TBR CH17

Matters that remain incomprehensible—perhaps they are merely self-inflicted burdens.

Yet Gu Shishu could not help but sink once more into the entanglement of the past.

Now, he was the supreme ruler of all demons, commanding absolute authority, indulging in his whims, and no longer viewing his innate demonic physique as a curse.

But back then, he had loved Fu Tingxue.

That was the greatest punishment of all, the very reason he had been forsaken.

The first signs manifested as an uncontrollable impulse when channeling spiritual energy.

Cultivators derived their power from the vast spiritual essence of the universe. Some places, known as spirit veins, naturally concentrated this energy, making them ideal for cultivation. Fu Tingxue’s Xiao Zhu Peak was one such place.

By all logic, spiritual energy should never have been insufficient.

Yet, whenever Gu Shishu practiced his swordsmanship or cast spells, he felt as if an abyss had opened within his spiritual core—an endless, black void. No matter how diligently he gathered spiritual energy throughout his body, he could never fill that chasm.

Instead, he sensed something else in the void—something ominous, something beyond spiritual energy. A sinister black aura, eerily similar to the essence of the demonic creatures he had slain before, crept toward him. The realization sent a shudder through him, and he instinctively recoiled.

Yet, these dark forces moved of their own accord, seeking to flow into his meridians.

Later, Gu Shishu learned of his destined fate. He was one who would inevitably fall into the demonic path. His extraordinary talent in his early years had merely been Heaven’s way of playing a cruel joke, offering him compensation before casting him aside.

He had stood atop the grand hall of the Qingcheng Sect, its brilliance dazzling. Yet, the elders’ gazes had been cold, their sighs heavy with resignation. Their stares left him with nowhere to hide. For the first time, he felt a profound sense of helplessness about himself.

Fate was inescapable.

Then, was his love and hatred also destined to vanish like the wind?

Only Fu Tingxue—only the Immortal Lord—had defied the outcry around him. From the highest step of the hall, he had descended. Tall, noble, and austere, he was widely regarded as pure as the moon and as sharp as ice.

Yet, he had ignored the clamor demanding Gu Shishu’s swift eradication and simply extended a hand to him:

“I do not believe Heaven’s will is unbreakable.”

Gu Shishu had stared up at him in disbelief, as if the entire world had faded into monotone. Only the figure before him, draped in pristine white robes, remained vivid—even with his frost-colored hair and pale eyes, he was dazzlingly clear.

Fu Tingxue’s pupils did not waver. Within them, Gu Shishu saw only his own reflection.

Gu Shishu heard himself laugh.

The voices around him blurred—doubt, persuasion, condemnation—but he no longer cared.

“Very well. For you, I will defy Heaven’s will.”

Such an audacious declaration.

The elders, aged and experienced, shook their heads. Yet, none dared openly oppose Fu Tingxue’s decision. Their voices trembled as they called out:

“If this child is not eliminated, he will bring calamity upon the world! His existence will taint the Immortal Lord’s reputation—Immortal Lord, reconsider!”

It was a reckless vow, and Gu Shishu knew it.

But he was capable of fulfilling it.

As long as Fu Tingxue did not abandon him, he would endure any pain, any despair. He would suppress his instincts, burn away every last drop of his blood and flesh if necessary—he would not surrender his fate to so-called Heaven’s decree.

He would not fall into demonic corruption. Never.

He would not allow even the slightest blemish to taint Fu Tingxue’s unsullied name because of him.

He did not believe in Heaven’s will. He believed in Fu Tingxue.

Yet defying Heaven had never been an easy endeavor.

Day by day, things only worsened.

At times, his very blood would suddenly boil as if set aflame. Razor-sharp whispers gnawed at his mind, as if unseen fangs were devouring him from the inside. The world before him appeared unchanged, yet he saw nothing but crimson—a hellish vision.

Only by mustering every ounce of his will could he suppress his urge to slaughter. He would curl up on the ground, pressing a hand against his chest, dark eyes lowered. Within them, two opposing forces waged a fierce battle—light and darkness intertwined.

In moments of unbearable torment, the pain was like swallowing molten steel, like blades carving into his flesh.

And in those moments, he thought of Fu Tingxue.

The thought granted him fleeting clarity—just enough to remind him of how wretched and abhorrent the demonic forces trying to consume him truly were.

Yet he never wanted Fu Tingxue to witness his suffering, to see him in such a pitiful and grotesque state. So, he began to avoid him.

Still, Fu Tingxue always found him.

Even as the strongest cultivator in the immortal realm, the Immortal Lord seemed powerless against his pain.

They had tried countless methods. None worked.

The only thing that worked, in truth, was Gu Shishu himself—his refusal to succumb, his willingness to endure everything.

At first, he had believed he could defy the fate imposed upon him.

Later, he was no longer certain.

Then came that day.

Fu Tingxue had left Xiao Zhu Peak for a brief errand.

Gu Shishu, meanwhile, found himself surrounded by enforcers dispatched by the sect elders.

The leader among them summoned a killing formation without hesitation. They had come to end his life—without a shred of mercy.

In their eyes, Gu Shishu caught a glimpse of himself.

A wretched being unfit to exist.

He had tried to explain, but no one would listen. Blades of spiritual energy rained down upon him.

By the time he collapsed to his knees, his body was covered in wounds, his blood pooling around him. His breath grew weaker and weaker.

The assassins finally allowed themselves to relax—only for terror to seize them in the next instant.

Within their encirclement, Gu Shishu clenched his fists tightly, nails digging deep into his palm. A trickle of fresh blood ran down his fingers, staining the earth below.

Demonic blood was black.

Gu Shishu’s blood was red.

Just like the color of his upturned eyes.

“No—he’s about to turn!”

The battlefield shifted in an instant. The cultivators retreated in fear, their faces drained of color.

Before them, a figure bathed in blood and emanating overwhelming demonic energy stood tall. His gaze was abyssal, unfathomable. A mere glance sent shudders through them, paralyzing them in place.

To Gu Shishu, they were nothing more than insects—easily crushed beneath his feet.

The world before him was drenched in crimson.

Everyone was guilty.

The sky itself churned with demonic energy. His wounds burned, the pain unrelenting.

And amidst this agony, his instincts screamed—

They tried to kill you. Kill them back.

But…

No.

With a wave of his energy, he sent them all crashing to the ground, gravely injured. Their faces were pale as they lay motionless, watching his retreating figure in stunned silence.

Staggering, Gu Shishu turned and walked away in the opposite direction.

Even so, he had not taken a life—he had only come close to falling into demonic corruption.

Gu Shishu was covered in blood, but it was all his own. And yet, he laughed, as if a great burden had been lifted from him.

In the delirium of near-unconsciousness, a hazy thought crossed his mind—he had harmed others, and from now on, he would only become more uncontrollable. What would Fu Tingxue do with him?

If it was to kill him, that might not be a bad outcome. Neither of them would have broken their promises, and he could die cleanly, as a disciple of the immortal sect.

But still, a small corner of his soul held on to desire—he hoped Fu Tingxue would save him. He wanted to stay by the Immortal Lord’s side, for a little while longer.

Perhaps Fu Tingxue would find a way. Even if he did not, it did not matter—Gu Shishu could endure. He could control himself.

As his consciousness sank into darkness, Gu Shishu faintly sensed a trace of coolness—a shadow cast over the scorching agony of his soul. In his dizziness, he had the vague impression that he had muttered something—words he would never dare to confess to Fu Tingxue under normal circumstances.

But when he tried to recall them, he found himself uncertain. Perhaps he had said nothing at all. Perhaps no one had even come.

This memory was too blurred. When Gu Shishu woke up, he forgot it effortlessly.

He never expected Fu Tingxue to abandon him.

This was worse than any other outcome. Yet, it had truly happened.

When he opened his eyes from the depths of feverish torment, the first thing he saw was Fu Tingxue’s indifferent gaze. Those eyes, once again, were the same as they had been a hundred years ago—reflecting him without a trace of warmth.

Immortals were never meant to be swayed by emotions. Everything that had happened before had been nothing more than a fleeting dream.

“You will drink the Waters of Forgetfulness. From this moment forth, we walk separate paths, never to be entangled again.”

Gu Shishu could have questioned him—why give him hope only to break his promise? Why refuse to believe that he could suppress his nature and never fall into demonic corruption? Why so easily discard their past, demanding a clean severance?

But he could not bring himself to say a single word.

Why should he burden an immortal with the world’s condemnation forever?

Why should he demand eternal love?

Their relationship had always been one-sided. Fu Tingxue had been passive—rarely taking the initiative, rarely asking for anything. Perhaps, to him, their bond had long become a burden.

Gu Shishu said, “Alright.”

And then, they parted ways.

Gu Shishu gazed at the cup before him. The severance elixir within was the color of amber—almost like wine.

Fu Tingxue rarely drank, and when he did, he got drunk easily.

Well then. If he drank this, everything between them would be nothing more than a drunken mistake.

Gu Shishu’s expression was unreadable.

He was the one being abandoned—he ought to let go. He should not be clinging to resentment, should not be consumed by unwillingness. Yet, as he met Fu Tingxue’s eyes, he felt nothing but his own disgrace.

Everything he had suffered, endured, and fought against—had all been for Fu Tingxue alone.

But Fu Tingxue’s eyes held no love, no hate. He had always been reserved in his emotions.

Even now, as he looked at Gu Shishu with open, unguarded eyes, there was only a faint trace of fondness.

But how much of it was real?

If not for Gu Shishu, would Fu Tingxue have even bothered to come here and drink the severance elixir?

The one who could not let go was him, and him alone.

Objectively, he did not blame Fu Tingxue.

Everything the Immortal Lord had done was beyond reproach. He was as pure as the moon, worthy of his title as the Sword Sovereign of Qingcheng, the first among the immortal sects. Gu Shishu had always hoped he would remain untouchable, beyond the mortal realm. That was no empty sentiment.

Even in the end, out of consideration for their bond as master and disciple, Fu Tingxue had not killed him. Instead, he had chosen a mutual forgetting. It was, in a way, the utmost kindness.

Yet when it came to matters of the heart, Gu Shishu thought bitterly—he was the one who had been abandoned.

Gu Shishu was the first to drink the Waters of Forgetfulness.

But he had secretly formed a spell. Though the liquid touched his lips, it never truly entered his throat—it was instantly purified away.

At the very least, he thought, he was not a complete loser.

He refused to reach such a pathetic state where he needed an external force to erase his feelings.

That would be too humiliating—proof that he alone had clung to something that had long been severed.

“You abandoned me…”

“What makes you think only the Waters of Forgetfulness can make me forget you?”

Perhaps it was his inherent pride, or perhaps it was sheer defiance—but the Demon Lord disdained the idea of relying on an elixir to forget his former lover.

He would put it behind him on his own terms.

Even if he remembered everything, he could still let go.

Years passed, and he convinced himself that he had succeeded.

He could even tell himself that Fu Tingxue no longer mattered—that their failed love was nothing more than a distant, fading memory.

But now, as his hand brushed over the scar on his chest, something stirred within him.

A fleeting thought struck him—Fu Tingxue was acting strangely.

There were too many inconsistencies, too many loose ends left behind.

The realization left the Demon Lord unsettled.

He was still prone to that familiar instinct—to shield, to protect.

And, despite everything, he still wanted to understand Fu Tingxue’s thoughts.

He had already made up his mind.

He would follow these inconsistencies to their source.

Whatever the truth may be.