Chapter 52

The top ten finishers in the sect tournament are entitled to choose any magic artifact from the sect’s treasury. The champion, though, gets two all to themselves.
Inside the treasury, centuries’ worth of the sect’s treasures were piled high, row after row of deep courtyards and gleaming display shelves, the entire room aglow with brilliance. Jade cauldrons shimmered, golden pearls and swords layered in snowy stacks. Among these treasures, some were rare materials brought back through the years from sect missions, others the magical artifacts and talismans left behind by seniors who’d passed away.
The junior disciples allowed in were dazzled by it all. They darted from one thing to another, unable to choose, falling in love with every sparkling object their eyes landed on.
But the time allowed inside was limited, just a single stick of incense. With quality ranging from sublime to forgettable, what you could unearth in this mountain of loot truly came down, half to sharp eyes, half to sheer luck.
Mu Xue wandered slowly among the shelves and spotted a tiny golden toad crouched on the very bottom row. She smiled, picking it up. This was familiar, a Toadlight Mirror, a mild healing formation for wounds.
When Xiao Shan had first arrived at the sect, he was constantly getting hurt. Mu Xue had affixed just such a golden toad beside his bed to watch over him each night.
At midnight, the toad would breathe out a silvery moon that bathed the sleeping boy in gentle light, knitting up his scrapes and bruises and letting him rest, peaceful and pain-free, until morning.
Returning the tiny toad to the shelf, her fingers brushed against something startlingly cold. She glanced down, tucked deep beneath the bottom rack was a dingy, gray short sword. When she lifted it, Mu Xue saw the blade was about two feet long, a little shorter than what she favored. The handle and sheath were a dull, matte black, without a single gleam, like a river stone left to weather beneath the water for millennia.
Only one thing caught her attention: a small floral pattern engraved on the hilt. The stem slender, leafless, velvet petals curling in every direction, a tufted heart at the center. It was almost identical to the tattoo wrapped around Mu Xue’s hand, the mark of the Immortal-Binding Rope.
Judging from the layer of dust, it had been a long time since anyone had drawn this sword. As she pulled it from its sheath, a soft rain of grit showered down. The blade itself, clear and still as autumn water, slipped free from black stone with a bright, ringing chime.
With the sword’s clear cry, Mu Xue felt a chill ripple out from her, like an icy river washing over her soul and body in an instant.
Standing at the river’s bottom, she thought she heard a faint sigh, cold and lonely, carrying a weight of ancient solitude that, for a moment, ached inside her chest.
She snapped out of it to find herself still clutching the sword in a daze. The treasury was as dazzling as ever, and the muffled footsteps of other disciples drifted in from afar.
She had drawn the short sword completely. The blade looked gentle, its brightness pooled deep within, nothing showy about it. It didn’t even appear sharp, more like it had never been properly honed.
Mu Xue stroked a finger lightly across the dull edge, only to have it nick her skin. A crimson bead of blood welled up and was instantly swallowed by the blade.
A burst of cheerful sound echoed in her mind.
She couldn't quite decipher what it said yet, but Mu Xue quickly sheathed the sword with a metallic snap, gripping it tight, her heart pounding wildly.
Sword spirit, a legendary sentient sword! Beyond rare, yet here she was, stumbling upon one by sheer luck.
Never mind whether it looked impressive, never mind the dull edge: there was no way Mu Xue would let this blade go.
She slid the short sword onto her belt and left the display area, making her way toward the materials storeroom.
Ever since glimpsing a hint of divine transformation at the Dongyue Temple, Mu Xue had been obsessed with creating a puppet for herself that would truly be up to her standards. Too bad it was risky to show off her skills too early, and decent materials were hard to come by.
Over the years, she’d scratched the itch by assembling dozens of beginner puppets, using Peak Lord Ding’s basic designs. At the tournament, her mighty army of basic puppets had even gotten her a bit of the spotlight.
Reaching the materials zone, Mu Xue didn’t bother checking each bin. She spread her spiritual sense, sweeping through the connected storerooms. This, to her, was the true heart of the treasury. So many familiar ores, crystals, bones, woods, and,
Mu Xue opened her eyes.
A delighted smile broke across her face.
As expected from a collection amassed by the entire sect. She’d found true treasure after all.
Clambering onto the highest shelf, she selected a melon-sized, earth-yellow stone from a heap of secret silver ore, cradling it against her chest like something precious.
Out at the main doors, several people were already lined up for the inspection and registry.
This time, of the top ten from the tournament, besides Zhuo Yu and Xiao Changge, the ones Mu Xue recognized included the body cultivator from Tiezhu Peak she’d faced on the stage, plus Ding Lanlan and Lin Yin.
Spotting what Mu Xue held, Ding Lanlan grabbed her sleeve and dragged her out of line.
There was Mu Xue, tournament champ, arms full of, what? A rusty-looking, gray little antique sword, and an earth-hued stone so bland you couldn’t even guess what it was.
“What the, what are you even holding?” Ding Lanlan looked ready to explode, shooting exaggerated winks her way. “You realize chances to go in the treasury don’t come easy, right? There’s the Heaven-Suppressing Seal, Soul-Pacifying Pearl, the Luotian Sword, this place is packed with rare treasures! Why would you pick up this junk? There’s still a little time, go swap them out!”
Mu Xue linked her arm with Lanlan’s and steered them toward the exit. “Nope, these two are perfect for me. What about you, Lanlan? What did you pick?”
In Ding Lanlan’s hand was a small flying artifact. Infused with spiritual power, it expanded into a triangular platform, very fast, highly maneuverable, and with zero attack or defense capabilities.
The key detail: etched in the corner of the artifact was a tiny snowflake.
Every artifact Mu Xue ever crafted bore this mark. After finishing her own flying artifact, the Ghost Dart, she’d mass-produced a small batch and sold them on the market. Who’d have thought, a century later, one would turn up here?
Mu Xue covered her face. “Why would you grab that? It’s nowhere near a top-flight artifact. I’d say you’re the one who needs to swap.”
Ding Lanlan gave her a sidelong look, pointing at the snowflake, now faint with age, on the artifact. “Do you know whose handiwork this is? Master Mu’s. Made personally by the legendary Master Mu! How many of those still exist today? It’s a collector’s item, obviously.”
Mu Xue: "..."
If you like them so much, I'll make a few for you next time.
Ding Lanlan stroked the timeworn artifact with reverence. “You have no idea. Of all the artifact masters in the world, she’s the one I admire most. I just hope that, one day, I’ll be able to design such incredible creations all by myself, just like her.”
For some reason, Mu Xue felt a little flutter of joy. “I-Is that so?”
Ding Lanlan pressed the artifact to her chest with both hands. “I want to be a legendary refiner like Master Mu, absolutely! But if I could also find a love as deep and faithful as hers? That would be a dream.”
Mu Xue: “Pfft!”
“I’m just talking,” the girl murmured, eyelids casting shadows over her cheeks as she gazed at the foreign artifact in her palm. “Rare treasures are easy enough to come by in this world. But a partner whose soul matches yours, someone loyal through it all? That’s something you only read about in novels. Maybe that’s all I’ll ever get, a good story.”
But Mu Xue’s thoughts drifted elsewhere. The Immortal and Demon Spirit realms supposedly never crossed paths; anything with spiritual power couldn’t be brought out from the Twin Divine Domains, not even artifacts or rare treasures. So how did something she crafted end up in the sect’s treasury?
That night, the registry of the top ten contestants’ chosen artifacts was delivered straight to the sect leader. Danyang picked up the list and scanned it.
“The Luotian Sword and an Outland Meteor Iron?” He puffed at his white beard, chuckling. “New talents really do rise in every era. That little disciple Xingtin, sharp eyes and good luck to match. What a promising child. When the array opens this time, I hope they all gain something... and come back safe.”
At the Yan estate in Fuwang City, the family welcomed a rather unusual guest today.
A Yan clan girl on guard duty straightened her back, gripping her sword tightly in silent vigilance. She only let out a long, relieved sigh once the guest, a man dressed entirely in black, had been led through the courtyard and out of sight, vanished behind the master’s gate.
A younger cousin blinked in confusion. “Sis, why are you so wound up? That Cen guy, he’s gorgeous if you ask me, doesn’t look scary at all. Tall, trim waist... an absolute stunner. Just seeing him feels like a feast for the eyes.”
Her older cousin snorted. “You weren’t here for what happened back then. If you’d seen him in those days, I promise, no amount of good looks would make up for it. You’d keep your heart sealed shut.”
“I heard the stories, covered in blood, a demon by moonlight, nearly destroyed half our business. Sounds terrifying, honestly.” The younger girl’s eyes sparkled, her words sounding mock-scared, but in truth she couldn’t fathom the horror of facing that deadly ‘King of Hell’ a century ago.
“It is strange, though,” the eldest mused, staring toward the spot where the man had vanished, “Lately, he really does seem changed. He’s not that hollow, haunted shell anymore, keeps himself together, looks even more handsome. No wonder you girls get soft over him.”
Inside the estate’s main courtyard, the Yan family matron and her eldest daughter, Yan Ling, sat at the head table. Two dashing young men poured wine at their sides, attentive as ever.
Directly across sat the renowned Cen Qianshan himself.
“Master Cen, you seem far more spirited these days. Looks like your cultivation’s improved, too. As old friends, we’re truly glad for you,” the matron beamed.
Ten years ago, Cen Qianshan had procured for them a rare Biluochi Black Lotus, an immense favor that cemented his reputation. His unexpected visit today received a warm, elaborate feast, bringing their bond closer than ever and filling her with genuine delight.
A maid beside Cen Qianshan delicately handed him a jade cup, her eyes limpid, cheeks tinged with shyness as she gazed at him. One small signal from Cen and she would have glided right into his arms.
But Cen Qianshan took the cup with a raised arm, pushing her gently, but firmly, back with his spiritual power, keeping her a full yard away without the slightest show of mercy.
The maid’s face wilted in disappointment, her watery eyes only earning her the slightest twitch of irritation from him.
The Yan matron burst out laughing. “Master Cen, everyone knows your heart belongs to Mu Xue and you’re waiting for fate to circle back. We all respect that, truly!”
“But let’s be real, no woman wants a man who’s bashful and totally inexperienced in love. You guarding your virtue so tightly won’t win Mu Xue’s heart,” the still-glamorous matron teased, her words sly. “There are so many rare blooms out there, how can you be sure she won’t be tempted by someone else?”
Cen Qianshan stayed silent, his gaze shifting ever so slightly, barely noticeable but there all the same.
“Don’t pay attention to my mother, Master Cen. Not everyone thinks that way.” Yan Ling, cheeks flushed with wine, spoke up. “Personally, I like men who keep themselves pure. If someone else has already had it? Nah, it’s ruined as far as I’m concerned, no matter how pretty. You, though, you’re the rare find. If Mu Xue ever comes back, she’ll surely remember your devotion. And if you ever need help, our Yan family… we’d be honored to lend a hand.”
Cen Qianshan suddenly looked up. “In that case, there is indeed something I need from you two. Would you kindly clear the room of unnecessary company?”
Outside in the courtyard, Yan clan girls huddled and gossiped, ears pressed against doors to catch any sound. Suddenly, the prettiest maid stormed out, face flushed, slamming the door behind her in a huff.
“Told you. Hopeless! Cen Qianshan is Fuwang City’s own monument to pining husbands, a hundred-year-old rock, totally unmovable.”
“Exactly, it’s that chaste, unapproachable brooding that drives everyone crazy. No one’s gotten a bite, which just makes him more tempting. Heh!”
Inside the sealed garden,
The Yan matron forced a smile, her face dark. “Master Cen, you jest. How would we possibly know where the envoy from the Immortal Spirit Realm is staying?”
Cen Qianshan sat utterly still, his elegant fingers slowly turning the wine cup in his hand.
Behind him, the barriers of the room dissolved into mist, revealing a vast illusion, in its depths, the shadow of a demon flickered, restless and looming.
This is the Heavenly Demon Realm, the pinnacle of the Six Sect Secret Arts. Though it's only a state of mind, not true reality, no one has managed to reach it in the past centuries, until now, and without so much as a ripple, he had attained it.
At this moment, revealing his cultivation was both a warning and an exchange.
“I'm just a lone wolf. I have no intention of muscling in on the Yan family's business, and you can bet I'll never breathe a word to anyone else. If you tell me what I want this time, consider me in the Yan family's debt.” Cen Qianshan lowered his lashes, gazing thoughtfully at his own hands as he spoke, slow and deliberate. “We've known each other for years. You should know, when Cen Qianshan sets his mind on something, I'll have it, no matter the price.”
He released his hand. The porcelain cup dissolved into curling smoke. That trick looked effortless, but anyone who knew spellwork would know how much raw power it took to turn solid into a mist.
The ripple of heat from the vanishing cup lingered around the table, as smoky and oppressive as a fever. Cold sweat broke out down the Yan matron's back.
“Madam Yan, Miss Yan. What do you say?” Cen Qianshan drawled, voice measured and calm, never rushing.
The two women knew all too well, this man was nowhere near as peaceful as he appeared. If Cen Qianshan turned against you, he would go all in, no holding back.
Madam Yan exchanged a glance with her daughter and swallowed hard. “Fine. We can tell you. But you have to go alone, absolutely no bringing an entourage.”
“It's not in Fuwang City. The ruins used to be the Hall of Bliss. It was a thriving town, even busier than Fuwang City, hundreds of years ago. Now? It's nothing but broken towers and crumbling walls, all the better for staying hidden.”
A thousand miles out from Fuwang City,
the silent remains of an ancient city sprawled across barren wasteland like a slumbering behemoth. Moss-covered ruins, their ornate carvings only half lost to time, whispered of the bustling days when this place teemed with laughter and life.
In a shadowy alleyway, a faint glow from a magic array flickered to life.
Moments later, a young girl poked her head out at the mouth of the alley, scanned both ways, then waved her companions forward.
“No one's here. It's just an old ruin, been deserted for ages.”
Behind her, several young cultivators trickled out, eyes wide as they craned their necks to gawk at the engravings and statues looming over them. Their voices overlapped, low and excited.
“Wow, so this is the Demon Spirit Realm?”
“And look at those demon statues! Pretty bold fashion choices, huh?”
“It's so quiet here... It's kind of freaky, honestly.”
Their white-haired chaperone stepped out from the alley last, sweeping his sleeve to dissipate the array’s light.
“Quiet down, all of you. We're in the ruins of the Hall of Bliss, abandoned for centuries, barely a soul left around. But don’t drop your guard. Stay away from any demonic cultivators who might be poking around.”
Among their group, a girl in striking red stood transfixed, staring up at the dusk-stained sky.
Until her friend tugged her sleeve, “Come on, Xiao Xue. Don’t zone out.”
Far above them, atop the skeletal frame of a decaying skyscraper, layers of vines spilled from the cracks, hiding a lone shadow within the darkness.
That figure braced one hand against a tree trunk, gazing into the distance, at that flash of red below.
Ten years, gone in a heartbeat, yet drawn out over an eternity of longing.
The cute, wide-eyed girl from the Immortal Spirit Realm had shed her childishness, blossoming in crimson, slender and graceful as a willow.
And, as he watched, that silhouette overlapped more and more with the memory he’d never let go.
The stars above were dazzling, the night thick with shining mist. Cen Qianshan’s world blurred at the edges, lost between starlight and fog.
A tiny puppet perched on his shoulder, jaws chattering with mechanical clicks, then spoke with its stilted, metallic voice,
“So that’s Master Mu? She’s even prettier than the rumors. Seriously, she could break hearts.”