She truly wished she could cling to the Sword Sovereign’s strength.
Outwardly carefree, yet in truth helpless.
By now, Yu Sang‑sang had understood what the Sword Sovereign meant. After pondering a moment, she asked softly, “Is that why you brought me back to Lingxiao Sect?”
Because he had discovered her tainted by the baleful aura of the *Li Xiao*, yet unwilling to cut her down before she had actually transformed—so he kept her close, to observe. But what would her fate be?
Yu Sang‑sang herself did not know. The demon pillar and this strange aura were things she had never even heard of before. She had no experience to draw upon.
The Sword Sovereign was silent for a long while before finally saying, slowly, “If you change… I will grant you a swift end.”
A swift end—slaughter her cleanly?
Yu Sang‑sang would still have to thank him. After all, sparing her from becoming a twisted, pitiful monster was, in its way, allowing her to die with dignity. She smiled lightly, at peace.
To face the prospect of being cut down with such calm—rarely did the Sword Sovereign see this in one so young.
“You…”
“Life and death follow fate. Sword Sovereign, you have already shown me great mercy.”
That he was even willing to watch over her instead of striking immediately—Yu Sang‑sang was deeply moved. She accepted mortality with serenity, though she regretted not being able to wander further in Yu Xian’er’s body, to see more of the world’s beauty.
Still, speaking of life and death, she raised her hand and said to the handsome man who inclined his head ever so slightly, “But I do have one last wish. If the Sword Sovereign permits, I hope you might help me.”
He turned his gaze toward her. This little girl dared to ask favors of an immortal‑ranked powerhouse. Everyone knew him as cold, detached, beyond the mortal world. And yet she, knowing his nature, still dared to plead. He gave no answer, only watched her—waiting to see what more her clever tongue might say.
“You’ve heard me mention it before—my origins.” Yu Sang‑sang herself cared little for her own life or death. But Yu Xiu, that wretched man, had harmed Jing Zhonghua and hurt Yu Xian’er. That was something she could never forgive, even in death.
She lifted her eyes with a faint smile and said earnestly, “The King of Dayu betrayed my mother, left me trapped in the imperial tomb for fourteen years, and stole my rightful identity. No matter what, I cannot forgive him. Nor can I allow those who profited from my suffering to tread upon my bones and live carefree in joy.”
If she truly died, wouldn’t those wretches rejoice? She would not permit it. Slowly, she continued, “If misfortune befalls me, I ask only that the Sword Sovereign cut down the King of Dayu and his consort—along with Xianzhu, who will one day enter the Taisu Sect.”
Yet she knew it was presumptuous to command another with mere words. The Sword Sovereign owed her nothing.
Yu Sang‑sang pondered, then said, “I am willing to entrust you with the treasured heirlooms of the Jing clan.”
The Sword Sovereign: …
His cold gaze, for once, showed a trace of puzzlement. That she would not forget to drag her enemies down with her, even in death—this he could understand. For he was much the same. But such trust… to speak so openly of bearing the Jing clan’s hidden treasures—this was truly strange. Why did she trust him so? Just as with the Jing clan’s treasures she had just mentioned— If he harbored ill intent, he could rob her right now, and she would be utterly powerless to resist. She could have concealed it. Why speak so openly? It was a strange kind of trust.
Even after a thousand years of life, the Sword Sovereign had rarely seen such trust directed toward himself. “You…” He paused, as though weighing his words, and only after a long silence did he say slowly, “You could also reveal the truth to the Taisu Sect.”
The Taisu Sect enjoyed a sterling reputation in this realm. He had dealt with its current leader before—a wise and virtuous man, not a villain.
Given Yu Sang‑sang’s ties to the sect, she should have been closer to them. Yet now she refused to mention Taisu Sect at all, choosing instead to seek help from him, an outsider. And she even spoke of the Jing clan’s treasures—valuables coveted by many.
The Jing clan, once a grand family for ten thousand years, had dwindled in numbers. But its treasures had not diminished. Even the great sects would be moved by such wealth.
“You said it yourself—I am the last of the Jing clan. If I should perish, then shouldn’t the clan’s treasures be left to those who treated me well and avenged me?”
Yu Sang‑sang shook her head. “As for Taisu Sect… let it be.” She no longer wished to dwell on their supposed affection for her. Clearly, she bore a knot in her heart regarding the Taisu Sect.
The Sword Sovereign did not care—he had no interest in speaking well of their leader. What did it matter to him? Yet, thinking of the trust she placed in him, he lowered his gaze and offered a reminder, as if to enlighten a child ignorant of her lineage: “I recall your Jing clan. If you are truly a descendant, then… I believe your maternal grandfather was the senior disciple of the Taisu Sect’s former leader.”
Yu Sang‑sang nodded. “I know.”
The girl’s voice was crisp.
She had read the stories; she knew her family’s origins. Her grandfather had been the foremost disciple of the previous sect leader, gifted beyond compare, cherished by all of Taisu Sect. He had married her grandmother, the last scion of the Jing clan. It was not a case of marrying into her family. Her grandfather was free‑spirited. Together they had a daughter, who took her mother’s surname to continue the Jing line—that daughter was Jing Zhonghua, Yu Xian’er’s mother.
Yu Sang‑sang had seen in the stories how many within Taisu Sect treated Xianzhu kindly, all because of her grandfather’s legacy. His good reputation endured. And since the current sect leader had once been his fellow disciple under the former master, their bond was deep. For the sake of her grandfather, the sect leader cherished Xianzhu as though holding her in the palm of his hand.
Perhaps it was because the sect leader had cherished Xianzhu for so long that, when Yu Xian’er wished to join Taisu Sect in the stories, it was this elder himself who personally turned her away. So even if there had once been affection, it could never outweigh the bond of master and disciple with Xianzhu.
Yu Sang‑sang found it hard to place her trust in such a man. For instance, if she entrusted the Jing clan’s treasures to him, hoping he would avenge her… what if the sect leader’s heart favored Xianzhu, and he refused to help?
Since she knew this yet made no move to contact Taisu Sect, the Sword Sovereign did not press further. He simply rose, preparing to leave. He was not a man of warmth. That he had endured this much conversation today was, in his mind, already more than enough. A small, pale paw darted out, catching the corner of his robe—carefully avoiding the faintly visible sweep of his azure fox tail.
The tail’s sharp tip stilled at once.
Seeing she had not tried to touch him, the Sword Sovereign lowered his gaze. He could tell her eyes, though restrained, still fell instinctively upon his tail. Yet she resisted the urge to reach for it. He had never expected such restraint.
Many unruly children in the past had tested his patience, coveting his tail despite knowing he despised it. The Sword Sovereign loathed such behavior. But this little girl… she knew her limits.
“What we spoke of just now was the worst case—if I were to turn into a monster,” Yu Sang‑sang said. Though her eyes burned with longing for that sleek, lustrous tail, she would never dare offend him. Her life was in his hands; to act recklessly now would truly mean death.
She did not wish to die. So she tilted her head up with a winning smile and said, “But if I don’t become a monster, then Sword Sovereign mustn’t cut me down. By the way, how long will this observation last?”
If she remained unchanged for a hundred years, would she be confined to his domain for a hundred years, unable to go anywhere?
“One month,” the Sword Sovereign replied calmly.
“So short?” Yu Sang‑sang was startled.
Hadn’t it been said that powerful cultivators could resist the baleful aura for a long time, delaying its erosion?
The handsome man lowered his gaze. Since this little girl had conducted herself without offending him, he deigned to explain further. “You are only a Qi‑refining cultivator.”
So bluntly stating “you’re weak” and “you’re overthinking”—such candor was oddly refreshing.
After all, the Sword Sovereign had already said it: the weak could not long withstand the aura of the *Li Xiao*.
A month was more than enough for her condition to reveal itself.
“I only just began cultivating. But I’m a genius!” Yu Sang‑sang muttered, lips twitching, suddenly nostalgic for her former full‑level self.
To have maxed‑out talent dismissed so casually—did her little account have no rights at all? Back in the day, she had been a notorious demon lord of the jianghu!
“For this month, you’ll remain here in the pavilion. If you wish to cultivate, that’s up to you.” The Sword Sovereign hesitated briefly, then tossed a large jar to Yu Sang‑sang. It was heavy—huge. When she opened it… it was filled to the brim with spirit pills for Qi‑refining cultivators, and even a few useful for Foundation Establishment.
The Sword Sovereign said lightly, “I’ve killed too many. These things pile up. Rare to have you.”
Ordinary folk might not understand, but Yu Sang‑sang, fluent in the slang of the martial world, grasped it instantly. He had slaughtered countless people, rifled through too many corpses, and amassed all sorts of odds and ends. These scraps were too low‑level for a lofty immortal‑rank powerhouse. He couldn’t bear to throw them away, so they just cluttered his storage. It sounded almost like he was a frugal, thrifty house‑keeping fox… a good man. Now, finally, a little Qi‑refining fledgling could make use of them. He could clear space and put them to use—so out they came. Thinking of it that way, she realized she had solved quite a big headache for him.
Yu Sang‑sang cradled the spirit pills—precious in the cultivation world, usually stored in fine porcelain bottles, yet here crammed into a coarse clay jar—and drew a deep breath.
If not for the Sword Sovereign’s fearsome reputation and her own instinct for survival, she would have thrown herself at his wealthy golden thigh right then!
“Many thanks, Sword Sovereign. I’ll work hard at cultivation—I won’t waste your spirit pills.”
She didn’t feel at all like she was picking through someone else’s useless scraps. Hugging the jar with glee, she grinned so wide her teeth showed.
“Since I’m here, I’ll go cultivate now.”
In a flash, she darted off with the jar, cheerfully calling to the puppets standing at the doorway, “Trouble you, trouble you—please take me to the purification chamber! Thank you all for your hard work!”
A slender puppet stepped forward, gracefully leading the lively girl away—straight toward the place where the spiritual energy was richest.
The Sword Sovereign: …
These puppets, swayed by a few sweet words, had been led astray.
So inexperienced. Look at them—so cheap!