"Kid, still waiting for the Immortal Lord?"
Mo Zhu looked up to see a young man dressed in the attire of an inner disciple standing lazily a few steps away on the stone stairs, a few logs slung over his shoulder.
"Senior Brother Zhan Shuo."
Mo Zhu scrambled to his feet, uneasy.
He recognized this senior brother—he was the personal disciple of Yingshan Sect’s Third Elder, Xiang Wuxue, and had been obsessed with mechanical arts since childhood.
Zhan Shuo sighed softly, descending the steps and setting down the logs before crouching in front of Mo Zhu, ruffling his hair.
"Immortal Lord, she…"
Zhan Shuo hesitated, his words faltering. Mo Zhu, having spent two years outside the sect, had learned to read expressions well. His mind was far more mature than other children his age, and he sensed something was wrong.
His heart clenched in panic. Small hands clutched at Zhan Shuo’s robes as he asked timidly, "Master… why hasn’t she come back yet?"
Zhan Shuo pinched his cheek lightly, avoiding the question. "What are you doing out here? It’s cold today—go back inside and wait."
Mo Zhu’s unease only grew. He held on tighter. "Master has been gone for a month. The other disciples said she never took more than a day before. Even the Sect Leader and the others have left Yingshan Sect. Did… did something happen to her?"
Zhan Shuo hadn’t expected a seven-year-old to be so sharp. He stiffened. "You… you noticed?"
Mo Zhu’s heart sank. "What happened to Master?"
Realizing his slip, Zhan Shuo quickly pulled the boy into a hug. "Immortal Lord Zhuoyu is the strongest in the Central Continent. She’s been to the Slaughter Realm countless times—she’s fine! She just got caught up with some urgent matters."
But Mo Zhu refused to believe it. Though he had gained some weight during his month at Yingshan Sect, his face now drained of color, turning as pale as snow. He struggled free and tried to run.
"I’m going to find Master! She promised she’d come back soon!"
Zhan Shuo, caught off guard, barely managed to grab him before he could bolt. Even so, Mo Zhu thrashed wildly in his grip.
"Let me go! Let me go! I have to find Master!"
Zhan Shuo tucked him under his arm. "What can a child like you do? All four elders have gone, and even the other Immortal Lords rushed over when they heard. We can only wait for news!"
It was the dead of winter. Mo Zhu had been sitting outside for a month, his cheeks chapped from the wind. Yet he fought with all his might.
"I have to find Master! I have to!"
Zhan Shuo gritted his teeth, tightening his hold. It was strange—despite his far superior cultivation, he was using nearly all his strength just to restrain this little brat.
A snake demon… with this much strength?
Mo Zhu was dragged and carried all the way back to the mountaintop. The moment Zhan Shuo set him down at Listening Spring Cliff, the boy turned and bolted again.
"Mo Zhu!"
Zhan Shuo nearly coughed up blood in frustration. He lunged after him, only for Mo Zhu to break free once more.
"Let me go! Master! Master! Mas—"
His voice cut off abruptly.
The boy suddenly stopped struggling. Zhan Shuo, puzzled, followed his gaze downward.
Listening Spring Cliff had thousands of stone steps. A lone figure ascended slowly. From their vantage point at the peak, they could see a woman in thin green robes walking through the mist, her hair loosely tied with a jade ribbon. The wind played with her strands, sending them fluttering alongside the ribbon.
Mo Zhu wrenched himself free. "Master! Sister!"
The child’s eyes lit up with joy as he rushed forward—but he didn’t see the icy indifference on the woman’s face, nor the disgust in her eyes when she looked at him.
Zhan Shuo saw it all.
The moment Mo Zhu threw himself into her arms, the woman shoved him away.
The boy landed hard on the ground but didn’t cry. He just stared up, bewildered. "Sister?"
"Yu Zhiling" looked down at him, her willow-leaf brows arching. "What did you call me?"
Mo Zhu scrambled to his feet, hastily straightening his posture. "Master."
She scoffed and continued up the steps. "Were you waiting for me?"
Mo Zhu trailed behind, unsure of her mood, afraid to upset her. "Y-yes. I waited for you to come back. Are you hungry, Master? Should I prepare food?"
Zhan Shuo clasped his hands in greeting. "Immortal Lord Zhuoyu."
But she ignored him, walking past without a glance.
Mo Zhu was left behind. When he and Zhan Shuo exchanged glances, both wore identical expressions of confusion.
That night, Mo Zhu carefully pushed open the courtyard gate, carrying a plate of fruit.
He set it on the stone table, arranging other snacks alongside it—the best offerings a child could think of to please his master.
The door slid open. Mo Zhu turned eagerly. "Master—"
The words died in his throat as he stared at the figure stepping out.
Gone was the simple green robe. Instead, she wore a lavish, hibiscus-pink gown, her hair coiled into an elaborate cloud-like updo adorned with hairpins and silk flowers. The usual teardrop mark between her brows had been replaced by a vivid begonia design. Heavy makeup caked her face, clashing grotesquely with her usual elegance.
Mo Zhu hesitated. "Master?"
"Yu Zhiling" glanced at him coldly before her gaze fell on the fruit plate. She smirked. "Trying to win me over with this?"
Mo Zhu shook his head. "N-no… you said you liked these. I picked a lot, waiting for you to come back…"
"Yu Zhiling" sat at the table, her red-painted lips curling. "You’re a winged serpent, aren’t you?"
Her hand reached for his face. For some reason, Mo Zhu recoiled, an instinctive revulsion rising in him.
He didn’t want her to touch him.
"Come here."
Her voice was cold, laced with threat.
Mo Zhu clenched his small fists, swallowing hard. He reminded himself—she had saved him. She was his master.
He stepped forward cautiously.
"Yu Zhiling" pinched his cheeks, her painted nails digging into his flesh. The boy winced but didn’t cry out.
Her eyes were frosty. "Winged serpent whelp. Where’s the Ebony Serpent Bangle?"
Mo Zhu shook his head. "I… I don’t know. After you saved me, I never saw it. I thought you took it…"
"Yu Zhiling" narrowed her eyes, studying him for a long moment before suddenly sneering. "Useless."
She flung him away with such force that the seven-year-old crashed onto the ground, his forehead striking a rock. Blood trickled into his eyes as he looked up, dazed.
"...Master?"
The fruit plate was swept off the table.
"Who told you to bring this filth before me? Disgusting, lowly creature."
Mo Zhu sat in the courtyard, watching as the woman stormed back inside, slamming the door behind her. The sound of drawers being yanked open and objects being thrown echoed from within—as if she were searching for something.
The cold wind dried the blood on his face. Mo Zhu wiped it away with his sleeve, picked up the scattered fruit, dusted them off, and placed them back on the plate.
He couldn’t understand why she had suddenly become like this. Yet, his fondness for her still outweighed his confusion, so he bid her farewell in a soft voice: "Master, if you don’t like this fruit, I’ll pick others for you."
Mo Zhu stayed up all night, running down the mountain to a village at its foot, where a wild hill stood covered in crisp, sweet fruits. He gathered every edible fruit he could find, filling a sack to the brim before returning to the Yingshan Sect. After washing them carefully, he brought them to her again.
"Master, master, these fruits are delicious too. Would you like to try one?"
A child’s heart is always sincere and eager. His large, dark eyes looked up at "Yu Zhiling" with hope, and he tried his best to appear even more endearing—knowing from a young age that elders adored adorable children.
She knocked over the fruits he had spent the night gathering.
"You’re a Teng Snake. Do your parents know you’re groveling like this before a human cultivator? Where’s your dignity?"
The fruits scattered across the ground, and Mo Zhu stood frozen in place.
"Master…"
He tried many ways to please her. Every day, he made sure he was clean and presentable, leaving fruits, snacks, and little handmade toys at the gate of her courtyard.
He wanted to make her happy, to return to how things used to be.
But she threw everything out, one by one, hurling cruel words along with them.
"Disgusting, wretched thing."
"Have some self-respect and stay away from me."
"Where is the Huiqing Snake Bracelet? Aren’t you a Teng Snake? Can’t you sense it?"
What had happened to her?
Mo Zhu was battered and bruised from her abuse. Sitting atop the mountain, he gazed down at the Yingshan Sect below, unable to hold back his tears.
"Elder Sister…"
She was the one who had said she adored him, who promised to protect him always, who vowed to form a disciple’s jade pact with him once she returned from the Four Slaughter Realms.
So why?
Why did she stop caring?
One day, Mo Zhu overheard a fierce argument at Tingchun Cliff—Yan Shanqing and the others were fighting.
Yan Shanqing’s voice boomed: "Yu Xiao Wu, say that again!"
Then came Yu Zhiling’s cold reply: "I’ll say it as many times as you need. Stop testing me. I haven’t been possessed, and I remember everything from the past. I just want to focus on cultivation and ascend as soon as possible."
"...What’s wrong with you?"
"Nothing. I just think it’s pointless. Why should I do so much for all of you?"
"Xiao Wu, I’m your eldest senior brother…"
"So what? Can the Central Continent not survive without me? Or do you all need me to protect you?"
Yan Shanqing stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
From the mountaintop, Mo Zhu watched as the sect leader descended the stone steps, his imposing aura gradually faltering until he stopped mid-step, bending over as if struggling to breathe, his back trembling.
Arguments at Tingchun Cliff became frequent. At first, Yan Shanqing and the others brought gifts, trying to mend the rift between them.
But as time passed, the words grew harsher, until Yu Zhiling finally pointed at them and declared:
"I don’t want to protect you anymore. If you truly care for me, stop being a burden. Leave me in peace so I can ascend."
A burden.
That was how she saw them.
The senior brothers and sisters who had raised her, taught her to walk and speak, fed her spoonful by spoonful—now, in her eyes, they were nothing but obstacles.
Yan Shanqing and the others stopped visiting Tingchun Cliff.
And Mo Zhu, just eight years old, was given a mission by "Yu Zhiling"—to exterminate evil spirits in the Eastern Wastes, the most dangerous region.
"If you want to be my disciple, don’t embarrass me."
At the time, he hadn’t even formed his Golden Core.
Mo Zhu believed that if he performed well, she would acknowledge him. So the eight-year-old child charged headfirst into battles against spirits taller than himself, surviving countless near-death encounters.
When he left the mountain, he still looked human. But after months of grueling training, he returned emaciated, covered in wounds, his eyes sharp and feral like a young wolf.
He had slain hundreds of demons. Upon his return to the Yingshan Sect, Yan Shanqing and the others rewarded him with spirit stones—most of which he spent on jewelry and cosmetics, thinking she would like them.
Carrying his gifts back to Tingchun Cliff, he found her still clad in her lotus-colored robes.
She flung his offerings to the ground, wrinkled her delicate brows, and slapped him across the face.
"How revolting. Everything you touch reeks of demonic aura."
Mo Zhu’s face turned deathly pale.
He left again to hunt evil spirits, returning at age ten, clinging to one last shred of hope.
But that hope withered under her daily abuse.
Until the day she pried open his mouth, smiling as she forced the Heart-Devouring Gu into him—a poison that would torment him every three months.
Until the day she slit his tendons, pinning him down as she severed half of his meridians.
He passed out from the pain, but before darkness took him, he heard her voice.
"They say a Teng Snake’s tendons make excellent bowstrings. Perfect for crafting weapons."
He thought she had ruined his path of cultivation. But when he woke, he found himself in a tiny room with nothing but a bed, his wounds left untreated. His innate regenerative abilities had stopped the bleeding—she hadn’t finished the job.
For a month, he endured agony, barely surviving as he painstakingly reconnected his own tendons, salvaging his future.
Once he could walk again, he picked up his sword and stood before her courtyard.
By then, he was thirteen—already taller than Yu Zhiling.
The gate opened, and at the sight of him, her eyes filled with disgust before she turned toward the back mountain.
"I’m going into seclusion. Get lost. Go wherever you want."
Mo Zhu watched her retreating figure, his expression blank, murder rising in his heart.
The person he once knew had died in his mind—the fairy who saved him, who stayed with him those few days, had been killed by her own hands.
During his years hunting evil spirits, he had thought countless times about killing her. If she was so determined to tarnish herself, she didn’t deserve to live. Once he found the Huiqing Snake Bracelet, he would leave the Yingshan Sect—but first, he would give the fairy in green the justice she deserved.
He would erase this corrupted version of her, preserving only the purest, most beautiful memory.
For years to come, he would lie to himself—that the one who reached out to him in his youth had died when he was seven.
He would remember only the best of her, not the ugly, greedy, twisted woman she became.
He would cling to the memory of the swordswoman in green who had saved him.
And he would wait, growing stronger, until the day he could kill her with his own hands.
Then came the summons.
She had called him back to the sect.
Battered and wounded, he entered the grand hall, kneeling before the throne.
After ten years, he saw her again—the fairy in green.
But her eyes were young and lost, brimming with fear at the sight of him. Instead of punishment, her greeting was a hall filled with sword techniques.
Ten years.
So much time had passed.
Mo Zhu’s blurred vision sharpened. His sword hand trembled as his spiritual energy surged—murderous intent, fury, hatred.
"Little A-Zhu, why aren’t you saying anything?"
The woman by the pit crouched down, her hand—previously severed by Yun Zhi—now fully restored, new flesh and blood having regrown.
Like a venomous lizard, she smiled as she had all those years before, reaching out to touch Mo Zhu’s cheek.
A flash of swordlight severed her wrist once more, and her throat was seized as Mo Zhu slammed her against a tree trunk.
In an instant, he closed the distance between them, driving his sword through her left shoulder.
"How dare you… How dare you show yourself before me…"
Her face flushed crimson, yet she still laughed as she gripped his blade, tightening her hold until blood dripped from her palm.
"Look at me. I’m your master. Ah Zhu, look at me."
Mo Zhu twisted the sword violently, carving a bloody hole through her chest. "Silence! You’re unworthy of that title!"
"The one you seek is long dead! She’s gone. I took her place, became the Immortal Lord Zhuoyu of the Central Continent, and none of you noticed. How laughable! She sacrificed herself for you, and you all forgot her!"
"Shut up! She’s not dead!"
"Oh? Then why are you here? Why chase after her in the Spirit’s Lament?"
Mo Zhu’s breath trembled, his hands shaking uncontrollably. "No… No, that’s not…"
The woman, still gripped by the throat, laughed wildly. "Dead! You forgot, didn’t you? Yan Shanqing lost an arm, Ning Hengwu’s dantian shattered, Xiang Wuxue pierced by a thousand arrows, Mei Qiongge thrown from a cliff—the entire Yingshan Sect, sixteen thousand souls, wiped out from the inner disciples to the outer. Have you forgotten?"
"Mo Zhu, weren’t you searching for her corpse? Why stop now? She killed herself. So alone, so dark—not a single ray of light. Her mind shattered into madness. Doesn’t that pain you?"
"Did you find her? Did you find her? Did you find her…?"
The words echoed relentlessly in his ears.
—Did you find her?
Did you find Yu Zhiling?
Did you find…
Her corpse?
Mo Zhu could no longer distinguish reality from illusion. Voices whispered in both ears.
—Yu Zhiling is dead. The Yingshan Sect is gone. You have nothing left.
—Yu Zhiling lives. The Yingshan Sect stands. You still have a home.
Dead. Alive. Dead. Alive. Dead. Alive…
He couldn’t tell. The blood-soaked massacre unfolded before him—Yan Shanqing and the others, their mutilated bodies, severed limbs, pools of blood—all horrifyingly real.
Yet in the next moment, Yu Zhiling’s smiling face appeared, her warm embraces, the tender yet fervent kisses shared in drunken moments.
The lively faces of Yan Shanqing and the others, laughing at Yu Xiao Wu’s antics.
The proud and spirited Zhan Shuo, the Yingshan Sect disciples sharing fruits when they met.
Which was real?
Which one was real?
His hands fell limp as he clutched his head, staggering backward.
Delusion and reality blurred beyond recognition.
Before him lay familiar corpses. He stumbled forward, sifting through the bodies, recognizing countless faces, their tragic ends.
He longed to find her.
He feared finding her.
"Master… Master…"
"Master… Oh, master…"
The final tribulation lightning, long brewing, struck at that moment.
The thunder roared for miles, twisting violently beneath the oppressive clouds. This bolt carried the intent to kill, yet the youth at the pit’s bottom seemed devoid of reaction. His sword, Wuhui, screamed in desperation, but not a flicker of awareness returned to him.
His eyes began to shut—the heart devil tribulation had broken him.
He would die beneath this lightning.
Wuhui howled, "Master!!!"
A heartbeat before the bolt struck, the youth’s eyes snapped open. He flipped upright.
The lightning crashed onto him, forcing his knees to buckle. Yet he braced against his sword, blood seeping from his torn robes, and lifted his gaze to the darkened sky.
Step by step, he rose against the lightning’s weight, spiritual energy erupting around him.
A crushing pressure exploded, whipping up the desert sands as thunder boomed.
Amid the storm, his tall figure gradually emerged. The jade crown binding his hair shattered, dark locks cascading freely. Standing at the pit’s bottom, he stared upward.
There was no woman in lotus-colored robes, no whispered words—only the remnants of the heavenly tribulation, the heart devil trial he had just endured. Only now was it truly over.
Yet Mo Zhu knew. That woman existed. Her words were real.
Those were memories the seventeen-year-old Mo Zhu did not possess—belonging instead to the twenty-seven-year-old version. The face that had replaced Yu Zhiling, the fragmented visions—perhaps they had all happened.
At some point, unbeknownst to him, they might have all died.
He leaped out of the pit. As the sands settled, a figure approached from the distance.
Mo Zhu saw her face.
Clad in simple green robes, her hair ribbon fluttering behind her, her smile palpable even from afar. Slender yet unyielding, her presence alone radiated an unshakable sense of security.
He stepped forward, then broke into a run. Though still separated by a stretch of land, her voice reached him first.
"Little Ink Dumpling, you’ve already overcome the tribulation? And so swiftly this time. Impressive."
How had he opened his eyes?
On the verge of collapse, lost between reality and illusion, moments from death by lightning—her voice had surfaced in his mind.
—Move forward.
Even if she was truly gone, even if it was all real, he could not turn back. He had to press onward, forward, ever forward.
Search the Central Continent. Avenge her.
That was when he awoke, realizing he had never left the tribulation.
What he thought was over had only just begun.
Mo Zhu closed the distance between them, faster and faster, until he teleported the last stretch.
He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent as if starved—reverent and desperate.
"Master. Master."
Yu Zhiling froze briefly before returning the embrace, patting his shoulder gently.
She nuzzled his cheek and murmured, "Mo Zhu, no matter what you saw, don’t grieve. We must look ahead."
"Everything will be alright. None of it will come to pass. Everything has changed."
By the River of No Return, a woman crouched, stroking the head of a demonic imp.
The jade token at her waist glowed. She answered.
A frail voice spoke from the other end. "As expected, she’s encountered someone from Jinghong Village. My avatar was slain. Post-tribulation, her power has grown considerably. A direct confrontation is unwise. And the serpent bracelet—it’s on her wrist. Proceed as planned."
The woman smiled gracefully. "Understood, my lord."
She ended the transmission, rising elegantly to gaze into the distance.
She stood on the outer side of the River of Unforgetting, and beyond it lay the Path of Lingyou—a realm of eternal night on one side, and eternal day on the other.
"Little Ah Zhu, you've truly grown up..."
A crimson glow surged from the depths of the river as the woman, her eyes shadowed with malice, raised her hand to cast a spell.
"Wake up, all of you. You've starved long enough—go find something to eat."
Her laughter, light as chiming bells, scattered into the air as she vanished. The once-calm surface of the River of Unforgetting churned violently, and from its depths, tens of thousands of demonic fiends slowly stirred to life. Twisted, humanoid figures clawed their way out of the water, their bodies crammed together as they surged onto the shore.
Driven by an unseen summons, they moved with terrifying speed, their grotesque forms sprinting toward a distant destination like a dark tide of migrating ants before a storm.
Several dozen miles from the river lay a town, home to thousands of families.
It was deep into the night—the perfect time for the light-fearing fiends to emerge.
The night watchman made his rounds from the east to the west of the town, striking his gong as he went. The streets were silent, the townsfolk asleep.
Rubbing his eyes, he yawned lazily. Then, from a window across the street, a small hand reached out through a narrow gap.
"Grandpa, have some water."
The watchman smiled, pulling a piece of candy from his pocket and handing it over. "Sanwa, why aren't you asleep? Your parents will scold you if they find out."
The child poked his head out, shaking it playfully. "I bring you water every night at this time. I always wake up for you."
The watchman ruffled the boy’s hair with his rough hand, pinching his cheek. "Such a good boy. Is the candy sweet?"
"Very sweet!" Sanwa giggled, resting his chin on the windowsill. Then his smile faltered as he pointed behind the watchman. "But Grandpa... there are so many eyes over there."
"Eyes? What eyes?"
The watchman turned—and froze.
Lining the top of the towering city wall were countless pairs of crimson eyes, gleaming with bloodlust.
The fiends leaped down, their grotesque faces twisted in hunger, their movements frenzied as they poured into the town.
The watchman’s gong clattered to the ground.
In an instant, he whirled back, shoving Sanwa inside and slamming the window shut. "Hide! Get in a cupboard and don’t come out!"
The first wave of fiends lunged at him, their stench of rot and blood overwhelming. The watchman snatched up his gong and struck it with all his might.
"Demons have breached the city—!"
The fiends were upon him. Their faces were monstrous, their features jagged and mismatched—more beast than human.
Terror seized him, but even as he squeezed his eyes shut, he kept striking the gong.
"Demons—!"
Fangs flashed toward his throat—
A blade’s light sliced through the darkness, cleaving through the fiends in a spray of black blood. A hand seized the watchman’s collar and hurled him back through the window he had just closed.
A cold voice cut through the chaos: "Get inside."
The watchman tumbled into the room just as Sanwa crawled out from under the bed.
"Grandpa!"
The watchman caught the boy, clutching him tightly as he dragged him into a wardrobe.
Through the half-open window, he glimpsed the figure outside—a young man with hair tied back by a torn strip of cloth, his sword flashing as he severed the heads of every fiend that had entered the town.
And above him, suspended in the air, stood another.
Clad in green robes, a single sword in hand, her expression was icy, her bearing lethally composed.
The watchman met her gaze through the window. She regarded him briefly before lifting a hand, sealing the window with a pulse of spiritual energy.
The child in his arms sobbed. The watchman covered his ears. "Hush, little one. Don’t cry. Immortal Lord Zhuoyu is here."
Green robes, green sword, the teardrop mark between her brows—cold as a goddess of judgment, yet her strikes were fluid, almost gentle.
Yu Zhiling, the foremost of the Central Continent’s Three Immortal Lords, a grandmaster of the Mingxin Dao—Immortal Lord Zhuoyu.
The sleeping town erupted into chaos. Lights flickered on in every home as people threw open their windows—only to scream at the sight of the fiends swarming over the walls.
Wu Zhaoyan and Yun Zhi arrived in haste.
Yun Zhi’s voice boomed through the streets: "Demons approach from the east! Everyone—follow me to the southern gate!"
The streets flooded with panicked townsfolk.
Wu Zhaoyan reached Yu Zhiling’s side. "Zhuoyu, there are tens of thousands of these fiends. He’s trying to force you to use Frostwind Slash. I’ve already sent word to the Blade Sect—you should leave, evacuate the people. This isn’t your fight!"
Mo Zhu cut through the fiends within the town, while Yu Zhiling flashed to the top of the wall, gazing down at the endless tide of climbing monsters. Without hesitation, she swung her sword, decimating them.
"Yu Xiaowu, you can’t kill them all! This is a trap—he wants you to fall for it!"
Yu Zhiling remained silent, weaving a barrier spell over the wall to halt the fiends’ advance.
Mo Zhu finished clearing the town and leaped up beside her.
Wu Zhaoyan’s voice was raw. "Yu Xiaowu, these things won’t die unless beheaded! The demonic energy is too strong—you already have inner demons. If you’re tainted by this, you’ll—"
Yu Zhiling turned to him, seizing the brief respite to speak. "This town has over thirty thousand people. A hundred miles west lies the largest city in the Western Territories—hundreds of thousands more. The nearest sect is the Blade Sect, seven hundred miles away. Even at full speed, they won’t arrive for half a day. How long do you think it’ll take these fiends to overrun this town? To move on to the next?"
"Will the people outrun them? The fiends from the River of Unforgetting are a scourge. Sooner or later, they must be purged."
Wu Zhaoyan’s eyes burned. "Then what will you do? Use Frostwind Slash like you did in Nandu? The people matter—but so do you! We don’t even know how many of these things there are. The demonic energy will awaken your inner demons!"
"Go back to Lingyou. Retrieve the Skyward Lotus. Focus on your own path. Mo Zhu and I will hold them here."
Yu Zhiling studied him—his desperation, the tremor in his voice—then glanced at Mo Zhu, who stood waiting for her command.
She looked down at the seething mass of fiends, their crimson eyes glaring hungrily. She knew them too well. Perhaps she had seen even more beyond Lingyou.
"No," she said softly. "I won’t use Frostwind Slash."
Her lips curved as she met Wu Zhaoyan’s gaze. "I have you."
"Zhaoyan, Mo Zhu, Yun Zhi—you are my greatest advantage."
She patted his shoulder, then leaped from the wall, plunging into the horde.
"I won’t die. We’ll survive—together."
Her sword erupted in radiant light, carving a path through the fiends as its glow pierced the darkness.
