From the moment Yu Zhiling could remember, she was trapped in an endless nightmare.
She had no parents, no relatives, no identity or birth certificate—it was as if she had appeared in this world out of thin air. The headmistress of the orphanage, Dean Xu, told her she had been found at the doorstep, wrapped in a blanket with nothing but a note bearing her name:
Yu Zhiling.
The day after she was found, a large sum of money was deposited into the orphanage’s official account, accompanied by a single remark:
—Please take care of her.
It was obvious who "her" referred to.
Every month after that, another payment would arrive. Dean Xu had someone investigate, but the source of the funds remained a mystery. No one dared to touch the money—it was enough to buy the entire orphanage.
When Yu Zhiling was seven months old, she was diagnosed with a severe heart condition. Dean Xu held the frail child in her arms in the hospital hallway when another deposit appeared in the account.
—Please help her live.
No one could understand. If the family had so much money, why abandon this child? Why not raise her themselves?
If they loved her, why discard her?
If they didn’t love her, why send enough money to cover the orphanage’s expenses for years?
If they couldn’t raise her, why not entrust the money to someone else to ensure her well-being?
Later, Dean Xu used the funds to send Yu Zhiling to the best children’s hospital. Through the glass, she watched the pale-faced child as the doctor explained that Yu Zhiling’s congenital heart condition made survival unlikely—even surgery would only buy her a few more years.
With other children to care for, Dean Xu sent her own daughter to stay with Yu Zhiling at the hospital.
And it was her daughter who provided the answer.
"Because they couldn’t trust anyone else. Maybe her family couldn’t stay with her, but they wanted her to live. They couldn’t be sure if giving the money to someone else would guarantee it was spent on her—so they chose you, Mom."
Dean Xu was renowned for her kindness. She had taken in over a hundred children, using her pension to nourish them and emptying her pockets to treat the sick ones. Whoever left Yu Zhiling at the orphanage’s doorstep and sent monthly payments knew Dean Xu would care for her properly.
Another large sum arrived in the orphanage’s account, this time with a different note:
—Please accept this.
The money was for the orphanage itself. Dean Xu didn’t hesitate—she used it to renovate the building, installing heating in every room and buying new clothes for every child. Not a single cent was spent on herself.
That winter should have been bitterly cold, but the orphanage stayed warm.
After her diagnosis at seven months, Yu Zhiling was plagued by one illness after another, frequently hospitalized. She never grew close to the other children, bonding only with gentle Dean Xu and the woman’s daughter, who often cared for her.
At three years old, she had her first nightmare.
A dream she couldn’t wake from—pitch black, devoid of her favorite cartoons, devoid of the headmistress and the sister she trusted. Only endless darkness.
—Do you regret it?
The voice was genderless, echoing relentlessly, piercing her eardrums.
Before that dream, Yu Zhiling hadn’t feared the dark. Despite her frail health, she’d learned to speak and walk faster than other children. She often hid in closets, waiting for Dean Xu to find her, or chose shadowy spots during hide-and-seek, knowing the other kids avoided dark places.
But after that nightmare, darkness became a monster, ready to devour her whole.
As she grew older, the dreams increased—from once a month to twice, then weekly, until she was dreaming nearly every night. Each time she woke crying, she’d crawl into Dean Xu’s arms and sob herself back to sleep.
At thirteen, Dean Xu passed away, and a new headmistress took over.
She was kind, soft-spoken, and treated the children well—including Yu Zhiling. But no matter how good she was, she wasn’t Dean Xu.
On the day of Dean Xu’s funeral, Yu Zhiling was admitted to the ICU again.
This time, she nearly died.
When she woke, a woman with swollen eyes sat beside her. Seeing Yu Zhiling awake, she smiled.
"You’re up?"
Yu Zhiling struggled to speak. "...Sister."
Dean Xu’s daughter had cared for her many times. But because of the frequent hospital visits, her wedding had been postponed again and again, and she’d changed jobs multiple times. Even before Dean Xu’s death, Yu Zhiling had sensed the growing distance between them.
Now, the woman who had looked after her for years leaned down, brushing Yu Zhiling’s forehead as her tears fell onto the girl’s face.
"Xiao Ling, I’m getting married. We’ve been together for ten years—I owe him this. He’s moving to the capital for work, and I’m going with him. All my family is gone now. Do you understand?"
Yu Zhiling understood. Still weak, she whispered, "I do. I can take care of myself... I have money."
Over the years, the funds sent for her had covered medical expenses, and Dean Xu had saved the rest, never spending a penny of it.
Her sister handed her a card. "The orphanage’s account has changed. The old one is yours now. From now on, you’ll manage the money yourself. Take care, okay?"
Yu Zhiling lay in bed as her sister left.
She never saw her again.
The card continued to receive large monthly deposits. When Yu Zhiling heard her sister had given birth, she was fifteen. She transferred a sum to her sister’s account—enough for an ordinary person to live comfortably for a lifetime.
Her sister never visited. No calls. Only one text from an unknown number:
—Xiao Ling, take care of yourself.
Yu Zhiling stared at that message all night.
So she’d changed her number. That’s why none of her texts had ever been answered.
"Sister, I’ve been discharged."
"Sister, I left the orphanage. I left enough money for the kids to live on for a long time. I decided to move closer to the hospital—the orphanage was too far."
"Sister, Happy New Year. Stay safe."
...
No one replied.
Yu Zhiling didn’t consider herself unfortunate. She’d always been optimistic, knowing from the start she wasn’t meant for a long life. Living each day as a blessing, she found happiness easily.
From the moment she was born, Yu Zhiling had been surrounded by good people—whether it was the director of the orphanage and the children there, Dean Xu’s daughter, or the doctors and nurses at the hospital. Not a single bad person crossed her path; every one of them treated her with genuine kindness.
Even the person who had abandoned her yet sent her enough money every month—someone she believed to be family—she still considered them good.
Apart from her chronic illness, apart from being unable to attend school, apart from having no friends, she was practically living a charmed life.
But a frail body and endless loneliness were slowly destroying her.
After Dean Xu passed away, she learned a new term: smiling depression.
Outwardly, she was carefree and cheerful; inwardly, she would sit in silence for entire days. She often lay on her hospital bed, gazing at the scenery outside her window—a bitter orange tree planted there, sprouting in spring, blooming in summer, shedding leaves in autumn, and coated in frost and snow in winter.
Day after day, year after year, two years slipped by.
Then one day, she woke from another nightmare. The lights in her room were never turned off. Wrapped in a blanket, she curled into a corner of the bed, trembling uncontrollably.
Yu Zhiling watched the sunrise outside her window. On the nightstand sat a photo of her and Dean Xu. She traced the face in the picture, her mind drifting far away.
When she came to, she was standing on the hospital rooftop, one step away from the edge.
Yu Zhiling wasn’t afraid at all. The building was thirty stories high—falling would mean certain death. She didn’t remember how she got up there, but once her thoughts cleared, she didn’t retreat. Instead, she looked down at the empty street below, thinking, This area’s under construction and blocked off. If I jump, I won’t hurt anyone.
She stood there for a long time, until the sun fully rose. Someone in the opposite building spotted her and flung open a window in panic.
"Little girl, don’t do anything reckless!"
It was an elderly woman. Yu Zhiling’s eyesight was sharp—the first thing she noticed was how much the woman resembled Dean Xu.
She collapsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably, then slapped herself twice across the face, hard enough to leave bright red marks.
The rooftop door burst open. The doctors and nurses who cared for her rushed in, and a young nurse wrapped her in a tight embrace.
In that moment, Yu Zhiling thought, If I had really jumped, this nurse—who’s only just started her job—would have been blamed for failing to supervise me. I shouldn’t have caused her trouble.
So many people wanted her to live.
I’m such a terrible person.
Yu Zhiling bought a pack of colored paper and spent an afternoon folding paper roses. She gave the bouquet to the nurse as an apology.
"I’m sorry. I won’t do it again."
The nurse accepted the flowers and gave her a box of candy in return.
"Nothing is worth giving up over, Zhiling. If you’re feeling down, I’ll let you play games for an extra hour today, okay?"
But Yu Zhiling was terrible at gaming. After being flamed by teammates, she’d switched to single-player mode.
That night, however, the moment she logged in, a friend request popped up.
Little Fish: I’m terrible at this. Just a heads-up.
Gui: That’s fine. So am I.
Yu Zhiling thought Gui was just being modest—with all that high-tier gear, how could they possibly be bad?
Three rounds later, Yu Zhiling: "…"
Little Fish: Where’d you get all this equipment?
Gui: Bought it.
Little Fish: Do you even know how to use it?
Gui: Nope. You can have it.
Turns out, Gui really was terrible—just a ridiculously wealthy noob who casually gifted gear worth tens of thousands.
They also seemed clueless about smartphones, fumbling even more than Yu Zhiling did with controls and key bindings. But they were quick learners.
After playing together for over a week, the two graduated from utterly terrible to just regular terrible—still too scared to team up with others, so they only ever queued together.
Eventually, they exchanged contact info.
Yu Zhiling had her first friend.
Though the nightmares still came every few nights, the loneliness that once threatened to consume her eased a little.
At thirteen, Dean Xu passed away, and her "sister" (Dean Xu’s daughter) moved to another city. Yu Zhiling began living alone, going to the hospital alone, undergoing tests alone.
At sixteen, overwhelmed by relentless nightmares, endless fear, and the torment of illness and isolation, she stood on the rooftop’s edge, swaying like a leaf in the wind—until a stranger’s voice pulled her back. She slapped herself twice, then apologized to those who had helped her.
She shouldn’t have tried to die. She should live.
And that very night, she made her first friend—Gui.
Gui, Gui. She once asked about the meaning behind the name.
Gui said, "I’m waiting for someone to return."
"They’re very, very important to me—family."
"They’re not happy. I don’t know how to help, so I just pray they’ll look at the sunrise more often, make more friends, and keep living… until the day we meet again."
Yu Zhiling probed carefully: "Is this person good? Do a lot of people miss them?"
Gui replied: "They’re very, very good. Many are waiting for them. We all miss them dearly."
For the first time, Yu Zhiling envied someone. Even in their absence, people longed for their return.
Even separated by such distance, so many wished for their happiness.
So it’s possible to have this many friends, this much love.
Why don’t I?
She couldn’t figure it out. She knew so much—doctors and nurses often joked that if she could attend school, her photographic memory would’ve made her a shoo-in for top universities.
But there were no "what-ifs." Her total time in school didn’t even add up to a year, with constant breaks due to illness leaving her friendless.
Except for Gui.
She treasured Gui, tiptoeing at first, terrified of losing this one connection, weighing every word before sending it.
Then she realized Gui’s patience far exceeded her own.
Gui said: "You can be yourself. I’ll never leave."
Gui said: "Little Fish, you’re important to me."
Gui also said: "Little Fish, keep moving forward. Don’t look back. What you’ve lost will be waiting for you in the future."
The future—a word so abstract yet so beautiful.
Yu Zhiling still feared sleep, but the nightmares no longer shattered her.
The darkness still swallowed her in dreams, a vise around her heart, breath stolen, while a voice looped in her ears:
"Yu Zhiling, do you regret it?"
She never did.
——I don’t regret it. I will never regret it. No matter what you ask, I won’t regret it. I will never look back. I will keep moving forward.
What’s done cannot be undone—what use is regret?
The past cannot be reclaimed, but the future is yet to be written. One must stride toward tomorrow.
After waking from nightmares, her body aching all over, Yu Zhiling would tremble as she swallowed calming pills, even though they were useless—the convulsions and pain born of fear were merely psychological.
She still couldn’t escape that dream. Every time she woke from it, she would talk with Gui for a long time, drawing comfort from his presence to steady herself.
By fate’s design, since they met, Gui had given her the courage to rise. No matter how treacherous the path, she could walk it. She would never look back, never regret the past—no matter what, she would never regret it.
Two months had passed. She and Gui had been apart for two months.
Gui had told her: Never regret.
What was lost would wait for her in the future.
The sword Zhu Qing in Yu Zhiling’s hand ceased its hum. Her breathing steadied. The mermaid pearl had given her light, and with that single ray, she found the courage to do anything.
"You already know my answer, don’t you?"
She shattered the nightmare that had haunted her for twenty years with her own hands. Her sword strike was like a rainbow, its sharp cry piercing the sky.
Zhu Qing plunged into the chest of the intruder. Yu Zhiling twisted the hilt, carving a bloody hole where the blade met flesh.
Their eyes locked as she enunciated each word: "I have never regretted a thing."
Chan Luo gripped the sword, blood dripping, yet she still smiled. "You’re still the same. After all these years, you haven’t changed at all."
As if numb to pain, she yanked the sword free, sending blood splattering across both their faces. Yu Zhiling wiped hers away with her sleeve.
Chan Luo was breathtakingly beautiful—her golden gauze dress fluttering like moonlight, her dark hair half-bound, half-loose, her eyes and brows painted with an allure that reminded Yu Zhiling of ancient murals from her world.
"Why must you always keep so many secrets?" Chan Luo stepped closer, her pace unhurried. "You were supposed to be dead. It wasn’t until You Zhou told me you’d returned to the Central Continent that I learned the truth. How did you come back?"
Yu Zhiling didn’t understand her words. Even trapped in this inexplicable realm, the oppressive weight of her presence never lessened.
"Were you waiting for me?"
Chan Luo stood before her, the wound Yu Zhiling had just inflicted already healed.
She seized Yu Zhiling’s wrist, gripping it tightly. "Yu Zhiling, why don’t you regret anything?"
Yu Zhiling studied her eyes, then suddenly laughed. "You seem upset. About what, I wonder?"
Chan Luo’s grip tightened, her beautiful eyes tinged with red.
Yu Zhiling’s gaze drifted upward, settling on the hairpin behind Chan Luo’s ear—a pair of wings, delicate as a cicada’s, adorned with pearls.
"The third guardian of the demon realm was named Fu Lin. He was always accompanied by a golden cicada. Some said it was his mount; others claimed its cultivation surpassed his, that it stayed only out of gratitude. Fu Lin never once rode it."
"Later, Fu Lin was slain by my master and grandmaster in the Seven Extremes Land. The golden cicada vanished. But because it had never harmed cultivators of the Central Continent during the war, the Immortal Alliance never pursued it."
"To me, that golden cicada and Fu Lin were never master and servant, but..."
Yu Zhiling met her gaze, raising a slender hand to brush the exposed wings of the hairpin.
"Lovers."
The forced gentleness had long faded from Chan Luo’s face. A single tear fell.
"Why guess that?"
Yu Zhiling replied, "These cicada-wing hairpins are woven thread by thread with a silk called ‘Encounter’—a radiant, shimmering material often used by couples to craft gifts for one another."
Encounter by chance, fulfilling my wish.
The moment Yu Zhiling saw those wings, she knew who had given them.
But Chan Luo let out a bitter laugh. "Who told you Fu Lin was a guardian of the demon realm?"
Yu Zhiling frowned. "That’s what the Central Continent’s records say."
Chan Luo shook her head. "There was never a third guardian. The one who led the battle at Seven Extremes Land was the Monster King of the demonic wilds—the current ruler."
She spoke slowly, each word heavy. "Chou Xiao."
Yu Zhiling froze for only a second before understanding. "He struck a deal with You Zhou. You Zhou helped him seize power, and in return, he led the demonic armies to support You Zhou’s assault on the Central Continent. But the soldiers believed the orders came from King Tengshe, so the two couldn’t be seen together. They needed aliases."
Thus, when leading the demonic forces, he acted as their commander. But when meeting You Zhou, he took the guise of Fu Lin, the demon realm’s third guardian.
"But the third guardian died," Yu Zhiling said coldly. "My master and grandmaster killed him in Seven Extremes Land. His bones are buried there."
Chan Luo laughed, tears streaming. "The one who died in Seven Extremes Land was always me."
She pointed at herself, her voice sharp. "I was the one who fought in his place. The person your master killed was me from the very beginning."
"So your grief isn’t about my answer." Yu Zhiling cut straight to the point. "All those years, you kept asking if I regretted it—what you really wanted to ask was: I gave up everything for them, even my life, trapped in darkness and solitude, yet they forgot me. Do I regret it?"
"I don’t regret it. But you do."
Chan Luo released her wrist, stumbling back. "Yes. Why don’t you regret it? You sacrificed so much for them, yet they forgot you. Why don’t you regret it?"
"I gave up everything for him. Why did he treat me this way? Why?"
Yu Zhiling had no patience for those who wallowed in heartbreak. If you were betrayed, you should take revenge, then forget it all and live your life—preferably better than your ex. What was the point of drowning in self-pity?
She channeled spiritual energy into Zhu Qing. The sword hummed as Yu Zhiling said coldly, "I don’t regret it. None of what you asked. If I had to choose again, I’d still do it for them."
"You say they forgot me? No. They never did."
Some things had become clear to her now.
When Mo Zhu took the sword No Return, Yu Zhiling had glimpsed a memory—Yan Shanqing’s hair turned white, her senior brothers and sisters aged beyond their years, urging Mo Zhu as he left for the armory:
—You must retrieve No Return.
No Return, forged from the Stone of Reincarnation, could trace any soul, living or dead, so long as a single wisp remained.
They had recognized her then. That was why Yan Shanqing’s hair turned white overnight, why Ning Hengwu and the others looked half-dead.
Yu Zhiling didn’t dare imagine how they had felt when they learned the truth.
Chan Luo—
Luo laughed through her tears, "How do you know they haven’t forgotten you?"
Yu Zhiling shook her head. "They never forgot me. From the moment the person you arranged returned to the Yingshan Sect, my senior brothers and sisters sensed something was wrong. They thought of me until their dying breath."
Despite repeated soul-searching, "Yu Zhiling" remembered everything, and even divine artifacts could detect no signs of possession.
Such a person—wearing Yu Zhiling’s face, recalling every shared memory—left Yan Shanqing and the others unable to confirm whether it was truly possession. Nor could they recklessly strike against this "junior sister."
They truly believed they had hindered Yu Zhiling’s cultivation. Over the years, Yu Zhiling had been tirelessly working to resolve the matter of Fuchun. When "Yu Zhiling" uttered those most hurtful words, her senior brothers and sisters chose to respect her, giving her time to cultivate and never disturbing her again.
Chan Luo laughed wildly, as if mocking Yu Zhiling—or perhaps herself.
"You were only together for a few years, yet they never forgot you. I spent centuries with him… Why did he forget me?"
Yu Zhiling lowered her gaze.
She could guess when Yan Shanqing and the others realized the truth.
It was when the spirit of the Chengfeng Blade awakened, rousing the dormant spirit of Zhu Qing, and the Spirit Armory was about to open. Only then did they notice that Zhu Qing had been in deep slumber all along. A sword’s spirit is bound to its master’s soul—only two things could force it into dormancy.
That was when they confirmed the person who returned ten years ago was never Yu Zhiling.
That was why they summoned Mo Zhu back to the Yingshan Sect, ordering him to retrieve the Wuhui Sword. The events that followed, Yu Zhiling had yet to dream of, but she could guess.
The Yingshan Sect launched a full-scale hunt for the demonic cultivator who had replaced Yu Zhiling and You Zhou. Mo Zhu was at the forefront. In the original story, after obtaining the Wuhui Sword, he spent every moment pursuing "Yu Zhiling." Yet despite being a Central Continent Immortal Venerable, "Yu Zhiling" received no aid—not from Yingshan, nor from the Central Continent.
Wu Zhaoyan, Yun Zhi, Zhongli Yang, Liu Guizheng—none of Yu Xiao’s closest friends stepped in.
When Yu Zhiling first read the story, she had wondered why. Now she understood. The order to hunt came from Yingshan itself. How could Yu Xiao’s dearest friends help an imposter? They likely wished to tear her apart, sinew by sinew.
Then came the bloody battle—the demonic fiends slumbering within Yingshan’s borders awakened. Yan Shanqing, Ning Hengwu, Xiang Wuxue, and Mei Qiongge stood their ground, defending the sect to their last breath. Mo Zhu, who had been tracking the demonic cultivators outside, narrowly escaped. When he returned, only corpses remained.
"Chan Luo, they hesitated out of mercy, but in the end, they recognized me. It doesn’t matter if it took time—as long as they remembered me, that’s enough."
"As long as they remembered, I will never regret it."
Yu Zhiling raised her sword, her sleeves fluttering like wings. Today’s robes were embroidered with flowing ribbons, dancing alongside the hair tie at her back. Spiritual energy coiled around the blade like rolling clouds.
"Tell me, what really happened back then?"
Chan Luo stared at her, tears streaking her face. The delicate cicada wings pinned in her hair trembled with her shaking body—whoever crafted this hairpiece was a master.
Her voice was a whisper, gazing at Yu Zhiling yet seeing someone else.
"Yu Zhiling… do you truly wish to know?"
In a flash, she closed the distance, her fingertips brushing the droplet-shaped mark on Yu Zhiling’s forehead. A faint glow shimmered as intricate seal scripts swirled within Chan Luo’s phoenix-like eyes.
"Answer me one question, and I will help you break the seal on this mark. All the memories you seek—they will return to you."
