After listening to Lin Ge and Luo Nanchuan chatter for quite a while, Li Xun was still completely in the dark about what had actually happened. He hadn't asked Lin Ge any further—he just turned to find Shan Zhi.
Among all the inner disciples, Li Xun was the youngest, and he'd only been on the peak for a few months. He hadn't formed any real bonds with the senior brothers and sisters, so he usually only talked to Shan Zhi. Most of his news came from him, and this time was no different.
After Shan Zhi filled him in, Li Xun finally understood what the so-called Langya Water Mirror Heaven was all about.
Turns out, in the Tongxuan Realm, there's a sect called the Water Mirror Sect located in the Langya Water Mirror Heaven. They've got a legendary item called the Heaven-Revealing Water Mirror, said to be from the Immortal Realm itself. Rumor has it, this treasure can glimpse into the future.
Every year, on the day of the Celestial Star Cycle, they perform a secret ritual using special methods to divine signs of the most dangerous calamity likely to strike the Tongxuan Realm in the coming year.
The signs are always vague and cryptic, but still better than nothing. Thanks to these clues, the major sects can prepare in advance, often stopping disaster before it even starts. It's one of the key reasons why the Tongxuan Realm has stayed stable for countless generations.
And the one in charge of this whole ritual? The elusive Sage Water Mirror of the Water Mirror Sect.
Now, it might sound like superstition, but after thousands of years and countless times being proven right, no sect dares to take it lightly. Just look at what happened a hundred years ago with the "Phoenix Slayer" incident—that warning came from the Water Mirror and was only dealt with thanks to a joint effort by multiple sects, stopping it before it exploded into chaos.
That's why every time the Celestial Star Cycle turns, both righteous and demonic sects send their people to the Water Mirror Sect to witness the event. This gathering is called the Water Mirror Assembly—a huge, once-a-year spectacle across the realm. It's also the only time of year when both sides, normally locked in bitter conflict, lay down their swords in peace.
Li Xun understood the gist of it now, but there was no rush. The Celestial Star Cycle was still seven or eight months away. Even though the Langya Water Mirror Heaven was thousands of miles from here, he still had plenty of time to rest on the mountain before heading out.
Truth be told, Li Xun wasn't particularly excited about watching the mirror or going down the mountain for training. The moment he learned he'd be heading out, only one thing came to mind—something that might just determine whether he lived or died.
"Lingxi Art... and the Blood Wanderer!"
Every time the Blood Nightmare flared up in his body, Li Xun would remember that fierce, brutal face—that pair of blood-red eyes reeking of slaughter—and the deadly promise that had hung over him for eight whole years.
He'd never forgotten. How could he? His life could be snuffed out at someone else's whim.
Now that he truly understood how hard the path of cultivation was, Li Xun actually felt a strange sort of pride. In just eight years, he'd achieved something most people wouldn't even dream of touching in eighty. Sure, it wasn't exactly honorable—but it had cost him sweat and blood, and that made it real.
He had memorized every part of the Lingxi Art.
All he had to do now was find an excuse to return home, and beneath a certain fake mountain in the rear garden, write down the entire technique from memory. According to the deal from eight years ago, that would be enough to buy his freedom.
The future looked so close, so bright—all he needed to do was take one more step...
But could he really believe it?
Only those who truly understood the Tongxuan Realm could grasp how terrifying the Blood Wanderer really was.
That monster. That butcher. That lunatic... Every name that followed him was soaked in blood. Not a single decent one among them. How could someone like that be trusted?
The worst part? Li Xun had no choice.
And so, he felt it—that deep, bone-deep helplessness and despair.
No matter how clever an ant is, to a human it's still just an ant. One finger is all it takes to crush it.
Without real power to fight back, all the schemes and smarts in the world meant nothing.
What should I do...?
With just a couple of words, Lin Ge had agreed to let him go home after the Water Mirror Assembly. Everything had gone almost too smoothly—which only made Li Xun feel more uneasy.
Feeling stifled and restless, Li Xun wandered off to a quiet, secluded spot to sit and zone out for a while.
This was a little hollow on Guanxia Peak, with a small pond surrounded by evergreen plants. Even though it was still early spring, everything was lush and vibrant.
He dunked his face into the icy-cold water, trying to clear his head. But the water was way colder than expected—it felt like it nearly froze his brain solid.
Frustrated, he yanked his head back up and slammed a palm into the pond. The water shattered like glass under his strike, the shockwave piercing all the way to the bottom. Mud churned up from the depths, and the clear water instantly turned murky.
But that one strike seemed to vent some of the fire in his chest. He sat by the pond, watching the water slowly settle and clear again. His mind went blank. For once, he didn't want to think about anything at all.
As if echoing his mood, two dead fish floated up beside his feet. They looked surprisingly plump and fresh—probably because no one ever came here, so the pond had been left undisturbed. His angry strike had just happened to knock them out cold as they were waking from hibernation.
Li Xun frowned and picked them up. His thoughts drifted—he remembered his time on Zuowang Peak.
Back then, he'd often catch fish to roast and eat. No seasoning, no flavor—just bland, plain meat.
His cultivation wasn't high enough to conjure fire back then, so even starting one had been a struggle. That alone had left an impression.
The memory made him chuckle, and to his surprise, his mood lightened.
He wandered into the forest nearby, gathered some dry branches, and built a little rack. Using a fire-starting technique he'd just mastered recently, he sparked the kindling. A tiny burst of flame lit up—it felt effortless.
He skewered the fish and set them to roast over the fire. It didn't take long for the smell to waft up—mildly fishy but rich with that savory aroma of sizzling meat. Even without seasoning, it felt like a rare treat.
As he munched on one fish, he threw the second one onto the fire. The first was gone in no time, and just as he reached out for the next…
His heart suddenly skipped a beat. Something's wrong!
Before he even finished the thought, his body had already reacted. He rolled backward, leaping several meters away from the fire—and without a moment's pause, sprang again, trying to dive into the woods.
In the corner of his eye, he saw something terrifying: the cozy campfire he'd just made suddenly shrank into a thumb-sized, deep blue spark, as if crushed by some invisible force.
Then, without warning, it exploded—BOOM!
Sparks erupted, and the logs in the fire burst apart, each turning into blazing sticks of flame that shot through the air like missiles—straight at where he'd just been standing.
If he hadn't jumped, he'd be skewered like a fish himself. And who knew what kind of fire this was?
In that life-or-death moment, his body reacted instinctively—his half-formed Golden Core True Breath Lock roared to life. The golden core anchored deep in his Middle Dantian (Yellow Court) stirred, linking with countless subtle threads of qi in his body. His true breath surged like a tidal wave.
His hands flashed through a set of seals, forming what he knew best: A Cloud Pattern Restrictive Formation. It was like his thoughts and actions were one.
There was a sharp crack, and a mist of cloud-like energy burst from his body. Vapor swirled, thick and fast, expanding and collapsing like breathing fog. Dozens of fiery sticks shot into the mist, paused—then suddenly flew back out, scattering in all directions. Their flames had gone out, and they landed as nothing more than charred husks.
"Tsssss—!"
It sounded like plunging a red-hot iron into ice water. The steam and sizzle made Li Xun's scalp crawl.
Before he could react, a burst of force tore through his cloud mist—a slash of sword qi, screaming out of nowhere, drove straight for his chest.
The Cloud Pattern Formation, normally great at diffusing and dissolving attacks, held up like wet paper—completely useless!
Li Xun's instincts kicked in again. He instantly shut down all his qi, letting his true breath vanish into stillness. His meridians emptied like hollow tubes, and his whole body went limp.
He dropped to the ground like deadweight. The sword qi zipped past his forehead, just barely grazing him—but the aftershock still left him dizzy and dazed.
But that wasn't what stuck with him.
The instant the sword qi brushed past, he felt something strange… a sensation deep in his core.
That energy felt familiar. Too familiar.
It felt like... the Lingxi Art.
"…Master?"
But Lin Ge would never pull something like this. No way. And yet—
"Immortal Master Mingji!" he blurted out, rolling to the edge of the woods, ready to bolt at any second, but his eyes stayed fixed on the air above the pond.
The moment the name left his lips, the hidden figure finally revealed themselves, stepping out of the shadows.
The roasted fish on the rack had flung into the air since the blue flame had burst forth. Only now did it fall back to the ground with a thud.
And as for Li Xun—he stood there, utterly stunned.
Above the pond hovered a woman in pale cyan robes, her slender figure suspended gracefully mid-air. The chill mountain breeze of late winter stirred her flowing sleeves, causing the hem of her dress to flutter slightly. From where he stood, Li Xun could clearly see the light, elegant shoes peeking out beneath her skirt—simple cloudstep slippers, their clean white surfaces untouched by even the slightest trace of dust.
So clean. So meticulous. So plain.
That was everything Li Xun gleaned from just a glance at her shoes.
Then he looked up—and met a gaze a hundred times sharper than the sword qi that had nearly taken his life.
She was stunning.
The outer robe she wore was slightly oversized, draping over her form and fluttering lightly in the wind, giving her an air of effortless poise. Beneath it, through gaps tugged open by the breeze, he could glimpse a dress cut with precision and restraint—no unnecessary embellishments, just grace in simplicity. Like the robe, it was a deep, understated cyan.
Her features were delicate and exquisitely refined, not a single flaw to be found. At first glance, one might simply call her beautiful—but a closer look revealed something else. Her face was chiseled with sharp, sculpted clarity. Her eyebrows, long and arched like blades, gave her a quiet majesty and stern dignity that made it impossible to treat her lightly.
The moment Li Xun saw her, he felt as though a drawn sword had been pressed against his throat—his voice caught in his mouth.
She herself was the sword. A blade unsheathed, radiating sharpness and clarity. Just one look from her made him feel as if his internal organs had been laid bare, dissected under her gaze.
He'd encountered cultivators far more powerful than this woman.
But no one—no one—had ever looked at him like this. With the eyes of someone facing a mortal enemy.
His blood seemed to freeze in his veins.