Ren opened his eyes. They were calm. Clear. Vast. He looked at Lianhua, and for a moment, the silence between them felt sacred— not empty, but full of everything unsaid. Then he smiled. Not the smile of a god. Not the smile of a sovereign. Just a man— remembering something he hadn't spoken aloud in centuries. "Thank you… for giving the message." His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of worlds. He did not ask what the Empress had said. He did not need to. He had felt it— in the pulse of the Nether Realm, in the silence that followed her name. He stood, the Ancient God Qi swirling around him like a living storm. It did not resist him. It welcomed him. "I'll be going now, then." He turned, but paused— not out of hesitation, but out of care. "Tell your little brother to come here as well. Let him absorb the Ancient God Qi. Refine. Improve." He looked at her one last time, his gaze steady. His presence is vast. Ren stopped. and spoke one last time, "When I told you that your choices are your own, and no one controls them— That is true." "But there are some… who do get controlled. By something that doesn't follow my rules." "There were two men I knew. They had the same aura but different anti-protagonist aura." "But they were arrogant. Conceited. Lustful. Spiteful. Disgusting." "Scumbags who took other people's women— not because they earned love, but because something allowed them to." "Yes, they were handsome. Talented. But the women who fell for them… it wasn't from their own will." "Something controlled them. Forced them to fall in love. Forced them to betray their partners behind their backs." "It was because of their aura. Anti-Protagonist aura." "Everything else I said was true. So is this." "Luckily, I broke that spell. It couldn't hold near my presence. The aura unravelled. The control faded." He paused, but the sorrow in his voice deepened. "But the sad thing is… There were some women—general disciples and cultivators—who truly loved those two idiots. Not because they were controlled. Not because of the aura. But because they chose to." "They saw something in them. Something worth loving. And they gave their hearts freely." His gaze darkened. "But those men… they never looked back. Never saw the ones who stood beside them." "Their eyes were fixed elsewhere— on my master, Fairy Jin. On the Sect Leader of the Glass Lotus Sect, Lady Yueh, there own master ." "They paid attention to power. To beauty wrapped in prestige. Not to the ones who loved them without condition." "Their eyes were fixed elsewhere— on my master, Fairy Jin. On Lady Yueh, the Sect Leader of the Glass Lotus Sect… their own master."
"They didn't see the ones who stood beside them. Who waited. Who loved without condition." "They paid attention to power. To beauty wrapped in prestige. Not to sincerity. Not to devotion." "They chased what shone. And ignored what endured." Ren's voice carried the hush of twilight— not mourning, but remembrance. "Some of the partners knew. They saw the distortion. Understood the theft. Knew it wasn't betrayal— just something that bent fate." "Others didn't. They thought they'd been cast aside. Replaced. Forgotten." "But all of them… eventually moved on." "Not in bitterness. Not in rage. But in quiet healing." "They found love again. With women who could not be controlled. Not by charm. Not by aura. Not even by one of the things that doesn't follow my rules." He paused, and the silence felt like a benediction. "Some souls are immune. Not because they resist— but because they cannot be rewritten." "Not all wounds bleed. Some stop growing." "And the women who were once controlled… They were left behind. Not by cruelty, but by consequence." "But they will find love again. One day. And when they do— It will be real. It will be theirs." "And they will never be controlled again."
Then, all at once, Ren vanished. Not with thunder. Not with light. Just absence, as if the air had exhaled him. And in the silence that followed, a voice rose—soft, steady, changed. "I understand, True immortal. Thank you… for telling me this."
Ren stood in the Nether Realm, and there she was—Mìngjiè Xiānlù, seated upon a throne of obsidian and emerald. Dark green and pale light intertwined, shadow braided with smoke, wrapping around her like a living shroud. The throne didn't simply rise; it coiled, forged from sealed power and memories that refused to die. Her emerald eyes met his, and in them he saw longing, hate, and love—all at once, all still burning.
Her voice broke the silence, low and unyielding.
"It's been a long time, True Immortal. I thought you'd never return. It's been more than aeons." Her gaze didn't waver. "I want to see your real face—not that plain-looking form you're wearing now. I want to see the man I loved. The one who burned stars into memory. Show me him again."
He shifted into his real form. Thick white hair fell loose, cascading down to his lower back, brushing just past his waist like a silver veil. His eyes—crimson and black—burned like fire, twin embers of creation and ruin. His face remained that of an eighteen-year-old boy: youthful, unscarred, untouched by time. But his gaze told another story. In those eyes, she saw the truth—he was older than he let on. Far older.
Memories flooded her mind. She remembered following him when all the ancient clans had followed him. He was the True immortal. The one who carved paths through realms, who stood at the edge of oblivion and made it kneel.
A single tear traced down her cheek, shimmering green as it fell—an echo of her lineage, her power, her grief. Her voice trembled, not from weakness, but from the weight of more than aeons held too tightly.
"Why did you have to leave?" she whispered. "Why couldn't you stay here—with us?"
The words weren't an accusation.
They were mourning.
They were love, still burning beneath the ash.
"I had to leave," he said, his voice calm but unyielding. "To create other things. I told you I would return, though I warned it might take aeons. Eventually, after I finished crafting everything—every realm, every law—I returned to my world. I reversed my age—back to eighteen. Back to the moment I first ascended as a true immortal."
He didn't say it with pride.
He said it as if it were a truth too vast to argue.
Like the wind, explaining why it moves.
He could feel her anger—sharp, unrelenting. The killing intent was clear. But even that wasn't enough to convince her why he had to leave.
"After that, I conquered all of Asia," he said. "Ruled it as Emperor. Eventually, I gave it to my wife—Eternal Empress Bai—to rule in my stead."
He was blunt. She deserved the truth.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she snapped. "I felt abandoned. I was pregnant, Ren."
Her voice trembled, but the rage held firm.
"There's nothing you don't know—unless you choose to shut it off. And conveniently, that ability was off.
"I genuinely didn't know," he said. "If I had… I would've left another version of myself to stay with you. I would've done that for the others, too."
He was blunt—no defence—just fact.
"The others," she echoed, bitter. "Yes, you were young then, weren't you? No restraint. You took every single woman who interested you—and slept with them."
Her voice cracked, but her fury didn't.
"Did you know I'm not the only woman you left pregnant?"
In Ren's mind, he was ready to beat the living hell out of Emperor Shadow—his darker self, the unrestrained version he once allowed to consume him entirely. When they were whole, there was no restraint. No hesitation. He acted on instinct, conquered without care.
But it wasn't just hunger. It was love—greedy, consuming love.
He had a harem of women who loved him completely. And he loved them too, each fiercely, each sincerely. But he was only eighteen—a stupid teenager with too much power in his hands. Too much attention. Too many choices.
And he was following his male instinct. To protect. To dominate. To impregnate. He wanted to leave a legacy in every womb that welcomed him. Not out of cruelty—but out of a primal need he didn't yet understand.
Eventually, he left them.
Not because they failed him—but because he feared what he was becoming. Even before the promise to his big sister, Ren was trying to change. To control himself. To become someone who could hold love without drowning in it.
Restraint wasn't a weakness. It was the beginning of redemption.
"I know," he said softly. "But I did promise I'd return—when the time was right, when I could restrain myself. So I wouldn't become something I couldn't even recognise anymore."
His gaze didn't waver.
"If I'd stayed, I would've hurt you all more. I was young. Foolish. And it's my fault."
He paused, letting the weight settle.
"But that doesn't change the fact that I loved you. Equally. Fiercely. The best I could, with what I was."
"And we agreed to break up," he said quietly. "I've made plenty of mistakes—and I'm still making them. People say I'm perfect, but I'm not. I'm just trying to be better."
He looked at her, not with power, but with truth.
"I did miss you. You were always in my mind. I never once forgot about you."
A faint, bittersweet smile touched his lips.
"You know I have a bad habit of taking my time with things. I guess that's what being eternal does—makes you think you don't have to rush. That you've got all the time in the world."
Then his voice softened.
"I'm sorry. For making you feel abandoned. For leaving you with our children still in your womb. You've been holding them back from coming into existence… maybe until the day I turn a million years old."
"I hate you, Ren!" she screamed. "I hate you so much!"
The Nether Realm shook with her fury—walls of shadow rippling, the air thick with grief and rage.
"I needed you. I need you."
Her voice cracked, but her power didn't.
"I had to marry someone I didn't even love—someone who didn't love me—just to fill the void you left behind."
"I didn't let any other man touch me," she said, voice low but unwavering. "Not even my husband. The one I don't even see."
She wasn't just angry. She was grieving the years she gave to silence, to absence, to a love that never stopped demanding space in her soul.
She shrank into her mortal form—no divine glow, no ancestral pressure—just a woman, trembling with fury and longing. Her eyes locked onto his, and she raised her hand to strike.
He caught it gently, without flinching.
"I know you had your reasons to leave," she said, voice cracking. "I just wish you'd taken me with you. Instead of leaving me here."
Her hand trembled in his grip, but she didn't pull away.
"I know I had duties—as the Ancestor of the Ancient Nether Clan. But I would've abandoned them in a heartbeat if you'd ordered me to. I would've followed anything. Just like I followed your last words: 'Wait for me.' So I stayed. I stayed because you said you'd return."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I just wish you'd been quicker about it. You made me miss you every single day. Made me feel empty. Alone. I spent centuries testing others—deciding who was worthy to ascend, who should stay and try again. And all the while, I was waiting. For you."
She looked up at him, eyes wet with fury.
"Why didn't you order me to come with you?"
He didn't let go of her hand.
"Because I loved you," he said. "And I don't order those I love. You had your own will. You could've followed me. But you didn't. You chose to stay."
He paused, not accusing—just honest.
"Maybe part of you was comfortable here. Maybe part of you believed in the trials more than you believed in me."
"That's not true," she whispered—and then roared.
Her divine axe surged into her hand, summoned by grief and fury. She struck with the weight of centuries—love twisted into loneliness, loyalty curdled into despair.
He caught the blade mid-swing, his grip steady, his gaze unflinching.
"The others," he said softly, "I left them too. Here. In other realms. They could've followed me."
Her eyes burned, but she didn't pull back.
"But part of you—all of you—chose to stay. To guard the homes they built. And I didn't want to order you to follow me."
His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of cosmic truth.
"That's why I said I would return. Because I knew you would wait."
Her axe trembled in his grasp, not from weakness—but from the storm inside her.
"I don't care," she said, voice cracking. "You should've taken me with you. You should've tried harder—for me."
Her axe dimmed in his grasp, but her fury didn't.
"I loved you, Ren. I would've followed you anywhere. You know that."
She stepped closer, trembling.
"Fine. I understand—you didn't want to order me. But you could've at least said goodbye. You left nothing of yourself here. Nothing."
Her voice broke.
"All I had were memories. Some of us are training together. Bickering. Teasing. Worship turning into something more—something real. Something pure."
She looked away, ashamed.
"I started to think you didn't love me anymore. You didn't even marry me."
Tears spilt down her cheeks, hot and silent.
"I hate acting like this. Like some weeping child. I must seem like such a nagging woman to you."
"Please," she whispered, voice trembling. "Don't abandon me again."
Her divine form flickered, not from weakness—but from the weight of longing.
"I'm begging you… Take me with you this time."
She looked up at him, eyes wide, tears still falling.
"I don't want to be alone anymore. Not even here. Even when people surround me… you're never one of them."
Her voice cracked.
"You're the only one I ever truly wanted beside me."
Before Ren could speak, she attacked again—relentless, unyielding. Her strikes came like storms, each one laced with fury and heartbreak. Ren didn't retaliate. He dodged, deflected, caught her blows with bare hands and silent resolve.
Then, instinct took over.
A pulse of ancestral authority surged through him, and in a flash of violet flame, he summoned the blade of his master—Fairy Jin's father-sword. It shimmered with restraint, not wrath.
She froze mid-strike.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed into something darker.
"That sword…" she hissed. "Is that another bitch you seduced, Ren? I hate you even more now."
Her voice cracked with rage and grief.
"When I was here, were you just with other women? Flirting? Sleeping with them while I waited?"
Ren held the blade low, its edge humming with sorrow.
"No," he said quietly. "This is my master's blade. Nothing more. I can restrain myself now. I'm better than that."
She laughed—a sound like breaking glass.
"You say that, but I bet you wish you could. Don't you?"
Her scream tore through the Nether Realm, and the throne room trembled under the weight of her emotions. Pillars cracked. Shadows recoiled. The ancient sigils etched into the walls began to flicker.
Then—footsteps.
The doors burst open, and the other ancient Nether clans poured in, drawn by the chaos. Their eyes fell on Ren, and silence swept through the room like a divine decree.
One elder stepped forward, voice trembling.
" The True immortal… he has returned. Why didn't the Three Main Ancient Clans tell us?"
The ancient clans stood in stunned silence, watching the Empress clash with the man whose presence defied the passage of time.
One elder stepped forward, voice hushed.
"They must not have known he would come here."
Another bowed low, reverent.
"It is astonishing. After countless cycles, the True Immortal returns. No wonder the Nether Empress is enraged."
Then, from among the crowd, a young figure stepped forward—the heir of her blood, born of her sibling, raised in the shadow of her throne.
Eyes wide, voice trembling, they spoke:
The throne pulsed in response to her anguish. Shadows curled around its base, whispering old truths.
The Nether Empress stepped forward, her imperial axe rising in her grip—a relic forged from the bones of fallen realms, etched with the names of those who betrayed her blood.
Its surface shimmered with the same hues as her eyes and hair: dark green and light green, swirling like emerald flame, alive with emotion. The weapon pulsed in rhythm with her fury, as if it too remembered being abandoned.
Her gaze locked on Ren.
"You left me," she said, voice like thunder. "You left us."
"To wait for an eternity… and then see him wield another woman's blade. Her wrath is justified."
The words had barely left the young heir's mouth before a sharp crack echoed through the chamber.
His mother—the Nether Empress's sister—struck him across the head, swift and unforgiving.
"What the hell do you know, boy?" she snapped. "Be quiet."
Gasps rippled through the gathered clans. Even the throne seemed to flinch.
She turned toward the Empress, voice trembling with restraint.
"Forgive him, Your Majesty. He speaks from awe, not wisdom."
A new voice cut through the frozen silence—arrogant, amused, and utterly out of place.
"What's going on here?" he said, stepping into the throne room with a smirk.
It was the Nether Emperor—the Nether Empress's husband, bound to her by decree, not desire.
She didn't love him. He didn't love her.
Their union was forged in politics, not passion. He had found love elsewhere—with her younger sister —and together, they had a son. The heir, by law. But not by heart.
The Nether Empress had never objected. She had her truth. Her love.
And now, that love stood before her.
One of the clan elders bowed slightly.
"The true immortal has returned. My lady is… not pleased, as you well know."
The Nether Emperor's eyes widened as he looked at Ren.
"So that's him," he said, almost wistful. "The man my wife loved so deeply."
The Nether Emperor stepped forward, gaze lingering on Ren, then shifting to the Empress.
"I know she's angry," he said, voice calm but edged with authority. "But even in her fury, she should be showing him reverence."
He turned to the frozen clans, then back to her.
"Respect, at the very least. He is the True Immortal—the creator of countless ancient clans. Without him, none of this exists."
His words hung heavy in the air.
It wasn't love. It wasn't jealousy.
It was the truth.
Even the throne pulsed in quiet agreement.
"You wouldn't understand," she murmured, not to defend, but to explain. "That is my sister's one true love. She hasn't seen him in countless years. She felt abandoned—unloved."
Her gaze drifted to Ren, then back to the shadows where her sister stood.
"But I see it. He did love her. Fiercely. Quietly. Maybe too quietly."
She paused.
"She's just too angry to listen. Too hurt to see."
Whispers of the ancient Nether Clan
"He's very handsome, isn't he?" one woman whispered, eyes wide.
"I agree," said another, breath catching. "It's expected from the True Immortal, but seeing him in person… It's so much better than any portrait."
A third giggled, voice trembling. "I feel like I'm twitching."
The others laughed softly, understanding her meaning without needing it spoken.
Then silence.
The Nether Empress turned, gaze like a blade drawn from the void.
"Know your place."
Her voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.
The air chilled. The women bowed their heads, shame and thrill tangled in their throats.
Ren just looked at her, still easily deflecting her attacks—until he stopped.
She moved to strike, but instinct held her back. She knew she couldn't hurt him. She knew it was futile.
But Ren, by his will alone, guided the axe toward himself.
It struck.
Her eyes widened. Blood poured—dark, slow, impossible.
"No," she cried, voice cracking. Tears spilt, pulled from places she hadn't dared feel in more than aeons. She ran to him, hands trembling.
"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—please, Ren, don't leave me. I beg you. I'm sorry."
She couldn't think straight. He couldn't be harmed. That was the law. That was the truth.
So how?
"How did I…?" she whispered.
Ren's voice was quiet, steady.
"I allowed it to harm me."
He stood tall, the axe buried in his left shoulder, blood painting his robes in silence.
She looked at the wound.
Then, slowly, she touched it.
"Why?" she cried, voice trembling as tears traced down her cheeks. "I just wanted to show you how angry I was… to show you how much I had to keep in when you were gone."
They stood close, the air between them heavy with blood and memory. Her hand hovered near the wound in his shoulder, the axe still embedded, his blood dark and slow.
"I don't want you to die. Don't leave me again," she whispered. "Please, I beg you… don't leave me, True Immortal."
She paused.
Then softer, more broken:
"Ren…"
The name fell from her lips like a prayer—stripped of titles, stripped of distance. A name not spoken to a god, but to the man she once knew.
Ren looked at her, silent.
Then, with a quiet breath, he reached out and flicked her forehead with two fingers.
Just like he used to.
Back when her fury was simpler—born of jealousy, not grief. Back when she'd burn with indignation if he so much as smiled at another soul.
She blinked.
The flick wasn't powerful.
It was memory.
It was him.
And for a moment, the storm inside her stilled.
"I won't die, silly," Ren said softly, his voice like dusk settling over a battlefield. "I just allowed you to harm me."
Blood traced the edge of his jaw, but he didn't flinch.
"I'm willing for you to hurt me, if that makes you feel better. If it helps ease what you've carried all these years."
She didn't speak.
Smoke and shadow laced her fists, curling like serpents—emerald in hue, pulsing with ancestral fury.
The chamber dimmed as her cultivation surged.
She struck—once, twice, again.
Each blow cracked the air, but Ren absorbed them without resistance.
"If you need to do more… I won't stop you."
Then, with a faint smile—tender, almost teasing:
"You're still such a child, Mìngjiè Xiānlù."
At that name, her fury faltered. Not Empress. Not weapon. Just her.
Ren turned his gaze toward them.
With a flick of his will, time stilled.
Bodies froze mid-breath.
Then, quietly, mercifully—he wiped their memories.
This moment would belong to her alone.
No whispers. No records. No shame.
She was still the Nether Empress.
And he would protect that, even now.
She lunged again, but this time her strike faltered mid-air.
Tears blurred her vision.
"You think this makes you noble?" she spat.
"No," Ren whispered. "It makes me yours."
Her fists trembled, smoke and shadow still curling in emerald spirals.
Then she stepped forward, slowly, like gravity had changed.
She pressed her face to his shoulder, sobbing.
Her arms wrapped around him in a broken embrace.
"I hate you so much, Ren," she whispered.
"You're such a cruel person."
Ren smiled, but said nothing.
He stood quiet, letting her cry.
Letting her break.
Then, gently, he embraced her in return.
"You're still such a child," he murmured.
"My little Xiānlù."