Yu Zhiling stepped out of the Teaching Hall just as noon arrived.
The jade bracelet Jiang Kuangqiu had pressed into her hand was made of the finest mutton-fat jade, its surface polished smooth. Only half-carved, the design seemed to resemble plum blossoms. She recalled from Rong’s memories that there had been a plum blossom tree in that small courtyard.
Jiang Yingchen had already carved four blossoms, each lifelike in detail. She could guess he had intended to carve seven.
There was an unspoken custom in the mortal world—seven blossoms symbolized eternal love, representing the belief in seven lifetimes of reincarnation.
But Yu Zhiling had no skill in such handiwork. Lightly tracing the raised plum blossom patterns on the bracelet, she felt the intricate openwork, smooth and free of any jagged edges. Jiang Yingchen had polished it meticulously. She could almost picture the state of mind he must have been in as he worked, how he had carved each stroke.
After shattering his Path of Emotionless Dao and nearly dying from his grievous injuries, once he had recovered enough, he would lean against the headboard of his bed, thoughts fixed on Rong. He clung to the will to live—if he could just survive, establish a new Dao heart, he would return to her. Not as a swordsman of the Emotionless Path, but perhaps as an ordinary swordsman, a blade cultivator, or even an array master.
As he envisioned their future, his lips must have curved into a faint smile, his gaze tender. Even if his hands lacked strength, he would still painstakingly polish the jade and carve the patterns, hoping that soon, this bracelet would adorn her wrist.
That was why Yu Zhiling had accepted the bracelet without refusing Jiang Kuangqiu’s request.
She tucked the bracelet away and descended the stone steps.
At the foot of Yingshan Mountain, the disciples were already assembled in orderly rows. Upon seeing Yu Zhiling approach, they bowed in unison.
"Greetings, Immortal Venerable."
Walking past them, Yu Zhiling said, "Rise. Do you know where we’re going today?"
"We do. Within Yingshan’s borders, twenty-one locations infested with demonic miasma have been purged. Today, we are to head to the Land of Seven Desolations."
Yu Zhiling paused and turned back. "Do you know what the Land of Seven Desolations is?"
The lead disciple nodded. "We do. It is a forbidden zone within Yingshan, home to a marsh spanning a hundred li. It’s likely to harbor many demonic miasma. The formations you taught us—we’ve mastered them all."
Yu Zhiling asked, "If you face at least a hundred thousand demonic miasma, how will you fight?"
The disciple replied, "By coordinating our efforts. The hundred high-level disciples will spearhead the assault, surrounding and eliminating the enemy. The hundred and thirty low-level cultivators will form a defensive perimeter to prevent any from escaping. The mid-level cultivators will provide support, advancing inward from the outer edges."
Yu Zhiling’s brows lifted slightly. "Good. You’ve learned the value of teamwork."
The disciple smiled sheepishly. "As you taught us, Immortal Venerable—fighting alone leaves one vulnerable on all sides. We are of one faction and should aid one another."
These disciples varied greatly in age—some had been at Yingshan for years, while others had only arrived recently. All had been personally selected by Yan Shanqing and Ning Hengwu—quick-witted and quick to learn, mastering the tactics to handle swarms of demonic miasma in just days.
She directed them onto the Mustard Seed Boat, then turned to gaze at the towering Yingshan. As the tallest mountain in the Central Continent, Yingshan sprawled across vast terrain, its peaks layered like waves, overseeing hundreds of cities and villages.
The highest peak, known as Listening Spring Cliff, was where she and Fuchun had once lived.
Through the mountains and veils of mist, Yu Zhiling felt as though she were locking eyes with that young man. She knew he was watching from above, waiting until she departed before tending to his own affairs.
Uncertain if he could see her, she cheerfully waved toward the summit of Listening Spring Cliff.
Boarding the Mustard Seed Boat, she set off for the Land of Seven Desolations.
Located at Yingshan’s border near the Wu Family’s territory, the Land of Seven Desolations had once been a battleground during the great war between the Central Continent and the demonic tribes. As the primary force of Yingshan Sect, Fuchun and her master—Yu Zhiling’s grandmaster—had slain their first demonic guardian there, leaving his bones buried in the desolate marsh.
Yu Zhiling had heard that the guardian’s mount was a golden cicada. But "mount" wasn’t quite accurate—the guardian had never treated it as such, and the cicada itself was no demonic beast. Though it lacked the ability to take human form, its cultivation was formidable, no weaker than the guardian’s. Why it had willingly served as a mount, Yu Zhiling couldn’t fathom.
Of the three demonic guardians, the first—Liu Guizheng’s father—had been slain by Fuchun in the Southern Capital.
The second, a woman, was said to have fallen to the blade of Wu Zhaoyan’s grandfather.
The third, the master of the golden cicada, had died in the Land of Seven Desolations. His corpse likely still lay in that marsh, long since reduced to bleached bones by scavengers.
Yu Zhiling marked the map, circling areas most likely to spawn demonic miasma. Her brush finally came to rest on the heart of the marsh.
"Immortal Venerable suspects this location?"
Yu Zhiling nodded slightly. "This swamp is called the Bone-Burial Marsh. The surrounding area is thick with miasma, and countless demonic cultivators who perished in the past are buried beneath its depths. The demonic energy here is dense, and with You Zhou's deliberate interference, it’s likely that many demonic specters have been bred over the years."
A disciple picked up a brush and circled another area not far from the Bone-Burial Marsh.
"Immortal Venerable, the Seven Perilous Lands are named as such because of these seven marshes. The largest and most miasma-ridden is the Bone-Burial Marsh at the center. If demonic specters can emerge from there, then the other six marshes must be the same."
Yu Zhiling remained still, holding the map as the disciples marked it.
Surrounded by her disciples, she had grown closer to them over time. The female disciples even dared to loop their arms through hers while chatting. Watching them, Yu Zhiling felt as though she were leading a group of kindergarten children.
Soon, the disciples pinpointed all seven marshes.
"Immortal Venerable, we’ve found them."
Yu Zhiling examined the map with ease, her eyes glimmering with amusement.
A few disciples asked nervously, "Immortal Venerable, is it correct?"
She shook the map playfully and blinked mischievously. "Absolutely. The seven marshes are symmetrically arranged in a hexagram formation. You’ve marked them perfectly."
Relieved, the disciples smiled. "You flatter us, Immortal Venerable."
With the Bone-Burial Marsh at the center, the remaining six marshes occupied distinct directions. By identifying the likely swampy regions in those directions, the other marshes could be located.
Suddenly, the jade token at Yu Zhiling’s waist flickered. She covered it as if hiding a secret, and the disciples immediately scattered, giving her space.
Three flashes and one dim—it was the signal between her and Mo Zhu.
Yu Zhiling quickly turned away, finding a secluded spot before answering the call.
"Master?"
"What is it?" She glanced back to ensure no one was nearby, then leaned against the railing, lowering her voice. "I’ll be back by evening. Why are you calling now?"
A soft chuckle came through, accompanied by the rustling of leaves—Mo Zhu must be perched in a tree.
His warm voice asked, "Do you want some longing fruits? They’re ripe now."
The back mountain of Tingchun Cliff was vast, dotted with fruit trees. Yu Zhiling suppressed a laugh, feigning indifference. "If you pick them, I’ll eat them. Aren’t you already picking some?"
"How many should I gather?"
"How many are you picking?"
"I can pick a lot."
"Then I’ll eat a lot."
Mo Zhu’s laughter continued. His qiankun pouch was already filled with fruits as he sat on a high branch—the tallest spot in Yingshan, overlooking the entire mountain.
From the wind in Yu Zhiling’s voice, he guessed she was on the deck of the Jiezi Boat, leaning in a quiet corner.
"Master."
She responded playfully, "Hmm?"
"I miss you."
No matter what he said, his tone always carried an earnest weight. Yu Zhiling’s ears grew warm, the tassels on her earrings swaying in the breeze, her ribbons fluttering around her.
She stammered, "I’ll be back by evening."
"How soon?"
"...Just by evening."
"Alright. Let me know before you return. I’ll prepare dinner."
Her little disciple was quite thoughtful. Yu Zhiling turned, resting her arms on the railing as she gazed at the countless cities of Zhongzhou below.
Her voice scattered in the wind.
"Okay, wait for me."
She knew Mo Zhu heard her—and she heard his laughter too, bright and unrestrained, sending a shiver down her spine.
Yu Zhiling touched her nose, murmuring, "I’ll hang up now. I have work to do. Wait for me."
Mo Zhu replied gently, "Alright. Come back soon."
Because he truly, deeply missed her.
After ending the call, Mo Zhu hopped down from the tree, the bulging qiankun pouch in hand.
He had only taken a few steps when he suddenly halted, his expression darkening. In one swift motion, he drew his sword and slashed behind him.
"Hey! What’s with the sudden attack?"
A figure barely dodged the strike, stumbling back.
Mo Zhu didn’t pursue. Instead, he sheathed his sword, his gaze icy as he stared at the intruder.
Jiang Yuhan lifted his arm—his sleeve had been sliced off. Annoyed, he grumbled, "You’re too brutal! I just came to talk!"
From the Jiang Family’s disciple robes and the exceptional jade pendant at his waist, Mo Zhu recognized his identity. Jiang Yuhan was young, likely around Mo Zhu’s age.
Muttering curses, Jiang Yuhan complained, "I have something important to discuss. Why draw your sword immediately?"
Mo Zhu replied coldly, "I’m busy. Leave Tingchun Cliff."
Jiang Yuhan hurriedly blocked his path. "Wait! I haven’t even said anything yet! I came with my uncle and grandmother—I sneaked out just to find you. Did you know the Jiang Family sent people to Yingshan Sect?"
Mo Zhu hadn’t known earlier, but seeing Jiang Yuhan, he guessed why Yan Shanqing had summoned Yu Zhiling to the Teaching Hall.
He knew the Jiang Family would send someone—it was only a matter of time. He hadn’t expected them to act so quickly. The journey from the Jiang Family’s estate to here took three days, and they had only returned from the Lingyou Path seven days ago. That meant the Jiang Family had likely just learned about Jiang Yingchen and Rong’s affair. After waiting three days without Yu Zhiling coming forward to acknowledge them, they must have guessed her stance.
She had no intention of going to the Jiang Family, so the Jiang Family had no choice but to come to her.
Seeing Mo Zhu stop, Jiang Yuhan quickly clasped his hands behind his back, putting on the airs of a young master. “You know who I am, right? You can tell, can’t you?”
Mo Zhu frowned. “Who are you?”
“I—I’m the child of the Jiang Family’s second branch head.”
Mo Zhu couldn’t be bothered with him and stepped around him, leaving without hesitation.
Jiang Yuhan hurried after him. “Hey, wait! I have something to say to you—about my sister!”
Jiang Yuhan was the youngest son of the Jiang Family’s second branch head. Jiang Ciran, the main family head, had only one child.
Meanwhile, the second branch head had married early and had three children—two daughters and one son, with Jiang Yuhan being the youngest.
The third branch head was Jiang Yingchen, the former young master of the Jiang Family. He had only one child, named Yu Zhiling, who was likely the eldest among this generation.
Who Jiang Yuhan was referring to as his sister was obvious to Mo Zhu. No matter how impatient he was, anything concerning Yu Zhiling would make him stop.
Seeing Mo Zhu glance back at him—a silent indication that he was listening—Jiang Yuhan let out a relieved sigh. The boy was carefree and held no grudges, rummaging through his messy qiankun pouch.
“Hold on, let me find it. I brought this specifically before leaving, originally meant for my sister. But I figured you might need it more.”
He called her “sister” with surprising ease, even looking up at Mo Zhu with a grin. “I was so happy when Grandmother told me that the revered Zhuoyu Immortal was my sister. You have no idea how thrilled I was—it’s the Zhuoyu Immortal!”
Mo Zhu frowned. The Jiang Family was a sect that cultivated the Path of Emotionlessness, known for its aloof and taciturn disciples. How had they ended up raising someone like Jiang Yuhan, a chatterbox whose enthusiasm made him seem entirely unsuited for the Path of Emotionlessness?
Finally, Jiang Yuhan found what he was looking for and held it out to Mo Zhu. “Here, take this.”
The moment Mo Zhu saw what was in his hand, his previously indifferent expression shattered. His fingers, hanging at his sides, clenched tightly, knuckles cracking audibly.
Jiang Yuhan naturally heard the sound and pursed his lips before speaking calmly. “I heard about what happened in Lianhua Marsh. You went looking for that Three-Eyed Python… because you were searching for that serpent from back then, weren’t you?”
Mo Zhu’s breathing trembled, his face not quite pale but far from composed.
Jiang Yuhan continued, “I found this in my uncle’s room. Grandmother had me clean his things, and I came across this portrait—with a scale tucked inside.”
The scale wasn’t the imposing black of a Tengshe’s. Instead, it was an eerie crimson, thick and rough, its edges not as sharp as a Tengshe’s would be.
Jiang Yuhan unfurled the portrait.
He pointed at it. “You recognize these words, don’t you? ‘Commander of the Demon Realm’s Armies.’ The new Demon King is the former Commander of the Armies… which means he was once your grandfather’s subordinate.”
“I… I know you’re a Tengshe. Grandmother told me. But don’t worry—I haven’t told anyone else.”
Mo Zhu didn’t care how Jiang Yuhan knew his true identity. His attention was fixed solely on the portrait.
He had never seen this new Demon King. When the Tengshe clan had been betrayed, his father hadn’t even been born yet.
But before Miao Wan took up her husband’s blade and chose to return to the Nether Sea to die, she had given him a scale.
She had said, “If you survive… if you grow strong enough, child—kill him.”
Miao Wan hadn’t told Mo Zhu who that person was. She had only wanted to give him a reason to live. If Mo Zhu had known the identity of the man she wanted dead, the impulsive and weak boy he had been back then would have surely grabbed his sword and charged straight into battle.
With trembling hands, Mo Zhu retrieved the long-sealed scale from his qiankun pouch.
The crimson serpent scale, its edges slightly rounded—a mark of a python. That was why, when he heard that a python at the Nascent Soul stage had been imprisoned in Lianhua Marsh of the Southern Capital, he had volunteered to go there.
But the Three-Eyed Python was entirely black—its scales didn’t match.
Jiang Yuhan shoved the portrait and the scale into Mo Zhu’s arms. Seeing him on the verge of breaking, he awkwardly tried to comfort him. “I… I didn’t know who he was before. I just found them in my uncle’s room and kept them. A while ago, Sect Leader Yan went to the Immortal Alliance and spoke about the great war between the Central Plains and the Demon Realm. Everyone in the Central Plains knows about the Tengshe clan’s betrayal now. And then I heard them say that the new Demon King… was once the Commander of the Armies appointed by the Tengshe King.”
That night, he once again entered Jiang Yingchen’s room, retrieved the scroll of paintings and the scale, and shamelessly pestered Jiang Kuangqiu and Jiang Ciran until he finally got the chance to tag along and hand these items over to Mo Zhu.
Mo Zhu remained silent, but the way his grip on the scroll turned his knuckles white and the restless humming of the Wuhui Sword at his waist betrayed his emotions. Jiang Yuhan had initially thought he didn’t care, but now it was clear—he was barely holding himself together.
Jiang Yuhan asked softly, "Are you alright? Though I heard… wasn’t he just a green serpent?"
It was precisely because he’d heard it was a green serpent that Mo Zhu had never suspected the person Miao Wan meant was him.
The new demon king—he would kill him. He would storm the demon realm sooner or later, but the first one he needed to kill was the person Miao Wan had ordered him to eliminate, the owner of that crimson scale.
Had the person he’d been searching for all these years, from the very beginning, been the demon king himself?
Mo Zhu turned his head away, coughing in low, muffled bursts, his body trembling with each spasm. Jiang Yuhan panicked and reached out to steady him.
"You—you’re injured? What’s wrong? Don’t get worked up, are you okay?"
Mo Zhu avoided his touch. The painting in his hand was crumpled beyond recognition, the smiling face now a crumpled mess. He stepped past Jiang Yuhan and walked away without another word.
Before his death, Jiang Yingchen seemed to have had dealings with his grandfather’s subordinate—perhaps investigating him, or perhaps they’d simply known each other. Regardless, the scale was real, identical to the one Miao Wan had given him.
The person Miao Wan wanted him to kill had always been the new demon king—his grandfather’s so-called sworn brother, the trusted subordinate he’d placed his faith in.
The Jiezi Boat arrived smoothly at the Seven Desolations. Yu Zhiling signaled for the disciples to disembark.
"The Seven Desolations is a barren land teeming with poisonous creatures. Stay vigilant," she reminded them, watching as the disciples checked their robes and applied insect-repellent ointment to any exposed skin.
Yu Zhiling led the way. "This time, your mission is—"
"Immortal Venerable, we should split into teams," interjected Wen Chen, the head disciple and the most skilled among them after Yu Zhiling.
Wen Chen continued, "I understand you want to train us to handle the Shadowfiends, and we do need the experience. But we can’t stay here overnight. If we awaken all the Shadowfiends at once, we’ll have to eliminate every last one before returning. So I suggest we divide into seven squads."
Yu Zhiling had considered this. She’d kept them together initially out of concern for their safety, but after observing them these past few days, she realized she might have underestimated them.
She quickly calculated their numbers—several hundred in total. Most of the Shadowfiends would likely be concentrated in the central Bone Marsh, while the other six smaller swamps would have fewer.
Yu Zhiling nodded. "A portion will come with me to the Bone Marsh. The rest will follow Wen Chen’s command, splitting into six teams. As we discussed this morning, divide into defense, assault, and encirclement units—and above all, protect yourselves."
Even though the other six swamps combined might not hold as many Shadowfiends as the Bone Marsh, many disciples still chose to follow Yu Zhiling.
She took only a quarter of them with her, watching as the remaining disciples split into groups and headed toward the marked swamps on the map. Then she turned and said, "Let’s go. Be careful."
"Yes, Immortal Venerable."
The path to the Bone Marsh was nothing but mud and mire. This damp, shadowy terrain bred not only toxic miasma but also vicious creatures—mountain rats larger than a palm, venomous spiders the size of glow-pearls. The disciples behind her gasped and murmured in disgust.
Yu Zhiling almost laughed, casually flicking away a poisonous insect that had crawled onto one disciple’s shoulder.
"You’re cultivators. These things are just ugly—they can’t actually harm you."
One disciple whispered fearfully, "Immortal Venerable, being ugly is harmful enough, isn’t it?"
Three-eyed rats, centipede-like creatures with dozens of legs, and other grotesque insects were enough to make anyone’s legs weak.
Yu Zhiling sighed and silently cleared the path of pests for them.
A female disciple clung to her arm. "Immortal Venerable, aren’t you afraid?"
Yu Zhiling smiled proudly. "I’ve never been scared of these things, even as a child. Pretty brave, right?"
"...Yes, Immortal Venerable is very brave." The disciple pressed closer, as if being near her guaranteed absolute safety.
Yu Zhiling didn’t push her away. As they ventured deeper into the Bone Marsh, the miasma thickened, and she sealed her sense of smell.
"Seal your noses and mouths."
"Yes, Immortal Venerable."
Each disciple cast a breath-sealing spell to prevent the toxic fumes from entering their bodies.
The further they went, the denser the miasma became, until visibility was nearly lost. Worried for the disciples’ safety, Yu Zhiling continued to guide them with constant reminders.
"The miasma here isn’t as easy to handle as what we’ve encountered these past few days. The Seven Extremes Land witnessed too many deaths back then—the killing intent and corpse energy are far too concentrated. On top of that, there are venomous insects lurking about. Guard your mouths and noses carefully; don’t inhale the miasma."
"And, we’re nearly at the Bone-Burial Marsh. Everyone, hold each other’s hands tightly. Don’t let anyone fall behind—"
As Yu Zhiling spoke, she reached to take the hand of the female disciple beside her. But the touch against her arm wasn’t soft or warm.
Instead, it was cold as iron.
Yu Zhiling paused, silent for a moment, then swiftly drew her sword, Zhujian. A fierce, icy blade light slashed through the air, carrying a lethal chill.
The miasma gradually dispersed, and a figure emerged from the depths—neither their height nor their face could be discerned, familiar or otherwise.
"Don’t waste your effort. They’re unharmed. This is my domain. No matter how high or low your cultivation, once you step into my realm, the only way out is to kill me—"
The figure drew closer, stopping just a short distance from Yu Zhiling, yet their features remained shrouded in the lingering miasma.
Their eyes met.
"Otherwise, you’ll never leave."
In an instant, the miasma vanished entirely, replaced by an illusory darkness so thick it swallowed even an outstretched hand.
Yu Zhiling’s breath trembled; her grip on the sword nearly faltered.
But then, the pearls at her waist and in her hair blazed with light. Unlike the endless darkness of the past ten years, this time, she wasn’t alone in the abyss. This time, there was light beside her—no suffocating fear to break her.
"Long time no see." The figure’s face finally revealed itself, lips curving into a smile as they asked, "I still want to ask you."
"Yu Zhiling, do you regret it?"
