TBR CH22.2

If Fu Tingxue refused to look at him, then those eyes—if plucked out and displayed in the demon palace—would make a fine ornament.

In an instant, he lunged forward.

From the moment Gu Shishu had captured him, Wusu had never been this close to the Sword Sovereign of Qingcheng. He reached out, his strike ruthless, aiming straight for the immortal’s eyes.

Fu Tingxue did not evade.

At first, Wusu almost sneered. He wasn’t dodging? Had Gu Shishu tortured him into idiocy, erasing even his most basic instincts?

Then—

Something was wrong.

His claws had been just a fraction away from piercing those pale, indifferent eyes. But he couldn’t move them forward even a hair’s breadth more.

A chill, colder than anything he had ever known, sliced through his chest.

Fu Tingxue lowered his gaze, his eyelashes trembling as he slowly blinked.

Wusu followed his line of sight downward.

What… was this?

A silver-white light. Or rather—something he recognized.

A sword.

Fu Tingxue’s sword.

The very same blade that had left him with the wound that tormented him for centuries.

And now, in this moment, it had run him clean through.

Panic flooded his mind.

No—Fu Tingxue should have lost all his cultivation. He shouldn’t have had the power to fight back—

At some point, the celestial-restraining chains around his wrists had fallen away. The shackles at his ankles were meaningless—such crude restraints had never been enough to bind the wings of a celestial crane.

Before him, Fu Tingxue rose to his feet. His frame was slender but unwavering. The aura that radiated from him was stark, isolated—an overwhelming power unmatched in this world.

If there were any signs of torment on him, they were utterly invisible now.

He stood at the peak of his strength.

“You… you…”

Wusu struggled to pull the sword from his chest, but Fu Tingxue’s attack was not so easily undone. More importantly, Wusu had struck first with the mindset of a tormentor, completely unguarded.

All he could do now was desperately summon his spiritual energy to fight against the freezing cold invading his veins.

“You deceived both me and the Demon Lord.”

He forced out the words through gritted teeth. But the moment they left his lips, his heart turned even colder.

“No… that’s not right… How could you have deceived Gu Shishu? You two… could it be—?”

In the blink of an eye, the balance of power had shifted once again. Fu Tingxue stood there, composed and unruffled, while the Yao King, now bearing both old and fresh wounds, panted in disarray. His once-majestic golden pupils—symbols of his sovereign status—were now murky and unfocused beyond recognition.

“No… impossible…” He seemed still trapped in the aftershock of his disbelief. Too much had happened tonight, too suddenly, leaving him momentarily incapable of processing it all.

“The Demon Lord loathes the Sword Sovereign, wishing nothing more than to eliminate him—everyone knows this. How could they possibly…”

The only reason he had approached Fu Tingxue without any defences was because Gu Shishu’s previous actions had been convincing enough. He had every reason to believe that before the prisoner had been handed over to him, Fu Tingxue had already endured the Demon Lord’s relentless torture to the brink of death, utterly incapable of resistance.

But the truth before his eyes proved him utterly wrong.

Even setting aside everything else, the celestial-restraining chains that Gu Shishu had personally placed on the immortal had now been revealed as mere decorations. They wrapped loosely around Fu Tingxue’s wrists, as harmless as ornamental bracelets, serving only to accentuate the frost-pale color of his skin.

And his wounds?

They had never been real. The sheer, biting cold emanating from his supposed injuries made that abundantly clear.

Overwhelmed with shock and fury, the Yao King finally choked out the latter half of his sentence:

“…How could they be working together?”

The initial flicker of surprise in Fu Tingxue’s gaze had long since faded, replaced by a clarity as calm and unshaken as water. With his sword in hand, he met the Yao King’s accusation with nothing more than a simple statement:

“I did not anticipate your arrival.”

That remark only served to infuriate Wusu further.

The implication was clear—whoever struck first was in the wrong. Fu Tingxue had never intended to harm anyone, but since the Yao King had attacked first, he had merely acted in self-defense. In other words, Wusu had brought this upon himself.

In truth, when Fu Tingxue and Gu Shishu had planned this trap, they had not expected the enraged and humiliated Yao King to, in his moment of distress, take the time to seek out Fu Tingxue for revenge.

However, Gu Shishu had accounted for Fu Tingxue’s safety—he had never truly restrained him with celestial chains nor suppressed his power, ensuring he was well-prepared.

If Wusu had been even slightly prepared, things might have played out differently. But he wasn’t.

Wusu’s pupils shrank sharply, his slit-like irises splitting the darkness in his gaze. Right now, he had no time to contemplate whether Fu Tingxue and Gu Shishu had truly conspired against him, nor could he spare another thought for Shen Nian. If he didn’t act now, he might not even make it out alive.

Gritting his teeth through the pain, Wusu forcibly circulated his demonic energy, funneling it toward his chest wound, using it to stave off the sword energy invading his body.

This battle had put him at an overwhelming disadvantage.

But Fu Tingxue was not the same Fu Tingxue from centuries ago, and his sword was no longer the flawless Clear Frost of the past.

Wusu clenched his jaw, his demonic energy surging violently as he finally managed to force the sword from his chest. Fu Tingxue frowned slightly but had no choice but to withdraw his strike.

Dark mist erupted around Wusu, his demonic aura swelling as he burned through his own cultivation.

Not to fight.

But to flee.

A crimson mist, born from the sacrifice of his own life essence, spread around him. Clutching his chest wound, he could not stop the unnatural-colored blood of the yao race from seeping through his fingers. His eyes, filled with hatred and fury, bore into Fu Tingxue—but the immortal’s expression remained utterly unmoved.

The blood mist thickened, Wusu’s figure swayed for a moment—then vanished from sight.

No. This was not a retreat.

This was an escape.

The Yao King had entered the Demon Palace intending to torment Fu Tingxue. Instead, he had been stabbed once again by his long-standing enemy, forced to deplete his very essence in a desperate, disgraceful flight. It was an outcome that could only be described as utterly humiliating.

Fu Tingxue sheathed his sword. He exhaled softly—a breath so faint it was nearly inaudible—but his gaze wavered for the first time.

He… should not have acted within Gu Shishu’s palace.

As the Sword Sovereign of Qingcheng, Wusu had always been his enemy. But the power struggle between the Demon Lord and the yao race was a delicate balance that should not be disrupted lightly. While this entire trap had been orchestrated by both him and Gu Shishu, an unfaithful, cold-hearted beauty alone was hardly enough to destabilize that balance.

But the alliance of an immortal and the Demon Lord? That certainly could.

Fu Tingxue pressed his lips together, the pale color of his lips deepening slightly as he lowered his gaze to the broken celestial chains in his hands.

These chains had been modified by Gu Shishu himself.

He could convince himself that he did not care about his own reputation, nor about how he was perceived in Gu Shishu’s eyes. But he was uncertain—did Gu Shishu even want to be associated with him?

And yet, by his own actions, he had already crossed that line.

What would Gu Shishu think?

His fingers traced the intricate runes etched into the chains, his thoughts drifting. If there were consequences to bear, he would shoulder them alone. If Gu Shishu wished to distance himself, then there would never have been any so-called collaboration between the Sword Sovereign and the Demon Lord.

The grievous injury inflicted upon the Yao King?

That was solely his doing. It had nothing to do with Gu Shishu.

“You stabbed him?”

Contrary to Fu Tingxue’s expectations, when Gu Shishu heard of the Yao King’s humiliating escape, his first reaction was not anger—but mild concern. He repeatedly examined Fu Tingxue’s condition, and as for Wusu, he mentioned him only in passing:

“Hmm… so he’s not dead yet? You really didn’t get hurt?”

“I didn’t.”

Fu Tingxue opened his palm for Gu Shishu to see, then—quickly and discreetly—lifted his eyes to gauge the Demon Lord’s reaction.

Gu Shishu, appearing entirely focused, carefully inspected him, his gaze tracing over his figure. Wherever his eyes landed, it felt as if warmth followed in their wake. Only after confirming that Fu Tingxue was completely unharmed did he finally exhale a slightly hoarse chuckle:

“Then Wusu is actually quite lucky. Stabbed twice by you, and he’s still not dead.”

Lucky? The Yao King would certainly not see it that way.

Fu Tingxue hesitated for a moment before finally speaking:

“I did not inform the Demon Lord in advance of my actions. If there are any consequences, I will bear them alone.”

“Oh, it’s fine.”

Gu Shishu waved it off absentmindedly, not sparing a single thought for Wusu. But then—he suddenly paused, as if something had just occurred to him.

“You seem very concerned about whether you’re bearing this ‘alone.’”

His voice dropped lower, his tone almost accusatory.

“Are you trying to avoid dealing with this together with me?”

The distance between them had already shrunk when Gu Shishu had leaned in to check for injuries. Now, it was even closer—so much so that his words were spoken almost directly into Fu Tingxue’s ear, low and weighted with something unspoken.

Was that… what he really meant?

Only then did Fu Tingxue realize how distant his tone had been earlier. A trace of regret flickered through him, yet Gu Shishu was far too close, making it difficult for him to find the words to refute. The immortal lowered his gaze, instinctively trying to avoid his scrutiny.

But he did not truly wish to move away either.

All he could do was shake his head slightly, his pale pupils avoiding Gu Shishu’s eyes.

“Then… does the Sword Sovereign wish to be mentioned alongside me?”

Fu Tingxue felt that their proximity was too much. Gu Shishu, too, was aware of how little space separated them—so little that, if he wished, he could easily discern the delicate flutter of Fu Tingxue’s lashes. And yet, despite their clarity, he still could not fully read the emotions behind those snow-like eyes.

It was only now that he realized—beneath their frozen surface, too many emotions lay hidden.

Gu Shishu let out a quiet sigh in his heart. Though his words had been a test, perhaps he had pressed too quickly.

Still, those eyes were truly beautiful.

“I…”

They spoke at almost the same time.

Fu Tingxue stopped first. For someone so accustomed to silence, speaking required an effort of will. But Gu Shishu did not intend to let him off so easily. Their physical distance had widened slightly, but the tension between them remained just as taut.

“What is it you wish to say, Sword Sovereign?”

Gu Shishu smiled as he looked at him. “I was merely going to say that I acted presumptuously. Being associated with the Demon Clan is hardly an honorable reputation—naturally, you would not want that. Why should I insist?”

“No.”

The word left Fu Tingxue’s lips before he even realized it as if escaping a cage. He refuted Gu Shishu’s assumption almost instantly—only afterward did he register what he had said.

“…I do not mind.”

To Gu Shishu’s surprise, he did not press the matter further. Fu Tingxue quietly exhaled in relief, yet he also felt an odd sense of disappointment.

Perhaps he should not have avoided the question. But he could not suppress the hidden desire within him.

He had already resolved to face his feelings honestly. And yet, he was still so easily undone.

It was as if he had finally grasped the end of a long-sought thread. Sometimes, all it took was a single loose strand.

Gu Shishu felt like a hunter who had just caught the scent of treasure—gold and silver faintly glinting in the distance, their metallic fragrance lingering in the air.

Centuries apart, and yet the same unspoken understanding. His precise memory of the past. The scars Gu Shishu had never spoken of.

Fu Tingxue, if he was prey, had left too many traces.

Traces Gu Shishu had never noticed before—but now, they were impossible to ignore.

He had a suspicion. But he was not certain. And he was unsure if now was the right moment to tighten the net. He regretted that he had not drawn out more emotion from Fu Tingxue, but he did not regret the attempt.

He extended a hand toward the Sword Sovereign.

“I invite you to the Yao Realm. Let us check on the Yao King together. Would you accept, Sword Sovereign?”

Fu Tingxue thought to himself—how could he ever refuse this man?

So he nodded.

At this moment, both the Yao King and Shen Nian were in dire straits.

The Yao King, for now, could be set aside.

As for Shen Nian—Gu Shishu had spared him not a shred of dignity.

He looked down at the so-called “Child of Fate,” who was still feigning tearful devotion at his feet. The youth’s plain, unremarkable face was streaked with tears, red and scrunched up. How to describe it…

The Demon Lord was rather disgusted.

He had spoken the title aloud—“Child of Fate.” Shen Nian froze at once, visibly shaken, as if consumed by terror, yet still unable to comprehend what was happening. Confusion flickered across his features—utter stupidity.

Even now, he did not seem to understand his own failure.

Though Gu Shishu had been labeled the “villain” by Shen Nian’s system, he had no intention of playing into cliché—of being like those fictional antagonists who, after succeeding, enthusiastically explained their entire evil plan to the protagonist.

No. If he wanted to kill someone, he preferred to act directly.

Gu Shishu had initially intended to say a few words, but before he could, a voice reached his ears.

It was Fu Tingxue.

Priorities first.

So Gu Shishu simply ordered Shen Nian to be thrown into the dungeons.

The palace attendants, who had just borne witness to the entire farce, were still under the influence of the “Irresistible Charm” system. But even so, they dared not disobey the Demon Lord’s command.

Even as he was dragged away, Shen Nian remained utterly bewildered.

He did not understand why Gu Shishu’s attitude toward him had shifted so drastically. He did not understand how he had suddenly become a prisoner.

And for the first time, he truly cried in fear—tears and mucus mingling, his wretched sobs filling the air. He clawed at the guards restraining him, desperately trying to resist, his entire being recoiling at the thought of being thrown into the dark, corpse-littered dungeon.

In his mind, he screamed for the system.

Earlier, when he had been manipulating the situation—slandering the Yao King while seeking Gu Shishu’s favor—the system had been actively assisting him, offering advice, even providing tools to make his tears appear more pitiful.

But now, there was nothing.

No sound.

From the moment Gu Shishu had uttered the words “Child of Fate,” the voice in his mind had gone completely silent.

Why?

He didn’t know. But his mind had gone blank with terror—a fear as sharp as lightning, scorching away all coherent thought.

All he could do was fix his gaze on Gu Shishu, making one last desperate plea:

“My lord! My lord, please—don’t take me down there! I was wrong! Please, I beg you—don’t send me away—”

He struggled with all his might, displaying the most pitiful tears he could muster, the most desperate cries, the fiercest resistance—clawing for the chance to regain the Demon Lord’s favor.

It should have worked. It should have.

Everyone was supposed to love him.

He had merely discarded one person in favor of another.

And yet, suddenly, he had become disposable trash.

The realization struck him with the force of an abyss opening beneath him, just as it had in his past life. He no longer cared for dignity—he howled, his voice ragged, pleading for Gu Shishu to change his mind.

And then he saw—

Gu Shishu was not even looking at him.

The Demon Lord had been born with an unparalleled appearance, but his nature was ice-cold. Even on ordinary days, his expressions were indifferent and cruel, and Shen Nian had always assumed it was merely his nature.

Even if Gu Shishu cared, he would never show it easily.

But now Shen Nian realized something.

Gu Shishu was speaking to someone else.

Perhaps he was using a talisman or some other magical means—Shen Nian couldn’t be sure.

He couldn’t even hear what Gu Shishu was saying. If Gu Shishu wished to block his hearing, it would take nothing more than a flick of his fingers. And with his own ears ringing from his screams, Shen Nian couldn’t hear much of anything anyway.

But he saw the Demon Lord’s face.

Gu Shishu’s gaze was focused—completely absorbed in whatever the other person was saying. And there was something else, something even more unbearable:

A faint indulgence in his expression, perhaps unconscious.

A subtle curve of his lips, as if something the other person had said amused him. And then—just for an instant—concern flickered across his eyes.

Gu Shishu spoke softly to the person on the other end. Then, he stood and moved to leave.

As he stepped out of the hall, he did not glance at Shen Nian even once.

As if he were nothing more than a piece of discarded trash on the roadside.

“No… no, I…”

Shen Nian was incoherent, his throat raw.

But the hall was now empty.

And for the first time, he realized—

All this time, Gu Shishu had never looked at him like that.

Not even once.