Tai Jian did not even turn his head as he continued forward. His world was already dead, and nothing remained within it that was worth looking back at. Memories of his childhood replayed in fragments—moments of laughter, warmth, and dreams of becoming strong to protect those he loved. Now, those memories twisted like knives in his heart, leaving only chaos. His mind could no longer think straight.
---
In the Fire Realm....
Far away, in the Fire Realm, Feng Jiu sat upon her throne, reviewing state documents and issuing orders with her usual calm authority. But suddenly, she felt something shift within her—a strange sense of completeness, as though a missing fragment of her soul had finally returned.
Her eyes flickered, and she quietly closed them, letting the sensation wash over her. When she opened them again, they were filled with turmoil.
"You are dismissed," Feng Jiu said.
The officials bowed and withdrew without question, though confusion lingered in their eyes.
"Her Majesty's thoughts are becoming more and more unpredictable," an old minister muttered, stroking his beard as he departed.
Feng Jiu reappeared in her private chamber. Sitting cross-legged, she stilled her breath as her chaotic aura surged around her. The fragment of her spirit—Tie Hongchen's mortal self—had returned, carrying with it a flood of sorrow, helplessness, and despair.
She absorbed Tie Hongchen's experiences: the seven tribulations of the mortal realm, the pain of love and sacrifice, and the endless struggle against fate. The weight of those memories pressed upon her heart, forcing a sigh from her lips.
It was pitiful, she thought. No matter what world they lived in, no matter what identities they bore, she and Tai Jian were destined to a tragic ending.
She recalled Tai Jian's expression during their final moments together—his eyes filled with gentleness and sorrow. As an ancestral god, she needed no vision to imagine what followed after her death: Tai Jian descending into madness, massacring the elites of the Shadow Guild for her sake.
"I am going to the human realm for a few days," she said softly. "Manage the affairs of the Fire Realm in my absence."
Her figure blurred and vanished.
Though she cloaked herself from the secrets of heaven, Feng Jiu knew the risk of descending with her true body. In the mortal realm, the laws of heaven bound all gods. To unleash divine power there meant inviting devastating backlash, strong enough to tear apart even an ancestral god. Thus, she suppressed her might and descended quietly, unseen.
On the mortal plane, Tai Jian still carried Tie Hongchen's body in his arms. His face was blank, his steps unsteady, his aura saturated with death. To those who saw him, he resembled a walking corpse.
Xue Kai and the purple-robed emissary followed behind, torn between loyalty and helplessness.
The emissary's lips trembled as she considered demanding Tie Hongchen's body back, but when she looked upon Tai Jian's hollow expression, her words died in her throat.
Feng Jiu stood nearby, invisible to mortal eyes, watching with a heavy heart.
Tai Jian ignored everyone around him. Silent and determined, he carried Tie Hongchen through the streets until he reached an old, secluded mansion. He had purchased it long ago for its peaceful surroundings, never imagining it would one day become his tomb of solitude.
Crossing the threshold, Tai Jian and Tie Hongchen disappeared. A barrier rose around the mansion, shutting out the world. No matter how Xue Kai and the emissary tried, they could not enter.
They waited for three days. No answer came.
Inside, Tai Jian buried himself in scrolls and relics, searching desperately for forbidden techniques that could bring Tie Hongchen back. He refused to eat, refused to sleep, consumed only by his obsession. Each passing day etched madness deeper into his eyes.
At night, when silence swallowed the world, he would sit beside Tie Hongchen's lifeless form, speaking to her as though she still breathed. His voice was gentle, his words filled with sorrow, but his gaze was hollow.
Tie Hongchen had ceased to be just a memory. She had become his obsession, his reason to defy the heavens.
Feng Jiu, concealed outside the mansion, could sense his crumbling soul. More than once she reached out, tempted to intervene, but each time she drew her hand back. She was a god bound by laws—and worse, she was the other half of the woman he mourned. To reveal herself now would shatter him completely.
Her heart ached, but she could only watch.
---
Meanwhile, the battlefield still shook under the clash of the two great geniuses—Qin Wushuang and Qin Ling Tian.
Two days had passed, and yet neither had fallen.
Though they fought as equals in strength, Qin Ling Tian was slowly crumbling. His heart was flawed, the seed of defeat planted long ago when he lost the game of chess that determined supremacy over the world. If he lost here, it would not only mean his pride—it would mean his life.
Qin Wushuang, by contrast, fought with serenity. Every strike was effortless, every defense unyielding. Whatever technique Qin Ling Tian unleashed, Wushuang dissolved it as though it were nothing.
From the outside, they seemed calm—two masters locked in an endless stalemate. But those with sharp eyes could see the truth: this was not a battle for victory, but for loss.
Both were playing not to win, but to fall.
Qin Ling Tian's advantage had long been broken. His "king" in the great chessboard of fate was already captured. To persist now only widened the crack in his mind, threatening to expose him.
Even Feng Jiu, who had not intended to linger, found herself captivated. The spectacle was rare—two living legends, not striving for supremacy, but to determine who would shoulder the greater burden of defeat.
Their strikes grew sharper, their auras darker, yet neither sought the final blow. Instead, they seemed to circle one another, as if testing which of them would falter first.
In truth, both already knew.
For in their original game of chess, Qin Wushuang had technically won… but at the cost of his son. And so neither brother cared for victory now.
Whoever won this battle would lose something greater.
The problem was never them.
The true enemy was the era they were born into.