Tan Huai replied, “No need for thanks, Immortal Lord. You are a senior and a close friend of my parents.”
Ying Heng lowered his gaze and murmured, “You are the child of Shao Xi and Mu Qing… It has been so long.”
Tan Huai said nothing, standing shoulder to shoulder with Ying Heng.
The disciples hesitated, unsure whether to advance or retreat.
It was then that Ying Heng spoke: “The 3,000 members of the Shi family have all perished. Their souls were extracted by your eldest young lady to sustain the Illusionary Killing Formation.”
The disciples were stunned. “…What?”
Ying Heng held his sword horizontally before him. “I have said all I will. If you insist on moving forward, I will kill you.”
In the distance, the bolts of tribulation lightning grew thicker and more intense. The disciples had never witnessed such rapid and violent thunder tribulation before. Typically, tribulations lasted for several days, giving cultivators time to recover. But Sang Dai’s thunder tribulation was entirely different.
In an instant, another bolt struck, and the aftershock swept over the disciples. More and more of them crumpled to their knees, unable to withstand the pressure, let alone consider attacking Sang Dai.
Ying Heng was on the verge of collapse, and even Tan Huai was coughing up blood from the residual pressure.
“Immortal Lord Ying Heng, we should leave this place,” Tan Huai urged.
Ying Heng shook his head. “…No, Dai Dai is undergoing her tribulation.”
He could feel the turbulence in his sea of consciousness, aware of how ferocious and terrifying the tribulation lightning was.
Though Ying Heng couldn’t see it, Tan Huai could.
It was beyond comprehension—this tribulation was utterly monstrous. When Sang Dai had first entered the Grand Ascension Stage, Tan Huai hadn’t been present. But now, he witnessed firsthand the sheer malice Heaven harbored toward Sang Dai.
Heaven truly wanted Sang Dai dead.
It left her no chance to survive.
Ying Heng stood unmoving, wielding Chunying, guarding the chasm before him.
Behind him, his disciple faced the thunder tribulation.
—
Sang Dai’s consciousness was hazy. When she awoke inside the formation, thousands upon thousands of red threads were piercing through her body.
Her soul was weak, but one thought filled her mind.
—She had to return.
Return to the little fox.
Find her master.
The Illusionary Killing Formation had been constructed using the souls of the 3,000 Shi family disciples. It had been more than two days now, and the formation was intertwined with Sang Dai’s soul—something no ordinary person could sever. She no longer had enough spiritual power to break free, so she could only place her hopes on the thunder tribulation.
Changmang had no consciousness, and Zhiyu, weakened by her frailty, was also barely holding on.
But she had to go back.
She had made a promise to Su Xuan, and something had gone wrong on Su Xuan’s end. He still hadn’t come to find her.
Sang Dai closed her eyes.
Su Xuan had once told her that no one in this world was more important than herself and that she must take care of herself.
But she had no other options now. This was the only path left for her to take.
Sang Dai’s breath trembled as she shut her eyes and searched within the pitch-black sea of consciousness for the golden imprint.
The osmanthus imprint stored the purest Guixu spiritual power, left to her by the Snow Owl.
Zhiyu seemed to sense what she was about to do. The sword spirit weakly tried to stop her within her sea of consciousness.
“Master… self-igniting your golden core… forcibly breaking through… the tribulation lightning will be even stronger than before…”
Sang Dai didn’t respond. She recklessly used her spiritual power to ignite her golden core.
She knew. She understood everything.
But she had no choice.
At the initial stage of the Grand Ascension realm, she couldn’t break through the Illusionary Killing Formation forged from 3,000 souls. She had no other way but to surpass her current cultivation and summon the tribulation lightning to shatter the formation.
The self-ignition of her golden core released a surge of overwhelming spiritual power. Sang Dai guided the Guixu energy into her dantian.
Her vision blurred; everything before her eyes was indistinct.
Propping herself up, she struggled to stand. Her body was entangled with thousands of red threads, which clung to her like parasites, continuously draining her soul’s strength.
Her meridians surged wildly. Her entire body ached as the rampant spiritual power rampaged through her meridians.
She could hear nothing from outside the formation, nor see the people standing before it.
Only pain. Blistering, unbearable pain. Yet it was the pain that kept her conscious.
Above her head, the clouds gathered, encompassing an area of dozens of li.
Sang Dai looked up, unable to clearly see the dark clouds. All she could feel was the relentless pain, the restrictions of the lightning formation pressing on her.
“…You want to kill me, even though I’ve done nothing wrong.”
She murmured, “I only want to survive, to find my master, to live with the one I love.”
“I did nothing wrong. The one in the wrong has always been you.”
At that moment, crackling lightning thundered down. The first bolt of tribulation lightning shattered Zhiyu’s protective barrier and struck Sang Dai directly.
She fell to her knees, her body hunched, propping herself up with trembling arms.
The Grand Ascension Stage’s seven tribulation lightning strikes—this was only the first.
Her mouth was filled with blood, and tears fell from her eyes.
“It’s clearly you who’s in the wrong…”
The second bolt of lightning descended.
Sang Dai summoned the Guixu energy to form a protective barrier.
The immense pressure wracked her body with searing pain, but she gritted her teeth and glared at the heavens.
“I said, it’s you who is wrong!”
The third bolt of tribulation lightning crashed down at that moment.
“What is wrong with wanting to find my master? What is wrong with wanting to live? It’s not my fault that I’m resisting the inexplicable black qi’s erosion. I did nothing wrong. What right do you have to kill me?”
One bolt after another struck her body relentlessly.
Heaven gave her no chance to catch her breath. Sang Dai had no strength left, not even to form a protective barrier.
Her soul was weakened, and the remaining Guixu spiritual power was far from enough to help her withstand this tribulation.
She lay on the ground, gasping, coughing up large amounts of blood. The metallic taste was thick and nauseating, spreading between her lips and teeth.
In less than a quarter of an hour, six of the seven bolts of Grand Completion tribulation lightning had already fallen. Sang Dai’s meridians were shattered almost entirely.
Cracks began to form on the body of the Zhiyu Sword, as its master’s vitality drained rapidly.
It seemed that Heaven had sensed Sang Dai’s inability to resist. She had fought too long, her soul weakened too much by the formation. To face the tribulation lightning with such a body was nearly a death sentence.
The final bolt of Heaven’s tribulation lingered, brewing its ultimate strike to end her life.
Sang Dai’s consciousness was muddled.
She could hear Zhiyu calling out to her, but her eyes were too heavy to open.
It felt as though she had fallen into a boundless darkness. She couldn’t see anything, didn’t know how much time had passed, or where she was, or why she had come to this place.
In the confusion, a golden light pierced through the illusion. The imprint of an osmanthus tree appeared before her.
“Awakener of a Heaven-grade spiritual root… what path have you chosen?”
Sang Dai still heard the voice.
She murmured, “My path… was set when I was ten years old…”
To protect all living beings, even unto death without regret.
Her sword must be a shield for the people, not a blade turned against them.
She heard a sigh, filled with endless disappointment.
“You still don’t understand.”
The imprint slowly unfolded, dispelling the darkness.
When the darkness completely faded, Sang Dai found herself in a dim forest.
The ground was soaked in blood, turning the snowy plain crimson. The sky above was gloomy and lightless, thick clouds blotting out the sun. The world was filled with an oppressive aura of death and decay. She smelled the acrid stench of blood, heavy and suffocating.
Sang Dai saw a figure in the distance, leaning on a sword. His black hair hung loosely, strands matted with blood sticking to his face. Behind him was a broken cliff.
His back was slightly bent, blood spilling from his mouth, his body covered in wounds of varying depths. Outside the formation stood thousands of armed figures.
Those people shouted at him:
“Ying Heng, was it truly you who destroyed the Guixu Spirit Vein? Was the massacre at the Cangwu Daoist Temple your doing?”
The figure at the edge of the cliff lifted his head slightly. Sang Dai saw his blood-covered face, his dim and lifeless eyes.
She whispered, “Master…”
But Ying Heng couldn’t hear her.
He merely struggled to stand straight. Facing the thousands of pursuers, he let out a faint laugh.
“It was me.”
Sang Dai shook her head. “No… it wasn’t you! It wasn’t you!”
The thousands roared in anger:
“If the Guixu was destroyed, he must be killed!”
“Criminal, kill him!”
“He destroyed the Guixu—kill him!”
Sang Dai lunged toward him. “Master!”
At that moment, the killing array activated, and countless cutting winds slashed at him from all directions.
The winds tore through his body as he fell from the cliff, like a broken-winged butterfly, the cold wind cradling him as he plummeted straight into the raging sea below.
“Master!!!”
She leapt after Ying Heng, but she didn’t fall into the sea.
Instead, she found herself in another place—a place she recognized.
Sang Dai saw the vast, familiar palace, the one where she had once stayed for months.
But the palace that had once been warm like spring, with Hellfire orbs everywhere, was now shattered. The large, grand main bed that used to be there was now replaced by a bed of black ice.
The windows inside were tightly shut, and the entire palace felt like a frozen cavern.
A young man in black robes pushed open the door and entered.
His silver hair flowed loosely down his back, and his eyes were indifferent, devoid of light.
The wide hem of his robes dragged across the pitch-black floor tiles, with golden patterns reflecting a blinding brilliance.
Sang Dai murmured, “Su Xuan…”
But the little fox didn’t notice her. Without looking at her, he parted the bead curtain and entered the inner hall.
On the ice bed lay a person.
Her face was pale as snow, her profile serene and delicate. Even though she had long since passed away, her soul no longer present, her corpse showed no signs of decay. Apart from her bloodless complexion, she looked as though she were merely asleep.
Su Xuan stood beside the ice bed, gazing at her for a long time.
His long eyelashes drooped slightly, and the stillness and deathly aura around him seemed almost as overwhelming as the corpse lying on the bed.
Sang Dai called out to him helplessly, “Su Xuan, Su Xuan, look at me…”
But Su Xuan acted as though he hadn’t heard.
In the past, as long as she was near him, his eyes would always linger on her.
Now Su Xuan neither looked at her nor could he see her.
He transformed into a nine-tailed fox and leapt onto the ice bed, carefully nudging the corpse’s shoulder with his small paws, pulling her entirely into his embrace.
The nine tails wrapped around her body, the fox’s head resting against her shoulder. The golden divine mark on his forehead had dimmed significantly.
The little fox was utterly silent.
Sang Dai covered her mouth, sobbing. “Su Xuan, please, look at me…”
The little fox held her tightly for a long time, but the person in his arms remained cold as snow.
He opened his eyes and blankly gazed at the figure in his embrace, like a helpless cub. He cautiously licked her cheek, nudging her body with his fox head.
“Dai Dai…”
Sang Dai rushed forward. “I’m here, I’m right here!”
The little fox whimpered, tears falling from the corners of his eyes, dampening his soft fur.
He cried quietly, his sobs low and heart-wrenching.
“Dai Dai…”
He cried continuously, and Sang Dai cried along with him.
The scenes before her eyes shifted frame by frame.
Outside the window, frost and snow melted, barren trees sprouted buds, flourished in the summer, and scattered leaves across the ground in the autumn.
Finally, in the winter, they became barren trees once more.
Seasons cycled—spring, summer, autumn, and winter—year after year.