The 570th year of Xiqing.
Two orioles perched on the ancient tree in the courtyard corner, their chirping crisp and lively.
After being away for seven days, Yu Zhiling had just returned to the Yun Family from Yingshan.
"Sister!"
A half-grown child dressed in neat black robes rushed out from the house. His face was still somewhat pale, but his beaming expression showed no trace of gloom.
Yu Zhiling stepped into the courtyard, and the little one threw himself into her arms, nuzzling his fluffy head against her waist before tilting his face upward. His dark, grape-like eyes reflected nothing but her.
"Sister, you were gone for seven whole days. I missed you so much."
Yu Zhiling smiled and bent down to scoop up the little bundle. "I'm sorry. I had to return to Yingshan for a while."
Little Mo Zhu sat perched on her arm, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Sister, I can walk on my own..."
Still smiling, Yu Zhiling didn’t put him down. Instead, she carried him inside. "How have you been at the Yun Family these past days? How are your injuries healing?"
Little Mo Zhu answered timidly, "Brother Yun Zhi visited me a few times. The Yun Family has been very kind to me. My wounds are all better now."
"Really? Let me see."
Once inside, Yu Zhiling set him down on a stool and took a seat beside him, lifting his wrist to check his pulse.
His pulse was steady, with no irregularities.
Little Mo Zhu sat obediently, his feet dangling above the floor as he gazed up at Yu Zhiling. Though he tried to suppress his emotions, the sheer joy in his eyes was unmistakable, his legs swinging unconsciously.
Yu Zhiling pinched his cheek lightly and said with a smile, "I spoke to the Yingshan Sect about taking you in as my disciple."
Little Mo Zhu’s eyes brightened instantly. "The Yingshan Sect... what did they say? Can they accept a demon? I—I’m a good one, not a bad demon, I promise."
His nervousness was palpable—his heartbeat had quickened noticeably, something Yu Zhiling couldn’t miss while holding his wrist.
She lowered his hand and ruffled his hair. "They agreed. You can come back to Yingshan with me."
A radiant smile burst across Little Mo Zhu’s face, and he suddenly threw himself into her arms again. "Thank you, Sister! I’ll train hard with you, I promise!"
Yu Zhiling hugged him back, patting his back gently.
No one saw the sorrow in her eyes, nor did anyone know that beneath her green robes were knees that had knelt for seven days.
The Pure Jade Immortal had knelt in silence before the mountain gates for seven days, while the doors of the Teaching Hall remained shut for just as long.
Only on the seventh day did Yan Shanqing finally push them open, striding down the steps until he stood above her, looking down at the figure kneeling at the foot of the mountain.
Yu Zhiling met his gaze, wordless, until nothing remained but a sigh.
"If you insist on taking him as your disciple, then so be it."
On the day they returned to Yingshan with Mo Zhu, Yan Shanqing and the others came to the Listening Spring Cliff.
Little Mo Zhu let go of Yu Zhiling’s hand and knelt in the courtyard. "Greetings, Elder Uncles."
Yan Shanqing handed him Yingshan’s jade token. "Take this. From now on, you are a disciple of Yingshan, and Yingshan will protect you."
Little Mo Zhu accepted it carefully, his voice firm. "This disciple will also protect Yingshan with his life. Please don’t worry, Uncle."
He was still too young—a mere seven-year-old couldn’t comprehend the complexity in the elders’ eyes, nor did he understand how rare it was for a demon to be allowed to cultivate in the Central Continent. It was a privilege earned only after the Pure Jade Immortal had knelt for seven days.
On their first night back at Listening Spring Cliff, Little Mo Zhu was too excited to sleep. He sneaked into Yu Zhiling’s courtyard and playfully covered her eyes.
Yu Zhiling, who had been meditating, chuckled. "Who’s there?"
Little Mo Zhu lowered his voice dramatically. "A soul-reaping ghost."
Yu Zhiling played along. "Then why hasn’t this ghost taken my life yet?"
The "ghost" giggled. "This ghost doesn’t take good people. Sister is the best person in the world."
Little Mo Zhu jumped in front of her, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief, his hands hidden behind his back.
Yu Zhiling tousled his hair. "Why aren’t you resting? It’s so late."
Little Mo Zhu’s cheeks flushed as he fidgeted with something behind him, murmuring shyly, "I... wanted to give you a gift."
Yu Zhiling smiled. "For me?"
"...Mhm." He carefully extended his hands—a small, neatly tied bouquet of orange blossoms. "Sister seems to like orange flowers. I noticed their scent on you. The ones on the back mountain are blooming so beautifully, so I picked the biggest and freshest ones."
When Yu Zhiling didn’t react immediately, he placed the flowers in her lap and whispered, "I cast a spell on them—they’ll stay fresh for half a month. After that, I’ll pick more for you."
After delivering the gift, he didn’t dare wait for her reaction. He bolted from the courtyard like a startled rabbit.
Once outside, Yu Zhiling lowered her head and inhaled the fragrance of the blossoms. Thanks to the spell, they remained as vibrant as the moment they were plucked, their scent sweet and delicate.
A small head peeked back around the gate—Little Mo Zhu, hiding behind the door, stealing a glance at the green-robed immortal in the courtyard.
She was smiling, her expression tender.
Satisfied, he withdrew and skipped back to his own quarters, grinning from ear to ear.
For the next seven days, he stuck to Yu Zhiling like a shadow—practicing swordplay in her courtyard, climbing the mountain to pick fruit for her, listening to her stories.
He had already received Yingshan’s disciple token. The next step was for Yu Zhiling to form the Master-Disciple Jade Contract with him, officially making him her student in the eyes of the sect.
But seven days passed, and Yu Zhiling still hadn’t mentioned the contract.
On the seventh day, Little Mo Zhu’s spirits drooped, and Yu Zhiling noticed.
She asked, "What’s wrong?"
Little Mo Zhu hesitated. "Sister... do you not like me?"
Yu Zhiling blinked. "What?"
"You... still haven’t given me the Jade Contract." His fingers unconsciously traced the token at his waist. He had been wearing it around her every day, hoping she’d remember, but she seemed oblivious.
Yu Zhiling pressed her lips together, then softened at the unease in his eyes. She pinched his cheek gently. "Mo Zhu, I promised you, didn’t I? I never lie to you."
Under the moonlight, her face was as serene as a goddess’s.
"From now on, you are my disciple. Once I return from the Slaughter Realm, we will form the Jade Contract. After that, your master will protect you with her life and teach you everything she knows."
"Listening Spring Cliff will be your home, and I will be your family."
Little Mo Zhu returned to his quarters, overjoyed.
But Yu Zhiling sat in the courtyard all night, staring silently at the orange blossoms in her lap.
She hadn’t given him the Jade Contract because she didn’t want to bind him to Yingshan. She wanted him to have choices—if she didn’t return, he could stay or seek another path elsewhere.
Mo Zhu was free. He had the right to decide his own fate. She wouldn’t take that from him.
In the latter half of the night, rain began to fall. Little Mo Zhu slept soundly, missing his last chance to see Yu Zhiling.
Yu Zhiling celebrated her final birthday in the company of her senior brothers and sisters before setting off...
She boarded the mustard seed boat and turned to look back.
Yan Shanqing, Ning Hengwu, Xiang Wuxue, and Mei Qiongge stood atop the peak of Listening Spring Cliff, smiling warmly as they watched her depart.
"I buried something beneath the orange blossom tree in the back mountain. I left a seal—you can only open it ten years from now. It’s my gift to you. Senior Brother, Senior Sister, my memory is poor. If I forget about it, you must remember to retrieve it."
"I really, truly, deeply love you all."
She turned away and stepped back into the mustard seed boat, kneeling inside the cabin as she covered her mouth and wept, her cries like those of a trapped beast—desperate and helpless.
By the time the boat had drifted far from Listening Spring Cliff, Yu Zhiling glimpsed through a crack in the window a small figure sprinting to the edge of the cliff.
The tiny child waved both arms, shouting farewell: "Sister! Happy birthday!"
Yan Shanqing and the others laughed, seemingly ruffling Little Mo Zhu’s head.
The distance was too great—no one could see Yu Zhiling’s tears.
She didn’t want to leave.
She truly, desperately wanted to live, to stay by their side.
The mustard seed boat sailed toward the Slaughter Realm.
In the deep autumn of October, the Central Continent was drenched in half a month of relentless rain.
A figure dashed through the downpour, breath ragged, shielding a bundle of herbs beneath her outer robe. She had sneaked to the edge of the Slaughter Realm, risking danger to gather these medicinal plants.
Rain streaked down her face, her skin pale from the cold.
Blinded by the rain and hunched over, she didn’t see the figure in green robes approaching until she collided with them. The impact sent her stumbling backward, nearly spilling the herbs from her arms.
A hand caught her wrist, pulling her upright with gentle firmness.
Then, an umbrella was offered to her.
The girl stared blankly, clutching her bundle of herbs in confusion.
Yu Zhiling crouched before her. Her thin, dark-green robe fluttered in the autumn wind, her black hair cascading loosely, a green ribbon tied at the end of her braid swaying with the breeze.
"Take it. You can’t go any further ahead. Return to the city to buy medicine—don’t come back here again."
Her voice was calm as she pressed the umbrella into the child’s hands, along with a pouch of spirit stones from her waist.
Having done this, she turned and walked back into the rain.
The child called after her: "Sister, I can’t accept these!"
Yu Zhiling didn’t look back. The rain soaked her, yet she made no move to shield herself.
"It’s alright. I won’t need them anymore."
She stepped into the Slaughter Realm, leaving the light of the Central Continent behind, walking into the abyss of darkness.
Deep within the Slaughter Realm stood the towering Slaughter Stele, its surface carved with three bold, menacing characters—each stroke radiating killing intent. Beyond it lay the bottomless Demon Abyss.
Beside the stele rested a wooden box. Yu Zhiling opened it to find a single blood-red seed inside.
Without hesitation, she swallowed it. Demon energy surged through her meridians instantly. She suppressed the roiling darkness, her face contorted in pain.
With one last glance, she turned to face the endless gloom of the Slaughter Realm.
Then, she leaped.
The luminous pearl in her hair cast a faint glow as she fell. In that descent, she thought of nothing—not Yan Shanqing, not Fu Chun, not even Little Mo Zhu. Her heart was so still it might as well have stopped beating.
When she landed, she calmly looked ahead. A figure stood in the darkness, arms outstretched.
"Yu Zhiling, you’ve come." You Zhou stepped forward, his smile twisted with delight and malice. "I’ve waited so long for you. After hunting me all these years, let us settle this now."
"In the Demon Abyss, in my domain—can you still kill me?"
Yu Zhiling’s right hand tightened around the hilt of Zhuqing Sword, her deformed thumb and middle finger locking into place. She had trained with this hand for so long—now, at last, it would serve its purpose.
For the first time, she smiled at You Zhou.
"Only your death will ensure their survival."
So for them, she had no regrets.
Not for jumping into the Demon Abyss. Not for fighting this month-long battle.
Yu Zhiling erected a barrier, trapping herself and You Zhou in the dense forest. They fought for an entire month. Her luminous pearl shattered, leaving only ghostly flames flickering around them, their eerie glow casting shadows on their bloodied forms.
Her green robes hung in tatters, her body a canvas of wounds. She was drenched in blood, her eyes wild with killing intent—a madwoman wielding a sword of slaughter. The more she unleashed Zhuqing’s techniques, the deeper the bloodlust rooted in her heart.
Her mind was consumed by one thought: kill.
Kill those who stood in her way. Kill the guilty. Kill the one who had caused her master’s brutal death and brought chaos to Yingshan.
She would flay him alive, crush his bones, scatter his soul.
She had never skinned a man before—this was her first time killing in such a manner.
One foot planted on You Zhou’s chest, she carved open his flesh with Zhuqing, exposing white bone beneath. She gripped and pulled, wrenching them free one by one until nothing remained.
Blood splattered across Yu Zhiling’s face, her icy beauty now demonic. As she stared down at the writhing ruin beneath her, a perverse satisfaction bloomed in her chest.
She crushed the bones beneath her heel.
You Zhou still laughed, as though death meant nothing to him.
Yu Zhiling raised her hands, forming a seal. Her disheveled hair whipped behind her as slender fingers wove an intricate pattern. A golden array unfurled beneath them, its ancient script glowing with lethal intent.
"You Zhou, go and beg for my master’s forgiveness."
Just as the Soul-Sundering Array activated, You Zhou—reduced to a broken husk—suddenly lunged at her with unnatural strength.
"Yu Zhiling, did you know? Every person you wish to protect—I will slaughter them all."
"Your master. Your senior brothers and sisters. Yun Zhi and Wu Zhaoyan. Oh, who else? Liu Guizheng? Hahaha, you have so many friends. I’ll make sure—"
Filthy blood stained Yu Zhiling’s sleeve as You Zhou leaned closer.
"—to kill every single one."
Expressionless, she severed his wrist. "You Zhou, if I can kill you once, I can kill you a thousand times over."
The array blazed crimson. The Soul-Sundering Array—a fusion of countless killing formations she had devised over decades—unleashed a storm of blades, shredding You Zhou’s soul into fragments. His body dissolved into mist.
The jade token at Yu Zhiling’s waist had been flickering incessantly.
She stared down numbly, blood dripping from her wounds into the mud. Her sword hand trembled; even the strength to grip Zhuqing was fading.
The token dimmed, then lit again after a pause. But the Demon Abyss was too far from Yingshan, separated by the Slaughter Stele’s barrier. The connection was unstable, flickering in and out.
"Senior Brother… Senior Sister…"
Yu Zhiling knew exactly who was calling. She collapsed to her knees, tears falling as her shaking fingers brushed the token. Again and again, she tried to answer—only for the connection to die each time.
Her protective barrier wavered as her energy waned, revealing the horde of demonic wraiths waiting beyond.
Countless. Endless.
Yu Zhiling staggered to her feet, picking up the Qingzhu Sword now marred with cracks.
She couldn’t go back.
For a month, she had fought relentlessly, grievously wounded by You Zhou, yet she still threw herself into the horde of demonic fiends without hesitation. Even knowing it meant certain death, the moment she stepped into Yingshan, Fuchun had warned her:
She could die fighting—but never waiting to die.
The demonic fiends tore at her flesh—her face, neck, arms, waist, back, even her legs—until she was nothing but wounds. Her blood nearly drained dry, and in the end, she no longer had the strength to stand.
She rose, only to collapse again. Crawling toward her sword, another fiend ripped a chunk of flesh from her body.
Lying on the ground, her body a mass of bleeding holes, the stench of blood mingled with the reek of demons choked the air. Her vision blurred into darkness, surrounded only by countless pairs of glowing crimson eyes, all eager to devour her alive.
For the first time, she truly understood the feeling of death’s approach.
Cold. So cold.
She couldn’t bear it. She didn’t want to go.
The jade token at her waist flickered again. Still, she didn’t answer. Her eyes half-lidded, the pain had numbed her so thoroughly she couldn’t even feel the fiends tearing into her anymore. She could only sense her life slipping away, faster and faster.
Footsteps echoed beside her. In her daze, she thought it must be the underworld’s enforcers come to claim her.
Someone crouched beside her, but Yu Zhiling couldn’t open her eyes. She was dying. Maybe it was for the best.
Then, a touch landed on her forehead—and agony unlike anything she had ever known tore through her.
A person’s soul was a complete, white mass. To extract even a single fragment of it meant tearing through that wholeness, seizing the wisp of spirit and forcibly pulling it free.
She screamed, but no sound came out.
When Yu Zhiling first trained with the sword, her hands and feet had blistered raw. She had broken bones, had half her skeleton shattered, had tumbled down cliffs and braved seas of blades—but none of that pain compared to this.
Thousands of invisible blades whirled in her mind, slicing, peeling her soul apart, shredding her consciousness. Her fingers clawed into the dirt, nails snapping from the force. Yet no matter how she suffered, she couldn’t fight back. In the end, she felt it—her very soul being ripped away.
Yu Zhiling gasped, choking, her voice broken. At this moment, only one phrase escaped her lips:
"Shixiong… Shijie…"
Her awareness plummeted, as if sinking into an abyss—until a voice spoke.
"Now, they’re my shixiong and shijie."
Yu Zhiling thought she would die. But instead, she lay there, the demonic fiends unable to approach even within ten zhang of her.
An unseen force gathered around her. For half a month, she clung to the barest thread of life—yet that thread refused to snap.
The fiends couldn’t touch her. You Zhou sent demons after her, but they, too, were barred.
Yu Zhiling should have been dead. Her body was ruined, her soul torn, her blood long clotted. No one could survive this. And yet—she lived. Barely breathing, barely existing, but alive.
Her mind drifted in chaos, unaware if she was dead or not.
Until one day, her eyes slowly opened. Pain came first—her entire body screamed with it.
Then, absolute darkness swallowed her. For a moment, she wasn’t even sure if her eyes were truly open.
"You’re awake."
The voice came from the shadows. Yu Zhiling couldn’t tell where.
She tried to rise, but the movement tore at her wounds, forcing her back down.
"Who… are you?" she rasped.
The voice answered, "I want to ask you something."
Yu Zhiling could barely breathe, let alone speak. But the speaker wasn’t done.
"Someone took your [Sleepless Soul], disguised themselves as you, and stole your place in Yingshan Sect. They stand beside your shixiong and shijie now. Everything you had—your identity, your status, your family—it’s all theirs now."
For a moment, Yu Zhiling couldn’t process the words.
She tried to lift her hand, but it fell back uselessly.
"No… impossible…"
Chan Luo laughed coldly from the darkness. "What’s impossible? That they forgot you? Or that someone replaced you?"
Both.
Yu Zhiling mustered every ounce of strength to drag herself forward. Her wounds hadn’t healed—she could only crawl.
Her sword was gone. The darkness offered no escape.
Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, "Shixiong… Shijie…"
They couldn’t have forgotten her. No one could have infiltrated Yingshan Sect in her place. She had killed You Zhou. She had eliminated every threat to them. And yet, the voice taunted:
"You were fooled. You planted a deadly danger right beside your shixiong and shijie. They’ll use your name—Yu Xiaowu’s name—to harm Yingshan. They’ll use Zhuoyu’s identity to ravage the Central Continent."
"Your so-called sacrifice? Pathetic."
The only mercy Chan Luo showed was withholding the truth: You Zhou wasn’t dead.
If Yu Zhiling knew that, she would have shattered completely.
But even this was too much. She broke down, wailing like a child who’d just learned to speak, her words fragmented, desperate.
"Shixiong! Shijie! It’s not me—that’s not me!"
"Kill her! Kill her!"
She crawled toward Chan Luo’s voice, pleading.
"Let me out! Please—I have to go back! I have to go back!"
Terror gripped her. The thought of someone wearing her face, her name, standing beside Yan Shanqing and the others—it made her skin crawl. Her heart raced uncontrollably, as if it might burst from fear. She imagined what might happen to them.
Would they be hurt? Or worse—
Killed?
"Please, I’m begging you! Let me out!"
"Shixiong! Shijie! Yun Zhi! Liu Guizheng! Wu Zhaoyan!"
"It’s not me! That’s not me!"
Blood seeped from her wounds. She should have died long ago from blood loss. And yet—somehow, she clung to life. That stubborn breath kept her crawling through the darkness for ten days. She couldn’t stand. She couldn’t find Chan Luo. She couldn’t even see her own body.
She didn’t know she now wore a delicate lotus-patterned robe. She didn’t know her sword, her green robes, even the hairpin Mei Qiongge had given her—all had been taken as proof of identity.
That hairpin, its mermaid pearl shattered, was now in Ni'e’s hands.
Ni'e wielded her sword, wore her clothes, used her face and memories to deceive the family Yu Zhiling had sworn to protect.
Everything had been stolen from her.
As if she had never existed at all.
"Please! I beg you! Take me out, take me out, I beg you! I have to save them, I have to save them!"
But she pleaded for ten days, crawled for ten days, and yet that last breath stubbornly refused to leave her. She was still alive, painfully aware of everything she was enduring.
Fear and regret tore her apart, turning her into a madwoman.
On the tenth day, she lay on the ground, her voice too hoarse to speak.
After ten days of silence, the voice spoke again.
"Do you regret it?"
"You’ve done so much for them, yet they don’t recognize you now. Instead, they fawn over the one pretending to be you. Do you regret it?"
"The people you protected with your life have forgotten you. Your family, your friends—no one in the entire Central Continent remembers you. Do you regret it?"
Yu Zhiling was silent for a long time.
Perhaps half an hour, perhaps an hour, perhaps even a day—it was too dark and too quiet here. She had long lost all sense of time.
Then Chan Luo let out a mocking laugh, full of scorn and disdain.
Yu Zhiling parted her cracked lips and forced three words from her bloodied throat.
"I don’t regret it."
Chan Luo fell silent. Then came rapid breathing, disbelieving questions, and furious denials.
"...What did you say?"
Yu Zhiling repeated, "I don’t regret it."
"What did you say?!"
"I don’t regret it."
"You regret it! Say it! Say you regret it!"
"I don’t regret it."
"You’re wrong! Say it—say you regret dying for them! Say you regret protecting the Central Continent! They betrayed you, so you regret it!"
"I don’t regret it."
Again and again, she answered in a voice choked with tears and blood.
"I don’t regret it."
"No regrets."
"Never."
"Never."
Never would she regret.
In the end, it was Chan Luo who nearly went mad, asking her the same question every day in a frenzy.
Yu Zhiling no longer knew how much time had passed. In the beginning, she had begged Chan Luo to let her out.
But when Chan Luo said it was impossible, she stopped pleading for her own escape. Instead, she begged Chan Luo to leave, to tell the Yingshan Sect the truth.
But Chan Luo said, "I will never help the people of the Central Continent."
Yu Zhiling lay motionless, unsure how many years had slipped by—perhaps several.
Chan Luo asked her again, "Do you regret it?"
Yu Zhiling said, "I regret it. I was wrong. They’re innocent. I’m begging you—go and tell them."
Chan Luo flew into a rage, cursing, "You’re lying! You still don’t regret it! You still love them!"
Yu Zhiling suddenly realized that Chan Luo would never help her, no matter what answer she gave.
In the endless stretch of fear and remorse, she was on the verge of madness. She had no choice left but to pray to the heavens.
She prayed, hoping that gods truly existed.
"I’ve saved so many people. I’ve done so much good. My senior brothers and sisters are the finest in the world. The Yingshan Sect heals the wounded and eradicates evil—it’s a noble sect. My friends are all kind-hearted, the best of the best."
"O Heavenly Dao, if you truly have a spirit, save them."
But the Heavenly Dao had never saved anyone.
Yu Zhiling felt like a grave, covered in dust, lifeless and alone.
Still, she answered numbly, "I don’t regret it."
She waited for death, but that final breath refused to come.
Until one day, Chan Luo said, "I’ve had my fill of this game. I’m leaving. Yu Zhiling, you’ll die here. But before you do, I’ll grant you one wish—consider it compensation for all these years of torment."
Yu Zhiling hadn’t moved in years. Her voice was barely audible as she rasped, "Then save the Yingshan—"
Chan Luo cut her off. "No."
Silence fell between them.
After a long pause, Yu Zhiling spoke again. "Fine."
She tilted her head slightly, her unending blood still seeping from her wounds.
"Then… could you leave a lamp burning for me?"
