Opposite her, Ying remained silent for a long time, offering no reply. Though her face was expressionless, her eyes calm and unreadable, Yu Zhiling could inexplicably sense the heavy atmosphere around her.
As if… she was angry.
Yu Zhiling hesitated for a moment before cautiously asking, "Senior, are you alright?"
Ying’s throat moved slightly before she finally spoke. "I’m fine."
She didn’t ask Yu Zhiling why she had died once before. Instead, she lowered her gaze and opened the wooden box in her hands. A rich, pure fragrance of lotus blossoms wafted out.
Yu Zhiling blinked in confusion. "This is…?"
"Celestial Lotus."
Though ghosts couldn’t touch the living, they could interact with inanimate objects. Ying gently traced the carved patterns on the wooden box, her expression softening.
"I left this behind long ago. The Celestial Lotus blooms only once every hundred years. This one can only restore half of your spiritual energy. You’ll need to retrieve another."
Yu Zhiling nodded blankly. "I see…"
Ying looked at her, her demeanor still cool, yet not as distant as before.
"Do you want to know about Rong and Ying Chen’s story?"
Yu Zhiling replied, "Even if I refused, you wouldn’t let me leave, would you?"
"No. You must know."
Ying admitted without hesitation.
Yu Zhiling didn’t seem angered by the implied threat. She straightened her posture and said gently, "Go ahead. I’m listening."
Ying handed her an ornamental tassel. "This is your mother’s keepsake. I retrieved it myself. It will tell you everything."
The moment Yu Zhiling grasped the tassel, her vision darkened.
The Hidden Swan Village was secluded within the Spirit Vein Path, a paradise hidden amidst endless deserts.
The villagers knew neither how their ancestors had arrived in the Spirit Vein Path nor what the world beyond looked like. They had lived here for generations, untouched by the outside.
The River of Remembrance marked the boundary between the Spirit Vein Path and the Central Continent. Contrary to the legends of the Central Continent, the Spirit Vein Path wasn’t some divine ruin. The reason outsiders couldn’t cross was simply because of the barrier within the river—a barrier guarded by the village’s successive priestesses.
Every villager was blessed by the Celestial Lotus, granting them formidable spiritual energy. This power shielded the village from discovery and could even save a life on the brink of death.
Yu Xiangying was seventeen years older than Yu Xiangrong. When Ying turned sixteen, her mother became pregnant.
After a grueling labor that lasted days, Rong was born safely—but their mother passed away. Their father, consumed by grief, followed three years later.
Ying was known for her aloof and solitary nature. The villagers all knew she disliked her younger sister, rarely speaking to her. She devoted herself entirely to cultivation, yet she still raised little Rong.
In contrast, Rong was warm and sociable, beloved by everyone in the village. But compared to her diligent sister, Rong was somewhat lazy, her cultivation mediocre at best.
When Rong turned sixteen, the previous priestess fell ill and passed away, leaving the River of Remembrance unguarded. A new priestess had to be chosen. By then, Ying had reached the Nascent Soul stage, her spiritual energy unmatched. She was the undisputed successor.
After becoming the priestess, Ying moved to a solitary peak, high above the village.
Rong remained in their childhood home at the foot of the mountain. The sisters grew even more distant, rarely speaking. The villagers whispered that Ying had abandoned Rong, that the sisters had severed ties.
Rong found Ying Chen when she was twenty-three.
It happened right after a bitter argument with Ying. Hoping to mend things, Rong had spent a month gathering mountain locust blossoms to make sweet osmanthus cakes for her sister. But Ying refused to see her, sending her away with a cold dismissal.
Heartbroken, Rong sat in the room where they had once lived together as children, tears streaming as she choked down the cakes. The memories embedded in every corner of the house overwhelmed her. She sobbed into her hands, lost on how to bridge the chasm between her and her sister.
With both parents gone and her sister estranged, she was utterly alone in what was once a home full of life. But even in her grief, she couldn’t cry too loudly—the neighbors lived right next door.
Rong left the village, following the path she had often taken as a child, and arrived at the River of Remembrance. The roaring waters drowned out her cries as she wept freely, her eyes red and puffy like a pitiful little rabbit.
Once the tears dried, life had to go on. Rong splashed her face with river water, resolving to try again with another dish for Ying in a few days.
After all, her sister never ate properly. As her younger sister, Rong couldn’t help but worry. Cooking was the only thing she excelled at.
It was then that she found Ying Chen.
A shadow floated on the river’s surface. At first, Rong thought it was a dead fish—the river teemed with life, fish and shrimp aplenty.
She almost ignored it. Dead fish would be eaten by larger ones, leaving no trace. Rong stood to leave.
But as she rose, her view widened, and she saw the figure clearly.
A young man in blue robes, his hair tied back with a jade crown. Elegant and ethereal, a jade pendant at his waist emitted a faint barrier that had kept him from drowning.
Rong had never seen anyone dressed like this. With a gasp, she acted before thinking—plunging into the river. She had been a strong swimmer since childhood and reached him quickly, using all her strength to drag him ashore.
Once on land, she poked his cheek. "Are you dead?"
An unconscious man, of course, couldn’t answer.
Rong checked for a pulse, then pressed her ear to his chest. The truth was undeniable.
Her first attempt at rescuing someone had ended in failure—she had fished out a corpse.
Ying Chen’s body bore many wounds, as if he had been in a fierce battle before falling into the river. Rong debated whether to toss him back. If he was truly dead, dragging him home would mean digging a grave—and outsiders weren’t allowed to be buried in the village.
With a sigh, she decided against dumping him. The river’s predators would devour him, and he was too handsome to end up as fish food. At least he deserved a proper burial.
She dug a deep pit in the sandy riverbank, grunting with effort. Once done, she rolled Ying Chen into the hole, sniffling as she wiped away forced tears.
"Little lord, I’ll come back to burn paper offerings for you. You’re the first outsider I’ve ever met."
As she shoveled sand over him, she didn’t notice his face turning red—until he suddenly coughed violently, eyes flying open.
"Ah!"
The sound startled Rong, making her fling a handful of sand straight into his face.
Ying Chen, gasping for air, inhaled a mouthful of grit and nearly choked to death again.
"You’re alive?!"
Horrified, Rong scrambled into the pit and dug him back out.
To make up for nearly burying him alive, she hauled Ying Chen all the way home.
She lived in her childhood home, a modest dwelling with only three rooms: aside from a study, there were just two bedrooms—one where her mother used to stay, and the other where she and Ying had slept as children.
Rong couldn’t let Ying Chen stay in her mother’s room, nor could she offer him her own, so she fashioned a simple wooden bed in the study and laid out a fresh set of bedding for him.
Ying Chen rose to his feet and asked softly, "Am I troubling you by staying here?"
Rong glanced at his handsome face and shook her head slightly. "It’s fine. I usually live alone anyway."
Ying Chen’s injuries were severe, nearly life-threatening. The River of Unforgetting was protected by a barrier that only Ying could open, meaning he couldn’t leave until then.
People from the Central Continent couldn’t cross over, so Rong guessed that Ying Chen had survived the river’s deadly currents because of the jade token at his waist—it looked like a rare treasure.
With nowhere else to go, Ying Chen stayed at Rong’s home to recover. During the day, he never ventured outside, so no one in Jinghong Village knew a stranger was living among them.
Having an outsider in the house made daily life a little inconvenient. Rong usually ate whatever was on hand, but now that she had a patient to care for, she wanted to prepare nourishing meals for Ying Chen. Even though he insisted it wasn’t necessary, she still felt guilty for nearly burying him alive.
After three straight days of wild pheasant for dinner, Ying Chen noticed something was off. The house didn’t keep chickens, and as he watched Rong eat in silence, he lowered his lashes and quietly pushed more food toward her.
The next morning, Rong got up early to go hunting, but when she opened the door, she found someone sitting in the courtyard.
"Ying Chen?"
He looked up, slightly flustered. "I… I don’t know how to cook, but I can help hunt. Do I… do I prepare them correctly?"
Rong stared at the three pheasants piled in the corner of the yard. Under Ying Chen’s uneasy gaze, she suddenly covered her mouth and laughed.
"But we only eat one pheasant a day. If you kill three in this heat, they’ll spoil!"
Ying Chen didn’t even know how to properly butcher them—he had simply beheaded the birds, leaving the guts untouched and the feathers half-plucked.
"I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before. I could use a freezing spell to preserve them…"
Rong shook her head, went back to the kitchen to boil water, then returned and dunked the pheasants in the hot water.
"You need to scald them first to pluck the feathers cleanly, and the innards must be removed. Since you’re recovering, we should eat fresh food. Today, I’ll make soup with one, turn another into sausages to hang, and cook the third as a dish. We’ll have plenty to eat."
Ying Chen watched Rong’s focused, delicate face and smiled. "Alright."
From then on, Ying Chen and Rong fell into a comfortable routine. Every morning, he would hunt, and she would prepare the meals.
He was skilled and clever, 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 speech gentle and polite, and 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, his cheeks flushing slightly when she ate from his hand. "These are sweet-sour plums. I’ve always liked them."
Ying Chen read her stories from the Central Continent since Rong couldn’t read the script. "When I was young, I loved these tales, but my mother always said I couldn’t indulge in them—that I had responsibilities."
Rong disagreed. "But your happiness matters most. Even cultivation needs balance."
One day, Ying Chen gifted her an exquisite jade hairpin. "My mother gave this to me, saying it was for… for a dear friend. 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.
Time passed, and Ying Chen’s wounds healed.
Rong had longed for his recovery, yet dreaded it. She wanted him to stay, but also knew he should return to his family.
The contradiction weighed on her heart.
Winter turned to spring, then summer, and soon a year had passed.
Ying Chen had lived in Jinghong Village for a full year without anyone noticing. He never went out when others were around.
But Rong began to sense something unspoken between them. Whenever their eyes met, he seemed on the verge of saying something, 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. "This is too much."
Rong’s voice softened. "It’s the last bowl."
As his expression froze, her eyes reddened.
"I know you’re hesitating. You don’t want to leave me, but you have family in the Central Continent. Family is important, Ying Chen. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to my sister. I’ll beg her to open the River of Unforgetting for you. You should go."
His breath trembled. "If I leave… can I come back?"
She shook her head. "Don’t. And don’t tell anyone about Jinghong Village. Once you’re gone, don’t return."
Ying Chen’s voice turned pleading. "Rong, come with me. Marry me. I, Jiang Yingchen, swear you’ll be my only love. You’ll be the lady of the Jiang Family. I can take care of—"
"You’re a Jiang?"
Rong murmured the realization.
Ying Chen stiffened, then blinked in confusion. "I…"
She kept her head down, not looking at him. "I never told you either. My full name is Yu Xiangrong. So we’re even."
His voice cracked. "What if I don’t go back? What if I stay here forever?"
Rong finally met his gaze. "What?"
Ying Chen nodded firmly. "The Jiang Family probably thinks I’m dead. I have an older brother—family ties were never strong. They won’t miss me. Let me stay with you."
Her voice was small. "You’d really choose to stay?"
He exhaled in relief. "Yes. Truly."
That night, Rong went to his room. "My mother prepared wedding robes for me. I’m of age now. Will you…?"
She held out her hand, hope shining in her eyes.
Ying Chen’s throat moved. In the candlelight, her face was as lovely as ever.
"...Yes."
He smiled, his gentle features softening further.
Rong didn’t see the flicker of conflict in his eyes.
Rong and Ying Chen were married in this small courtyard, with heaven and earth as their witness, and no officiant present.
Ying Chen said that in the Central Continent, marriage 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 watching. It was during those three months that their child was conceived.
Their days were peaceful—until one morning.
Ying Chen woke and instinctively reached for his wife, who usually slept nestled in his arms, but his hands found only empty space.
He hurriedly dressed and pushed open the courtyard gate, only to find a crowd gathered outside.
Ying stood at the front, clad in red, her expression cold. Behind her were the villagers of Jinghong Village.
And at the very back of the crowd, Rong stood silently, watching him.
Ying Chen instinctively moved toward her. "Rong!"
But Ying blocked his path.
The holy maiden of Jinghong Village spoke coolly. "You, an outsider, dared to lure my sister away. That I haven’t killed you is mercy enough. The River of Forgetting opens today. Swallow this gu worm—if you dare speak a word of Jinghong Village’s secrets, you’ll die instantly."
Ying Chen didn’t take the so-called gu worm. He understood Ying’s meaning.
"You’re sending me away?" Though he spoke to Ying, his eyes remained fixed on Rong. "Whose decision is this?"
Rong met his gaze, her face expressionless. "Mine. You don’t belong here. You’re not one of us."
Ying Chen was nearly begging. "But… we’re married. I’d stay for you. I’d protect this place with you. I mean it, Rong. I really do."
Yet no matter how he pleaded, Rong—who was usually warm and cheerful—remained cold and detached. She turned away without another 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 said she won’t see you."
After a long silence, Ying Chen spoke hoarsely, staring at the shadow inside. "Let me talk to her. One last time."
Ying relented.
When he saw Rong, he noticed she wasn’t wearing the hairpin he’d given her.
"Do you not love me anymore?" he asked.
Rong nodded. "I’m fickle. Everything I do, I lose interest in quickly. You’re handsome, but my mother always said we shouldn’t marry outsiders."
"Not even a little?"
"Ying Chen, just go. Return to the Central Continent. I have my own life to live."
"Look me in the eyes," he demanded. "Look up."
Rong lifted her gaze, her voice flat. "You’re disrupting my life. I have my own future to think about."
That day, Ying Chen left Jinghong Village.
Ying escorted him out herself. He swallowed the gu worm willingly.
Before he left, he said, "I love her. I love her so much."
When Ying repeated those words to Rong, she collapsed to her knees, sobbing.
"Sister, I can’t bear it… I can’t bear it…"
Ying, who had always been distant, knelt and pulled her sister into an embrace.
"Was it worth it?"
"...Yes. He has to live."
Jiang Yingchen, heir of the Jiang Family.
The Jiang Family of the Central Continent practiced the Path of Emotionlessness.
Marriage was permitted, but love was forbidden. Partners were bound only by duty and lineage.
Rong had seen Ying Chen cough up blood too many times. The deeper his love grew, the more his dao heart shattered. Once, he had wielded a sword with peerless skill—but his strikes grew weaker with each passing day.
He couldn’t stay.
Ying could only stroke her sister’s back in comfort.
"It will pass, little sister."
What Rong didn’t know was that Ying had always known Ying Chen was living with her. On their wedding day, she had stood on a distant mountain, watching the small courtyard illuminated by red candles, silently bearing witness to her sister’s once-in-a-lifetime ceremony.
Ying had trusted that Ying Chen was a good man—but she hadn’t known he was a Jiang.
It wasn’t until Rong saw him vomiting blood and came begging for medicine that she accidentally revealed his full name.
Rong didn’t understand what the Jiang Family represented, but Ying did.
So Ying Chen had to leave—for his own survival.
Ten days after his departure, Rong realized she was pregnant. She was already two months along.
Shock and joy warred within her, but sorrow outweighed them both.
The child’s father was gone. The timing couldn’t have been worse.
Yet Rong was also relieved—if Ying Chen had known, not even broken legs could have dragged him away.
Ying urged her not to keep the child. For the first time, Rong screamed at her.
"You’ve never loved me. My husband is gone. My mother is dead. I have no one left—only this child!"
"Sister, you were the one who abandoned me first!"
Ying would never forget the look in Rong’s eyes that day. Her sister had collapsed in the courtyard, years of suppressed grief erupting like a storm.
"Sister, I was born cursed. But we’re family. I loved you so much… Why couldn’t you love me back?"
Rong didn’t understand. 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 unfurled on the mountains.
Processed correctly, their fibers could be spun into a soft, insulating thread—perfect for winter clothing.
With the baby coming, Rong needed to prepare.
For three days, she stayed in a mountain hut, gathering leaves at dawn and working by lamplight at night.
Ying Chen had built this hut for her. They had spent many nights there after their wedding, watching the moon together.
After three days of gathering, she spent another seven extracting the fibers. Carrying the raw leaves downhill would have been too heavy, so she decided to finish the work in the mountains.
Ten days later, when she finally descended, Jinghong Village was no longer the same.
As Rong walked down the path, a figure came running toward her.
The basket slipped from her hands.
"...Sister?"
Ying was drenched in blood, clutching a gaping wound at her waist.
"Run—go to the Heavenly Lotus… Go now!"
Rong lunged forward, catching her. "Sister!"
She pressed her hands desperately against Ying’s wound, but Ying shoved her away. "Go! The Central Continent sent them—two demons! The village is gone… Everyone’s gone!"
Rong shook her head wildly. "I won’t leave you!"
Ying slapped her. "Jinghong Village is finished… But you still have your child!"
As if in response, the baby kicked sharply.
Clutching her belly, Rong wept.
Ying slapped her again: "Still not leaving? Go to the Chaotian Lotus! Go there! If Ying Chen hears the news, he will come. Hide there and wait for him! They can’t breach the barrier of the Chaotian Lotus!"
"Little sister, go. Live on."
Rong couldn’t remember when she left.
Her hands were covered in blood as she clutched her heavily swollen belly, sprinting wildly down the mountain path. The wind lashed at her face like knives, and her abdomen ached unbearably. She didn’t dare look back, racing toward the Chaotian Lotus.
The Chaotian Lotus was the sacred ground that protected Jinghong Village. Its barrier recognized only the villagers.
If she could just reach it, she and her child could hide there. If Ying Chen learned that someone had shattered the formation of the Unforgettable River and invaded, he would surely come.
She could die, but this child could not.
It must not die.
It must—
A shiver ran down her spine, and Rong’s survival instinct kicked in. She dodged at the last moment, drawing the soft sword at her waist.
"Oh? So here you are."
A woman approached from the distance, dressed in vibrant hibiscus-colored robes. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a delicate begonia blossom painted between her brows—radiant like a blooming flower, yet every inch of her bristled with thorns.
Rong retreated cautiously, her voice icy: "Who are you?"
The woman covered her mouth with a laugh. "Me? I’m… the one here to kill you."
As the words fell, she lunged forward, swiftly engaging Rong in combat.
At that moment, Rong bitterly regretted not cultivating harder. With only a Golden Core’s strength, she could barely hold her own for a few moves. Protecting the child in her womb left her no room to fight back.
The hairpin on her head shattered—a gift from Ying Chen.
As the jade pin clattered to the ground, Rong’s pupils constricted. Instinctively, she reached out to catch it.
That was when the curved blade pierced her chest.
Blood gushed from her mouth as she gritted her teeth, staggering back and wrenching the blade free. She forced her trembling body toward the Chaotian Lotus barrier.
She had no time to counter the killing strike aimed at her back. She couldn’t defeat this woman—her only hope was the Chaotian Lotus.
She couldn’t die. Her child hadn’t even been born yet.
The killing blow closed in. Rong was three steps away from the barrier. Despair washed over her.
But the expected pain never came. Instead, the sound of a fierce battle erupted behind her.
Rong turned to see two women locked in combat—or rather, one overwhelming the other. The woman who had effortlessly overpowered Rong was now being slashed apart in mere moves by the newcomer.
The newcomer wore white robes draped in indigo-blue gauze. Her movements were calm, yet each strike carried lethal intent.
Rong could hold on no longer. She collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
Fuchun heard the thud behind her. For a split second, her killing intent wavered—enough for the demonic cultivator to seize the chance and flee.
She didn’t give chase. Instead, she turned and rushed to Rong’s side.
Fuchun cradled her in her arms. "I’ll heal you."
Rong gripped her hand tightly, blood spilling from her lips. "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, then stiffened. She knew it was hopeless—Rong’s heart meridian had been severed.
Rong wept, but not for herself. She asked again, "Miss… do you… do you know how to deliver a baby?"
Fuchun didn’t.
But faced with a mother desperate to save her child, she clenched her jaw and lied. "Yes. I do."
She laid Rong flat and channeled spiritual energy into her. "I’ll sustain your heart meridian with my energy. Can you push?"
Rong smiled weakly, nodding. "I… I can. I can do it… I can…"
A person with a shattered heart meridian, every breath wracked with agony. Her tears dried, her blood nearly drained. Fuchun was drenched in sweat, the esteemed Central Continent Immortal fumbling in panic.
An hour later, she held a blood-smeared infant in her arms.
But the baby was deathly pale. No matter how Fuchun patted her, she didn’t cry.
Fuchun wrapped the child in her outer robe, eyes reddening. She thought the baby wouldn’t survive. "Look at her… she’s too small."
Rong lifted a trembling hand, brushing the infant’s forehead. She smiled. "Big sister…"
Fuchun didn’t understand why she suddenly called her that.
"I… my name is Yu Xiangrong… Please… take her… take her to… to…"
The words remained unfinished.
Rong’s breath stilled.
The child who shouldn’t have lived—born at just seven months—let out a miraculous wail the moment her mother touched her. A new life had entered the world.
Fuchun buried Rong beside the Chaotian Lotus.
Yu Zhiling opened her eyes.
She sat with her head lowered, Ying cross-legged across from her.
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
After a long while, Yu Zhiling’s lips trembled before she found her voice. "What my mother meant 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 at the end."
That was the most potent soul energy of one protected by the Chaotian Lotus—enough to save a life.
As a descendant of the Jiang Family, they would have cared for her if she lived. But Fuchun never heard Rong’s final words, nor knew of her ties to the Jiangs. She chose to raise Yu Zhiling herself.
Ying said, "Your master was a good person."
Yu Zhiling laughed bitterly. "She was. A truly good person."
Ying asked, "Is she still…?"
Yu Zhiling shook her head. "No."
Another stretch of quiet passed before Ying sighed. "The dead cannot return. Mourn, but do not drown in it."
Yu Zhiling lifted her gaze. "And what about you? You clearly cared for my mother. Was your hatred all these years just because Grandmother died giving birth to her?"
Ying’s eyes reddened, lips quivering. "How could it be? My mother died bringing Rong into this world. I resented her at first, but she was so tiny—I raised her. She toddled after me once she could walk, babbling ‘big sister’ when she learned to speak. How could I keep hating such a precious child?"
"Then why distance yourself?"
"I had to. Do you know how the Unforgettable River’s formation is sustained? It’s powered by the soul energy of every Holy Maiden. As long as the river flows, no Holy Maiden lives past a hundred."
Yu Zhiling began to understand. "You… you fought for the Holy Maiden title, pushed my mother away… because you knew you wouldn’t live long, and didn’t want her to grieve?"
"I wanted her to hate me, to stay away and live well. But she was so…"
"Foolish." Ying laughed, her eyes glistening with tears. "She never hated me at all. I treated her so poorly, yet she just... couldn’t bring herself to 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 the past saintesses. She was the most suited to guard the River of Remembrance."
Before Rong’s death, her face pale, she had cried out:
—"Elder Sister."
Yu Zhiling suddenly understood. "You suppressed the soul power within her?"
Ying covered her face, her voice choked with sobs. "Otherwise, she would have become the next saintess. She wouldn’t have lived past a hundred years."
After Ying’s death, the seal vanished, and Rong’s soul power erupted.
She realized everything then, which was why, in her final moments, she called out those words—"Elder Sister."
Her sister had hidden the truth from her all her life. Only in death did she finally understand that someone had always been standing behind her.
But fate was cruel. Some words, left unspoken for countless reasons, could never be voiced, even at the end.
Ying wiped her tears. "It’s all in the past now. There’s no changing it."
Yu Zhiling unconsciously clenched her hand, silent for a moment before asking, "Then... what about my father?"
Ying shook her head. "I don’t know."
"Is he dead?"
"Perhaps not. Or perhaps he is."
Yu Zhiling suddenly stood and dashed outside, pulling open the courtyard gate and seizing Yun Zhi, who had been waiting there. "You know about the affairs of the Central Continent, don’t you? 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 him. "Where is he now?"
Yun Zhi hesitated, then said softly, "Dead."
Yu Zhiling’s grip loosened. Her throat tightened, her lips parting soundlessly.
Yun Zhi quickly steadied her. "What’s wrong, Xiao Wu? Why are you asking this?"
"How did Jiang Yingchen die?"
The question came from Ying.
Yun Zhi shook his head. "I don’t know. No one in the Central Continent does. The young master disappeared for a year once. 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 bearing his name went out."
The extinguishing of the life lantern meant death.
But where was the body?
Yu Zhiling’s face turned ashen. Yun Zhi grew frantic at the sight. "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 his own meridians, abandoning the Path of Heartlessness. If he endured, he could have chosen another path and cultivated anew. If he failed, it meant death.
Yu Zhiling whispered, "He knew why my mother drove him away."
Yingchen never doubted Rong’s love for him. In that final glance between them, he had understood her intentions.
Yun Zhi spoke gently, "Xiao Wu?"
Yu Zhiling lifted her head, straightened, and looked at Ying. "Aunt Yu, please help me restore my soul power. As for the rest... I already know what I must do."
"I need to save someone. I need them."
