TBR CH29

At this moment, Shen Nian was still trying to console himself.

He had been taken from the dark and oppressive dungeon to the immortal sect in what felt like a fleeting moment of disoriented haze. Before he could fully process what had happened, the sect disciples, following the Immortal Sovereign’s orders, led him away for cleansing.

The rising steam and the warmth of the water allowed him to feel temperature again.

It was the first trace of heat he had felt in days, something he had longed for during his endless torment in the dungeon.

Shen Nian recalled the way those people had looked at him earlier. Their expressions had been normal, and yet they made him tremble. For the first time, he was acutely aware that their gazes no longer held even a trace of admiration.

His “universal charm effect”… was gone.

But unlike what he had once imagined—that he wouldn’t be able to survive without it—after enduring those days in the dungeon, after being tormented by the stench of blood and suffocating darkness, he realized one thing:

He never wanted to end up in such a miserable state again.

In truth, he had never possessed the courage to die.

Shen Nian no longer dared to fantasize that anyone would treat him as they once had. He knew, deep down, that something had gone terribly wrong—that his fate had already veered into an abyss beyond his comprehension.

But at the very least, he was no longer in the Demon Realm.

That thought alone stirred a flicker of hope in his heart.

The Immortal Realm… surely, they wouldn’t do anything too severe to him, right?

He thought back to when he had first occupied this body. Even when he had destroyed an entire orchard of spiritual fruit, the most he had suffered was a few scoldings from indignant disciples—no one had truly laid a hand on him.

They said that cultivators were noble and magnanimous, their actions righteous and honorable.

And now, they had even given him the opportunity to bathe and change into clean robes.

Perhaps… perhaps the mistakes he had made could still be forgiven.

As he entertained this thought, he dressed under the disciples’ urging. Lowering his head, he followed them out, his steps slow and uncertain. He had no idea where they were taking him, a vague unease stirring within him. Yet, he dared not ask.

Until something unexpected happened.

The first thing he heard was a shrill cry—someone calling his name, yet the voice was unfamiliar.

Instinctively, he turned toward the sound.

It was a woman.

Someone had tried to hold her back, but she shoved past them, staggering toward him with reckless desperation.

Her hair was unkempt, her locks tangled in disarray. Tear tracks streaked down her face, smudging her makeup beyond recognition.

Who was she?

She looked utterly disheveled—like a madwoman.

Shen Nian was startled. Reflexively, he took a step back, his expression a mix of confusion and aversion. Trembling, he raised an arm defensively, as if to block her from approaching him.

“Shen Nian… Nian-Nian.”

She was almost close enough to touch him. If he hadn’t stepped back in time, she would have already reached him.

The next moment, the disciples standing by restrained her.

“Nian-Nian, it’s me—it’s your sister. Look at me. Tell me you’re alright, won’t you?”

“I knew it… I knew you wouldn’t be gone.”

“You’ve always been like this, always making me worry…”

Most of what she said barely registered in Shen Nian’s ears. All he could think about was how her sharp fingernails had nearly scraped against his skin. His face turned pale, and without realizing it, he shrank behind one of the disciples.

“Don’t let her near me—”

His reaction seemed to strike the woman like a physical blow.

She trembled violently, as though she had just been pulled from icy waters.

She lifted her gaze, and in her eyes, there was a plea—a sorrow so raw it could shatter one’s heart.

Shen Nian, hiding behind the disciples, could not see the looks of pity that had crept onto their faces.

“Someone already told you about your brother,” one of the Qingcheng Sect disciples said, gently supporting the nearly-collapsing woman. His voice carried no trace of irritation—only deep sympathy.

“But you still don’t believe it, do you?”

“This person… he is not your brother. He took your brother’s body.”

“Then… then where is my Nian-Nian?”

The disciple said nothing. He only shook his head.

The unspoken answer was clear enough.

Yet no one had the heart to say it outright.

Shen Rou’s body lost all strength.

She simply stood there, staring blankly at the person hiding behind the sect disciples.

Shen Nian felt her gaze crawling over him like ice. His scalp tingled, an unbearable discomfort creeping up his spine.

He wanted to turn and run. But he couldn’t move.

At last, he understood.

This was the sister of the body he had taken.

What… what were protagonists in transmigration novels supposed to do in situations like this?

Shen Nian hesitated. Should he… should he call her “sister”?

In those novels, transmigrators never seemed to struggle with this problem. They seamlessly inherited their host body’s family—and along with it, the love and care of their so-called relatives.

But this situation was nothing like that.

Shen Rou stared at the person before her in utter despair.

Her gaze traced every familiar feature—his soft hair, his nose, his lips, his eyes. Everything was the same as her Nian-Nian. Everything, except—

The eyes.

Her younger brother would never have looked at her like that.

That was not her Shen Nian.

The thought struck like lightning, splitting through the storm of grief within her.

The truth was undeniable. This was an impostor, a monster that had stolen his home.

And yet… confusion lingered at the edges of her despair. If this thing was standing before her, then where had her brother gone?

She recalled the games they played when they were young. Her little brother had loved to play hide-and-seek. He was small, able to slip into spaces she could never find. If she couldn’t spot him and it was time to eat, she would call out his childhood nickname in resignation.

And he would always leave her a clue. A foot peeking out from behind the firewood. A tuft of hair barely visible over a low wall.

He had never let her search for too long.

He had always wanted to be found.

But now—

No matter how hard she looked, she could never find him again.

Even when he was standing right in front of her.

Shen Rou was eventually led away to a side hall by several arriving sect disciples, her body frail and unsteady.

Shen Nian stood frozen in place, dazed.

In the end, he had not spoken the word sister.

Something deep within him resisted calling that woman by that name.

He lowered his head abruptly, cold sweat pooling in his palms and the soles of his feet. The sect disciples beside him no longer hid the disgust in their eyes. Their gazes bore into him, brimming with silent contempt.

“Move,” they ordered, their voices sharp.

For the first time, shame crept up Shen Nian’s spine.

But—how could he have ever expected this?

Desperately, he grasped for excuses to comfort himself.

This wasn’t his fault.

It was the system’s fault.

It had nothing to do with him.

He had merely used another’s body to complete his mission.

But then, a thought surfaced—one he couldn’t suppress.

Before occupying this body, hadn’t he done the same before?

Hadn’t he borrowed the body of a wealthy merchant’s son when attempting to “conquer” the Human Emperor?

Hadn’t he taken another body to get close to the Demon Beast Emperor?

He had never once cared about who those people were.

Hadn’t they, too, had people who cared about them?

“Go inside.”

The disciple’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Before him, a set of doors stood slightly ajar. He could not see what lay beyond.

But there was no other path for him to take.

Slowly, he stepped forward.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the doors behind him slammed shut.

The next instant, white light seeped from the ground beneath his feet.

Panic seized him.

And then, suddenly—

He lost control of his body.

He felt his grip on this vessel slipping, his connection to it unraveling thread by thread.

There was nothing he could do but watch as it happened.

Then, a terrifying force gripped him. Irresistible. Absolute.

It was expelling him.

Only now did he realize—this time, there was nowhere else for him to go.

It felt as though fire had ignited within his body, jagged shards of glass slicing through his very soul.

Rejection was inevitable.

Gu Shishu was present in the hall.

He and Fu Tingxue had meticulously prepared the formation.

Standing above, he watched as a tainted soul was forcibly ejected from the body of the boy lying motionless on the ground. Without hesitation, he retrieved the artifact he had prepared in advance.

A wandering soul without a vessel would soon dissipate.

It had no choice but to seek shelter.

And so, like a drowning man grasping at the only lifeline in sight, Shen Nian’s soul lunged toward the hollow sphere hovering in the hall.

But the moment he entered, he knew something was wrong.

Gu Shishu snapped the lid shut.

It was as though a thousand tons had crashed down upon him.

Shen Nian’s soul was now trapped.

If he had a voice, he would have screamed.

Inside the sphere, there was no space, no freedom to move.

The edges pressed into him—sharp, unforgiving.

Then the heat came.

A searing force, scorching like molten iron.

The pain struck deep, setting his very essence ablaze.

And this was only the beginning.

Next would come the ice, the blades, the crushing weight—

Each torment awaiting its turn.

The artifact belonged to Gu Shishu. A relic of the Demon Realm.

It was said that the previous Demon Lord had used it to torture his greatest enemies.

And yet, even the immortal did not object to this punishment.

Soul-extraction was a forbidden technique, one that placed immense strain on the caster.

Gu Shishu turned slightly toward Fu Tingxue, concern flickering in his gaze.

He was worried.

Worried that the immortal would be exhausted.

Fu Tingxue noticed his gaze. He lowered his lashes and met Gu Shishu’s eyes, then—

He reached out and took his hand.

They were already standing close.

Gu Shishu had wanted to hold his hand from the start.

Fu Tingxue’s fingers were cool, as they had always been.

Simply holding hands was not enough.

His body leaned slightly, resting against Gu Shishu’s chest.

Like a snowflake melting against his warmth.

So he is tired after all.

Gu Shishu made no move to correct their posture.

He let the embrace settle naturally.

The immortal had long been burdened with old wounds from the war between the immortal and demon realms. His sword had been damaged, his cultivation impaired.

Perhaps it was time to discuss his recovery.

The grand hall doors creaked open.

The sect master’s prearranged men entered, stepping carefully toward the motionless body on the ground.

They lifted it with the utmost care, handling it as though it still carried life.

And behind them—

Shen Rou followed.

No one could stop her.

No one dared to stop her.

They had originally intended to send Shen Rou to a guest hall so she could compose herself.

But she had insisted on coming.

Now, as she gazed at the motionless boy on the ground, the tears that had been flowing uncontrollably suddenly ceased.

It was as if she had already cried herself dry.

Her eyes, hollow and bloodshot, remained fixed on him.

She could barely stand, and eventually, she sank to the ground in a daze.

Her trembling fingers traced his brows, his eyes—his features, one by one.

With the foreign soul expelled, the body now showed its true form.

Gone was the artificiality, the exaggerated emotions that had once dominated his expressions.

What remained was a quiet, ordinary face—one that, without any effort, evoked warmth and affection.

“Sister is here,” Shen Rou whispered.

She buried her face in her arms, shielding her expression from view.

Her voice trembled, thick with suppressed sobs.

“The immortals will avenge you. Don’t worry.

“It’s alright, I’ll be fine on my own… You can rest now…”

But anyone could hear—she was not fine.

She was the kind of person who would say she could endure, even as she was crumbling beyond repair.

“Can you look at Sister one more time, Nian-Nian?”

Her fingers brushed against his closed eyes.

She lifted her head, and though no sound escaped her lips, her face was wet with tears.

And then—

A sensation, so faint it was almost imperceptible.

His eyelashes trembled ever so slightly.

A subtle dampness spread across her fingertips.

Shen Rou’s eyes widened in disbelief.

She inched closer, her breath caught in her throat, unable to blink, unable to move.

She called his name—again and again—until, at last, the boy’s eyes fluttered open.

And then, weakly, he smiled at her.

“Sister,” he said.

From his place above, Fu Tingxue slowly closed his eyes.

The Immortal Sovereign knew—this was almost a miracle.

But it was only almost.

The boy’s soul had barely clung to existence, lingering at the very edge of annihilation.

He had just enough strength left—just enough to open his eyes.

Just enough to speak a few final words.

Shen Rou did not know this.

She was drowning in joy, elation so overwhelming that it nearly drove her mad.

She had found him again—her lost treasure, returned to her hands.

Then, Shen Nian spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“I won’t be here much longer.”

He had known for a long time that he was already dead.

Trapped within his own body, he had witnessed the imposter’s every action, powerless to stop him.

It had been agonizing.

At times, he wished he could simply fade away.

But now, he finally understood why—

Why he had clung to life with such desperate strength.

Because he had wanted to see her one last time.

“I love you, Sister,” he murmured.

His voice was faint.

Every word drained the last remnants of his soul.

He could only say what mattered most.

“You have to live well.

“Even without me, you must have a good life.”

Shen Rou sobbed uncontrollably.

She couldn’t do that.

But she said, “Alright.

“Alright.”

She saw her little brother struggle to lift the corners of his lips.

The curve of his smile was barely visible—he had no strength left.

But in his eyes, a familiar mischievous light flickered.

Just like before, when he would tease her, coax her.

“We made a promise,” he whispered.

“You have to live well for me, Sister.”

Shen Rou felt a warmth against her skin—tears, hot as fire.

Then, something else.

A sensation unlike anything she had known.

A force, silent yet overwhelming, flowing from her brother’s body into hers.

Panic struck her.

But Shen Nian’s gaze was steady, soothing.

He told her, wordlessly—don’t let go.

Of all those present, she was the only mortal.

The only one who could not see what was happening.

But the cultivators around her had already realized.

They understood what Shen Nian had chosen.

The Immortal Sovereign had done his best to stabilize the boy’s fractured soul, to delay its final dispersal.

But there was no saving him.

Gu Shishu spoke, his voice quiet.

“He’s transferring his spiritual roots and cultivation to her.”

It was a simple process.

But it came with two unforgiving conditions:

The one offering their power had to do so willingly—without a trace of hesitation.

And once begun, the transfer could never be stopped.

It would consume the giver’s life entirely.

Now, Shen Rou possessed the foundation to walk the path of cultivation.

She could follow the road he had never taken.

Shen Nian understood his sister better than anyone.

He knew how much he meant to her.

He knew that, without him, she might not find the will to live.

And so, with what little time he had left, he carved out a path for her.

You have to live.

Live for me. Walk the road I never walked. See the beauty I never saw.

This was his unspoken wish.

By now, he could barely move.

His face had turned deathly pale, his form almost translucent.

Yet still, he endured.

Still, he poured the last of himself into her.

Then, just as his strength gave out, he whispered two final words—

“Thank you.”

That “thank you” was meant for many.

For the sister who had never stopped searching for him.

For the disciples who had shown him kindness.

For the Immortal Sovereign and the Demon Lord, who had given him the chance to uncover the truth and say his final goodbyes.

He was sorry he could not walk any further.

But to have made it this far—

He had already been blessed beyond measure.

The boy finally closed his eyes.

And this time—

He did not open them again.

A faint smile lingered on his lips.

Tears fell freely from Shen Rou’s eyes, spilling onto his unmoving skin.

No one disturbed her.

She sat there for a long, long time.

Then, at last—

She wiped away her tears.

She did not cry anymore.

And then—

With nothing but her own strength, she rose to her feet.

She looked down at the boy, who could never speak again.

Her expression was grief-stricken, yet unwavering.

“I promise you,” she whispered.

“I will live well. For you.”