"Xiao Wu."
Yu Zhiling was about to descend the mountain when someone called out to her.
Mei Qiongge approached from a distance, carrying something in her arms. When she spotted Yu Zhiling, her eyes brimmed with warmth.
"Fourth Senior Sister!"
Yu Zhiling waved excitedly, her cheerful demeanor radiating joy.
Mei Qiongge walked up to her. "Are you going down alone?"
Yu Zhiling pointed at the disciples waiting at the foot of the stone steps. "I’m taking the disciples with me. Since you’re all staying on the mountain, I’ll personally search the nearby areas."
Mei Qiongge understood her concerns. After a brief pause, she took Yu Zhiling’s hand. "Xiao Wu, I know you’re worried. But the matters concerning the demon race are being handled by our senior brothers and sisters. Don’t overburden yourself."
At the mention of Mo Zhu, Yu Zhiling recalled the conversation she’d had with Yan Shanqing during dinner the previous night.
"Has the new Demon King left the demon realm recently?"
Mei Qiongge shook her head. "No. The demon realm is close to the royal domain, and I’ve had people keeping watch. There’s been no movement. He must know Mo Zhu is at Yingshan Sect. Those who went to the Central Continent to find Mo Zhu might have been his subordinates. For now, Mo Zhu won’t be allowed to descend the mountain. You can go ahead and search, but try to return early—don’t stay out overnight."
Yu Zhiling nodded. "Understood. Today, I’ll start searching from the inner regions outward, beginning with the foot of the mountain."
Mei Qiongge sighed softly and motioned for Yu Zhiling to bend down slightly.
Though puzzled, Yu Zhiling complied. Mei Qiongge took out a jade hairpin and carefully secured it into her bun.
"Fourth Senior Sister?"
"Your previous mermaid pearl shattered, didn’t it? The second one hangs at your waist. I commissioned a new one, and it arrived recently. I worked on it all last night—this one won’t break, not even if heavenly tribulation lightning strikes it. Xiao Wu, see how it looks."
Yu Zhiling straightened up and touched the pearl in her hair. Its warm, smooth texture softened her heart. "Thank you, Fourth Senior Sister."
Mei Qiongge’s expression grew complicated. She gently cupped Yu Zhiling’s cheek and murmured, "Why didn’t you tell anyone you’re afraid of the dark?"
Yu Zhiling froze for a moment before realizing Yun Zhi must have mentioned it.
Yun Zhi was observant. He must have noticed her unease long ago, deduced her fear, and informed the Yingshan Sect.
"...It’s nothing," Yu Zhiling replied softly, lowering her head. She brushed her fingers over the pearl hairpin. "I’m not afraid anymore."
Mei Qiongge stood at the mountaintop, watching her leave. She had come specifically to deliver the mermaid pearl, which she had painstakingly crafted to ensure it would never shatter again.
Yu Zhiling led the disciples down the mountain. When she reached the base, she glanced back up—Mei Qiongge was still there, gazing down at her with tender warmth.
Their eyes met. Yu Zhiling gave a small nod before turning away.
Mei Qiongge withdrew her gaze, her heart still unsettled. Hearing footsteps behind her, she didn’t turn, merely asking coolly, "Do you want to follow her?"
Mo Zhu replied, "No. I know I’d only cause trouble for Shizun."
"Then why come to see her off? She’ll be back by nightfall."
"I just wanted to see her. To understand the gap between us."
Mei Qiongge turned to him, surprised. "What do you mean?"
The figure at the foot of the mountain had long vanished, yet Mo Zhu still stared at the shadowed forest path. Quietly, he said, "If I were strong enough, she wouldn’t have to lead the disciples alone."
Mei Qiongge muttered, "You youngsters these days—don’t be so impatient. You’re still young, and your cultivation is already at the mid-stage of the Divine Transformation realm. Take your time."
She patted Mo Zhu’s shoulder, trying to reassure him. "Don’t overthink it. I know how you feel about your Shizun. If she’s happy, none of us will stand in the way. Cultivation level isn’t important."
With that, Mei Qiongge left, leaving Mo Zhu alone.
Was cultivation level unimportant?
No. It mattered.
Mo Zhu lowered his lashes, his hands clenching silently at his sides. His gaze drifted to the small serpent pendant at his waist—a delicate jade piece emitting a faint glow. Everything she gave him was unique and endearing.
If he continued cultivating at this pace, he’d soon reach the Great Ascension realm. Just as Fu Zhao had said, it was as if he’d trained through it all before. Starting over, his progress felt divinely guided.
But in his past life, how far had he gotten? Had he managed to kill You Zhou and that female demonic cultivator who replaced Yu Zhiling?
"Immortal Venerable, the Yingshan territory is divided into fifty-six cities and three hundred forty-seven villages, with a total population of nine million."
Yu Zhiling stood on the deck of the mustard-seed boat, waiting as a disciple unfurled a map. She crouched down and picked up a brush.
"This region is densely populated, with no uncharted areas. Our priority isn’t the villages or cities—it’s the barren mountains, rivers, and uninhabited wastelands. These places..."
The disciples gathered around her, taking turns marking the map.
"The Nether Delusion Mountain is treacherous, rarely visited; the Spirit Marshland has a swamp infested with demonic beasts, so no one goes there; and the Solitary Wanderer’s Cove in the southeast is deserted..."
Soon, over thirty locations were circled. If demonic wraiths existed, these were the most likely hiding spots—remote enough to avoid detection.
Yu Zhiling glanced at the disciples on the boat. She hadn’t brought many, only the most promising of the younger generation, leading them personally.
"We won’t split up. Stay with me and follow my orders at all times."
The disciples chorused, "Yes, Immortal Venerable!"
Yu Zhiling’s plan was to start from the Yingshan Sect and expand outward, focusing first on the marked areas. By leading these disciples herself, she aimed to train them in combating demonic wraiths.
Her system’s merit counter had stalled at 3,850 points—just shy of 4,000. It seemed her mission was nearing completion.
Yu Zhiling leaned against the boat’s railing, letting the cool wind brush her face, sharpening her thoughts.
She turned to the disciples seated on the deck. Though the cabin was spacious, none had gone inside—they stayed outside because she hadn’t entered.
When they noticed her gaze, some boldly smiled back, while others shyly averted their eyes—not out of fear, but reverence.
In the Central Continent, Yu Zhiling commanded absolute authority. The Yingshan disciples revered her like a deity, hesitant to even look at her directly, lest their gazes offend her.
As she watched them, she thought of how the original novel had glossed over them—when in truth, they were all vibrant lives.
Her nose stung. The mission to prevent Yingshan Sect’s destruction had stalled. Before, she’d feared the unknown, having never encountered demonic wraiths. Now that she knew they existed in the Central Continent, her dread only deepened.
Thousands of demonic wraiths might have been the cause of the sect’s downfall in the original story. Yet the Infinite Realm had already opened, and her task was only half-complete. Could it be...
That even the Infinite Realm couldn’t withstand them?
Yu Zhiling closed her eyes, leaning back against the railing as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Suddenly, she missed her little disciple. If he were here, he would surely guess her thoughts and find a way to cheer her up.
The mustard-seed boat arrived at Mingwang Mountain in just half an hour.
It was a desolate place—thick foliage shrouded the mountain, and the perpetual absence of sunlight had nurtured dense clusters of shade-loving plants. A heavy miasma hung in the air, reducing visibility to barely a dozen steps.
The pearls at Yu Zhiling’s waist and in her hair grew brighter the darker the surroundings became. Standing at the edge of the miasma, she could already sense the blood-tainted aura within. Strangely, it brought her a sense of grim resolution.
Compared to the unknown, having her suspicions confirmed was almost a relief. It meant she was right—You Zhou had been nurturing demonic fiends in the Central Continent for years, and the annihilation of the Yingshan Sect was likely tied to these creatures.
Find the root, and the problem could be eradicated.
"There are demonic fiends inside," Yu Zhiling said, her voice low. "Be careful—they won’t die unless beheaded. Use the formations I taught you. Group in threes and clear them sector by sector."
"Yes!"
The disciples tightened their grips on their weapons, quickly pairing up.
"I’ll go in first. Wait for my signal, and maintain formation."
Yu Zhiling stepped into the miasma alone. The stench of blood grew sharper the deeper she went, and the haze thickened from a pale mist into a suffocating cloud of demonic energy.
Demonic fiends thrived in such energy. The pearls on her body blazed brighter, illuminating her path.
From a vantage point, she looked down coldly at the fiends submerged in the lake below. The presence of living beings had already stirred some of them awake.
Yu Zhiling swung her sword, cutting down a swath in one stroke. Estimating their numbers, she pulled out a jade token. "Come in. Around twenty to thirty thousand. No close combat—stick to formations."
"Yes, Immortal Venerable!"
The disciples’ voices echoed through the token. Soon, hurried footsteps approached as they advanced in formation. The scent of fresh blood roused the fiends in droves.
Yu Zhiling struck first, her blade sweeping out in an arc that slaughtered thousands in an instant.
"Formations!"
"Yes!"
The disciples fanned out, hands weaving seals. Arrays flickered to life in the air before slamming into the hordes emerging from the lake, obliterating them on contact.
Yu Zhiling flashed across the lake’s surface, plunging into the heart of the swarm. Tens of thousands of fiends surged toward her, swallowing her whole.
Cold demonic energy and filthy blood crashed over her. Everywhere she looked, pairs of crimson eyes gleamed in the darkness. Her sword, Zhuqing, hummed with lethal intent as she unleashed another devastating slash.
The moment the blade light flashed, the fiends’ howls filled her ears—and suddenly, everything went dark.
It felt like a distant memory.
Countless fiends, more than she had ever seen, tearing at her one after another.
Then, the scene shifted. In a void blacker than pitch, she knelt, hearing only her own ragged breaths and a whisper.
"I can’t get out… If possible… could you leave a light for me…?"
Mo Zhu opened his eyes, steadying the ripples of power around him.
The Wuhui Sword darted excitedly around him, its blade trembling—its master was simply too strong, his progress unparalleled in the world!
Yet Mo Zhu showed no excitement. His eyelids lifted slightly as he said flatly, "Why are you here again?"
Fu Zhao narrowed his eyes. "Your cultivation is really off. Tribulation lightning tempers not just the body but the soul. Yet your soul seems just as refined—like you’ve already gone through this before. As if you’ve already endured the trials of tribulation lightning."
Mo Zhu didn’t answer, brushing a few dead leaves from his robes instead.
Fu Zhao stepped closer, studying him. "You’re strange."
Mo Zhu stood. "Move."
Fu Zhao chased after him. "Hey, at least share some tips! How did you win over Yu—Immortal Venerable Zhiling? Why does she like you so much?"
Mo Zhu paused, glancing back. "Shizun likes me?"
Fu Zhao gritted his teeth, mistaking his tone for gloating. "Obviously! The way she looks at you is downright tender. She treats you and me like night and day—and I’m plenty handsome!"
The corner of Mo Zhu’s mouth lifted. "Trying to court Elder Ning?"
Fu Zhao brightened, eagerly closing the distance. "Brother, got any advice?"
Mo Zhu turned away. "No. I don’t know what Elder Ning likes, but you’re not it."
"Mo Zhu! You—! How dare you mock me! This young master is dashing and peerless, why wouldn’t she—?"
Fu Zhao’s indignant ranting faded behind him as Mo Zhu quickened his pace. Dusk was falling—it was nearly time for Yu Zhiling’s return.
The thought lightened his steps. He strode ahead, leaving Fu Zhao’s furious shouts far behind.
Just as Mo Zhu returned from the back mountain to Tingchun Cliff, he spotted Yu Zhiling ascending the stone steps.
Her blue robes were stained with blood and grime, the neat bun from this morning now loose and disheveled. Only her face remained pristine—and when she saw him, her eyes curved into crescents.
"Shizun." The person he’d been thinking of all day was finally back. He hurried down to meet her, smoothing her tousled hair. "Are you tired? Should I prepare a bath?"
Yu Zhiling’s face scrunched up. "Exhausted. Carry me back."
The little tyrant successfully climbed onto her disciple’s back, dirtying his pristine robes in the process. She poked his cheek, teasing, "Your clothes are ruined."
Mo Zhu chuckled. "It’s fine. I have plenty."
Yu Zhiling wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "I’ll buy you new ones. I’m rich."
Mo Zhu replied, "So am I. I won’t spend Shizun’s money."
"What’s this, a man’s pride?"
"Mn. Shizun is right. Is there anything you’d like? I’ll earn the money to buy it for you."
Her disciple’s perfect answer earned a giggle. She pinched his earlobe, watching it flush red instantly.
"Mo Zhu, walk slower," Yu Zhiling murmured against his shoulder, facing him. "How about taking me to the back mountain instead?"
Mo Zhu stopped, turning to meet her gaze. "Did something happen?"
She grinned, carefree as ever. "Nope. I just want you to carry me around a bit longer."
Mo Zhu never refused her. With a nod, he said, "Alright."
He adjusted his hold on her and retraced his steps, feeling her warm breath brush against his ear and cheek—soft, gentle.
Yu Zhiling gazed at his profile, her fingers tracing the contours of his face—poking his cheek, brushing the bridge of his tall nose—only to quickly withdraw when he turned his head as if to nip at her fingertips.
"I won’t touch anymore, I promise," Yu Zhiling laughed, playfully tucking her mischievous hands away. "I just wanted to feel you. So fierce."
Mo Zhu turned and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. "This isn’t fierceness. It’s affection."
Her ears burned as she rubbed her nose, murmuring under her breath, "Why do you always kiss me? Can’t you get enough?"
"Never enough, Master." Mo Zhu carried her up the mountain path, his steps steady despite the uneven terrain, showing no sign of fatigue.
Yu Zhiling suddenly spoke softly, "Mo Zhu."
"Hmm?"
"Your eighteenth birthday is in a few days, isn’t it?"
"Yes."
"You’re still so young, Mo Zhu."
The boy’s footsteps halted abruptly beneath an orange blossom tree—one she had planted herself as a child.
Silence settled between them, their breaths mingling in the quiet.
Mo Zhu didn’t look at her, his lashes lowered, voice calm but edged. "What do you mean?"
Yu Zhiling tightened her arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his cheek in reassurance. "Nothing, really. Just that you’re still young."
His grip on her legs tightened slightly, and her smile faltered at the unspoken tension.
"Master has never been good at lying. I’ve known something was troubling you since you returned to the Yingshan Sect."
Mo Zhu broke the stillness between them. "There really were demonic spirits near Ying Mountain, weren’t there?"
"...Yes."
"What did you see when you vanquished them?"
"...Nothing. Nothing at all."
"Let me guess. You saw things that haven’t happened yet, didn’t you?"
His words shattered her composure. Her pupils constricted, disbelief flashing across her face.
"You—"
Mo Zhu exhaled deeply, the scent of orange blossoms in the air—a fragrance that always soothed the chaos in his heart.
"Master saw something that made you hesitate about us. Just one day, and suddenly you’re uncertain. Did I do something wrong? Or did you see something that made you think we shouldn’t be together?"
Panicked, Yu Zhiling wriggled free from his back and cupped his face in her hands. "No, I didn’t—I’m not hesitating, Mo Zhu. You’ve done nothing wrong."
Rising on her toes, she kissed his lips, gentle and coaxing. "If you don’t mind, then neither do I. Let’s stay together, Mo Zhu. Just us, for as long as we can."
Mo Zhu bent to return the kiss, his voice rough against her mouth. "I don’t care at all. Whether it’s the Flying Serpent lineage or the cultivators of the Central Continent—sixteen is adulthood, and many wed at eighteen. Age means nothing among cultivators. Can we just forget about it?"
His fear was palpable. Yu Zhiling had only seen Mo Zhu unsettled a handful of times, and always because of her.
She nestled into his embrace, arms looped around his neck. "Alright, we won’t think about it. Not at all. Just kiss me, okay?"
Mo Zhu obliged, his lips tender against hers, though he knew she was placating him—and hiding something.
His hands slid to her waist, lifting her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around him, her perch in his arms bringing them eye to eye, their closeness effortless.
When they parted, foreheads still touching, Yu Zhiling pinched his cheek. "Not angry anymore?"
Mo Zhu huffed a laugh, nipping at her in mock reprimand. "I was never angry. I was scared."
"Then don’t be afraid anymore, alright?"
"Just don’t say things like that, Master." His voice softened into a plea. "Let’s take it slow, one step at a time. We’ll start with kisses, get used to each other. I’m not rushing you for a commitment—but can we at least trust each other more?"
Her fingertips brushed his long lashes, her throat tight. "Don’t I trust you enough?"
"If you did, you wouldn’t hesitate. No matter what stands between us, you wouldn’t waver."
The thought had never crossed her mind. Were her reservations really a lack of trust?
Mo Zhu set her down, arms encircling her waist as he pulled her close. "We belong together, Master."
Thinking he was still afraid, Yu Zhiling hugged him tightly. "Don’t be scared. I’m sorry."
But in the shelter of their embrace, she couldn’t see his face—his expression dark, unreadable, only the tightening of his arms betraying his tension, veins stark against his skin.
Mo Zhu whispered, "We have to stay together. You promised you wouldn’t leave."
All she could do was soothe him. "I promised, Mo Zhu. I won’t break it."
Blood dripped from his waist, splattering onto the dirt like crimson blossoms in snow.
Expressionless, Mo Zhu sprinkled medicinal powder over the wound before winding bandages around his torso. Scars crisscrossed his exposed skin, a testament to countless battles.
Once dressed in his tattered black robes, he picked up the Wuhui Sword and resumed his journey.
He had walked for what felt like an eternity, pushing forward even when his injuries left him barely able to move, pausing only to tend to the worst of his wounds.
As long as he could still draw breath, he would keep moving—fixated on his prey.
Perched on a cliff’s edge, Mo Zhu gazed down at the figure stumbling below. The man staggered, then suddenly froze, sensing danger—just as a blade sliced through the air toward him.
Mo Zhu leaped from the heights, his sword cleaving downward in a deadly arc. The strike sent rocks and sand flying, crashing into You Zhou before he could evade. The impact hurled him backward, but Mo Zhu was already upon him, his second strike ruthless and swift.
You Zhou rolled to his feet, lips smeared with blackened blood, his smirk twisted with malice.
"Three years. You’ve chased me for three years. Have your wounds even healed in all that time?"
Mo Zhu said nothing, his face a mask of cold fury as he attacked again, his sword a blur of lethal precision.
You Zhou was a mess of blood and broken bones, barely holding his own.
"Mo Zhu, is she really worth this? She only saved your life once. How long were you even together? The Yingshan Sect barely knew you—they were just using you!"
Mo Zhu didn’t react, his focus unshakable. Three years of relentless pursuit had honed him into a weapon of vengeance.
Fresh blood seeped from his wounds. His right hand, fractured in an earlier fight, hung useless—so he fought with his left.
He remained silent, unresponsive. No matter what You Zhou said, he paid no heed—whenever they met, it was only to fight. If You Zhou fled, he would chase.
They battled for two days.
Mo Zhu’s leg was broken, yet he dragged himself forward, relentless in his pursuit.
You Zhou, already severely wounded, gritted his teeth and spat, "They’re just using you to avenge Yu Zhiling! The Yingshan Sect is only using you!"
"Are you stupid? Are you an idiot? Why would you go this far for a sect that barely knew you, that never protected you?"
"Say something! Look at yourself—haggard, ugly, emaciated. Do you even resemble the Mo Zhu of the past? Are you still a prince of the Flying Serpent royalty? You—ugh!"
Mo Zhu swiftly sidestepped and appeared behind him, driving his sword straight through You Zhou’s heart.
You Zhou staggered, trying to steady himself, but ultimately collapsed to his knees, clutching the bleeding wound.
Mo Zhu twisted the hilt, the blade churning inside You Zhou’s chest, grinding his still-beating demon heart to pulp.
Suddenly, You Zhou laughed, lifting his gaze with difficulty. "You’re… pitiful. Your whole life, you’ve been nothing but a tool…"
"Her corpse… lies in the Demon Abyss. Go find her… if you dare…"
"You never knew, did you? Yu Zhiling once burned nearly half her cultivation… just to save you."
"That’s why… after she was wounded, she couldn’t escape the Demon Abyss… You killed her. It was you who killed her…"
Mo Zhu yanked the sword free, watching as You Zhou crumpled. Crimson light seeped from the body, floating upward. He snatched it midair and crushed it in his fist.
Silence engulfed the night, the wind howling like wailing ghosts across the mountain pass.
Mo Zhu tilted his head, murmuring dazedly, "Dead… Is he dead?"
After nearly three years without speaking, his voice was hoarse, as if something clogged his throat.
Black blood dripped from the blade of Wuhui, his bonded sword, its mournful cry echoing through the frigid darkness.
"He’s dead."
Mo Zhu’s fingers tightened slowly as he stared at the corpse.
"This is… the second time I’ve killed him… He has no more clones left…"
"Wuhui… He’s dead…"
The sword wailed, its metallic shrieks piercing the night.
Mo Zhu turned, dragging his broken body forward, each step a struggle.
The lake he passed reflected his face—a once-proud youth now gaunt, cheeks hollow, stubble rough, skin marred by scars. No trace of his former grace remained.
He walked into the darkness, this endless road he had tread for so long, still with no end in sight.
"One more… There’s still one more…"
How many years would this next hunt take?
Mo Zhu opened his eyes, his breath icy.
His abdomen burned, the pain searing. The boy who once sat with perfect posture now slumped, his pale face flushed, sweat tracing his jawline.
His body burned, but his heart was frozen.
—"Her corpse… lies in the Demon Abyss…"
—"You killed her. It was you who killed her…"
Ten years ago, she was the first person he saw upon waking. Her face was pale, her embrace trembling as she wept, blaming herself for arriving too late.
She had given half her cultivation to save him.
Mo Zhu pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath. This Flying Serpent’s heart had nearly been carved out alive—yet it beat now, because of her.
She had saved him more than once. What he owed her could never be repaid.
Mo Zhu drew a dagger, its edge reflecting his cold, resolute gaze.
All he could give her was everything he had.
His heart. His love.
And the sacred reverse scale, revered by the Flying Serpents as a divine gift.
