Lin Shijin gathered a thread of spiritual energy at his fingertips. It spread across the barrier like a spider’s web, layered like interwoven roots.
The barrier before him looked thin, yet it was extraordinarily solid. The air on either side seemed completely cut off. The moment his fingers touched it, before he could even channel his energy into it, he was violently repelled.
He staggered backwards several steps as a heavy pressure rebounded into him. His chest jolted, and he nearly stumbled into the searing lava behind him.
Thick black mist shrouded everything. Vague figures flickered within it. Beneath their feet lay the Blood Refining Array, above them a blood-red moon. The air was thick with heat and the stench of blood, and dark, viscous blood splattered across the ground.
The stone platform seemed to have turned into a vast furnace, a living hell. No one within the array could escape.
This hellscape stirred the violence and desire to win buried deep in the heart. Even those defeated would refuse to accept it. The blood mist eroded their minds, fuelling rage, forcing them to rise again and again until their final breath.
It would burn their lives away entirely.
Sheng Rufei gripped his sword, blood dripping from its edge. At least the black mist concealed him. The youth would not be able to see him like this.
Pain throbbed from the wound on his shoulder. He brushed his cheek and found a fresh cut there too.
Crimson filled his vision. His fingers came away warm with blood. A flash of cold sword light entered his sight, and his blade reacted instinctively, clashing with the incoming strike.
A sharp crash rang out as sword energy rippled through the air. A shrill scream echoed from within the mist. Sheng Rufei blocked the attack in front of him, but the disciple opposing him had bloodshot eyes, and more attackers surged in from behind.
Even when struck, those disciples did not seem to feel pain. They staggered, then rose again to attack.
As one fell, another immediately took their place. Sheng Rufei realised he had become the centre of the formation. Under the influence of the blood mist, countless disciples instinctively targeted him first.
Cold sword light cut across the sky. He dodged an incoming strike, blades colliding with a heavy, dull sound. Around him, resentful spirits laughed shrilly.
“You are already cursed. Why struggle? There are thousands here. Do you really think you can last?”
“Look at your wounds. They do not heal. One, two, three, four, five… they will only increase. Your blood will run dry, and then Lord Shouhe will carve you apart.”
“You want to protect him? He has ties to our lord. If he falls into our lord’s hands, he will be tortured to death.”
“You cannot change anything. Your life has never been yours.”
The spirits crowded close, their faces twisted, voices sharp and foul. They whispered truths steeped in cruelty.
“Your life was written by others. You were born to endure pain, curses, everything you never chose.”
“You speak of revenge. Do you even know your enemy? That so-called hatred was fabricated by Feng Rugao. You are nothing but a sacrifice, a puppet. You have nothing.”
“You entered the sect only because your master needed you. The bond between you is nothing but false joy. You survived this long only because he arrived too late. Whether before or now, you cannot change your fate.”
“Your life is not yours… and soon, even it will end.”
The spirits flickered in and out of the mist, their voices echoing endlessly.
“When you die, he will not remember you. Eighteen years wasted. You leave with nothing.”
A shadow pressed over Sheng Rufei’s expression. His vision blurred slightly, and for a moment his grip loosened. That instant was enough.
A sword pierced through his chest from behind. A wet sound followed. His dark robes soaked through as blood ran down the blade. A metallic taste filled his throat as the sword drove deeper.
Behind him, flames surged like a blazing tide. He grasped the blade at his chest, pain lancing through his palm, and forced it out.
A hole gaped in his chest. His hands were drenched in blood. His heartbeat sounded slow and distant. His vision doubled, and the blood in his palm seemed to turn black.
Faces appeared within it, twisted and laughing, whispering and mocking.
“Useless. You are about to die.”
“Even if you endure, only one can live. When the time comes, all will fall into the lava.”
He tightened his grip. The spirits shrieked. Dense black runes spread across his face, covering half of it, turning his striking features into something eerie.
He turned slightly. Through layers of black mist, he could almost see the youth within the barrier.
Something hollow lingered in his chest. Firelight flickered in his eyes as blood ran down his brow.
Once, he might have weighed everything carefully. He might have questioned whether the youth was worth everything he would lose.
Now he did not care. Perhaps being with a fool made one foolish.
He was only glad.
Glad it was him. Glad the soul-bond connected them. Glad he bore the curse and the injuries. When the wounds refused to heal and turned black, he had already understood.
He had his answer then. Everything the youth owed him, he would remember. In this life, everything the youth experienced would bear his mark.
The black mist thickened. A cold, crushing pressure spread from the edge of the platform, centred on the black-clad youth. The ground sank slightly, then cracked open with a heavy sound.
Mist coiled around him. His pale blade was stained red. Black runes surged across his face. Blood dripped to the ground, and wherever it fell, spirits scattered in terror.
His pale fingers tightened on the sword. Beneath the runes, his eyes seemed to fuse with them. Sword energy gathered, freezing the air.
A single strike fell. Silver light split the sky. The mist behind him shattered. Blood sprayed through the air as dozens of cultivators collapsed, left barely breathing.
The runes pulsed wildly, threatening to consume him.
Blood stained Sheng Rufei’s lips. He stood unmoved, ignoring pain, standing before the barrier. His sword touched the ground, drawing an unseen line.
No one was allowed to cross.
The platform trembled. Lava splashed upward. Lin Shijin was thrown back again, searing heat striking his back. Pain burned into his bones, leaving a small hole in his flesh.
He feared pain. His face paled as he touched the wound. If the lava swallowed the platform, none would survive.
He forced himself up. As the mist thinned, he saw Sheng Rufei.
Black runes covered his face. Violence radiated from him. Their eyes met across the distance, and for a fleeting moment, the cold in Sheng Rufei’s gaze softened.
Then Lin Shijin saw the wound in his chest. The sight froze him.
It was like being plunged into icy water. Cold seeped into his bones, into his heart. The image of a straw figure with a hollow chest flashed through his mind, overlapping with reality.
Pain gripped his chest. Behind him, lava burned, but he did not feel it. He called out hoarsely, “Shixiong—”
His eyes reddened. Something within him snapped.
The barrier still blocked him. He struck it with all his strength.
Cracks spread like a web. The force rebounded, cutting his face and hands. Blood ran down his fingers as he struck again and again.
In the distance, Sheng Rufei was surrounded, unable to spare him a glance. Even injured, he fought without hesitation, deflecting every blade, refusing to let anyone approach the barrier.
Lin Shijin knew no one could enter. But Sheng Rufei did not. He was still guarding it.
“Sheng Rufei… come back…”
Heat roared around him. The runes on Sheng Rufei’s body writhed, devouring him, each one like a blade piercing Lin Shijin’s heart.
Cold engulfed him. Darkness spread. His hands clenched until his nails cut into flesh. Rage surged.
Why curse Sheng Rufei? Why destroy everything for his sake?
If it was because of him, then it should come for him. Why harm the one he loved?
He would not allow it.
Spiritual energy surged wildly around him, tearing his skin as blood flowed. His hair whipped in the force, his body burning.
All sound vanished. The figure before him overlapped with a memory. Silver-haired, noble, wrapped in fur scented with plum blossoms. Cold and distant, yet warm when looking at him.
“Xiao Jin, if I am gone one day, do you know what to do?”
“You must live well for me.”
His throat closed. Pain tore through his chest.
From the depths below, a low hum rose. A terrifying pressure spread from him. The barrier shattered.
He felt it. A familiar presence. His voice came out low and cold.
“Qiushui.”
Deep beneath countless bones, a blade stirred. A hum echoed.
The sword burst free, releasing boundless dark energy. Suppression shattered instantly. Bones cried out as darkness flooded the sky, swallowing the Blood Tower whole.
After a thousand years of silence, Qiushui Sword broke its seal.
…
At Fuguang Changgao Peak, in an abandoned side hall, a statue stood before seven soul candles.
At that moment, all seven ignited at once.
