Chapter 343

Chapter 343

—A sacred tree whose most vital core had been excavated. People believed it could revive if its essence remained intact, but in truth, it had perished many winters ago.

Thus, it could no longer answer anyone’s hopes.

The golden phoenix only temporarily alleviated Su Yi's deteriorating condition but failed to address the root cause. Years of suppressed emotions dragged her toward self-destruction.

That was why, upon sensing something amiss and understanding herself clearly, Su Yi decisively changed her course—abandoning the hidden dragon veins deep within the Kunlun Mountains.

The carefully prepared vessel had already left the nourishing energy of Kunlun. If her soul did not inhabit it soon, it would be ruined. To acquire a mortal body free from karma and accelerate its maturation—if she had to grow up all over again, she would rather give up entirely.

Regardless of the time and effort invested—the loophole could only be used once. Any further attempts would be exposed under the scrutiny of the new Heavenly Dao, making success nearly impossible. The fetus would die in the womb before ever reaching birth.

But now, Su Yi’s condition was critical. Without having undergone the thunder tribulation to temper her physical form, she could not withstand her own reckless destruction. Even her refined soul was burning thin under her own force. Let alone that new body—it was far too fragile, vulnerable to damage even before being used.

—

The grand imperial wedding, though resembling a one-man performance, was carried out with utmost solemnity. Holding Empress Jingxi’s memorial tablet, the Emperor meticulously completed every ritual, bestowing the highest posthumous honors. Dissenters were swiftly dealt with, leaving ministers indifferent to even the most absurd proceedings.

The Empress’s funeral arrangements followed quickly. Compared to the wedding, not a single ceremonial detail was overlooked—everything adhered to the highest standards. After much deliberation, her posthumous title was finalized: Empress Jingxi. By convention, the title should have included the character “Xiao” (filial piety), as with previous empresses.

Jing (璟)—lustrous, dazzling, pure as jade, noble and radiant.

Xi (熙)—symbolizing brightness and beauty, echoing the “Xi” in the Emperor’s reign name.

Empress Xiaokangzhang, the emperor's birth mother, also derived her posthumous title from the era of his reign, incorporating the character “Kang” (康).

Even the funeral ode was written by the Emperor himself—no hand but his own.

Yet despite such extraordinary gestures, the Emperor never appeared before Empress Jingxi’s coffin during the mourning rites.

The concubines, initially tense and fearful, grew weary after days of kneeling in mourning and wailing—exhausting rites that wore them down completely. Seeing the Emperor’s continued absence, some began to slacken.

This was a common, albeit discreet, tactic to ease their burden.

After all, court ministers and palace women faced vastly different pressures during this period. Those who showed the slightest negligence in the Emperor’s presence met grim fates—many stripped of rank, military honors erased, or worse, executed alongside their families. Even Manchu officials, usually favored over Han counterparts, experienced the bitterness of “equal rigor,” leaving no room for defiance. They dutifully removed the red tassels from their official hats, donned mourning robes, and refrained from shaving for a hundred days—observing the highest national mourning standards.

In essence, the ministers bore the brunt of Kangxi’s wrath, sparing the harem the full intensity of his anger, leaving them unaware of how terrifying it was to escape direct punishment.

But in such dire circumstances, slacking wasn’t just risky—it was playing with fire.

The solemn, oppressive silence of the mourning hall shattered with a woman’s piercing scream, transforming stifling gloom into a deathly dread that choked the air.

“Is this how you dishonor the Empress’s funeral?”

A blade slick with blood was yanked from a fallen body, sending shockwaves through the crowd. These palace women weren’t strangers to cruelty—but this? They had never seen such brutality firsthand, nor expected the one wielding it.

Kangxi flicked blood from his sword, cold and expressionless. His black robes concealed any bloodstains.

No one noticed when he arrived—only that he suddenly struck, swift and lethal.

He stepped forward, sword in hand. The kneeling concubines collapsed in terror, scrambling away or curling into themselves, praying he wouldn’t glance their way next.

The iron stench of blood filled the air, yet none dared lift a hand to cover their noses. Not a single gesture of revulsion escaped their frozen forms.

The Emperor’s slow, sweeping gaze sent chills down their spines even without them daring to lift their eyes. In the oppressive silence, only Kangxi’s steady footsteps echoed.

But those footsteps made hearts leap into throats, tension tightening every muscle. Cold sweat dripped from brows as pulses hammered in fear. The stifling discomfort finally reminded them they had unconsciously held their breath when the Emperor passed—nearly suffocating themselves in the process.

“Keep crying,” Kangxi commanded coldly.

Instantly, palace consorts, wives of court officials, and princesses-in-law of imperial princes burst into heart-wrenching sobs. Whether from fear or something else, their weeping was far more genuine than before.

Who could have guessed that after days of absence from the Empress’s mourning hall, the Emperor would suddenly appear and unleash such violence? The bloodshed horrified all the women present—none had expected such brutality.

Kangxi stood before the First Prince, sword still dripping blood, his gaze calm yet piercing. The First Prince had been mourning—after all, the Empress was now his stepmother—but his grief lacked sincerity. His expression was sorrowful, yet his weeping was merely perfunctory, carefully upholding a prince’s decorum.

In contrast, the Crown Prince wept with genuine, unrestrained sorrow. Were it not for the dire circumstances, the First Prince would have mocked him for lacking composure, unbecoming of a future ruler.

When the Emperor loomed over him, the oppressive weight of that gaze made his throat tighten. “Imperial Father—” The rest of his words died in his throat as the cold blade pressed against his neck.

The sword, still wet with blood, chilled him to the bone. The First Prince felt the terrifying pressure radiating from his father.

“Yin Zhi, do you resent the Empress?” A deadly question, asked point-blank.

The First Prince froze.

Under such circumstances, with a blade at his throat, the sting of the sword’s edge breaking skin made him suddenly understand true despair. Though stubborn by nature, he dared not defy his father now, who showed no trace of paternal warmth.

He hastily swore he harbored no such resentment, praising the Empress with fervent, tearful admiration, as if overcome with grief for the late Empress.

Yet instead of appeasing Kangxi, his exaggerated display only deepened the Emperor’s displeasure. “The Empress was not your birth mother. No wonder your mourning was so half-hearted.” The accusation was clear—his earlier mourning had been insincere, a disrespect to his stepmother.

The First Prince was at a loss. The blade pressed harder, drawing blood that seeped into his plain mourning robes like red blossoms staining snow.

Hearts clenched once more. Noble Lady Hui’s grief, once feigned, now turned real. She could no longer maintain composure. She rushed forward, clutching her son and pleading, “Your Majesty, please calm your anger! Bao Qing only—”

Kangxi cut her off impatiently, kicking the First Prince so hard that both he and Noble Lady Hui toppled over. “Without your influence, how could a prince grow so disrespectful toward his stepmother?”

His eyes colder than the sword’s edge, Kangxi swung the blade again. Though the First Prince yanked his mother aside in time, the sword still pierced Noble Lady Hui’s shoulder.

The wails around them grew even more desperate, as if mourning their own parents’ deaths. Fear gripped them—would any of them make it out alive? Noble Lady Hui had been stabbed! Had the First Prince not acted fast, the blade would have struck her heart!

Seeing his mother fading fast, bleeding uncontrollably, the First Prince—who had forced his tears earlier—now wept in true anguish. Never having faced his father’s killing intent before, he had assumed he’d remain unscathed. But now, with his mother wounded and no one daring to summon a physician, he cried out, “Call the imperial physicians! Quickly!”

Yet without the Emperor’s permission, no one moved. Kangxi’s fury defied reason—crossing him meant death. The blood of the last victim was still fresh.

“Imperial Father, the fault is mine alone! Spare Mother, I beg you—let the physicians tend to her!”

But Noble Lady Hui, unpredictable as ever, ignored his pleas. Instead, he remarked with eerie satisfaction, “Now *that’s* how you mourn.”

Dissatisfied earlier with the First Prince’s feigned grief, Kangxi had taught him a brutal lesson in sincerity. Yet he ignored the plea for a physician, turning his gaze to the other princes.

The Crown Prince looked gaunt, eyes swollen from crying. Oblivious to the chaos, he quietly burned paper offerings, his silent sorrow evident. Kangxi’s eyes swept past him, landing on the Third Prince.

The Third Prince’s body shook violently, sweat dripping from his brow. He had already been weeping softly at his elder brother’s misfortune—now, under the Emperor’s mercurial glare, he understood true terror.

He rushed to extol the Empress’s virtues, using every poetic phrase he knew to praise her. Terrified of sounding insincere, he feared ending up like his brother.

Luckily, he had the sense to know that displaying reverence and filial duty toward the Empress in front of the Emperor was his only hope of survival.

Nonsense!

Kangxi appeared somewhat satisfied, his tone softening slightly. "I didn’t realize you were so devoted to the Empress. You are a filial child."

The Third Prince barely had time to secretly sigh in relief, thinking he had passed this trial, when his already merciless father continued with another fatal inquiry: "Then, would you be willing to attend to the Empress in the afterlife?"

Even the Fourth Prince, who had lived through a lifetime and was naturally resilient, felt his brow twitch upon hearing his father’s words. He had never anticipated such a turn of events. In his understanding, the Emperor would never act so irrationally and unpredictably.

Yet here it was happening—all because of Empress Jingxi.

It wasn’t just her honorific title that showed how much she meant to him; the Emperor insisted on lavish funeral rites, propriety be damned. Yet he hadn’t appeared at the mourning hall for days—not because he cared less, but precisely because he cared too deeply. He couldn’t bear the reality symbolized by the funeral rites, yet he absolutely refused to tolerate any negligence or mistakes from others in this matter.

Now, asking the Third Prince if he would serve at the Empress’s side—the Fourth Prince wept outwardly, but inwardly, he had no doubt that if the Third Prince agreed, the Emperor would truly send him to “attend” the Empress in death!

Since the Empress had no children, sending a prince to “serve” her—given the Emperor’s calm yet unhinged presence—was something he might genuinely do.

And if the Third Prince refused? That would be even more fatal, proving his earlier words were empty flattery, that he never truly revered the Empress. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he be willing to die? His earlier praise would then be exposed as mere deception, making him even more deserving of death.

The Third Prince’s face turned deathly pale. He, too, realized this dilemma. "This son… this son…" Even though royal children matured early, none could handle the Emperor in this current madness.

Noble Lady Xian, who had been holding herself back from rushing forward, could no longer contain herself. Her vision blurred with tears, her body weak, she stumbled forward and pulled the Third Prince close. "Your Majesty, Your Majesty… the Third Prince is still young, still ignorant. He might… might disturb Empress Jingxi’s peace…"

Kangxi, who had just softened slightly, snapped in fury. "So, in the end, you refuse!" He then kicked the Third Prince squarely, sending him tumbling out of Noble Lady Xian’s arms. But this wasn’t just a simple kick—after knocking him to the ground, he roared, "Disloyal brat! Hiding behind a woman at the first sign of trouble! How could I have sired such a disobedient fool!" He lifted his sword to strike him down.

The Crown Prince, who had remained still until now, suddenly rushed forward and clung to Kangxi’s leg. "Father, please, restrain your wrath."

"What? Are you also pleading for this disobedient fool who disrespected the Empress?"

Perfect—an equally deadly question, leaving no one unscathed—not even the Crown Prince.

Unexpectedly, the Crown Prince turned and slapped the Third Prince hard across the face. "If you’re not sincere, spare us the empty words." He then glared coldly at Noble Lady Xian. For a moment, the young Crown Prince’s expression mirrored Kangxi’s. "Remove her. When the Emperor and I are disciplining the Third Prince, what right does a concubine have to speak?" The implication was clear: remember your station.

Noble Lady Hui’s fate was a stark warning.

Seeing the Crown Prince’s command and the Emperor’s silent approval, attendants hurried to pull Noble Lady Xian aside. She tried to speak, but was quietly warned that any further noise would only bring more suffering upon the Third Prince.

"Imperial Father, given Third Brother’s temperament, even if he were by Empress Mother’s side, he would only disturb her peace." Nicely put—the Crown Prince, as an elder brother, clearly held no regard for his younger sibling either.

Just as everyone thought the Crown Prince at least understood brotherly duty by intervening, the Third Prince, clutching his throbbing cheek (the Second Prince hadn’t held back), thought tearfully, *At least Second Brother tried to stop Imperial Father...*

"Your son also doesn’t want anyone to overshadow him in serving Empress Mother. Better to have Third Brother focus on mourning properly—deeds, not words."

Well, well. The Crown Prince could persuade too. So his intervention wasn’t out of concern, but to prevent the Third Prince from "serving" the Empress—because *he* alone was enough. No competition allowed. And of course, he had to undermine the Third Prince in the process.

Those who had hoped the Crown Prince would bravely shoulder the Emperor’s wrath to calm him were left dumbfounded, finally understanding how the ministers at court must feel.

Father and son locked eyes for a moment. "Hmph." Kangxi snorted, tossing his sword aside. He turned and strode toward the coffin. Instead of burning paper offerings, he stood in silence before it, wordless.

Everyone: ?!

*So that’s how you’re supposed to persuade him? You can’t be too normal, because the Emperor isn’t normal right now, so persuasion can’t be too conventional either??*

Absurd—but who’d have the nerve?

The surrounding mourners didn’t dare stop weeping for a second, terrified the Emperor might decide their grief wasn’t heartfelt or anguished enough. Even the princes had suffered—Noble Lady Hui was barely standing, swaying but refusing to collapse. If even she was in such a state, they’d be lucky to keep their lives. So they wailed with all their might, nearly on the verge of collapse.

When the Emperor finally left, many had cried themselves completely spent. Yet no one dared so much as to pause for breath, fearing someone might notice and report it back to the Emperor. If he then thought they were feigning collapse to avoid Empress Jingxi’s mourning rites, they would truly be doomed.

The Fourth Prince, who had managed to avoid being caught in Kangxi’s rampage, felt little relief.

The Third Prince had just barely escaped unscathed—at least for now. But in the long run, the impact of the Emperor’s words on his political future would be immense. With the Crown Prince having shielded him from the Emperor’s fury, he would now have no choice but to align with the Crown Prince. To do otherwise after what was said would be heartless ingratitude.

The Eldest Prince took the first and hardest blow. For a long time to come, he would lack the confidence to oppose the Crown Prince. Just moments ago, the Emperor made it painfully clear how far behind his second son he stood.

Noble Lady Hui was calculating—her injury, though not fatal, had gone untreated at the critical moment. Even with proper care later, it would leave lasting damage. Ailing health would curb her ambitions.

With no one to lead the harem, she, as mother of the Emperor’s eldest son, had no room for further schemes.

As for him, currently raised under the Empress Dowager’s care and still young, he’d be treated just like the Fifth Prince.

The Crown Prince—even in his previous life, the Emperor had never favored him as much as he did now.

Because Empress Jingxi had shown the Crown Prince much kindness and care during her lifetime, the Emperor’s attention and regard for him had grown even stronger. One only needed to observe the confidence in the Crown Prince’s tone when speaking before the Emperor to see it.

The Emperor valued rules above all, yet he repeatedly bent them for Empress Jingxi. Even her posthumous title defied convention—just two characters, a clear sign that no matter how others viewed this Empress, in the Emperor’s heart, she was exactly as those two words described.

Today’s outburst was likely for the Crown Prince’s sake—to suppress the Eldest Prince, who would continue opposing him, and force the Third Prince to owe the Crown Prince for shielding him. From now on, even if the Third Prince did not stand with the Crown Prince, he could never stand against him.

—

The unexpected golden phoenix only gave Su Yi a brief pause. Her blood-red eyes flickered briefly back to their original hue, a fleeting clarity returning, yet the demonic markings on her face remained, twisting her flawless beauty into something uncannily enchanting.

It seemed like an improvement, but the Demonic Flood Dragon—Jun Sheng—only grew more solemn. His brows furrowed tightly, as if he didn’t know what to do. Even this was only enough to shake her, not break her inner turmoil.

Su Yi’s fall into demonhood would taint the Sacred Heartwood Core, causing her to lose control over it—something she could never accept. Losing her connection to it would—

Despite her death-defying obsession with Li Ke, clinging to her betrayal with such bitterness, Su Yi’s true fixation was not Li Ke.

But neither was his.

"Don’t waste your effort," she said, her tone eerily calm, as if rationality had returned—though a closer look revealed it was only surface-deep. "When the time comes, you can kill your way back first." Her words were vague—what time? Back where?—but he understood.

She was telling him to use the chaos of her final loss of control, to wield *His* primordial power, ascend to dragonhood and tear through the void to slaughter his way back to the cultivation world.

There, ascending to dragonhood was impossible. The cosmic shackles of that realm could not be broken; even ascension was out of reach, trapping him at the flood dragon stage. But only as a true dragon could one traverse the void between worlds—so another method was needed.

Su Yi had slain his mortal form, tanning his dragonhide into the umbrella’s canopy, engraving it with a magic circle that held her life’s work. His tendons formed the frame, his bones the hidden blade within—a weapon of both offense and defense, placed in a secret realm she had prepared. Years of collected treasures and artifacts lay there, including her innate sword heart.

Just before the thunder tribulation struck without warning and vanished, she released this information.

By now, it was surely in play. Even in death, her game would not stop.

If he became a dragon and slaughtered his way back, the process might accelerate—returning to wreak havoc.

Just as Su Luo once schemed, buying her sister and the cultivation world a thousand years to grow—even if her own life was part of the plan.

And she had entrusted the Sacred Heartwood Core, the one thing that could suppress or even kill Su Yi, to Jun Sheng’s care.

They were twinborn from the same origin, yet locked in mutual annihilation.

Su Luo’s essence was snow; Su Yi’s, fire—locked in mutual destruction. The only thing that could kill them was the other’s Sacred Heartwood Core. Their own would only wound, not kill.

The divine heartwood, with its power of immortality, preserved their lives at critical moments—a being even Heaven would covet. And Heaven had no need for two chosen ones who could shatter the cosmic shackles sealing the world.

Though twins, their births were staggered—priority given to one. Su Luo, the elder sister, emerged a thousand years earlier, born with innate sword bones, a prodigy of both sword and formations, a genius without equal.

Su Yi, born later, required an additional thousand years of nurturing before she could be born. However, during that time, she retained some awareness. Those days were spent under Su Ruo’s careful care and companionship, allowing Su Yi to endure the long passage of time.

Su Ruo sacrificed Su Yi's Heavenly Dao core to buy time for all living beings.

This was also why she did not leave her own Heavenly Dao core to Su Yi, instead entrusting it to Jun Sheng for safekeeping.

For Jun Sheng, she used the concept of love as a cage, ensuring he would continue to care for and protect her sister’s growth.

Su Yi demanded it multiple times but never succeeded, each time sparking genuine rage. No one doubted that there was deep enmity between them.

Before facing certain death in the thunder tribulation, Su Yi set up a psychological chess game.

Her death was not the end, but a beginning.

Su Yi’s apathetic, go-with-the-flow attitude in this world stemmed purely from having completed something and then losing all sense of purpose.

Coincidentally, this world felt both familiar and foreign to her. It held special meaning—it was where she had first arrived, remaining etched in her memory even after a thousand years.

If she wanted to live, it was merely to observe what this era had become. Whether she lived or died hardly mattered—just a fleeting spark of life sufficed.

But who asked “Him” to meddle so much? His interference instantly reignited Su Yi’s rebellious streak, pulling her back into her true calling—destroying the Heavenly Dao.

She alone decided when to die. Who needed others to force her hand? Her stubborn logic mirrored this sentiment: “When illness strikes, use poison to fight poison—to prove once and for all who truly holds control!”

Given Su Yi’s mental state—sporadic outbursts—she even forced the half-fallen Demon Dragon off his dark path, compelling him onto the righteous road, taking his path from him entirely.

Her obsession remained fixed on the belief that her sister had abandoned her.

In the face of this obsession, any wavering was only momentary—never enough to grant her peace.

Jun Sheng said nothing, simply enduring alongside her. If they were still in the cultivation world, there might have been solutions. But here, in this age of waning spiritual energy, recovery was nearly impossible. The sparse ambient qi could barely sustain cultivation, let alone healing.

In that fleeting moment of reflection, Su Yi—who had appeared to have marginally improved—now carried extra demonic markings on her face, a deep red bordering on black. The silver flame纹 on her forehead had dimmed halfway; the fragile equilibrium had crumbled. The innate spirit flame, which had just recently calmed, blazed back to life.

The situation deteriorated rapidly. There was no more time to wait. Li Ke had long since merged with Su Yi’s soul essence. Attempting to forcibly separate him now would be akin to tearing her apart, inflicting damage no less severe than what she already endured—but that wasn’t the real problem.

Su Yi, of course, would not comply quietly. Her consciousness was no longer clear—only instinctive resistance remained. Her sword materialized, crimson eyes burning with murderous intent, entering a desperate, fight-to-the-death frenzy.

Using arrays to restrain her while engaging in close combat with sword skills—she fought with relentless, life-or-death ferocity.

After reaching the Great Ascension stage, despite her usual gentle demeanor, she transformed in battle into a raging inferno. In her weakened state, her combat power doubled. Her ultimate technique, *Starry Sky*, summoned spectral blue flames like falling meteors. Once ignited, these flames burned through both body and soul before extinguishing. Thus, her epithet: Blazing Sun.

Back then, Su Yi had tried adopting other titles, but none fit her as well.

This time was no exception. As soon as her battle instincts ignited in her weakened state, she swiftly seized the opening to unleash her killing move.

“May these falling stars be your requiem,” she murmured softly, draining every last drop of her spiritual energy to activate this devastating, wide-range attack.

The eruption of battle reignited the volcanic magma, triggering another eruption. The lava’s temperature soared far beyond previous levels, and upon meeting the sea, shockwaves formed monstrous tsunamis. Towering black waves, like death’s shroud, effortlessly swallowed everything in their path.

Tectonic shifts caused massive earthquakes, setting off a cascade of calamities that struck the island with unprecedented devastation.

Toxic gases spewed from the volcano, thick black smoke turning day into night. Suddenly, stars appeared everywhere, streaking across the sky like meteors before raining down. Those who had just survived the volcanic eruption, ready to celebrate their narrow escape, were petrified mid-celebration as the falling stars struck them.

Within mere moments, a third of the island was subjected to this lethal yet dazzling meteor storm. Wherever they landed, everything turned to ash—the unquenchable flames only dying once all was reduced to scorched earth—a smoldering graveyard.

A perfect display of the terrifying power a transcendent cultivator could unleash, even in their weakest state.

Here, there was no Heavenly Dao barrier to contain the energy. The nascent Heavenly Dao hesitated to summon another thunder tribulation, fearing it would only worsen the devastation. As for the taboo against interfering with mortal dynasties' fates—entering the mortal realm not only subjected one to the Heavenly Dao’s suppression but also risked severe backlash. Those lightly punished might survive, but those severely punished incurred celestial wrath.

But now, with the Phoenix Fate talisman, the suppression varies from country to country. Here, in contrast, it's more resilient—you can afford to take more risks.

Hah, so what? If we're all going to die, let's die together. She didn't even mind that the sacrifices were beneath even beasts!

At the heart of the battle, Demon Dragon couldn't dodge and was shielded by a barrier emitted from the Divine Wood Core. His gaze flickered as he stared intently at the glowing core in his hand—the light as pure and gentle as moonlight. A shimmering, ethereal figure slowly materialized.

The face was identical to Su Yi’s, bearing the same tender smile—radiant with moonlight grace, her eyes as clear and pure as untouched snow. As she appeared, she embraced Su Yi, her form gradually solidifying. This lingering wisp of divine will, having crossed millennia, now stood before the two who loved her most.

Su Yi’s soul at this moment seemed scarcely more substantial than this apparition. Her lifeless eyes suddenly brightened, tears welling up, making her spirit form grow even more translucent.

The gentle figure slowly lowered her head, pressing her forehead against Su Yi’s. The darkened flame sigil between her brows reignited, restoring its original sacred silver glow.

"Senior Sister." Her eyes moistened, her voice quivering with hurt and sorrow. Though she had much to say, in the end, she could only whisper, "Senior Sister."

"My little Ayi, you've grown up, but haven't been kind to yourself." Her tone was as doting and tender as ever, filled with heartache. She reached out, tucking Su Yi’s disheveled hair behind her ear. "The burden should have been mine, but you took it upon yourself instead. You’ve worked so hard all these years, my Ayi."

The girl who used to complain and laze around, who found sword training exhausting, had grown quickly in her sister’s footsteps—never again complaining of hardship or fatigue.

She sniffled softly, her eyes red, her voice laced with grievance and a trace of resentment, as if silently accusing her belated guardian, *Why did you take so long?* "It should have been Senior Sister who stayed behind—preserving the strongest force at the smallest cost.

Not sacrificing the strongest to trade one for one.

She refused to die for the world, but she would die for Senior Sister. It wasn’t that hard—she’d already been granted a second life; that was bonus enough. She never wanted the weight of saving the world, just to ease her sister’s burden. But she wasn’t even given that chance!

"Those people forgot you in mere centuries—hah! Aside from those useless ancient relics who’ve lived too long." What did it matter if they remembered? Some might sigh and say she resembled someone from the past, that she’d surpassed her predecessor. All they wanted was another sacrifice like her sister, buying them more time.

What’s the point of living so long?

Reason told her not to be so extreme, but she couldn’t help thinking—why not drag them all down with her? At least then they wouldn’t forget who bought them their respite. If they couldn’t remember their savior, they’d remember their destroyer. People forget who saved them, but they never forget who ruined them.

Though she wanted to take everyone with her, she couldn’t let her sister’s sacrifice be in vain. Her morality wavered violently—half the reason Junsheng was called Demon Dragon was because he bore the blame for her actions. So Su Yi’s reputation? Surprisingly pristine—all a facade.

And the animosity between her and Junsheng? Completely genuine.

Her sister abandoned her—and left the Divine Wood Core, the most important thing, to *him* of all people!

He was her sister’s most trusted? Outrageous!

And he had the nerve to be jealous of *her*? She couldn’t even put his shamelessness into words!

A sister-obsessive like her could only seethe at the thought of not being the most important in her sister’s heart!

Just as tears threatened to fall, they were gently wiped away. "It’s my fault. You were the one I worried about most. I shouldn’t have left my Ayi behind. My Ayi was the most precious part of that world—even if others forget, Ayi would never forget her sister."

She remembered—Ayi’s favorite color had always been vibrant canary yellow, radiant as a little sun.

The vicious, dominating demonic marks began to fade, as if recoiling from a natural predator. The once indiscriminate soulfire, now obeying its master’s will, devoured them completely. But Su Yi’s soul grew even fainter, barely corporeal, on the verge of dissipating.

"I knew it—I was always the most important in Senior Sister’s heart." The resentment Su Yi harbored finally loosened. She smiled faintly, a flash of her youthful brilliance shining through.

All she ever wanted was to hear those words—proof she hadn’t been abandoned for some lofty ideal. As if standing on the side of righteousness meant she couldn’t resent or compare, because the other side’s weight was too heavy—so heavy that anything else paled in comparison.

Su Yi, who had been clinging on through sheer determination, now reached her limit. With her heart unburdened, the last of her strength faded. "Senior Sister is…" Her eyelids grew unbearably heavy—she wanted to see more, but it was impossible. Before losing consciousness completely, she faintly heard, "...waiting for you."

One thing they shared—the harder you tried to suppress them, the more you'd regret it.

Death wasn’t necessarily the end for them.

Junsheng, who had been silently watching since Suruo appeared, finally moved. He guided Su Yi’s soul into the body he’d safeguarded—had he not acted swiftly to submerge it in magma earlier, there’d be no vessel left for her now.

The golden phoenix persisted, circling protectively nearby.

Whether relieved to be rid of the trouble or eager for more time with his beloved, his hand seals were swift as he explained to Aruo, "She must enter a new body immediately and sink into the magma veins below—to let the earth’s energy nurture her soul."

Though he’d longed to reunite with his love, even resentful that her attention went first to her sister, he waited patiently. Sister-obsessed and sister-devoted—a mutual devotion. Yet this stubborn A-Yi still believed he’d stolen Aruo away. Resentful, but silent.

Fine, fine. Just finished comforting the little sister, now it’s the loyal serpent’s turn. He *had* been taking good care of her sister, after all.