Elder Ye led them through the great hall, beneath the vast golden canopy of the Ancient Golden Tree, until they reached the Sea God Pavilion—the second largest and most sacred chamber within Shrek Academy, second only to the tree's heart itself.
Inside, the air felt ancient, thick with spiritual energy and the weight of countless years of history. Elder Ye sat down slowly in an old rocking chair at the center, still cradling the lifeless child in his arms.
When everyone had gathered, he lifted his gaze toward them—his cloudy eyes calm, but filled with an emotion none could name. It was the kind of look one gives when seeing something for the last time.
"Elder Ye," Yun Ming said urgently, "do we need to prepare anything? Tell us—precious herbs, rare metals, soul beast cores—whatever it is, I can get it immediately."
Elder Ye smiled faintly, his expression serene. "No need. There's nothing to prepare. I can do it alone."
Another elder, voice trembling, asked, "Elder Ye… could you please tell us what you intend to do? How can the child be saved?"
A heavy silence followed. Then Elder Ye sighed. "It's a cruel truth," he said softly, "but this child is already beyond saving—unless a miracle occurs."
"What!?" several elders exclaimed at once. Even Yun Ming froze, his mind blank from disbelief.
"Silence!" Elder Ye's voice thundered through the room, sharper than a blade. "Let me finish."
He paused, his eyes sweeping across each of them before he continued, "You all know of Sacrifice, don't you? The act that only a hundred-thousand-year soul beast can perform. A miracle of life itself."
The room went utterly still.
"If a soul master receives such a Sacrifice," Elder Ye continued, "they gain not only a hundred-thousand-year soul ring and soul bone, but their very essence is nourished and reborn. Their body, their spirit, their soul power—all elevated beyond measure. Because at its core, a Sacrifice is the ultimate form of nurturing—a being giving its everything to grant life and strength to another."
He stopped, taking a slow breath, the words heavy with meaning. None dared to interrupt this time.
Then, with eyes that burned brighter than they had in years, he said quietly, "Have any of you ever wondered… what would happen if a human were to perform such a Sacrifice? If a soul master could give their life essence, their soul, their everything—to nurture another human being?"
Gasps filled the room. Before anyone could respond, a gentle light began to rise from Elder Ye's hand.
His Martial Soul—a magnificent purple flower brimming with life—
materialized above his palm, radiating soft, pulsing vitality. The petals trembled, then slowly floated upward, hovering above his head as if it, too, understood what was about to come.
The elders could only stare—stunned, speechless, hearts trembling—as the truth of Elder Ye's intent began to dawn upon them.
The Nine Heart Begonia.
A murmur of recognition rippled through the gathered elders as they beheld the radiant purple flower floating above Elder Ye's head. Its petals shimmered with a soft, life-filled glow—pure, gentle, yet impossibly powerful.
It was a unique martial soul, one that possessed only a single soul skill—Healing. Unlike other martial souls that evolved with each soul ring, the Nine Heart Begonia gained no new abilities. No matter what kind of soul beast's ring was absorbed, only that same healing skill would manifest.
Yet, with each ring, its healing power increased exponentially, surpassing the limits of ordinary understanding. It was said that the Nine Heart Begonia could mend any wound, restore shattered limbs, even pull someone back from the brink of death.
But its gift came with a cruel restriction—it could not replenish a person's physical strength or soul power. The body might heal, but the soul would still need time to recover. Even miracles demanded a price.
The air grew heavy as realization dawned upon the elders.
One of them finally spoke, his voice trembling.
"C-could it be… Elder Ye intends to sacrifice himself?"
Gasps echoed across the room. Several elders stepped forward instinctively, disbelief and dread etched across their faces.
Elder Ye did not respond. The flower above his head glowed brighter, its light gentle yet resolute—like the calm before a storm.
The moment the purple flower floated into the air, a surge of energy rippled through the hall.
One after another, soul rings rose from beneath Elder Ye's feet—six deep black, three blazing crimson. The colors pulsed with unfathomable power, marking his lifetime of battle, mastery, and sacrifice.
Gasps filled the room. Nine rings. Every single one at the peak of its level.
Then, under Elder Ye's will, the rings began to rise—slowly merging into the glowing Nine Heart Begonia above his head.
A low hum filled the air as the old man spoke, his voice steady despite his weakening body.
"As a healer, I've always been fascinated by the soul beasts' act of Sacrifice—a miracle of life, born from death itself. I could never forget it… so, I studied it. For decades… for centuries. And in the end, I found a way."
The rings continued to dissolve, their radiance flowing into the flower like streams of molten light. The Nine Heart Begonia pulsed brighter with each ring it absorbed, swelling larger and larger until its enormous petals filled half the hall, glowing with an ethereal brilliance.
Elder Ye's breathing grew shallow, but his eyes burned with purpose.
"But… this power has limits," he continued, his voice rough and trembling. "Not all can perform it. Only those who have reached the peak of their cultivation, and whose martial soul is both plant-type and focused on healing, can attempt such a thing. Only then… can a human Sacrifice truly save another life."
By now, the final crimson ring had merged completely. The massive flower radiated with pure life and vitality, waves of energy surging through the entire chamber like a living tide. The elders could feel their own souls stirring, their life force invigorated—yet, at the same time, they could feel Elder Ye's fading rapidly.
His once-bright face turned pale, his body trembling as golden flames—his life essence—began to burn upon his skin.
"You all must remember this…" Elder Ye said, his voice now faint but unyielding. "Sacrifice is not only a way to save, but also to destroy. If a combat-type soul master were to burn their life essence, even for an instant, their strength could soar beyond imagination. Life and death… are merely two sides of the same path."
He raised the child high in his trembling hands.
In that instant, an invisible force surged from the flower. The infant's body lifted gently from Elder Ye's arms, floating upward, weightless, until it came to rest above the enormous bloom.
Elder Ye's eyes softened. "Go… live well," he whispered.
Then, pouring the last of his soul power into the Begonia, he unleashed everything. The colossal petals began to close, curling inward until the baby was completely enveloped within a cocoon of luminous light.
The room erupted in brilliance—gold, purple, and crimson intertwining like a divine flame.
And as the flower sealed shut, Elder Ye's body grew still. His aura flickered like a dying ember, even as the room overflowed with the power of life itself.
Although Elder Ye's body had fallen still, the Nine Heart Begonia continued to glow softly in the air, bathed in a gentle, otherworldly radiance. Life essence still flowed from it—quiet, steady, and pure—as if his will refused to fade even in death.
The vast flower pulsed with rhythm, each wave of light releasing warmth and vitality that spread through the chamber like the breath of spring. Its glow dimmed gradually, not from exhaustion, but from fulfillment—each pulse sending another thread of life into the child within.
Minutes stretched into an hour.
The once-grand blossom, large enough to fill half the hall, had now shrunk to a size barely covering the infant's body. Through the translucent petals, one could faintly see the silhouette of the child—and hear, at long last, a fragile but steady heartbeat.
Thump… thump…
Gasps of relief escaped the attendants and elders alike. Ya Li clasped Yun Ming's trembling hand, tears of disbelief glistening in her eyes.
Then, the petals began to unfurl.
A brilliant light bloomed from within as the Begonia slowly opened, each petal peeling back with a whisper, releasing waves of warm fragrance into the air.
There, resting at its heart, was the child—no longer pale and lifeless, but vibrant and serene. His tiny chest rose and fell softly. His once-fragile skin now glowed with a healthy blush, and his fine hair had grown thick and lustrous, cascading like silk. It was black as ink, but under the light shimmered faint streaks of hazel gold, crowning his head like a halo.
The child's features were so delicate that, at first glance, he could be mistaken for a girl—his eyelashes long, his expression peaceful. Yet, there was no doubt he was a boy, born under both sorrow and miracle.
The glowing Begonia hovered one last time above him—its petals trembling gently, almost as if bidding farewell. Then, it turned transparent, dissolving into countless motes of light that drifted toward the child's body.
The light sank slowly into his skin, disappearing without a trace—except for one mark.
On the baby's back, a crystal-like flower imprint appeared, faintly luminous, pulsing with life energy—the eternal proof of Elder Ye's sacrifice.
Yun Ming, who had been silently observing the miracle unfold, finally took a slow step forward. His trembling hands reached toward the floating infant, and as his fingertips brushed the child's soft skin, the gentle radiance surrounding the baby dimmed, allowing him to cradle the small body in his arms.
The moment the baby touched his warmth, the child instinctively curled up, nestling against his chest as though seeking the heartbeat that once called him back from the brink of death. Yun Ming's arms tightened slightly, his lips quivering as a long-held breath escaped him—a sigh filled with both relief and awe.
Ya Li stepped closer, her eyes still red from tears. With a tender motion, she placed her hands over Yun Ming's, gently supporting the small form between them. When she looked down at the child's peaceful face, her tears flowed freely once again—but this time, they carried joy instead of despair. A smile, soft yet trembling, bloomed on her lips.
Around them, the elders finally exhaled in unison. The room that had once been filled with cries of grief was now steeped in a quiet, sacred calm. Joy mingled with sorrow—the birth of one life had demanded the passing of another.
"Yun Ming," one of the elders spoke softly, breaking the silence, "how shall we name the child?"
Yun Ming turned his gaze toward Ya Li, who was gazing at their newborn with love and exhaustion, then slowly shifted his eyes to where Elder Ye's body lay—motionless, yet surrounded by the faint remnants of the Nine Heart Begonia's glow.
He knelt down with the baby still in his arms. Ya Li followed beside him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder.
With solemn reverence, Yun Ming placed his free hand on the cold ground and bowed deeply three times before Elder Ye's body.
His voice, though steady, carried a tremor that echoed through every corner of the hall.
"Although this child was born from us," he said, "it is Elder Ye Xian who gave him life. Without his sacrifice, we would have lost him forever."
He lifted his head, eyes firm yet moist.
"From this day forth, he shall bear Elder Ye's name. The child's name will be—Yun Xian."
As his words fell, the hall grew still. Every elder lowered their head in silent respect. The soft golden light that lingered in the air seemed to flicker one last time—like a spirit's smile of contentment—before fading into eternity.