Three years passed in the blink of an eye.
To the world, three years was nothing more than the steady turning of seasons, the rise and fall of kingdoms, and the endless cycle of life and death. But to Tai Jian, those years stretched like an eternity—each day a blade that cut deeper into his soul.
He had tried every method possible to revive her, every technique he could remember, every forbidden art he could dare touch. And yet, Tie Hongchen remained cold, silent, and motionless.
His hair had begun to turn gray, yet his face retained the youth of a man untouched by time. On the surface, he appeared calm and unperturbed, as if nothing in the world could shake him. But his eyes betrayed him. Those dark pupils, once sharp enough to pierce the hearts of his enemies, now carried within them the weight of endless vicissitudes.
Not even the passing years could lessen the pain in his heart.
He had preserved Tie Hongchen's body and refused to bury her. Her wounds had long been healed by his hand; her skin flawless once more. Yet no warmth lingered, no breath stirred. She was gone. And still, he kept her near, as though refusing to consign her to the earth would tether her soul to him.
It was in these years of silence that the voice first came.
"Tai Jian… you are a coward. You watched your woman die, and you could do nothing. You know the one responsible, yet you remain here, shackled by fear. When you meet her on the other side, how will you explain your weakness? You are no savior. You are nothing but a coward."
The words slithered into him like venom.
To outsiders, it seemed as though Tai Jian had withdrawn from the world to escape reality, but the truth was crueler. He had not hidden away because of others. He feared himself.
He feared the abyss yawning within his chest. He feared the voice—the inner demon—that whispered of slaughter, urging him to bathe the continent in blood. He knew the cost of surrendering to it. A massacre would follow, and though his hatred burned for the man who had taken Tie Hongchen's life, he knew she would never want him to drown the world in darkness for her sake.
Yet only Tai Jian knew the truth: he did not belong to the light.
For a fleeting moment, Tie Hongchen had shone into his life with a brilliance so blinding he had dared to dream of staying in that light. But the dream shattered. Hope died. And in his arms, he carried only her corpse.
Even then, he clung to one final thread of hope. He had sensed it—an inexplicable vitality radiating faintly from her body. That fragile spark gave him reason not to let go, not to bury her, not yet.
But hope was cruel.
Chains clinked around his ankles whenever he moved. Tai Jian had forged shackles of his own making, binding himself to his mansion. It was not enemies he feared escaping to strike—it was himself. Whenever the inner demon pressed harder, whenever bloodlust swelled, the chains ensured he would never leave these walls to stain the world.
And so, three years of torment passed.
But what Tai Jian did not know was that the faint vitality he felt was not his imagination. Feng Jiu had been watching. The phoenix had hidden herself in the shadows, tending silently to him as he wrestled with despair. She had discovered what Tai Jian could not—that Tie Hongchen had died carrying a child.
To preserve it, Feng Jiu had offered her own essence, her phoenix blood, nurturing the unborn life within the dead vessel of the mother. It was a burden that cost her greatly, a sacrifice she bore in silence. For three years she carried that duty, watching Tai Jian fall and rise against himself, again and again.
Then, one fateful day, the silence was broken.
A child's cry split the air.
The mansion, long haunted by stillness and despair, trembled with the sound of new life. For the first time in three years, Tai Jian's face changed. His lips curved upward, awkward at first, then steady, blooming into a pure and genuine smile.
Even Feng Jiu, concealed in the shadows, was dazed. She had guarded him for three years and had never once seen him smile, not even when he failed to take his own life. His face had been a mask of indifference, his eyes void of tears. And now, at the cry of a child, he was reborn.
The child became his tether.
His chains remained, but their weight grew lighter. He battled the voice still, but his strength grew. From binding his arms, neck, and legs in desperate fear of his inner demon, he now only kept shackles on his legs. The darkness within him was no longer winning.
At last, Tai Jian lifted the child in his arms and stepped toward the door.
It groaned open, spilling sunlight into the mansion for the first time in years. His hair was long and disheveled, his beard wild and unkempt. Few would have recognized him as the same man. But as the warmth of the sun touched him, he felt the weight of three years melt away.
Still, as his foot hovered on the threshold, the voice returned.
"Do you think you can escape me? I am you, Tai Jian. I am your hatred, your cowardice, your despair. You cannot cast me aside. You will always be mine. A coward, as always."
The voice was weaker now, but persistent.
Tai Jian closed his eyes, his grip on the child steady. For the first time, he spoke directly to it. His voice was cold, firm, resolute.
"My body is mine."
The words struck like thunder. In his consciousness, he stood face to face with his inner demon—a twisted reflection of himself, eyes burning with malice.
This time, Tai Jian did not turn away.
He seized the demon by the throat, lifting it as if it weighed nothing. Its eyes widened in shock.
"I could have destroyed you long ago," Tai Jian said, his tone calm, steady. "But I let you remain, because you were useful. You reminded me of the abyss. You reminded me of what I must never become. But now—"
He twisted its neck. Bones cracked. The figure convulsed, then began to disintegrate, fragments of shadow peeling away into nothingness. Its final scream was swallowed by silence.
When Tai Jian opened his eyes again, the world was quiet. For the first time in years, his heart was clear.
And so, he took the final step.
Outside, Xue Kai stood faithfully at his post, as he had for three years. He had never once abandoned his guard, not even when all others had given up hope. When he saw Tai Jian step out with a child in his arms, his breath caught.
Tai Jian paused, glancing back at the mansion. For a moment, in the doorway, he thought he saw Tie Hongchen standing there, smiling and waving gently. His heart tightened. He reached out instinctively, but she vanished before his hand could touch her.
A faint smile touched his lips. He closed the doors, leaving the intricate mechanisms unlocked. Her body remained inside, preserved, untouchable to all but him. As long as she lay there, he would guard her still.
Turning, he walked toward Xue Kai.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting so long," Tai Jian said, his voice quiet but steady.
Xue Kai's eyes grew misty. For three years, he had not seen his master. And though Tai Jian looked worn, disheveled, and changed, there was something in his gaze now—calm, mature, and unshakable.
"As long as you are fine, master," Xue Kai said with a bow.
And for the first time in three years, Tai Jian believed those words.
Tai Jian let out a long breath, the chains around his ankles clinking softly as though echoing his release. He glanced once more at the child in his arms.
The baby's eyes opened for the first time—dark, luminous, and impossibly steady for a newborn. A faint aura flickered around the tiny form, an echo of Tie Hongchen's grace mixed with something older, deeper. For an instant, Tai Jian thought he saw strands of fiery-gold light weaving across the child's skin before they vanished as quickly as they appeared.
Xue Kai noticed too. His eyes widened. "Master… this child—"
But Tai Jian shook his head, his expression calm yet unreadable. "He is mine. And hers."
Unseen to them, Feng Jiu stood high above in the drifting clouds, watching silently. Her gaze lingered on the infant, and for the first time in many years, a solemn weight clouded her eyes.
This child… born of death, nourished by phoenix blood, and tied to the karma of two eras. He will either become a pillar of hope… or the greatest calamity beneath the heavens.
Her figure dissolved into the wind, leaving no trace.
Meanwhile, Tai Jian stepped forward, the child cradled securely against his chest. The doors to the mansion shut softly behind him, sealing the past within its walls.
For the first time in three years, Tai Jian did not look back.
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