From the thirty-three heavens above to the Nine Springs of the Yellow Underworld below, there has never been true love in this world—only greater love.

Shao Yi suddenly recalled words he had casually spoken to the little mudfish a very, very long time ago, back when they were still in Mingxing Hall.

Because emotions were such illusory things—for instance, at this moment, he was willing to stay with her in this nightmare-like darkness. But what if after a few hundred years, he suddenly became unwilling?

He combed through her disheveled long hair with his five fingers, spreading it out on his lap, carefully caressing it strand by strand.

Why hadn’t she perished in the Sea of Bitter Regret? That way, at least he could have always kept her in his heart. Looking back on it, the aftertaste would have been somewhat pleasant after all. But she had still stubbornly lived on. Now she was dragging along a second Sea of Bitter Regret to seek mutual destruction with him.

A fine and clear wind sound like insects crawling pierced through this silent darkness. Shao Yi turned his head to look. A thin layer of golden light was penetrating in from outside that profound Darkness of Zhuyin. His eyes narrowed. He lowered his head to look at the little mudfish. The radiance in her eyes was sorrowful yet tender, yet also revealed a kind of resolution from within.

He watched for a while, then suddenly called to her softly: “The Heart Feathers concerning your father and brother…”

As he spoke, he moved the hand covering her mouth away. Sure enough, she no longer spewed out ice barriers, staring at him with full concentration, waiting for him to continue.

Shao Yi couldn’t help but smile. Suddenly he gripped her chin, bent his head, and kissed her straightforwardly. The entanglement of fierce flames and cold ice was like mutually inflicting harm. Roughly speaking, his true love and greater love in this world had always been himself. She had once been the same, but now she was no longer.

The little mudfish in his arms began to struggle violently again. He kissed her heavily, one hand gripping her chin, one hand pressing her face, as if covering a wriggling insect. Gradually, she finally slowly went limp, as if about to faint.

Shao Yi once again pressed his hand over her mouth and nose, saying in a low voice, “This foolish yet vicious little mudfish—our mutual destruction ends here.”

She completely went limp in his arms, not moving at all. The suffocating, deathly dark silence receded like a tide. Shao Yi held her and turned around, facing head-on that golden dragon countless times larger than usual. Its cold, murderous pupils were fixed on Xuan Yi’s body, circling in agitation.

Behind it, the white-robed battle general’s hem was spotted with demon blood, walking toward them step by step.

Unexpectedly, there was no killing intent in his eyes—only profound depths. His footsteps stopped three chi away, quietly staring at him.

Shao Yi tilted his head in thought, then spoke: “Her condition—I have no solution.”

Fucang said indifferently, “Then give her to me.”

Shao Yi looked again at the agitated and restless Chun Jun. The massive golden dragon suddenly opened its giant maw in a soundless roar, extremely unwillingly transforming into a cyan-blue precious sword that fell back into Fucang’s palm and was returned to its sheath by him.

He stepped forward, reached out to grasp Xuan Yi’s shoulder, and pulled her body away. She finally fell back into his embrace—covered in turbid qi, covered in wounds, severely injured and unconscious, snatched back by him in such a wretched state.

Fucang turned to leave, but heard Shao Yi say lightly from behind: “If she is annihilated…”

Fucang said slowly, “If she is annihilated, when I assume the position of Qing Di, I will invite Dijun Shao Yi to enlighten me.”

The Nine-Headed Lion landed trembling at his side, not daring to look at Xuan Yi in his arms. Fucang mounted the lion’s back and pulled the reins. It had no choice but to rise on the wind, avoiding various auspicious lights in the sky, shuttling through the sea of clouds like a meteor.

The Dragon Princess was severely injured. Her injury had not been caused by others—it was he who had brought it to her, Chun Jun who had brought it to her.

Fucang took from his sleeve the dragon scales she had shed in Bashe’s belly. They had long since become fragments. Blown by the wind carrying turbid qi, they scattered in all directions. She once again nestled in his arms as if boneless, eyes tightly closed, lips white as snow, the crimson battle armor on her body long since soaked through with blood.

The sword technique he had broken through time and again for her sake—he never would have imagined that one day it would become the sharp weapon that nearly killed her.

Chun Jun was the Heaven’s Precious Sword personally forged by the current Tian Di to deal with Gonggong Dajun back in the day, hammering the coals himself. It was extremely hostile toward the aura of fallen celestial deities, which was why it had such a strong reaction to her.

Its Sword Qi Transforming into Spirit had once blocked Suihu Dajun’s long spear for her. Its Sword Qi Transforming into Dragon today had also bitten her until she was severely injured and on the brink of danger. Just like him—loving her, yet truly able to harm her—it was all him.

She never told him anything.

But none of that mattered anymore. If she didn’t tell him, then she didn’t tell him. Outward compliance but inner defiance, one set to his face and another behind his back, insisting on shouldering everything to leave them behind—none of that mattered anymore. Just don’t be annihilated. Even becoming a demon king was fine—just don’t be annihilated.

Fucang pressed her head into his embrace, holding her tightly. Don’t leave him.

*

When Xuan Yi woke again, all she saw was endless verdant green. In a daze, she thought she had returned to Qing Di Palace—only the trees there would be green in such an insane and ostentatious way. She blinked in confusion, only then realizing she was sitting under an inexplicably lush tree in the mortal realm. For some reason, its drooping branches and leaves fell to the ground like a waterfall, the leaves practically glowing luminously.

A pair of familiar arms tightly encircled her from behind. Chun Jun at his waist was again emitting a buzzing sound thick with killing intent.

Xuan Yi was stunned for a long while. She struggled slightly. Sharp pain from falling dragon scales came again from her waist. Several pitch-black dragon scales slid onto his lap. Pitch-black turbid qi gurgled upward from wounds that had not yet fully healed. Chun Jun’s buzzing grew louder.

Ah, he had still come. Every time she prepared for heroic martyrdom, he came—truly gave her no face.

She slowly raised her hand, groping to cover Fucang’s eyes: “You’re not allowed to look.”

Fucang grasped her hand, his other hand pressing down on the nearly crazed Chun Jun. He lowered his head and kissed her thick long hair: “You haven’t changed.”

The shell hadn’t changed—everything inside had completely changed.

Xuan Yi’s wrist turned. The Zhuyin White Snow that emerged was pitch-black like the deepest night. Actually, she truly preferred white-colored snow.

“Using Chun Jun to bite me.” She complained softly, yet sounded as if she had no anger at all. “It hurt so much.”

Fucang closed his eyes: “Who told you not to be obedient?”

Xuan Yi couldn’t help but turn her head away, her brow furrowing: “You’re not still planning to have this stupid sword bite me, are you?”

Fucang shook his head, didn’t speak, and pressed her head back into his embrace.

The wounds on her back and abdomen seemed to have gone numb already—or perhaps she had simply become accustomed to the pain. Xuan Yi slowly picked at the few remaining cloud patterns on his collar with her fingernail. After stopping for a while, she suddenly said, “Later on, if some dijun or dadi comes to exterminate me, can you not watch?”

If he became heartbroken and perished along with her, she would be too sinful. Or if it caused his spiritual nature to be damaged again or something—this time there would be no one to painstakingly run to the lower realm to settle karmic ties for him. Ah, the lower realm—the two of them were inexplicably fated with the lower realm. She really didn’t know what was good about this place rolling with turbid qi, noisy and chaotic.

Fucang’s arms suddenly tightened, nearly breaking her bones. She cried out “Aiya” in pain. She had no dragon scales now—could he be gentler?

“These kinds of words—don’t say them again in the future.” His voice was very low. “You’re not permitted to say another word.”