The moment the Heaven-Calculating Mirror hovered above the small town, the temperature within a ten-li radius dropped by thirty percent.

  When Teng Huayuan stepped out from the mirror’s surface, his black robe billowed without wind. The bloody killing intent surrounding him was so dense it almost solidified. His eyes burned red, his withered face twisted by the vengeance about to be carried out.

  “Li’er…” His voice was hoarse, as if weeping blood. “Today, Grand-uncle will first take the life of that thief’s kin. Another day, I will personally carve out his heart and liver to offer to your spirit!”

  Xuan Mingzi followed him out, gazing down at the imposing manor below. The ancient bronze mirror in his hand dimmed. His white brows knitted together, and he finally spoke:

  “Fellow Daoist Teng, that person fought in Frost Severing Valley for the Cold Abyss Token. His life or death is uncertain. Why must you vent your rage upon mortals…”

  “Silence.”

  Teng Huayuan did not even turn around. His voice was colder than ten-thousand-year frost.

  “Xuan Mingzi, you are only here to find them. What I do afterward has nothing to do with you.”

  Xuan Mingzi sighed and said no more.

  Below stood the ancestral residence of the Yun family.

  Yun Mo and Yun Ting stood side by side, their faces pale as paper. The pressure descending from the sky was like a towering iceberg crushing down upon their shoulders. Even the flow of their spiritual energy had become sluggish. As Qi Condensation cultivators, they were nothing more than ants before a Nascent Soul cultivator.

  Yun Mo forced himself to cup his fists, his voice trembling.

  “J-Junior Yun Mo of the outer sect of Profound Ice Sword Sect greets the two seniors. May I ask why you have come—”

  Before he could finish—

  Teng Huayuan flicked his sleeve.

  Bang!

  Bang!

  Two dull explosions rang out almost simultaneously.

  The young servant boy who had been sweeping the courtyard moments ago—and his younger sister who had been serving tea—had their heads burst like overripe melons.

  Blood mist filled the air.

  Their headless bodies swayed before collapsing heavily to the ground.

  Yun Mo’s pupils shrank violently. No sound came from his throat. Yun Ting’s eyes turned bloodshot as he clenched his fists so tightly his nails pierced his palms.

  Teng Huayuan did not even glance at them. He raised his hand and produced a palm-sized black banner. It expanded with the wind into a three-foot ghostly pennant embroidered with countless twisted ghost faces that writhed incessantly.

  Two pale yellow soul wisps floated from the corpses but were immediately swept into the banner before they could disperse. At once, two agonized, distorted faces appeared upon its surface—silently screaming. It was the innocent brother and sister.

  “Today,” Teng Huayuan said as he stepped through the Yun residence gates, “not a single chicken or dog will remain alive.”

  His figure vanished inside.

  Moments later, screams erupted from deep within the estate. One. Two. Ten… Endless. It became a living hell.

  Yun Mo’s legs gave out as he collapsed to his knees. He stared at the familiar gate, at the plaque above inscribed by his father’s own hand—“Diligence and Study for Generations.” Tears slid down soundlessly.

  “Why…” he whispered. “Why target mortals…”

  Yun Ting stood beside him, fists still dripping blood. He did not cry. He simply stared at the gate as if carving the demon’s image into his bones.

  “Because he is Nascent Soul,” Yun Ting said hoarsely. “Because a Nascent Soul needs no reason to kill.”

  He paused.

  “And because… we are too weak.”

  Too weak to even dare harbor thoughts of resistance. Too weak to take a single step forward while listening to their loved ones being slaughtered.

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  Xuan Mingzi hovered in midair, watching the human tragedy below. He sighed deeply and turned his back.

  “Teng Huayuan… today you plant this cause. One day, you will taste its fruit.”

  The instant Yun Che’s black sword extinguished the eighth puppet’s soul flame, he suddenly withdrew his blade.

  Not because the three sect cultivators had closed to within a hundred zhang—

  But because—

  A searing pain struck without warning, like an ice spike piercing through his skull and impaling his soul.

  Pfft!

  Yun Che dropped to one knee, coughing out a mist of blue-tinged blood. His left hand clutched his chest—not a wound, but… something missing.

  Something had been forcibly ripped away.

  Not the Heavenly Underworld Pearl. Not his Nine Nether Cold Core. Not any tangible object.

  It was… a connection.

  A connection he never even realized he possessed.

  And now it was severed.

  At the break, an unfillable emptiness poured in.

  “What… is this…” His voice was dry.

  Within his sea of consciousness, the Heavenly Underworld Pearl—rarely active—manifested on its own. The second cloud pattern upon its surface flickered wildly, as if resonating… or mourning.

  The three cultivators approaching from afar saw Yun Che suddenly gravely injured and paused their assault.

  The white-robed sword maiden pointed her blade at him.

  “Demonic cultivator of Nine Nether! You used your fellow disciples as blood sacrifice to refine puppets, devoid of all conscience. Today we act in the name of heaven—”

  “Silence.”

  Yun Che raised his head.

  He did not look at her. He did not look at anyone.

  He stared north.

  At the place he had left seven years ago. The direction he had nearly forgotten.

  Hanshui Town.

  There was the Yun family.

  There were… faces he had deliberately buried in the deepest corner of memory.

  Seven years ago, on the day his spiritual roots were tested, his father had escorted him to the edge of town and said only one sentence:

  “Go. Do not worry about home.”

  In seven years, he had never returned.

  Not because he did not want to.

  But because he did not dare.

  He feared seeing more white in his father’s hair. Feared new wrinkles on his mother’s face. Feared his little sister growing from a child into a stranger.

  He feared the thread called “the mortal world” would entangle his pursuit of immortality.

  So he cut it.

  Cleanly. Completely.

  Or so he believed.

  Now blood poured from the severed end, drenching him in ice.

  “You…” Yun Che spoke softly, like snow falling on ice. “Had better not block my path.”

  The sword maiden’s brows shot up.

  But Yun Che had already moved.

  He did not draw his sword. He did not even glance at them.

  He simply held the sheath and walked north.

  With his first step, Nine Nether cold power erupted from his body. Blue-black frost flames ignited—not to protect, but to burn.

  Burn spiritual energy.

  Burn blood.

  Burn everything that could be burned—

  All in exchange for speed.

  Second step—he was a hundred zhang away.

  Third step—he vanished beyond the horizon.

  The sword maiden stood stunned, staring at the back drenched in boundless hatred. She did not dare pursue.

  “…What cultivation method was that?” one of the male cultivators muttered.

  No one answered.

  Yun Family Ancestral Residence.

  Teng Huayuan stepped out from the final courtyard gate. His black banner was now packed with nearly a hundred twisted, wailing faces.

  The killing intent on his face had not faded—if anything, it intensified.

  He had slaughtered the entire clan—yet had not found the thief’s “closest kin.” According to the jade slip, Yun Che’s parents were already dead, leaving only a younger sister…

  “Where is Yun Che’s sister now?” Teng Huayuan’s icy gaze stabbed toward the kneeling Yun Mo and Yun Ting.

  Yun Mo trembled, unable to answer.

  Yun Ting gritted his teeth.

  “She… is not in the clan. Four years ago she was taken by distant relatives. Her whereabouts… unknown.”

  Blood flashed in Teng Huayuan’s eyes.

  He was about to erupt—

  Suddenly—

  From the northern horizon, a streak of blue light tore through the sky.

  Before it even arrived, a killing intent capable of freezing the soul blanketed the entire estate.

  So dense that even Teng Huayuan narrowed his eyes slightly.

  The streak crashed down.

  Ice dust exploded outward as a young man in green robes stepped out from shattered frost.

  His face was pale as paper. Blood lingered at the corner of his mouth. His aura was chaotic; Nine Nether cold power raged across his body like flames out of control.

  His eyes—

  Both Yun Mo and Yun Ting shuddered when they saw them.

  It was an emptiness they had never witnessed before—something torn open by force.

  Within that void, something colder than eternal ice was forming.

  Yun Che did not look at Teng Huayuan.

  He first looked at the plaque above the gate, now stained with blood: “Yun Residence.”

  He stood in silence for a long time.

  Then he looked at Yun Mo and Yun Ting kneeling in the courtyard. He recognized them—cousins who once took him fishing, climbing trees for bird nests, who had slapped his shoulder when he tested for an ice spiritual root and said, “Our Yun family will produce an immortal!”

  Now they knelt in a sea of blood like hollow shells.

  Yun Mo lifted his head and saw the familiar yet unfamiliar face. His lips trembled.

  “Che… cousin…”

  Yun Che did not respond.

  He slowly turned and finally looked at Teng Huayuan.

  His voice was steady, as if stating something unrelated to himself.

  “My name is Yun Che.”

  “The people you killed today… were my clansmen.”

  “I do not know why you came.”

  He paused.

  “But I know where you are going.”

  Teng Huayuan stared at this Foundation Establishment junior who had suddenly arrived, and laughed.

  “Yun Che? Not Wang Lin?” He licked his lips, eyes burning redder. “No matter. That cold aura on you comes from the same lineage as the one who killed my Li’er. Since you have come to die—”

  He raised his hand. Nascent Soul pressure crashed down like a raging ocean.

  “I shall grant your wish!”

  Yun Che did not dodge.

  He endured the pressure that could crush a Golden Core cultivator. His bones groaned under the strain, blood spilling from his lips—yet he did not retreat a single step.

  He merely tightened his grip on the sword.

  Deep within the sheath, the ancient will that had just awakened connected with his soul for the first time.

  It sent a vague thought, echoing across eternity:

  “Do you hate?”

  Yun Che did not answer.

  He simply drew the black sword another inch.