“Heaven has eyes! My grand formation is complete!” Ji Chen pursued closely, his eyes bright as flames.
He seemed to have come alive again, his life force burning rapidly, his aura climbing to its peak like a tidal wave sweeping in all directions, enveloping White Phoenix City in an invisible pressure.
Visiting cultivators gathered on Phoenix Immortal Tower gazed at the flames from Ji Manor and suddenly felt waves of unease.
Ji Chen indeed had reason to rejoice—he had waited a hundred years.
Times had changed and stars had shifted; ordinary people lived their entire lives, from birth to sickness to death, in merely a hundred years.
Song Qian Ji returned to Peach Blossom Cove and stopped beneath a peach tree, hearing Ji Chen call out to his sister. He wanted nothing more than to pin the man down and pummel him again.
He had seen what Ji Xing looked like when growing up, so impersonation wasn’t difficult, but in this lifetime Ji Chen had never seen her.
Ji Chen stared at “Ji Xing” unblinkingly, as if afraid the person before him would dissolve into wisps of smoke and be scattered by the wind. He softly asked:
“Little Xing, is it you?”
His voice trembled slightly, caught between sorrow and joy.
Night clouds moved gently as the bright moon parted from the branches.
Falling flowers scattered like burning flames, their embers dropping to the ground.
“Ji Xing” averted her gaze, not looking at him.
Her face and the peach blossoms reflected each other’s redness, still fearing that this encounter might be just a dream.
Ji Chen blinked, tears glistening: “You’ve grown taller, and your hair has grown longer. That’s wonderful, truly wonderful.”
As he spoke, he raised his hand to gesture, appearing rather clumsy.
Though they stood only ten paces apart, Ji Chen didn’t step forward, as if separated by vast chasms and seas. He dared not take even half a step closer, allowing the falling flowers to obscure his vision.
Approaching home, his courage failed—anxious about gain and loss.
Then “Ji Xing” spoke: “Your formation is complete now. There’s no need to hunt down and kill those remaining people.”
Ji Chen seemed to return to his youth, his smile pure and innocent as he repeatedly agreed:
“Alright, alright, we’ll do as you say. Little Xing, you haven’t changed—you’re still so kind! But I, I have changed…”
He lowered his head like someone who had done wrong.
Song Qian Ji shook his head: “Those who kill shall be killed. I only fear you won’t be able to turn back, ruining your cultivation.”
Whether in illusory worlds or reality, the feeling of killing someone with one’s own hands was real. Excessive killing could easily drive a person mad, just like what happened to him in Hua Wei Floating City.
Ji Chen smiled bitterly: “What cultivation do I have left? I live in this world alone, without family or kin, drifting across the four seas. Now that Ji Guang and Ji Ming are dead and Ji Manor burned to ruins, what else can I seek?”
Song Qian Ji had just begun to frown when Ji Chen immediately apologized:
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t speak like this. Don’t be upset. You used to tell me to keep my heart steadfast in pursuing the Great Way, and that after ascending, I should pluck a star to give you…”
Song Qian Ji thought to himself that Ji Xing deserved credit—he’d cook noodles for her when he returned.
He responded aloud: “That’s right. Have you perhaps forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten!” Ji Chen gazed at the person before him, his smile distant as if lost in memories. “You were only six years old then, but already so clever. Ji Guang took out a glowing jade pendant, trying to trick you by saying it was a star from the sky. You ignored him and only played with me, throwing pebbles and folding paper cranes, and wouldn’t let them call me useless. You said I would attain the Dao and ascend, and that I would fly to the heavens and pluck a real star for you. I’ve always remembered these things.”
“You also said that if you were gone, you’d become a star, lighting my way every night. But there are so many stars in the sky—which one are you? I’ve been too foolish to find you.”
Song Qian Ji felt conflicted, at once awkward and sorrowful.
“You truly are foolish!” he scolded.
“I’m not foolish this time.” Ji Chen spoke as if coaxing a child, seeking approval: “Look at what I have!”
He patted his storage pouch and summoned an enormous “paper crane” that knocked down two peach trees.
The crane’s body was broad enough for two people to sit, with its neck held high and proud.
“On my sixteenth birthday, the paper crane you made for me was ruined by Ji Guang, and you cried for so long. I promised you that someday I would fold the largest crane in the world for you, one that could spread its wings and fly, all the way to the ends of the earth.”
Song Qian Ji didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. No wonder you were folding my talisman papers earlier—it turns out you siblings had this hobby since childhood.
Looking closely, he saw rare secret silver and falling star iron polished as thin as paper, assembled into the shape of a paper crane toy, with wings spread crookedly.
The crane’s body was covered in mystic runes, giving off a silver glow in the moonlight.
“Do you like it?” Ji Chen asked excitedly.
“I… like it,” Song Qian Ji nodded reluctantly.
Ugly as it was, the materials were substantial.
What a waste of materials that could have been forged into something better.
“Then let’s go!” Ji Chen laughed suddenly and reached out to grab him.
Song Qian Ji felt his feet leave the ground as he was pulled onto the paper crane’s back.
The giant paper crane flapped its wings, stirring up a storm of falling flowers.
“Where are we going?” Song Qian Ji asked, slightly alarmed.
Ji Chen shouted: “Hold tight!”
The ground rumbled violently, collapsing a large section of the peach grove as the paper crane soared skyward.
Fierce winds surged as Ji Chen sat in front of Song Qian Ji, shielding him from the wind: “Wandering souls cannot bear sunlight, so we’ll fly to where the sun cannot reach. I don’t want just one night’s reunion—I want you to remain in the mortal realm forever!”
The paper crane spread its great wings, resembling a floating moon, spilling endless silver light over thousands of mountains and valleys.
Song Qian Ji smiled: “Where in this world does the sun not reach?”
Why was he still treating Ji Xing like a child?
“Then we’ll just keep flying.” Ji Chen laughed heartily: “Little Xing, do you remember your thirteenth birthday? You said your medicine was too bitter and didn’t want to drink it, so you asked me to find some sugar pills. I brought the wrong thing—giving you, especially bitter pills instead, and you beat me soundly. You were still quite healthy then, with strength enough to hit…”
He seemed not to expect a response from the person behind him, lost in reminiscing about old times as if he had endless things to say.
Song Qian Ji couldn’t find a way to interject and could only listen quietly.
Flying past the sun was just momentary madness; Ji Chen would stop when he grew tired of flying.
Without realizing it, the paper crane soared with outstretched wings, leaving Peach Blossom Cove and White Phoenix Prefecture behind, crossing rivers and mountains.
Yet Ji Chen showed no sign of stopping.
“Ahead lies the Death Sea,” Song Qian Ji said. “We can’t cross it. Let’s stop.”
The sea’s angry waves churned black as ink.
Beneath the surging waves came the roars of sea beasts, rolling like thunder.
“Hold tight, Little Xing!” Ji Chen suddenly drew upon his energy, pushing the paper crane to its limit, chasing the waning moon in the western sky.
Behind them, dawn’s faint light spilled from the eastern sky like the shadow of death, slowly advancing.
“Ji Chen, what are you doing? Are you serious? You can’t outfly the sun!” Song Qian Ji looked back.
The dividing line between morning and dusk stretched out behind them, rapidly approaching.
The sun rises in the east, illuminating the four seas—where in heaven and earth is there no light?
Yet Ji Chen stubbornly flew toward the edge of the continent, seeking an extreme night where the sun never reached.
The setting moon and rising sun are the fairest things in this world.
No matter if you ride a flying sword, flying shuttle, flying boat, flying swallow, or any other strange flying treasure, no matter how fast you fly or how high your cultivation, you ultimately cannot outpace time.
Day and night alternate, the Way of Heaven cycles—how can you struggle free from fate?
Yin and yang flow back and forth, life, aging, sickness, and death—how can you keep a wandering soul?
Ji Chen refused to admit defeat. His sleeves billowed as his eyes turned red and blue veins bulged on his forehead:
“Faster! Even faster!”
He recklessly poured spiritual energy into the paper crane, driving it forward.
“Crack!”
The giant paper crane broke through the night fog, its wings straining under the burden, emitting slight cracking sounds.
The moon in the western sky was hidden by thick clouds. The Death Sea stretched boundless and endless like a black desert.
Suddenly Ji Chen’s body tilted, almost falling from the flying crane.
Song Qian Ji quickly supported him from behind: “You’re depleting your spiritual energy! We can’t fly any further!”
Ji Chen turned his head, grinned, and was about to say he was fine when he vomited a great mouthful of fresh blood.
Song Qian Ji was startled and grabbed the other’s vital point, transfusing spiritual energy: “Why is your spiritual energy so chaotic and your life force draining? When did this happen?”
He was shocked and furious, but Ji Chen just stared blankly: “You’re not Little Xing.”
Song Qian Ji froze: “I…”
Unexpectedly, Ji Chen didn’t rage or go mad but only showed disappointment in his eyes.
He said softly: “She never had such abundant spiritual energy.”
“When were you injured?” Song Qian Ji gave up the pretense and wiped away his disguise.
“Yin and yang reversed, karma fire burning the body—once the bow is drawn, there is no turning back. Once the formation is activated, it must absorb the life force of the living. If not the lives of those in the formation, then the life of the formation master.”
With each sentence Ji Chen spoke, another mouthful of fresh blood gushed out. In mere moments, he was covered in blood.
Song Qian Ji raged in frustration: “Such a vicious, evil technique—how dare you use it?!”
He tried to feed Ji Chen spiritual medicine, but Ji Chen turned his head, letting the medicine fall into the Death Sea.
“I wanted to try,” the man said. His luxurious purple-gold robes were now soaked in fresh blood, and his speech began to stutter: “Thank you. You let me see her once more. So there is someone in this world who, like me, truly cares for her.”
His gaze wandered as if drifting to the edge of the continent:
“I remember our first meeting at Phoenix Immortal Tower. Your single sword’s lonely light moved in all four directions—what a magnificent hero. Now you’ve even disguised yourself as my little sister to fulfill my wish… After I die, go to White Phoenix Mountain. Follow the markers I left, and you’ll find my formation legacy, magical treasures, and wealth.”
The first ray of dawn still crept over, illuminating Ji Chen’s pale face.
They sat on the wobbling flying crane, exposed to the rising morning sun, like two dying fish gasping for breath.
Song Qian Ji said with difficulty: “I can let you see Ji Xing again, if only you believe me.”
“I don’t believe it,” Ji Chen shook his head. “I’m about to die. You don’t need to deceive me any more.”
Song Qian Ji’s eyes reddened slightly: “You don’t believe I’m your friend? From the beginning to the end, you never believed at all?”
If Ji Chen didn’t trust him, how could he save him?
Must he watch helplessly as the man’s life ebbed away?
“Brother Song, I did believe it before, but not anymore. When Little Xing was alive, I was useless—a complete waste. After Little Xing died, my heart held only hatred.” Ji Chen could barely speak, producing only thread-like whispers.
“Look at my life—muddle-headed, insane. I’m not a good person and haven’t done a single good deed. How… how could I deserve a friend as good as you? Perhaps…” he curled his lips, “is it virtue accumulated by my ancestors?”
Song Qian Ji’s eyes grew warm as Ji Chen’s face blurred. He only heard him murmuring:
“I don’t believe, don’t believe…”
“You must believe whether you want to or not!” Song Qian Ji gritted his teeth as a talisman flew out. “Come back to me!”