Many were crying.
Floating Jade had always been peaceful, warm.
This was the first time Yu Lin’an had seen such a scene.
He instinctively moved toward the gate, but before he could get close, his feet stopped—rooted to the spot.
Now he understood why everyone around him stood frozen, fists clenched.
“I’ll just step out for a moment. Just for a moment.”
Out of sheer helplessness, Yu Lin’an even childishly raised a finger and vowed, “I’ll pull her in. Really!”
No one responded.
Far away, the sky lit up with countless lanterns drifting upward.
The moment had arrived.
In front of the gate, humans were terrifyingly small—like specks of dust.
The gate loomed like a blade that blotted out the heavens.
With a grinding sound, it slowly opened… and then began to close with a clear, resonant tone.
Time passed.
Yu Lin’an could no longer remember what he’d been thinking then, what his expression or feelings had been.
Or maybe he’d never had time to think at all.
Because something changed.
Just as the gate was about to close completely, the lingering echo paused briefly.
Its motion slowed.
Though barely noticeable, it was incredibly rare.
Everyone’s gaze turned to the same direction.
Ye Zhuxu appeared before the gate—no one knew from where.
His sword stood before him, pure white and untainted.
Silver light surged like a flood toward the towering gate, struggling against it like an ant shaking a tree.
Bearing an unimaginable weight, he dared defy the gate’s authority.
His voice was quiet:
“Just a little longer.”
“It’s his spirit form,” someone recognized his final card, voice trembling.
“He’s throwing his life away.”
A spirit form was the core of the spiritual race—a killing move.
But against the Gate’s heavenly power, it was pure folly.
When the spirit form shattered, so would the body.
He would die.
“Su Lingxi’s… what’s-his-name. I forget,” someone whispered through tears,
“But the moment he arrived, he used his spirit form. He’s brutal—to himself.”
And indeed, only such desperate measures had any use now.
The Gate might show brief pity—only to the innocent.
In midair, the Grand Instructor closed his eyes heavily, then opened them again and ordered:
“Pull him away.”
But few knew Ye Zhuxu well.
They’d only spoken with him because Su Lingxi had introduced him.
He had no parents, no friends.
Before entering the academy, he didn’t even have a teacher.
With a crack, a fracture appeared on his sword—then another.
Soon it spread, a web of lines like a great tree growing in an instant, tinged faintly with blood.
Bloodlines crawled up his pale face, neck, and hands—he looked like a delicate marionette, on the verge of collapse.
Two instructors moved to stop him, shouting if he’d gone mad.
He didn’t respond.
His fingers trembled, barely holding on.
His eyes didn’t focus on anyone—not even the gate—only the sliver of sky beyond it.
He swallowed the taste of blood, calmly saying:
“Just a little longer.”
It was the only thing he seemed to know how to say.
The gate paused for no one.
Pity never lasted.
It began crushing the sword’s light—slowly, deliberately harvesting a stubborn, living soul.
The Grand Instructor’s lips moved:
“Please, be merciful. He’s still just a child.”
So were the Twelve Witches.
So was Su Lingxi.
So was Ye Zhuxu.
To them, these were still children who hadn’t yet grown up.
Thunder rolled like judgment—loud and absolute.
All living beings fell silent.
From standing, to half-squatting, his body torn by the shattering spirit form—
It was like death by a thousand cuts.
Blood spilled from Ye Zhuxu’s eyes and lips, but he never backed down.
And at that final moment—when Yu Lin’an’s hair stood on end—Su Lingxi appeared outside the gate.
There was only a narrow crack left.
Through it, they could glimpse half her face.
Behind her loomed the illusion of a giant incense burner, accompanied by the distant roar of a primordial beast.
It was clear: she had used a rare incense spell to travel so far so quickly.
Yu Lin’an sobbed with joy.
Like many others, he waved frantically and shouted:
“Come in! Hurry!!”
She had finally made it.
It was at that moment that Ye Zhuxu finally let his shattered spiritual form dissipate.
He clenched his fingers tightly and slowly stood up.
His lips moved as he looked at her, but he had exhausted all his strength—his voice was so faint that no one could hear it.
But he knew Su Lingxi understood what he meant.
Yet Su Lingxi did not step inside right away.
Her footsteps halted behind the door—silent, hesitant. As if realizing something, everyone’s smiles vanished.
They stared more intently but still could not see her eyes—only her lips, bitten so hard that deep teeth marks had formed.
She bit down too hard, and the color it forced out was ominous.
Ye Zhuxu reacted faster than anyone else.
Though he was already in that state, no one knew where he got the strength or how he retained such reflexes.
He used his thumb to push his sword from its sheath and slashed swiftly toward the door.
But it was blocked.
The last trace of light outside the door was disappearing.
Ye Zhuxu stared at Su Lingxi without blinking.
His dark lashes trembled despite himself, and he asked,
“…Why?”
Clearly…
Su Lingxi clearly knew everything about him—all the twisted darkness in his heart, every little detail—yet she still chose to be with him, promised never to leave.
She knew what it meant to be removed from Floating Jade.
She would forget everything.
BABA…
They had promised to spend many more days together.
Like the others, he didn’t even know what she had gone out to do, what had happened outside to make her act this way.
At this moment, he couldn’t understand—why hadn’t she come in?
Everyone saw, in that final moment, Su Lingxi turned and ran toward the mortal world without looking back.
The skies above Floating Jade had already turned completely dark, but judging by the light, it was a sunny, scorching noon in the human realm.
Slowly, people began to leave.
Floating Jade remained lit through the night.
Only Ye Zhuxu stood in place, lost in thought. Yu Lin’an, swollen-eyed from crying, stepped forward, only to be stunned by the overwhelming deathly stillness radiating from Ye Zhuxu’s back.
He choked and said, “Let’s go back. We’ll figure something out, see if there’s a way.”
Ye Zhuxu acted as if he hadn’t heard.
After waiting a long while, Yu Lin’an couldn’t help but give him a push.
That push made him stumble and drop to one knee, followed by mouthfuls of blood he couldn’t stop from vomiting—like he was throwing up a heart completely shattered.
Yu Lin’an was terrified and rushed to support him.
But then he froze, seeing Ye Zhuxu’s hand.
His fingers, once elegant and pleasing to the eye—fit for a master swordsman—were now broken and bloodied, with only a few bones intact.
In his palm, he was clutching a small silver orb, gripping it tighter and tighter, until he finally passed out with his eyes shut.
Yu Lin’an took him back.
It was only then that he realized Su Lingxi hadn’t lied—this man truly had no parents, no friends.
Everyone had someone to comfort them at times like this—except him.
After Su Lingxi left, the entire house was filled with an air of illness and death.
Yu Lin’an cared for Ye Zhuxu for over half a month.
Only in the last few days was he able to pry open his hand and see the round, silver bell lying within.
Yu Lin’an naturally assumed that Ye Zhuxu had returned for one reason—he was desperate for an answer.
Why?
Why had Su Lingxi done what she did that day?
He had nearly died just to buy a little more time.
Ye Zhuxu had thrown everything aside, even his life—but Su Lingxi turned and left.
Everyone in this world has obsessions, like a death-row prisoner who still wants to die with clarity.
If Ye Zhuxu admitted it, Yu Lin’an would simply lay out the truth.
After fourteen years, asking questions held no meaning.
No matter how deep the pain, no answers would come.
Everything was destined to be swallowed by the tide of time.
Whatever it was—Su Lingxi had forgotten it all.
Cruel as it was, it had to be said.
Ye Zhuxu was no longer the boy he had been fourteen years ago.
Now, he could crush everyone in this generation, and when he entered the high tower, no one questioned that the title of Chief Leader was his alone.
Such honor—no one else in Floating Jade could match it.
No one could make him look wretched anymore.
If he wanted to fight, it would be total devastation.
At some point, Ye Zhuxu set down the candle holder and casually played with the bell still tied to his waist from earlier that evening.
The thing he once gripped to death now seemed meaningless.
But he didn’t ponder it as long as Yu Lin’an had expected.
Instead, he gave a faint smile, as if mocking how ridiculous the question had been:
“What answer would I want?”
Yu Lin’an didn’t believe him.
Earlier, Sang Chu had left two papers behind.
One was a letter from Floating Jade—Ye Zhuxu had destroyed it without even blinking.
The other was a record of Su Lingxi’s life, lying on the desk.
Ye Zhuxu walked over, picked up the document, and read it line by line under the candlelight.
He even passed it to Yu Lin’an to read.
In the flickering light, his eyelashes cast dark shadows.
His pupils shimmered with changing light and shadow—his silhouette exquisitely beautiful.
His voice was soft, almost content:
“Look. After all these years, Su Lingxi made so, so many new friends.”