As she drew closer, Shuang Xu still couldn’t detect any magical artifact on her that could conceal her aura. Most of the time, Miss Ye seemed like an inconspicuous shadow—easily overlooked unless someone intentionally sought her out. Only when one’s gaze fell on her would there be a sudden realization: she’s here too.
Shuang Xu felt a bit puzzled but didn’t dwell on it. His eyes swept over her blood-stained clothes, worry creeping in. “Miss Ye, you’re badly injured. Let’s go inside first.”
Ye Lizhi snapped back to attention, nodded, and followed Shuang Xu into the room. She bowed slightly toward Mu Zhaoran. “Your Highness.”
Mu Zhaoran sat calmly in her chair. Nearby, Ye Lingyan went to the door and glanced outside. Not seeing Ye Rong’s figure, she turned back and asked, “Why did you come alone? Where’s Father?”
Ye Lizhi answered, but directed her explanation to Mu Zhaoran. “When Father found me last night, we ran into something strange and were attacked by a group of vengeful spirits. Father was seriously injured and needed immediate medical attention, so he couldn’t return to report to Your Highness. He asked me to apologize on his behalf and hopes Your Highness will forgive him.”
Ye Lingyan nearly rolled her eyes in anger at the constant “Father” references, giving Ye Lizhi a shove. She snapped, “In public like this, who are you calling ‘Father’? Who do you think you are? Watch out, or I’ll tear your mouth apart!”
Although Ye Lizhi’s identity was not a secret, as long as Ye Rong refused to acknowledge her publicly, she would remain a shadowed, illegitimate child.
She would never truly deserve to call him “Father.”
Ye Lizhi staggered slightly from the push, like a willow swayed by the wind, but Shuang Xu reached out to steady her. Lowering her head, she remained silent.
Ye Lingyan raised her hand as if to push again but realized belatedly that this wasn’t the time to argue about titles. She anxiously asked, “How’s Father really doing?”
Fearing to provoke her further, Ye Lizhi carefully returned to the proper title and replied, “Don’t worry. Last night, a passing immortal came to our aid. Father took the elixir he gave and is now out of danger, escorted by the guards to a nearby town for treatment.”
Mu Zhaoran almost crushed the cup in her hand upon hearing this, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh.
Ye Lingyan finally relaxed but still scolded, “Wandering through wild mountains and deserted areas, there’s bound to be demons and spirits. It’s all your fault for running off, putting Father in danger!”
She had completely shifted responsibility onto Ye Lizhi. Her gaze was sharp, yet out of consideration for Mu Zhaoran, she refrained from confronting her openly.
Seeing them clash so openly—whether intentionally or not—made Mu Zhaoran nauseated at the thought that one day, they might reconcile and become the epitome of sisterly love.
She set her cup down, hands tucked into her sleeves to control her emotions, and asked, “So, you mean it was the immortal you mentioned who brought you back?”
Ye Lizhi nodded. “The immortal wanted to investigate the origin of those spirits. Since he was passing by this way, he sent me here. Before leaving, seeing my injuries, he even gave me a small sword so I could defend myself.”
Cradling the sword carefully, Ye Lizhi looked at the Holy Maiden seated at the head of the hall, feeling as if her dark life might finally see a ray of light.
Mu Zhaoran didn’t notice Ye Lizhi’s reaction at all, instead recalling whether she had cleaned up all traces from last night.
The spirit assassins, summoned by profane talismans, had risen from underground to pursue Ye Rong across a thousand miles—they would certainly leave traces. With Xiao Yangyang’s abilities, discovering the burial site was only a matter of time. She just needed to make sure it wouldn’t implicate her.
The burial site was over a hundred li from the post station. Though flustered last night, she had meticulously erased all traces she left behind.
To prevent Xiao Yangyang from reconstructing the scene with a retrocognitive spell, she had even disrupted the energy in the burial site. There should be no clues to find.
As Mu Zhaoran pondered, she pretended to be curious and looked outside. “Why isn’t anyone here?”
Ye Lizhi replied honestly, “The immortal, knowing Your Highness was resting here, didn’t want to disturb you. He left me at the edge of the post station and went to investigate the spirits.”
Since the necessary person had already arrived, Mu Zhaoran didn’t want to linger any longer. Rising, she said, “It’s time. Let’s depart.”
Passing in front of Ye Lizhi and Ye Lingyan, her brow furrowed slightly, showing clear annoyance. “I’m not in the mood to entertain such matters a second time.”
Ye Lingyan caught the warning in her words, glaring at Ye Lizhi but forced a smile, flattering her, “Your Highness, don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
The others in the hall followed Mu Zhaoran out. Ye Lizhi stepped forward to follow but her wrist was suddenly grabbed and dragged to the back. Ye Lingyan’s angry voice pierced her ears, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Ye Lizhi turned to see her scornful expression and calmly took out Ye Rong’s jade pendant from her chest, explaining, “Father has agreed for me to go to the Celestial Dao Palace.”
Ye Lingyan lowered her eyes and snatched the pendant. After confirming it truly belonged to Father, she exclaimed in disbelief, “Impossible!”
The Celestial Dao Palace was the pinnacle of righteousness in the world, housing all martial techniques, gathering sages and masters. Anyone with ambition aspired to enter and ascend the path of immortality.
Entry required a Yanjin token, and only twenty-four tokens were issued every ten years. Even the Holy Maiden didn’t desire the Palace, yet countless people fought bitterly for the chance to enter.
Even Ye Rong had spent years scheming and maneuvering to obtain a token, yet failed.
Yet Ye Lingyan had accidentally discovered one in the hands of this lowly illegitimate child of the Ye family. At first, she couldn’t believe it. Only after consulting Father was the token’s authenticity confirmed, forcing Ye Lizhi to hand it over.
Father had always despised this child, refusing even to officially acknowledge her, let alone allow her to represent the Ye family in the Celestial Dao Palace. As expected, he gave her the Yanjin token.
At this point, how could Father suddenly change his mind and agree to let Ye Lizhi enter the Celestial Dao Palace? The Ye family possessed only a single Yanjin token—only one person could enter.
Ye Lizhi didn’t even need to guess what Ye Lingyan was thinking. She lowered her voice, showing humility. “Don’t worry, Sister. I have already sworn before Father not to compete with you. If anyone from the Ye family is to enter the Celestial Dao Palace, it will be you, the legitimate daughter.”
Outside, the carriages and horses were being readied for departure. Ye Lingyan had no time to argue, nor did she truly believe her words. She snorted coldly, “Don’t call me ‘Sister’! Just remember that. Keep your mouth shut. If you interfere with my entry into the Celestial Dao Palace, Father won’t spare you either.”
Ye Lizhi lowered her eyes. “Yes.”
The caravan departed the post station, continuing toward Zhongzhou. Mu Zhaoran, unwilling to share her carriage with Ye Lizhi, placed her in one of the attendants’ carriages and sent the Sacred Hall physician Xiu Liuyue to tend to her injuries—so that the system wouldn’t blame her for any weakness in Ye Lizhi’s body.
Fortunately, the rest of the journey passed smoothly. Ye Lingyan behaved properly, making no further mischief.
Five days later, the group crossed the southern border and arrived in Zhongzhou.
Zhongzhou lay at the heart of the world, surrounded by the four regions. The bustling capital city, Tiandu, rivaled Nanrong in prosperity—perhaps even surpassing it. This one city alone held the grandeur of an entire kingdom.
Tiandu was located on the plains. Upon entering its territory, the land stretched flat for miles. Only at the city center did a towering mountain rise—Tongtian Peak—piercing the clouds, atop which the Celestial Dao Palace resided.
As soon as they entered Zhongzhou, Mu Zhaoran could spot a distant silhouette of the cloud-cloaked mountain from her carriage. The caravan’s formation fully activated, racing toward the mountain for three days before reaching the base of Tiandu City.
Guides awaited at the city gates to escort the Nanrong caravan inside.
The city walls were massive and imposing, with long archways through which the carriages passed. Light dimmed outside the windows, only returning after several dozen breaths, accompanied by the bustling sounds of the city spilling into Mu Zhaoran’s ears.
She slid open the thin white silk window to look outside.
This was the city’s main thoroughfare, paved with blue stone and wide enough for four carriages to pass side by side. Tall buildings lined both sides, densely packed. Many people had gathered to watch the procession enter.
“Look, the Nanrong banners. That must be the Nanrong princess in that carriage.”
“I heard she’s stunningly beautiful, the pride of the southern lands. I wonder if we’ll be lucky enough to see her in person.”
“Pride of the south? Can she compare with our noble girls of Tiandu?”
“That carriage is extravagantly decorated! Look at those gemstones—bigger than goose eggs. And the golden fittings on the horses… they nearly blinded me! Nanrong is really rich.”
“Rich or not, they still have to pay tribute to Tiandu. Count the number of boxes in their caravan. More than the Three Immortals Island or not?”
Amid the whispers, someone actually began counting.
In her previous life, Mu Zhaoran, curious about this sacred capital, had always peeked from behind the curtain at the city so different from Nanrong. Hearing the coarse chatter on the streets, she had been infuriated and signaled Shuang Xu to teach them a lesson.
Shuang Xu had kept his hand in his sleeve, fingers never ceasing their incantations. Water surged from the air, slapping hundreds of mouths along the street, leaving them spitting blood and too scared to speak recklessly again.
He could hear the vulgar words as clearly as anyone, yet in his indignation, he had muttered, “Your Highness need not listen to such idle chatter. Let me handle it.”
“No need. Mere city gossip,” Mu Zhaoran said leisurely. Returning to her former home, seeing the familiar streets, she felt only ennui. The chatter on the streets stirred no emotion in her.
Besides, she had already endured far worse when she had been expelled from the Celestial Dao Palace.
She closed the window, cutting off the noise of the streets.
Passing through the inner city gate, the streets narrowed, but the buildings became more elegant and refined. There were no more murmurs; those who had commented from the street would never pass this inner gate in their lifetime.
After half a day of travel through the outer city and another half day through the inner city, they finally reached the core of Tiandu City—the base of Tongtian Peak.
The gate was over a hundred ren high, made of white jade, topped with glistening glazed tiles that shone in the sun. Outside lay a broad blue-stone plaza, filled with carriages from all four regions.
Beyond the gate, mountains rose high and forests were dense, shrouded in clouds. Only when the gate opened could one catch a glimpse of the jade towers and flying pavilions perched in the mist, bathed in floating light.
A long staircase wound from the gate to the peak, where the Celestial Dao Palace stood—both immersed in the bustling city and elevated above it, secluded and extraordinary.
Even a princess born with a golden spoon in her mouth, accustomed to worldly splendor, had her eyes widen at her first sight of the suspended palace behind the gate, forgetting her homesickness in awe.
Now, she had returned.
Mu Zhaoran gazed at the gate’s plaque, where the characters “Celestial Dao Palace” danced like flying dragons and phoenixes. From the carriage, her peripheral vision caught a tall stele to the right of the gate. She stepped down to approach it.
Shuang Xu followed, puzzled. “Your Highness, that is the Celestial Dao Crime Stele.”
“I know,” Mu Zhaoran replied. Of course, she knew—it was here her name had been engraved in her previous life.
From this stele, her notorious crimes had been broadcast throughout the inner city, the capital, and eventually the entire world, making her a pariah.
The stele was inscribed with countless names of the lost, and Mu Zhaoran carefully scanned from the top right down.
She had never cared about others in her past life, so she didn’t even know when this person had been “convicted” by the Celestial Dao Palace.
The Holy Maiden stepped down, and naturally the Nanrong party followed. Ye Lingyan stood by the general’s carriage, muttering, “What’s so interesting about a crime stele?”
Any name on the stele was like a rat in the street—universally despised, avoided. Who would deliberately step closer to study it?
To a passerby unaware, it might look as though she knew someone on the stele, searching for an old acquaintance.
The carriage paused before the stele, drawing attention from all sides. Ye Lingyan felt eyes on them and anxiously kicked the ground, wishing she could pull the general’s carriage away to avoid being implicated with the Ye family.
She watched Mu Zhaoran thoughtfully. In the past few days, her behavior had changed drastically, acting unexpectedly, suddenly favoring Ye Lizhi while deliberately distancing herself from Ye Lingyan. Ye Lingyan wondered if some spell or potion had bewitched her.
During the journey, she had received a reply from Ye Rong. Father had unexpectedly acknowledged Ye Lizhi. Even though he promised that Ye Lizhi would not compete for the Celestial Dao Palace seat, Ye Lingyan was still unsettled. She didn’t believe Ye Lizhi would behave so obediently—if she truly didn’t want to enter, why follow so persistently?
The sudden change of attitude from Father and his friends left Ye Lingyan uneasy. She glanced at the shadowy figure in the carriage, her gaze sharp as a blade.
Ye Lizhi lowered her head, habitually avoiding eye contact, not wanting any direct conflict.
The more she did this, the more Ye Lingyan resented it, stepping forward to approach her. She dared not speak against Mu Zhaoran, but had no qualms about Ye Lizhi. As the Ye family’s second daughter, she felt entitled to teach the illegitimate child a lesson.
At that moment, a sudden explosive sound thundered from above. Ye Lingyan was startled and ducked behind the carriage. Everyone looked up, drawn to the noise.
A brilliant bolt of lightning erupted in the clear sky, crackling and spreading rapidly. The crowd below scattered, complaining and yielding to the serpentine arcs of energy.
The lightning tore at space itself, ripping open a rift.
A figure in white stepped out from the rift, treading on the surging lightning, arcs of electricity dancing around him. His robes billowed as he descended the steps in front of the mountain gate.
The lightning dissipated without a trace. His hair fell freely, with two golden ribbons resting atop his black hair, dazzling to behold.
Among the Celestial Dao Palace’s golden-belt disciples, only a few were famed, and only one possessed the power of lightning. His identity was immediately clear.
“He is the senior disciple of the Sword Exalted Sect, Xing Tian Swordlord, You Guxue.”
Those present bowed respectfully, fearful and awed, no one daring to complain about the violent lightning. They straightened their clothes and hats, greeting him with clasped hands.
You Guxue’s brow was icy, his expression indifferent. He accepted the salutes without returning them, eyes drifting lightly over the crowd, finally resting on the crime stele.
Only two figures stood before the stele. Shuang Xu stiffened, clasping his fists in the air toward You Guxue and whispered, “Your Highness, Your Highness…”
Mu Zhaoran focused intently on the names etched into the stele—a foul, extensive list, accumulated over countless years. Once a name was inscribed, it carried an eternal curse.
Those convicted either died utterly, or their remnants were captured and locked within the stele, never to see the light again.
She was scanning the crowd in a daze when Shuang Xu’s call reached her. Irritated, she turned her head—and her gaze collided with the figure standing on the steps.
Mu Zhaoran’s heart skipped a beat. The icy, piercing stare sent a shiver racing down her spine; every hair on her body stood on end, her scalp tingled, and goosebumps rose along her neck.
The figure quickly lowered his eyes, long lashes shadowing the sharp glint within, then stepped forward toward her.
Mu Zhaoran instinctively retreated, pressing her back against Shuang Xu.
Noticing her tense posture, Shuang Xu steadied her waist from behind. “Your Highness,” he murmured, “I’m here.”
His words brought her some comfort. She used her sleeve to conceal her movements and slipped her hand behind her, gripping the sword at Shuang Xu’s waist.
The man drew closer, stopping directly in front of her. Just as Mu Zhaoran was about to draw her sword, he passed by her, continuing on to stand before the crime stele behind.
The stele? He had come for the stele—not her?
Her racing heart slowly settled. A quiet sigh of relief escaped her, and she turned to watch.
He stood facing the stele, raised his hand, and a drop of blood appeared in his palm. With a flick of his fingertip, he sent the blood into the stele.
A name on the stele suddenly blazed with a crimson glow. Within that red light, a chaotic vision appeared: amid thunder and lightning, a grotesque, demonic face surged forward, emitting a piercing, agonized roar.
“You Guxue! You lackey of the Celestial Dao Palace! I curse you to die miserably—”
You Guxue let out a soft laugh and formed two fingers into a precise gesture, writing the character “Seal” toward the stele.
The character transformed into crackling lightning, coiling around the grotesque figure, striking him until flesh tore and blood spilled.
Mu Zhaoran’s eyes widened in horror. She watched the electricity snake across the figure, leaving behind monstrous wounds, and her mind involuntarily recalled the dense scars across Yan Luo’s chest, branching like tangled vines. Not just his chest—his back, limbs, and face were covered in similar marks.
Those scars, which she had once found ugly and repulsive, had been caused by lightning.
It had been You Guxue who had inflicted them.
Sensing a gaze shift from behind toward him, You Guxue slightly tilted his head, letting his lowered lashes flick toward the source of the stare.
The lightning on the stele condensed into chains, gradually pressing the culprit back into the stone. The bloodlight faded, the vision vanished, and the curse fell silent, leaving only the name of the convicted soul trapped in thunderous chains.
The execution of the criminal was complete.
A deathly silence gripped the courtyard in front of the mountain gate. Even breathing seemed forbidden.
Having finished, You Guxue withdrew his hand calmly and turned to Mu Zhaoran. He cast a glance at the finely carved characters “Yaoguang” on the jade pendant at her waist, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Holy Maiden of Nanrong? Most of the names on this stele perished by my sword. Whom are you seeking? Speak their name, and I may be of service.”
Mu Zhaoran had witnessed the bloody scene up close, her ears ringing with the echo of that vengeful curse.
She glanced at the tightly packed names inscribed on the stele, her mind flashing with images of Yan Luo’s countless scars. Trembling, she stammered, “N-no… that’s not necessary… I’m just… browsing…”