Chapter 78

The mountain gave way to the Lost Forest.

Here, sinister, towering trees and jagged boulders loomed everywhere, while a foul, misty air hung thick. Even wild beasts shunned this place, leaving only small subterranean creatures occasionally peeking out. From time to time, carrion-feeding nightcrows let out harsh, grating cries.

Venerable Lingbao, now ragged and unshaven, was a far cry from his former majesty. Hiding in a damp, narrow cave, he flinched at the nightcrows' calls and buried his head lower, terrified the Indestructible Peak would track him down.

Ever since a deity emerged from the Indestructible Peak three thousand years ago, the cultivation world had been transformed into a wasteland of blood and corpses.

This deity forbade anyone from seeing his face or speaking his name. People only dared refer to him in hushed tones as the Master of the Indestructible Peak, or the Divine Lord.

He was devoid of emotion, devoid of mercy. Beneath his feet burned flames that consumed all living things, within which writhed massive crimson serpents. Around him swarmed countless Nirvana red butterflies, blackening the heavens. Wherever they passed, rivers turned to blood, bones piled into mountains, and all life perished.

This was the most horrifying and bleakest age in the cultivation world. Over sixty percent of sects—major and minor—were exterminated. The Blood Demon Sect, Moon Veil Sect, Dragon-Tiger Sect, Spirit Mountain Sect, Golden Phoenix Manor… No one was spared, regardless of alignment, status, wealth, or cultivation level. Once the Indestructible Peak marked someone, they were uprooted and wiped from existence.

Everyone lived in fear. No one knew the criteria by which the Indestructible Peak chose its victims. They knew only that when beautiful crimson clouds appeared in the sky and Nirvana butterflies danced, the Divine Lord of the Indestructible Peak would descend. Those he marked—whether they resisted, surrendered, begged, or fled—would fall into a merciless hunt. Some, even in death, would be condemned to an eternity of torment, their souls never freed… Occasionally, a few spared survivors would escape, but they were left utterly broken, never understanding why they had been spared.

Venerable Lingbao’s Water Mirror Manor had also been destroyed. Fortunately, he had been away that day and escaped. His cultivation art, the Turtle Concealment Technique, excelled at masking his presence, and he possessed many means of evasion. Over the years, he had hidden like a sewer rat, seldom seeing the sun. Yet despite his efforts, he had slipped up several times, bearing grievous wounds. His cultivation, once at the Soul Division stage, had plummeted several levels. His body was now covered in scars, a wretched figure.

He was in agony, but the Indestructible Peak’s leisurely hunt was unhurried. It allowed him to struggle, flee, and fight—only to appear when he thought himself safe, like a cat toying with a mouse. A thin thread of hope kept him teetering between despair and false hope, unwilling to die yet unable to live…

Venerable Lingbao muttered a curse, unable to comprehend why he had been so unlucky as to be relentlessly hunted for thousands of years.

The nightcrows screeched again, as if in mockery.

Any bird in the world might be a spy for the Indestructible Peak. Their presence always spelled doom.

Venerable Lingbao’s slightly relaxed body tensed again. He swiftly bolstered the Lost Forest’s defensive formations, thickening the mist and placing decoy effigies throughout the woods, ensuring any pursuers would be lost within the forest, buying precious moments to flee.

Then, the sky blazed crimson. From within it emerged nine luminous Xuanming birds, trailing brilliant red tail feathers as they pulled a magnificent gilded magic boat. Aboard it, countless celestial and demonic birds perched or stood—the Chongming bird preened its feathers, the Bird of Paradise sang, cranes and peacocks danced—all competing to flaunt their splendor, worshipping with adoring eyes at the beautiful divine figure seated behind layers of pearl curtains. Even though he offered no response, they served with unwavering devotion.

The magic boat halted above the Lost Forest.

The lovebirds, transformed into a pair of delicate maids, carefully drew back the pearl curtains layer by layer before standing silently to either side, not daring a word or glance.

The entire cultivation world knew: the Divine Lord of the Indestructible Peak loathed impurity.

He found mortal eyes defiling, forbidding anyone from looking upon his face or skin—those who did would have their eyes gouged out.

He deemed the words of the world too filthy, forbidding anyone from speaking his name or title—those who did would have their tongues cut out.

Thus, he always wore a snow-feather cloak woven from snowbird plumes and ice silkworm threads, covering himself from head to toe without a single strand of hair exposed. His hands were clad in immaculate beast-hide gloves to avoid touching anything unclean. His face was veiled in layers of pearl-spun mermaid veils, obscuring his unearthly beauty, leaving only faint glimpses of his dark golden phoenix eyes, devoid of warmth—like fire frozen in ice, restrained to the extreme.

The birds folded their wings, silenced their songs, and bowed their heads.

The Divine Lord stepped slowly from behind the curtains, surveying the world with contempt. Despite years of cleansing, removing the filthiest things, he still felt very uncomfortable; the air was thick with a reeking miasma, each breath a torment.

No matter. This game had run its course.

His final prey had long been shattered in body and soul, no longer worth further torment.

Coldly, he gazed at Venerable Lingbao, who cowered in the darkness. A bright flame ignited in his palm, from which emerged several beautiful Nirvana butterflies, their wings of flame unfurling as they flew toward the pitiful rat in its reeking hole, trembling with dread.

Venerable Lingbao saw the crimson clouds and the approaching red butterflies, realizing even the Lost Forest’s mist could no longer shield him. Desperately, he activated the decoy puppets, shifting his position in a futile attempt to flee…

But where could he go? Where hadn’t he tried already?

Venerable Lingbao froze, dazed. At last, he understood—there was nowhere left to run, nowhere left to go…

Was this the taste of despair?

As he hesitated, raging flames erupted from all sides, devouring the forest and incinerating every formation. Serpentine vines writhed within the fire, burrowing underground to seal all escape routes. Countless Nirvana red butterflies filled the sky, weaving an inescapable net of death.

At life’s end, there was no need to flee.

Strangely, Venerable Lingbao felt relief. Like a lifeless puppet, he knelt slowly, awaiting the moment he would be torn apart and cast into an even crueler hell.

The terrifying Divine Lord descended before him, surrounded by red butterflies.

Venerable Lingbao looked up, intending to beg for a swift death. Then, through the veils, he glimpsed those dark golden phoenix eyes—familiar, as if seen long ago… After a dazed moment, he recalled the first sects annihilated: the Golden Phoenix Manor’s brutal fall, the Dragon-Tiger Sect, the Rainbow Veil Sect, the Blood Demon Sect…

These sects had been scattered, their ways diverse, yet they had met the same fate…

What was their common thread?

Slowly, his memory conjured a mortal youth with the same dark golden eyes—brilliant, beautiful, and unyielding, yet broken, his bones shattered, his wings snapped, dragged into an abyss of defilement. They had seen no wrong in it; a slave bought for pleasure was meant to serve his masters with his body…

He vaguely remembered the youth being discarded, then disfigured and driven mad by his new owner.

What was his name?

Horrified, Venerable Lingbao gasped, “Yue Wu—”

Before he could finish, a gloved hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him, sealing the forbidden name.

Venerable Lingbao understood everything. Tears of regret fell. He knew his fate now, beyond any hope of reprieve. If only…

But the world held no “if only.”

Scorching flames poured from the hand into his mouth, searing his throat, turning his organs to ash. His skin withered, then fed the vines rising from below.

Death brought no release. His sinful soul was extracted and sealed into a specially crafted soul lantern.

The Divine Lord glanced at his glove, now smudged with soot. Displeased, he frowned and extended his hand toward the lovebirds.

These twin avian spirits, named Xiao Zuo and Xiao You, had been born from the Kunyu Tree in the Spirit Sea. Innocent and untouched by the world, they had volunteered as his attendants since his birth.

Xiao Zuo carefully removed the soiled glove and burned it without a trace. Xiao You swiftly presented a golden box filled with fresh gloves for him to choose.

After meticulous selection, the Divine Lord donned new gloves and ascended into the sky.

Bloodvine tendrils emerged, coiling around the soul lantern before retreating underground.

The crimson clouds faded, the Nirvana butterflies vanished, and the magic boat departed the charred ruins of the forest.

…

Outside the Indestructible Peak’s divine hall, the Divine Lord carefully placed the newly acquired soul lantern upon the cliff face, ensuring the soul within would endure the eternal flames’ torment day and night. A formation muted its agonized wails, preserving the silence.

He delighted in collecting the soul lanterns of the wicked.

Over three millennia, their numbers had grown from two to hundreds of thousands, lining the cliffs. Each night, the Indestructible Peak glittered like a sea of stars, breathtakingly beautiful…

Long ago, in the Ninefold Pagoda, someone had once said the lanterns were lovely, the memories sweet.

If that person returned, surely they would adore this spectacle…

They could sit in the golden tower, sharing wine and laughter, admiring the lanterns night after night, savoring sweetness anew.

The mere thought of such a scene made him incredibly happy...

...

The Golden Tower, named the Phoenix Terrace, is adorned with the most exquisite gems in the world. It is a forbidden ground within the Indestructible Peak and the sanctuary of love he prepared for that person—intruders will perish.

Inside, he arranged twelve layers of beaded curtains and countless barriers to block all unwanted gazes and shield against impurities in the air. Every corner is perfumed with herbal incense, resembling the scent of that person, easing his breathing somewhat.

The Divine Lord passed through the barriers, removed his veil, and took deep breaths of the fragrant herbs. Then, he let his snow-feathered cloak fall and stepped into the bathing pool, painstakingly cleaning his body. Though his reborn godly body held no dirt, he always remembered that person’s words: the air is filled with invisible bacteria, so one must wash frequently to stay clean.

He cleaned himself thoroughly.

He had tormented the soul named Zhao Ye countless times, yet could never locate that strange system. So, he analyzed the mission requirements, erased all traces of the past, and made that wrongful name vanish from the world.

He would become the correct answer. When that person returned to fulfill the mission again, he would woo them anew and become their Dao companion.

His current body was spotless and perfect, untouched by any impurity.

He would never be a mistake again.

Emerging from the pool, the Divine Lord’s slightly curled black hair hung damp to his heels. The grand crimson phoenix tattoo on his back unfurled, its long tail feathers gliding past his slender waist in dazzling beauty. Donning a red ice-silk robe, he slowly approached the mirror and reached out, disdainfully touching the increasingly bewitching crimson teardrop mole beneath his left eye—a mark he defied all his attempts to remove, as if fused with his soul, ceaselessly reminding him of the intensity and horror of his desires.

Having tasted the finest delicacy, he could no longer suppress the cravings of his body.

He yearned for sweet, tender kisses, those clear eyes, the touch of fair skin, the madness of entwined passion—he wanted that person, wanted them desperately...

Every night, he was tormented by desire and agony; every morning, he awoke enveloped in despair and loneliness, longing to die every day.

Yet, he dared not die...

He feared that if that person returned and found him gone, they would abandon him.

Such a fate was worse than death.

Curled in the darkness, he clutched the white pebble tightly, kissing it over and over, pleading brokenly:

"Qing Shi, I miss you..."