The drifting lights resembled dandelion seeds, carried aloft by a gentle breeze. They floated through the air, bathed in golden sunlight, scattering brilliance across the sky. Untouched by dust, they drifted straight toward Yao Ranyan.
Yao Ranyan's heart stirred. Her gaze shifted toward Pei Xianqiao and the other two.
The three stood quietly in the corner, as though unknowingly forming a triangle.
Pei Xianqiao stood at the very tip of it.
Her eyes locked on Yao Ranyan, utterly stunned, as if roused from a dream. Shock clung to her brows, disbelief etched into every line of her face.
How could this be…
How could she possibly be alive and standing here?
The memory of that moment when the dim flames engulfed the empty round platform still lingered. The instant Yan Shanyi had erupted with murderous intent, the suffocating killing aura had wrapped everything, as though her own heart had stopped. The terror of it still haunted her.
That kind of power—no matter how desperately she fought—was impossible to withstand.
How could Yan Shanyi have spared Yao Ranyan, choosing instead to pour that evil entity into his own body, allowing Yao Ranyan to live and inherit the position of fortress master?
It was absurd. Beyond absurd.
As Pei Xianqiao's thoughts spiraled, her eyes collided with Yao Ranyan's steady gaze.
In that instant, it was like being struck by lightning. A wild thought surged up within her heart, ridiculous yet disturbingly plausible.
Could it be that Yan Shanyi had fallen for Yao Ranyan's beauty?
The realization struck her with sudden clarity, and her eyes flicked up and down, scrutinizing Yao Ranyan once more.
The first beauty of the Six Lands of Central Continent—how could she have forgotten?
There was no denying it. Yao Ranyan was breathtaking. Even as a woman herself, when she had first met her, she had been so dazzled by that face she had nearly let slip the secret of Elder Shang's presence inside her ring.
Perhaps this was it. In the end, Yan Shanyi had sacrificed himself for her.
Pei Xianqiao's gaze shifted toward Yan Shanyi's remains. His body, corroded by the evil entity, was nothing more than rotting flesh and sludge.
But his slumped neck bone carried a faint, deep fracture.
Suicide.
Yan Shanyi had taken his own life.
Pei Xianqiao's mind conjured the scene: the round platform trembling under the dim ghostly fire, Yao Ranyan caught in betrayal, tears falling like shattered pearls, stunningly fragile, stirring even Yan Shanyi's hardened heart. How could he bear to let such a body be consumed into pulp?
So he had severed his own throat, taken in the evil entity himself, and left behind his last words.
"What's heroine thinking? It seems the others can't see these lights at all."
Yao Ranyan caught a glimpse of Pei Xianqiao knocking her own head while shaking it, leaving her slightly puzzled.
What exactly were these lights for?
Was this the thing the master behind Yan Family Fortress had sought so desperately?
Pei Xianqiao, however, was lost within her own delusion.
Aside from that face, what ability did Yao Ranyan have to survive even a single strike from Yan Shanyi?
No cultivation to speak of. No weapon to rely on.
Even in a sneak attack, it would have been impossible for her to approach Yan Shanyi, let alone strike him fatally in one blow.
So no matter how absurd, Pei Xianqiao clung to her imagined explanation.
Mu Jialing also noticed the fatal wound that had ended Yan Shanyi.
But his thoughts differed slightly.
As a Buddhist cultivator, it was easy for him to sense the shift in everyone's attitude toward Yao Ranyan.
Especially the loose cultivators.
The reverence in their eyes was painfully genuine.
To see Yao Ranyan step down from that altar unharmed, fragile yet unbroken, while Yan Shanyi lay dead before the statue, was like witnessing a miracle. She had become that miracle, an object of faith, gathering believers within Yan Family Fortress.
The fear Yan Shanyi and the fortress had instilled in them was immense. The deeper that fear, the stronger their newfound faith.
They had long been desperate for hope, and now Fairy Yao appeared, Yan Shanyi fell, and the hope they had longed for was born.
Mu Jialing stood quietly, chin slightly raised, the porcelain-like skin of his neck gleaming faintly. His light brown eyes, like amber filled with sunlight, held a noble calm as he gazed at the flawless woman atop the altar.
Yao Ranyan blinked and withdrew her gaze.
Of the three, only Yu Zhenyan's thoughts were clear to her.
As for Pei Xianqiao and Mu Jialing, one was strange, the other pure as snow. Their hearts remained veiled.
She decided not to dwell on it.
Her time was already running short.
Elder Yang had fled. Yan Shanyi was dead. The master behind them all would not remain silent. At any moment, he could strike.
The dandelion-like lights streamed into her body as she looked down from the altar at the crowd below. Their worship was so devout it was hard to tell whether they bowed to her or to the Buddha statue.
…
An endless darkness fell, as if the entire night sky had pressed down, suffocating all life into silence.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sound of water striking stone echoed in the dark.
Scattered yellow starlight flickered like fireflies, drifting across the void, glimmering upon thick streams of dark green liquid.
But the skin gleamed with golden light.
Suddenly, a pair of eyes opened.
The starlight sank into them, and a single green tear slid down those sorrowful eyes.
"My believers… all dead?"
A colossal figure rose, chains of countless bindings shattering as he stood. A faint white light shot across the void. A massive hand struck it down, and within his pupils appeared the fleeing figure of Elder Yang.
"My believers… someone has tampered with them…"
Rustling roared outside the plaza as the divine Jianmu Tree, silent for tens of thousands of years, shivered and lashed its branches wildly. He had waited all these endless ages, only for the moment of harvest to be stolen.
From behind the colossal tree, a pair of mournful, merciful eyes opened, hazed with golden mist, gazing down upon the mortals below.
Wind howled. Leaves tore free and scattered. Robes whipped violently as if caught in a storm.
Hair tossed wildly, the crowd lifted their heads in dazed terror.
"That… that is…"
Someone collapsed on the spot, stammering, unable to form words.
Mu Jialing moved like a phantom, his body rising into the air to meet the gaze of those divine eyes.
"Master Mingzhi…?"
The name caught in his throat, his voice heavy with awe and sorrow.
At last he pressed his palms together, a sigh escaping him. "Amitabha…"
He could no longer deceive himself.
When the golden statue of Master Mingzhi received their reverence, he should have known. He was deeply tied to this matter.
"You are not the Heaven-born Fózǐ."
The merciful eyes closed in disappointment.
The world dimmed. Gales howled. The divine Jianmu Tree thrashed its branches, moaning in a low, mournful wail.
Clouds of gray and yellow choked the skies. Within them, the rain keened with sorrow. Only the divine Jianmu Tree glowed bright in the suffocating dark.
The loose cultivators trembled in terror, sweat pouring, eyes turning lifeless gray.
Yet the people of Yan Family Fortress smiled faintly, turned in unison, and bowed to the tree.