TBR CH28

The grand hall of Qingcheng Sect’s immortal gate was steeped in solemnity. Intricately carved pillars stood interwoven throughout the hall, each adorned with a designated seat of honor. Today, nearly every seat was occupied.

Seated there were the most esteemed figures of the cultivation world.

At this moment, their emotions were complicated.

A deluge of information had struck them in such a short span of time that even the elders of the immortal sects, accustomed to great upheavals, could not help but feel shaken.

The sect master nervously stroked his beard, his fingers trembling slightly, before cautiously glancing toward the highest seat in the hall—where Qingcheng Sword Sovereign sat. As always, his presence was like frost and snow, his temperament as aloof and transcendent as it had been for millennia. And yet…

The person beside the Immortal Sovereign—wasn’t he a little too familiar?

Gu Shishu, however, showed no awareness of being the center of attention—or if he did, he simply didn’t care.

Still, this situation felt oddly familiar to him, as if history were repeating itself. Once, when he had been the immortal’s sole disciple, he had sat at his side in nearly the same position. Of course, this time, he was sitting even closer—on an equal level.

Perhaps many had fantasized about sitting here, overlooking the sect elders from on high, imagining the sense of triumph it would bring. But neither of them held any interest in power.

The position that Fu Tingxue occupied was not one that could be claimed by mere ambition—great power came with even greater expectations.

And as for Gu Shishu, the same was true in the Demon Realm.

Yet at this moment… his state of mind was different.

The immortal had always been indulgent toward him.

Fu Tingxue’s posture remained effortlessly poised, seated atop the high platform. Dressed in pristine white, he was as elegant and reserved as ever, as though he found nothing particularly noteworthy about the fact that the Demon Lord—who, according to rumors, had severed all ties with him—was seated at his side.

The Demon Lord, clad in black, with jet-black eyes, was even more at ease. The only ones visibly affected were the elders below, whose expressions, though carefully composed, had already begun to stiffen.

And yet, since the two figures at the center of this scene remained so composed, the elders couldn’t help but second-guess themselves. Had they been too rigid? Too old-fashioned?

They stole glances at their fellow sect members, only to find that each was playing the part of a seasoned fox—pretending, at the very least, to be unfazed.

Could it be that they were simply overreacting?

Perhaps it wasn’t entirely unreasonable for Fu Tingxue and Gu Shishu to appear together in the grand hall of the immortal sect.

Still, this was not the primary reason they had convened.

The Immortal Sovereign had brought news.

“You mean to say that the Yao King… is dead?”

Finally, someone repeated the statement in a dazed murmur, as if struggling to fully process it.

Some cultivators in the sect had already observed ominous signs—those adept at celestial divination had noticed that the Yao King’s star had been shrouded in a faint crimson hue, especially two nights ago when it burned particularly bright. Some had even suspected a shift in the imperial fate of the Yao realm.

Yet soon after, the Yao King’s star had returned to its rightful place. Though its radiance had yet to fully recover, the ominous blood-colored glow had faded.

A shift had occurred in the Yao realm. Naturally, the elders had exercised extreme caution, sending scouts to gather information. However, reports had yet to return. All they had heard was that the Yao realm was now under strict lockdown, and no further details had emerged.

And now, the Immortal Sovereign had delivered a revelation of staggering magnitude.

But how could he know?

Fu Tingxue inclined his head slightly. He could see the doubt in their eyes, but he also knew that the weight of his name alone was enough for them to accept his words. So he merely added:

“He is now the former Yao King. Take note of this. The new ruler of the Yao realm is Wusui—brother of the former King.”

It was the sect master who first regained his composure, sighing deeply.

“I have heard of this Yao before, but never suspected he was concealing such ambition. The former King, Wusu, was immensely powerful. Though not quite on par with the Immortal Sovereign, within the Yao realm, he was said to be unmatched.

“For Wusui to have slain him and successfully seized the throne… he must not be underestimated.”

Gu Shishu had been listening with an air of detached amusement. But now, a thought struck him, and he nearly laughed.

Qingcheng Sect’s leader seemed to believe that Wusui had spent years lying in wait, patiently plotting his strike against Wusu. That much was true.

But the real reason Wusu had been fatally wounded—the true cause of his downfall—was not Wusui.

It was their Immortal Sovereign, Fu Tingxue.

The man now seated beside him.

Fu Tingxue’s expression remained unchanged, as if he had been carved from ice and snow. Without so much as a blink, he simply clarified:

“I was the one who gravely wounded Wusu.”

“You mean… centuries ago…”

The sect master abruptly fell silent.

Understanding dawned upon him, and even the hand stroking his beard froze in place. He clearly fought to maintain his composure, realizing that this was not some ancient history.

“You mean to say… the Yao King was wounded by you recently?”

This time, he did not misspeak.

Gu Shishu felt several discreet yet unmistakable glances cast in his direction.

This matter now implicated both the Yao and immortal realms—and with the Demon Lord himself seated here, suspicion naturally extended to him as well.

The sect master had clearly come to the same conclusion. The highly respected elder could not help but shift his gaze toward Gu Shishu—the undisputed strongest cultivator in the current cultivation world.

At any other time, his presence within Qingcheng Sect’s halls would have been nothing short of a nightmare.

And yet, at this moment… there was an unexpected harmony in the air.

The sect master had witnessed many things in his lifetime. He had seen Gu Shishu join Qingcheng Sect as a youth, watched as he and Fu Tingxue fell out, and though he had not personally experienced their estrangement, he had been a bystander to that era.

He had once speculated about their relationship, even lamenting the misfortune of their entanglement.

Now, Gu Shishu had returned.

Though faint traces of demonic energy still clung to him, with his level of cultivation, he could suppress his aura with ease, ensuring that the surrounding cultivators felt no undue discomfort.

Still, his presence carried an undeniable weight. Those with weaker cultivation could only observe him with cautious reverence. His long, dark hair draped loosely over his shoulders, and the young Demon Lord exuded both danger and an effortless, untamed freedom.

He seemed wholly indifferent to the gathered sect members. And yet, despite his apparent disinterest, his gaze softened ever so slightly whenever it landed on the Immortal Sovereign.

They had even exchanged a silent glance earlier—Gu Shishu had given him a questioning look, and Fu Tingxue had responded with the barest nod.

They seemed… in sync.

Most present only dared to speculate, but the sect master carried the burden of inquiry. He had just been about to speak when Fu Tingxue’s voice rang out, clear and composed—like ice water washing over their thoughts.

“This is a long story. I have much to thank the Demon Lord for.

“And if we are to break the predicament before us, we will need his help.”

Fu Tingxue spoke, and the sect listened in silence.

Gu Shishu listened, too.

He only found himself growing fonder of the immortal.

Perhaps it was his influence—Fu Tingxue had never been one to conceal his thoughts. He had no desire for others to speculate on his intentions or decipher his emotions. His entire being, from his character to his heart, was as clear and unblemished as frost and snow. And for all these years, the only wound he could not bear to speak of was Gu Shishu.

Fu Tingxue’s narrative was well-paced. Without unnecessary elaboration, he succinctly recounted the sequence of events: how Qingcheng Sect disciple Shen Nian had fallen into the demonic realm after plunging from the Fallen Immortal Platform, how the Demon Lord had invited him to handle the matter together, how this had drawn the Yao King into the conflict, and how the emperor, seeking vengeance, had instead met his end.

Gu Shishu listened along with the others, but in his mind, he filled in the details Fu Tingxue had left unspoken.

Such as how, after so many years, they had shared their first drink together.

How he had once again touched the immortal’s cool skin.

How they had spoken that night, every word laced with unspoken tension.

And, most of all, how on the day of Wusu’s death—

That day, destined to be inscribed in history, when the Immortal Sovereign and the Yao King had renegotiated the terms of coexistence between the immortal and demon realms.

And on that very same day—

The Demon Lord had realized that the jar of pear blossom wine had not been left to gather dust in the shadows for centuries.

A century of unspoken pain and buried sorrow had, at last, ripened into a luminous love. In the moonlight, it transformed into a clear, sweet wine—one that could intoxicate with a single glance.

Fu Tingxue’s account was concise and precise. When he finally fell silent, lowering his gaze to those seated before him, it was only then that they seemed to snap back to reality, still overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the revelations.

The demon realm, the immortal realm, the human realm, the celestial realm—

Everything had been woven together.

At last, a cultivator, as if waking from a dream, rushed forward to report:

“Immortal Sovereign, the matter has been confirmed… The Human Emperor’s envoy has already arrived and is waiting within the sect.”

The sect master, too, slowly emerged from his initial disbelief. He had lived far longer than most and, though much of what Fu Tingxue had described lay beyond his prior understanding, it was not beyond his ability to comprehend.

With newfound solemnity, he looked up at the immortal—and at the great demon beside him.

The fact that Qingcheng’s Sword Sovereign had slain the former Yao King proved that his mastery of the sword had not tarnished with time.

“Immortal Sovereign, have you brought the usurper with you?”

“Hm.”

Fu Tingxue’s lashes lowered briefly before he opened his eyes once more. The frost-like hue in them remained unchanged, yet there was now a trace of pity.

Only then did the sect master recall the matter. The immortal had questioned him some time ago about the fallen Shen Nian—

And his sister.

Since the incident had occurred within Qingcheng Sect, the sect had naturally sent people to comfort and care for her. Even the outer disciples who had quarreled with her brother were wracked with guilt, visiting her frequently and offering whatever gifts they could.

But it was said that she never believed them.

She never smiled again.

“And that Shen Nian, he…”

The sect master glanced at Fu Tingxue’s expression, suddenly understanding his meaning. His words faltered into silence, leaving only a heavy sigh.

Indeed. No one had ever heard of a soul returning after being usurped.

And from the immortal’s account, this foreign soul’s methods had been even crueler than standard soul usurpation. To seize a body in such a domineering manner, unless the original soul had been obliterated entirely—reduced to nothingness, stripped of even the faintest trace of resistance—it would have been impossible to take full control.

“What a grievous crime.”

A few quiet sighs drifted through the hall.

Though they were all cultivators who had reached high positions in the immortal world, a few among them had risen from humble mortal origins, clawing their way up through sheer effort. These individuals now bore somber expressions.

None of them thought: It was just an outer disciple.

So what if he was an outer disciple?

So what if he lacked natural talent? He had still dared to defy fate, still struggled forward step by step.

Hadn’t they all gone through the same journey once?

The cultivation world was ever-changing, unpredictable. There was no fixed destiny—anything was possible.

Yet the hopes and future of a young cultivator had been wiped away by the malice of an outsider.

The sect master’s expression darkened with both sorrow and deliberation. Even with his benevolent heart, he could not help but think:

Simply killing the usurper—wouldn’t that be too easy a fate?

How could that ever make amends for the disciple’s stolen life?

Unconsciously, his gaze returned to Fu Tingxue.

The immortal had likely already made his decision. But the sect master still could not help but add:

“Immortal Sovereign, do not be too merciful. This person is ruthless, stealing another’s fate. He should first be handed over to Qingcheng Sect’s disciplinary hall for punishment—”

“No.”

Fu Tingxue shook his head slightly and turned to Gu Shishu.

The latter understood his intent.

Ah, Gu Shishu sighed inwardly. This is who he is.

But in the end, it was he who spoke on Fu Tingxue’s behalf:

“The outsider known as Shen Nian merely borrowed the body of one of your disciples. If you punish him using this body, it will leave scars—both physical and spiritual. It would be unfair to the one who has already passed and cruel to the family he left behind.”

The sect master stilled. He had not considered this before.

The dead were gone. Their remains should be laid to rest properly.

This was true not only for Shen Nian but for his grieving sister as well.

Yet from the Demon Lord’s tone, it was clear he had no intention of letting the usurper go unpunished. The sect master quickly adjusted his perspective—his audience had now shifted from the immortal to the ruler of the demon realm. His words grew more cautious.

Maintaining the dignity befitting the head of the world’s foremost sect, he spoke with neither arrogance nor servility, yet his tone carried a hint of deference:

“The Demon Lord is right. May I ask, then, what solution you propose?”

Gu Shishu did not make things difficult for him, nor did he play coy.

“Fu Tingxue and I have already prepared a Soul Extraction Formation.”

Soul Extraction Formation!

The sect master’s heart trembled. This was an ancient and nearly lost technique, capable of forcibly separating a soul from its vessel.

The materials required were exceedingly rare, and the level of cultivation necessary to perform it was extraordinarily high. It was no wonder he hadn’t even considered this possibility.

But if the Immortal Sovereign and the Demon Lord were working together—perhaps it truly could be done.

The Demon Lord lifted his dark gaze, his eyes shadowed and inscrutable.

Then, he chuckled softly—a quiet, dangerous sound.

“Those who harm others so brazenly must pay the price. Both the Immortal Sovereign and I hold this belief, so you need not worry.”

The sect master instinctively looked into Fu Tingxue’s eyes.

Only now did he realize—yes, the immortal was compassionate. That much was undeniable.

But those who had mastered the way of the sword were often like him—unyielding, clear-cut in their sense of justice.

And so, behind those lowered lashes, the cold light in his gaze was sharper than ever.

Those who usurped another’s will—who stole another’s life, who trampled upon fate itself in their self-serving delusions—

Would never be forgiven.