TBR CH13

Fu Tingxue had a secret.

He had always regarded the world with detachment—until that day at the ascension ceremony, when he cast his usual, quiet gaze downward and met a pair of bold, upturned eyes.

Their owner dared to meet his stare.

In those eyes, it was as if an ember still smoldered.

With that single distant glance, Fu Tingxue’s long-frozen heart stirred, ever so slightly.

That was dangerous.

A celestial being, sculpted of frost and snow, lowered his lashes.

He had heard that intense heat could melt ice.

Later, Gu Shishu still became the first disciple of Xiao Zhu Peak.

For the first time, Fu Tingxue took on the role of a teacher—guiding him in sword techniques, instructing him in tea ceremony, imparting the intricacies of spellcraft.

And in return—

Gu Shishu became his teacher.

He taught him what it meant to love with unrestrained passion, like glazed porcelain softened by fire, blooming with dark, intricate patterns.

Gu Shishu was an exceptionally talented student.

Fu Tingxue was not.

When it came to matters of love, he had always considered himself slow-witted—utterly defenseless.

He was not skilled at expressing emotions.

He was not skilled at showing care.

He was not skilled at returning a kiss when the other leaned in.

His nature was like frost and snow—cold, reserved, distant.

Even when he gave everything, even when he loved with all his heart, the result was little more than a faint reflection of moonlight, casting silent shadows upon his lover.

Until later.

Much later.

Only then did Fu Tingxue realize that his slow-wittedness had been a blessing in disguise—

Because it allowed him to conceal things well.

When the Severance Elixir touched his lips, the liquid never reached his throat.

Instead, it dissipated entirely under his spellcraft.

He met Gu Shishu’s gaze, watching the moment detachment overtook him.

Everything was proceeding as expected.

A great snowfall blanketed his irises, burying all traces of joy and sorrow beneath its weight.

Everything should have ended that day.

He had told Gu Shishu as much.

And regardless of what he chose—

Gu Shishu had already taken the Severance Elixir before him.

One who drank it would never again feel love for their former beloved.

Even if they tried to remember—

It would bring nothing but suffering, an eternal longing for something forever out of reach.

But it was only then—

Only in that moment—

That Fu Tingxue felt he had finally come to understand love.

It had taken years upon years.

But at last, he had mastered it.

Like a revelation.

Fu Tingxue had a secret.

To the world, he was the untouchable moon—an existence beyond reach.

But before him, he had been willing to become a moth, willing to burn itself to death in the flame.

*

“So… someone actually remembers the original Shen Nian.”

Though this was not technically a case of possession, Gu Shishu found the term convenient.

Fu Tingxue had spent time investigating Shen Nian’s background within Qingcheng Sect—his past, his relationships.

He had yet to determine how best to use this information, but if they were to expose the so-called “Child of Fate” for what he truly was—

This was a step they had to take.

Stealing another’s entire life—

That was something unforgivable.

Gu Shishu was not a kind man.

His rise to power had never been built upon mercy or generosity.

But this kind of disgusting trickery—

He loathed it.

Fu Tingxue explained:

“Shen Nian has an older sister, Shen Rou. She has no spiritual roots and lives in a mortal city outside Qingcheng Sect. After their parents passed away, the two relied entirely on each other. She was his only remaining family—someone deeply important to him.”

“Does she know her brother is… gone?”

“Mm,” Fu Tingxue gave a small nod.

“After his disappearance, an elder from the outer sect informed her. But she still holds onto hope. After all, those who fall from the Falling Immortal Platform do sometimes survive. For now, Qingcheng Sect is covering her living expenses—she is safe, at least.”

“Ah, well, that’s good.”

Gu Shishu did not particularly care about a stranger’s fate.

He was merely following the conversation.

“Did the current ‘Shen Nian’ ever meet with her?”

“No.”

Fu Tingxue sighed lightly.

“And that is precisely the issue. The original Shen Nian used to visit her whenever the sect gates opened to the outside world. The day before he vanished, Qingcheng Sect was open to visitors—but Shen Rou waited for him all day, and he never came.”

Fu Tingxue recalled his visit to the mortal city.

He remembered how her eyes had been swollen red from crying.

Even though it had been weeks since her brother disappeared, she had not moved on.

She had not stopped grieving.

“I should have gone looking for him that day… I thought he was just busy… I was so foolish—”

“If I had realized sooner, if I had gone to find him—”

She had no one to confide in, no one to offer her comfort.

So she simply repeated those words, over and over.

Even Fu Tingxue, who had little personal understanding of mortal family bonds, had quietly stayed by her side, listening.

Only when her voice grew hoarse did he murmur:

“I am sorry for your loss.”

His gaze lowered.

“But by then, the person she was waiting for… was already gone.”

Gu Shishu completed the thought.

“—Because the ‘Shen Nian’ she was waiting for had never come back.”

“The one wearing his skin never even knew she existed.”

“This so-called Child of Fate didn’t even bother to learn about the life he stole.”

Their eyes met.

They both understood.

This was a weakness to exploit.

After a pause, Fu Tingxue shifted topics.

“And what of you, Demon Lord?”

“Have you reached the Yao King yet?”

Gu Shishu let out a slow breath.

“Wusu is not as easily manipulated as Jing Qianshan… That fox is far too sharp.”

“If I tell him outright, he’ll never believe me.”

“If I show him secondhand ‘evidence’ through an artifact, he’ll assume I fabricated it for my own gain.”

“He’s utterly impossible to convince.”

He sounded almost resigned.

“I still don’t understand how Shen Nian ever got through to him—”

“I can’t even imagine it.”

Progress had, predictably, stalled here.

Shen Nian’s second conquest target had been Wusu, the Yao King.

Following the natural difficulty curve, Wusu was easier than Gu Shishu—

But far more difficult than Jing Qianshan.

The Thousand-Year Fox Yao King, Wusu.

As the ruler of the Demonic Realm, Gu Shishu did know him.

The two had even collaborated before.

But their relationship was built upon cautious cooperation—

A fragile alliance, filled with mutual wariness.

Unless their interests aligned, they were not friends.

And as for Fu Tingxue…

Fu Tingxue and Wusu, however, had a deep-seated enmity. Years ago, when the yao clans waged war against the cultivation world, it was none other than the Qingcheng Sword Sovereign who repelled their forces—at the forefront of his blade stood the Yao King himself.

Who knew if the wounds Qing Shuang had left on him had ever truly healed?

The level of trust Jing Qianshan had in Fu Tingxue was matched only by the level of hatred Wusu bore toward him.

Thus, if they were to send any sort of revelation about Shen Nian to the King, he would not believe a single word of it.

Gu Shishu tapped his fingers lightly against the stone table, producing a crisp knocking sound. He pondered for a moment before settling on a conclusion:

“We’ll need to trick him into coming here.”

As for the pretense—he had to account for Shen Nian’s system alerting him whenever a target approached within a certain distance.

Since Gu Shishu’s own cultivation was at an overwhelming level, his presence only triggered an alert within a range of a dozen meters. However, Wusu, who primarily relied on cunning demon techniques rather than raw power, was significantly weaker. This meant Shen Nian’s system would detect him from much farther away.

They needed an excuse that would force Wusu to visit the Demon Palace.

A situation where Shen Nian would have no reason to escape.

A scenario where Shen Nian would be compelled to reveal his true nature before the Demon Emperor. Otherwise, all it would take was a single tearful plea, and suddenly Gu Shishu would be painted as the villain forcing himself upon him.

But as he thought about this, Gu Shishu found himself wavering.

He pulled out the black book, though without much hope, and asked Heavenly Dao:

“If the Sword Sovereign and I simply kidnapped the Yao King and dragged him here, would that count?”

—Of course not.

That would be far too similar to coercion, and Wusu would instinctively sympathize with Shen Nian as a fellow victim.

Before Heavenly Dao could even display its inevitable disapproval across the pages, the usually silent Fu Tingxue suddenly spoke:

“I might… have an idea.”

*

Demon Clan Territory, Cangwu City.

Wusu flung back the silk canopy of his bed, pressing a clawed hand against the left side of his chest. The attendants waiting outside his chambers immediately understood that their sovereign’s old wound had flared up again.

A palace maid, her dark hair coiled into elegant loops, carried a steaming bowl of bitter medicinal broth into the room.

If one looked closely, they would see that all the palace maids were strikingly beautiful—and that each bore a pair of fox ears atop their heads.

But the Demon Emperor had no interest in admiring them.

He clenched his chest in frustration as icy pain radiated through his limbs—a reminder of the lingering wound that had plagued him for years.

Only a decoction brewed from the blood of the Scarlet Phoenix could temporarily suppress his condition.

The pain was particularly severe today. A deep, marrow-penetrating chill wracked his body, forcing him to gulp down the medicine. Only then did warmth begin to return to his veins.

As sensation returned, Wusu’s pallor faded into an expression of simmering fury.

Once again, he thought of the sword that had delivered this agony upon him a century ago.

New hatred and old grievances surged together. He even suspected that Fu Tingxue was cursing him at this very moment, and that his sudden relapse was some ominous sign.

A fresh wave of vengeful desire curled through his mind, thick and suffocating.

His obsidian-black claws sank into his palm, drawing fresh streaks of crimson.

Only when he thought of his pure-hearted, naive little lover did the murderous haze in his mind slowly begin to clear.

The fox-eared palace maids all kept their gazes demurely lowered, breathing shallowly, not daring to utter a single word.

Wusu glanced at them—then dismissed them all with a flick of his fingers, finding them utterly uninteresting.

They bowed low, as if granted amnesty, and swiftly retreated.

Just as they reached the threshold, Wusu’s voice rang out again.

“You—stay.”

One of the palace maids stiffened.

Trembling, she hesitated before turning back.

“Raise your head.”

No amount of training in emotional restraint could stop the flicker of fear that crossed her face. Reluctantly, she lifted her gaze—just in time to see the Demon Emperor step closer, his fingers reaching for her chin.

Wusu studied her face intently.

“Your eyes are quite beautiful,” he murmured.

“They remind me of Nian Nian.”

The maid’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. A wave of icy dread surged through her chest.

She saw the Demon Emperor’s lips curl slightly—almost as if he were reminiscing.

Then, in the next instant, his gaze turned cold, as though he were looking at something vile.

“But how could you possibly deserve to resemble my Nian Nian?”

“Perhaps those eyes should be plucked out instead. What do you think?”

The maid wanted to scream.

But she could not find her voice.

Wusu’s clawed fingers inched closer to her eyes.

Then, suddenly, he turned away.

His expression darkened as he looked toward the windows of his chambers.

Outside, the night stretched on—silent and fathomless.

Something unseen lurked beyond the darkness.

Retracting his hand, he let the maid collapse to the floor in terror. She scrambled away, four limbs splayed, fleeing like a true fox.

Wusu ignored her.

Instead, he opened the window—

And caught a paper crane, fluttering softly into his palm.

Intricate black-ink sigils adorned its surface, dense with complex formations. The magic that clung to it was refined—powerful.

Throughout the entire world, there was only one person who used such a thing.

The Demon Lord, Gu Shishu.

Wusu’s instincts sharpened into wary alertness.

Carefully, he unfolded the message and scanned its contents.

As he read, the golden hue of his pupils contracted, shifting into the sharp, slitted gaze of a beast.

He looked pleased.

Gu Shishu claimed that he had once again launched an assault on Qingcheng Sect—

And that, this time, the Qingcheng Sword Sovereign had fallen to him.

That Fu Tingxue, unable to withstand his power, had become a prisoner of the Demon Palace.

Thus, the Demon Lord extended an invitation:

Come to the palace.

And together, they would discuss how best to take revenge on their mutual enemy.

Suspicion flickered across Wusu’s expression.

But then he considered Gu Shishu’s history.

And the story made sense.

Everyone knew that after being cast out of Qingcheng Sect, Gu Shishu had embraced his demonic nature.

That he and Fu Tingxue had become mortal enemies.

Moreover, the letter included a small token—

A lock of pale, frost-colored hair.

A faint chill lingered in its strands.

Wusu knew that sensation all too well.

It was the same icy presence that tormented him whenever his old wound flared up.

His hatred was already carved deep into his bones.

Now, his grudge rekindled, his desire for vengeance burned hotter than ever.

Any last traces of doubt vanished as he crumpled the lock of hair in his fist—

And incinerated it to ash.

A wicked grin spread across his lips.

His fingers curled, energy surging through his veins.

Oh, he already had so many ideas.

So many delightful ways to make that wretched Sword Sovereign suffer.

First, he would meet with Gu Shishu to finalize their plans.

And then—

Then, he would ensure that the last thing Fu Tingxue ever did in this world…

Was beg.