Nightfall descended, and the lights that lit up one by one in the town looked like slowly rising orange-red tidal waves, emitting a warm, sluggish heat that belonged uniquely to the summer night.
Ye Zhuxu first returned to his own courtyard.
Ever since several people in the team, who practiced puppet arts, worked together to build two towering iron trees, many people had stopped sleeping in their assigned rooms, finding them cramped, stifling, and lacking openness.
They preferred to sleep with their heads resting on the stars, drifting off to dream, experiencing a sense of solidity, as if floating in the sea of jade.
Ye Zhuxu was different.
He always sought the most secluded and coldest places, unable to bear the slightest noise.
The road from outside to inside grew quieter and quieter, and by the time he entered the small courtyard, walking on the cobbled path to the house, the moonlight had already stretched his shadow long behind him, twisting like a terrifying monster raised in black flames, its throat sealed with blood.
The darkness inside the house was even more intense.
Ye Zhuxu closed the door and lit a lamp.
For several days, he had kept the doors and windows closed.
The scent of yellow-flowered wood pear from the table seeped out, mixed with a faint salty sea air and a bloody stench, creating a peculiar spicy scent, much like orange peel.
By the faint candlelight, one could see paper scattered across the Eight Immortals table, the desk behind the screen, the floor, and the bed—some blank, some written on.
Sword cultivators were probably all good at calligraphy.
Especially him, who seemed particularly focused.
His pen moved like a dragon and a snake, each stroke filled with a sense of tension and release, as if drawn from the tip of a sword.
The papers in the room were all stained with varying shades of reddish-brown.
Some were fresh, others had dried.
The sight was heavy and filled with a cold, murderous intent that lingered, sharp and violent, with no place to rest.
Ye Zhuxu silently placed the candlestick on the table.
After an unknown amount of time, the token at his waist floated up, and a soft, pure white light appeared in front of him.
Under the sacred aura of “the door,” the bloodstains were immediately dispelled, and an unspoken, strong will descended in the dead of night.
The door had no physical form and would not appear in the capital without reason.
This was a special connection between Ye Zhuxu and the head of the Tower, the “door.”
“Why is there no action?”
The voice of the door was like a moving algae in water—calm, gentle, purifying the soul.
Ye Zhuxu slightly raised his head, exposing his thin, sharp chin.
His tone was too calm, calm to the point of sounding almost disrespectful:
“Preparing some things in advance. Also, waiting for your instructions.”
“Quickly eliminate the demons.”
“Understood.”
After giving the order, the light dimmed, and before it dissipated entirely, it told Ye Zhuxu:
“In fifteen years, a great calamity will come. Lead the team to the mortal world, and everything here will be your responsibility. Eliminate the vile, cultivate your nature, and pity the common people.”
Ye Zhuxu curled his lips slightly:
“Yes.”
At the same time the light faded, Ye Zhuxu lowered his eyelids slightly and, with no one around, casually pulled out a gem box containing a sacred beast.
This box, used exclusively in the Sea of Jade, could shrink or expand and seal living creatures. Regardless of the outside weather, the temperature inside always remained pleasant.
Some liked to decorate their boxes with unique markings—golden edges, floral carvings, or various small locks to show distinction.
Ye Zhuxu was extremely dull.
The box remained unchanged when it came into his hands.
As for the carving of the sacred beast entwining itself in a spiral, with two gem-like eyes embedded into it, that wasn’t his work.
It was clear time had passed, and the once vivid carving had lost its spiritual aura, the sparkling sapphire now dim and dull.
Ye Zhuxu bent over and opened the box. It was divided into two layers.
The first layer was evenly divided into twelve small compartments, some empty, some holding various things.
He didn’t linger on this and opened the second layer.
The second layer was originally also divided into twelve compartments, but now all were hollowed out, filled with clear, deep blue seawater.
Floating on the surface was a fish the size of a palm.
If this small pond were turned into an ocean, and the fish’s bones expanded, its body stretched infinitely, one could immediately recognize it as not a mere fish but a gigantic whale.
In the legends of the Sea of Jade, young men and women often rode these whales deep into the sea.
The fish, sensing the air moving around Ye Zhuxu, flipped its eyes upward and collapsed on the surface, its body still.
Ye Zhuxu smiled and leisurely asked, “Do you want to die again?”
The small fish had no choice but to open its eyes.
The Sea of Jade’s whales were created by the witch tribe.
Initially, they were just a mass of source energy from within their bodies, infused with a bit of essence blood, and slowly sculpted into shape.
Placed in the deep sea, they would grow, and the whale would be connected to its creator, sharing a spiritual bond.
Su Lingxi’s whale, however, was even more intelligent than the usual ones.
But that was in the past.
After Su Lingxi left the Sea of Jade, the whale distanced itself from its master.
It was never a true physical being; it lived on the source energy its master had initially given.
As the seasons passed, and with no new power being injected, Su Lingxi’s own source began to wither, and the whale’s once massive body began to shrink.
Everyone thought it would quietly dissipate one day, but in reality, it died in a grand, dramatic way.
After Su Lingxi left, Ye Zhuxu had not appeared in the area for a long time.
In the past few years, the whale could sense when he quietly arrived, hiding in the air or standing among the tall reeds at the shore, staring at something, still innocent, like when Su Lingxi was around, nudging his palm with its head, unaware of its fate.
It was a year in spring, the weather clear, the clouds dispersed, the breeze gentle, and many blue whales surfaced, spouting water.
The Sword of Extinction fell suddenly, as if a chain on fire descending from the sky, piercing through the shrinking whale’s chest.
The sea became chaotic, with shouts and discussions not dying down, and those who knew Su Lingxi couldn’t stand it, but no one dared to confront him.
A few days later, Yu Linan and others learned of the incident and rushed to his long-closed door, furious, asking him if he had gone mad.
No one knew.
Su Lingxi’s fish died, yet wasn’t entirely dead.
The Sword of Extinction destroyed its body and trapped the remaining source energy.
Ye Zhuxu cruelly pulled it out and formed a new shell, still in the shape of a whale.
Yet under its smooth skin were countless sword lights, entwining the familiar energy.
The whale, once wandering the sea, had become a sword puppet, a tyrant that dominated battle.
Yet, paradoxically, it retained some of its original nature—the essence of something that had been drawn out from a person and slowly nurtured.
Ye Zhuxu fed it with his own blood.
This also led to a contradiction: this sword puppet both instinctively feared him, yet was compelled to submit to him.
The sword puppet pushed out half of its head and asked him what was wrong.
Ye Zhuxu didn’t answer. He lowered his eyes, crouching down, and picked up a piece of paper from the small table by the window.
Earlier, he had said to the door that he was preparing things in advance.
In truth, this was the only thing he had been doing these days—dipping blood, writing a name on the paper.
It was the name of every man who had interacted with Su Lingxi over the years.
Ye Zhuxu tilted his head, lightly pressing the paper onto the table.
He joined his hands together, pulling out a sword light from his long fingers.
The light emitted a chilling aura.
He infused the sword light into the sword puppet’s body.
This was a sword capable of killing and slicing bones.
After the first light was inserted, he continued without pause, soon pulling out a second one.
The sword cultivator’s fingers were slender and white, and even in casual movement, they showed an unbroken beauty.
Ye Zhuxu wore large robes, but his body was slender and tall.
He was accustomed to being fully wrapped in cloth, only his hands, wrists, and forearms exposed to the candlelight.
His skin was extremely pale, like a thin glaze, freshly pulled from a furnace, slightly flawed.
If one looked closely, they would see delicate cracks running from his wrists to his fingers, like jade that had been shattered and painstakingly pieced back together.
These were the aftereffects of a spiritual injury from fourteen years ago.
The sword cultivator’s hands were the foundation, and the damage to his spirit was most evident in his hands, difficult to heal.
From now on, the beautiful jade has a flaw.
The murderous intent grew stronger with the overlapping sword light, to the point where it seemed to tear the space apart.
This pressure was so overwhelming that even the sword puppet, with no flesh or blood, felt it was almost unbearable.
Jingmie let out a low hum, trying to unsheath itself.
Ye Zhuxu pulled the sword puppet from the water, the wound stained with the salty seawater, immediately cracking open, crimson blood flowing down the skin, flowing faster and more vividly.
He lowered his eyelids slightly, giving a casual flick, indifferent to the situation.
He gently pressed his finger on the sword puppet and asked, “Can you smell it? Su Lingxi’s scent.”
The sword puppet dared neither nod nor shake its head.
Hearing Ye Zhuxu’s icy, jade-like voice, it spoke in an indescribable tone, “You and she came from the same source, you must feel it, right? Over the years, who has Su Lingxi grown close to, held hands with, exchanged necks with—”
At this point, Ye Zhuxu’s voice paused.
He picked up the piece of paper on the desk, his pitch-black eyes scanned the red characters on it, and after a while, he softly spoke:
“Who else has she slept with?”
The room fell into a deathly silence.
He stood up and patted the back of the sword puppet. His throat rolled slightly, and he whispered, “Kill them all.”
The sword puppet wanted to scream loudly, even though it had no body.
It still felt a chill all over.
Jingmie was right beside his hand, full of murderous intent, and although the sword puppet was nourished by him, it belonged to Su Lingxi.
His command undoubtedly forced it to kill the people she cared about, to tear itself apart with her, and this was precisely what he wanted.
He wanted Su Lingxi herself to personally kill those people.
The sword puppet’s heart swelled with struggle.
Just a moment ago, it was told to focus on the bigger picture, to temper its temperament, to pity all living beings.
But the next moment, it was to massacre on Earth.
Ye Zhuxu had gone mad!
Didn’t he fear divine retribution?
Didn’t he fear the Royal Seal?
The sword puppet’s eyes widened, unable to resist, passively feeling the sword lines pressing down on it one after another.
Ye Zhuxu locked eyes with it, as if through it, meeting another person.
“Am I mad?”
He found it quite amusing and repeated the words, shaking his head.
“No, I went mad too late. I’m too foolish.”
It was at this moment that the sword puppet realized the sharp lines were forming shadows under its brow, or perhaps it was the blood-red light filling the room, or the candles burning brightly.
Its eye corners even showed a flash of bright crimson, like the color of a sword pressing against its throat.
He seemed to be drowning in a sea of blood, the oppressive feeling so strong it squeezed his internal organs, like a dangerous evil spirit.
“I…”
Ye Zhuxu’s throat moved, his voice full of mockery.
He examined these years, the fourteen years, and in his mind, he filled in every word and sentence after that incident.
After that event, he actually excused her, waited for years, without knowing cold or warmth, and waited again, and again.
At this moment, Ye Zhuxu drew the last bit of sword light from his hand, precisely landing on the sword puppet’s head, strangely disappearing into its body.
He suddenly stopped moving, lifted his eyelids, not sure who he was asking, “Ten pieces, is it enough?”
“No problem.”
Tonight, he seemed unusually easygoing, very reasonable.
“If it’s not enough, come take more from me.”
As he spoke, it was unclear whether it was because of the injury or the excitement of impending murder, or something else entirely.
His fingers, which were still holding the sword without a single shake even in life-and-death danger, trembled faintly.
Ye Zhuxu lowered his head for a moment, straightening the sword piece by piece.
“Go.”
Ye Zhuxu looked down at the sword puppet, his lips parted, “Leave none alive.”
The sword puppet disappeared into the night.
Moments later, Ye Zhuxu grasped Jingmie and pushed open the door.
The massive steel tree was still rustling in the strong wind, and the people on it had already fallen asleep.