TBR CH4

The other end remained silent for a moment.

What kind of expression did he have right now? Gu Shishu couldn’t help but imagine.

Fu Tingxue had always been a recluse, dwelling in solitude. At this hour, he was probably meditating in his immortal abode as usual, seeking enlightenment.

So, when he suddenly heard the Demon Lord’s voice in his ear—

Would he furrow his brows, hesitating over whether to respond?

Would he think about what Gu Shishu had become?

Would he… falter in his Dao heart?

Gu Shishu didn’t speak again. He simply waited in silence.

And then, at last, the other party made his move.

Fu Tingxue extinguished the transmission talisman.

The glow of the spell dimmed, fading into an ordinary piece of yellow paper, as if it had never been activated.

Just as expected.

Gu Shishu wasn’t surprised by this outcome. They were never meant to walk the same path. Though their lives had once briefly intersected, their identities were now worlds apart. To contact him so abruptly would only invite unnecessary complications.

Ever since he had succumbed to the demonic path, he had resolved never to use this talisman again.

And Fu Tingxue? He had even more reason to avoid it. As the righteous Sword Sovereign, his every action set an example for the world. Any lingering ties with Gu Shishu would already be a stain upon his reputation, let alone privately communicating with a Demon Lord—an act that defied all conventions.

It had been reckless of him.

That was that. He would think of another way—

With that thought, Gu Shishu was just about to rise.

But then, a voice as clear and cold as frost and snow suddenly rang in his ears.

Contrary to Gu Shishu’s imagination, Fu Tingxue was not in his secluded abode.

He was seated high above in the grand hall of the Immortal Palace, occupying the most exalted position. On either side of him sat the elders of various peaks, while below, a group of Qingcheng Sect disciples knelt in solemn rows. These were the most outstanding candidates from the sect’s grand competition—young talents carefully selected for their potential.

Though the hall was steeped in silence, each kneeling disciple harbored countless thoughts.

Some were reviewing their own performances, replaying moments of triumph or regret. Others could barely contain their anticipation, wondering which esteemed elder might take them as a disciple.

Among them, the ambitious young outer disciples—though keeping their heads bowed—couldn’t resist letting their gazes drift upward, scanning the figures seated above.

There was Elder Zhang, whose long white beard matched his notoriously fiery temper, but whose skill in artifact forging was unparalleled.

There was Elder Hua, stunningly beautiful, her face ever-changing, her disciples renowned not only for their striking appearances but also for their formidable abilities.

One by one, their eyes moved across the gathered immortals, secretly hoping to glimpse their own future, their place among the chosen. Many of them had never before seen such legendary figures of the cultivation world. Finally being in their presence made their long-cherished dreams feel tangible, within reach.

Some of the more impatient ones had already begun imagining how it would feel to be taken in by a great master, how they would carry themselves with quiet pride, how they would one day walk past the outer disciples with an air of effortless superiority, basking in their envious gazes.

But no matter how grand their dreams, no matter how exaggerated their fantasies, the moment their eyes wandered too far—trailing upward, past the elders and toward the lone figure seated at the highest point—

They all instinctively averted their gazes, as if burned.

At the pinnacle of the Immortal Sect sat the greatest swordsman of his time.

A figure beyond their reach, beyond their reckoning.

They had heard the stories—how his sword had reached the barrier-breaking stage, how, if not for his presence guarding the immortal realm, the order of the Three Realms would have long since collapsed.

They had also heard that he had not taken a disciple in hundreds of years. His sect lay empty beneath him.

Even the most arrogant among them, standing before such a man, could only feel the weight of their own insignificance.

No—forget these newly accepted inner disciples. Even among the elders seated below Fu Tingxue, none could stand on equal footing with him.

His presence at this ceremony was merely a formality, a display to honor tradition. After all, Qingcheng Sect required all elders to attend the disciple selection ritual.

He lowered his gaze, taking in the figures within the hall. Their images reflected briefly in his eyes before vanishing, leaving no trace behind.

The ceremony was about to begin.

The appointed hour had arrived, and it was Fu Tingxue’s role to speak first in this solemn silence, after which the other elders would take over to officiate the proceedings.

Just as he was about to speak, a voice—one that only he could hear—suddenly broke through the stillness.

Before he could even react, that familiar tone filled his ears—low and raspy, as if spoken right beside him.

“I trust you’ve been well—Immortal Sovereign Fu.”

A most unfortunate occasion.

By all logic, it was impossible for Fu Tingxue to respond to the Demon Lord’s sudden communication in the middle of a grand ceremony, under the scrutiny of countless onlookers.

And yet, for some reason, he did not immediately sever the connection.

The thought of speaking, which had been poised on the tip of his tongue just moments ago, was gently set aside.

The noble and distant Immortal Sovereign remained silent.

Below him, the gathered disciples stole glances at him, quietly speculating why he had yet to announce the ceremony’s commencement, yet none dared to question him aloud.

Fu Tingxue’s expression remained unchanged.

He could hear the sound of the other’s breathing. He knew the man on the other end was waiting for a response.

He wanted to wait a little longer.

But when he remained silent, Gu Shishu, it seemed, had no intention of speaking a second time either.

…Too long.

Fu Tingxue severed the spell’s connection.

In the vast and solemn hall, it was as if nothing had happened.

The air was quiet, vast, and empty. No one sat beside him.

At the highest seat of the Immortal Sect, he sat alone.

“Let us begin.”

The words were spoken plainly, yet inexplicably carried a faint, indescribable emotion beneath their steady tone.

Even though his voice remained calm, his posture composed.

Fu Tingxue turned to the sect leader. The latter gave him a nod of acknowledgment before following protocol, first addressing the highest-ranking masters.

“This year’s selection has brought forth many outstanding talents. It gladdens this old heart to see such promising disciples, brimming with ambition and potential. Haha, and should any among them be fortunate enough to catch the Immortal Sovereign’s eye, it would be a most joyous occasion indeed. Might I ask if you have any such intentions?”

A subtle note of persuasion was embedded within his words.

Though even the sect leader himself did not sound particularly confident.

Had it not been for the elders’ shared belief that Fu Tingxue’s years without a disciple left a great void, one that, if filled, could only benefit both Qingcheng Sect and the righteous path as a whole, he would not have dared to broach the subject so bluntly.

To put it bluntly—Fu Tingxue did as he pleased. Who among them could sway his will?

But Fu Tingxue merely offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile—so slight it barely qualified as one.

“The sect leader praises too highly.”

The moment his voice fell, murmurs of anticipation rippled through the disciples below.

Yet his next words, like a dousing of cold water, extinguished all excitement.

“I have no intention of taking disciples for the time being. I would not wish to delay their paths. May each of you find what you seek, and may your journey in the immortal path be smooth.”

With that, Fu Tingxue nodded slightly toward the assembled elders, then rose to leave.

The atmosphere in the hall, once tense and expectant, relaxed somewhat now that the ceremony had formally begun.

Somewhere in the crowd, a young disciple whispered to his companion,

“The Immortal Sovereign just… left? That fast?”

“Quiet!” The other immediately signaled for silence, warily glancing around before speaking in a hushed tone.

“The Immortal Sovereign has his own plans. Besides, ever since that person, he has never taken another disciple.”

“Oh—” The young disciple obediently shut his mouth, but after a brief moment, he couldn’t help but murmur again, “I was hoping to watch the greatest swordsman of our time a little longer. Do you think now that we’re in the inner sect, we’ll get to see him often?”

His companion shot him a look of exasperation, as if exasperated by his ignorance.

“Xiao Zhu Peak, where the Immortal Sovereign resides, is independent from the main Qingcheng Sect grounds. With his level of cultivation, his training isn’t something we could even witness, let alone partake in. He rarely comes here.”

The young disciple frowned, but before he could ask another question, his companion hastily added,

“They say the Immortal Sovereign is on the verge of another breakthrough in his swordsmanship. He’s at a critical juncture. To have even caught a glimpse of his presence today was already a rare fortune.”

The young disciple nodded blankly.

The Immortal Sovereign is incredible. The Immortal Sovereign is busy. So busy that he doesn’t have time to stay for the ceremony.

He understood now.

At that very moment, the ever-busy Immortal Sovereign left the main hall, reached into his storage space—

And retrieved a talisman.

Unaware of Fu Tingxue’s movements, Gu Shishu suddenly heard his voice in his ear.

“What do you want?”

…He still responded in the end.

So why hadn’t he spoken earlier?

Gu Shishu didn’t let that question trouble him for long. Listening to Fu Tingxue’s voice, he suddenly found the situation around him absurd, almost laughable.

His mind drifted to the Fu Tingxue in the black book.

“Nothing much,” the Demon Lord chuckled vaguely.

“Mm, a disciple of Qingcheng Sect ‘accidentally’ ended up in my Demon Palace. Just letting you know so you don’t think I’m up to something nefarious behind the scenes.”

Fu Tingxue hadn’t expected that, after all these years, Gu Shishu would reach out to him—only for this.

He fell silent for a moment but eventually asked,

“…What’s the name?”

“Shen Nian.”

Gu Shishu already knew the answer, yet he still feigned casual curiosity.

“Do you know him?”

“…No.”

The Immortal Sovereign on the other end seemed ready to end this meaningless conversation. His fingers moved ever so slightly, already poised to sever the connection.

“If the Demon Lord has no ill intent, simply send the disciple back.”

“He doesn’t want to leave.”

The motion of his hand halted. Fu Tingxue hesitated slightly.

Gu Shishu had predicted this reaction. He knew Fu Tingxue too well.

“Shen Nian claims he was ostracized in Qingcheng Sect, pushed off the Fallen Immortal Platform by his fellow disciples.”

The Demon Lord repeated the tragic backstory that the so-called Child of Fate had woven for himself. Yet, despite describing another’s misfortune, his tone remained indifferent, as if discussing something utterly trivial.

Fu Tingxue listened in silence, waiting until Gu Shishu had finished speaking.

“Gu Shishu.”

For the first time, he didn’t address him as Demon Lord, but rather called him by name.

“Are you here to hold me accountable?”

Hold him accountable.

The phrase tugged at something in Gu Shishu’s mind. He thought of the black book’s depiction—the humiliation, the mockery, the righteous facade that had broken the Immortal Sovereign’s pride before a jeering crowd.

He thought of Shen Nian, standing before Fu Tingxue, flaunting his supposed victory, whispering sweet nothings to the version of himself in the book—declaring his ownership, staking his claim.

Just the mere thought of that scene made Gu Shishu feel an overwhelming sense of disgust.

That was something the him in the book would do.

It was absolutely not something he would do.

But he couldn’t possibly explain everything—about the black book, about the Child of Fate—through such an ill-timed exchange. Gu Shishu rubbed his nose, experiencing a rare moment of helplessness.

Fu Tingxue was still waiting for his answer.

Instead, what he got was a question.

“Why didn’t you respond to my message earlier? Hm… Immortal Sovereign, I trust you’ve been well?”

…Because he had been in a situation where he couldn’t respond.

Fu Tingxue lowered his gaze. He understood why Gu Shishu would assume he had deliberately ignored the message. After all, he spent most of his days in solitude, immersed in cultivation, and rarely attended sect ceremonies.

But—

Gu Shishu shouldn’t have forgotten.

And yet, he had.

“Today was the sect’s disciple selection ceremony.”

In the end, Fu Tingxue chose to tell the truth.

He had no confidence that he could lie without Gu Shishu noticing.

He had his reasons for remembering.

And he had his reasons for forgetting.

But—

Hundreds of years ago, among the young outer disciples kneeling on the cold stone steps, lifting their gazes toward the immortals high above—

There had been one named Gu Shishu.