Of all days, of all possible moments that fate could have chosen to turn cruel, it had to be now.
The courtyard of the Azure Scaled Court, which had once stood in cold, dignified silence beneath the pale sky of the Beast Realm, was no longer calm. The wind had picked up without warning, dragging along fine particles of frost and dust, spiraling them into the air as though the very ground was unsettled by what was taking place. The sky above had darkened slightly, not with clouds alone, but with the pressure of clashing forces that refused to remain hidden.
Cui Wulei had chosen this moment to strike, and she had done so without hesitation.
Xing Yue had barely regained her footing when the attack came. There was no warning, no exchange of words to soften the impact of what was about to happen. Cui Wulei descended like a force that had long abandoned restraint, her presence sharp and suffocating, her intent clear in the way her energy surged wildly around her.
Before Xing Yue could properly defend herself, the first blow landed.
Cui Wulei's fist drove straight into her abdomen with a force that seemed intent on breaking through bone and spirit alike. The impact knocked the breath out of Xing Yue instantly, her body folding slightly under the pressure as pain spread through her like fire. Her lips parted, but no sound came out, only a sharp intake of air that refused to fill her lungs properly.
She did not scream.
That silence, that refusal to break, only seemed to fuel Cui Wulei further.
Another strike followed immediately, and then another, each one heavier than the last, each one carrying with it something far more personal than mere physical strength. It was not just an attack; it was an outlet for something buried deep, something that had been festering for far too long.
Xing Yue's body trembled under the repeated blows, yet she could not move, not because she lacked the will, but because she had been bound completely.
The chains wrapped around her body tightened with every movement she attempted, their cold surface pressing into her skin as though they were alive. This was no ordinary restraint. This was Wú Jìn Suǒ, the Endless Shackles, a weapon forged not merely to bind, but to dominate.
The chains extended and coiled with unnatural precision, wrapping around her arms, her waist, and her legs, leaving no space for escape. Along their surface, jagged, fang-like protrusions shifted subtly, as though ready to extend further at any given moment. The weapon carried a cruel purpose, one that went beyond restraint, as it steadily drained the spiritual energy of whoever it captured, feeding off their strength until resistance became meaningless.
Xing Yue could feel it happening.
Her energy was slipping away, slowly but undeniably, like water draining from a cracked vessel. Even maintaining her posture became difficult, yet the attacks did not stop.
Cui Wulei struck her again, her fist slamming into Xing Yue's stomach with enough force to send a shockwave through the ground beneath them. This time, Xing Yue could not suppress the reaction. Blood rose to her throat and spilled past her lips, staining the pale stone beneath her knees in dark streaks. The metallic taste filled her mouth, thick and suffocating, causing her to cough as more followed.
Still, she did not cry out.
She endured everything in silence, her body taking the punishment as though it had already accepted it.
Cui Wulei watched her closely, and for a moment, something bright flickered in her eyes.
Excitement.
There was no attempt to hide it. No effort to mask the satisfaction she felt as she watched Xing Yue weaken before her. This was what she had wanted, what she had imagined countless times over the years. To see her like this, stripped of strength, forced to endure without escape, was a pleasure that ran far deeper than the surface.
She had waited for this.
For the chance to take everything back.
To return the pain she believed had been dealt to her a hundred thousand years ago.
Her smile widened slightly, but it did not last.
Because even now, something was missing.
Her expression shifted, her brows drawing together in faint dissatisfaction as she studied Xing Yue more closely. The scene was exactly as she had imagined, and yet it did not feel complete. The enjoyment was there, but it was not enough to satisfy what had been building inside her for so long.
Why should she be the only one to enjoy this?
That thought settled in her mind, and once it did, it refused to leave.
After all, they had not always stood on opposite sides like this.
There had been a time when they were inseparable, when they had stood together without hesitation, when laughter came easily and trust had never been questioned.
Now, only one of them seemed to remember that.
"Why are you doing this?" Xing Yue finally managed to ask, her voice strained and uneven, each word carried on a breath that felt heavier than the last.
Cui Wulei did not answer immediately.
Instead, she looked at her as though the question itself was unnecessary.
"Shut up," she said at last, her tone sharp, cutting through the air without effort. Then, almost as if the thought amused her, her expression shifted again, and that unsettling smile returned.
"I'm thinking about spicing things up," she added, her voice lowering into something almost playful, though the intent behind it remained anything but.
Xing Yue exhaled slowly, her strength nearly depleted, her body heavy against the pull of the chains. She wanted to respond, to say something that might reach whatever remained of the person she once knew, but the words refused to come together.
Before she could try again, the pressure around her body changed.
The chains loosened.
For a brief moment, she did not understand what was happening, her mind too clouded by pain and exhaustion to process it immediately. Then, without warning, the Wú Jìn Suǒ withdrew completely.
The sudden absence of its restraint caused her body to give in at once, and she collapsed forward onto the cold stone floor, her limbs unable to support her weight after being bound for so long. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she struggled to steady herself, confusion flickering across her expression.
Why would she release her?
Slowly, Xing Yue lifted her head, her gaze finding Cui Wulei once more.
What she saw made her chest tighten far more than the physical pain ever could.
There was nothing left in her expression except hatred.
Not the kind that flares and fades, but the kind that settles deep and takes root, consuming everything else until there is no room for anything more.
"You…" Xing Yue began, but the words fell apart before they could form into anything meaningful.
For the first time, she did not know what to say.
Cui Wulei tilted her head slightly, her smile softening in a way that only made it more unsettling, as though she were offering something instead of taking everything.
"Let's have fun together," she said gently.
But there was nothing gentle about what was coming next.
__
Inside the Azure Scaled Court, the battle unfolding was no less brutal than the one outside, though it carried a very different kind of danger.
The grand hall, once a place of authority and quiet reverence, had been reduced to a battlefield where elegance and destruction coexisted in unsettling harmony. The towering pillars that lined the court bore cracks from recent impacts, fine dust drifting down from above each time another force struck against stone. The air was thick, not just with spiritual pressure, but with something heavier—something that clung to the skin and made every breath feel deliberate.
Jiang Yunxian stood at the center of it all, still holding his wine gourd as though he had merely wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.
And yet, despite the chaos around him, he looked… composed.
It was almost absurd.
Outside, Xing Yue was enduring relentless punishment, her body bound and drained, her strength being chipped away piece by piece. Inside, Jiang Yunxian faced opponents who were no less dangerous, yet he carried himself with that same careless ease, as though none of this quite reached him.
That did not mean it was easy. Not in the slightest.
The impostor wearing Long Junlan's face had already proven that he was not someone to be taken lightly, and Lianhua—if she could still be called that—had abandoned all pretense of gentleness.
She moved like a beast that had been starved for too long and finally found prey worth tearing apart.
Her once soft, snow-colored robes had darkened into a deep obsidian black, swallowing the light around her. Against that darkness, only her pale hands stood out, almost ghostly, as they cut through the air with terrifying speed. The transformation was not merely visual; it was as though her entire presence had shifted into something far more feral, far more unrestrained.
She lunged again.
Jiang Yunxian did not meet her head-on.
Instead, he moved.
His qinggong was effortless, almost lazy in appearance, yet impossibly precise. He stepped aside at the exact moment her claws tore through the space where his throat had been, the black aura trailing behind her fingers like smoke that refused to dissipate.
This was what he had always been good at.
Not brute strength. Not flashy techniques.
But awareness.
At Cloud Peak Sect, while others obsessed over sword forms and cultivation manuals, Jiang Yunxian had paid attention to something else entirely. He listened. He observed. He learned how the world moved—the subtle shifts in air before an attack, the faintest sound that preceded motion, the invisible cues most people ignored.
That was why he could see what others missed. Why he could react before things fully happened.
A massive pillar came crashing toward him, hurled with enough force to crush bone and spirit alike. It cut through the air with a deafening roar, yet Jiang Yunxian simply tilted his body and let it pass, the stone grazing past him by mere inches before shattering against the floor behind him.
Lianhua's laughter rang out, sharp and unhinged.
"Die!" she screamed, her voice no longer carrying any trace of the calm gentleness it once held.
Her hand shot forward again, claws extended, black energy coiling tightly around them as they aimed straight for his throat.
This time, Jiang Yunxian did not dodge completely.
He caught her wrist.
The moment his hand closed around hers, he twisted sharply, the movement clean and decisive. A crack echoed faintly as her arm bent at an unnatural angle, and Lianhua let out a sharp cry, her body faltering for the first time since the fight began.
But the moment did not last.
Before he could press the advantage, something shifted.
A flash of red cut through the air.
Jiang Yunxian's instincts flared instantly. He released Lianhua and stepped back, his body moving on reflex alone. The red streak passed where he had been standing a heartbeat earlier, but not completely without effect.
It grazed him.
A thin line opened across his shoulder, shallow, almost insignificant in appearance.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
Something moved. Not outside. Inside.
Jiang Yunxian's expression changed ever so slightly as he felt it, a strange sensation crawling beneath his skin. It was subtle at first, like a ripple moving through still water, but it carried with it a presence that was impossible to ignore.
It spread. Slow. Deliberate.
Like a snake weaving through tall grass, unseen but undeniably there. Like the ocean shifting beneath the surface at the faintest touch of wind.
Long Junlan's laughter echoed through the hall, deep and satisfied.
"Good," he said, his tone almost approving. "Young man, I suggest you do not move. That poison is already spreading through your body. The more you struggle, the faster it will take hold."
Jiang Yunxian did not respond immediately.
He did not need to.
He could feel it clearly now. This was no ordinary poison.
This was Death is Better.
The name alone carried a history that most cultivators spoke of only in hushed tones, if they dared to speak of it at all.
It was the creation of Huang Bien.
Long before the great war that reshaped the balance of the realms, Huang Bien had been known as a man of terrifying intellect. He had read everything that could be read, learned everything that could be learned, and pushed his understanding far beyond what most cultivators would ever dare to attempt. His mind was not merely sharp; it was relentless, constantly seeking, constantly creating.
But brilliance, in his case, had not been born from peace. It had been forged in suffering.
Huang Bien had not grown up in comfort or guidance. His early life had been steeped in cruelty, surrounded by venomous environments—both literal and human. Betrayal, exploitation, and pain had been constants, shaping his perspective long before he ever touched true cultivation.
When a small, obscure sect eventually took him in, it was not out of kindness alone, but perhaps curiosity. They saw potential in him, something worth nurturing. For a time, it seemed as though he had been given a second chance.
But whatever had been broken within him had never truly healed.
He studied obsessively, diving deeper into forbidden knowledge, experimenting with things others would not even name. Life, death, energy, suffering—he treated them all as components, variables in an equation only he could understand.
And from that madness, he created it.
Death is Better.
It was not a poison meant to kill quickly.
That would have been mercy.
Instead, it was designed to prolong suffering in the most calculated way possible. Once introduced into the body, it would begin a slow and deliberate process, causing the victim to feel as though their very essence was boiling from within. Their strength would not vanish immediately; instead, it would linger, just enough to keep them alive, just enough to ensure they could fully experience the torment.
Time itself became a weapon. Days could stretch into years.
And death, when it finally came, was not release, but the end of something that should never have been endured in the first place.
Huang Bien had tested it first on those who had wronged him. And then, without hesitation, on the very sect that had once taken him in.
After that, he disappeared into madness completely.
Whether he died, ascended, or simply vanished, no one could say for certain. Only his creation remained, lingering like a curse that refused to fade from history.
And now—
It was inside Jiang Yunxian.
The sensation deepened, coiling further into his body, spreading with quiet certainty.
For once, even he did not move immediately.
Not out of fear. But because he understood exactly what this meant.