Facing death, Yu Zhiling thought she could let go, that she could face her end with peace.
But upon learning that someone had taken her place in Yingshan, in the darkness, she was left with nothing but overwhelming fear.
Day after day, the darkness made it impossible to tell how much time had passed—a year, two, or three?
All she remembered was that her wounds never healed. Pain consumed her, fear drowned her, and Chan Luo sought to strip away her sense of self, turning her into a vessel of resentment.
She didn’t regret dying for them. She only regretted not shattering her own soul the moment she killed You Zhou, ensuring no one could extract her spirit and steal her identity. She had planted a seed in Yingshan herself, one that would inevitably erupt.
All she could do was beg the heavens—save Yingshan.
She could only hope Yan Shanqing and the others would discover the truth soon. But she didn’t dare gamble. Someone with her memories, looking exactly like her—the demons had ways to evade soul-searching. Everything would convince Yan Shanqing and the others that this wasn’t possession. Would they dare act on mere suspicion?
During her time trapped in that realm, Yu Zhiling clung to her last breath, barely alive, numb from pain. No light reached her, and she couldn’t see the creeping demonic marks on her body.
You Zhou had left a demon seed by the Abyss. She ate it—only then could she leap in. But that seed erupted inside her.
Just before Chan Luo left, Yu Zhiling lay on the ground, shivering, begging for a single lamp.
Chan Luo hesitated. Maybe out of guilt, maybe pity.
"Fine," she said.
A faint glow emerged in the darkness, expanding until it touched Yu Zhiling.
Her eyes stung, vision swimming. How long had it been since she’d seen light?
She slowly raised a hand, reaching for the lamp—only to see her twisted fingers, her battered body, the ruined robes… not even hers. She never wore peony-pink.
Everything had been taken from her.
Her favorite green robes, the Zhuoqing Sword she’d fought for, down to a single earring, even the hairpin Mei Qiongge had given her. Her home, her family, her friends, her status—all gone.
Yu Zhiling was left trapped in the dark, watching herself unravel, decay. Zhuo Yu was erased. Yu Xiaowu no longer existed.
"Shixiong… Shijie…"
Her hand fell before she could touch the light.
Chan Luo froze, stunned.
"…Yu Zhiling?"
Yu Zhiling had lost track of time, but Chan Luo knew—three years, over a thousand days. Yu Zhiling had clung to life, neither dead nor truly alive.
Chan Luo marveled at her tenacity. How could she still be breathing, broken like this?
Yet she hated it—Yu Zhiling’s stubbornness, her refusal to yield. The answer Chan Luo sought, she never gave.
Chan Luo stepped forward, kneeling beside her.
The light revealed the figure on the ground.
Black hair splayed, the peony robes clashing with her cold beauty. The once-sacred Immortal Lord Zhuoyu now lay in tattered, bloodstained rags, motionless, lifeless.
Chan Luo laughed. The laughter grew, until she was kneeling, shaking with it.
But the laughter turned to tears. She grabbed Yu Zhiling, shaking her.
"Wake up! Don’t you dare die! You owe me an answer!"
"Yu Zhiling! Zhuo Yu!"
Yu Zhiling still didn’t die.
The demon seed inside her wasn’t like the one planted in Fuchun. You Zhou’s gift wasn’t meant to turn her into a demonic cultivator—it was a heart-devil seed.
Her deepest fear manifested before her.
She saw herself crawling out of the Abyss. The dim light of the Four Killings Realm fell on her, and she nearly wept.
Stumbling to her feet, she ran toward the Central Continent. No sword, no teleportation talismans—just raw spiritual power.
She lost count of the days, falling, rising, until Yingshan’s gates loomed before her.
She rushed forward—only to be blocked.
"Halt! Strangers are forbidden in Yingshan!"
"I am Immortal Lord Zhuoyu. I am Yu Zhiling."
The disciple scoffed. "Audacious! Immortal Lord Zhuoyu is already in Yingshan. How dare you impersonate her?"
Yu Zhiling touched her face. "I am Zhuo Yu! I have my jade token, I—"
But she had nothing. Just ruined pink robes.
She looked at her reflection in a nearby river—to her, it was still her face. But to them?
They saw a face of unnatural beauty.
"No, this isn’t right! These robes, this face—it’s all fake! I am Zhuo Yu!"
"Insolence! How dare you defile the Immortal Lord’s name!"
They tried to drive her away. She fought, careful not to harm them, knocking them unconscious one by one as she climbed.
News reached the summit. Yan Shanqing, Ning Hengwu, Xiang Wuxue, and Mei Qiongge descended, standing above her.
Their faces were familiar, but their eyes were cold.
"Shixiong! Shijie!"
She sobbed, reaching for them—but a blade barred her path.
Yan Shanqing’s voice was icy. "You dare invade Yingshan? Dare steal my shimei’s identity?"
Yu Zhiling frantically touched her face. "No, listen—I don’t know how to show you my real face! I’m Xiaowu! When I was little, you carried me on your shoulders to see the fireworks!"
"Er-shijie made me herbal soups—turtle jelly every day when I was five!"
"San-shixiong carved toys for me. There’s a box under my bed, full of them—I never threw them away!"
"Si-shijie sewed all my robes. Ten years ago, when I left, she gave me a pearl hairpin!"
She stood there, flustered and desperate to explain. Even after being imprisoned for so long, every beautiful memory remained vivid in her mind. She wanted to tell them—she hadn’t forgotten, she remembered everything, she remembered all the precious moments they had shared.
But no matter how much she spoke, even coughing up blood in her urgency, when she finally looked up, Yan Shanqing was frowning, Ning Hengwu’s red lips were pressed tightly together, Xiang Wuxue’s expression was icy, and Mei Qiongge had drawn her blade.
"Senior brothers? Senior sisters?"
Yu Zhiling’s gaze traveled higher, to the top of the steps, where another figure stood.
Dressed in the blue robes Mei Qiongge had made, holding Yu Zhiling’s Zhuoqing Sword, with the Immortal Alliance’s jade token hanging at her waist—she looked down at Yu Zhiling with a faint smile.
That face… was Yu Zhiling’s own.
She wore Yu Zhiling’s face, stole her identity, and behind her stood a young man in black, standing respectfully at her side.
"Master, this woman must be mad."
The imposter calling herself "Yu Zhiling" patted Little Mo Zhu’s head. "Don’t be afraid. Your master is here."
She descended the steps, standing beside Yan Shanqing and the others, intimately linking arms with Ning Hengwu.
"Second Senior Sister, the medicinal meal you made for me must be ready. Let’s go back and eat. This girl seems unwell—someone should escort her down the mountain."
Yan Shanqing’s voice was indifferent. "Take her away."
A pouch of spirit stones was shoved into Yu Zhiling’s arms.
The disciples gripping her arms muttered, "Miss, if you’re sick, go get treated. Pretending to be Immortal Lord Zhuoyu? You’re lucky our sect leader and elders didn’t strike you down on the spot."
Yu Zhiling threw the pouch aside, screaming in terror, "Senior brothers! Senior sisters! That’s not me! Kill her! Kill her, please!"
"Begging you—kill her! She’s going to harm you all!"
"Senior brothers! Senior sisters!"
Her voice broke as she tried to charge up Yingshan again. But a sword-light slashed down from the mountain, striking her squarely in the chest and sending her flying hundreds of feet away. She crashed through trees, tumbling to the ground.
Yu Zhiling coughed up blood, clutching her chest as she struggled to lift her head.
Ning Hengwu held her sword in one hand, murder in her eyes. "This strike was a warning. If you dare speak another disrespectful word, next time, my blade will take your head."
Yu Zhiling was cast out of Yingshan.
Every barrier on the mountain was raised, defenses tightened. There was no way back in.
She ran to the Yun Family.
Even Yun Zhi, always so mild-tempered, drew his sword. "If you dare insult Zhuo Yu again, the Yun Family will have no choice but to act according to the law."
She went to the Wu Family.
Wu Zhaoyan nearly cut her down in his fury. "How dare you! Yu Xiaowu just wrote to me yesterday—you lunatic!"
She sought out Liu Guizheng, visited the Zhongli Family, traveled through the three sects and four great families, even the Immortal Alliance—but no one recognized her.
To them, this face was unfamiliar. When she dressed in the blue robes she always wore, they accused her of being a poor imitation, disrespectful to Yu Xiaowu.
Why? Why did no one know her?
Yu Zhiling returned to Yingshan. Yan Shanqing barred her entry, so she waited in the woods below the mountain.
She waited for three months. She would stay here, she would remain close to them, waiting for a chance to prove herself.
But the heavens were cruel.
Exhausted, Yu Zhiling curled up on a tree branch, having gone days without sleep. Yet in the dead of night, she jolted awake. Blinking, she immediately turned her gaze up the mountain.
Flames roared. Screams filled the air.
Yu Zhiling leaped down, sprinting toward the mountain.
This time, no one stopped her. Along the path, she saw countless corpses. She saw demonic fiends—creatures from the Abyss—how had they reached the Central Continent?
She didn’t know. She could only snatch up a discarded sword and fight her way through the hordes of monsters.
Bursting into the grand hall, she cried out, "Eldest Senior Brother!"
Then she saw him—lying motionless on the floor, eyes open. The stern yet caring senior brother who had always looked after her, now cold and lifeless, his throat slit deep enough to see bone.
Yu Zhiling collapsed beside him, sobbing. "Eldest Senior Brother! Eldest Senior Brother!"
Desperate, she staggered deeper inside.
Ning Hengwu had a long blade buried in her chest.
Xiang Wuxue knelt, one hand still resting on the stool he’d been crafting for Yu Xiaowu, his body riddled with fatal wounds.
Her legs gave out. She stumbled, fell, crawled forward—until she found the last one.
Mei Qiongge stood frozen, staring blankly at the sword impaling her abdomen, then at the woman before her.
"...Xiao Wu?"
The imposter—"Yu Zhiling"—smiled. "Fourth Senior Sister, die now."
Yu Zhiling screamed. "FOURTH SENIOR SISTER!!"
"Senior sisters! Senior brothers!"
She lunged, but demonic fiends swarmed her, pinning her down, tearing into her flesh. Rage ignited—she slaughtered mindlessly, the sword in her hand drenched in black blood.
Tens of thousands of monsters clawed at her, bit into her, hungered for her flesh.
Through the bloodlust, she saw only one thing—the woman standing atop the carnage, kicking Mei Qiongge’s corpse aside.
"Yu Zhiling" grinned. "Your senior brothers and sisters died by your hand. I used your face to kill them."
Yu Zhiling lost her mind.
"YOU DESERVE TO DIE!"
But in the next blink—the fiends vanished. No corpses, no blood, no nightmare.
She stood at the foot of Yingshan, the mountain peaceful as if nothing had happened.
Had it all been a dream?
Tears of relief spilled. "Senior brothers! Senior sisters!"
Yingshan disciples blocked her. "No outsiders permitted on Yingshan!"
Yu Zhiling pointed at herself. "I’m Zhuo Yu! I’m Yu Zhiling!"
The disciple’s voice was cold. "How dare you impersonate Immortal Lord Zhuoyu!"
Again, she fought her way up. Again, Yan Shanqing and the others drove her back. She went to the Central Continent—but no one knew her.
Weeping, she begged Yan Shanqing, "Open the Boundless Realm! Open it! The gifts I gave you—they’re buried in the back mountain!"
But Yan Shanqing’s expression didn’t change.
She waited at the foot of Yingshan for months, too afraid to sleep, but the Boundless Realm never opened. Instead, the demonic fiends returned.
She fought her way up faster this time—but still too late.
She watched as "Yu Zhiling" drove the Zhuoqing Sword into Mei Qiongge’s stomach.
She heard "Yu Zhiling" whisper, "Second time."
Then—everything reset.
Yu Zhiling tried everything. She even avoided confronting the disciples, sneaking into Yingshan with her cultivation, aiming for the Listening Spring Cliff to open the Boundless Realm—but Yan Shanqing always found her.
She lost count.
"Third time."
"Fourth time."
"Fifth time."
"Sixth time."
"Seventh time."
Every time after killing everyone, "Yu Zhiling" would say these words to the despairing, agonized Yu Zhiling trapped among the demonic horde.
No matter how many times you start over, you can do nothing.
No matter how many times you start over, they all must die.
Dozens of times, a hundred times—she witnessed the destruction of Yingshan countless times.
She had tried countless efforts, each return to the beginning filled with hope, only to be crushed into despair by the final massacre.
Hope, despair. Hope, despair. Hope, despair.
On the 150th return to the beginning, she sat at the foot of Yingshan, looking up at the lofty Yingshan Sect.
She laughed wildly, her laughter bordering on madness, her vision stained red as tears of blood streamed down her face.
She had tried every method. She had been beaten by Yan Shanqing and the others countless times, driven away countless times, forced to listen as her past family and friends hurled cruel words at her, while they lavished affection on an imposter.
She bore no hatred. She only wanted to save them.
But after a hundred cycles, it all amounted to nothing.
That time, she caused a scene as she had the first time, barging halfway up the mountain until she saw Yan Shanqing and the others descend.
And that fake "Yu Zhiling" stood above them.
Yu Zhiling said coldly, "This one wishes to spar with the Immortal Lord."
The imposter's eyes held mockery as she descended the steps, still maintaining her aloof demeanor. "If you wish to spar, why must you force your way into Ying—"
Her words were cut short as Yu Zhiling rushed forward and embraced her.
Yu Zhiling carried her into the void. Under the horrified gazes of Yan Shanqing and the others, she smiled faintly in midair.
"This time, you die at the beginning."
She detonated her golden core.
Yu Zhiling thought that by dragging the fake Zhuoyu to death from the very start, she could save Yingshan.
Her soul drifted in the void. The fake Zhuoyu was dead. Yu Zhiling was dead too.
She was happy, floating around Yingshan unseen, watching as Yan Shanqing and the others wept and cursed themselves for failing to protect Yu Zhiling.
Yu Zhiling sat beside them, listening as they called the woman in lotus robes a madwoman who had killed their Yu Xiaowu.
She chuckled, hugging her knees, her gaze tender yet greedy as she watched them.
"Senior brothers, senior sisters… don’t cry."
Until three months later, when she lay resting on the cold tiles of the teaching hall and was startled awake once more.
She saw the demonic horde and corpses littering Yingshan Sect, and in that moment, she wondered—had she gone mad?
Had she truly… lost her mind?
"Senior brothers! Senior sisters!"
In her daze, she seemed to hear that voice again.
"The 150th time."
Yu Zhiling had gone mad.
She had finally lost her sanity.
She no longer knew if she was even Yu Xiaowu. When she returned to Yingshan’s gates, the disciples guarding it stopped her.
"Who dares trespass upon Yingshan?"
Yu Zhiling asked blankly, "I… who am I?"
Stumbling back, she muttered, "Who am I? Where should I go?"
Who was she?
Where did she belong?
She could do nothing. She was just a madwoman.
Yu Zhiling collapsed, only to open her eyes again.
A fleeting dream.
This time, she did not wake at the foot of Yingshan, but in an endless expanse of darkness.
A lone lantern rested beside her. Across from her sat a figure.
Chan Luo’s voice was hoarse. "You’re awake?"
This time, Yu Zhiling did not answer. She seemed not to recognize the person before her. She struggled to stand—and to her surprise, she could.
Chan Luo sat cross-legged on the ground, looking up at her without surprise. Yu Zhiling had always been full of mysteries.
Yu Zhiling glared coldly. "Let me out."
Chan Luo chuckled. "You haven’t given me my answer yet."
Yu Zhiling suddenly lunged at her like a mad beast. Chan Luo’s pupils constricted as she scrambled back.
"You’ve lost your mind!"
Yu Zhiling truly had. She no longer knew who she was. Staring at the woman who had tormented her for three years, she was consumed by killing intent. She didn’t know what had become of Yingshan—were those memories real or just nightmares?
She could no longer distinguish reality from illusion. After so many cycles, she had watched Yingshan Sect fall 150 times, seen Yan Shanqing and the others die in countless gruesome ways before her eyes. Now, she had snapped.
Kill. Kill. Kill. Nothing but killing.
Those who stood in her way deserved death. Those connected to You Zhou deserved death!
Chan Luo was stunned. After half a year unconscious, Yu Zhiling had awoken like a god of slaughter, fighting her to a standstill—even gaining the upper hand.
Then Chan Luo saw the crimson in Yu Zhiling’s eyes.
"You… have fallen to demonic cultivation?"
Her inner demons had erupted. During her half-year coma, she had relived the nightmares planted by You Zhou—her worst fears, realized over and over.
"A cultivator of the Path of Clarity… you’ve turned to demonic arts?"
"Yu Zhiling! Wake up! Will you really abandon yourself like this?"
Consumed by demonic energy, Yu Zhiling was utterly deranged, devoid of reason. She pummeled Chan Luo nearly to death.
Battered and bloody, Chan Luo lay on the ground, watching as Yu Zhiling—hair disheveled, knuckles bare, eyes cold—smiled despite her own injuries.
"You fool… a cultivator of the Path of Clarity, reduced to this!"
"You’d go this far for them? You’d embrace demonic cultivation, throw your life away—for them?"
"They’ve forgotten you! Yu Zhiling, they’ve forgotten you!"
Yu Zhiling beat Chan Luo half to death.
Chan Luo asked, "One last time—do you regret it?"
But Yu Zhiling was already mad. She was asking a lunatic. And even as a lunatic, Yu Zhiling refused to give the answer she wanted.
"I don’t regret it."
Even without sanity, she would not admit regret.
Chan Luo had lost.
Just before Yu Zhiling could kill her, she withdrew her domain, escaping back to the Central Continent.
Yu Zhiling tumbled out of the collapsed domain. The demonic horde surged to tear her apart, yet none could approach.
But Yu Zhiling looked at the monsters before her—crimson eyes, grotesque forms—and felt only bloodlust.
She leaped into the horde, becoming a true god of slaughter, reveling in the carnage.
The demons had come from the northern wastes. She fought her way back, slaughtering until she reached a cliff—a sheer drop where countless fiends clawed their way up.
Yu Zhiling stood at the edge, fearless, and jumped.
For three days, she slaughtered within.
The demons had massacred Yingshan Sect. They deserved death.
An imposter had stolen her identity. She deserved death.
Everything deserved death. Everyone should die.
Her mind had completely collapsed, her eyes bloodshot with fury. Though she didn’t even have a sword, she fought for three days with nothing but a tree branch.
Until her spirit shattered entirely, drowned in hatred, and the demonic fiends pounced, tearing into her.
Yu Zhiling’s bones were broken beyond repair as she sank into the horde of fiends. The power that had once protected her vanished without a trace. The demons ripped into her, tearing her apart.
It felt like she had returned to that moment again.
Pinned to the ground by the fiends, they gnawed at her flesh, stripping her piece by piece.
Through the haze, she thought she saw Mei Qiongge standing not far away, hands clutching the Zhuoqing Sword embedded in her abdomen, blood dripping steadily.
"...Xiaowu?"
Yu Zhiling screamed hysterically, "Fourth Sister! Sister, please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!"
"It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me!"
But Mei Qiongge still fell.
The figure of "Yu Zhiling" turned around, smiling at the real Yu Zhiling as the fiends tore into her.
"I used your identity, your sword, to kill your senior brothers and sisters. None of them resisted—each died with a single strike."
"Because it was you who struck. Because it was Yu Xiaowu who struck. They trusted you so completely."
Yu Zhiling heard the sound of her own heart breaking.
Every shred of faith, courage, and self-worth crumbled away in that moment.
Her Dao heart was shattered. Her path forward was lost.
Everything she had fought for had become meaningless in the end.
All that remained was a broken heart and utter despair.
At that moment, she truly believed Ying Mountain Sect had been annihilated.
If they were all dead, then everything she had clung to was meaningless. Their deaths were her doing—her arrogance had allowed someone to take her place, her carelessness had planted disaster in Ying Mountain.
Death, severed limbs, rivers of blood—those images replayed before her eyes again and again.
Then, from the swarming mass of fiends, an overwhelming force erupted. A violent gale blasted the demons off her body.
Yu Zhiling stood, staring into the endless tide of fiends ahead.
These were the ones responsible for Ying Mountain’s destruction.
Every last one of them deserved to die.
They all deserved death. Every single one.
Including herself.
—"This master passes to you the supreme technique of the Mingxin Dao—Frostwind Slash. Xiaowu, this move will allow you to accomplish anything, but remember: you may only use it three times."
—"You must live, for only then can you protect the Central Continent. Do not wield it lightly."
But she no longer wished to protect the Central Continent.
Her protection was worthless.
Frostwind Slash—wind howled, snow swirled, frost coated the blade.
Yu Xiaowu had forged her sword heart at the age of sixteen, and from then on, she could manifest a blade with her will alone.
Standing amidst the demonic horde, she lifted her gaze coldly. A tempest raged around her, whipping her robes and hair, yet her stance remained unshaken. Instead, the gale pinned the fiends in place, rendering them helpless.
Far in the void, the shadow of a sword materialized, growing larger—from a slender azure blade to an immense silhouette that blotted out the sky.
She raised her hand, blood dripping.
"Come. Kill me."
Frost spread across the ethereal sword’s edge as its light gathered into storm clouds, roaring toward her.
She closed her eyes and surrendered to the darkness.
The Frostwind Slash exploded, annihilating the fiendish horde in a single strike.
Along with them perished the last great master of the Mingxin Dao in the Central Continent.
She would die here, in a place no one would ever know.
In Ying Mountain Sect, the soul lamp bearing Yu Xiaowu’s name flickered out without a sound.
