Wind rose on Gufeng Mountain at night.

The wind rustled through the leaves, and the branches of the persimmon tree cast shadows on the ground, making even the moonlight appear mottled.

Mimi found a box at the doorway, crawled inside, curled up into a ball, and slept soundly. Hong Su had gone to seek embroidery instruction from Liu Yunxin next door. With Zanxing and Mu Cengxiao going down the mountain every few days, there were fewer people in the hall, and the two girls gradually became familiar with each other. Liu Yunxin’s needlework was exquisite, and Hong Su often went to learn from her. After mastering the craft, she would sew small clothes for Mimi.

Zanxing sat on the threshold in front of the house, staring at the stars in the sky in a daze.

Shaoyang Zhenren had returned to the sect with his group from the Li’er Kingdom secret realm. Many disciples had been lost on this journey to the secret realm. Not only that, but Master Uncle Yueqin had also brought back extremely bad news. The Demon Lord’s Seal had appeared in the world, Demon Lord Gui Diao Tang was suspected of resurrection, and several small sects had already been destroyed. Who knew if they would attack Gufeng Mountain tomorrow?

Sect Leader Shaoyang Zhenren strictly forbade disciples from leaving the mountain and had set up the Dragon Flame Formation below Gufeng Mountain. Even so, people in the sect were still anxious. After all, this was Demon Lord Gui Diao Tang, who nearly destroyed Duzhou single-handedly back then. If he truly made a comeback, even if the entire cultivation world joined forces, they might not be his match.

Amidst this widespread worry about the demon clan’s return, Zanxing was also deep in thought. However, what she contemplated was different. Zanxing looked down at the complete begonia flower in her palm. Now she knew what this truly was—it turned out to be the Demon Lord’s Seal.

Currently, the Demon Lord’s Seal in her palm could only be seen by herself, but if some restriction were triggered and this Demon Lord’s Seal fell into everyone’s sight, she wouldn’t be able to explain herself even with her mouth.

One Xiaoyuan Pearl, one Demon Lord’s Seal—if it were earlier, it might have been fine, but it happened to coincide with the demon clan’s chaos, when the cultivation world despised the demon clan… Zanxing sighed deeply. If she had known this would happen, why did she act then? This was practically delivering herself right into their hands.

“What are you doing, sighing and moaning late at night instead of sleeping?” A voice rang out from the courtyard.

Zanxing looked up. Gu Baiying walked over from behind the persimmon tree, looking at her reproachfully: “You didn’t even notice when I arrived. If it were the demon clan coming, your soul would have already scattered.”

What a way to bring up exactly what shouldn’t be mentioned. Zanxing was in a bad mood and retorted, “Then what are you doing at Xiaoyao Hall late at night instead of sleeping?”

Gu Baiying was momentarily choked, then suddenly threw an azure stick to Zanxing.

The stick felt slightly cool and smooth in her hand, like grasping a bundle of green bamboo, or like melted moonlight.

“The Wuyou Sword?” Zanxing’s gaze fell on a crystalline frost flower at the stick’s handle. This frost flower was familiar—it was forged by Chai Sang.

“The craftsman commissioned by Huajin Tower reforged your sword into a stick. He thought it would be a pity to melt away the frost flower, so he preserved it here.” Gu Baiying raised his eyebrows: “How is it? Try it?”

This stick was very beautiful. Though cast from iron, it was very light. Perhaps because it had once nurtured a sword spirit, the moment it entered her hand, the stick and person seemed to become one, with minds connected. As if this stick was naturally meant to be held in her hand, Zanxing stood up, gripped the long stick tightly, aimed at the persimmon tree in the courtyard, and gave it a gentle swing. A violent wind suddenly rose from the ground, carrying a restrained sharpness that swiftly cut through a cluster of branches and leaves, splitting them in two.

“This stick…” Zanxing’s eyes showed amazement.

This stick was even sharper than a sword.

The stick’s tip was rounded and looked quite harmless at first glance, but when swung, azure light condensed into a phantom, and the stick’s tip became a sword edge.

This was an azure stick, but also a long sword. The Wuyou Sword hadn’t disappeared—it had melted into this long stick, existing in another form.

“Not bad, right?” A trace of pride crossed Gu Baiying’s face, seemingly very satisfied with the newly forged spirit artifact: “Your original Panhua Stick had been patched and mended so much it was unusable. Outsiders, seeing it, would think the Taiyan Sect was mistreating you. This stick barely matches your status as a personal disciple. When there’s something better in the future, it won’t be too late to replace it.”

After saying this, Zanxing remained silent for a long time. Gu Baiying turned his head to see Zanxing looking down at the azure stick in her hand with a complex expression.

After a long while, Zanxing raised her head, looked at Gu Baiying, hesitated for a moment, and said: “Master Uncle, perhaps this stick… let’s forget about it.”

The handsome young man’s brow gradually furrowed as he asked: “What madness are you having now?”

“I was thinking,” Zanxing slowly began, “This stick is ultimately a top-grade spirit artifact. For me, a new disciple who just entered the sect not long ago, to receive such fortune—wouldn’t that be inappropriate…” When she first came to this place, her heart was higher than the sky, fearless of everything. She would steal the spotlight when she should, and claim treasures when she should. Now that the “Heavenly Dao’s” chess game was gradually revealing itself, she, the chess player, dared not continue playing. Initially thinking herself a passerby, what cultivation, what demon clan—none of it seemed real. But now, living with her fellow disciples day by day, having traveled to so many places, she had unknowingly become a player in the game, and thus had many concerns.

If she accepted this azure stick, who knew what taboos she might violate? What if her identity were exposed the next moment? How would she face herself then? Since this was a story, its development was always domineering, with its beginning, development, climax, and conclusion all decided by the writer.

Gu Baiying stared at her quietly. After a while, he asked: “Yang Zanxing, do you have something on your mind?”

Zanxing: “What?”

“You were the one who said you wanted to change your destiny, and now you’re the one being timid and afraid to even accept a stick.” His tone carried faint mockery, but his gaze was sharp as a spear point: “When did you become so cowardly?”

Zanxing was stunned.

When she was in the Li’er Kingdom secret realm, she had indeed said she wanted to struggle against her destined fate. But at that time, the Xiaoyuan Pearl wasn’t yet a treasure of the demon realm, and she hadn’t glimpsed her other identity. Some things were always much harder to do than to say.

She sighed, hugged the stick, and sat back down on the threshold, looking at the persimmon tree branches and leaves that had been cut sparse by the stick’s edge just now, and said wistfully: “Master Uncle, when I first came up Gufeng Mountain, it was because my face was poisoned by ‘Yu’s’ demon poison. I originally had no intention of entering the sect, and at first, I thought I would leave once my face was healed.”

“What? Regretting it now?” Gu Baiying said while sitting down on the threshold beside Zanxing.

“I’m not from here,” Zanxing said softly: “So many times, I feel like I don’t belong here.”

“Is there something wrong with your brain?” The young man unceremoniously knocked her head: “You’re now Xuan Lingzi’s disciple, a person of Taiyan Sect. How do you not belong here? I shouldn’t have let you learn illusion techniques—you can’t distinguish between reality and falsehood before even learning them properly.”

He rarely had such a nagging moment. Strangely, this nagging diluted much of the melancholy in Zanxing’s heart, as if some ethereal sense of unreality became real because of his trivial chattering.

“Master Uncle,” she suddenly asked, “Do you hate the demon clan?”