Portraits fluttered out like snow, scattering far and wide. Every image showed the same person, a woman gentle and composed. Anyone who could provide her identity would be handsomely paid. Those with direct, verifiable information would be named patrons of the Lotus Cult. The portraits were first sent to the Lotus Cult’s disciples and to elders stationed elsewhere for them to see if they recognised her. When one such portrait reached a fifth rank elder just back from the north, the man’s body gave a little shudder. His face was a ruin, his once-handsome features long since destroyed. All that remained was a grim, scarred mask. Time had pooled in his eyes. He stared at the portrait. This was Fang Jianlong. After untold hardship, he’d finally earned the right to undergo the Red Lotus Cult’s marrow transplant; in searing agony, he reforged his shadow bones, then clenched his teeth and trained like a madman until he broke through to fifth rank. Later, in the Ocean Province campaign to annihilate the Sacred Fire Palace, Fang Jianlong chased Zhu Nuyang down and personally cut his former father-in-law to pieces. He then faced the woman who had once been his wife, Zhu Qiao’er. Zhu Qiao’er had long since married. A child clung to her side. Scenes flickered through his mind. Fang Jianlong was in a wasteland battlefield, corpses everywhere, his hands slick with blood. In the chaos he killed the already wounded Zhu Nuyang, then strode to a carriage, tore off the door, and looked within. Fang Jianlong and Zhu Qiao’er locked gazes. Zhu Qiao’er held her frightened child, closed her eyes, and waited for death. But Fang Jianlong didn’t strike. Hoarsely, he said, “I know it was hard for you. You waited for me for years, but your lifespan is limited. Everything you have now came from Zhu Nuyang. You had to marry and leave an heir. Go, I won’t kill you.” Zhu Qiao’er’s eyes flew open, tears spilling unchecked. For years she’d lived joyless, as if in hell. The events of that year had grown painfully clear. She knew she’d been wrong. If she hadn’t insisted on going back, the two of them would never have been captured. “It’s me who wronged you… You are right to take revenge,” Zhu Qiao’er said bleakly. “Go.” Fang Jianlong closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. In the next heartbeat, Zhu Qiao’er suddenly drew her sword to cut her own throat. Fang Jianlong flicked a finger; the sword jumped from her grasp. He pointed toward a narrow path. “That way. No pursuers.” “Jianlong, I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry. If there’s another life, I…” Tears streamed down Zhu Qiao’er’s face. “Go.” Fang Jianlong said nothing more Fang Jianlong had avenged himself, and yet his heart felt only more adrift. His thoughts snapped back to the present. He looked hard at the portrait. Ancient memories rolled over in his mind. He recognized the woman. She was the wife of the Blood Blade Patriarch. And the Blood Blade Patriarch was Li Yuan Li Yuan…? Fang Jianlong quietly handed the scroll back and told the disciple who’d come to ask, “I don’t know her.” With nothing useful from their own disciples, the Lotus Cult reluctantly sent the portrait out to various towns and villages, especially the ones in Gemhill County. Since the Ghost Street Judge’s ghost domain had once stood beside the Blood Blade Sect’s grounds, odds were she came from there. The logic held. Several more days later, an old woman in Little Ink Village clutched the portrait and said, “Isn’t this Yan Yu? She used to live in this village. Then her man struck it rich, and she went off to live the good life. Later I heard she went missing.” “Yan Yu?” The disciple’s eyes lit up, as if he’d grabbed the vital thread. He promptly pressed a tidy sum into the old woman’s hands and kept digging around more. People in Little Ink Village were used to being poor; they’d never seen that kind of money. As for being named a patron of the Lotus Cult, the disciple didn’t bring it up. Money spoke, and with the Lotus Cult’s machinery grinding into motion, the Ghost Street Judge’s secret identity began to peel back, layer by layer. And another identity slowly took shape out of the shadows—Li Yuan, the Blood Blade Patriarch and propagator of the Bladeseekers legacy. Soon someone remembered the disappearances in Silkfloss Province, Cui Huayin. Gu Yaojue. Jing Shuixiang. Ping'an. Even Ping'an’s wife and daughter… Anyone with eyes could see this hadn’t been the Son of Heaven’s doing. Then was there another possibility, that Li Yuan had taken them away? The truth would be terrifying. But there was no stopping now. The Lotus Cult posted a bounty for Li Yuan’s whereabouts. They didn’t know that, right then, two pairs of eyes were watching them from the dark. One belonged to Yan Yu. The other belonged to the Revival Tree God, gone from sight since the battle of the Jade Capital. The plain-clothed man with a wreath on his head and a wooden cane in hand heard the news, smiled faintly, and murmured, “I never would’ve guessed this barren land could foster such a genius. No wonder, he’s the father of another prodigy. “In that case, maybe there’s a thread of fate between us. Surely he’s not my blood kin from a thousand years ago? Or perhaps one of those who were left behind on this land and never made it out? Otherwise, why would his son carry the same primal blood as mine?” The Revival Tree God moved like a dragon, his head glimpsed and tail unseen. He padded through the hills of Little Ink Mountain with no one the wiser. He set aside his wooden cane, bent at the waist, and scooped a handful of spring water, drinking it down. “Truth is, all I want is the Grand Union of Yin and Yang. I don’t have to help Apparel Atelier absorb the Exotic Beast Park, or fold the Ghost Street Judge into it. Flip the board over, and I could just as easily help the Ghost Street Judge grow strong and have her absorb Apparel Atelier. It’s all the same in the end. “Only, this isn’t the time to meet. The North and South have split again. Fine, fine. I’ll walk to the West and see how that genius with my blood is doing.” The Revival Tree God rose with a smile and strode away. He knew Ping'an had gone west. He knew because he’d been watching Ping'an all along, the hidden hand behind the Holy Tree Temple. His power was terrifying; neither Gu Xuejian nor Qing Hancheng had ever sensed him, and not even Li Yuan could. He was simply curious, curious that this poor land could produce a boy who shared his bloodline. So he watched. Ping'an and he were blood-linked, in a way, so of course the boy could feel the peeping eyes. Now, the Revival Tree God lifted his chin and leaned on his cane, but made no move to use any skills to hasten his journey. On this land he seemed faintly repulsed, unable even to take to the air. Still, his eyes shone with iron resolve. Content orıginally comes from 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹⟡𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⟡𝙣𝙚𝙩 “The Grand Union of Yin and Yang must happen!” Far west of Cloudpeak Province, Li Yuan stood once more at the Evernight Line. His memory was excellent; he’d never forgotten where that brink lay. But returning to the old place, his pupils tightened. The Evernight Line had shifted a good distance east. This meant the frozen tundra had grown. What that foretold, Li Yuan did not know. “What is it, master?” Yao Jue asked, catching his change in mood. “This world is undergoing a great change,” Li Yuan said softly. “What kind of change?” “I don’t know.” He pointed to the boundary where light met darkness and laid out his thoughts, holding nothing back. Everyone here was his own. After that, voices bubbled up one by one. Maybe the sun’s path had shifted; maybe this was normal… The mood turned lively, and in the palanquin carried by puppets, the gray-streaked Xue Ning lay dozing under thick quilts. Thick or not, the cold here gnawed to the bone. Li Yuan climbed into the palanquin and used his own body to warm her. An old woman and a youth, it was an odd pairing at first glance. Yet the two leaned into each other without a second thought. After a moment, the youth’s hair bled white, age settling over him like frost. Xue Ning had already learned about his Mortal World Transformation, so she wasn’t surprised. She only smiled and smoothed a hand over his cheek. “Ugly, isn’t it?” Li Yuan asked. She let out a soft sigh and said nothing. The convoy had scarcely crossed into the permafrost when, not far off, a vast tide of giant wolves came thundering in. A flurry of snow plumed into the air. At the head of the oncoming group rode a long-haired boy whose mane whipped like a lion’s; a resplendent golden great axe hung across his back. He sat astride a direwolf; behind him, bare-chested warriors pounded along. He was the Khagan of Nine Flames, Jen’gal Naran. “Honored guests of the Tang Sect from afar, welcome!” Naran bellowed, his voice pressing the wind and snow flat. He did not shout for his father; his father had told him there could only be one khagan on this land. Truth be told, he would have preferred his father to be that khagan. But his father was old. Naran dismounted from his wolf and walked to the palanquin. The curtain lifted, revealing an elderly pair. Xue Ning studied the powerful, almost monstrous youth with frank curiosity and said politely, “We trouble the Khagan.” Naran glanced at her, then let his burning gaze settle on Li Yuan. Li Yuan smiled and nodded. As if granted a great boon, Naran let the curtain fall and roared, “Warriors, with me! Bring our honored guests into camp!” “We obey the will of the Khagan!” The warriors took up the cry as one. Inside the palanquin, Xue Ning chuckled. “Fair brimming with spirit, that one. How old is he?” “Eleven years old,” Li Yuan said. “...” Xue Ning turned speechless. The two were still talking when a commotion rose outside. Li Yuan lifted the curtain and saw Ping'an sizing up Naran. “Care for a spar, little bro?” Ping’an asked, chin tilted up. Naran had learned about his paternal side of the family from his mother, Jen’gal Snow. So, he naturally recognized this half-brother of his. He cracked his neck and grunted. “Come.” Ping'an blurred into motion, shadows shedding off him. He was just about to strike when, with a ground-shaking boom, the golden lion of a Khagan exploded forward, a geyser of snow shooting skyward. The great axe, though loosed a beat later, arrived first, slamming into Ping'an’s true body. Ping’an whipped his sword up to parry and felt an unbelievable force crash over him. His mouth went numb, skin splitting and bleeding. BOOM! The single swing hit like a mountain. He was swatted from his feet and sent flying into the distance like a comet. “Huh...? I thought he would be stronger.” Naran looked stunned. Snow had told him this older brother of his was a prodigy. So…he’d only held back a little in this spar. In the palanquin, Xue Ning, who’d watched it all, didn’t worry. She laughed. “At last, that son of ours is getting knocked down a peg again.”