The raindrops fell relentlessly upon the trees, and the yellow flowers lining the path were drenched and battered. The road was submerged in a deluge, as if the heavens themselves were mourning the untimely parting of a soul. Yet, a calamity far greater than the storm had struck someone’s heart and mind.

  Mo Yan remained collapsed by the doorway, staring vacantly at the desolate, empty path. His tears refused to dry. His trembling fingers clutched the map Yu Sui had given him the only thing left of his presence. Mo Yan rose, moving like a corpse, a hollow shell of a man. He took his sword from the table, along with the white cloth Yu Sui had used to polish his flute. His vision was a blur of grief. Before leaving, he unfolded the map one last time, only to find a blank page. He realized then that this was a hidden talisman map, one that required a specific mantra to reveal its secrets.

  His eyes were full of unshed sorrow, but his body felt vacant, as if his soul had fled to some dark corner. He tucked the page into his robes and stepped out. He walked without spirit or passion only emptiness. Under Yu Sui’s umbrella, Mo Yan felt like a ghost. Suddenly, he snapped the umbrella shut and clutched it tightly against his chest, walking forward into the piercing wind and freezing rain.

  The raindrops lashed against his skin, his clothes clinging to his frame, but his face remained a mask of stone. He walked like the living dead, Yu Sui’s final words echoing incessantly in his mind:

  "Mo Yan... can we not stay apart?"

  "I am... a monster."

  "Mo Yan... one day, I will be gone."

  Above, a colossal bolt of lightning tore through the sky, attempting to rip the heavens asunder. Dense clouds swallowed the last glimmer of light. Mo Yan passed the yellow flowers, now flattened by the weight of the water, their delicate petals being swept away by the current.

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  By the time Mo Yan reached the gates of the Xuemo Sect, he was drenched to the bone. He looked like a specter returning home. His regal robes were stained with mud, and his posture was broken. He stepped into the grand courtyard with heavy, silent strides.

  Su Nian’s gaze fell upon the main gate, and he froze. He glanced at the door of Mo Yan’s chamber and then back at the figure in the rain. Every disciple, along with Su Nian and Duie, rushed toward him. Mo Yan had reached his limit; his body finally gave way. Before he could strike the ground, Su Nian and Duie caught him, supporting his weight. The disciples watched in stunned silence, never imagining they would see their Master in such a state. Duie scanned the area, knowing instinctively that someone Yu Sui had not returned.

  No words were left to be spoken. Mo Yan was carried into his chamber. Su Nian and Bao Fang changed him into dry robes and laid him upon the bed. As they stepped out and closed the door, Su Nian signaled Duie to follow him. The other disciples did not interfere, returning to their duties in a somber hush.

  As Mo Yan lay in a state of near-unconsciousness, the Su Tao Jue mantra on his wrist flickered once, brilliant and sharp, before fading into absolute stillness as if it had never existed.

  The next morning arrived with a heavy snowfall. The land that had been drenched in rain was now shrouded in a veil of white. Across the Xuemo Sect and the Liuguang Sect, a rumor spread like wildfire, reaching even the Ming Jing Men Sect:

  The Black Heaven King, Yu Sui, has passed away. He has returned to the void.

  In the Ming Jing Men Sect, Wui Guan began a grand celebration. Markets were decorated, and the sect was drowned in festivities. Wine flowed and dancers performed, but Wui Guan’s private gathering held a different hue. His eyes shimmered with a quiet, poisonous joy. He had invited a specific guest a masked woman seated before him, flanked by two young men. Her eyes, filled with a lethal beauty, held a silent, secret dialogue with Wui Guan.

  But this vibrant atmosphere was the polar opposite of the cold silence in Mo Yan’s chamber. Mo Yan sat by his table, still as a stone statue. His eyes were fixed on the white cloth before him. He spoke nothing. A single tear rolled down his cheek, falling onto the head of Ai Yin, who was nestled in his lap. Ai Yin, who had been playfully jumping around, looked up at Mo Yan’s face and silently burrowed deep into his robes.