TBR CH33

The storm that had churned the clouds finally quieted, and the first light of dawn spilled through the cracks in the sky, distant and solemn.  

After arriving in the immortal realm, Gu Shishu had placed the black book—the vessel of the Heavenly Dao—on the immortal’s desk. Following a brief message of temporary farewell, it had indeed fallen silent for a time.  

Gu Shishu could sense the Heavenly Dao engaged in a final struggle against the invading system, and the immortal, after glimpsing the pinnacle of swordsmanship, also seemed to perceive something beyond the clouds.  

Though the Heavenly Dao wasn’t exactly reliable… this battle was one it had to win.  

Suddenly, the black book on the desk flipped its pages on its own, rustling wildly.  

Gu Shishu pressed a hand on it to stop its attempts to grab his attention, and the pages obediently settled on a blank sheet, faint ink stains slowly gathering.  

“Did you win?”  

The immortal also turned his gaze to the book. This time, he was no longer excluded from its narrative—his sword intent now clear as frost, he could finally see the words on its pages.  

“I won.”  

The Heavenly Dao was clearly excited. It had just been flipping its pages with cheerful rustles, but now it restrained itself, writing only two simple words.  

It was waiting for Gu Shishu to ask more questions.  

But Gu Shishu seemed entirely oblivious to its little game. The moment he heard “I won,” he lost all interest in the Heavenly Dao’s battle story.  

He picked up the book, shook it slightly to show Fu Tingxue the words, and treated it with remarkable irreverence.  

The immortal’s reaction, however, pleased the Heavenly Dao far more.  

For the first time, he took hold of the black book—the embodiment of the world’s consciousness—and felt the power of natural laws condensed within it. This power seemed innately attuned to him, flowing effortlessly through his body.  

Sensing the Heavenly Dao’s slight frustration at Gu Shishu’s indifference, the Immortal Venerable allowed a faint smile to surface and asked:  

“Then, has everything been settled?”  

Finally able to continue its story, the Heavenly Dao clearly had much to say. Its handwriting turned hurried, and Fu Tingxue began reading patiently and carefully.  

Unfortunately, just as the words appeared on the page, it noticed the Demon Lord stealthily leaning closer.  

Before it could even feel proud that Gu Shishu did care about its tale after all, it realized—the black-haired, black-eyed Demon Lord wasn’t here for it.  

Gu Shishu had all but draped himself over the Immortal Venerable, hands loosely circling the immortal’s waist, drawing his gaze away. Those beautiful eyes softened slightly, looking at him with a hint of reproach—more like affectionate indulgence.  

The flow of ink stalled for a moment.  

The Heavenly Dao had never concerned itself with human notions of propriety, nor did it truly understand the emotions of love. But watching these two being openly affectionate still gave it an inexplicable, neglected feeling.  

Before, Gu Shishu alone had already treated it as an equal. Now, with the addition of the Immortal Venerable, the two were practically ganging up on it. Even if it was unhappy, there was nothing it could do.  

So the words only paused briefly before continuing reluctantly.  

At least… someone’s reading.  

Fortunately, Fu Tingxue still had some decorum. He merely accepted being held by Gu Shishu, though his jade-like earlobes flushed faintly pink at whatever the Demon Lord whispered to him. With some effort, the immortal composed himself and returned his attention to the book.  

Gu Shishu followed his gaze and began reading the Heavenly Dao’s message.  

His reaction, however, was…  

Tapping the page, the Demon Lord pointed at its final note and delivered a brutally honest critique:  

“See, you’re still not quite up to par.”  

In these pages, the Heavenly Dao had devoted considerable space to detailing its strategy. While Gu Shishu dealt with the Son of Destiny, it had seized the opportunity to lay a trap. The moment the Demon Lord exposed the system, it had tried to cut its losses—only to stumble straight into the Heavenly Dao’s prepared battlefield.  

In this confrontation, the Heavenly Dao had held overwhelming dominance, not only reclaiming all the fortune the system had stolen from this world but also stripping it of the fortunes it had taken from other worlds. These would eventually return to their original planes.  

For some worlds, the sudden return of fortune might be too late, but it wasn’t entirely irreparable. Perhaps one day, the Heavenly Dao could devise a solution.  

Meaning: it hadn’t thought of one yet.  

Moreover, despite its lengthy boast about thoroughly eradicating the system that invaded this world, it had still honestly admitted—the problem wasn’t completely resolved.  

The reason was simple yet frustrating. The system was cunning and vicious. Before entering a new world, it always left a backup outside. Though the system in this world had been utterly destroyed, the external copy had likely already awakened.  

Severely weakened by the Heavenly Dao’s assault, it would undoubtedly rush to find another small world, seeking to recover its strength and regroup.  

The Heavenly Dao was the consciousness of all worlds. Finding one invaded world among countless others was like searching for gold in sand—exceedingly difficult. And as the embodiment of universal laws, multitasking was no easy feat.  

Even after laying out its struggles so pitifully, Gu Shishu remained unimpressed, still poking at its sore spots.  

The pages rustled indignantly.  

But Fu Tingxue, deep in thought, asked:  

“Your next plan is to locate that world, help it restore balance, and punish the intruder, correct?”

The Immortal Venerable’s words carried a calm, persuasive authority. The Heavenly Dao obediently stopped flipping its pages and admitted on the paper:  

“Yes.”  

“But that still doesn’t solve the problem,” Gu Shishu interjected. “By your own words, the system will always leave a backup. Even if you destroy it countless times, it’s futile.”  

The words on the page appeared much slower, as if it too were deep in thought.  

“I will find a way. When that day comes, I may need your help.”  

Fu Tingxue glanced up at Gu Shishu, only to find him already looking back, a faint smile in his eyes.  

“Alright.”  

The Immortal Venerable agreed.  

And Gu Shishu offered no objection—he must have consented as well.  

The Heavenly Dao was skeptical that convincing the Demon Lord could be so easy. It bluntly expressed its doubt, only to hear Gu Shishu chuckle lowly. He gently nuzzled the silver-white hair spilling over his arms, moonlight staining his black robes.  

“You should thank me. Consider this payment in advance.”  

It was almost laughably transparent, but the Heavenly Dao still didn’t expect the Immortal Venerable to reach out and mercilessly snap the book shut with slender fingers.  

Even closed, it could still see everything happening.  

For example, the lovers before it sharing a tender kiss.  

Gu Shishu’s voice was rough, but his expression was utterly focused.  

“If not for this… how could I have obtained the most precious treasure in this world?”  

Though it couldn’t comprehend the emotions of love, the Heavenly Dao drifted free from the closed book, circling them once before reluctantly conceding—this scene did look rather harmonious.  

As the eye that overlooked all things, it naturally knew everything that had transpired between Gu Shishu and Fu Tingxue in the past, as well as their unspoken secrets and love. Though unintended, the outcome now seemed perfect.  

Fine.  

The world’s consciousness would not depart, but its focus would now shift to pursuing the system. Before turning its gaze away, the Heavenly Dao decided to give them one last gift.  

When Fu Tingxue reopened the book, he saw the words “Thank you” on the title page and knew the Heavenly Dao had departed. The book now felt ordinary, no longer thrumming with spiritual energy.  

Hesitant, the immortal wasn’t sure whether to keep flipping. Through the thin pages, he could see the rest of the book was still filled with ink.  

“If… you want to read it, I’ll stay with you.”  

Gu Shishu’s voice, tinged with resignation and indulgence, sounded beside him. He was already prepared to kiss Fu Tingxue the moment those pages detailing his past foolishness under the system’s control appeared—  

At least to distract him, to remind him that this Gu Shishu loved him, that Gu Shishu had loved him from beginning to end.  

The Immortal Venerable hesitated, but before he could turn the page, a breeze drifted through the window. The pages fluttered gently, ink-scented, words shimmering into view. The Demon Lord froze.  

No—the content was different.  

He abruptly pressed down on the fluttering pages and saw that the book no longer recorded the wretched prophecies of the Heavenly Dao.  

The man in his arms saw it too. After a dazed moment, a beautiful flush bloomed in his eyes. He seemed to want to look away but couldn’t help tracing every word on the page.  

The newly inscribed text described a scene—the snow-robed immortal and the black-clad demon locked in a kiss beneath a pear blossom tree, unable to restrain themselves, the atmosphere so thick with sweetness it seemed to seep from the page, carrying the fragrance of flowers and wine.  

This wasn’t the original record. It had overwritten those never-lived atrocities.  

Now, the book only told a tender and sweet love story.  

Before he could recover, Gu Shishu’s hand rested on the immortal’s shoulder through the thin fabric, his laughter soft.  

“Will the Immortal Venerable read this with me?”  

“…Mn.”  

Fu Tingxue, still dazed, felt his answer wasn’t earnest enough and repeated in a whisper:  

“I’m willing.”  

As long as it’s with you—no matter what we do—it’s where my heart belongs.  

—  

The young woman drew her sword, its blade like water, cutting a gentle, shimmering arc through the setting sun.  

But her eyes were firm and resolute, standing tall and unyielding.  

Today, everything would come to an end. She only needed to carry the memories of her and her brother, and the future would hold boundless light.  

The sect leader held the Qiankun Pearl, watching Shen Rou on the platform with silent admiration.  

Behind him, the family who had traveled from a distant city also observed. The lady of the house couldn’t suppress her sobs, while her husband comforted her softly. They had come here driven by grief, seeking to soothe the fury and sorrow they could no longer contain.  

Soothing was not forgetting—it was giving their child the justice they deserved.  

She remembered every moment of her child’s life, from infancy to youth, only to face an eternal parting one day. How could she let it go so easily? They wanted to witness the punishment of the one who had committed this sin.  

The Qingcheng Sect had told them that the young woman on the platform had also lost someone dear. These past few days, Shen Rou had often visited them, and shared grief had fostered empathy and trust.  

They were at peace with her wielding the sword.  

The soul trapped in the Qiankun Pearl had been driven to madness by prolonged torment, no longer capable of coherent speech. When the sect leader opened the pearl and forcibly expelled the intruder’s spirit, a faint, shadowy figure tumbled onto the steps, collapsing on the ground.  

Every moment inside the pearl had been agony, the flames scorching his soul. Now, freed from that pain yet still consumed by terror, “Shen Nian” found a burst of strength, forgetting he was a dissipating spirit as he scrambled desperately to crawl away.  

But a flash of cold sword light barred his path, pinning him in place.  

His face twisted—the spirit’s appearance reflected his truest self, now grotesque and pitiful. He looked up, trying to see who stood in his way, only to meet the young woman’s burning gaze. It seared him, forcing him to avert his eyes.  

Then, realization struck.  

Was he about to die?  

No—no, he couldn’t accept this. Though he had wished for death countless times under torture, now that it grinned at him with bared teeth, fear swallowed him whole, driving him to struggle wildly.

“Shen Nian” frantically scanned the faces around him—strangers all. He begged for mercy, shamelessly kowtowing, only to be met with looks of disgust and even deeper hatred.  

A bone-chilling cold gripped him, forcing his gaze away until it landed once more on the young woman before him.  

This was… the sister of the body he had stolen.  

Tears and snot streaming down his face, “Shen Nian” suddenly remembered he shared a name with her brother. She was the only person here whose identity he knew. In his memories, she had been fragile, always weeping, even fainting.  

Desperate, he sank to his knees before her and cried out, “Sister!”  

Maybe this would soften her heart?  

He was wrong.  

The moment that word left his mouth, the others on the platform turned worried eyes toward Shen Rou—only to see her expression steady, the fire in her eyes blazing even brighter, too fierce to meet directly.  

She lowered her head. The tip of her sword pressed against the spirit’s chest.  

“You don’t deserve to call me that.”  

Her words were measured, her blade unhesitating as it pierced inward.  

“You will pay for what you’ve done. Your soul will scatter to atone for my lost Niannian, for the family who lost their child, and for the innocent victim still waiting to be found.”  

As a mere spirit, “Shen Nian” had no way to resist. He wildly regretted his thoughtless plea, but it was too late. The sword’s edge shattered him piece by piece, its pure intent purging all corruption.  

His soul began to disintegrate—an irreversible collapse, dragging him toward the death he feared most.  

This shouldn’t be happening, he thought deliriously through the pain, but the truth was undeniable.  

The woman he’d seen as weak was now killing him.  

With one final agonized wail, “Shen Nian’s” spirit finally shattered completely, dissolving into nothingness in a world that was never his to begin with.  

At the same time, Shen Rou’s calm, gentle expression fractured. The sword nearly slipped from her grasp, but she held on, slowly sinking to her knees as quiet sobs echoed across the platform.  

Cry for me one last time, Niannian.  

Shen Rou thought,  

I’ve avenged you. If you’re watching from above, don’t laugh at how ugly I look crying.  

Just this once.  

The lady’s weeping grew louder. Her husband, who had meant to comfort her, found himself weeping too—an old man with tears streaking his beard, a sight both undignified and unashamed.  

They cried openly, recklessly, as if a dam inside them had finally burst.  

When the tears dried, no matter how the departed remained frozen in time, the living would carry their hopes forward.  

—  

None on the platform noticed the Immortal Venerable and the Demon Lord observing from above.  

Gu Shishu had wanted to give the grieving their space, so he and Fu Tingxue watched from higher ground. They heard the weeping but understood it as the release of long-pent emotions—a necessary step toward healing.  

How fortunate they were, not to have lost each other but to have found their way back.  

The immortal was frost, pear blossoms, the moon.  

He had nearly become an eternal what-if in Gu Shishu’s heart. But love did not fade. Even if not after centuries, then after ten thousand years—they would still choose each other, silently and steadfastly.  

Fu Tingxue’s light-colored eyes reflected the scene below. They were so beautiful that Gu Shishu couldn’t help but pull him close and press a kiss to each lid.  

There was no ulterior motive—just two souls gently touching.  

He’s so good.  

Both had thought it: If I let someone this good slip away, I’d regret it forever.  

Yet both had also let go of the other’s hand, hoping only that they might live brightly, freely, unburdened.  

They were the same—each wishing the other would love them less.  

No matter the twists, the hardships, the world’s scorn, the years apart—this love was never a burden, never shameful, never demanding an answer.  

I want you to always be free.  

I want you to always stand tall.  

But the answer came anyway. No more loss, no more parting.  

I want… you.  

No regrets in this life—only tenderness, for you and for me.