In her previous life, Mu Zhaoran had been subjected to the twelve Spirit-devouring Seals of Tiandao Palace, her spiritual apertures severed, her spiritual power drained, and her golden core shattered, rendering her completely crippled and forever unable to cultivate again.
From childhood, she had been pampered and privileged, unable to endure the slightest hardship. Even with exceptional innate talent and possessing spiritual bones that others could only dream of, she had never truly enjoyed cultivation. During her time at Tiandao Palace, while others diligently strove to advance their cultivation levels, she only ever aimed for mediocrity in everything.
All her energy was spent on how to win Yun Xiaoyang's heart and body, how to frame Ye Lizhi, and compete with her for favor.
Only after her cultivation was destroyed, after she fell from the clouds into the mud, where anyone could step on her, did Mu Zhaoran begin to understand the importance of cultivation.
But by then, it was already too late for regrets.
After Nanrong settled, Mu Zhaoran became Yanluo's caged canary. She had tried to curry favor with him, begging him to find a way to help her recover. Even if she couldn't restore her cultivation, just being able to repair her spiritual apertures and start cultivating again would have been enough.
But the punishment of Tiandao Palace severed one's very foundation; even Yanluo was powerless to change it.
He was not one to offer comforting words, perhaps disdaining to speak them to a caged canary he could manipulate at will, even in the intimacy of the bedchamber.
Yanluo mercilessly shattered her hopes, telling her that the Spirit-devouring Seals were embedded in her spiritual apertures with no way to remove or seal them. Every shred of spiritual power she absorbed thereafter would be devoured by the seals and dissipated outside her body. Her body was like a leaking cup, forever incapable of cultivation again.
Mu Zhaoran gasped lightly, the fiery blood in her veins instantly turning cold. Muffling her sobs, she buried her head in the quilt, weeping pitifully with soft, whimpering cries.
After a long while, a hand reached over and pulled the quilt away. He leaned close, the thin silver mask warmed by his body heat pressing against her ear as he patiently licked away the tears that had fallen there. "If Your Highness does not disdain it, I can also teach you some heretical demonic methods."
Although Mu Zhaoran had long been expelled from Tiandao Palace, listed in the register of "Dao-losers" no different from heretical demonic paths, and forced to consort daily with the leader of such evils—falling from Nanrong's treasure to a nation-wrecking seductress—in truth, like the rest of the world, she still looked down upon evil cultivators from the bottom of her heart, unwilling to truly taint herself with evil arts and fall into the demonic path.
Yanluo saw through her thoughts. Raising a hand, he smoothed the disheveled hair at her temple behind her ear, his fingertips sliding down her cheek to her soft lips, gently caressing them for a moment before sighing helplessly. "This won't do, that you won't accept. Your Highness is truly difficult to please."
As Mu Zhaoran lowered her gaze, she caught sight of a dark shadow crawling across the back of his hand. The thing clung beneath his scar-covered skin, looking at first glance like a black tattoo in the shape of a venomous scorpion—but it was alive, able to roam freely across his body.
It was the King Gu that coexisted with him.
Mu Zhaoran had once seen it enlarged by chance: the black scorpion body covering his entire back, bulging from his shoulders, its pincers embracing him from behind along his ribs to his front.
The scorpion tail wound down along his powerful waist, coiling all the way to his thigh, the carapace of the scorpion almost bursting out from beneath his skin.
Mu Zhaoran screamed as she pushed him away, leaning over the edge of the bed and vomiting until her whole body convulsed and spasmed, completely drained and unconscious.
From then on, that image was etched into her mind like a nightmare, making her doubt whether the one who had just been intimate with her was a human or a worm every time she saw it, and she couldn't help but feel nauseated.
She knew she shouldn't feel this way, but she couldn't control it.
Yanluo covered her mouth, stifling her muffled retching sounds in her throat, as the scorpion shadow swiftly crawled down his wrist and disappeared.
Only when Mu Zhaoran, teary-eyed and gasping for breath, began to recover from the suffocation did he release his hand. He rubbed his fingertips, dampened by her saliva, draped his clothes over himself, and got out of bed, saying mockingly, "I'd better not stay here and make Your Highness nauseous."
Mu Zhaoran wiped the tears from her face haphazardly, threw herself forward to wrap her arms around his waist, suppressed her nausea, and coquettishly pleaded, "I'm just afraid of worms, but for you, I can endure it. Don't go. I want you to stay with me, okay?"
Under her clinging, Yanluo's stiffened back softened, and he sat back down on the edge of the bed. Seizing the opportunity, Mu Zhaoran straddled his lap, cupped his face, and kissed the thin silver mask. "I'll learn," she said. "I'll learn it."
Having fallen to such a state, what right did she have to cling to her pride?
Even with this realization, Mu Zhaoran still couldn't bring herself to nurture gu with her own body. The sight of those swarming worms devouring each other made her want to vomit, let alone the thought of introducing them into her body, letting them fight within her, and ultimately consuming the victor to merge human and gu as one.
Knowing her aversion to worms, Yanluo didn't teach her gu refinement. Instead, he taught her talisman-making—a type of forbidden by the Tiandao Palace that required no spiritual power.
Voices outside the door pulled Mu Zhaoran back to reality from her memories.
After seeing her father off, Ye Lingyan was unwilling to let her dear sister be taken away by Ye Lizhi just like that. She still hoped, as in the past, to share a bed with Her Highness for a night of conversation and dissolve the estrangement.
Mu Zhaoran didn't respond. Lingyan lingered outside for nearly half an hour before being sent away by the Sacred Hall spirit servants guarding the area.
Late into the night, the lanterns in the post station were taken down one by one and extinguished, leaving only a sparse few to barely illuminate the darkness.
Once everyone had fallen into deep slumber, Mu Zhaoran turned over and sat up in bed. She took a small clay doll from her pouch, placed it on the bed, and painfully pricked her fingertip to let a drop of blood fall into the doll.
A flash of Spiritual Light enveloped the doll, transforming it into her likeness, sitting obediently on the edge of the bed.
This doll was something she had made during her idle moments. In the past, Mu Zhaoran had often relied on "her" to escape the lessons assigned by the Sacred Hall elders.
In her previous life, after being expelled from the Tiandao Palace, it was this doll that carried her all the way from the Central Continent back to Nanrong. They had both thought that returning home would solve everything, never expecting that Nanrong had long been engulfed in the flames of war.
In the end, her father and mother were killed, and the doll was captured by Ye Rong in her place, allowing Mu Zhaoran to escape the royal palace.
Mu Zhaoran had only heard that "she" was ultimately destroyed at the marketplace.
Seeing "her" again, Mu Zhaoran's eyes grew warm, and she fought back tears. Gently, she smoothed "her" hair and instructed, "Stay here in my place, sleep well, and wait for me to return."
The puppet nodded, its pitch-black eyes fixed on her, mimicking her actions to gently smooth her hair as well. Mu Zhaoran pulled "her" hand away, "Alright, now go lie down properly."
The puppet obediently lay down on the bed, pulled up the covers, and continued to stare at Mu Zhaoran.
Mu Zhaoran thought for a moment and, just to be safe, calculated the time before saying, "If I haven't returned by the time we depart tomorrow, go find Shuang Xu immediately and tell her to bring only the Sacred Hall spirit servants to search for me."
Shuang Xu was the leader of the Sacred Hall spirit servants accompanying her on this trip.
The puppet nodded obediently.
Mu Zhaoran took out the magical artifacts given to her by the Sacred Hall elders and scattered them noisily across the bed. These artifacts were exquisitely crafted and small, all designed in the form of accessories.
Rings, earrings, necklaces—you name it, she had it. Mu Zhaoran had only just opened her spiritual aperture and had yet to achieve Foundation Establishment. Her current cultivation level was truly unimpressive, so she adorned herself with defensive artifacts from head to toe, layering herself with such thick defensive energy that not even a mosquito could penetrate it.
Finally, she inserted a hairpin that concealed her form and aura, pushed open the small window, flipped out, and slipped away silently through the back door of the relay station.
Having skipped classes at the Sacred Hall too many times in the past, she had developed quite a knack for stealth and evasion, and she didn’t alert anyone.
The relay station was located on the outskirts of the city, with untamed wilderness stretching out behind it. Mu Zhaoran quieted her breath, sensing her surroundings for a moment, before turning and dashing off in a certain direction.
The dense tree canopy made the night in the mountains even darker, blocking out all starlight and moonlight. A faint glow flowed from the hem of Mu Zhaoran’s skirt, coalescing into a swirling mist of spiritual energy that lifted her body lightly, allowing her to glide swiftly through the dense forest.
The farther she ventured from the outskirts, the deeper and darker the mountains became. Without the experience of fleeing and wandering in her previous life, she would never have dared to travel so boldly through the night.
Mu Zhaoran’s heart raced, her breath tense as she strained her ears to listen for any movement in the darkness.
"Caw—"
A sharp, mournful crow cry suddenly pierced the night, followed by the flapping of wings as a flock of birds took flight. Mu Zhaoran’s heart pounded like a drum, and she abruptly halted, squinting to examine what lay ahead.
The forest came to an end, opening up to a wide, desolate area strewn with jagged rocks and withered branches. Tattered banners fluttered from the branches, and faint green flames drifted among the rocks, flickering in and out of sight.
It was a mass burial ground.
No wonder the Yin Energy here was so intense.
In the dead of night, Mu Zhaoran had come here alone. It was impossible not to feel fear. Though there was no wind, she could sense waves of Yin Energy seeping up from the muddy soil, creeping toward her. Every hair on her body stood on end, and her scalp tingled with dread.
Even now, the sin mark on her soul remained inactive. It seemed this System truly distinguished between friend and foe, protecting only the "female lead" it spoke of.
Mu Zhaoran touched the jingling artifacts adorning her body, bolstering her courage with a deep breath before stepping into the mass burial ground.
She ventured deep into the burial ground until she found a flat area. Clearing away the rotting leaves, she picked up a sturdy, dry branch and, taking advantage of this perfectly damp and shadowy spot, began to inscribe a talisman.
The type of talisman Yanluo taught her was called the Filth Talisman. It was not powered by spiritual power but entirely by the intent of the gu. The runes of this talisman contained their own power, requiring no spiritual power or cultivation level from the creator. As long as one harbored intense impure thoughts—such as greed, anger, obsession, love, hatred, or desire—these could be used as ink to draw the talisman, summoning vile energies and malevolent thoughts that resonated with one's own "stench" to serve their purpose.
However, correspondingly, if the creator lacked a firm will and failed to guard their true self, they could easily be devoured by the malevolent energies and impure thoughts summoned by the Filth Talisman, losing themselves and descending into madness.
In her past life, as described by the comments Mu Zhaoran saw before her death, she was purely a "love-addled fool." All her grievances and sufferings paled in comparison to her obsession with Yun Xiaoyang. This obsession attracted the filthy desires in the world that resonated with her, compelling her to create a Filth Talisman of Passion.
When the Filth Talisman of Passion was completed, Mu Zhaoran was instead influenced by its runes. Her longing for Yun Xiaoyang reached its peak, akin to a traveler in the desert craving a drink of water—so intense it was almost unbearable. She became frantic, desperate to find Yun Xiaoyang, to see him, consumed by the desire to make him utterly submit at her feet.
Yet, at that time, she was not free. Before she could even see Yun Xiaoyang, Yanluo detected it. He seized her talisman and pressed her, demanding to know who she had truly been thinking of when she created it.
Mu Zhaoran bit her lip and remained silent.
He then lifted a candlestick by the window, burned the talisman to ashes, mixed it into talisman water, and drank it in front of her.
The love and desire within the Filth Talisman of Passion burned his eyes red. Gripping her chin, he licked the talisman water from the corner of his lips and asked, "Your Highness, who was this talisman meant for? Such intense love and desire—who were you planning to unleash it upon?"
Mu Zhaoran felt as though her body and soul were aflame. In that moment, the daily insincerities and forced compliance she had endured erupted within her. She wished she could kill him, yet she had to answer through tears, again and again, "It was you, it was you. I was thinking of you. I love you."
Yanluo locked her in the palace with a silver chain for an entire month, only exhausting the talisman's impure energies after that time. She nearly died in bed, stripped of all dignity.
For a long time afterward, Mu Zhaoran was haunted by nightmares every night. In her dreams, she was always trapped in that suffocating palace, with heavy drapes hanging low, dim candlelight, and the thick scent of incense failing to mask the sweet, cloying odor within. Behind the bed curtains, figures tangled together like wild beasts.
Mu Zhaoran wept and begged for mercy, saying she was going to die. Yanluo leaned close, kissing her lips gently yet cruelly, his tone tender and ruthless as he whispered, "Good, then I shall die with you, and we can continue this entanglement even in the underworld."
These words filled her with both hatred and fear, clinging to her like a bone-deep affliction. In the end, Mu Zhaoran endured and did not succumb as he wished.
A sudden night wind rose, scattering the dark clouds that had shrouded the sky, yet the shadows in Mu Zhaoran's heart remained difficult to dispel. Hesitating for just a moment, the rune beneath her hand broke, and the malevolent energy she had just gathered dissipated.
Mu Zhaoran closed her eyes, forcing herself to cast aside all distractions. Over and over, she recalled the scene when Ye Rong led his heavy troops to besiege the palace, stormed the halls, and forced her parents to their deaths.
The palace was engulfed in flames, one familiar face after another falling before her. The Sacred Hall elder who had raised her exhausted his cultivation level, self-destructing under the siege of the aristocratic cultivators brought by Ye Rong, just to buy her a sliver of chance to escape.
Mu Zhaoran’s eyes were bloodshot, her heart drowned in hatred. She did not want such a scene to repeat itself—to prevent it, she had to strike first, even if it meant resorting to any means necessary.
An intense killing intent flowed through the withered branch in her hand into the ground. The Rune she had drawn on the earth began to glow with a dim light. As the final stroke was completed, a complete talisman abruptly detached from the ground, hovering in mid-air.
Ordinary talismans were infused with balanced spiritual power, their light shining golden. But this talisman was sinister and dull, its Rune lines twisted like serpents. The moment it formed, a wave of malevolent energy surged forth.
A fierce wind howled, tearing the clouds apart. The full moon hung high in the sky, yet its light could not penetrate the thick darkness. This mass grave seemed to have been drawn into another realm.
Something in the void rushed toward the hovering foul talisman, forming an invisible vortex. Sand and stones flew across the mass grave, and as the topsoil was swept away, dense layers of white bones were exposed beneath.
Mu Zhaoran stood at the center of the vortex, unable to keep her footing under the talisman’s suction. She swayed violently, stumbling to the ground and clutching a protruding rock to barely steady herself.
She watched as a chilling frost crept over the rock, its cold seeping into her bones, making her shiver uncontrollably. Just as fear threatened to overwhelm her and thoughts of retreat began to surface, the violently trembling foul talisman suddenly stilled. Hesitantly, Mu Zhaoran rose to her feet, scrutinizing every line of the talisman with caution.
Though this foul talisman was of her own making, she had no idea what it would summon for her.
As she mustered the courage to step forward, the Rune abruptly tore apart from within. A skeletal ghostly face burst forth, crashing fiercely into her body—no matter how thick her defensive artifact was, it could not withstand a talisman of her own creation.
Mu Zhaoran felt a surge of icy energy rush straight to her brow. Instantly, her vision went dark, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed backward.