In the depths of the Weak Water, Liu Shuang could barely breathe.

It seized all her emotions, unleashing waves of intricate pain that had been delayed for too long. Countless abandonments, the terrifying streets of the Ghost Realm, that immortal realm she had created with her own hands, Cang Lan… Cang Lan was burned to ashes and destroyed.

She seemed to be crying, yet no tears would flow, only droplets of blood desperately seeping into the barren land where Cang Lan had been scorched.

She remembered how, after her soul was released, she had abandoned all dignity and returned to beg him for Cang Lan’s sake.

She was locked outside the Ghost Realm, so frightened, her entire body trembling, only to receive his refusal to see her. Lord Fu Hang had turned away coldly, saying: “Close the gates, drive her out. By the Demon Lord’s decree, Immortal Liu Shuang is forever banned from entering the Ghost Realm. Should she trespass—kill her!”

The great doors closed before her eyes. Liu Shuang pounded on them: “Fu Hang! Lord Fu Hang!”

Her heart wept silently.

She had waited for him for hundreds of years on that mountain behind, in the heavy snow. The little immortal grass had always known that both demons and ghost generals looked down on her, considering her spiritually weak, a burden to Yan Chaosheng.

They thought the Demon Lord had given her shelter, clothed her in finest silks, and granted her the most revered position in the Eight Wildernesses.

But they never knew—no, nobody knew.

The little immortal grass had never told anyone that her constitution was special, that she could have cultivated in the Ghost Realm too. Instead, she had secretly channeled the power of her Hui Ling Heart into silkworm threads, sewing them into his battle robes to protect his heart meridians, making herself weak and powerless.

At that time, Yan Chaosheng’s demon army was not strong enough to contend with the celestial troops, and he was always injured when fighting abroad. Once, he nearly had his heart meridians damaged. When Fu Hang brought him back, he said with relief: “Fortunately, the Demon Lord was lucky—the immortal power avoided his heart meridians, preventing irreparable consequences.”

Then, Fu Hang saw her standing behind a pillar in the hall, her face deathly pale as she turned to leave. Fu Hang’s eyes darkened, assuming Liu Shuang saw Yan Chaosheng’s terrible wounds and dared not approach.

However long it took Yan Chaosheng to recover from his injuries, Liu Shuang’s recovery took even longer, because the wound that should have appeared in his heart meridians appeared in her heart instead.

She had long known her heart was special, though she didn’t realize it was the legendary Hui Ling Heart. When others’ hearts shattered, they were beyond saving, but the Hui Ling Heart gave birth to all things and could slowly recover. As long as she lived, Yan Chaosheng would not easily die in battle.

During recovery, as the Hui Ling Heart healed, she spent night after night in too much pain to sleep, yet dared not tell Yan Chaosheng, fearing he would pity her and not allow her to help him this way again.

How naively ridiculous she had been to believe he loved her.

She also remembered that day, wearing a bride’s red wedding clothes in Feng Fuming’s celestial carriage, desperately crushing her own heart. It wasn’t that she hadn’t hoped her husband Yan Chaosheng would rescue her. She had hoped he would shield her from celestial lightning as he had many years before, taking her away, quelling the karmic flames.

But though he sent someone, it was to exchange the Ghost Realm’s most precious snow lotus for Immortal Mi Chu’s spirit marrow, leaving her to Feng Fuming.

She watched Lord Su Lun gradually walk away as she was taken into custody. She suppressed her trembling and overwhelming fragility, pretending not to care.

How could she truly not care? A man she had loved for two hundred years ultimately preferred to exchange a fragment of his beloved’s broken spirit bone, abandoning her.

If he didn’t love her, why marry her? Why deceive her?

The moment she crushed her heart was truly painful, yet also liberating. She knew from that moment on, for all eternity, she would never again have any expectations of Yan Chaosheng.

The rippling Weak Water was like shattered silver. Liu Shuang felt that after her body became transparent, her heart, which should have been corroded, was slowly gathering itself.

The Weak Water allowed nothing to exist, while the Hui Ling bestowed new life to all things.

These two extremes kept her alive. Liu Shuang knew she would not die now.

But she had no strength left, and was still quite far from the shore, her physical form almost completely gone.

She fell through the Weak Water like a butterfly with injured wings, slowly drifting downward, yet still tightly clutching the Creation Soil in her hand.

Just as she thought she might have to slumber beneath the Weak Water for a long time until she recovered her vitality, a figure swam toward her.

This person, coming toward her gradually, merged with the one who had abandoned her years ago.

Then, he had been cruel and cold, taking pleasure in her tears. Now, Yan Chaosheng’s expression was desperate, that deathly aura dispersing into vitality when he saw her.

He grasped her waist, saying nothing, holding her as he swam upward.

Liu Shuang looked at him, her eyes slightly widened. If he had appeared at her side like this seven hundred years ago, she would have been overjoyed, finding it a wonderful surprise.

But now, in his embrace, seeing his face was like seeing a hideous demon.

It was her one-sided love, being with him, even falling for her, that had led to Cang Lan’s destruction beyond salvation, that had kept her in the Ghost Realm, waiting bitterly for a hundred years.

Yan Chaosheng said nothing. Liu Shuang, terrified, leaned against his shoulder, watching the threads of blood seeping from his body dissipate into the Weak Water.

She had thought she was always waiting for this embrace, but now that she held him, she no longer felt the tenderness and sweetness of the past. The little immortal grass had always thought she was waiting for his redemption, but he came too late. The wound, festering for years, had already healed itself.

Too late—she had long ceased to need him.

The kindness of those few drops of blood, she had repaid with a lifetime and a life. How could she dare to entangle with him now, owing him any gratitude!

She watched his physical body corrode and burn away. It was like seeing hell right before her eyes, a hand pulling her, wanting to drag her into perdition.

Liu Shuang shuddered.

No, no, even if she were to sink in the Weak Water today, she would not entangle with him again.

After all, the little immortal grass would not die—she had the Hui Ling Heart.

His blood was everywhere around them. If he truly rescued her to the surface, he would likely die. Then what more could she return to this terrifying man?

Frightened, she pushed away the nearly powerless Yan Chaosheng. He turned back to her in shock. Liu Shuang’s body was already transparent, yet she was struggling to distance herself from him. She moved her lips silently: “I don’t want you to save me.”

This man was terrifying; his kindness could not be accepted. She would never owe him anything again.

Summoning her strength, she gripped the Creation Soil, activating her weak Hui Ling Heart to propel herself through the Weak Water.

From some unknown reservoir of strength, she gritted her teeth and persevered until she saw daylight.

Liu Shuang never looked back.

Thus, she did not see the blood-covered Yan Chaosheng, his bones shattering inch by inch behind her. Without a Hui Ling Heart, he simply could not survive in the Weak Water as she could.

He had jumped in, prepared to die.

Yet what he received was her pushing him away, preferring death.

In the Weak Water, Yan Chaosheng’s bones and blood dissolved. The maiden’s silhouette grew more and more distant until it could no longer be seen.

Daylight broke through dawn as the demon mountain welcomed the sunrise.

The Weak Water resembled a rippling silver celestial river. Liu Shuang placed her fingers on the shore’s edge and climbed up.

The Weak Water did not cling to her body. She breathed slightly, planning to restore her physical form with the Hui Ling power after regaining her strength.

She thought gratefully that she was quite formidable, certainly not bringing shame to Kung Sang.

Suddenly, a hand seized her semi-transparent arm: “Where is the Mountain Lord?”

Liu Shuang looked up to see a familiar face. The usually silent Lord Fu Hang, sharp as a blade—so he had pledged loyalty to Yan Chaosheng this early.

She paused, then pointed behind her: “Perhaps still in the Weak Water.”

“You!” Fu Hang said angrily, “The Mountain Lord went down to save you, yet you came up alone, abandoning him.”

Liu Shuang, having shed her panic from the Weak Water, found his accusation strangely bewildering.

Fu Hang felt his throat go dry: “The Mountain Lord cares for you.”

“But I don’t care for him.”

“Lord Fu Hang,” she said, “I didn’t ask him to come down and save me. I don’t need him to do this, nor do I want his rescue.”

She gave a pale smile, but her eyes were bright and determined: “I just want him to stay away from me. Can you be reasonable?” She wasn’t a puppet to be manipulated at their whim, accepting whatever Yan Chaosheng wished to give her.

She recalled her past pain—she simply didn’t want any further entanglement with him. Was that wrong?

Fu Hang slowly released her arm, his face still gloomy as he coldly prepared to jump into the Weak Water.

His loyalty was indeed unquestionable, so swift that Liu Shuang couldn’t stop him.

Before Liu Shuang could examine the situation in the Weak Water, a gaze locked onto her—or more precisely, onto the Creation Soil in her hand.

She tightened her grip on the Fifth Spirit Vein, frowning: “Feng Fuming.”

Sure enough, a sharp shadow descended from above, heading straight for her.

At that moment, rippling light emerged from the Weak Water. A dark radiance stopped Fu Hang from searching for his master, while simultaneously restraining Feng Fuming’s hand reaching for Liu Shuang.

Liu Shuang hadn’t expected that the person shielding her would be Yan Chaosheng.

He had surfaced!

Now, his face was so deathly pale it was almost bloodless, like a corpse. The hand that blocked Feng Fuming had no flesh left, only white bones cleansed by corrosion. Those bones carried a faint silver tint.

Without a word, he stood before her, not looking at Feng Fuming but turning back to look at Liu Shuang.

Yan Chaosheng’s eyes carried many heavy burdens. Meeting her clear, flawless gaze, his throat could not produce a single word.

Just as Yan Chaosheng was approaching the Weak Water’s surface, he heard Fu Hang say: “The Mountain Lord cares for you.”

Then he heard her reply: “But I don’t care for him. I don’t need him to do this, nor do I want his rescue. I just want him to stay away from me.”

He had finally heard it directly from her lips. His self-deception of these past few days had completely shattered.

Yan Chaosheng couldn’t identify which part of his body hurt most. The Weak Water had broken the seal, and his sealed dantian and sea of consciousness were both released in the Weak Water.

He finally knew who he was and understood why, that day at the Demon-Suppressing Pagoda, so many great demons had self-destructed to destroy the tower—because they wanted to rescue him.

His eyes held no excess emotion, as if bearing tens of thousands of years of deathly stillness. He pulled her up from the ground and said hoarsely, “Go. I’ll hold him back.”

Her hand was so small, so soft and delicate, but it remained in his palm for only an instant before she withdrew it.

“Don’t touch me,” she instinctively pulled her hand away, pressing her lips together as she spoke softly, as if he were something filthy she couldn’t bear.

His heart felt as if it had been lightly pricked—a gentle force, yet it pierced him with pain. She looked in another direction, the light in her eyes pure.

For a moment, he almost couldn’t distinguish whether he utterly hated her.

At that moment, in the fragmentary sunlight, someone descended from a celestial crane, approaching with unhurried, composed steps: “It seems I’ve arrived late.”

Liu Shuang turned to look, somewhat stunned. Her current state of mind was different, even more complex than when she had been reborn and met Shao You.

She remembered when the apricot blossoms were at their most magnificent, how the man before her had combed her hair beneath the trees, that serenity. She remembered how they had traveled together through the quiet mortal realm, how she had experienced from him the first warmth of tenderness.

“Shao You, have you also come seeking the Spirit Vein?”

Shao You turned to look at her, nodding: “However, it seems the immortal maiden has already obtained it.”

Liu Shuang asked him: “Will you try to take it from me?”

The Spirit Vein was important to everyone, naturally including Kunlun, which also faced depleting Spirit Veins.

Shao You hadn’t expected her to ask so directly. He shook his head.

“If you need it, I will protect you as you leave,” Shao You said. He was merely being polite, as the Creation Soil was undoubtedly exchanged for her life. He supposed Liu Shuang wouldn’t easily trust him.

He had traveled thousands of miles to arrive, and indeed urgently needed the Spirit Vein soil.

Yet because of this one sentence, Liu Shuang walked toward him.

As she walked from Yan Chaosheng’s side toward Shao You, she didn’t spare Yan Chaosheng a single glance, just as years ago when she had walked toward Yan Chaosheng without seeing the desolate Shao You behind her.

Yan Chaosheng’s body trembled violently, his fist—now only white bone—clenched tight.