one last thing: "I love her. I love her so much."
Ying repeated his words to Rong, who collapsed to her knees, weeping.
"Sister, I can’t bear it… I can’t…"
Ying, who had always been cold toward her, knelt and pulled her younger sister into her arms.
"Was it worth it?"
"...Yes. He has to live."
Jiang Yingchen, young master of the Jiang Family.
The Jiang Family of the Central Continent practiced the Dao of Emotionlessness.
Marriage was permitted, but love was forbidden. Spouses were merely political alliances or vessels for heirs.
Rong had seen Jiang Yingchen cough up blood too many times behind her back. The deeper his love grew, the more his Dao heart shattered. Once, his swordplay had been peerless—but with time, his strikes grew weaker.
He truly couldn’t stay.
Ying could only stroke her sister’s back in comfort.
"Little sister, this too shall pass."
How could Rong have known? Ying had known of Ying Chen’s presence from the start. On the day of their wedding, she had stood on a distant hill, gazing at the small courtyard lit by red candles, silently bearing witness to her sister’s once-in-a-lifetime ceremony.
Ying knew Ying Chen was not a bad man, so she felt at ease letting her younger sister marry him—but she didn’t know Ying Chen’s surname was Jiang.
It was only later, when Rong saw Ying Chen coughing up blood and rushed to ask her for medicine, that the truth slipped out.
Rong didn’t understand what the Jiang Family of the Central Continent represented, but Ying did.
So Ying Chen had to leave—for his own survival.
Rong discovered she was pregnant ten days after Ying Chen left. By then, it had already been two months.
She was shocked and overjoyed, but more than anything, she was heartbroken.
The child’s father was no longer by her side. This baby had come at the worst possible time.
At the same time, Rong was relieved. At least Ying Chen didn’t know about the child—otherwise, even if they broke his legs, he would never have left.
Ying urged her not to keep the baby, and for the first time, Rong argued with her.
“You don’t care about me. My husband is gone, Mother is dead, I have no one left—this child is all I have now.”
“Elder Sister, you were the one who abandoned me first. You were the one who left me behind!”
Ying would never forget the look in Rong’s eyes that day. She broke down sobbing in the courtyard, years of suppressed emotions finally erupting.
“Elder Sister, I’m cursed. I was born cursed. But we’re sisters—I loved you so much, why… why couldn’t you love me too?”
Rong didn’t understand, and Ying couldn’t explain.
In the end, Ying turned away.
“Keep it. We’ll raise it together.”
In the seventh month of Rong’s pregnancy, autumn arrived, and the leaves of the suonam trees on the mountain unfurled.
The leaves, when specially treated, could yield a soft, insulating fiber—perfect for winter clothing.
With the baby due soon, she needed to prepare.
Rong stayed in a mountain cabin for three days, gathering suonam leaves at dawn and returning at dusk to process them by lamplight.
The cabin had been built for her by Ying Chen—she loved watching the moon, and after their marriage, they often stayed there.
Three days to gather the leaves, then seven more to extract the fibers. Carrying the raw leaves down the mountain would have been too heavy, so she decided to finish the work there before descending.
Ten days later, when she returned to Jinghong Village, everything had changed.
Rong walked down the mountain path, a basket of fibers in hand, when a figure came running toward her.
The basket slipped from her grip when she saw who it was.
“…Elder Sister?”
Ying was covered in blood, clutching a gaping wound at her side.
“Run… go—go to the Chaotian Lotus… hurry…”
Rong lunged forward and caught her. “Elder Sister!”
Her hands trembled as she pressed them to Ying’s bleeding abdomen, but Ying kept pushing her away. “Go! The Central Continent—they’ve sent people… two of them, both demons—you have to leave!”
Rong shook her head wildly. “I won’t go! I won’t!”
Ying slapped her. “Jinghong Village is gone… everyone’s dead, Rong. You’re carrying a child—”
Just then, the baby kicked hard.
Rong clutched her belly, tears streaming down her face.
Ying struck her again. “Still refusing to go? Find the Chaotian Lotus—hide there! If Ying Chen hears what’s happened, he’ll come. The demons can’t breach its barrier!”
“Little Sister, just go. Live.”
Rong didn’t remember fleeing.
Her hands were slick with blood, her swollen belly heavy as she sprinted down the winding path. The wind lashed like blades against her skin, her abdomen aching with every step—but she didn’t dare look back. She ran toward the Chaotian Lotus.
The Chaotian Lotus was sacred ground, a sanctuary that protected Jinghong Village. Its barrier recognized only the villagers.
If she could reach it, she and the child would be safe. If Ying Chen learned the wards of the Unforgetting River had been shattered, he would come.
She could die—but this child could not.
It couldn’t.
It—
A primal instinct screamed in her mind. Rong twisted aside just in time, drawing the soft sword at her waist.
“Oh? So here you are.”
A woman approached, her robes a vivid hibiscus hue. She was breathtakingly beautiful, a crimson peony adorning her forehead—lovely, yet every inch of her bristled with thorns.
Rong retreated cautiously. “Who are you?”
The woman covered her mouth with a laugh. “Me? I’m… here to kill you.”
The words barely left her lips before she lunged.
Rong fought back, but despair gnawed at her—her cultivation was only at the Golden Core stage. She couldn’t hold her own for more than a few strikes, not while protecting the child.
A hairpin—Ying Chen’s gift—shattered under the assault.
As the jade pieces scattered, Rong’s eyes widened. She instinctively reached to catch them.
That was when the curved blade pierced her chest.
Blood gushed from her mouth as she staggered back, wrenching the blade free. She clutched her wound, swaying, but forced herself toward the Chaotian Lotus’s barrier.
She had no time to care about the killing move aimed at her back—she was no match for this woman. Her only hope for survival lay in reaching the Heavenward Lotus.
She couldn’t die. Her child hadn’t even been born yet.
The lethal strike closed in behind her. Rong was still three steps away from the Heavenward Lotus. Despair washed over her.
But the expected pain never came. Instead, the sound of a fierce battle erupted behind her.
Rong turned her head and saw two women locked in combat.
To be precise, one was overpowering the other. The woman who had just fought Rong was clearly highly skilled, yet she only managed a few exchanges before being slashed multiple times by the newcomer.
The newcomer wore white robes draped with a thin indigo-blue veil. Her movements were composed, yet carried a chilling intent to kill.
Rong could hold on no longer. She collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
Fuchun heard the sound of someone falling behind her. Her killing intent faltered for a moment, giving the demonic cultivator a chance to escape.
She didn’t give chase. Instead, she turned and rushed to Rong’s side.
Fuchun pulled her into her arms. "I’ll heal your wounds."
Rong gripped her hand tightly, blood spilling from her lips as she spoke. "You… do you know how to deliver a baby…?"
Fuchun’s voice was cold. "Your child isn’t full-term. It won’t survive."
A tear slid down Rong’s cheek. "You… do you know how to deliver a baby…?"
Fuchun checked her pulse, her expression stiffening. She knew it was hopeless—Rong’s heart meridian had been pierced.
Rong wept, but not for herself. She only asked again, "Miss… do you… do you know how to deliver a baby…?"
Fuchun didn’t actually know.
But faced with a mother desperate to save her child, she clenched her teeth and lied. "Yes. I do."
Fuchun laid her flat and channeled spiritual energy into her. "I’ll transfer energy to stabilize your heart meridian. Can you push?"
Rong smiled weakly and nodded. "I… I can. I can do it… I can…"
A person with a shattered heart meridian—every breath, every movement, sent agony through her body. Her tears dried up, her blood nearly drained away. Fuchun was drenched in sweat, the esteemed Immortal of the Central Continent fumbling in panic.
An hour later, she held a blood-covered child in her arms.
But the baby’s face was deathly pale. No matter how Fuchun patted her, she wouldn’t cry.
Fuchun wrapped the child in her outer robe, her eyes reddening. She thought the baby wouldn’t survive. "Look at her… she’s too small."
Rong lifted a trembling hand and touched the infant’s forehead. Smiling, she whispered, "Elder Sister…"
Fuchun didn’t understand why she suddenly called her that.
"My… my name is Yu Xiangrong… Could you… could you take her… take her to… to…"
The rest of her words remained unspoken.
Rong’s breath ceased.
The child who shouldn’t have survived, born prematurely at seven months—after just one touch from her mother, the baby suddenly let out a miraculous wail. A new life had entered the world.
Fuchun buried her beside the Heavenward Lotus.
Yu Zhiling opened her eyes.
She lowered her gaze. Ying sat cross-legged across from her.
Silence stretched between them, heavy as death.
After a long while, Yu Zhiling’s lips trembled. It took her several tries to find her voice. "Actually… what my mother wanted to say was for my master to take me to the Jiang Family… and… the reason I survived was because she gave me her soul energy in the end."
It was the most powerful soul energy of someone blessed by the Heavenward Lotus—energy that could save a life.
As a descendant of the Jiang Family, they would have cared for her as long as she lived. But Fuchun hadn’t heard Rong’s final words, nor did she know about Rong’s connection to the Jiang Family. Instead, she chose to raise Yu Zhiling herself.
Ying said, "Your master was a good person."
Yu Zhiling smiled bitterly. "She was. A truly good person."
Ying asked, "Is she still…?"
Yu Zhiling shook her head. "No."
Another stretch of quiet passed between them before Ying sighed. "The dead cannot return. My condolences."
Yu Zhiling lifted her head and met her gaze. "What about you? You clearly cared about my mother. Was it just because our grandmother died giving birth to her that you resented her for so many years?"
Ying’s eyes reddened, her lips quivering. "How could I? My mother died bringing Rong into this world. I did resent her at first… but she was so tiny. I raised her. When she learned to walk, she toddled after me. When she learned to speak, she stumbled over her words calling me ‘Elder Sister.’ Such a sweet child—how could I keep hating her?"
"Then why did you distance yourself?"
"I had to. Do you know how the River of Remembrance’s barrier is sustained? It’s maintained by the soul energy of every Holy Maiden. As long as the river exists, no Holy Maiden lives past a hundred."
Yu Zhiling began to understand. "You… you fought for the Holy Maiden position and pushed my mother away because you knew you wouldn’t live long, and you didn’t want her to grieve?"
"I wanted her to hate me. I wanted her to stay away and live a good life. But she was always so…"
"Foolish." Ying laughed, her eyes glistening with tears. "She never hated me at all. I treated her so poorly—how could she not hate me?"
Yu Zhiling thought of the soul power within her body. "The power inside me is immense..."
Ying gave a bitter smile. "Yes, Rong’s soul power was the strongest of all past priestesses. She was the most suited to guard the River of Remembrance."
Before Rong’s death, her face pale, she had cried out:
—"A-Jie."
Yu Zhiling suddenly understood. "You suppressed her soul power?"
Ying covered her face, choking back sobs. "Otherwise, she would have become the next priestess. She wouldn’t have lived past a hundred years."
When Ying died, the seal broke, and Rong’s soul power erupted.
She realized everything then, which was why she called out "A-Jie" in her final moments.
Her sister had hidden the truth from her all her life. Only at death did she understand—someone had always been watching over her.
But fate is cruel. Some words, left unspoken for reasons beyond control, remain so even in death.
Ying wiped her tears. "It’s all in the past now. Nothing can be changed."
Yu Zhiling unconsciously clenched her hands, silent for a moment before asking, "Then... what about my father?"
Ying shook her head. "I don’t know."
"Is he dead?"
"Perhaps alive, perhaps not."
Yu Zhiling suddenly stood and dashed outside, pulling open the courtyard gate to seize Yun Zhi, who had been waiting there. "You know about the affairs of the Central Continent. The Jiang Family—did they have a young master named Jiang Yingchen?"
Yun Zhi nodded blankly. "Yes. The former young master of the Jiang Family, the third brother of the current patriarch."
Yu Zhiling pressed, "Where is he?"
Yun Zhi hesitated, then said softly, "Dead."
Yu Zhiling’s grip loosened. Her throat tightened, and though she opened her mouth, no sound came out.
Yun Zhi quickly steadied her. "What’s wrong, Xiao Wu? Why are you asking this?"
"How did Jiang Yingchen die?"
It was Ying who asked.
Yun Zhi shook his head. "I don’t know. No one in the Central Continent does. The young master disappeared for a year. When he returned, he severed his own meridians and abandoned the Path of Heartlessness. It’s said he was gravely injured, near death—but then one day, he vanished. Not long after... the Jiang Family’s life-lantern for him went out."
A life-lantern extinguishing meant death.
But where was the body?
Yu Zhiling’s face turned ashen. Yun Zhi grew frantic. "What’s going on? What did you two talk about?"
She remembered Jiang Yingchen’s words when he left home.
—"I love her. I love her so much."
Love could drive a person to madness, to acts beyond imagination—severing meridians, abandoning a cultivation path. Surviving meant a chance to rebuild; failing meant death.
Yu Zhiling whispered, "He knew why my mother sent him away."
Yingchen never doubted Rong’s love for him. In that final glance between them, he understood her intentions.
Yun Zhi spoke gently, "Xiao Wu?"
Yu Zhiling straightened, lifting her head to look at Ying. "Aunt Yu, please help me restore my soul power. I already know what I must do next."
"I need to save someone. I need them."
