Han Ling couldn't believe it—someone would go so far as to completely seal off Ling Zhao's soul and even erase his presence without a trace. Unwilling to give up, he repeated the search over and over again.
Until...
The spiritual fluctuations slowly faded. Han Ling rose from the center of the formation, his casual clothes rustling in the cold wind. After hours of searching, he had found nothing. The array had been arranged properly, with ample spiritual energy to sustain it, yet there was still no response from Ling Zhao's soul. Not even the faintest trace of his aura remained.
Han Ling's expression darkened, his fingers clenching into a tight fist. He had expected their enemies to be ruthless—but not to this extent. The person behind this hadn't simply killed Ling Zhao. They had erased every trace of his spiritual imprint and destiny aura, just to seize his Ziwei fate and transfer it to someone else. This wasn't just cruel—it was a complete obliteration of a person's existence.
"So clean..." he murmured, his voice laced with barely restrained fury.
At that moment, Grant stepped forward, holding a small box he had brought from home. "I found this," he said softly. "It's a piece of jewelry he used to wear all the time... maybe it'll help you."
Han Ling accepted the item and focused briefly, his brows furrowing deeper. "The aura is too faint. The residual soul mark isn't strong enough to track his location… It wasn't naturally dissipated—it was forcibly suppressed and hidden."
Grant bit his lip, but his gaze remained resolute. "Then we try another approach. Let's investigate the people around him… Ling Ning."
Han Ling slowly looked up. "We can't alarm them. The one behind this still hasn't revealed themselves. If we act too hastily, we might force them to cut ties and flee. Besides…" His tone paused, then he added, "The method used here requires significant cultivation. It's unlikely to have been done by a single person. More likely, several powerful cultivators worked together."
He looked at them all seriously. "And we don't even know who they are."
Afterward, Han Ling turned to Hang Zhongxuan and asked if there were any high-level cultivators in seclusion in this area. Hang Zhongxuan frowned and replied, "In this region, cultivators of the Tiangang stage are almost the stuff of legends. If someone has reached the Soul Refining or Void Transformation stage, they'd already be considered a local overlord. A Tiangang-level cultivator... hasn't been seen in a century."
At that moment, Cen Wenyu—who had remained silent—finally spoke, his tone carrying the weight of history. "In truth, the cultivation foundation of Blue Earth hasn't been restored for long. It's only been a little over three thousand years since the apocalypse. That catastrophe didn't just decimate mortals—it also brought devastation to the cultivators. Viruses, famine, spiritual collapse... the laws of heaven and earth were in disarray, and spiritual energy became chaotic. Even the most powerful couldn't do anything."
"Many great sects and clans tried to escape through dimensional travel, but none succeeded. Some legends even say they perished within spatial rifts."
As Han Ling listened, a chill crept down his spine. When he first crossed over into this world, he had indeed sensed its abundance of spiritual energy—but there was also a strange, fragmented sensation, as though a piece of history had been forcibly severed.
Cen Wenyu continued, "The apocalypse lasted for a full five hundred years. During that time, the demon realm and the devil realm were forcibly torn open. Cultivators fought bitterly over dwindling resources, which in turn triggered a second calamity. By the time the world stabilized and spiritual veins began to circulate again, Blue Earth's population had been halved. Many regions' spiritual veins collapsed entirely and became forbidden zones."
"The sects and families that survived brought their most precious resources and fled to the southern plains. That area may not have been plagued by spirit beasts, but it was resource-scarce. Alchemists, already few in number, were reduced to a rare breed. Most died from disease or spiritual exhaustion."
"As for the next generation of alchemists… to be blunt, most were just amateurs forced into the role. They could barely produce mid-grade pills, or else specialized in antidotes, since viral infections were still rampant. Those who could refine healing or qi-replenishing pills had all but vanished. When pharmacists began to rise in prominence, traditional alchemists lost their authority entirely."
Han Ling fell silent, as if witnessing an entire generation abandoned by time. But he also knew—when the evil, chaos, and lawlessness of a realm reached a certain threshold, Heaven would eventually destroy that world.
"And so," Cen Wenyu added, "even now, cultivators are beginning to realize—no one has successfully advanced in decades. The viruses may have been cleansed, but their remnants linger in the body. Spiritual energy becomes obstructed, and in severe cases, cultivators suffer internal backlash and explode."
He gave a bitter smile. "And alchemical knowledge has all but been lost. What little remains depends on pharmaceuticals. But pharmaceutical ingredients aren't fully natural, and can't completely purify the toxins within the body. For many, the path of cultivation has already come to an end."
Han Ling drew in a long, deep breath. "So even if someone reaches Soul Refining or Void Transformation, that's likely the limit. As for Tiangang... even having one would be a miracle."
"And it just so happens," he muttered, "that our enemy this time... might be that miracle."
Hang Zhongxuan's cultivation had already reached the Soul Refining stage, but compared to their mysterious enemy, he was still a level below. Han Ling's voice grew solemn as he reminded them, "The one hiding in the shadows is far more powerful than we are. Do not underestimate them."
At the very least, Han Ling's current body wouldn't be able to withstand a head-on confrontation. His divine sense might be strong, but if his physical form couldn't keep up, it would collapse under the strain and explode.
Cen Wenyu and Hang Zhongxuan exchanged glances and could only offer a bitter smile. They all knew—this battle would not be easily won.
The next morning, Hang Zhongxuan and Cen Wenyu arrived at Han Ling's residence as promised, bringing with them a full set of surveillance photographs and video footage of Ling Ning. The data was extremely detailed—every timestamp clearly marked, and the angles enhanced by cultivator-trained operators. Though the equipment wasn't top-tier spiritual imaging gear, it was still enough to reconstruct what had happened.
Inside the house, Han Ling unfurled a spiritual array and suspended all the photos midair. He, Leander, and Grant stood around the formation, their expressions growing increasingly grim as they examined each captured image.
In the footage, Ling Ning had been seen entering and exiting a villa alongside a man dressed in a dark windbreaker, his face hidden by a mask and a black baseball cap. Though the two didn't interact much, the air between them was unmistakably familiar.
At a single glance, Grant identified the man. "It's Chen Qiyue."
His voice was cold, firm, yet betrayed a subtle tremor of emotion beneath.
That man—Chen Qiyue—was Ling Zhao's boyfriend. The two had been together for several years. Rumors said they'd had their arguments but had never broken up. Until one day, during a three-day period when Chen Qiyue met with Ling Zhao... he had gone completely silent. Not a word. For three whole days.
Now, the reason was glaringly obvious.
"No way..." Leander muttered. "Isn't this..."
"Yes." Han Ling's voice was like a blade of ice. "Chen Qiyue appearing in Ling Ning's life is no coincidence. They even stayed in the same house for over five hours. That's not something ordinary friends would do."
Grant's face turned ghostly pale, and his fingers trembled slightly.
Han Ling reached out and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "We wait," he said gently. "Let's see what they do next."
Several days later, the three of them hid in a small, secluded building across from Ling Ning's residence. Han Ling set up a basic concealment barrier and arranged a sound-gathering formation. This time, they were going to see it with their own eyes—confirm the nature of Ling Ning and Chen Qiyue's relationship, and determine whether there was a deeper conspiracy behind it all.
The afternoon sunlight was gentle, soft as silk, casting a golden veil that hinted at approaching dusk—a perfect backdrop for looming revelations.
Suddenly, Grant's grip on the binoculars tightened. He whispered, stunned, "He's here."
On-screen, Chen Qiyue appeared once again, carrying a bag of cooked food, his face partially obscured by a mask, just as before. He moved with practiced ease, heading up the stairs. He rang the doorbell, and Ling Ning opened the door to let him in.
"This isn't the first time," Leander muttered, brows furrowed.
"Wait," Han Ling said, eyes narrowing. He activated the sound-gathering array, tuning in as their voices inside the house became crystal clear.
"You're back again," Ling Ning said with a soft laugh, her voice tender—like she'd been waiting for him.
"Mhm," Chen Qiyue's voice was low and steady. "Didn't you say… you've had no appetite lately? I brought you some congee."
"Thank you… Qiyue." She reached for his arm and suddenly placed his hand on her belly. "Feel this—he kicked me today."
There was a moment of silence.
Chen Qiyue didn't speak at first. Then, slowly, he placed his hand on her still-subtle but clearly rounded belly and said softly, "Good boy. Daddy's here."
As the words fell, the room inside fell quiet.
But outside the monitoring array, the air grew so tense it nearly shattered.
Grant froze as if struck by lightning. He couldn't speak. His fingers dug into his thigh so hard his nails nearly broke skin, but he made no sound.
"This isn't just betrayal…" he murmured, hollow and broken. "It's deception. Destruction. Ling Zhao… he must've known, right? He knew everything… and still said nothing."
"Because he still loved him," Leander replied in a low voice, anger seeping into his tone.
Han Ling said nothing. His eyes were cold, divine sense rippling through the air, recording every detail of the scene. He had guessed Ling Ning was pregnant—but he hadn't expected it to be this far along.
"We're leaving," he said suddenly.
"Leaving?" Grant looked up, dazed.
"This isn't something we need to hear more of." Han Ling turned and left, casting a cloaking talisman behind them to cover their tracks.
On the way back, Grant broke down completely. He crouched on a deserted rooftop, burying his face in his arms, choking on sobs. Leander stood nearby, silent. Han Ling walked over and patted his shoulder.
"Ling Zhao… shouldn't have had to bear this alone," Grant whispered, voice raw. "He knew. He acted like everything was fine. Did he… did he really have no one to talk to? Why didn't he tell me? If I'd known—if I hadn't gotten angry, if we hadn't fought—!"
Han Ling was quiet for a long moment before saying, "We'll find out the truth—for him. No matter where he is, dead or alive… I will bring him back."
His words hung in the twilight air, like a vow that refused to fade.
A few days later, Han Ling returned to the Special Division and handed over all the footage, data, and audio recordings to Hang Zhongxuan's team for safekeeping. He made no public mention of Ling Ning's pregnancy—nor did he expose Chen Qiyue's betrayal. For now, revealing anything too soon would only alert their enemies.
Besides, the enemy they were dealing with might be far more powerful than they had ever imagined.
"Tiangang-level cultivation…" Han Ling murmured as he flipped through a classified dossier from the cultivation world. "Even in the upper realms, they're exceedingly rare."
"We don't have any here," Hang Zhongxuan said, shrugging. "Reaching Soul Refining or Void Transformation is already the limit. Even with spiritual energy slowly recovering over the past three thousand years, this is still post-apocalyptic territory. It's impossible to nurture a cultivator that strong here."
"I agree," Cen Wenyu chimed in. "Back during the apocalypse, many sects didn't even have time to preserve their classic texts or spirit treasures. Alchemical manuals were practically wiped out. When the cultivators fled, they only managed to take the bare essentials. No one had time to safeguard their true heritage."
Han Ling nodded slowly. He had long used his divination arts to calculate Ling Zhao's fate. The result: Ling Zhao was still alive, but his presence had been completely erased, making it impossible to trace him through normal spiritual means. The only remaining clue—the one faint hope—came from the keepsake Grant had given him.
Within that keepsake, there was a faint, almost imperceptible wisp of soul energy.
It wasn't a remnant soul. It was something else—a sliver of spirit sealed using an ancient method, hidden away in some unknown spatial rift, waiting for a specific moment to be summoned again.
"The enemy… wants Ling Zhao's fate," Han Ling said quietly.
"Ziwei fate," Leander added. "The only way to seize it is to kill him, extract his soul and destiny mark, and then attempt a transfer or replication… That kind of operation isn't something an ordinary cultivator can pull off."
"Let alone anyone from this world," Grant finally said, lifting his head. His eyes were clear now, full of determination.
"That's why Ling Zhao must still be alive," Han Ling whispered. "He's not gone. He's just… hidden. Or more precisely, sealed."
He turned toward the others, eyes sharp as blades. "We need to investigate again. Ling Ning and Chen Qiyue are bound to take further action. I refuse to believe they won't go meet their puppet master eventually."
Meanwhile, on Grant's side, regret had begun to gnaw at him day and night.
He couldn't stop replaying it in his mind—how things might have been different if he hadn't lost his temper, if they hadn't fought and broken up. The real reason he returned to this country wasn't just to invest in Ling Zhao's screenplay—that was just an excuse.
He had wanted to see him. Even knowing that Ling Zhao had a boyfriend now, he still… just wanted to see him again.
In the end, he was fortunate—Ling Zhao accepted his investment proposal.
The two began meeting more often, discussing the script, debating which director might bring their vision to life, pondering what kind of actors could best portray the characters they had once shaped together.
Grant thought to himself: Maybe we're not lovers anymore, but even as collaborators, as friends who can talk about anything... it's still good.
That thought had barely taken root when something strange began to happen.
One day, during one of their usual meetings, Ling Zhao barely spoke a word. He simply sat there, quietly watching Grant. And when the meeting was over, he got up and left without saying anything.
The next day—the same. And the day after that—still the same.
Three days of complete silence.
Grant finally couldn't hold it in anymore. He asked what was wrong, what had happened. And in the end, all Ling Zhao said was—
"Nothing."
But those eyes—that look in his eyes...
There was so much sorrow in them, so much pain that it nearly crushed Grant's heart.
If only I had known sooner...
But in this world, there is no such thing as "if only."