The morning after the blood-soaked ambush, rumors spread like wildfire. Whispers of masked assassins slain, of silver light flashing in the night, of Feng Xieyun standing bloodied yet unbroken. The Lin Clan's silence only sharpened the rumors into knives.
But in the distant Lian estate, another storm brewed.
The Lian Clan elders gathered in the Hall of Nine Lanterns, their gazes sharp and calculating. At the head sat Lian Yuanzhi, patriarch of the clan, his white beard brushing against his robes as he leaned upon his staff.
"The boy," one elder said. "Feng Xieyun. He grows too quickly. His existence will ignite conflict between clans."
Another replied coldly, "Which is why the Jia Clan has proposed an alliance. Their young master is ambitious… and desires our Zhe'er as his bride."
A hush fell over the chamber.
Lian Yuanzhi's knuckles whitened around his staff. "Zhe'er carries our hope. A marriage to the Jia Clan would shield us from Lin retaliation. Refusing risks the clan's future."
From the shadows beyond the lanterns, Lian Zhe stood silent. Her face was calm, but her eyes burned with quiet resistance. Her heart whispered of another—Feng Xieyun, the boy whose presence stirred her soul in ways she could not explain. A faint, aching voice inside her whispered: He is mine… across lifetimes.
But her elders saw only politics. To them, she was a tool, a bridge of flesh and name.
Far away, unaware of the debate that chained her fate, Feng Xieyun sat alone in meditation. His wounds from the night before throbbed, but it was not the pain that unsettled him—it was the lingering silver glow in his memory, the woman's sorrowful gaze, the words that refused to fade.
Yu… wait for me.
He tried to focus his breathing, cycling Qi through his meridians. But the headache returned, sharper than before. His consciousness lurched—then tore free.
The courtyard dissolved.
His soul rose, pulled upward through veils of darkness until the world below vanished. He stood suspended in a vast expanse of golden light. Floating palaces towered above seas of cloud, rivers of immortal Qi surged like living dragons. The air itself shimmered with power so pure it made his bones ache.
He had never seen this place, yet his soul trembled with recognition.
The Immortal Plane.
But he was not welcome.
A throne loomed in the distance, half-shrouded in shadow. A pressure vast and ancient pressed down upon him, crushing his breath. From that throne, a presence stirred—watching, weighing, waiting.
The System screamed inside his head.
> [Unauthorized resonance detected.]
[Return to mortal plane. NOW.]
Chains lashed around his soul, dragging him back. Yet in the last instant, he saw something beyond the throne—another light, faint but warm, reaching toward him.
Her.
The woman of starlight, the sorrowful voice that haunted him. For a heartbeat, he thought he heard her again—soft, breaking:
"Yu… don't forget me."
Then he was torn from the vision, hurled back into his bleeding body. He gasped, falling forward onto the stone floor, drenched in sweat. His heart thundered.
"The Immortal Plane…" he whispered. His hands shook. "Why did I see it…?"
No answer came. Only the cold System hissed:
> [Focus on hatred. Forget the illusion. Forget her.]
But he could not forget.
And far away, in the Hall of Nine Lanterns, Lian Zhe lifted her gaze toward the heavens, her heart aching with the same unspoken longing.