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Chapter Text

The underground stairs leading to the water prison were made of a wet, slippery material, each footstep echoing in the dim light, a sound that spread through the halls until it reached Shen Jiu's ears. 

Shen Jiu could barely look up without wrinkling his entire face in pain. His core, refined years ago, was now nothing more than a shadow of what it had been. He was no longer a cultivator, not even a common civilian. He felt less than that, without an iota of Qi in his lower dantian, like an empty body, a shell that only carried its own suffering. 

The years of confinement had marked him deeply. His body, now emaciated, seemed to consume his own bones. The few who survived the torments of the little beast felt broken, worn down by time and suffering. His face, once smooth and defiant, was now furrowed by wrinkles at the sides of his mouth and forehead, as if pain had carved it.  Without his cultivation, he was no longer that immortal master with a stern face and sharp gaze. Now, he was just an old man with broken bones, a shadow of his former self.

How the mighty have fallen.

The small footsteps echoed throughout the dungeon, Shen Jiu recognized those hesitant steps from years ago. A head peeked through the door of his prison. Black eyes looked everywhere before he entered timidly. The food tray in his young hands trembled a little, but before Shen Jiu's conservative eye, he quickly recovered.

The son of the little beast stood in front of him, displaying all his demonic splendor. His black eyes, as deep as an endless well, and his curly hair were practically copies of those of the little beast, except for those elongated ears, which denoted his kinship with that demonic wife who possessed the beast (Hua-something, Shen Jiu thought, he no longer remembered many details).

That boy's visits dated back to years ago, when Shen Jiu still maintained his will to survive this ordeal. The boy had appeared one day, and ever since then, he kept coming, leaving him food and talking as if there was no tomorrow. 

“Good morning, Immortal Master Shen. The wind is colder than usual today, perhaps it's because Mobei Jun is visiting the palace.” The little beast's son whispered the last part worriedly, biting his lip as he bent down to mix the rice with the sweet and sour sauce. “I hope my father is busy enough with the affairs of the north that he won't disturb us. He'd be grumpy if he found out I came down here.”

The boy brings a spoonful of rice to his mouth, massaging his throat as he notices Shen Jiu's difficulties in swallowing. It was almost a routine. 

“Lately, my father has been more unbalanced than ever.”  I heard from the thirteenth wife, Ping Xihua, that she ordered the extermination of the Huo clan just because they had green eyes.” The boy wiped the corner of his lips with a handkerchief. Shen Jiu noticed how his gaze fell on his single eye, and he instantly looked away to the other end of the cell. “The talk with the boy is always like this, starting with telling him about the weather and then expressing his personal concerns regarding his father. Shen Jiu also feels that the boy is warning him about the little beast’s temper in this way. It’s comforting in a fucked up way.

But today feels different. Shen Jiu knows it; his instinct is screaming for something, but he can’t quite grasp what.

The boy sets the tray down on the dirty floor. His hands, white as the moon and delicate as cotton, are stained by the humidity of the air. “I brought something new today. From the notes kept on Father’s desk, I know you like sweet things. I brought a small snack that is easy to eat.”

The boy takes out of his changshan a small bowl wrapped in a cloth bag. “It’s not much. With the regulations that Consort Ning imposed to prevent poisoning in the kitchens, it was somewhat difficult for me to smuggle this in.” The boy lets out a small giggle; his fangs are elongated enough to tear someone’s throat. “But I was able to use my position to ask for some niángāo. Here, it’s delicious.”

Shen Jiu only opens his mouth when the boy brings the spoon closer to his face. The boy is right, it is delicious and easy to swallow;  He feels the brown sugar melting on his palate.

They are both silent this time: Shen Jiu eats as best he can, and the boy watches him intently. Shen Jiu takes advantage of this moment of peace; he knows that as soon as the boy leaves the cell, the little beast will soon come to throw his tantrums.

The boy puts the bowl down on the tray where the other dishes are when Shen Jiu finally takes the last bite. He soon lifts his legs off the hard floor, looking at Shen Jiu with those attentive eyes he has had since he came down to his cell.

“… I, Mm,” the boy looks doubtful, biting his lips as he looks away from Shen Jiu’s pathetic body and towards the dungeon stairs. “I have recently awakened my heavenly demon blood. Father has praised me because I am more of his than my mother’s clan. I have more Luo blood than anything else.”

Shen Jiu looks at the boy silently, his single eye blinking tiredly at the boy’s nervousness.

The boy lets out a sigh and steels himself, looking at Shen Jiu with determination. “Father’s notes not only included your likes and dislikes, but also how to control the demon blood to kill you for good.” The boy grabs the knife that was on the tray, and his fingers, which were previously immaculate, are stained with that dark demon blood.

“Immortal master Shen, I hold you in high regard. And for all the regard I hold for you, please allow this one to end the suffering my father imposes on you.”  His time to serve his sentence has come to an end. — The boy kneels beside him, his black eyes looking like a starry sky, just like his father when he was still his disciple. 

Shen Jiu can only nod his head, a soft nod of confirmation was all the boy needed to put the cut on his hand into Shen Jiu's mouth. 

The hot blood runs down his throat like boiling lava, Shen Jiu couldn't care less and continues drinking until the boy pulls his hand away. 

Soon, Shen Jiu feels a change in his body. He feels how the boy's blood and that of the little beast fight to dominate him. Fire against fire, battling inside him. 

The boy is in the lotus position. The sweat on his face becomes more evident as the minutes pass, and without a doubt his father is giving him battle. 

Time seems to become eternal, but finally everything calms down inside him. The son defeats the father, and with that, Shen Jiu's miserable life is left in the hands of the boy. 

"It is done, immortal master Shen.  I will direct my heavenly blood into your dantian right now.” The boy places his hands in a strange sign, probably to control the blood within Shen Jiu’s body.

Shen Jiu shifts from the ground, trying to articulate the sentence he had wanted to say for so long. His throat, dry as a desert, burns when the words finally come out.

"...Your... N-name." His voice, hoarse from disuse, comes out with a frightening sound, like the scraping of a knife against a plate. Shen Jiu watches as the boy inhales deeply, probably surprised; Shen Jiu had never made the effort to try to talk to him in their encounters. 

"This one's name?" The boy asks, with a questioning tone, and seeing the eye half-closed due to sleep, he smiles sadly. "This one is called Luo QingJiu." Shen Jiu only nods tiredly, keeping the name in his heart. 

"May he find the peace he has longed for in his death, immortal master Shen." The boy slowly approached his face, his delicate fingers gently closing his only eye, a silent sign to finally rest, to leave this hell. 

The soft fingers cradle his face and Shen Jiu, lost in the mist of his mind, is unable to register the voice of the little beast desperately shouting his name. 

The gentle fingers cupped his face, and Shen Jiu, lost in the haze of his mind, was unable to register Luo Binghe's voice desperately calling out his name.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐

Living and dying, for Shen Jiu, were the same concepts, devoid of meaning.

Living under the yoke of a sect, bound by a promise of loyalty to someone who was once his brother in everything except blood... all so that, over time, that same person would become overprotective, but would not hesitate to believe the worst of him in the slightest circumstance.

Living, for Shen Jiu, was the same as being chained. Going from the slavery of a master to that of a cultivation sect was nothing more than a change of chains.

And death, which seemed to come after decades of endless torture at the hands of a silly little beast, was only the end of a cycle that would never change. That beast could not understand that he would never be the loving master he had longed for, no matter how many tortures he tried.

Everything was so... the same, so opaque and inconsequential. In the end, he lived like a slave and died like one.

Shen Jiu, locked in the Qiu Mansion's shed, could only sneer bitterly, letting the sneer seep into his thoughts, like a slow poison.

What was left for him but this empty mockery, seeping out of his being like a shadow? He had been tortured for decades, torn apart and humiliated again and again, until his very soul had stopped seeking survival. Life had torn everything from him, and now, even death seemed like a cruel joke to him. He had learned to survive pain, but not the absence of hope. There was nothing left but this eternal pain and the indifference of the world. No screams, no tears, no regrets... only silence.

What was the point of going back? What was the point of reliving it all, going through the same torment once again? He was exhausted, with no strength to fight, to survive only to discover, in the end, that he was nothing. That his effort, his sacrifice, amounted to nothing more than dust in the wind.

Immortal Master, he thought bitterly.  A cruel joke, a lie disguised as honor. No one had ever seen it for what it was. Only rumors, betrayals, and the shadow of a lie woven by those who were once his fellow sect members. All his power, all his sacrifice, reduced to nothing.

Shen Jiu could only stare at the deteriorating roof of the shed, his empty gaze fixed on the cracks that ran through it. He knew he could escape effortlessly. He could evade his horrible first master, he could join the sect again with his cultivation reaching its peak, and he could be better than he was before. But for what?

Going back meant facing the scorn again, the gazes filled with distrust. It meant being the scum everyone wished to tear down, the easy target for their criticism and disdain. Going back meant hearing Qi-ge's same excuses, his empty words, repeating over and over the same story of false repentance and broken promises. Was it worth it?

He was fed up.  Sick of surviving without actually living.

How easy it would be to bite his tongue and choke on his own blood, to release that inner pressure once and for all. How easy it would be to provoke Qiu Jianluo, to have him beat him until it was all over. And ultimately, how easy it would be to undo his golden core, to drag everyone who lived here with him in his downfall, to end it all, once and for all.

Shen Jiu raises his wrist above his face, his eyes fixed on the time-scarred hand. Every scar, every bruise, every torn nail told a story of suffering, of a pain that could not be erased. The veins, now visible beneath his skin, peeked out in a pearly blue hue, as if life itself had become intertwined with the traces of his past.

The scars that had once been erased by his advancement in cultivation now lay proudly, like medals of the suffering he had endured. They decorated his palms, showing the world the indelible marks of a life marked by slavery and torment.

He looks at the smallest scar of all, the one he gave himself when he was still Xiao Jiu, a street child, with nothing but his wits to survive. A sigh of sadness crossed his mind as he recalled how he had given it to himself. It was only a small wound, but back then, the pain felt deep, almost unbearable.

And then he remembered Jiejie, sweet Jiejie, whose tenderness had been like a balm to his wounded soul. He remembered how the young girl had healed him with a gentleness that seemed straight out of a dream, as if the world were a kind and hopeful place… Something that, soon after, would be torn from his life with the same violence with which fate had marked him.

"Someday we will escape this hell. We will be free and we will travel all over the world. Be patient, Xiao Jiu."

She had said those words to him with such great longing, that her brown eyes shone like a sun that promised a future full of possibilities. Shen Jiu, with his heavy heart, did not have the courage to tell her the truth: that for slaves, for those of her condition, freedom was only an unrealizable dream. An empty promise that could never be fulfilled.

In the end, she had been sold to one of the cheapest pleasure houses, a fate that not even his sweet words of hope could prevent. And not long after, she died.  A disease, a plague passed on to her by a disgusting bastard, ended the life that still shone with such longing. A cruel fate, which robbed her of her light as quickly as the world had erased her dreams.

Shen Jiu caressed the small scar, gently rubbing the tissue. Traveling the world, he thought, his fingers tracing the mark as if trying to understand its meaning. He had never considered something so trivial. His responsibilities as a peak lord kept him trapped, without the freedom to travel as he pleased, as a certain Shidi did. The duty of organizing classes, attending endless meetings, sorting out missions, and plotting strategies was what had dominated his days, with almost no room for anything else. 

Traveling and exploring the world for his own pleasure was not something that entered his vocabulary. It was an alien concept, as if it existed only for others, not for him. His days, dictated by duty and responsibility, left no room for such frivolities. Every mission, every meeting, every class he had to teach kept him tied to his role as peak lord. There was no time for empty dreams. 

But… what if it did?  What if he just went with the flow of destiny, with no ties other than those he himself decided to take on? What if he stripped himself of everything, if he stopped being Shen Qingqiu, the lord of Qing Jing Peak, and became just Shen Jiu, the simple traveler? Without titles, without obligations, without the burden of the world on his shoulders. A being with no purpose other than to live. Would it be possible?

Shen Jiu knows that he has always been a selfish creature. Someone who seeks more, with the constant need to fill the void left by his past, regardless of the consequences. The fear of losing the little he has drives him to take more, even if it means stepping on others along the way.

A sect, a position in the world of cultivation, are nothing next to true freedom.

Shen Jiu lowers his hand, and an explosion of clarity arises in his chest. That something he knows so well: the weight he has always carried, the need for something beyond the ties.  Freedom is not in power, nor in control, nor in loyalty to a sect. Freedom is in him, in being able to walk unburdened, in being just Shen Jiu. No title, no duty, no obligation will define him anymore. His very existence is enough. He is enough.

Shen Jiu bites his finger until blood flows, the sharp, familiar sensation running through his skin. With terrifying calm, he traces the seals on his hip, each stroke firm, each symbol with clear purpose. Red blood mixes with flesh, like a silent oath.

It is time to escape.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐ 

Leaving the shed was easy; lighting a small fire, even easier. Shen Jiu looks at his first cell, his gaze cold with detachment, void of emotion. Never again.

The Qiu mansion stands as a temple of oppression, where hundreds of slaves shuffle through the halls, children stolen from the streets or torn from the arms of desperate mothers, girls who have been sold to feed their families. Human beings who know nothing beyond the weight of the tattoos on their necks, numbers that seal their fate, marks that define their condition, their lives reduced to mere objects.

Slaves. Slaves. Slaves.

But even those children carry that need, that thirst for freedom. And Shen Jiu was going to calm it. This would be the last gift from Shen Jiu, slave nine, to the Qiu family.

His steps are silent, worthy of the Lord of Qing Jing Peak he once was. His body moves with the lethal grace of a snow leopard: deadly and dangerous.

He grabs everything of value, stuffing it into a cloth bag. Jade vases, ostentatiously displayed gemstones, beautifully painted pictures... everything that shines with the sparkle of wealth.

Soon he reaches the corral where the slaves are packed together like animals, cramped and dirty. Some huddle together, trying to endure the cold of the night, while others sleep among the sheep and pigs.

Shen Jiu, with a light pressure of Qi, opens the padlock on the door, breaking it into hundreds of pieces. Many slaves wake up startled by the loud padlock falling to the floor. Clever little things.

Shen Jiu looked at the dirty, beaten children, at the girls who looked at him suspiciously, trying to shrink from the intensity of his green gaze. His eyes scanned the men, who watched him with dull curiosity, most nursing the whip wounds on their backs and forearms.

A disgusting and totally out of place smile began to stretch on his lips, making his face transform into something undoubtedly cynical and horrible.

"Hey, does anyone want to leave here?"

Silence reigned for a moment, only broken by the sound of labored breathing, hesitant glances, and the echoes of an uncertain future. The bewildered slaves didn't know what to think. Was it a trap? A cruel taunt? But something in Shen Jiu's voice, in the way his energy felt like a storm about to break loose, made them doubt their fears. His eyes sparkled with a spark of unknown hope, fear fighting against a desperate need to escape. 

A few voices began to rise, and the Qiu mansion's corral filled with palpable tension. Shen Jiu knew that he was about to free not only bodies, but trapped souls, condemned, but no longer. In that instant, he would be the chaos that would destroy everything so that they could be free. 

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐ 

The thing about the traditional model of the Liang dynasty was that for its survival, slaves were important. They were a mandatory entity in the empire, something that had to be there and not be missing.

The sky was blue and slaves existed. They were that indispensable.

Without slaves, who would carry out the orders of these powerful families? Who would wash their clothes, take care of their houses, till and sow their fields? No one.

Without slaves, the powerful nobles would only have gold, but they would have no one to fulfill their whims, no one to take care of their houses, no one to transport their goods. And without that free labor, their fortune would vanish in a few years. The workers of the lower classes required large sums of taels per month, a considerable amount that their coffers would not be willing to spend. In contrast, a slave, bought only once, cost only a few copper coins, but his life and work were given forever.  In this way, the cycle of wealth of the nobles depended on the oppression and exploitation of those who had no voice or vote.

Imagine hundreds of slaves, working from sun to sun, without rest or food, forced to serve a noble whose wealth grows day by day. The noble does not have to spend a single tael on trivialities like paying fifteen slaves to arrange his damn furniture, because he has them at his disposal for nothing more than a couple of copper coins. All he needs is the constant exploitation of those lives.

Now, imagine that, instead, those slaves were replaced by lower-class people, yes, but who, under the protection of the empire, enjoy autonomy and receive a minimum wage. A wage that gives them the dignity of being treated as humans, that gives them the opportunity to choose whether to work or not, and above all, that gives them the right to live, even if it is with little, but at least with the possibility of deciding their destiny.

The stupid noble lord would declare bankruptcy within a few months, because he has neither the education nor the ability to manage so many employees, or rather, the lack of them.  For this society, slaves are not just a luxury or an option, they are indispensable, a key piece for the functioning of the traditional model. They are the foundation on which their power, their wealth, their dominance is built.

And Shen Jiu knows this very well.

As he also knows that tattoos are not there just to mark property. They are much more than that. They are a control mechanism, a guarantee of obedience. Tattoos are not mere marks; they are seals created by the 'righteous cultivators', designed to mark those this society deems without rights. A seal that works like an electric shock, punishing every infraction, every act of disobedience. And, worst of all, they are locator seals, ensuring that masters always know where their property is located, wherever they are.

And there were only two ways to remove that seal from the back of the neck. The first, and the most drastic, was to kill the controller of those seals, that is, the master.  The second, though more complicated, option was to purify the seal through a cultivation classified as demonic by the 'righteous cultivators'. A dangerous and forbidden process, but effective if it could be completed. 

But Shen Jiu knew another, simpler way. He had created a different, but equally effective method. Who knew that one seal could be countered by another? A simple nullifying seal, made with the slave's blood, and boom! You had a free person. However, Shen Jiu would not settle for just removing the enslaving seal. What was the point of nullifying it when they could easily put it back? 

Shen Jiu used all his knowledge to improve his nullifying seal, and to do so he studied day and night during his time as a disciple, pushing his dedication to the limit of obsession. His Shizun had to kick him out of the library, but he succeeded. He had perfected the nullifying seal, ensuring that never again could a slave seal work on a slave's body. On his own body. 

So when Shen Jiu freed the first brave slave who volunteered for the little experiment with her blood, it was no surprise that the other slaves basically rushed towards him, eager to change their status in society.

Shen Jiu freed the more than three hundred slaves of the Qiu family that night, ignoring the sweat and exhaustion until he removed the last enslaving seal. He let the now free men watch the process, so that they could free more people, more slaves throughout the land of the Qiu.

It should be noted that these free men, once freed from the cursed seal that bound them to their disgusting masters, were filled with a lust for revenge.

Shen Jiu, with his work already done and a nasty smile on his face, walks away without looking back, paying no attention to the noisy riot breaking out in the noble house of the Qiu.

A new life, far from all that drama of the cultivation world, awaited him.

Chapter Text

He wandered through the woods for days, walking barefoot as he breathed in the damp air of the wilderness. How ironic, he thought, that for the first time he felt so relaxed. Alone, in a forest filled with beasts that could easily feast on his body.

Days have passed where he was simply himself, a wandering spirit in the serene embrace of nature. The sun's rays filtered through the leaves, dancing on his skin as his feet dipped into the crystal-clear waters of the river, feeling the cool comfort of the unshackled world.

Never before had he experienced such freedom.

Neither the finest jade crown, nor honorary titles forged with sweat and blood, could grant him the lightness he now felt as he wandered among the trees. It was him, and only him, with his bare, dusty feet, caressing the damp earth of the forest.

He knows that soon he must find a town where he can part with his stolen belongings and procure more suitable clothing.  For now, however, he yearns for nothing more than to be himself, a free soul embraced by vibrant nature. His being and the wild world are intertwined in a silent bond, as fragile as it is eternal.

Shen Jiu reflects on the wasted years in his other life, where long hours in stifling meetings made him the target of biting criticism. He could have been here, among the whispering trees and the caress of the wind, living an existence that truly belonged to him.

He can only sigh with disdain, as if with each exhalation he sought to purge the shadows of the past. At least he had the lucidity to stop himself from committing something colossally stupid, like chaining himself to a sect again… or, worse yet, to a person.

The days pass with the languor of a leaf blown by the wind. The weather in this region of the empire changes like a capricious lover: sometimes, the rains force him to seek refuge in the dark belly of a cave, where the echo of the water against the rock sings whispers of loneliness to him.  Other times, he lies down on the wet grass, letting the drops caress his face, as if the sky were trying to comfort him with its ephemeral touch.

On sunny days, he takes advantage of the warmth of the sun to hunt and satisfy his hunger, while he watches with fascination the fauna in its natural habitat. The desire to obtain paper and ink burns his hands; he yearns to capture every detail of what he sees, as if words could capture the wild essence of his world.

He also devotes himself diligently to cultivation, concentrating his qi to strengthen both his body and the lower dantian, that core of power that, like a calm lake, holds the potential for his rise.

This impulse leads him to enter a small village, south of the empire, right near the Tian Yi sect. Arriving in the darkness of the night allows him to move like a shadow, steal some clothes with the agility of a consummate thief and get hold of the much desired paper.  The soft rustle of ink on the white canvas will be your first testimony of freedom, a refuge in which your thoughts can wander without restraints.

With the Qiu's belongings under his arm, he knows he can head to a larger town, where he can sell what he stole and continue to chart his own destiny.

As he is about to leave the small town, his eyes, as if drawn by an invisible thread, fall on two children. They are huddled in the dirty streets, their fragile bodies trembling under the cold gaze of the moon. The scene, so simple and so full of pain, causes Shen Jiu to sigh heavily.

These children, stripped of everything the world owed them, remind him of someone. Someone who was once like them, someone who was once there, in that same darkness. Qi— Yue Qingyuan.

Shen Jiu clenches his hands tightly, as if trying to hold on to something that is slipping away. A shudder runs through his body, but without hesitation, he advances towards the children.  His footsteps, firm and resonant on the dirt floor, break the silence of the night, and at that precise moment, the children look up, as if his presence were an inevitable omen.

They both notice him instantly, their eyes shining with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

“You two… are slaves?” His voice echoes in the stillness of the night, so cold and sharp that it sounds more like a statement than a question.

The taller boy, the one whose presence vaguely reminds him of Yue Qingyuan, gives him a wary glance, as if trying to assess whether Shen Jiu’s face holds any trace of kindness or threat. Instead, the smaller boy is nervous, his eyes frantically scanning the surroundings, looking for any sign, any opportunity for someone to intervene. Fool, Shen Jiu thinks, he still doesn’t understand that no soul is kind to slaves.

Shen Jiu firmly grips the older boy’s face, his fingers as hard as the chains that once held him back.

“You want to be free, I can see it in your eyes.”

The boy tries to shake his head, but Shen Jiu’s hand holds him so tightly that he can’t escape.

"…I will set you free." The promise falls upon them like a sentence, harsh and definitive, as if their destinies had intertwined at that very moment.

Shen Jiu grabs the boy’s hand with an almost painful force, his fingers running over the fragile skin while his eyes analyze with an intensity that transcends the visible. Upon noticing the soft glow of energy in his meridians, his heart skips a beat. The boy has potential for cultivation.

A dark, unknown weight settles in his chest, a sensation he cannot ignore. Something in him, perhaps a forgotten desire or a shadow from the past, awakens. With a determined gesture, he brings a finger to his mouth, biting firmly until blood flows out, a bright red that seems to reflect the inner storm consuming him.

The boy, wide-eyed, thrashes in his grasp, his body trembling in a futile attempt to escape. Meanwhile, the smaller boy, seeing what is happening, desperately tries to pull the elder boy away from Shen Jiu. But Shen Jiu, barely moving, performs a quick external martial movement, and in the blink of an eye, the shorter boy falls into a deep sleep, as peaceful as the stillness of a calm lake. 

“W-what did you do to him?” The older boy trembles, his voice cracking with fear as he stares at Shen Jiu, who seems unfazed by his distress. 

With relentless calm, Shen Jiu begins to trace symbols on the boy’s skin, his hand moving with expert dexterity as he draws the nullifying seal. Each stroke seems to resonate with a dark power, a power that causes the dim moonlight to shine on the boy’s skin, briefly illuminating the seal with blinding clarity. 

A curved smile appears on Shen Jiu's lips, as cold as the edge of a dagger. His hand stops, and in a carefree gesture, he lets go, letting the boy fall backwards, free from his grip, free from everything.

"Do you feel the disconnection with your master? The absence of pain in the tattoo on your neck? Congratulations, you are no longer a slave." Shen Jiu's voice is soft, but his words fall with an overwhelming weight, as if each syllable were an echo of freedom, and at the same time, a sentence.

The boy looks at him terrified, his eyes wide, reflecting a mixture of disbelief and fear. Then, as if obeying an uncontrollable impulse, he pats his neck. The touch, at first hesitant, turns into a frantic exploration when he realizes that the pain that had always been there, like a persistent shadow, has completely disappeared.

Disbelief slowly transforms into a mixture of wonder and terror.  The absence of pain leaves him vulnerable, as if the emptiness left by release also stripped him of something deeper.

“How did you do that, Gege?” The wariness that had previously marked the boy’s every move fades away, giving way to pure wonder shining in his eyes. On impulse, he lunges toward Shen Jiu, his small hands gripping his legs with unexpected intensity.

"Gege, are you a cultivator? Can we go with you?" The words fall from his lips with the urgency of someone who has touched the edge of a unique opportunity. The boy, now without reservation, looks at him with hope, his eyes searching for an answer that promises a different life, a life that, for the first time, seems to be within his reach.

But unfortunately Shen Jiu is not known for being kind or gentle.

'What a little opportunist,' was all Shen Jiu could think as the boy, eyes shining with hope, began to beg to be taken on "adventures," as if life were so simple.

"...No, I have better things to do than take care of brats." Shen Jiu releases the boy's small arms, which had surrounded him with a suffocating urgency, and takes several steps back, away from the plea.

"Make the same seal that is on your arm, with your friend's blood, so that he too may be free." The words fall from his lips coldly, an order that leaves no room for doubt or hope. The fate of the children, for once, is in his own hands.

Shen Jiu makes a determined turn to leave, but before vanishing into the darkness of the night, as if he wanted to completely leave behind the trace of his past, he pauses for a moment.

“You and your friend have a great chance of becoming decent cultivators. Cross the Fu Xiang Mountains, and you will reach the Tian Yi Sect. They accept anyone who is not a slave.”

The words leave his mouth like a last sigh of crudeness, before, without waiting for a response, he walks away at a hurried pace, disappearing into the shadows of the road.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐

Shen Jiu doesn't know exactly what prompted him to do that. Maybe it was the timing, maybe the parallels between those children and the slaves Qi-ge and Xiao Jiu. It doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done.

Helping those two children, in his own twisted way, is the closure he needed for his situation with Yue Qingyuan.

He already kept his promise of loyalty in his other life. Now, he is free. Shen Jiu feels like a blank canvas, but this time, he will be the one holding the brushes, the one choosing the colors. It will no longer be the Qiu family, or the sect, or Yue Qingyuan. Only him.

Shen Jiu returns to his original plan and continues his march through the woods, immersed in the enjoyment of the flora and fauna that surrounds him. He writes down with dedication everything that sparks his curiosity, letting the rustling of the wind through the trees envelop him as he lies on the green ground, almost like an extension of the earth itself.

Right now, he's more of a hermit than anything else, but he loves it. In his other life, he would probably have wrinkled his nose in disdain at such a prospect. However, after decades locked away in a musty cell, what he has now, though humble, is the closest thing to heaven he's ever known. 

Shen Jiu looks up at the sky, noticing that night is fast approaching. It's best to start packing his things before the shadows lengthen. Aggressive creatures tend to appear in this part of the southern forest, and he has no intention of confronting them. 

His belongings are packed in a makeshift cloth bag. Tomorrow, he'll go to Hua Yue City to sell everything he stole, thus freeing himself of the extra weight he carries with him. For now, his mind is focused on something more urgent: finding an uninhabited cave where he can spend the night in peace. 

His steps are silent on the fertile earth, the soft glow of the sunset guiding his way to the mountainous area of the forest. He moves forward without haste, letting his fingers slide over some flowers, caressing the fragrant petals that adorn his path. Tranquility surrounds him, but it is the unmistakable sound of water that finally catches his attention, making him pause for a moment. 

Shen Jiu glances at his body. Although his clothes are impeccable, a bath would not hurt him at all. With a light smile on his lips, he decides to quickly follow the sound of the water, anticipating the freshness that the river will offer him. 

He soon reaches the source of the sound and cannot help but marvel at the scene that unfolds before him. The water, crystal clear and serene, flows between the rocks, surrounded by lush vegetation that shines with the last glints of the sun. Without thinking, his hands clench involuntarily, as if he wishes to take his notebook and capture the beauty of the view in a drawing. 

The evening light reflected off the surface of the crystal-clear water, creating an atmosphere of great purity that enveloped the lake. Small colorful fish danced in an endless back-and-forth motion, their movements soft and fluid like a natural choreography.

Shen Jiu looks at his reflection in the water. His skin, smooth and flawless, shines under the soft evening light, free of wrinkles that used to betray the passage of time. His lips, once chapped from long periods without water, now look full and healthy. His two eyes, not just one, stare back at him with a serene indifference. The grotesque scar that he always felt opening up in his torn eye has completely disappeared.

It was truly Shen Jiu, just Shen Jiu.

And Shen Jiu can't help it: he takes off his qipao and pants, letting the breeze caress his skin as he does so. Little by little, he dips his feet into the cold water, then his legs, until he is completely submerged in the lake, letting the coolness envelop him completely.

He opens his eyes under the crystal-clear water, noticing the ambient Qi gently accumulating in the lake. It seems to be a place yet to be discovered, which explains its untouched purity. Shen Jiu can't help but feel a spark of interest: a place so clean and full of Qi, it is a fascinating find.

Shen Jiu swims aimlessly, letting himself be carried by the water, lazily moving his legs as his body floats in the calm of the lake. The Qi of the place not only purifies his body, but also cleanses his mind, stripping him of unnecessary thoughts.

He feels how all the bonds, all the resentment and anger that had been embedded in his soul for years, begin to fade away, as if the water silently absorbed them.

He swims a little further, allowing the small currents to gently caress his body before emerging from the water. When he emerges, the cold night welcomes him with its silent cloak, enveloping him in a perfect contrast.

His naked body seems to glow under the white moonlight, reflecting an inner serenity that somehow feels deeper than he has ever experienced. In his soul, there is a renewed peace, a peace that he cannot help but appreciate with a magnitude that he finds astonishing.

Shen Jiu feels like he is being born again.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐

The road to Hua Yue City is free of danger, guarded by the minor sects and the imposing shadow of Hua Hua Palace, which ensure that no bandit dares to disturb the peace. However, the truly difficult thing is to cross its gates without attracting attention. All it takes is for a cultivator to notice the aura of a newcomer and, with the dexterity of a leaf sliding through water, they will begin a veiled interrogation about the purpose of your visit. 

This is the way Hua Hua Palace watches over anyone who dares to cross its domain. Shen Jiu, a man with a past marked by slavery, knows well that any suspicion can be his downfall. 

He is not entirely sure that he is the only one who has been reborn with his memories intact. His mind, always haunted by paranoia, whispers to him that it is better to tread carefully, because in this world even a shadow can hide a threat. 

Therefore, his modest appearance allows him to adopt the disguise of an ordinary civilian.  His cover: a humble traveler fascinated by the promise of touring the most opulent city in the land.

Shen Jiu walks past a cultivator, his eyes seemingly dazzled by the majesty of the architecture around him. His practiced expression exudes naive fascination, as if he really were a simple traveler marveling at the grandeur of Hua Yue. The young disciple of Hua Hua Palace glances at him briefly, his sharp gaze assessing him. However, he soon loses interest; surely his attire and bearing scream out loud that he is nothing more than an ordinary tourist.

Clutching his cloth bag tightly, Shen Jiu heads towards the pawn shop. Madame Lingli, owner of one of Hua Yue's most celebrated establishments, had been a well-known figure in his days as the lord of Qing Jing Peak. He used to sell her his paintings, trusting in her honesty and good judgment. His dealings with her had always been fair, giving him a peace of mind he rarely found in others.

Shen Jiu heads to the back of the shop, where the real business takes place in the shadows. Madame Lingli runs her business with two distinct faces: one, a pawnshop open to the public, where everyday objects change hands without raising suspicion. The second, a clandestine haven for thieves looking to get rid of their loot without leaving a trace. Those goods, far from any evidence, usually end up at private auctions, away from the scrutiny of the authorities. 

Shen Jiu knocks on the back door five times in a row, pauses briefly, and adds two more knocks. Barely an instant later, the door creaks open and a delicate but firm hand grabs him by the lapels of his qipao, dragging him inside before closing it with a thud. Shen Jiu remains impassive; this brusque welcome is as characteristic of Madame Lingli as is her enigmatic smile when dealing with her more discreet clients.

“Well, well. But just look at what a gem has come to visit me. Tell me, darling, did you get lost on the way?” Madam Lingli’s voice exudes sweetness, as her seductive smile lights up the gloom. Had Shen Jiu been a younger, impressionable man, he would probably have succumbed to her charm. But, to Madam Lingli’s dismay, Shen Jiu has no interest in the opposite sex, and his eyes remain as cold as a sword’s edge.

“You know I don’t.” Shen Jiu’s voice is soft, almost whispery, despite the frankness with which he expresses himself. “I came to sell some things.”

Madam Lingli hums melodiously as she walks away, heading towards the counter. When they finally come face to face, her posture changes instantly. The slight sweetness of her demeanor dissipates, giving way to the intense business aura that Shen Jiu already knows well.

“Show what you got, boy.”  —Madame Lingli's voice is firm, making it clear that the time for games is over. Shen Jiu complies without hesitation, beginning to take out the Qiu's stolen items from his bag, from elegant brooches to polished jade vases, each piece a testament to the luxury that once belonged to someone else and how Shen Jiu, without any remorse, took them. 

"Mmm, they are authentic. I would offer you ten taels of gold for the vase and fifty taels of silver for the brooch. However, the rest… that requires a bit more evaluation, right?" Shen Jiu sighs internally, knowing that the real test was yet to come: the tricky bargaining with Madame Lingli. 

"Forty taels of silver for the doll." Shen Jiu quickly replied, not allowing that woman to get away with this game. 

"Twenty taels. I have more than enough dolls." Lingli spat, accompanying her words with a cheeky smile. 

“Thirty-five taels of silver. Not all dolls are made of amber.” Shen Jiu said, raising an eyebrow at the woman, who responded with a pout.

“Alright, thirty-five taels for the doll.” Lingli finally relented, her expression resigned.

The haggling continued for two sheichen, until there was nothing left to offer Madam Lingli. Shen Jiu looked at the sack of taels, satisfied; he had enough money to live on for two years, if managed wisely. Hm, he would soon have to find a new way to generate income.

For now, Shen Jiu decided to focus on acquiring the essentials.

“Ah!” Madam Lingli suddenly exclaimed, rubbing her forehead as if trying to remember something. “I remember! I have this ring…” She was thoughtful for a moment. “Kongjian ring? I think that’s what that man called it…”

Shen Jiu looked interested at the mention of the item, walking over to the counter again.

“Let me see it.”

Madame Lingli gave him a smile, amused by Shen Jiu’s obvious interest.

“Right away, darling!” she replied, before disappearing between the shelves. The sounds of items being moved filled the air, clear and crisp to Shen Jiu.

After a few minutes, Madam Lingli’s figure appeared again. She was holding a box that looked like it was about to burst with the things it contained.

“Aha, here it is!” she exclaimed, opening the box with a smile of triumph.  "Look, that cultivator told me that the ring is used to store all kinds of items. If you make a seal on it, only that seal can open it. A good and safe product, I guarantee it."

Shen Jiu took the ring between his fingers. Its design was simple, probably to prevent pickpockets from seeing it as an easy target. The metal, cool to the touch, seemed to have great resistance. He subtly sent a bit of qi into the ring, making sure it wasn't a scam.

He nodded in satisfaction, placing the ring on the table. "I'll take it."

Madam Lingli clapped her hands in ecstasy. "Fine, that would be seventeen taels of silver."

The woman extended her hand, and Shen Jiu, with some regret, handed her the money. At least, he thought, the purchase was worth it.

Lingli put the money away with a satisfied smile, while Shen Jiu, attracted by the box where the ring had once rested, watched her with growing curiosity.  Something about it seemed strange.

“What is that?” she asked, a palpable uneasiness in her tone.

Lingli looked at the box, raising an eyebrow, as if she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.

“Ahh, it’s supposedly a dragon egg. A woman sold it to me when I was just starting my shop. As you can see, it never hatched. Now it’s nothing more than a pretty stone that has gathered dust over the years.” Madame Lingli said, a hint of resentment in her voice, as if the memory still bothered her.

Shen Jiu held the dragon egg in both hands, as if she was afraid that the ethereal object would vanish into thin air. Madame Lingli was right: the egg, icy to the touch, was as cold as a stone, but its beauty… was something else. Its surface, smooth and luminous, seemed to reflect a faint, almost heavenly light. Shen Jiu had never seen anything so impressive, so pure in essence.  A vague sigh escaped his lips, while the glint in his eyes reflected a mix of wonder and fascination, as if the world around him faded away in the presence of such a wonder. 

The egg was a perfect size, neither too big nor too small, fitting smoothly into Shen Jiu’s palms, as if it was made to be held by him. Its color was mesmerizing: a deep jet black, flecked with violet hints that seemed to capture the light in a magical way. Looking at it, Shen Jiu couldn’t help but feel like he was holding the starry sky in his hands, a vast expanse of mystery and beauty condensed into a tiny object, as if the entire cosmos had found its home in that solitary egg.

“T-this, how much is it?” Shen Jiu’s soft, trembling murmur caused Madame Lingli to look at him with a raised eyebrow, her interest clearly piqued.

“It cost me five taels of gold at the time.” She replied with a sly smile, before adding, “But I’ll leave it for you for two taels.”

Shen Jiu, though aware that the woman was blatantly lying, did not stop. He did not care. The desire he felt for that egg was almost primal, as if something deep within him was calling him, urged by an inexplicable need to possess it, to never let it go. The connection with the object felt like an invisible bond tightening around his chest, making the world around him fade in comparison to what he held in his hands.

Shen Jiu handed over the two taels of gold with a firm hand, while Madame Lingli, with a satisfied smile, took them without hiding her pleasure.

“Do you want a bag?”  The woman asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Shen Jiu nodded his head slightly, taking the cloth bag the woman held out to him. With careful movements, he put the ring on, precisely storing his small fortune. Then, he delicately placed the egg into the bag, adjusting the strap so that it rested on his chest, close to his heart, like a treasure he could no longer let go of.

“Thank you for your purchase, darling! Come back soon!” Madame Lingli called out, her voice cheerful and resonant.

Shen Jiu, with a slight nod, silently bid farewell, before finally exiting the shop. The door closed behind him with a soft sound, and for a moment, all that mattered was the egg on his chest.

Outside, the cold air hit his face hard, a reminder that the winter winds were already beginning to spread their domain. Each gust seemed to foreshadow that the weather would become more unforgiving with each passing day.

Shen Jiu walked with a determined step through the streets, his hand firmly gripping the bag where his egg rested, as if he feared that something might snatch it from him. His mind was busy, calmly evaluating the options he had. He looked for an inn to spend the night, while mentally organizing his next steps. 

He hated winter, that season that chilled to the bone and made the air unforgiving. Therefore, he decided that he would head to the warmer parts of the country, towards the borders, where the land of the demons bordered the human one. It was a long trip, somewhat complicated, more because of the distance than the difficulty of the road, but Shen Jiu knew it would be worth it. He had always felt a strange curiosity about the beaches on the border, but he had never had the opportunity to enjoy them as he wished. 

It was time to change that. The thought drove him forward, like a promise that only he could keep. 

Shen Jiu soon found a modest inn, which also functioned as a bar, the perfect place to spend the night. He entered cautiously, his presence barely noticed by those present. He approached a table where a grown man was serving newcomers with a cordial smile, an air of familiarity in his gestures.

Shen Jiu gave him a greeting with a slight nod, his tone polite and serene.

“A room, please.”

The man nodded, looking at him with a wide smile, as if he had already learned to recognize need in the eyes of travelers. Then, with a kindness reflected in his voice, he added:

“Of course. By the way, we have beef soup today. Would you like to dine here, young sir?”

The warmth in the food offered contrasted with the frigid air outside, and the aroma coming from the kitchen seemed to invite him to relax for a moment.

Shen Jiu paused to think for a few moments, his gaze fixed on the table, as if searching for an answer in the void. Ever since he had left the Qiu house, his diet had been limited to the fruits and vegetables he found in the forest, his body feeding mainly on the qi he extracted from his cultivation. Common foods seemed strange to him, almost forgotten. Beef soup, however... it had been decades since he had tasted something so substantial. 

Would it be wise? He thought about his stomach, about what would happen if his body rejected the food. A slight shudder ran down his spine, but he steeled himself. Maybe a little wouldn't hurt, right? 

Shen Jiu, with a somewhat forced smile, silently prayed that his body wouldn't play tricks on him. He didn't need another problem, especially if it came in the form of vomit. 

Shen Jiu nodded slightly, confirming his interest.  The older man, with a look that did not go unnoticed, handed him the room key, indicating its location with a friendly gesture.

“Dinner will be served in half an hour,” he said in a calm voice, as if he wanted to make Shen Jiu feel that he had all the time he needed. “If you like, you can organize your things in the meantime. We will ring the bell to notify our customers, don’t worry.”

His smile, marked by a scar on his right lip, gave off a warm and trustworthy air, but at the same time had a lightness, as if that grimace was more of an invitation than a common gesture. It was a crooked smile, which for some reason, made his eyes shine in a way that seemed to go beyond the usual cordiality.

Shen Jiu, although neutral in his expression, could not help but notice the light atmosphere that had formed between them. Was it perhaps an invitation disguised in kind words? Shen Jiu shakes that strange thought from his head. He must be imagining things.

Without wasting any more time, Shen Jiu climbed the stairs with quick steps, his mind focused only on finding the room that had been assigned to him. Upon reaching the hallway, he stopped in front of a thick wooden door, which he opened with the key that the man had given him. The room was nothing out of the ordinary; a simple inn-like room, decorated in an austere manner. The air was permeated with a slight smell of aged wood. 

He left his belongings on the small table that occupied a corner, before letting himself fall onto the bed, which was nothing more than a hard mattress that made his face twist in a grimace. The contrast between his tired body and the discomfort of the bed was undeniable. 

This was his life now. An uncertain path, marked by quick decisions, long days and lonely nights, all for a future that he himself could not clearly see. Every day, every step he took, was a reminder of how far he was from what once were the chains that bound him. 

Shen Jiu stared at the ceiling, his mind wandering, his fingers gently caressing the egg, as if seeking comfort in its cold surface. He should probably feel guilty, regretful for such an impulsive purchase, something that had been born from a simple “I want it,” a desire he had been unable to refuse. But deep down, he couldn’t. He didn’t feel the slightest inclination to regret something so genuinely his, something he had desired without justification or explanation. 

With a soft gaze, he looked down at the egg, cradled in his chest, the small starry sky he held in his hands. Maybe... Doubt settled in his mind, but not as a burden, but as a possible hope that was beginning to germinate in his chest.

Shen Jiu remembered a conversation he had had long ago with his shizun, a conversation that had always left him with a knot in his stomach. He had asked, with the innocence of a curious child, why there were no more dragons on earth. His shizun, with that sly smile that always characterized him, had answered him with a tone full of irony: "Dragons no longer favor the emperor's family. They prefer to disappear, to become extinct, rather than live on the same earth with the offspring of a weak emperor."

The weak emperor, who had fallen centuries ago, leaving behind a broken empire, a nation in crisis. His son, the successor, had been nothing more than a reflection of his indifference, ruling with disinterest and disdain. An emperor who did not see, did not feel, did not understand the weight of his title, only the cold crown on his head.

"Dragon eggs are sought with an almost religious emphasis," his shizun had told him, his voice calm as always. "However, every attempt at hatching them has failed, for no dragon wishes to be born here anymore." Those words, full of melancholy and wisdom, had been the last thing his shizun had said to him on the subject, before he immersed himself once again in calligraphy, the brush sliding precisely over the paper. 

Shen Jiu recalled those moments with a vague feeling of sadness, foreign to his Shizun. 

He turned his body beside the wall, his mind immersed in thoughts. The land was no longer worthy of dragons. The empire, a place where dreams of greatness had withered, no longer had room for those majestic creatures that once inhabited legends. 

Maybe, just maybe, something inside him wished the egg would be different. That this one, in its stillness, would be the last hope, the last spark left of a better time. 

Shen Jiu stared at the egg, his gaze fixed on the small sphere resting on his chest. A bold thought crossed his mind. *He could try it, he told himself. Even if he didn't have the luxurious materials of the imperial palace, perhaps he could still do something. After all, fire was his specialty.

A mocking smile curved his lips as he thought of how, in his youth, he had been able to tame flames like few others, handling them skillfully and fearlessly. Fire had always been his friend and ally, after all, its stifling heat had helped him get rid of the Qiu.

The loud tinkling of a bell brought him out of his turbulent thoughts, followed by a soft knock on the door. Food, no doubt. Shen Jiu's stomach gave a slight growl, reminding him that, despite his concerns, hunger was still present.

He stood up lazily, stretching his limbs with a grimace.  After a moment, he stood up, his body still burdened with that feeling of interrupted rest. He quietly opened the door and went downstairs, his mind still dancing between doubt and curiosity about the egg.

As he reached the dining room, the air was filled with a delicious aroma that made his salivate. The slow-cooking beef stew seemed to be the answer to his scattered thoughts. The warm glow of the oil lamps illuminated the space, while the soft voices of the other diners created a cozy atmosphere.

“What the hell is wrong with Baiqion, ringing that damn bell, as if this were some courtesan’s house?” The hoarse voice of an old woman with a cane drifted through the air, complaining, as she crossed the dining room. Shen Jiu watched her with slight curiosity, picking up on the deep wrinkles on her face and the disdain in her tone. But, instead of getting involved in her complaint, he shifted his gaze to a lonely little table at the back of the dining room. 

The place was lively, but he only had eyes for that secluded corner, where the stillness seemed to attract him. Unhurriedly, he made his way there, dodging the occupied tables with deliberate grace, and sat down on the wooden chair, which was more uncomfortable than he expected. The hardness of the seat was not enough to dislodge him from his thoughts, although a light sigh escaped his lips as he settled in. 

The constant murmur around him no longer seemed to bother him, and for a moment, the quiet of his small, solitary table offered him a sense of refuge. As he settled in, his mind wandered again. 

The journey to the borders, that vast expanse of land bordering the demon domain, lay before him like a new chapter. As soon as the sun broke the horizon, he would begin his journey, knowing that the road would be arduous, but also fertile ground for cultivation. 

He felt a vibration within him, a sign that he was close to reaching the core formation stage. The qi flowing through his meridians seemed charged with renewed energy, as if he were on the edge of a threshold, waiting for the right moment to explode to its full potential. 

Shen Jiu's thoughts were cut off when a huge bowl of stew was carefully placed on his table. The innkeeper (Baiqion?) smiled at him kindly, with a hint of sympathy in his gesture. 

“I hope you enjoy the food at this humble place,” he says in a warm voice, which, though polite, seems to slide with an almost imperceptible softness. 

Shen Jiu watches him for a moment, picking up on the gentle tension in the atmosphere, before lowering his gaze to the bowl. His response is brief, a nod accompanied by a murmur of thanks, while his eyes quickly look away, not wanting to pay too much attention to the tone of that voice. 

Shen Jiu does not notice Baiqion’s disappointed eyes, who walks away with a slight nod, returning to his tasks with a forced smile. 

‘How shameless,’ Shen Jiu thinks with an internal sigh, while his cheeks, despite his attempt to ignore it, are tinged with a slight blush. 

The bustle surrounding the inn seems to envelop Shen Jiu in a bubble of indifference, his gaze lost in the bottom of his bowl while the voices mingle around him.  Murmurs and laughter float through the air, creating a cozy atmosphere yet far removed from her distracted mind. However, when a pair of elderly women sit down next to her table, the words they exchange between them unexpectedly catch her attention.

The old woman sitting behind her moves her spoon with palpable disdain, as if she could strike the air with her discontent. "A monumental disaster, I tell you," she murmurs, her voice laden with frustration. "And the military does nothing about it."

The other old woman, one hand waving her fan almost theatrically, replies with a calmness that contrasts with her companion's fury. "It's not for lack of trying, dear, but they just don't know how to deal with the situation."

“Ha! Not to mention the cultivators.” The first old woman replies disdainfully, her spoon still moving, as if to do justice to her anger. “They’re all there, lost, not knowing what to do but look pretty. You know, they’re the best at causing trouble, but at solving it? Not a trace.”

The other old woman looks at her, without losing her composure, and fans harder, as if with each gesture she can dispel the heavy air her companion has created. “Mm, I couldn’t care less. The more new men there are, the better they’ll pay my son to work in those fields.”

Shen Jiu’s curiosity is instantly piqued upon hearing the old women’s words. With a studied gesture of innocence, she turns to them, letting her voice sound soft and polite.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he says with a smile brimming with politeness. “I couldn’t help but ask, what are you talking about?”

The old ladies look at him, and instantly, their expressions soften. Those aged gossips fall, as they always do before a charming young man. Bingo.

“Oh! You don’t know? It started in that land far from the capital, with that family of regional nobles… The Qiu? I don’t know, but rumors say that the slaves, turned into new men, took over the village.” The old lady with the fan whispers in an intriguing voice, letting her words flow like sweet poison. There is a smile of satisfaction at being able to tell the gossip of the moment to someone. “The heads of the slavers, be they noble or common, are displayed on pikes in front of the entrance of the village.”

Shen Jiu looks at the woman with a surprised expression.  He never imagined that his little revenge would take on such magnitude, but deep inside, he can't help but feel a dark satisfaction: the more calamity the Qiu family suffers, the better for him.

"The emperor sent a squad to deal with the matter, but the only thing that came back to the capital were the heads of the soldiers. In the end, he washed his hands of it and let the great sects take care of the rest..." The old woman sighs, as if imperial abandonment wasn't a sad custom already known to all.

"No one knows for sure who caused all this, but the new men say that one day a green-eyed savior appeared and ended slavery. They say he did it in response to the Qiu family's ruthless treatment of those poor slaves. Such vile people, aren't they?" The other old woman sighs, her sympathy more of an empty facade than a true feeling. "My little granddaughter, on the other hand, would never do such a thing. Wouldn't you like to meet her, young man?"

Shen Jiu smiled a gentle smile, his eyes shining with distant politeness. “I appreciate the kindness, but I fear my path leaves me no room for such worldly blessings.” With a subtle gesture, he declined the offer as he returned his focus to his meal, as if the world around him was nothing more than a distant murmur. 

So, does the emperor really not know what to do with his seals, or does he simply not care enough to try to fix it? He has left it all in the hands of the cultivators, who, despite their power, do not have the slightest idea of how to counteract this seal. After all, it is a seal that cannot be countered, it was created for the purpose of not allowing another seal of enslavement to operate on a slave’s body again. 

For these cultivators, this must be an impossible enigma to undo. 

Shen Jiu feels a smile creep across his lips. This information is gold. His seal is so formidable that even the great sects are unable to comprehend its power.  In their bewilderment, they have left the matter hanging in limbo, not knowing how to act or how to confront what they have created.

In the distance, Baiqion gulps, watching as the slender beauty is lit up by a wicked smile, an expression so perfectly charming that his heart beats faster. An unexpected warmth spreads through his body, causing him to feel suddenly hot.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐ 

When Shen Jiu woke up in the inn, a chilly breeze reminded him that winter had arrived earlier than expected. The biting air penetrated even inside the room, causing him to frown. 

Today would be a busy day, so for added safety, he decided to hide his precious egg in the ring. He gently caressed it before sealing it, making sure it remained safe, close to his chest. 

He looked at his only change of clothes, the qipao he stole was already starting to fray, and felt it was time to change that. He decided to invest a little in his wardrobe, knowing that he would need it for what was to come. Before leaving Hua Yue, he headed to a store where he bought warm clothes, suitable for the long journey ahead, and several essential supplies. He carefully stored everything in his ring, preparing for what was to come. 

And also, out of sheer meanness, he approached the house of the most popular slaver in the area, housed outside the city, in an ostentatious mansion.

Shen Jiu used his martial technique to knock unconscious the guards guarding the slaver's mansion, as well as the slave master himself. With a cold gaze, he turned his body towards the hundreds of empty eyes that watched him, eyes devoid of hope, reflecting a life of suffering.

That day, before leaving, Shen Jiu freed dozens of slaves, undoing the seals that kept them bound. The city, under the protection of the Hua Hua sect, was flooded by the presence of new men, free men for the first time in their lives.

Chapter Text

The white fox fur scarf elegantly wrapped around his neck, like a smooth shield against the biting breath of the mountain wind. With each step he took, his boots sank their trail in the snow, leaving ephemeral footprints that would disappear with the next blizzard. Two weeks had passed since he had set out on his journey to the borders, and yet the goal remained a distant promise, hidden behind endless mountain ranges.

He had no reason to complain. On the contrary, each day had become a discovery. His journey was lengthened not by the whims of the terrain, but by the detours he took with deliberate intentions. The day before, his steps had led him to a clearing where a pack of wolf-headed bears was performing an unusual ritual: the acceptance of a new member. He watched the scene with fascination, his hurried fingers filling pages with notes on the behavior of those creatures that, in his past life, had only been shadows in legends.

 Another detour had led him to a hollow where a plant grew that he had never before had the chance to touch, a curiosity that vibrated with the residual trace of qi in its leaves. He examined it with devotion, green eyes flashing with an almost childlike interest. 

Freeing slaves had also taken a toll on him. He felt his hands go numb with cramps, fingers hardened by calluses that no longer yielded. Each stroke of the brush on the slaves' skin—soaked in blood to seal freedom—connected him to a heartbreaking truth: this act, as noble as it was, was also consuming him. And yet, he could not stop. 

Every time his steps took him to a town, a village hidden among hills or a city surrounded by walls of oppression, the same impulse flooded through him like an untamable current. It was stronger than him, like an ancestral cry that echoed in the recesses of his soul: *free them. 

 There was something visceral about that command, something that lit a flame within his chest. He couldn't ignore the rawness of the chains, the empty stares, the marks of submission inscribed on skin tanned by suffering. It was as if his qi responded to the pain of others, demanding change, crying out for justice in a world that seemed to have forgotten the meaning of that word.

He knew that his obsession was bordering on self-destruction, that each new seal wore down his body and energy a little more. But how could he stop when he saw hope reborn in eyes that had been dull for years? How could he refuse when he felt that this was the only redemption his life could offer, the only purpose that justified all the suffering of his past?

The liberation of others was also, on some level, a desperate attempt to free himself.

Perhaps the next day his hands would tremble, exhausted by the effort of a ritual that seemed to claim every fiber of his being. Perhaps cramps wake him in the middle of the night, reminding him that even his body has limits. But none of that matters when he contemplates the result of his work.

The feeling of fulfillment that washes over him as he sees the Jiejies walking free outside the brothels, their eyes finally shining with restored dignity, is a balm that no amount of tiredness can dull. The children's sobs, first of confusion and then of relief, as the marks of slavery disappear from their necks, echo through the emptiness that has long inhabited his heart.

It is in these moments, when the shackles fall to the ground and the air seems lighter, that he feels genuinely content. Not a trivial joy, but a deep satisfaction, as if each freed life cleanses a part of the darkness that had haunted him for years. For the first time in a long time, he feels like he is doing something right. Something worthwhile.

And even though his body cries out for rest, even though his hands shake like leaves in the wind, that contentment sustains him. It is a reminder that he is not completely broken, that he can still be more than the shadows of his past. It is, perhaps, the closest thing to peace he has ever known.

He feels like he is doing something for the world, slowly changing the horrible world he lives in.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like he is doing something for the world. Changing, even in small doses, the horrible place where he grew up. It is not enough to eradicate all the cruelty that surrounds him, but it is enough to pluck pieces of hope from the darkness. 

Shen Jiu lets out a sigh as he finishes drawing the last trace of the seal on the wrinkled arm of an old woman. His fingers feel heavy as if they carry years of effort, and sweat runs down his forehead, falling like tiny raindrops on the frozen ground. 

He looks up and sees the woman, whose wet eyes cling to him with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. Without thinking, a soft smile curves on his lips, almost imperceptible, but enough to illuminate the usual hardness of his face. 

“It is done, madam,” he murmurs hoarsely, while carefully cleaning the bloody brush. His words are not a mere announcement; they are a promise. An affirmation that, at least for this woman, the chains will not return.

Shen Jiu felt the faint movement of the old woman's body, but he did not move away. He stood still as she clumsily and slowly wrapped her arms around his figure.

"Thank you." The word escaped the woman's lips in a raspy whisper, laden with desperation tinged with hope, as if those few syllables contained the weight of a lifetime of suffering.

Shen Jiu did not know what to do. He stood there, frozen, his mind blank at a gesture he had never expected, much less understood. No one had ever hugged him like that before, not in this life, nor in the next. Not as a thank you, not as a genuine act of connection.

The hands that had traced countless seals, firm and precise, now seemed clumsy in their response. With some hesitation, he raised an arm and patted her back lightly. The gesture was strange, almost mechanical, but it was all she could offer as her heart clenched with an emotion she couldn't quite place.

The old woman stepped back, her eyes still shining with tears, and Shen Jiu took the moment to pick up his brushes, avoiding looking directly at her. But even as he tried hard to appear indifferent, an unfamiliar feeling clung to his chest, lingering and unsettling. Perhaps, he thought, releasing chains didn't always mean just breaking the visible ones.

"You've done so much for me, and yet I want to ask you for more." The old woman's voice trembled with the weight of the words, her wrinkled eyes reflecting a sadness so deep it seemed to be etched into her soul. "I beg you to listen to my selfish request, liberator."

Shen Jiu looked up, the brush still in his hand, as the silence between them grew heavy.

"My son and my grandson..." the woman continued, her tone like someone on the verge of tears. "They were sold a few moons ago to the neighboring village, Houqi. Can you take me there? I need to see them."

Houqi's name echoed in his mind. It was in the opposite direction of his route, a detour that would consume time and resources, and delay him from his main mission. For an instant, internal conflict crept into his heart: logic said he should reject her, but that logic crumbled as he looked at the old woman's face.

The expression in her eyes—a mix of hope and resignation—erased any doubt. He couldn't say no to her. Not after seeing how her hands shook as she clung to the idea of getting her family back.

"We'll leave when I'm done freeing everyone." Her voice was firm, almost unfazed, as if she hadn't just committed to another act that would complicate his journey. "For now, rest. I'll let you know when we have to leave."

The woman nodded, her tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, and Shen Jiu returned to his task without adding anything else.

The old woman had smiled at him, but it wasn't an ordinary smile. Her eyes shone with something beyond simple hope, something Shen Jiu couldn’t—or wouldn’t—identify. A warmth that made him deeply uncomfortable, as if the woman’s gaze saw something in him that he himself didn’t recognize.

Shen Jiu quickly looked away, pretending to concentrate on applying the next seal to another slave’s skin. His movements were precise, almost automatic, but his mind was restless. He couldn’t allow himself to think too much about such things.

Adoration. That was what he had seen in the woman’s eyes, he suddenly realized, and the thought made him shudder. How could someone like him inspire such a thing?

A person so cruel, so stained by his own sins, should not be worthy of such a gaze. Not after what he had done, not with the marks of his own deeds still etched in his memory. That kind of devotion was not for someone like him, someone who only knew the edge of cruelty and bitterness.

 But rather than face the tangle of emotions swirling inside him, Shen Jiu simply lowered his head and continued with his work. It was easier to lose himself in the monotony of brush and stamps than to face that uncomfortable possibility: that maybe, just maybe, he was doing something that brought him closer to being someone worthy.

Houlan was a farming town of modest prosperity, strategically located along the imperial road. Its reputation, however, was not solely due to its fertile lands or its benevolent climate, but to the influence of a merchant family known for its monopoly on fabrics, honey, livestock, and, above all, slaves.

Shen Jiu stopped outside the town, his eyes scanning the humble buildings and fields that seemed so peaceful in the sunlight. But he knew better than anyone that the apparent peace was a disguise covering the rottenness of the system. He felt his fists clench almost unconsciously, as an icy fury built up in his chest.

 Of all the things in this world, he hated the slavers the most. To him, they were the worst kind of humanity, those who not only robbed others of their lives and dignity, but did so with a cynical smile and calculated logic. They stole humans from desperate situations, tearing them from their homes, and worse, they forced female slaves to give birth, thus perpetuating the cycle of suffering by turning their own children into commodities. 

And Shen Jiu did not reserve his contempt only for them. No, his hatred extended to the buyers as well, those customers who fed the machinery with their demand. Because, after all, if there was no market, there would be no slavers. 

So when Shen Jiu freed everyone, he did not hesitate to rent two rooms in the inn, one for the old woman and one for himself. From his balcony, he watched silently as the new men marched through the streets. Their steps were firm, though marked by the weight of what they had just witnessed. Behind them, dragged like the last vestige of their power, were the bound bodies of the slaver family. Their bodies were tied with wicker ropes, humiliation printed on their faces as they moved forward.

The crowd led them towards the newly raised pyre, where the fire would soon claim the lives of those who had made the suffering of others their means of existence.

Shen Jiu stood there, unmoving, as the air was filled with the echo of muffled screams and the crackling of flames devouring the ashes of their sentence. The faces of those freed were filled with a mixture of relief and something else, something Shen Jiu couldn't quite put his finger on. Maybe, in part, it was the satisfaction of justice made flesh. Or maybe, just maybe, it was a sense of farewell to his own darkness.

No matter... Shen Jiu had given them a little justice, but they had enforced it.

That night, as smoke and the smell of burning flesh crept into his dreams, Shen Jiu went to bed unaware that something else had begun to awaken within him. The dragon that had been asleep in his chest for so long, his little egg, now seemed to move, subtly at first, as if recognizing the power of that moment.

Unconsciously, his hand rested on his egg, as if trying to calm the strange vibration he felt. Something inside him, deep and primal, was beginning to regroup, as if fate itself was pushing him toward something greater than he could have ever imagined. The connection with the egg, with the sleeping dragon inside him, was growing stronger, more alive.

Shen Jiu closed his eyes, his hand lighting up with Qi, giving some of his energy to his little egg.

A short time later, he let sleep invade him. He didn't fully understand what was happening, but he couldn't deny the strange feeling that the pieces of his life, of his destiny, were beginning to fit together. And although he feared what that might mean, something inside him told him that he could no longer turn back.

 ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐ 

The road to the neighboring village was winding, full of mud and carriage tracks that barely suggested the route to follow. There was no defined path, only the trail of those who had passed by before, guiding Shen Jiu and the old woman uncertainly. At their side, the woman advanced with a slow gait, her body tired from the years and the scars of her life, while Shen Jiu did not hurry, adjusting his pace to hers.

What on any other day would have taken only four hours, that journey without major obstacles, stretched out to eight, due to the numerous stops and rests they made along the way. However, Shen Jiu did not show any discomfort. Instead, there was something in the calm of that journey that comforted him. He had listened in silence to the old woman's story, the account of her life marked by pain, but also by hope. 

"I was kidnapped when I was a child," she had told him. "I was not born a slave. My life was peaceful, until a man, a stranger, saw me while I was playing in the fields, far enough away from my father. He came, kidnapped me, and sold me for a few coins." Her voice had trembled as she recounted those memories, but it was not bitterness that she exuded, but a quiet acceptance, as if time had already allowed her to put resentment behind her. 

Shen Jiu admires her for that. 

 "Some men are cruel, young cultivator. But not all are. My Yi Bai was the exception, the light in my desolate life. I loved him as much as a woman can love a man." Her voice softened at the mention of that name, and her eyes reflected a deep tenderness, a love that had survived the years and the suffering.

'Yi Bai,' Shen Jiu thought silently, as the woman continued her story. One hundred. Slave number one hundred. A man, a father, a lover, but in the end, reduced to a number, an impersonal label, without a face. And yet, in the eyes of the old woman, that number had become a real man, someone worthy of being remembered and loved.

Shen Jiu felt a pang in his chest as he thought of that truth so simple, so painful. Love, that emotion capable of giving dignity even to the most dispossessed. A life reduced to a number, but which, in memory, lived on. That man, Yi Bai, was much more than the number that had been assigned. He was a living memory in the mind of his beloved, a symbol of the resistance of the human soul to being forgotten.

Maybe the old woman was right, maybe not all men were cruel. Shen Jiu turned his gaze towards the horizon, as if he wanted to find answers in the landscapes that slowly passed by. Inside him, doubt began to germinate.

But then, a thought closer to his chest stopped him. Luo Qingjiu. The child he had left behind, the child with the bowl of food. The memory of his face was still alive in Shen Jiu's mind, a demon child who seemed to have understood more than many adults.

What had become of him?

Had he found a better path? Had he grown up in a place full of hope? Or, as had so often happened to him, had the fate of the most vulnerable vanished under the weight of the world's indifference? Shen Jiu wished with all his might that the boy's life had not been marked by the same suffering that he himself had known.

He knows that Luo Binghe can be cruel to those who offend him, he knows it very well.

He prayed to all the gods in his mind, no words, no prayers, just a silent plea. That the boy had lived a dignified life, that he had found his place in the world. That his soul would be safe, far from the shadows of being the son of the demon emperor.

Shen Jij prays to the gods, even though he knows it is useless.

The two of them arrived in Houqi just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, bathing the village in a dim, reddish glow. What he had initially imagined as a small settlement spread out before him on a grander scale than he had anticipated. However, that magnitude was not reflected in the lively hubbub of a prosperous place. Instead, the air was filled with a thick silence, an almost palpable stillness that clung to the narrow streets and rickety wooden houses. The village, though vast in its extent, seemed uninhabited, as if something somber had silenced the murmurs of daily life. The silence was so thick, its presence felt like a shadow watching him from the darkest corners, a foreboding calm that chilled the blood.

 Shen Jiu approached the old woman with a calm gesture, placing a light hand on her back as he guided her towards a modest tea house that loomed on the corner of a cobblestone street.

The interior of the place seemed as empty as the hopes of that forgotten town. Only a few solitary figures took refuge at distant tables, immersed in their own silences. Shen Jiu gently gestured to a chair for the old woman to sit down, before heading to the counter to order something.

There was an uneasiness in the air, an echo of omens that ran through the alleys like a lingering shadow. Everything in that town whispered one thing: it seemed to be abandoned.

"Hello, good afternoon. Two cups of tea and some mooncakes. Please." Shen Jiu got straight to the point with the young woman serving at the cash register.

The woman just ran her eyes over Shen Jiu's figure, looking with a raised eyebrow, but nodding to herself and going behind the shop.

 'She doesn't seem to be possessed by any demon or ghost. There's a certain autonomy in her.' Shen Jiu scans the shop, the few customers that still remained seemed nervous, and judging by their clothes, they were just visitors, not residents. Shen Jiu looks back at where the woman disappeared, she seems to be the only reliable source of information.

Shen Jiu sits at the table where his elderly companion is, he smiles at her nonchalantly, hoping not to alarm her. But she, intelligent, notices the strange atmosphere in the village. 

The old woman can only look around with an air of disorientation. 

A short while later, the woman returns with her order. 

A tray that gives off an overly sweet smell, along with the light smoke from the tea cups. The aroma of the chrysanthemum tea is strong, revealing its low quality. 

"Here is your order. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything else." The woman says roughly, preparing to turn around and go back to the cash register, but before she does, Shen Jiu stops her. 

"In fact, I have something to ask you." Shen Jiu takes out some copper coins from his ring, looking expectantly at the woman. 

The woman just sighs with resignation, taking a chair and sitting in front of her table while grabbing the coins. "What do you want to know?" The question was asked in a dry tone, her brown eyes glaring at Shen Jiu harshly.

“Your village, it seems as if a ghost has made its home here.” Shen Jiu took the cup, sipping some of the bitter tea and nodding to the old woman that it was safe to drink. “Ever since we arrived, I haven’t seen a single person on the road, what happened?”

The woman let out a disdainful snort before speaking, her voice laden with sarcasm.

“It was the Lius. Haven’t you heard the latest news? A madman has accomplished something unthinkable: the slaves’ tattoos have stopped working. The Lius are terrified at the thought of the so-called ‘liberator’ coming to snatch away their precious slaves. They left three days ago, fleeing like frightened dogs. Now the only ones left are the merchants and business owners.” The last part was said with spite and anger, to whom specifically, Shen Jiu didn’t know.

 The woman paused, her eyes scanning him with a mix of mockery and curiosity. “Of course, looking at you now… I think it was lucky for those prudes to escape with their tails between their legs. I have never seen anyone with eyes like yours.”

“Green. What a beautiful color.”

She bowed slightly toward him, as if confessing a forbidden secret.

“But I am sorry, oh great liberator. You have come too late this time.”

Shen Jiu put down the cup roughly, the fire inside him urging him to hit the woman in the face, but he restrained himself. He put down a few more coins to pay for the tasteless meal and stood up, beckoning the old woman to follow him.

“Thank you for the tip!” The woman’s cry echoed unpleasantly, but Shen Jiu did not stop or deign to look back. He walked out of the tea shop with firm steps, leaving behind a trail of suppressed irritation. The old woman, on the other hand, turned her head cautiously, meeting the disdainful gaze of that woman, whose lips drew a false smile, as sharp as a rusty blade.

Shen Jiu sighed deeply and, with a protective gesture, took the old woman by the arm, moving her away from the poison of that presence. His voice, low but full of conviction, slipped between them like a private murmur:

"Listen, you have to understand something. Even if we are new people, even if the past fades away like smoke in the wind, there will always be idiots who try to chain us with their prejudices. For them, it matters little how free you are."

He paused, his green gaze sparkling with a serene fire, before continuing.

"The only answer we have is to show them that their words are as insignificant as they are. We are better, not because we seek their approval, but because we are absolute owners of what we are. And that, no one can take away from us."

The old woman looked at him with half-closed eyes, exuding a mix of tenderness and curiosity. After a brief moment, she let out a smile that seemed to contain years of untold stories. “I’ve never heard you talk so much.”

Her voice was soft, cracked by the weight of time, and as she spoke, she took Shen Jiu’s hands in her own, wrinkled but warm. The gesture was as unexpected as it was intimate, almost as if her words were seeking to anchor him to the moment.

“Your words are gentle, almost sweet… but don’t waste them on this old woman. My life is already filled with winters. I don’t need hope, or motivation, especially if it’s because of some wicked little girl. Use those words on someone whose heart still has spring. Liberator.”

For the first time, Shen Jiu, the ever-witty lord of Qing Jing Peak, found himself at a loss for words. The old woman’s disarming sincerity left him stranded in an awkward silence, one he didn’t know how to fill.

 With a barely audible snort, he removed his hands from the old woman's. It was a deliberate gesture, but without the usual coldness he employed to keep others at bay. Then, with calm resolve, he resumed his walk, carefully guiding her towards a decent inn. 

"Stop calling me liberator," he said at last, breaking the silence like someone pulling back a curtain to let in the light. "I'm just a humble cultivator with basic knowledge. There's no merit in what I do."

He paused briefly, barely perceptible, as if hesitating before adding, "My name is Shen Jiu."

The old woman looked at him in a moment of surprise, her eyes blinking as if processing something unexpected. Then, her countenance softened, and warm happiness flashed in her pupils, illuminating her wrinkled face. "Nice to meet you, Shen Jiu. My name is San Shí."

San Shí. The name reverberated in Shen Jiu's mind like a soft bell, leaving an echo that seemed to linger in some forgotten corner of his heart. Thirty, he thought with a lump in his throat, a weight he didn't dare to fully name. Slave thirty.

But no. He himself had broken those chains; she was no longer a number on a cruel list. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he allowed the name to come back to him, not as a reminder of suffering, but as a symbol of what she was now.

San Shí, the free one. San Shí, the sweet old lady.

Shen Jiu nodded, the only acknowledgement the old lady could ever receive. Without saying anything else, he turned his face to the other side of the street, hiding a small smile.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐ 

This time, Shen Jiu only rented one room, modest but enough for someone who knew he wouldn't need more. His decision was a conscious one: a space intended to accommodate only one person.

The old woman entered with uncertain steps, her eyes clouded with worry. Shen Jiu sensed the burden of her anguish before it could be expressed in words. With a light sigh, as if expelling his usual harshness, he leaned toward her, his green eyes shining with an unexpected warmth.

“I will not abandon you,” he said firmly, his voice tinged with a quiet resolve. “Fear not. I keep my promises.”

With a gesture, he led her to the only chair in the room, an austere piece of furniture but sufficient to support her weary body. As the old woman settled herself, Shen Jiu, with the precision of someone accustomed to meticulous work, took paper, ink, and brush from his travel bag.

“Now,” he continued, his tone more practical but no less gentle. “I need you to tell me the names and features of your son and grandson.”

His gaze met hers, an invitation to unearth memories that, though painful, were essential.

 Shen Jiu moved his brush with precision and delicacy, drawing lines that brought San Shi's descriptions to life. As the old woman spoke, her words seemed to imbue the features emerging on the scroll with soul. When she finished, she held out the portraits for him to check.

"My little grandson has a spot on his shoulder," San Shi said, his voice filled with tenderness and melancholy. "I think that will make your search easier."

Shen Jiu nodded, adding a small note next to the boy's drawing. He carefully stored the portraits in his dimensional ring, where they would be protected until the time came to use them. He then took out twenty silver coins and gently placed them in the old woman's trembling hands.

"Here," he said in a calm but firm tone. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, but this will cover any need you have. Don't hesitate to spend, even if it's just to buy something you like."

 San Shi looked at the coins, his eyes shining as if the metal reflected something other than light: hope, perhaps. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a sigh that seemed to release years of pent-up tension. When he looked back at him, his pupils were filled with an unexpected firmness.

“I will wait for you, my liberator.”

The words echoed in the small room, carrying a weight that Shen Jiu chose not to acknowledge. Instead of answering, he bowed his head slightly, a gesture that could be interpreted as promise or acceptance. Then, with a nimble movement, he turned toward the door, ready to continue on his way.

It is time to find the Lius.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐ 

To Shen Jiu, Liu Qingge was nothing more than a minor annoyance, a persistent irritation that followed him like the shadow of a cloud on a sunny day. Always looking for a fight, his young Shidi would appear at the most inopportune times, barging in without the slightest hesitation even if Shen Jiu was in the middle of a class or spending his time capturing a landscape in ink.

Liu Qingge's presence was like a constant drumbeat on his patience, demanding attention in an almost suffocating manner. Shen Jiu remembered how even Yue Qingyuan, with a few poisonous words from him, could be driven from his peak in a matter of minutes if his mood was not up to visits. But Liu Qingge... he was different.

He didn't give up. He didn't leave.

Every time he returned from some demonic beast hunt or an extended mission, Liu Qingge seemed to have one fixed goal: to find Shen Jiu. And not to share news of his achievements, nor to exchange trivialities, but to challenge him to a duel.

It was an endless cycle. Shen Jiu's irritation lay not only in the interruptions, but in the constancy with which Liu Qingge sought him out, as if nothing else in the world could offer him satisfaction.

"What's the cost to bother another?" Shen Jiu remembered thinking this every time he saw that annoying noble standing before him, sword in hand and an expression that bordered on childish stubbornness and the arrogance inherent to his lineage.

Someone as troublesome as Liu Qingge was supposed to come from an equally complicated family. Although Shen Jiu had never had the dubious pleasure of meeting them in person, the rumors about the Lius were as abundant as they were irritating. A noble house of cultivators, proud to the extreme, with a reputation built on centuries of achievements in the empire.

“Honor, duty, tradition,” Shen Jiu muttered sarcastically every time he heard the words associated with the Liu family. It seemed that these qualities had been engraved into Liu Qingge’s very character, but in Shen Jiu’s eyes, they were nothing more than a mask covering up unbearable behavior.

If Liu Qingge was unable to leave him alone, what could be expected of the rest of his lineage? Did they all share this incessant drive to impose themselves on the lives of others? Shen Jiu shuddered just thinking about it.

“A family full of airheads,” he once told himself, almost pityingly. But deep down, he suspected that it wasn’t entirely true. Perhaps what made Liu Qingge so unbearable wasn’t just her heritage, but that strange mix of naive nobility and unwavering stubbornness that was purely hers.

And now, Shen Jiu stood silently, watching from a distance the camp of the Liu family, who, he assumed, were heading to the imperial capital. The pomp and splendor that the Lius usually projected were in plain sight, but what captured his attention wasn’t the luxurious camp on the other side of the forest. It was what lay outside that circle of opulence: a second camp, precarious and miserable.

 Several slaves were piled there, their malnourished bodies forming twisted shadows under the dim moonlight. The stench of misery permeated the air, an offense that not even the night breeze could dispel. But what made Shen Jiu's blood boil was not the poverty or the inhumane conditions.

It was the chains.

Grotesque pieces of metal hung from the slaves' necks, a crudeness that made the sight burn with indignation. Chains that tightened around wrists and ankles, reducing human beings to mere possessions. Chains that moved with a hollow jingle, held not by mercenaries or hired guards, but by Liu cultivators.

Cultivators who, with their supposedly impeccable morals and family honor, exercised their power over the helpless with an indifference that was more disgusting than anything else. The contradiction was insulting, a hypocrisy that pulsed like poison in Shen Jiu's veins.

A bitter thought crossed his mind as his green eyes flashed with suppressed fury: So this is the oh-so-honorable Liu family. All of its splendor cannot hide the stench of its corruption.

Shen Jiu ignored the sliver of disappointment that dug itself like a thorn into his heart as he looked at the surroundings in which his oh-so-honorable Shidi had grown up. For an instant, the image of Liu Qingge, with his impeccable morals and innocent stubbornness, faltered in his mind, but Shen Jiu forced himself to push it away.

There was no time to wander into useless thoughts. Not now.

His eyes returned to the slave camp, to the chains that gleamed in the torchlight, to the weight of despair that seemed to choke the very air. Every haggard face and empty gaze reinforced his resolve.

He must find San Shi's family. That was his priority.

And more than that, he had to cut all those chains.

There were twenty slaves in total: four children, three young women, two old men, and the rest, young men. A ragtag group, marked by misery and resignation. The only ones who carried any vitality were the three Liu cultivators standing watch, too self-assured to perceive the threat looming over them.

Shen Jiu assessed the situation coldly. Three cultivators were no match for him. He could incapacitate all three of them easily.

With fluid movements, he plucked three leaves from a nearby tree, infusing them with his qi. The leaves, light as feathers at first, now vibrated with energy, weighing enough to become deadly projectiles.

Without a sound to give away his position, Shen Jiu threw the leaves with surgical precision. Two of them found their mark, striking the cultivators’ heads with brutal force and instantly knocking them unconscious. The dull sound of collapsing bodies echoed through the camp.

The third one was faster, however. He sensed the attack at the last instant and dodged the blade with a nimble twist.

Shen Jiu gave him no time to react. He infused his qi into his legs and, with a leap that seemed to defy gravity, pounced on the Liu cultivator. In mid-air, he spun his body precisely and wrapped his legs around his opponent’s neck.

The cultivator struggled, trying to break free, but Shen Jiu held on tightly, cutting off his opponent’s airflow. The resistance soon weakened, and the cultivator fell to the ground, unconscious.

Shen Jiu landed gracefully, his green gaze fixed on the terrified slaves.

“Silence,” he whispered, though his voice was firm. “They have nothing to fear. I will free them.”

“Who are you?” An old man asked in a trembling voice, his body hunched as he tried to protect the boy hiding behind him with his arms.

Shen Jiu did not answer immediately. His gaze swept the group, assessing faces marked by hunger and desperation, searching for signs of the family he had promised to find.

A burly man stepped forward, standing between Shen Jiu and the other slaves. His movements were slow but firm, and his eyes, though wary, watched him with a mix of suspicion and hope.

"You have green eyes..." the man murmured after a long moment of scrutiny. Something in his tone seemed to hold a spark of recognition, as if he were confirming a rumor, a distant whisper that was finally coming to life before him.

The burly man stood up, standing like a wall in front of his own. "You must be the liberator."

The word echoed in the silence of the camp. The other slaves began to exchange glances, first with skepticism and then with a faint glimmer of hope.

Shen Jiu let out a soft sigh. Liberator. A heavy word, a title that had begun to follow him like a shadow ever since all this started. Every time someone called him that, a part of him wanted to retort, to reject the label. He was no liberator, he had no high ideals or glory seeking. He was just someone with a modicum of human decency.

But now it didn't matter what he thought of himself. There was a duty to fulfill, and time was pressing.

"You want to be free? Fine. Let's do this quickly," he said, his voice firm and authoritative, like a sharp gust awakening the slaves from their slumber. "The Liu are still on the other side of the camp and it won't take long for them to realize that something strange is going on."

He advanced toward one of the fainted cultivators, his figure agile and determined, and rummaged through the robe until he found a set of keys. He threw them at the burly man who had spoken earlier.

“Here. Start with the women. If anything happens, I need them to be ready to flee first.”

The man nodded, catching the keys in midair with weathered hands. Though he said nothing, his eyes shone with a mixture of respect and wonder.

Meanwhile, Shen Jiu pulled out a finely carved silver needle and a small porcelain container from his ring. His green gaze swept over the group of slaves.

“Now,” he said, his tone as sharp as the needle he held. “Who wants to be the first to get rid of that hideous tattoo?”

A heavy silence fell over the group. Some exchanged glances, unsure, while others instinctively backed away, clinging to the fear that had accompanied them for so long.

Finally, a young woman, with sunken but determined eyes, stepped forward. “Me.” she said in a weak but clear voice, moving closer to him as she held her breath.

Shen Jiu nodded, his gaze locked on the young woman’s eyes. "Fine. It won't hurt. I'll just draw a little blood to place a nullifying seal on you."

His tone, unnoticed by himself, had softened. An unexpected gentleness that seemed to envelop the girl like a warm blanket. His shoulders, previously tense with fear, relaxed slightly, and that change began to spread among the other slaves like a whisper of relief.

With calculated movements, Shen Jiu slid the needle against the tip of the woman's finger, letting a few drops of crimson blood accumulate. He carefully placed it on the porcelain container. Diligently, he ran the brush along the woman's arm, his delicate strokes not stopping until the seal was complete.

"This seal will neutralize any marks of slavery you have," he explained, more to reassure her than out of any real need to clarify. "It's permanent. Once you carry it with you, no master will be able to claim you again."

The girl's eyes filled with tears, but she did not let them fall. Instead, he nodded vigorously, pressing his lips together to contain the torrent of emotions bubbling up in his chest.

Shen Jiu finished the last stroke on the woman's skin, and it began to glow with a faint golden glow. Instantly, the tattoo vanished as if it had never existed, leaving the skin on her nape clean and free.

A murmur spread among the slaves at the change. Some looked at Shen Jiu in amazement; others with a mix of hope and reverence, as the burly leader kept the keys moving, freeing the others.

Shen Jiu stood up, his voice ringing clear and firm. "Who's next? We don't have much time."

One by one they were freed. Shen Jiu's needle, shining in the dim light, was disinfected with a steady flow of his qi before each new use. The process, though meticulous, had to be done quickly. The silence was only interrupted by the brush against the skin and the bated breaths of those who had waited years for this moment.

However, a shadow loomed over Shen Jiu's mind.

There was no trace of San Shí's son or grandson.

When he finished sealing everyone, Shen Jiu deftly turned his ring and pulled out his drawings, unfolding them in front of the new people.

“This one begs for your help,” he said, pointing firmly. “I need to know where San Wu and his son are.”

His eyes scanned each face, carefully analyzing their reactions, searching for any sign of recognition, any shadow of doubt or fear.

An old man stepped forward, taking San Wu’s portrait from his hands with a slight bow. “A strong boy, that one. He died two moons ago, beaten by the master…” The old man made a disapproving gesture and quickly corrected, “Patriarch Liu’s.”

A young girl, who had been silently watching, looked at the portraits with growing unease. Her face paled, as if all color had drained from her. “The boy… I saw him. He’s in the other camp. He serves alongside Xiao Hua.”

The poison of frustration coursed through Shen Jiu’s veins. He cursed inwardly, then, with an imperceptible gesture, he closed his eyes for a moment. The gears in his mind began to turn rapidly, coming up with a plan that could lead him to, at last, save at least San Shí's grandson and the girl who remains to be freed. 

"Fine, we'll do this. I need you to return to the village." Shen Jiu began to quickly draw a map of the route, handing it to the burly man. "It is vitally important that you stay away from the Lius. They are not just any noble family, they are cultivators. I don't know if they will want to retaliate for this. Return to the village, go to the green inn on the corner and ask for San Shí. I will follow you later."

Although hesitant, everyone agreed. Shen Jiu urged them to follow the burly man. As he turned, his gaze shifted to one of the fallen cultivators. He quickly took the dagger from his clothes, putting it away without anyone noticing. 

 Before leaving, he cast one last glance at the freed men, nodding decisively, as if something else had been resolved within him. And without further ado, he turned on his heel, preparing for what was to come.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐ 

The scent of delicate incense gently wafted through the air, permeating everything in his path. Shen Jiu, cleverly disguised as a slave, infiltrated the Liu camp with eerie ease. No one suspected his presence as he moved through the shadows of the tents.

With a jar of rice alcohol in hand, he walked through the camp, his gaze vigilant, searching for any sign of San Shí's grandson or Xiao Hua.

He passed with his head down, making himself invisible among the noble ladies who gossiped about trivialities, oblivious to his presence. Shen Jiu maintained his slave-like demeanor, but his mind remained alert, filtering out every word, every noise.

He was confident. According to his memories, Liu Qingge would be in Cang Qiong right now, far from the Liu camp. An almost imperceptible sigh escaped his lips. Liu Qingge was undoubtedly the only one who could thwart his plans, but her absence at the moment played to his advantage.

As he continued on his way, Shen Jiu's gaze hardened with each step, knowing that time was running out.

Finally, he found them. They were in the makeshift kitchens, surrounded by the acrid smoke of badly burned wood. Their movements were slow, laden with fatigue, but not lacking in care.

Xiao Hua, a girl who couldn't have been more than thirteen years old, worked with scarred hands. A worn cloth covered part of her face, indicating that she was probably blind in one eye. Despite her fragility, her posture reflected a determination rooted in necessity.

San Mao, San Shí's grandson, was just a tiny little thing, a baby of no more than four years old. His thin little body seemed about to break, and his hands trembled as he tried to help as best he could. The innocence on his face contrasted with the harshness of that environment.

They both looked up at the same time when Shen Jiu approached, the echo of his footsteps breaking the routine of that moment. A flicker of fear flashed through their eyes, afraid of what Shen Jiu's presence here might mean.

"Hello." Shen Jiu used his softest voice, as delicate as the breeze barely brushing the leaves. "I'm Shen Jiu. You are Xiao Hua and San Mao, aren't you?"

The children nodded cautiously. Their small bodies seemed to want to back away, but their feet remained firm, caught between uncertainty and curiosity.

"Do you need something, sir?" Xiao Hua asked in a whisper, his voice barely audible. He avoided their eyes, as if looking at them might bring him more misfortune.

Shen Jiu lowered himself to their level, trying to appear less imposing. "I've come to take San Mao to his grandmother, San Shí. Xiao Hua, come with me. I promise you that a new life awaits you."

His words were measured, each one laden with the sincerity he rarely let on. Xiao Hua's eyes narrowed slightly, as if evaluating the truth of that promise, while San Mao simply looked at him with the curiosity typical of a child, too young to understand the scope of his words. Shen Jiu will have to change that in the future. 

San Mao approached hesitantly, his small arms encircling Shen Jiu's waist with a gesture full of trust and hope. "Are you going to take me to my grandmother?" His voice, tender and full of yearning, had a sweetness that a slave child should not possess. Shen Jiu could not help but think that, without a doubt, San Shí and his son had done their best to protect and care for this little one in the midst of such cruelty. 

He swallowed the envy that seemed to rise in his throat. 

He nodded gently, and then Xiao Hua stepped forward. His gaze was full of defiance, although his posture betrayed the exhaustion of years of suffering. "I will go with you, but if you deceive us, I will cut your throat." 

 They both knew that this threat was more of a helpless cry than a real warning. Shen Jiu didn't say anything. He understood that sometimes, words were all a slave had to defend himself.

“I’m going to need you to do me a favor.” Shen Jiu kept his tone calm, trying not to alarm them any further. “I’m going to need some blood from both of you.”

At his request, the children instinctively backed away, fear turning to distrust. Xiao Hua grabbed a small knife from the table and pointed it directly at him, placing himself in front of San Mao as a human shield.

“I knew it. You’re a cultivator.” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t lower the weapon. Her large, dark eye stared at him filled with dread. “I’d rather die than be a cauldron. Go away. Go away before I scream.”

The determination on her face was touching. Shen Jiu knew that the girl didn’t have the strength to scream loud enough, much less face him, but her spirit was indomitable, like the edge of the knife she held in trembling hands.

“Wait, let me explain.” Shen Jiu raised both hands, trying to calm the tension in the air. His voice lowered in tone, trying to convey sincerity. “I need to remove the tattoo on your neck. I can make it so you will never be a slave like me again.”

To prove his point, Shen Jiu lifted his clothes slightly, showing the children the red seal branded on his waist, a symbol that burned with liberating meaning. Then, without hesitation, he turned around and took his hair in one hand, moving it aside to reveal the back of his neck.

“The seal on my waist removed my tattoo,” he explained, tilting his head slightly so they could get a better look. “But if you look closely, the scar on the back of my neck still remains. It is proof of what I was and what I am no longer.”

Xiao Hua watched him silently, his breath held. The threat on his face began to crumble, replaced by hesitation. His hand, which held the knife, trembled slightly.

 San Mao, clinging to the girl's leg, asked in an innocent voice, "Are you really not a slave anymore?"

Shen Jiu turned back to them, calmly pulling down the clothes. "Really. And I can do the same for you, but I need your help. Just a little blood, nothing more."

Xiao Hua stared at him, searching for any trace of deceit on his face. Finally, he lowered the knife, though he did not let go. "If you betray us, it will be the end of you," he murmured, his tone weaker but still firm.

Shen Jiu, receiving the girl's acceptance, carefully took out the needle and brush he had prepared. The calmness in his expression hid the urgency within, as if each movement was a delicate ritual. He gently took Xiao Hua's hand and, with a slight prick, drew out a drop of blood.

Xiao Hua winced in pain, but did not pull his hand away. His gaze remained fixed on Shen Jiu, as if he were still assessing him, searching for the truth in each gesture. He dipped the brush in the fresh blood and, as he prepared to draw the seal on the girl's arm, she stopped him with a sudden movement.

"Don't do it on my arm," she said in a low but firm voice. Shen Jiu looked up, surprised by his interruption. Xiao Hua pointed a finger at her cheek, where the blind eye was covered by a cloth. "Do it here."

For an instant, time seemed to stand still. Shen Jiu immediately understood the meaning of that request. The cheek marked by blindness was a scar visible to all, a sign of vulnerability that she now wanted to transform into something more.

"Understood," Shen Jiu replied, his tone softer than ever. With almost reverent care, he brought the brush to Xiao Hua's skin and began to draw the seal. Each stroke seemed charged with a deeper power, a symbol of resistance and hope. Xiao Hua did not move, his lips pressed together, but his posture was determined.

 When he was done, Shen Jiu took a step back and looked at the faintly glowing red seal on the girl's cheek, contrasting with the shadows in the kitchen. "Xiao Hua. You are no longer a slave."

Xiao Hua touched the mark on his face with trembling fingers, and for the first time, his expression showed something other than fear: a spark of joy. 

"My turn, my turn!" San Mao exclaimed, jumping in place as he stretched his small arm towards Shen Jiu. His excitement was so pure that for an instant it seemed to light up the dark atmosphere of the camp. 

Shen Jiu smiled gently, putting aside his usual reserve. Infusing a bit of qi into the needle to sterilize it, he took the child's tiny hand and carefully pricked his finger. San Mao barely winced, too excited to notice the slight pain.

With precise movements, Shen Jiu dipped the brush into the blood and began to trace the seal on the boy's arm. Unlike Xiao Hua, San Mao couldn't sit still; his large, curious eyes followed each stroke of the brush, as if he were witnessing a miracle. 

When he finished, the seal glowed for an instant before settling on the skin. San Mao looked at his arm in amazement, then rubbed the back of his neck with small hands. "Wow! It doesn't hurt anymore," he said with a wide smile, as if he had just discovered a hidden treasure. 

Xiao Hua, who had remained silent until then, let out a low sigh. His expression had lost some of its initial hardness and he now looked at San Mao with relief. 

Shen Jiu bent down until he was at eye level with the boy. "You are free now, San Mao. No one can hurt you anymore." 

San Mao responded with a radiant look, gratitude shining in his eyes like stars. "Thank you, Uncle Shen." 

 Shen Jiu felt a slight tug at his heart at those words. “Come on, we still have to get out of here,” he said as he stood up, his voice resuming its matter-of-fact tone. 

Shen Jiu cautiously walked out of the kitchens, peeking his head out to make sure the path was clear. The children followed behind him in tense silence, their small footsteps barely audible on the dusty floor. The kitchens section seemed to be abandoned, as if even the guards considered this place beneath their notice. 

Taking advantage of that, Shen Jiu moved forward quickly, stopping every now and then to make sure they weren’t being followed. Reaching the edge of the nearest tent, San Mao stumbled slightly, his short, tired legs struggling to keep up. Shen Jiu glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and without a second thought, he lifted him into his arms, resting him against his waist firmly. 

 “Stay still,” she said softly, as the boy settled back, surprised by the gesture.

Xiao Hua said nothing, but her steps quickened to stay close. Her eyes, one clear and one dull, kept scanning the surroundings, her posture tense like an animal accustomed to fleeing. Shen Jiu could feel the weight of her distrust, but there was no time to reassure her now.

They moved through the shadows behind the tents, moving like specters. Shen Jiu’s heart was pounding, not from fear, but from the urgency to get them out of this place before anyone noticed their absence.

When they were finally a safe distance from the camp, Shen Jiu stopped, turning to give Xiao Hua a breather. The girl, visibly exhausted, leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees as her breathing stirred the silence of the night.

“Ready?” Shen Jiu asked, his voice firm but with a hint of patience.

 Xiao Hua looked up, his eyes shining with determination despite his exhaustion. He nodded quickly, straightening up with effort.

“Let’s continue then.”

With San Mao still resting on his waist, Shen Jiu picked up his pace, making sure Xiao Hua could keep up with them. The forest around them seemed more welcoming now that the distance between them and the camp had grown.

However, a presence made him freeze in place.

“Shixiong?” The manly voice behind his back was unmistakable, each syllable reverberating with a mix of strength and vulnerability. Shen Jiu held the boy tighter, as if afraid that letting go might expose his own trembling. He knew perfectly well who that voice belonged to, and he was not prepared to face it.

“Shixiong, is that you?”

He bit his lip in frustration, forcing himself to contain the torrent of emotions churning within him. He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs as he relaxed his countenance. Slowly, he turned toward the voice, his stance firm and defiant, ready for any confrontation. If Liu Qingge wanted to fight, he was more than prepared to do battle.

However, as he met those silver eyes, something snapped inside him.

Those eyes, which for years had pierced him with cutting contempt, now stared at him with an intensity so great that it made the armor of his soul waver. There was worry, yes, but also a deep longing, something Shen Jiu had never seen before.

“Shixiong…”

Liu Qingge’s tone was almost a whisper, as if uttering that title was as painful as it was comforting. Shen Jiu felt a lump forming in his throat, but he did not let his expression betray that internal battle.

“Liu Qingge, it’s been a while.”

Chapter Text

“Come back with me to Cang Qiong.”

Liu Qingge’s words fell like a stone in a lake, breaking the surface of the brief shock that the reunion had offered. Shen Jiu felt the weight of tension return in full force, crushing him like an avalanche.

Did that idiot really have the nerve to demand something from him? After years of disdain and treatment that was never more than an open wound? After his revered family was responsible for the death of San Shí’s son? Of all the slaves he mistreated in the Liu lands?

His brow furrowed, a dark crack crossing his already grim face. With deliberate movements, he hid San Mao’s little face in the crook of his neck, shielding him from the world as if he could spare him all the cruelty he already knew. Xiao Hua, on his back, was shrouded in an even more protective shadow. Shen Jiu was not going to allow any of them to become targets of Liu Qingge's arrogance.

"Cang Qiong?" His voice emerged, low and sharp, like the edge of a knife. "Do you really think you can say such words to me, as if nothing had happened?"

Liu Qingge closed his eyes, a light sigh escaping from between his lips. He seemed to be fighting with himself, as if reproaching his own clumsiness. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, almost conciliatory, though the firmness had not disappeared.

"We must strengthen you," Liu Qingge said, each word landing with the precision of a calculated blow. "We do not know if that half-breed demon will also be born with memories. It is best for you, for your safety, that you return to me. To us."

Despite his steely countenance, there was a plea buried in his gaze, like a river hidden beneath a layer of ice. Shen Jiu noticed, but instead of being moved, he only felt a wave of disgust creep through his veins, cold and sharp.

Shen Jiu let out a short, bitter laugh, almost a bark of disbelief. The man's boldness knew no bounds. He didn't need to think about his answer; it came out of his lips like a dry blow.

"No."

Liu Qingge looked up, surprised by the harshness in Shen Jiu's voice, but Shen Jiu didn't give him time to reply.

"Go back to your slaver family," Shen Jiu snapped, each word laced with venom. His gaze, like a sharp jade blade, pierced Liu Qingge mercilessly. "They are the ones who need to get stronger, not me." The threat was clear.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost oppressive. San Mao let out a frightened whisper against Shen Jiu's neck, while Xiao Hua fidgeted behind his back, as if sensing the threat hanging in the air.

Shen Jiu let out a slow, measured sigh, forcing his body to relax. The stiffness in his posture eased, though his heart was still pounding beneath the surface. This time, when he looked down at the children, his green eyes held an unusual warmth, a refuge amidst the storm.

"Don't be afraid," he told them, his voice now soft, almost comforting. His words were like a warm blanket, wrapping them carefully. "He won't hurt you as long as you're with me."

San Mao looked at him with wide, bright eyes, while Xiao Hua let out a low sound, as if those words were all they needed to soothe his fear. Shen Jiu lightly tightened his arms around them, protecting them as if they were a shield separating him from the outside world.

 Liu Qingge, standing in front of them, frowned upon hearing those words, the sharp edge of which seemed to be aimed directly at him. The weight of the innuendo fell upon his chest like a rock broken off a mountain, stifling any attempt at defense he might have wanted to articulate.

He wanted to tell him that he would never harm him, or those under his protection. He wanted to assure him that his hands, though strong, would never be raised against him. But what weight would those words carry, coming from someone who in his other life had been so disdainful, so blind to his suffering?

He fell silent. Now was not the time to argue with Shen Jiu. Not yet.

He looked away, but not before his attention fell on the children. Realization hit him hard: he recognized them. They were the same slaves who had once diligently tended to his family home, small, frightened faces that always seemed to avoid his gaze.

A lump formed in his throat as he looked back at Shen Jiu. The sadness in his eyes deepened, a swirl of guilt, helplessness, and something else that he himself could not name.

“Listen, Liu Qingge. I already have a life. A life far away from Cang Qiong.” Shen Jiu took Xiao Hua in the crook of his arm, ready to flee with both children if the situation called for it. His green eyes, hard as cold jade, searched the other cultivator's gaze.

"I would appreciate it if, this time, you did not interfere."

Liu Qingge stood still, a mountain of steel and silence. But after a moment, his voice broke through the air like an unsheathed sword: "He went to find you in the Qiu mansion as soon as he regained his memory. He will never stop until he finds you. You know that, right?"

Shen Jiu's laughter rang out, bitter and low, like the echo of an out-of-tune guqin. His lips curved into a smile that did not reach his eyes. "He can try as hard as he wants. But I assure you, Liu Qingge..." He paused, the shadow of his past weighing on his words. "I will never wear chains again. And I will never return to Cang Qiong."

 The wind blew between them, kicking up dust and dry leaves, as if the sky itself wanted to push them away before either of them could say more.

For the first time, Shen Jiu did something he had never done with Liu Qingge: truly look at him. It was not the fleeting, disdainful glance he had usually given him in his past life. This time, his green eyes swept over him like an invisible knife, cataloging him, dissecting him, stripping him of the perfections others seemed to see. Shen Jiu searched with surgical precision and found the cracks, the small shadows in the idealized image of the god of war.

Liu Qingge, who had endured countless wounds on the battlefield, felt that gaze pierce him deeper than any sword. It hurt more than the poisoned darts of the past, more than the cold words Shen Jiu used to throw at him like daggers. Because this time, it was not words or weapons that hurt him: it was the lack of respect in those eyes, the merciless judgment of one who saw and found inadequacy.

“Honorable cultivator? What a joke.” Shen Jiu muttered at last, his voice barely a whisper, but charged with a force that echoed in the void he had left in Liu Qingge.

With one last look that was half warning, half challenge, Shen Jiu turned around and, with qi propelling his steps, disappeared like a gust among the mountain paths.

Liu Qingge watched him silently, his eyes following the slender figure that blurred in the distance. His hand, almost without realizing it, rose slightly, as if by extending his fingers he could reach something that had never been within reach. In the end, he only caught the cold air he left behind.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐ 

Fool, fool, fool, fool.

How absurdly deluded he had been to believe that he was the only one blessed, or cursed, with the brilliant opportunity to go back in time. How ridiculously naive, to suppose that the specters of his past would dissolve like mist at dawn and not return to devour him with claws sharper than ever.

And then there was Liu Qingge, the fool with firm fists and a stone brain, towering over him as if some heavenly decree granted him the authority to dictate what was good or bad for Shen Jiu. The echo of his voice resonated in his mind, imbued with an irritating moral superiority, like a dull blade tearing apart the peace he had worked so hard to manufacture. Just remembering it made his blood boil; His jade-green eyes darkened like a sky before a storm.

“Uncle Shen, do you know the young master?” San Mao’s timid little voice pulled him from his thoughts, making him stop completely.

Shen Jiu carefully lowered them to the ground, and only then did he notice the squalor of their clothes. Those slave rags barely served the function of covering their small bodies, much less protecting them from the biting cold of winter. Without hesitation, he took out the thick, lined robes he carried with him from his storage ring, wrapping San Mao and Xiao Hua in each one. His fingers, accustomed to holding brushes and weapons, moved with unexpected tenderness as he arranged the garments over them. It’s a pity he lost his scarf in the rush, San Mao would have come in handy.

When he finished, he nodded in satisfaction and placed a firm but warm hand on each child’s shoulder. His green eyes, like a forest at dawn, caught them with an imposing glow that demanded their full attention.

“He is no longer your young master, nor will he ever be.” Shen Jiu’s voice echoed with the firmness of an oath carved in stone, each word laden with unwavering conviction. “Listen carefully, you and Xiao Hua: neither of you will have masters again. Ever again.”

He paused, as if the words themselves held the weight of an irrevocable destiny. “I will see to it that you live well. You will have a normal life, far from any chain, far from any whip.”

Shen Jiu made a promise, and for people like them, that was worth more than any silk garment or a banquet served on the most opulent table. A promise was the only thing a slave could offer, the only thing he could give as his own.

Promises between slaves were sacred, because keeping them meant giving up a part of oneself, a fragment of soul that was still free, intact. To those who received them, these words were not just sounds, but a priceless treasure, an act of faith in a world that had stolen almost everything from them.

The winter wind blew hard, but beneath the new layers of clothing, the children felt for the first time a warmth that went beyond the physical, as if something inside them, something broken for too long, was beginning to mend.

Xiao Hua, his cheeks tinted with a light blush, spat in a hurry. "Agh! Stop talking such cheesy nonsense and take us to Maomao's grandmother."

Shen Jiu responded with nothing more than a light snort, taking the children into his arms with surprising ease. In an instant, the three of them were on the path, and with his agility, Shen Jiu knew that he would soon catch up with the group of new men.

They soon reached the village, and once in safe territory, Shen Jiu placed both children on the ground with the same measured calm as always.

Without delay, he led them towards the inn where everyone else was waiting. The wooden floor creaked under their feet as they crossed the threshold, but the sound was eclipsed by a muffled cry and the sound of hurried footsteps.

Before San Mao could react, arms wrapped around him with a desperate, almost ferocious force. San Shí had reached him, his face streaked with tears as he rocked his grandson with the tenderness of someone who has just recovered something irreplaceable.

“Thank heavens… my San Mao,” San Shí sobbed, as if words were not enough to express the weight he carried in her chest. His voice trembled, but his arms were firm, as if he feared the child might vanish again.

 Shen Jiu watched the scene in silence, his gaze seeming distant, then looked away, giving the reunion some privacy. 

A few steps away, Xiao Hua watched the reunion with an expression tinged with slight envy, he could sympathize with her. Shen Jiu said nothing; he simply placed a light hand on her shoulder, a gesture that made her jump. Without saying a word, he led her into the inn. 

Inside, the chaos seemed to have found a precarious order. The former slaves were scattered throughout the hall. Some were devouring their food with voracious eagerness, probably thanks to the money Shen Jiu had entrusted to San Shí. Others, with bodies still marked by open scars, were trying to tend to their wounds with improvised tools. 

Shen Jiu looked at them attentively, his lips slightly pursed. “Mm… I’ll have to take care of this,” he thought to himself, his mind already calculating the necessary steps. While he was not a doctor, his knowledge of medicinal qi could be useful in alleviating the most urgent suffering.

Shen Jiu started with the burly man who had caught his eye earlier, whose name he later discovered was Yin Bo. Without saying many words, he extended a hand over the whip-scarred back. He channeled his medicinal qi precisely, letting the energy flow into the damaged tissue, quickly regenerating the skin and sealing the fresh scars.

Next, he attended to the other old man in the group who was visibly limping. He had hurt his knee in the rush of the journey. Shen Jiu carefully cleaned the area, applied an aromatic ointment that calmed the redness, and bandaged the joint firmly but without causing further discomfort.

Thus he continued, one by one, going through the group until all of the newly freed men were free of the most urgent pain. His movements were meticulous, almost distant, but in each gesture there was an efficiency that brooked no error. Though his face remained unfazed, the weight of his actions spoke for itself: a hand that offered no comfort, but relief.

With the job done, Shen Jiu stood in a corner, silently watching them. Men, women, and children all shared the same air of uncertainty. What will they do now that they are no longer slaves? The question hovered in his mind like a spectre. What does the future hold for them, when their entire existence has revolved around serving a master?

For a brief moment, the bitter realization struck him: he had been cruel. Not just to them, but to others whom he had freed as well.

What good is it to be free if you have nowhere to lean on?

The image haunted him: a domesticated bird, suddenly thrown into the vastness of an unknown forest. Without the tools necessary to survive, sooner or later it would fall prey to a lurking beast. And he, Shen Jiu, was he not just as guilty as those beasts?

How foolish he had been, acting so impulsively, as if with a single act he could redeem centuries of chains. He would break free and disappear into thin air, convinced that his work was done. But now… now he couldn’t help but wonder: how many more like San Shí had been stranded, searching for help that was no longer there?

How many more like Xiao Hua or San Mao had remained in the dark, waiting in vain to be rescued?

The realization hit him like a whip, more painful than any of the scars that once adorned his own skin. How stupidly selfish he had been. Yes, he had freed them… but he had also abandoned them.

How different was that from condemning them?

Shen Jiu let his gaze sweep over each of the freed ones. The laughing little girl, showing a gap where one of her teeth should have been, rested in the trembling arms of an old man who seemed on the verge of collapse. Then he looked at the young women who had gathered around Xiao Hua, their delicate hands brushing the girl’s tattooed cheek, who was blushing at the unexpected attention.

He then moved on to the men, gathered in small groups, their lively voices filling the air with an energy unknown to them. For the first time, their faces showed something that could be mistaken for calm.

Finally, his eyes stopped on San Shí and San Mao, the old woman and her grandson. Their figures were small, almost insignificant in the bustle of the place. How would they all stay afloat once he was gone?

Shen Jiu closed his eyes for a moment, an invisible weight pressing down on his chest. Unlike many men, he always assumed his responsibility, however painful it was. And they, his free men, were his responsibility. His people.

Shen Jiu may be cruel, yes, but not a complete monster.

With that determination clinging to his chest, Shen Jiu approached his freemen, a shadow of reflection crossing his countenance. He would propose something that would transform the path he would walk from that moment on, a change that would not only affect others, but himself. After all, in such a vast and lonely world, having a little company never hurt.

They were at the inn for two days before everyone left the village, Shen Jiu headed to the clothing stores, organizing the freemen into groups of five to buy coats and other necessary clothing. Winter was approaching with its usual harshness, and although Shen Jiu's cultivation gave him considerable protection against the cold, his freemen did not have the same advantage. They, more vulnerable, needed more than hope to withstand the coming cold.

He bought clothes for everyone: coats, shoes, and the necessary supplies for the long journey. Counting his coins, he realized that he still had a considerable amount left. They could make it to the borders without difficulty. Shen Jiu had planned to stay there for a few years. The empire's freezing climate would persist for several seasons, and he truly hated winter. However, beyond the cold, his mind was still focused on Liu Qingge's warning. 

He knows Yue Qingyuan well. And he will not hesitate to take him back to Cang Qiong, no matter what he wishes. The best thing, for now, was to head to the borders, build a house there for himself and his freemen, and once settled, he would figure out what to do from there. 

As he walked alongside his freemen towards the borders, Shen Jiu took the small egg out of his ring and held it in his hands. He placed the strap around his neck, feeling the familiar weight against his skin, and then infused his qi into the egg. A gentle warmth spread from his chest, and a slight vibration told him that the egg was responding to his energy. Shen Jiu smiled as he felt him move slightly, recognizing that connection that had begun to form with the small being he carried in his chest.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐

Yue Qingyuan holds the white scarf in his hands with a reverence bordering on devotion, his fingers slowly sliding over the soft fox fur that covers it. His eyes, usually kind and serene, are clouded by a melancholy that is difficult to decipher as he looks out from the imposing Qiong Ding tower at the peaceful landscape of Qing Jing.

Liu Qingge, standing with the others, is the first to notice the dark tone that appears in the gaze of his future sect leader. The almost imperceptible movement of his hands, a subtle but inescapable tremor, speaks of barely contained emotions. The way he holds the scarf, with a mixture of longing and possessiveness, as if he fears losing it again, does not go unnoticed.

 That garment, so insignificant in anyone's eyes, was a tangible fragment of Shen Jiu, a relic that Liu Qingge had found and that Yue Qingyuan now treasured as if his own sanity depended on it. To others, it was just a forgotten scarf; to Yue Qingyuan, it was all that remained of a bond he had never stopped yearning for. 

With almost deliberate slowness, Yue Qingyuan turned, fixing his attention on Liu Qingge with an intensity that seemed capable of piercing the soul. His normally serene eyes now glowed with a suppressed fire, while the deep dark circles beneath them betrayed sleepless nights and dark thoughts. Liu Qingge couldn't help but notice how pale he looked, as if something vital had been ripped from him. 

"You had it right in front of you," Yue Qingyuan began, his voice low but laden with latent menace, "close to you, just a few steps away."

His footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he approached, every movement imbued with a tension that seemed to envelop the air. Liu Qingge, accustomed to his temperament, remained calm, but beside him, Mu Qingfang tensed like a rope on the verge of snapping, his hands clenching the hem of his sleeves uneasily. 

“And you didn’t bring him to me?”

Yue Qingyuan’s voice was an icy edge, devoid of the warmth that usually accompanied his words. The cold tone no longer surprised Liu Qingge; the gentle sect leader, the man who used to offer comforting smiles as balm for the soul, was long gone, buried beneath layers of regret and suppressed rage. Now, only a broken man remained, clinging tooth and nail to what little he could control.

“I always knew you were an idiot,” Yue Qingyuan snapped, his voice as dry as the withered leaves of an endless winter. “My Xiao-Jiu always warned me that you followed your own rules, that you were incapable of submitting to anyone’s control. But now, you dare to rebel against my explicit orders?”

His gaze was a sharp edge, and although Liu Qingge did not back down, he felt the weight of each word like stones thrown at his chest. “You are lucky that I still need you to deal with that demonic parasite.”

The venom in his voice abruptly dissipated, as if he had exhausted all his energy. The hardness in his features gave way to deep sadness as his fingers stroked the scarf with almost obsessive care, as if holding on to it was his only connection to the past.

“My poor Xiao Jiu…” he murmured, his words trembling with a mix of pain and tenderness. “What must be going through that brilliant mind of his, for him not to come with his Qi-ge? He must be suffering hardship, alone and vulnerable, while his hypocritical fellow sect members enjoy the luxury and comfort he never had.”

The melancholy in his tone was almost palpable, spreading like a shadow that covered everyone present. Liu Qingge looked away, unable to bear the burden of that expression. At this moment, Yue Qingyuan was not the strong and determined sect leader everyone knew, but a man consumed by guilt and longing.

Seeing Yue Qingyuan’s fragile state, Liu Qingge decided, with a rare show of prudence, to keep to himself the words Shen Jiu had said about him, about Cang Qiong and his decision to never return.

Saying it at this moment would be like throwing fuel on an already out-of-control fire. There was no doubt in his mind that those words, as sharp as daggers, would shatter what little remained of Yue Qingyuan’s composure. They would drive him madder than he already was, pushing him into an abyss from which he might not be able to escape.

For the first time, Liu Qingge understood that Yue Qingyuan's love for Shen Jiu was not just a bond from the past, but an obsession that had become his constant torment. And he, caught in the midst of this whirlwind of emotions, could only grit his teeth and remain silent.

"We will continue with the plan to search for him. We will not rest until he is here, safe, with me."

Yue Qingyuan's voice echoed with an unwavering firmness, as if the words were an oath etched in stone. He caressed the white scarf with almost reverential devotion, bringing it to his face. The softness of the fox fur brushed his cheek, like a distant echo of the warmth he desperately longed for.

"Don't worry, Xiao-Jiu," he whispered, his eyes veiled with a glint that oscillated between determination and heartbreak. "Your Qi-ge will find you. He will keep you safe, as he always should have."

The scene was almost painful to witness. The air was filled with a chest-constricting tension, and those present, unable to intervene, could only watch as the man who had once led the most powerful sect clung to a piece of clothing as if his very life depended on it.

Qi Qingqi was the first to leave the room. She could no longer bear the pitiful sight of her Zhǎngmén-shixiong, that man who had once been the image of righteousness and strength, now reduced to a living lament, clinging to a memory as fragile as the white scarf he held.

One by one, the others followed suit. Their expressions were a reflection of discomfort and unease, as if witnessing this moment was a betrayal of the respect they owed their leader. No one dared to utter a single word.

Liu Qingge was the last to leave. From the threshold, he cast a final glance at Yue Qingyuan. He watched him sitting there, head bowed, as if he didn't notice that everyone had left. His hands were still clutching the scarf, and his world seemed reduced to that single fragment of cloth.

For a moment, Liu Qingge felt a strange weight on his chest, a mixture of guilt and something he couldn't quite define (Worry? Maybe). But he didn't say anything. he closed the door behind his, leaving Yue Qingyuan alone with his thoughts and the scarf that held all the memories he could never forget.

When everyone gathered in the secluded forest of Qiong Ding, the atmosphere was charged with a tension that no one seemed willing to dispel. It was Wei Qingwei who broke the silence, his biting tone cutting through the air like a sharp blade.

"He's crazier than I expected," he declared bluntly, folding his arms as a look of disbelief crossed his face.

Qi Qingqi was quick to shoot her a withering glare, her patience worn thin with her companion's inconsiderate attitude. "He's grieving," he replied coldly, his words tinged with reproach. “He still doesn’t accept that Shen-shixiong won’t go back to him.”

The group fell into an awkward silence. Although some looked at Wei Qingwei disapprovingly, no one dared to contradict him outright. The image of Yue Qingyuan, hugging the scarf as if it were his last connection to reality, was still etched in their minds. To some he was a broken leader, to others, a man consumed by his inability to let go.

“And if he keeps this up, he might never accept it,” Mu Qingfang finally murmured, breaking his usual reserve. His words, though spoken quietly, carried a weight that everyone felt.

“You leave that,” Wang Qingyun interrupted, his tone nonchalant, failing to entirely hide the weariness in his voice. “If Yue Qingyuan keeps acting like this, Shifu and Shizun will suspect something is wrong. Sometimes I find Shizun staring at me thoughtfully; that woman has never paid me this much attention before.”

His words landed with the force of an uncomfortable truth, as he raised his wine jug and took a large gulp without even bothering to hide it. The strong aroma of the liquor filled the air, mixing with the rustling of the leaves beneath her feet.

Mu Qingfang watched with a frown, his concern growing every time he saw Wang Qingyun cling to the alcohol like a balm against the invisible wounds he carried with his. There was something deeply unsettling about his behavior, something that spoke of a burden he did not want to share.

However, Mu Qingfang had yet to muster up enough courage to ask the question that had been burning on his tongue since the moment Wang Qingyun returned. What was the world like after everyone died? A part of him feared the answer, but what he had managed to gather from his observations painted a clear picture: Wang Qingyun was the last to fall, the last to face the inevitable collapse.

The silence between them stretched on, broken only by the sound of Wang Qingyun emptying his cup and the faint sigh that escaped from Mu Qingfang, all too aware of the scars that could not be healed with any medicine.

Qi Qingqi was the one who finally broke the silence, her voice clear as a bell as her peach eyes shone with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “How did you see it?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, causing everyone present to turn their gaze towards Liu Qingge. Liu Qingge, however, seemed lost in his own thoughts, caught up in the vivid memory of his reunion with Shen Jiu.

“He looked… feisty,” he finally said, his voice deep but tinged with something none of them wanted to name. “He seemed fine… Free.”

The words fell like drops of water into a pond, creating another silence among the group. No one commented on the obviousness of Liu Qingge’s tone, the restrained longing seeping through his words. After all, it was neither the time nor the place to help the man with his unrequited love.

Instead, everyone seemed to sink into their own thoughts, the image of Shen Jiu free and distant taking shape in their minds. For some, it was a relief; for others, a wound that refused to heal.

“I will not seek him out.”

Kuan Qingliang’s dry words rang like thunder in the group’s charged silence. His tone was firm, with no room for argument, and his hardened expression made it clear that he expected no retort.

“If Liu-shidi says he is fine, then I will not seek him out. Shen-shixiong deserves to be wherever he wants to be, not rotting away alongside us.”

The weight of his words fell upon those present, each one an unspoken reminder of the guilt they all carried with them. Kuan Qingliang, with his upright posture and serious gaze, nodded slightly to the others, like a judge passing sentence.

“Each of you knows the misdeeds you have committed against Shen-shixiong,” he continued, his tone harsh but without anger, as if merely stating a truth they all preferred to ignore. “The best thing you can do now is to let that spirit be as it always wanted: free.”

The silence that followed was almost palpable, laden with a mix of shame and resignation. No one tried to contradict him, because deep down, they all knew he was right. Shen Jiu had carried too much for too long; perhaps, for the first time in his life, he deserved the freedom he so longed for.

“I want to apologize anyway.”

Qi Qingqi’s voice cut through the air with a determination that no one had anticipated. Her delicate features, normally calm and reserved, twisted into an expression of fierce resolve, an intensity that seemed out of place for someone from Fairy Peak. “Until I find him and apologize face to face, I will not stop looking for him.”

Liu Qingge, hearing his words, nodded gravely. His face, as beautiful as a statue sculpted by the gods, radiated a conviction that seemed capable of moving mountains. “I have debts to repay,” he said in a firm voice, his eyes shining with unwavering purpose. "For my own sake and for my sister's insolence. I owe Shen Jiu... a bond of debt binds us."

Kuan Qingliang shook his head, his expression a mixture of weariness and disappointment. "Your stubbornness will be your downfall," he said in a stern tone, his gaze fixed on Liu Qingge as if he were watching a stubborn child who would not learn from his mistakes.

Not waiting for a retort, he muttered to himself, though loud enough to be heard by everyone. “Typical of nobles, they never know the limits.”

The comment landed like a poisoned dart, but Liu Qingge showed no reaction, his face remaining unchanging, like a mountain that does not yield to the wind. However, the rest of the group shifted uncomfortably, each aware of the ever-present tensions between the various positions within the sect.

Qi Qingqi frowned, but decided not to intervene, while Wang Qingyun let out a short sigh, bringing the wine jug to his lips once more. Mu Qingfang glanced sideways at Kuan Qingliang, wanting to say something but opting for silence, knowing that words would only fan the embers of a fire they were in no position to put out.

Wei Qingwei stretched, letting out a light sigh before making a farewell gesture. “I have to go. My Shizun has been relentless lately. Also, I must polish Xiu Ya for the sixth time this week, at Yue-shixiong’s request.”

A low murmur of discomfort ran through the group at the mention of the sect leader, but no one commented on it. With those words, Wei Qingwei left, disappearing into the shadows of the forest, followed slowly by the others, who began to disperse, each returning to their respective peak.

Kuan Qingliang, however, remained for a few seconds longer, his eyes fixed on Liu Qingge’s figure as he walked away. There was something about the man’s words and behavior that seemed disturbingly familiar.

Suspicion grew in his chest like a poisonous seed. ‘Something about him reminds me of Yue Qingyuan’s delusions,’ he thought, his expression darkening. The same obsession, the same intense, desperate gleam in his gaze. It was a similarity he couldn't ignore, and it filled him with an eerie feeling of foreboding.

Kuan Qingliang sighed, folding his arms as he watched Liu Qingge's figure disappear into the trees. A bitter smile curved his lips. "Shen-shixiong always attracts the worst beasts," he muttered, almost to himself.

The irony of the situation did not escape his mind. As much as Shen Jiu sought to distance himself, he seemed doomed to be the axis around which the desires and obsessions of others revolved. It didn't matter if they were fellow sect members, enemies, or even proud nobles like Liu Qingge: they all ended up chained to him in one way or another.

'Maybe it's his own curse,' he thought, adjusting his robes before setting off on the path back to his peak. But he couldn't deny that there was something about Shen Jiu, about his intense gaze, about his untamed presence, that seemed to demand everyone's attention, for better or worse. And, as always, the fiercest beasts were the first to answer the call.

No one noticed the black eyes that observed the entire interaction.

Chapter Text

Yue Qingyuan let out a sigh, his fingers clenching the stone railing until his knuckles turned white.

So much time wasted… instead of looking for his Xiao Jiu.

His lips curved into a hollow smile, devoid of warmth. Did they think whispers in the thick of the forest could escape his ears? His beloved Shidis must be bigger idiots than he expected if they thought he wouldn’t notice their clandestine meetings, exchanging words about his sanity like old market gossips.

Let them talk all they wanted. Let them make plans and debate useless moralities. In the end, none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was getting his Xiao Jiu back.

Slowly, he slid the white scarf between his fingers, feeling the softness of the fox fur against his skin. His last tangible trace, the only thing he had left of him.

His gaze darkened.

“No matter how much you run, Xiao Jiu. No matter how many surround you. Your Qi-ge will always find you.”

If he were not bound to this state of cultivation, trapped by Xuan Su’s insatiable will, he would have left the sect long ago. He would not have been stopped by mountains or rivers or the condemnation of his peers. He would have gone after his Xiao-Jiu without hesitation, no matter how long it took him to find him.

Only once did he manage to escape. It was in the midst of the arduous process of taming Xuan Su, in that cave that had been his prison, chained by the orders of his Shizun. The day his memories came back to him with the brutality of an overflowing tide, he nearly died in the struggle for control against his own sword. His stubborn Xuan Su would not yield to his dominance, it thrashed fiercely, refusing to bend. In that abyss of despair, only one thought sustained him, only one name anchored him to reason:

Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu. Xiao Jiu.

It was that single memory that gave him the strength to overpower Xuan Su. The instant he overpowered his, he wasted no time. He rushed west, his heart pounding in his throat, driven by the only hope he had left. But when he arrived...

Ruins.

That was all he found.

The charred remains of the Qiu house and shadows scattered among the dust and ashes. Men with spears patrolled the surroundings, their gazes hardened by the cruelty of the past. They were not soldiers, but former slaves. And now, they were the ones holding the weapons, threatening with their sharp points anyone who bore the slightest sign of authority.

The echo of his breathing was the only thing that answered him in that landscape of devastation.

And in his chest, Xuan Su vibrated, impatient.

But in his heart, there was only an unbearable emptiness.

He wandered for days in that cursed land, moving like a ghost trapped among the ruins of the past. Desperation kept him in an almost catatonic state, his feet taking him from one place to another without a clear direction, only with the stubborn hope of finding something—anything—that would give him a clue.

He searched among the rubble, among unfamiliar faces and distrustful glances, in the whispers that slipped through the shadows. And then, after what seemed like an eternity, he found it.

A young girl in humble clothes crossed his path. Her gaze, although full of invisible scars, did not have the hatred he had seen in others. And on her skin, a strange tattoo was drawn with crimson lines, a mark he did not recognize.

It was she who, with a voice full of reverence, gave him the answer he had been looking for.

"A boy with green eyes," she said, her words imbued with a memory that seemed sacred. "My savior. He freed us."

Yue Qingyuan felt him breath stop.

The young girl smiled sadly, as if she still harbored unexpressed gratitude in her chest.

“He left before we could thank him.”

In that instant, Yue Qingyuan knew for certain.

Xiao Jiu.

There was no other possibility. There was no one else like him in the world. Even after decades as a sect leader, even after meeting countless people along the way, only *one had had those bright green eyes, as intense as the purest emerald.

He instantly returned to the Cang Qiong Sect.

He felt no exhaustion accumulated from sleepless nights, nor the weight of restless days. All of that dissipated the moment he knew the truth: his Xiao-Jiu was there. Waiting for him. Where else but with him?

The thought alone was enough to drive him back, his heart pounding, filled with a hope he hadn’t felt in years. This time, he was determined. This time, there would be no more mistakes. There would be no more goodbyes.

But all his illusions were shattered the moment he stepped through Cang Qiong's gates.

His Shizun was waiting for him.

His master's imposing figure greeted him with a stern look, the sleeves of his robe fluttering in the mountain breeze.

"Insolent."

His Shizun's voice fell like thunder.

"How dare you run away at such a delicate moment? Have you lost all sense of responsibility?"

The misty eastern region was in chaos, its situation critical. Cang Qiong could not afford to take a stand in the midst of such a crisis. For his chief disciple, the future sect leader to go to this place, was like supporting those slaves instead of the emperor.

But Yue Qingyuan barely listened to him.

All he could feel was the cold spreading through his chest, as if liquid ice had been poured into his soul.

Fate had once again separated him from his Xiao-Jiu.

And this time, he feared that there was no way back.

Yue Qingyuan felt his uneasiness growing with each passing second.

The weight of his Shizun's gaze, stern and disappointed, was a burden on his shoulders. But what really ate at him inside was Xiao-Jiu's absence.

He searched for his silhouette among the disciples, among the stone paths, among the breezes that carried bamboo leaves through the courtyards of Cang Qiong. But he did not find him.

He tried to contain the trembling of his breathing.

Maybe—surely yes—his Xiao-Jiu was at Qing Jing Peak.

Yes. He must be there.

With that thought, he clung to hope and set off immediately.

But when he arrived at Qing Jing Peak, the welcome he received was not what he expected.

From the top of the steps, deep, dark eyes stared at him with disdain, as black as the mouth of a bottomless pit.

The imposing figure of his Xiao-Jiu's Shizun stood before him, robes fluttering in the mountain breeze, like an impenetrable wall between him and his most cherished desire.

"You are not allowed to climb my peak, beast." The words were cold, sharp as a sword blade.

Before Yue Qingyuan could even explain his presence, he was expelled. Thrown off Qing Jing Peak as if he were an intruder unworthy of being there.

Without the right to even ask.

Without even being able to see him.

And as he descended the steps in tense silence, the memory of those night-black eyes continued to haunt him, digging into his skin like ice needles.

It gave him chills. But more than fear, all he felt was a suffocating desperation.

His Xiao-Jiu was so close…

He had to be.

He repeated those words to himself like a mantra, like a desperate spell to quiet the pang of anguish that oppressed his chest.

Xiao-Jiu had surely recovered his memories. The memories of before.

Of when Yue Qingyuan betrayed him.

Of when, in his foolishness of clinging to the rules imposed by the sect, he allowed that filthy demonic half-breed to snatch away what was most precious to him. When, in his pride and blindness, he believed in the false tongues of those peak lords, letting their poisonous words sully the pure love and loyalty of his Xiao-Jiu, the only person who, with his stillness and subtlety, had touched his heart in a way that nothing and no one else had managed.

It was only natural that Xiao Jiu was angry. He should be angry.

Maybe that was why he told his master not to allow him to enter Qing Jing. Yes, that should be it.

Yue Qingyuan clenched his fists.

He couldn't blame him. Not after everything he had put him through.

But, even with that justification lingering in his mind, the truth he tried so hard to ignore clung to his back like an inseparable shadow.

What if Xiao-Jiu had never even set foot in the sect? What if he had never returned, had never intended to? What if, deep within his, he had never even thought of coming back to find him?

The thought alone stung deep into him, a slow poison that crept down his throat, poisoning his soul with every breath. A pain so sharp, so piercing, that every time doubt reached him, his chest tightened as if life itself was being taken from him.

Maybe, after all... his Xiao Jiu had never wanted to return for his Qi-ge.

And that possibility, so cruel and heartbreaking, was more painful than any punishment his Shizun could impose on him.

He couldn't bear it.

Uncertainty devoured him from within, like a poison that ate away at his nerves, tangling in his mind like a suffocating spider web. Every thought, every memory of Xiao-Jiu, pierced him like sharp knives, leaving him with a feeling of emptiness impossible to fill. And in that abyss of doubt, he felt his soul breaking little by little.

He had to know.

That very night, he didn't care about the rules or the consequences, and he sneaked into Qing Jing.

His steps were light, almost imperceptible, like a shadow slipping through the quiet paths. The soft, cold night breeze made the plum leaves tremble, and his breathing, held back, seemed like a whisper lost in the shadows. Every movement was calculated, every step a reflection of his desperation. His heart was racing, driven by a frenzy that consumed him.

He searched.

He searched every pavilion, every courtyard, every corner where his Xiao-Jiu might be hiding, but he found nothing.

Nothing.

The absence of his presence was an overwhelming emptiness, a dull echo that resonated in his chest. Not his scent, not his Qi, not the faintest trace that he had ever set foot in that place. Only silence, a dense and palpable silence, surrounding him like an impenetrable cloak.

The feeling of abandonment suffocated him, and every corner of Qing Jing seemed to be empty, as if his Xiao-Jiu had never been a part of this place.

The cold of the night crept into his bones, biting his skin with a relentless coldness that chilled his soul.

And, for the first time, reality crashed into him with a truth so cruel it left him breathless, an undeniable certainty that crushed his chest with the weight of his own despair.

Xiao Jiu was never here.

He never came back for him.

The revelation hit him like a bolt of lightning, tearing the fabric of his hopes, and Yue Qingyuan felt as if the ground beneath his feet was crumbling.

His entire life, all his effort, vanished in the darkness of that bitter truth.

An emptiness engulfed him, and all he could feel was the tightness in his chest, that pain burning inside him, burning like a fire that was impossible to extinguish. The blackness enveloped him, taking over his consciousness, slowly dragging him towards an abyss from which he could not escape.

All that was left was an endless emptiness, a sense of loss that overwhelmed him.

And then, he woke up in a hospital bed in Qian Cao.

The air was saturated with the thick aroma of medicinal herbs, dense and penetrating, a constant reminder of his fragility, of his fall. Every breath seemed like an effort, and on his chest weighed an oppression that was not just physical.

His Shizun was there, his expression grave, his eyes furrowed in a grimace of disapproval. His sharp voice broke the silence with a rebuke sharp as a knife: “What were you thinking, breaking into Qing Jing without Xue-Shidi’s authorization?”

He didn't need to look around to understand what had happened.

Xue-Shishu had found him, lost in the midst of a Qi deviation, succumbing to the very demons he had been trying to ignore. And Xiao-Jiu's Shizun, seeing his weakness, saw how inadequate he was, how unprepared he was to protect Xiao-Jiu. That sight had been his doom.

Humiliation seared him inside, but he ignored it, letting it dissolve into the air like dust. There was no time for that. There was no time to stop and grieve.

He had to find Xiao-Jiu.

His mind was wrapped in a whirlwind of desperate longings, of unanswered questions, of closed paths. Only one thing mattered at that moment: finding him.

He tried to stand, but his body felt like stone, his bones protesting with pangs of pain, every fiber of his being weakened by the effort.

He didn't care.

He reached out to take Xuan Su. But that was when he felt it.

A chill ran down his spine.

The link to his sword—his bond with Xuan Su—was hanging by a thread.

No, worse than that.

It was a torn thread.

A thin, fragile connector barely held him to his weapon, and as he touched it, he felt his Qi fading, life energy leaking from his body, as if Xuan Su were absorbing it. No, his own sword was devouring him, like a dark, hungry entity.

For the first time in years, fear hit him with brutal, piercing clarity. A deep, visceral fear, something he had never felt with such intensity.

Something was terribly wrong.

He had to be confined in the Qiong Ding Tower.

A prison and a refuge, at the same time, for the leader of a sect and his lords. A place meant to contain those whose strength could alter the course of fate, a sanctuary that was, however, more of a jail than a refuge.

That tower, a structure high up in the Qiong Ding Mountains, had been built to contain the most powerful, those whose Qi could overflow the limits of humanity. Its walls were impenetrable, both from the inside and the outside, a place with no hope of escape, where those who posed a threat slowly crumbled, prisoners of their own powerlessness.

Yue Qingyuan was thrown there without hesitation. His Shizun, so cold and distant, did not give him even the slightest chance to explain himself. His pleas were drowned out by the relentless indifference of a master who would not tolerate any more weakness.

He didn't care that Yue Qingyuan was desperate to find his Xiao-Jiu.

The only words he received were cold, devoid of compassion, as merciless as the icy wind sweeping across the desolate lands:

"Tame that sword at once. No disciple of mine will be a disgrace to my sect. Control yourself and then go do what you have to do."

And so, the fight began.

Day after day, night after night, Yue Qingyuan silently faced the sword that had been both his ally and his enemy, Xuan Su, who now became a reflection of his own inner chaos. With each attempt, the sword responded strongly, refusing to yield, to bend to his will. He forced his Qi to its fullest, attempting to subdue it, forcing it to behave as an extension of his own soul, but the effort only wore down his body and mind.

It was a silent battle, yes, but one so filled with spite and despair that the weight of each day felt more unbearable than the last. The sword would not easily submit, and in his struggle to control it, Yue Qingyuan felt like he was losing himself.

It rejected his dominance with an untamable ferocity, like a wild beast resisting being chained. Xuan Su, his sword, devoured his Qi with an insatiable hunger, as if the sword itself wanted to drag him into a bottomless abyss, one from which there was no return. Every time he thought he had gained control, the sword rebelled with more strength, more fury, demanding more of him, plunging him into an endless struggle.

Despair ate at him like an invisible plague. He could not afford to lose. Each attempt to subdue the sword wore him down further, but each failure only fueled his inner fire, preventing him from giving up. The weight of the days spent in that tower was unbearable. Every second there was a second further away from his Xiao-Jiu, and the anguish of not knowing his whereabouts devoured him from within.

The pain didn't matter, nor the exhaustion that made him stagger in the darkness of his own mind. Not even the poison of helplessness, which seeped into his insides like a slow poisonous current, could stop him. Every moment of weakness was just a reminder of what he had to achieve, of what he was willing to sacrifice.

He had to tame her. He had to subdue her, not only to regain his strength, but to find his way back, to free his soul and escape the prison that bound him.

He had to get out of there.

And he would do it, no matter what it cost him.

It took weeks, each moment marked by the crash of his will clashing against Xuan Su's fierce resistance. Weeks of cold sweat and gasps, where the nights slipped by like endless shadows, without respite, without rest. The weariness cut deep, but each time he felt the weight of defeat, his resolve grew even stronger, like a taut rope about to snap, but never yielding.

In the end, he didn't completely subdue her, as he had wished. He didn't manage to completely subdue her, like a king who hasn't conquered his kingdom, but he did get something else, something that gave him some breathing room. He controlled her just enough. A control that, though precarious, allowed him to breathe, allowed him to move on, at least for now.

It was an unstable hold, like a turbulent river that hasn't yet learned to calm down, but strong enough for his Shizun to approve, enough for his to let him resume his position as head disciple. Yet, deep down, the victory was bitter.

Even though he had managed to regain something of himself, something that gave him courage, he still could not leave the tower. Even though his body was beginning to heal, his soul remained trapped within the walls of that prison-shelter. And, worst of all, his Xiao-Jiu was still lost, his image fading away in some remote corner of the world, unreachable, far away, a persistent echo in the abyss of his mind.

The first thing he did was meet with the other main disciples, his Shidis.

One by one, their expectant gazes fell upon him, each pair of eyes shining with a mixture of respect and curiosity, as if awaiting some revelation from him. Yue Qingyuan watched them silently, his mind still trapped in the shadows of the recent past, as if the weight of the past weeks of struggle and defeat enveloped him.

In front of him, Liu Qingge's upright posture was a silent declaration of discipline, of resolve. As always, his presence radiated a calmness that only those who had walked on the brink of death could understand. Qi Qingqi, on the other hand, with her face beautified by expensive makeup, reflected the subtle arrogance that was so easily mistaken for grace. Her every gesture seemed calculated, a perfect mask before the world.

Wang Qingyun, with a glass of high-quality wine in his hand, was the very image of sophistication and enjoyment, as if the entire world was at his feet. Meanwhile, Wei Qingwei and Kuan Qingliang, with their camaraderie on full display, shared a complicity so deep that it seemed like a constant whisper in the air. That bond, that tacit understanding between them, was something that Yue Qingyuan couldn’t help but look at with a mix of admiration and envy. At such times, he thought about how he wished Xiao-Jiu had been part of that circle, how he longed for his relationship with him, one day, to be as firm, as solid, as the one they shared.

The knot in his chest tightened as he recalled the distance that still separated him from his Xiao-Jiu, that face that would never stop haunting him with every step he took, every decision he made.

He didn’t see Shang Qinghua. Good for him. If he had appeared before Yue Qingyuan at that moment, he wouldn’t have hesitated for a second to draw Xuan Su and slice off him head with the same coldness with which the sword cut through the air. The resentment and rage still beat strongly in his chest, an untamable flame fueled by the weeks of torture he had endured in his isolation.

Instead, he observed the impeccable robes of his Shidis, their regal postures, the confidence with which they moved. Each one looked like a perfect sculpture of discipline, each one breathing with a carefree calm, as if the world had stopped for them and only space remained for the fresh air and comfort their position granted them.

He looked at their full cheeks, their healthy bodies, the vitality that shone from them like an incandescent light.

He hated it instantly.

By what right? How could they be so fine, so fulfilled, while his Xiao Jiu...?

While his Xiao-Jiu was perhaps starving, perhaps being dragged into despair under Wu Yanzi's cruel hand, perhaps being chained in some dark cell, exposed to torture and humiliation, without hope, without a way out. Yue Qingyuan felt the poison of helplessness creep into his veins, the bitter taste of frustration burning his tongue. How could they, so calm, so whole, when his heart was already broken into a thousand pieces by uncertainty and fear?

Resentment crept into his gut like a shadow. He had to do something. He had to have Xiao Jiu by his side, no matter what it took.

Helplessness coiled in his stomach like a poisonous snake, its venom slowly flowing, tearing at every corner of his being. The bitterness of not being able to get out, of being trapped in his own torment, seared his skin. Guilt consumed him for not having found Xiao-Jiu, for not being able to keep the promise he had made to himself.

And contempt… Contempt for those who had done so much harm to Xiao-Jiu, for those who had caused so much suffering without remorse, regardless of the consequences.

It all mixed together in his chest, like a raging storm, like a raging river sweeping away everything in its path. The fury, the pain, the helplessness, all of it swirled inside him until he could no longer contain it.

That day, without thinking, without warning, he did something he had never done before.

He showed his true self.

He did not greet them with his practiced smile, the one he had always used to hide his darkest thoughts. He did not bow his head with his feigned kindness, the one he had learned to offer like a perfect mask. He did not adopt that open and conciliatory posture that he had perfected over the years, the one that had always allowed him to remain distant, but accessible.

No.

This time, his eyes, dark and severe, scanned them one by one, like sharp knives piercing their hearts. And for the first time, he did not hide his contempt. Each glance he threw was a sentence, each word he did not say, a severe judgment. He was a man tired of masks, tired of farce, tired of waiting.

His expression was impenetrable, as if his face had been sculpted in stone, insensitive to any emotion. His lips, tense, formed a straight line that did not allow even a hint of softness. His eyes, dark and sharp, pierced every single one of those present in the room, like sharp blades opening cracks in their hearts.

The air became thick, laden with an invisible pressure that loomed over them all. His Qi, a dense, dark current, condensed around him, like a blanket of shadows that seemed to try to engulf everything, as if everything in that space was about to crumble under its weight. Each breath became harder, heavier.

No one dared to move a muscle, as if the mere act of doing so would invoke the fury that burned within.

The future peak lords, who had always seen in him the image of the patient and kind leader, now felt a chill run down their spines, a strange and terrifying sensation that made them want to back away. Something had changed in Yue Qingyuan, something they could no longer recognize.

And then, as if the atmosphere had been shattered with a dull thud, he broke the silence.

A single sentence, but with the power of thunder that rumbled in their hearts.

A single order, simple and direct.

"Find him."

The weight of his voice fell upon them like an irrevocable sentence, dragging them into a reality where there was no longer room for doubt. The decision had been made. There was no room for discussion.

No one dared to question it.

Because at that moment, Yue Qingyuan was no longer the kind Zhangmen-Shixiong they knew, the man who had always looked out for their well-being. He was not the serene and wise leader who calmly guided them.

He was a man on the verge of desperation, whose need to find Xiao-Jiu had dragged with it any vestige of his former patience.

And he was not going to accept a 'no' as an answer.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐

The radiant sun shed its light upon Shen Jiu's flawless face, its intense rays dancing across his skin like golden brushstrokes. He held the reins of his horse firmly, guiding it at a calm pace as he traversed the vast plain of the western region. Behind him, his people rode in silent harmony, the sound of their hooves mingling with the breeze.

Before he left the north, he had acquired several horses, not out of mere whim, but to speed up the journey to the crimson west. As a cultivator, he could have crossed the distance in a matter of days, but with his people at his side, he had to find other means to shorten the journey without leaving them behind.

He, along with his freedmen, traveled through villages and towns along the way, freeing all who longed to break their chains and offering them a place at his side. He gave them more than just words; he gave them his protection.

The once bone-chilling snow had long since been left behind, replaced by the scorching sun of the west. They would soon arrive at the Zhou family lands, where they would settle for a while, erasing their trail before continuing their journey. Further on, they would cross the border, brushing against the Sha demon lands, where their path would become even more uncertain.

The voices of their group floated through the air, coming clearly from a good distance away. Beside them, Xiao Hua was talking incessantly about the last festival they had attended, alternating words between himself and the young girl at his side, who, though somewhat dizzy, clung to Xiao Hua’s waist timidly.

The others, like Yin Bo, also accompanied the elders on their horses while holding their own conversations. It was a relaxed atmosphere, of soft laughter and quiet murmurs, like a calm spreading between them, as deep as the peace they had finally achieved.

Shen Jiu signaled to his people as they saw a village in the distance. They would stop there so that the youngsters and the elderly could rest after the long journey on horseback.

He took the lead, leading them down a path that branched off the main road into the village.

Upon arriving, he gently pulled on the reins and turned his horse to face the crowd. One by one, his followers stopped, and the horses, freed from their march, took the opportunity to nibble on the fresh grass.

"We will rest here for a few hours. If anyone has any need or ailment, do not hesitate to come to me."

His voice was calm but firm, like someone who does not need to demand obedience because loyalty has been earned by deeds. He explained his next moves, more out of habit than necessity. Those who followed him had long trusted him without reservation, willing to go wherever he led them.

Several nodded in recognition, adjusting the reins to follow Shen Jiu. They rode a little further until they reached the village, where they entered with their horses at a leisurely pace. The villagers watched them curiously, some from the safety of their homes, silently watching from the shadows of doors and windows. Others, from the desolate alleys, cast glances.

Suddenly, a thunderous voice spoke: “It’s him! He came to save us!” A man shouted with joy, and instantly, several people began to rush out from all sides, drawn by the shout and the hope it aroused.

Shen Jiu watched the approaching ones, a dozen slaves, as wretched in appearance as any being dragged down by misery. Even though they were nothing more than a handful of lost souls, something in the air told him that he would not leave this village for at least another day. He would not do so until he had freed everyone, until he had extinguished a small spark of his own doom in the process.

With the speed that only determination can offer, he dismounted from the horse, moving with grace and haste. He turned to Xiao Hua, who was still holding the reins of the horses.

“Take them to the stable, and find an inn,” he ordered quietly but firmly. There was no room for more words.

Xiao Hua nodded, instantly understanding what was not said, and with a slight movement, he led the horses and the group in the direction of the stable. Shen Jiu did not look at him. His mind was already focused on something else, on the people who awaited his intervention.

Some, like San Shí and Maomao, stood by his side, silent but determined, offering their help while Shen Jiu sought to guide the slaves to a more secluded, more private place. He knew what that look implied: if there were slaves, then there were also slavers.

Before proceeding, he made a discreet sign to Yin Bo, who waited in the shadows, awaiting orders with imperturbable calm.

“Distract any slavers who cross your path,” Shen Jiu muttered, his eyes fixed on the men waiting to be freed.

Yin Bo nodded, his expression tense and alert. Wasting no time, he walked away with several men of his own size and strength, heading into the streets with a steady stride, like a moving wall meant to deflect any curious glances.

Shen Jiu did not look back. The mission was clear, and his mind had already entered into action.

“They have heard of me, I see.” Shen Jiu’s posture began to relax, like a habit he had acquired whenever he encountered slaves, a way of softening the burden of what was to come.

“Come, guide me to some secluded place to free them.”

Without the need for additional words, many of the slaves came closer, almost desperately, grabbing his hands, tugging at his robes with palpable excitement that almost broke the barrier of dignity. Shen Jiu, accustomed to these gestures, did not object. Instead, he allowed himself to be led. He could understand that under these circumstances, decorum was a luxury that none of them could afford. The only wish that mattered was to be free of that painful tattoo, and the label vanished like smoke in the first wind.

"They say that he who has green eyes sets free." The hoarse voice of a boy, no older than seventeen, broke the silence as he approached Shen Jiu. His eyes, filled with quiet despair, turned to the ground, but Shen Jiu couldn't help but notice his neck, marked by bruises that looked like they were from a large hand.

"Our master says that it's just gossip, but I had faith. I prayed to Guanyin that you would come for us."

Those words made something inside Shen Jiu clench. The boy, despite his physical and emotional pain, still held a ray of hope, a light that persisted even under the most brutal oppression. Shen Jiu, however, had a painful heartbreak whenever he met people like him.

They were those who, although life had left them battered, still held that spark of faith, of stubborn and obstinate hope. They reminded him of Yue Qingyuan. They reminded them of Luo Binghe.

Shen Jiu, with a gentle but firm gesture, placed a hand on the boy’s head, nodding silently. The other slaves, driven by desperation and renewed hope, led him away from the village without looking back. Eventually, they reached a small lake, a peaceful, if temporary, refuge.

With calm efficiency, Shen Jiu got to work, drawing his essential tools from his ring, each movement calculated and precise. San Shí, meanwhile, organized the slaves into rows, calmly guiding them so that they could be attended to as quickly as possible.

Maomao stood by his side, watching him with fascination, his eyes shining like stars as Shen Jiu worked with the seals.

“When I’m as big as you, will I be able to make the seals?” he asked excitedly, almost holding him breath.

Shen Jiu didn’t take his eyes off his work. He delicately took a man’s slender arm, sliding his brush precisely over the marked skin. The crimson ink—mixed with the man's blood—shimmered for an instant before settling, and when the seal was complete, the man smiled back at him radiantly, as if a lifetime of chains had vanished with a single stroke.

Only then did Shen Jiu respond.

"If you listen to San Shí, then I'll think about teaching you when you're older."

Talking to Maomao had become a habit, an unexpected constant in his wandering life. And although he wouldn't admit it out loud, deep down he always found a certain delight in the boy's antics.

When it was his turn, the boy from before could barely contain his excitement. His voice, still hoarse from the abuse, assailed him with questions about every little detail of what he did. Shen Jiu, unfailingly, answered each one as he accurately traced the seal on his skin.

The red glow seemed to captivate him. His eyes reflected the light with reverent wonder, as if he were gazing upon something sacred.

“Thank you,” he murmured devoutly. “I knew Guanyin would hear me… Her envoy answered my prayers.”

Shen Jiu did not answer those words. He simply watched as the boy stepped aside to make way for the next in line. Yet even after he had moved away, he could feel his gaze fixed on him from a distance.

Shen Jiu continued to apply the seals diligently, marveling at the reactions of those who received them. He had never witnessed so much joy gathered in one place, so much hope shining on faces scarred by suffering. And it was all because of him.

It felt good. For the first time in a long time, he felt that joy reach his own heart as well, like a warm flame in an endless winter.

Until he saw her.

She was just a little girl. Because that's what she was, a little girl of no more than fourteen, shy, self-conscious. Her red silk robes were light, too light. Her face, covered in heavy makeup, tried to hide the innocence that still glimmered in her eyes.

Any trace of joy he had felt before was instantly extinguished.

But the worst was not just her.

It was the baby she held in her arms.

It was a little girl taking care of another child. A grotesque image in its cruel normality, just another scene in this world ruled by slavery.

She approached with uncertain steps, her head lowered, but her eyes fixed on him, alert in case he needed to escape.

Shen Jiu felt that the distance between them was immense, abysmal. His fingers itched against the brush he held, restless.

"You... can you help me?"

The baby in her arms was sobbing weakly, squirming restlessly, stretching out his tiny arms as if seeking refuge.

"My baby hasn't stopped crying since he was branded," the girl continued, her voice shaking. "I'm in pain too."

The girl lifted the baby towards him, a fragile but desperate gesture, as if Shen Jiu were her last hope.

He held back his rage with all his strength, not for the slavers, not for the beasts disguised as upright men who infested this society, but for her. He didn't want to scare her.

Gently, he took the baby into his arms.

Her breathing was labored, her little body trembling. Shen Jiu gently ran his fingers over her small back, as if by doing so he could soothe something deeper than crying.

From what he could see, the girl had been sold to a brothel. She had been devoured by the same beasts who posed as respectable men.

And now, at barely fourteen years old, she was already carrying another being even more fragile than her.

Feel how rage and a deep sense of justice blossom within you. What a crazy world they live in, where girls are abused by men who have never been and will never be punished. Where children like Xiao Hua and Maomao are exploited to death. Where people like Yin Bo are fed at the expense of others, for the sole purpose of performing forced labor and pleasing the ladies of a corrupt house. Where people like him do not live, they simply survive.

No more.

He was not going to allow the world to continue like this.

If no one else did, he would be responsible for creating a world where girls were just girls, where choice existed beyond suffering, where life was not just the preamble to death.

A world with freedom.

It didn't matter if he had to kill the emperor with his own hands.

It didn't matter if he had to sink Cang Qiong and the other sects to their foundations.

It didn't matter if he had to tear society itself apart and rebuild it from its ruins.

He would not stop until he saw a new world born.

Shen Jiu looked down at the baby in his arms.

It was ugly. A small, fragile thing, with sunken cheeks and a body that was too light. It shifted in his arms restlessly, no doubt seeking the familiar arms of its mother. Its tiny face was wrinkled, with a frown that seemed too large for its forehead.

And yet, all Shen Jiu could think of was that no baby should be so light. So small.

With great care, he turned it over in his hands, exposing its tiny back.

There it was.

A freshly made tattoo, the mark of its bondage still reddened on its too-thin skin.

It hadn't even had time to heal, and it was already causing him such unbearable pain that he couldn't stop crying.

"It's dangerous to counteract the tattoo now with my seal."

His voice was low, almost a murmur. He couldn't take that risk. The baby's nerves were still too sensitive, his tiny body too fragile. If he forced the seal now, he might damage him beyond repair.

Shen Jiu looked at the baby for a moment longer, then, as gently as he had taken him, he returned him to the girl's arms.

She held him desperately, her eyes shaking under the weight of fear. Shen Jiu saw clearly what she was thinking.

She thought he would abandon her.

She thought he would leave her to her fate after all.

What an absurd idea.

That would never happen.

"Don't worry, we'll do it the traditional way."

If there are slaves, there are slavers.

And the other way to remove a slavery tattoo was to kill the one who put it on.

Before leaving, Shen Jiu, with the girl's permission, drew her blood and slid the brush over her skin with precision, tracing his seal firmly. He would never have to serve anyone again. Never.

When he looked up, he met San Shí's gaze.

That same somber expression, that heavy sadness he always carried when he saw a helpless girl.

"Go, go, liberator. I'll take care of them." San Shí smiled at him, his voice firm despite the softness of his expression. "Finish them off."

Shen Jiu nodded, one last look at the small new family that was reunited under the care of San Shí and Maomao.

The weight of his gaze hardened, and without another word, he turned around again.

His gaze fixed straight ahead, the fire in his eyes unmistakable. The justice that cried out inside him was not just an aspiration, it was a promise. A promise that he himself would fulfill, no matter what the cost.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐

That day, it was he himself who slaughtered the slavers. He gave them no time to flee. He tore at their flesh mercilessly, until there was nothing left but silence, until his anger died out, extinguishing itself along with the lives of those wretches.

When he entered the inn, with blood soaking his qipao and his face, he ignored everyone present. There were no glances, no words. He only focused on the baby, who this time seemed to be sleeping peacefully in the girl's arms, his small face without any sign of pain, finally at peace.

Yin Bo wrapped a robe around Shen Jiu and carried him to a room in the inn, he had surely caused a frightening sight, that was why he was dragged away from the sight of the people.

"You should have taken us. Imagine how worried Xiao Hua was when she didn't see you arrive with San Shi," Yin Bo scolded, his voice deep and tense. He gripped Shen Jiu's forearms firmly as he kicked open the door of an open room.

Shen Jiu let himself go, more out of surprise than anything else.

He didn't feel disgust, nor the urge to stab blades into the hands holding him. The shivers that usually ran through him whenever a man touched him didn't seem to apply to Yin Bo.

Was it because he knew him? Or was it just his mind muddled with exhaustion, imagining Yin Bo's hands on him? No, it couldn't just be an imagination of his disturbed mind; he could feel the warmth and firmness of the grip on those hands.

Was he… healing?

For him, not being able to bear the touch of a man had always been a weakness, a shame that he hid behind his prickly character in the sect, thus avoiding any approach.

But now, away from that constant pressure that was suffocating him in Cang Qiong, it seemed that something inside him was beginning to heal.

Shen Jiu let himself be guided without resistance, allowing Yin Bo to sit him on the edge of the bed before watching him disappear towards the bathroom, where the sound of water began to fill everything. The man's complaints reached his ears like a distant murmur, unable to tear him from the reverie in which his mind had submerged.

"I am strong." Yin Bo's voice broke the air firmly. "I can help you finish off those idiots."

Shen Jiu looked down at his hands, which clung to the sides of the robe that Yin Bo had thrown over his shoulders. With a slow gesture, he wrapped himself in it, letting its warmth embrace him. His lips curved into an imperceptible smile.

Finally, that weakness of his seemed to fade away.

Yin Bo's sigh echoed in the room, heavy as distant thunder, followed by the echo of his firm footsteps approaching.

"Your bath is ready." He said in that tone that oscillated between worry and scolding. "Go wash off all that blood, you scared the innkeeper."

Shen Jiu did not protest. He simply nodded, his obedience unusual for him, and slipped into the bath with the lightness of a leaf blown by the wind.

The steam from the hot water enveloped his skin in a silent caress, slowly dissipating the traces of the massacre. But neither the water nor the stillness managed to erase the smile that still danced on his lips.

Even as he fell asleep, that unusual happiness clung to him, like a flame that refused to go out.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐

They left the village at dawn, when the sky was still tinged with the last vestiges of night and the fresh air carried the scent of damp earth. This time, it was not just a few wandering souls: the group had become numerous, the horses stomping the ground with vigor and the murmur of voices floating in the air like an unspoken prayer.

Shen Jiu walked in front, the solitary figure guiding the crowd. At his side, Yin Bo spoke easily, his voice an anchor amid the slight bustle. Xiao Hua, on the other hand, seemed to ignore him, probably still angry for not telling his about the small justice she committed.

Life was good.

For the first time, Shen Jiu discovered that being surrounded by so many people was not a burden or a condemnation. It was warm, like the sun caressing his back, like the breeze ruffling his hair. A strange sensation, but not unpleasant.

The journey continued along dusty paths and errant breezes, the sun filtering through the leaves of the trees, drawing dancing shadows on the road. Sometimes, they stopped in bustling villages where the aroma of steamed buns and spices hung in the air; other times, the refuge was the forest, where only the chirping of crickets and the rustling of the wind kept them company.

At each stop, as the moon rose into the sky like a disc of pale jade, Shen Jiu repeated the same ritual. He would light a small fire and place his egg in the center of the flames, his fingers tracing gentle circles in the air as his qi crept into the hardened shell. Sometimes, the egg would tremble just barely, as if something inside responded to his touch. Other times, it would remain in deep silence, hiding its secret in the warmth of the embers.

But Shen Jiu was not discouraged. Patiently, his would wrap him back up in the soft silk bag that hung around his neck, allowing his body heat to protect him like a constant heartbeat. It was a comforting weight on his chest, a silent reminder that something inside that shell was waiting for the right moment to awaken.

The sun rose relentlessly overhead, and the dry western wind carried with it the distant scent of sand and warm earth. As they moved forward, the lush forests fell behind, giving way to vast golden plains and reddish hills that stretched as far as the eye could see.

For others, it was almost a habit to see him step aside each night, absorbed in the dance of the flames, his gaze fixed on the egg as if within it resided a promise yet unfulfilled. That silent devotion did not go unnoticed, but no one dared to interrupt it.

The days passed like a fleeting mirage. With each dawn, the thick winter cloaks were replaced by light clothing, and heavy furs were packed away in saddlebags. Canteens of fresh water became more precious than gold, and horses snorted under the scorching sun.

Shen Jiu felt like he had traveled a lifetime to get here. And in a sense, he had. The journey had not only taken him through mountains and valleys, but also through the deepest recesses of his own being.

When they finally crossed the last hill and looked out over the vast expanse of the western region, he knew that the destiny they had long aspired to was finally before them.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐲་༘࿐

The palace was resplendent in the sunlight, its high polished jade walls and golden roofs seeming to touch the sky. Amid white gravel paths and blooming lotus ponds, Emperor Liang Shunhua lounged in his private garden, oblivious to the weight of the world, the sleeves of his silk robe rolled up as he carefully tended to his precious plants.

His fingers, accustomed to the softness of petals and the fragility of stems, seemed unable to hold the edge of a sword or the weight of a scepter with the same devotion.

A few steps away, young general Su Jiaran watched silently. His posture was firm, his expression inscrutable, but in his chest burned a caustic thought: If only he cared for the empire with the same gentleness with which he caresses these flowers…

Emperor Liang Shunhua continued his work, sliding his delicate fingers along the petals of a scarlet rose, as if the report of his most loyal general was little more than the murmur of the wind through the branches.

Su Jiaran, still kneeling, kept his gaze downcast, fixed on the moist, perfumed earth of the garden.

"I have returned from my mission," he repeated in a firm voice, though hoarse from the effort. "I infiltrated without difficulty and even participated in the ritual they use to free slaves."

The words hung in the air, but the emperor showed no reaction. Only when he delicately plucked a withered leaf from his favorite rose did the general feel the weight of silence.

The emperor hummed an ancient tune, letting the breeze carry the notes through the rose bushes. Su Jiaran understood the tacit permission to continue.

"The cause of all this is a boy of fifteen to sixteen years old," he related precisely, as if tracing the profile of an enemy on the battlefield. "Thin build, average height... From his behavior and his knowledge of slaves, it is likely that he himself was one before starting this revolt."

For the first time since his arrival, the emperor stopped fiddling with the flowers. His slender fingers paused on the stem of a still-closed rose, as if pondering whether to allow it to bloom or cut it off early.

His lazy voice broke the silence, as soft as the caress of a falling petal.

“Does he have bright green eyes, as the rumors say?”

Su Jiaran, with tense shoulders and lowered eyes, hid his frustration behind an impeccable façade of respect. Sure, it was logical that the emperor would focus on such insignificant details. As if a pair of green eyes could matter more than the chaos that was about to break loose.

“Yes, his eyes shone like green emeralds.” His voice, like his posture, was perfect in its restraint. “I got his name, Your Highness. His name is Shen Jiu.”

Liang Shunhua brought his face close to a red rose that had not yet fully opened, inhaling its fragrance with the same delicacy with which a lover caresses the skin of his beloved. His hair, white as soft clouds caressed by the wind, fell in an almost ethereal movement, hiding his face for an instant.

“How interesting…” he murmured, as if the reply had been nothing more than a fleeting whisper among the echoes of his garden, though, in his eyes, a glimmer of intrigue had flared up.

At the emperor’s words, Su Jiaran looked up for a moment, surprised by the calmness with which the monarch seemed to receive the news. However, he quickly bowed his head again, his gaze wavering on the ground, as if the weight of his respect anchored him in place.

“He seems to be heading to the western region,” he continued, his voice hoarse and gravelly. Meanwhile, Liang Shunhua settled himself into a garden chair, an elegantly decorated jade seat that seemed to blend in with the serenity of the surroundings. The servants, with soft steps, hurried to serve him tea, but there was no hurry in the emperor’s gesture, who observed the scene with an almost disturbing calm.

Su Jiaran, however, could not allow his emperor to dwell so much on frivolities. He cleared his throat, his tone firmer, though with a palpable wariness. “I can inform the Zhou family to detain and arrest him. You just give the order and I will carry it out.”

Finally, the general fell silent, waiting for the answer he had been anticipating, but never knowing if he would get it. His emperor was just like that… Selfless.

Liang Shunhua crossed his legs with an innate grace, his hand resting on his cheek, while his body sank into the chair with a laziness so utter that it seemed to defy time itself. He was the perfect image of a man who takes life in stride, as if everything moved around him without him caring.

“Ah, leave it as it is,” he said with a barely perceptible smile, letting the softness of his voice envelop the words. “I’m curious to see how far he goes this time.” His eyes, deep blue like the pristine sky, shone with a light of their own, almost ethereal. With deliberate slowness, he looked up, as if he were really gazing at the horizon, though the truth was that his attention was fixed on something closer, something far more intriguing.

“Shen Qingqiu,” he murmured to himself, his tone laden with hidden fascination, “no, Shen Jiu… always seems to have that spark in him.” That spark that sparks an interest that no one could muster in him. His smile, fleeting and almost imperceptible, curved on his lips, as if he could already anticipate something yet to be revealed.

This time, he undoubtedly hopes to meet him in this lifetime.

“A-Ran,” Liang Shunhua’s voice cut through the air gently, but with unrelenting authority. His blue eyes, now slightly narrowed, swept over Su Jiaran as if observing him from an immeasurable height. “Go get someone to bind your neck. Don’t appear before me in that state again.”

“Right away, your highness.” Su Jiaran, though inwardly uneasy, bowed respectfully before quickly retreating, his posture firm but frustration evident on his face.

Liang Shunhua, on the other hand, showed nothing but a slight sneer, an expression that denoted his disdain. Children, so absurdly careless. He thought, allowing the gentle murmur of the breeze in the garden to fill the space.