Now the cultivation world had finally reached a state of completion, with spiritual energy abundant. The major sects and noble families had all begun to quietly retreat into seclusion, even ceasing their verbal disputes.
Everyone was fully focused on nurturing the strongest talents within their sects, awaiting the emergence of the next ascendant.
Yet no one could have anticipated that even the demonic realm—a place unrestrained by karma, chaotic and lawless—would enter a period of eerie, unsettling tranquility.
In the demonic realm...
The blood moon still hung in the sky, and demonic energy still roiled unchecked.
But the once-bloody scenes of cities warring and demonic cultivators fighting for their lives had vanished. Even the endlessly turbulent Abyss of Demons had grown docile under the Demon Sovereign’s suppression.
Ye Xing watched as two demonic cultivators in the distance, after a heated argument, shook hands and walked away arm in arm. His gaze grew distant—
Was he really still in the demonic realm?
The change had begun that day at the Mirror of Clouds.
On that day, every demonic cultivator in the realm witnessed the scene of Divine Venerable Lingxiao and Immortal Venerable Qingyan forming their bond, high in the sky.
Including the Demon Sovereign.
At the time, the five surviving Demon Generals had braced themselves for the Sovereign’s wrath, prepared for the demonic realm to be half-destroyed in his fury.
Yet none of them could have predicted that... nothing happened that day.
After a full day of deathly silence, everything simply continued as usual.
No—
"Usual" wasn’t quite the word. Instead, the demonic realm became more... orderly than before.
The Demon Sovereign remained as unpredictable as ever, cold and indifferent, yet he began handling affairs of the demonic realm.
As the most powerful existence in the realm, even the slightest show of his authority was enough to keep all demons in line.
But for the Demon Sovereign, there had never been any reason to do so.
The demonic realm was nothing more than a tool to him, never worthy of his attention. Even if it were destroyed, it likely wouldn’t have earned so much as a sigh from him.
And yet now...
For some reason, Ye Xing recalled words spoken long ago by Divine Venerable Lingxiao when she was still in the demonic realm:
"As the ruler of the demonic realm, you stand by and watch as chaos unfolds without lifting a finger."
"Doesn’t that seem a bit... irresponsible?"
Remembering her bright, carefree voice, Ye Xing’s blade-formed hands twitched imperceptibly.
Was it because of her?
In all the world, there was likely only one person who could influence the Demon Sovereign.
He lifted his gaze toward the distant Demon Palace.
Demonic cultivators could never ascend.
This was an immutable law of the heavens, the price they paid for their unrestrained ways.
No matter how powerful the Demon Sovereign was, he was doomed to remain forever in the demonic realm.
And forever separated from the ascended... Divine Venerable Lingxiao.
Within the Demon Palace...
Yan Shuo sat upon his throne of bleached bones, his ink-black eyes filled with icy indifference.
His demonic consciousness swept emotionlessly over every demonic city.
To him, the existence or destruction of the demonic realm made no difference.
So why had he preserved it—even stabilized its order?
Yan Shuo rose and descended the steps of his throne.
Perhaps... because compared to destruction, bringing order to a place of chaos was simply more amusing.
Beside the Demon Palace, which had been ravaged by demonic energy countless times, the Dark Twilight Pavilion—where Xu Wanci had once resided—remained untouched, standing undisturbed through the ages.
It sat there quietly...
Waiting for one who would never return.
The Jiang Family remained the foremost noble clan in the cultivation world, second in status only to the Taiqing Sect.
Thanks to the life-extending effects of the Spiritbloom herb, the Jiang Family’s ancestral elder had survived the turbulent era of cultivation and now stood at the peak of the Tribulation Transcendence stage, likely to be the next ascendant.
As for the Jiang Family’s future...
Between Jiang Ze—who had reached the Tribulation stage at a young age—and Jiang Qiuning, the family’s young mistress blessed with a Heavenly Spirit Root, the Jiang Family’s position as the foremost noble house was secure for another millennium.
And all of this... was tied to that one person.
The only cultivator to ascend in a thousand years—Divine Venerable Lingxiao.
At this thought, the Head of the Jiang Family’s emotions surfaced unusually clearly:
Back then, the Jiang Family had invested most of their treasures in Chu Qingchuan, yet gained nothing in return.
He had consoled himself with the thought that once Chu Qingchuan ascended, the Jiang Family’s status would rise accordingly.
Who could have guessed that Chu Qingchuan’s true identity would be that of a calamity god?
Remembering the current state of the Bai Family, the Head of the Jiang Family exhaled deeply in relief:
Had he remained obstinate, the Jiang Family would have long since fallen from grace, just like the Bai Family.
What a stroke of fortune.
And all thanks to Jiang Ze...
If not for his intervention that day at the Mirror of Fate, despite his injuries, the Jiang Family would have earned Divine Venerable Lingxiao’s enmity.
The Head of the Jiang Family glanced toward the direction of the Ink Rain Pavilion, his eyes filled with gratitude.
Within the Ink Rain Pavilion, Jiang Ze stood enveloped in cold solitude.
His gaze rested on the clear, boundless sky beyond the window.
The distance between the mortal realm and the heavens spanned countless miles—he could only look from afar, never to touch.
In that moment, he finally understood Xu Wanci’s feelings from back then.
She once gazed so stubbornly at the horizon, likely only because the person she longed to see was there.
Jiang Ze lowered his eyes, the icy aura around him receding inward.
Perhaps it was because he had never truly obtained her—not even the chances to draw near could be counted on one hand.
So on the day he truly realized she would never look back, though his heart lay barren, he accepted it calmly after a few days.
He had no other choice.
If someone was destined to have their wish fulfilled, he would rather it be her.
At the very least, he could still see her, couldn’t he?
As long as he became the next to ascend.
In his heart, he had rehearsed their reunion countless times.
Yet no matter how he envisioned it, his first words could only ever be:
"It’s been a long time."
In the Ningxin Pavilion.
Jiang Qiuning withdrew her gaze from the Moyu Pavilion.
For the past two years, her uncle had immersed himself in cultivation, leaving the Moyu Pavilion perpetually shrouded in cold mist.
Today, the chill had uncharacteristically dissipated.
As she looked at the Jiang Family’s affairs laid out on the table, her usually composed and dignified expression softened with a trace of melancholy and nostalgia.
Yes.
Today marked two years since Xu Wanci’s ascension.
Jiang Qiuning’s lips curved faintly.
After a cultivator ascends, the karmic ties become too immense for those left in the mortal realm to bear. Thus, since that day two years ago, she had never seen her again.
Perhaps only when she too ascended could they raise their cups together once more.
Just then, a shadowy figure entered.
Kneeling on one knee, he spoke with reverence:
"Young Mistress, the Bai Family has made a move."
Jiang Qiuning extended her hand, using spiritual energy to retrieve the communication talisman from the shadow.
After reading its contents, she paused briefly before replying indifferently:
"Karma is set."
"Everything was his own choice."
"As for the Bai Family," she added, the talisman dissolving into nothingness in her grasp, "there’s no need to pay them undue attention from now on."
The shadow, observing Jiang Qiuning—who now controlled over half of the Jiang Family—bowed his head in deference.
"As you command."
Bai Family.
The Bai Family’s patriarch glared with venom in his eyes.
After the Qiyie Desert incident, the loss of a Transcendent Realm elder had left the Bai Family teetering toward decline.
Yet even then, he had clung to a sliver of hope in Chu Qingchuan’s fortune.
Even if he couldn’t ascend, with his luck, he should have been able to lead the Bai Family to rediscover treasures and restore their glory.
So he had used a life-restricting gu to control Chu Qingchuan’s actions and mind, forcing his body to guide Bai cultivators in their search for opportunities.
At first, the Bai Family had indeed acquired many spiritual treasures.
But it was far from enough to offset their losses.
What he never expected was that Chu Qingchuan could maintain clarity of mind despite the Bai Family’s gu—and worse…
He had seduced his youngest daughter, Bai Shu.
If not for Chu Qingchuan’s greed—his attempt to court a Bai Family elder—leading to his exposure, Bai Shu might have already fled the family with him!
For a worthless man to stir such chaos within the Bai Family—
Chu Qingchuan was nothing but a true harbinger of misfortune.
Recalling Chu Qingchuan’s death at Bai Shu’s hands, the patriarch’s eyes flashed with disgust:
Chu Qingchuan was never meant to be kept alive.
His death meant nothing.
Now, the priority was preserving the Bai Family’s standing in the cultivation world.
After the great upheaval, too many new families had risen, and the Bai Family was on the verge of losing its foothold.
Especially with the Duan Family’s recent meteoric rise.
He had to be vigilant.
In the Bai Family’s dungeon, Chu Qingchuan died without understanding:
Everything he had done was no different from before.
Whether it was surrounding himself with admirers or manipulating others for survival and treasures.
So why had nothing gone right this time?
When Bai Shu discovered his affair with Elder Bai Yu, shouldn’t she have treated him with even greater tenderness?
Why had she instead… killed him without hesitation?
The light in Chu Qingchuan’s eyes faded.
No one would give him an answer.
The cultivation world no longer had a Son of Destiny.
Without his heaven-defying luck, Chu Qingchuan was, in the end, just an ordinary cultivator.
The Duan Family was a rising star among the cultivation world’s great families.
Its new patriarch was decisive and iron-fisted.
Not only had he quelled the chaos of the succession struggle and secured his position, but he had also led the Duan Family to new heights, elevating it into the ranks of the three great families.
Hall Master Song watched the figure in the distance with awe.
Back when the Duan Family was in turmoil, the current patriarch had returned from the Taiqing Sect.
No one knew what he had said to the elders, but in the end, a three-year pact was established before he ventured alone into the Tribulation Cloud Secret Realm.
The Tribulation Cloud Secret Realm was one of the three most perilous in the cultivation world—a place where nine out of ten who entered never returned.
Yet with such danger came unparalleled opportunities.
Those who emerged alive would gain cultivation and treasures beyond measure.
The current Duan Family patriarch was among the rare few who had returned unscathed.
With this in mind, Hall Master Song lowered his head and presented the treasure in his hands with both arms outstretched.
"Head of the Family, this is the Raindrop Stone sent by the branch family."
It was common knowledge that Duan Ziwei, the head of the Duan Family, had only one hobby—collecting rare treasures.
A wisp of spiritual energy swept the Raindrop Stone into his grasp.
Hall Master Song looked up and saw a figure clad in luxurious robes, exuding both elegance and charm.
His peach blossom eyes shimmered like rippling water, his gaze fixed on the Raindrop Stone with tender focus.
Yet all that softness vanished the moment he lifted his eyes, replaced by an intimidating authority that made others avert their gaze.
Duan Ziwei stared past him into the distance, his expression tinged with faint melancholy:
He did not regret venturing into the secret realm alone.
He had already gained so much from her—the Thousand Returns Elixir had given him the possibility of immense strength.
The rest, he could only rely on himself.
And more than anything, he longed to stand before her again—once he had grown powerful.
To appear before her, free from Jiang Ze’s shackles.
But she had left too soon.
He could never catch up to her footsteps, not even managing to see her one last time before her ascension.
Hall Master Song watched as Duan Ziwei toyed with the Raindrop Stone in his right hand, mustering the courage to voice the question that had long weighed on his mind:
"Head of the Family, you’ve never used any of these spiritual treasures."
"Then why do you collect them…?"
Hearing his voice, Duan Ziwei snapped out of his thoughts. As if recalling something, he tapped the Raindrop Stone lightly, his expression suddenly bright with youthful pride and boldness—as if he had returned to his days as the unrestrained young master of the Duan Family in the Taiqing Sect:
"They are gifts for someone."
It was just a pity that these gifts would likely never reach their intended recipient.
But it didn’t matter.
Duan Ziwei lowered his eyes with a faint smile:
The mere act of preparing gifts for her was enough to bring him joy.
In the Taiqing Sect, Xie Tingbai’s Qingzhu Peak often received visits from disciples.
Every disciple knew that the Seventh Elder of the Taiqing Sect was not only profound in cultivation and peerless in alchemy, but also gentle and approachable in temperament.
He never put on airs, even with ordinary disciples, and would often gift elixirs to those who were injured.
Yet he seldom spoke much—except when disciples mentioned the legendary Divine Venerable Lingxiao. Only then would he pause and linger for a few extra moments.
Song Jingyi watched the serene figure amidst the bamboo forest, curiosity lacing her voice:
"Elder, it’s said that you were close with Divine Venerable Lingxiao. Is that true?"
Xie Tingbai’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly. He did not turn around, only gazing absently at the tranquil bamboo grove around him:
"Perhaps."
To cultivate, one must first cultivate the heart.
Perhaps one day, he would be able to utter her name with a lighthearted laugh.
But for now, he remained an ordinary man, unwilling to let go.
Just then, another rare treasure manifested not far from the Taiqing Sect.
Xie Tingbai shook his head helplessly as he watched Ning Menglan leisurely make his way toward it.
Lately, long-extinct spiritual herbs and treasures had been appearing frequently around the sect.
Everyone knew the reason.
At first, Ning Menglan had been exhilarated, instructing the elders to carefully guard the treasures and prevent any spiritual energy from leaking.
But as the treasures multiplied, he had grown accustomed to it.
Because he knew their origin—and he knew no other sect would dare lay claim to them.
Ning Menglan watched as Peak Master Qi retrieved the treasure, then glanced back thoughtfully toward the Taiqing Sect:
"The new batch of inner disciples has settled in."
"Are there any promising talents among them?"
Peak Master Qi stroked his beard calmly:
"If we’re speaking of prodigies, who could compare to the… Divine Venerable of the past?"
"Still, there are a few outstanding disciples."
"One of them is an alchemist. Though somewhat frail, her talent suggests she may yet carve out a place for herself in the cultivation world."
Ning Menglan patted his shoulder:
"That’s already quite good."
"Peak Master Qi, keep your expectations grounded. In all the world, there will never be another Divine Venerable Lingxiao."
As he spoke, a thought seemed to strike him:
"By the way, these disciples should be at the Sword Summit now, shouldn’t they?"
At some point, visiting the courtyard once inhabited by Divine Venerable Lingxiao had become an unspoken rite of passage for inner disciples—none would miss it.
Today was no exception.
Protected by a barrier, the disciples could only observe from a distance.
Yet even so, their eyes brimmed with reverence and longing.
In Divine Venerable Lingxiao’s courtyard, phantom leaves drifted silently from the trees.
Upon the dark jade table sat a pot of tea and an open ancient text. A breeze swept through, turning the pages as if continuing a new verse.
