She Dominates the Immortal Realm with Her HP Bar-Chapter 90

◎The Grand Reunion!◎

Song Qingchi tore off his disguise with swift, decisive movements.

This unexpected twist instantly left Ling Shuanghun staring in shock.

At this moment, Ling Shuanghun’s expression resembled that of the squirrel from Ice Age chasing after an acorn—after enduring countless hardships to finally grasp it, he didn’t even know where to take the first bite.

Years of chronicling unofficial histories had conditioned Ling Shuanghun to instinctively reach into his storage pouch for paper, brush, and bamboo slips, ready to jot down the scene in shorthand.

Yet the pouch at his waist seemed tied in an impossible knot—after two or three failed attempts, he still couldn’t open it.

Only then did Ling Shuanghun remember: Chu Tiankuo had sealed their storage pouches earlier and still hadn’t undone the restriction.

Sighing regretfully, Ling Shuanghun shook his head and released the pouch, turning his gaze elsewhere.

The moment he saw Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang, Ling Shuanghun reflexively leaned back—

Are you two serious?

A hug was one thing, but they’d already been embracing for ages. Now, even after parting, they were still holding hands like two kids on a field trip?!

With a mix of exasperation, amusement, and urgency at being kept in the dark, Ling Shuanghun cleared his throat loudly, as if to assert his presence.

“Ahem, ahem, ahem!”

The white crane extended his arms plaintively toward the pair. “Yan Luoyue, Wu Manshuang, I’ve been through a shock too, you know!”

Over the past two days, eighty percent of the verbal sparring and intelligence gathering had fallen on Ling Shuanghun’s shoulders.

Now that the crisis was over, where was his comfort and affection?

Yan Luoyue took two steps toward Ling Shuanghun before pausing mid-motion.

She explained, “My clothes… might have a bit of Manshuang’s blood on them…”

Not to mention, her cheek was definitely smeared with traces of the poison seeping from Wu Manshuang’s skin.

Ling Shuanghun: “…”

The speed at which the white crane’s expression changed rivaled Song Qingchi’s earlier unmasking.

With a dry chuckle, he lowered his arms and conceded pragmatically, “Never mind, then.”

Not everyone could withstand Wu Manshuang’s enthusiastic embraces—even indirectly.

Ling Shuanghun knew his resilience paled in comparison to Yan Luoyue’s.

“But Yan Luoyue,” he pressed, eyes gleaming intently, “you’ve got to tell us what’s really going on. I don’t know why, but I have this feeling you’re holding the entire script!”

Yan Luoyue waved a modest hand. “Not the entire script—just most of it.”

As Ling Shuanghun’s eyes widened further—looking ready to peck her with his crane beak if he transformed—she finally laughed and relented. “Alright, alright. Here’s how it happened…”

Since the key figures were nearby, loudly recounting past events in their presence would be impolite.

So Yan Luoyue lowered her voice appropriately.

The trio huddled together like conspirators plotting rebellion as Yan Luoyue relayed the old story Chu Tiankuo had once shared with her.

“All this time, Senior Brother Chu and Senior Brother Song never truly had a falling-out…”

Rewind eighty years, to the day Tao Tao was pierced through the chest by Chu Tiankuo’s sword.

The gray mist devoured every last shred of emotion within Chu Tiankuo, leaving only wreckage behind. Hollow-eyed, he lay sprawled in the muddied rainwater as the entity departed.

Song Qingchi’s frantic gaze darted between Chu Tiankuo and Tao Tao’s lifeless body, like a fledgling drenched by a storm.

He instinctively cried out, “Senior Brother… Tao Tao…”

Then, in the next instant, he saw it—though Chu Tiankuo’s eyes remained vacant, staring into the downpour, his right hand suddenly clawed into the rain-sodden earth with brutal force!

Song Qingchi fell silent.

A clenched fist, a bent finger, or a tensed hand—these were their trio’s secret signals.

Their meanings varied by context but generally conveyed messages like wrong, stop, or reverse course.

Here and now, the senior brother’s message was clear: Change your tone. Don’t speak to me like this.

So Song Qingchi shut his eyes and transformed into a defeated, snarling cur, howling accusations and heaping blame onto Chu Tiankuo.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be me who died?!”

—I know. I was the one meant to die.

—So what just happened?

—Senior Brother, you’re warning me like this… Is the enemy still lurking in the storm clouds, watching our ‘rift,’ not yet gone?

Chu Tiankuo didn’t—couldn’t—answer with a single word.

He lay in the rainwater diluted by Tao Tao’s blood, his expression that of a man whose soul had perished with the world, leaving only an empty husk behind.

For a fleeting moment, Song Qingchi nearly threw caution aside, yanking Chu Tiankuo up so they could tend to Tao Tao’s body together—

So what if the monster is still watching?

Let it catch us again. Let it force us to die once more.

The girl he loved most had already been driven to her death, yet Song Qingchi couldn’t even hate the one who struck the blow.

Because the moment that sword thrust forward, Chu Tiankuo’s soul seemed buried alongside her.

If so, why leave him drifting alone in this world?

As the senior brother had first suggested, the three of them dying together might have been the most complete ending.

Song Qingchi whispered, voice trembling, “Senior Brother, I…”

Even through the deafening rain, Chu Tiankuo must have detected the weakness in his tone.

Because a second later, Chu Tiankuo’s right hand jerked violently—fingers curling with such force that veins bulged against skin, as if the flesh might split—and drove once more into the mud!

“…”

That savage, clawing motion was like a furious demand thrust toward the heavens.

Staring at that hand, strained to its limits, Song Qingchi could almost envision his senior brother’s eyes—filled with unyielding defiance—

Revenge. Revenge. Revenge.

His soul wasn’t dead yet. The blood of vengeance still burned in his chest!

Chu Tiankuo had lost.

He’d been tempered, boiled, tormented, and hollowed out like a meal box.

But he refused to submit.

Like a bamboo stalk bent to the ground, Chu Tiankuo would seize the slightest breath to snap back with a vengeance.

Now, his chest was void of all emotion—the demonic creature had left only a shell named “Chu Tiankuo.”

Yet even as a shell, he would set himself ablaze, wringing from the ashes enough fury to ignite an inferno.

Half an hour ago, Tao Tao had gripped his hand with such desperate strength, as if it were their final farewell.

It is said that a woman's intuition is often sharper than a man's.

Perhaps at that moment, the junior sister had already sensed an ominous premonition of impending disaster.

Yet, before her innocent life was cut short, Tao Tao said nothing—only gazing bravely and steadily into Chu Tiankuo's eyes.

Then, she called back her heroic senior brother, who was as valiant as a young hero.

Even in the agony of witnessing her struggle and death, the senior brother she brought back never left her side.

In truth, when stopping Song Qingchi, Chu Tiankuo hadn’t yet figured out what opportunity he could create by "breaking ties" with his junior brother, nor how to lay a trap to capture that demonic creature.

But...

Chu Tiankuo thought coldly: A prime specimen like me—that demon would surely come back for a second round.

Because despite everything he had endured, what still beat in Chu Tiankuo’s chest was the heart of a young man.

Torrential rain drenched Song Qingchi’s hair and face, masking the hot tears streaming from his eyes.

Song Qingchi thought: I can’t just stand by uselessly anymore. This vengeance isn’t yours to bear alone, senior brother.

Song Qingchi said, "I can’t… can’t call you… senior brother anymore."

Chu Tiankuo’s fingers abruptly loosened.

It wasn’t the despair of the last straw breaking the camel’s back—it was approval.

When the longsword tumbled three times in the mud before landing beside Chu Tiankuo, he knew his junior brother had understood.

...

Hearing this, Ling Shuanghun drew a sharp breath.

He cast a look of admiration toward Song Qingchi, who stood not far away.

Song Qingchi had already wiped the makeup from his face and was now stripping off his outer robe, revealing the close-fitting green martial attire beneath.

Recalling the setup of the opera stage earlier, along with Song Qingchi’s flawless acting—his singing, recitation, and movements—Ling Shuanghun couldn’t help but murmur, "My apologies, it seems this runs in the family..."

And it had been running in the family for eighty years!

"Yes," Yan Luoyue sighed with emotion. "This revenge has indeed been brewing for far too long."

Perhaps the gray mist merely thought its capture today was an unlucky misstep.

But Chu Tiankuo and Song Qingchi would tell it: Those seeking vengeance had been waiting for this moment for a full eighty years.

A decade to forge a single sword.

Eighty years? Even an Armstrong Cyclone Jet Cannon could be polished to perfection in that time.

Three months later, Chu Tiankuo and Song Qingchi finally met again.

"Wait, let me interrupt," Ling Shuanghun raised a hand like a bewildered spectator who hadn’t quite grasped the drama.

"What’s the backstory here? Why did they suddenly meet again after three months?"

Yan Luoyue blinked. "Because they agreed to meet in three months?"

Ling Shuanghun was stunned. "When did they agree on that?"

Hadn’t Song Qingchi avoided even calling Chu Tiankuo "senior brother," resorting to using his full name instead, just to prevent the demon from catching on?

Yan Luoyue stroked her chin thoughtfully. "This is hard to explain... so I’ll just show you!"

Ling Shuanghun: "???"

The confused white crane tilted its head.

One tiny question mark after another began popping up atop his neatly combed hairpiece.

Ling Shuanghun watched as Yan Luoyue pivoted toward him, lifted her foot, and lightly tapped the ground.

"Yan Luoyue, what are you—ah! Wu Manshuang, what was that for?!"

Why had he suddenly been kicked from behind?!

Wu Manshuang looked at Ling Shuanghun apologetically. "I’m truly sorry, Ling Shuanghun, but when Yan Luoyue does that, it means I’m supposed to kick you... Ahem, feel free to kick me back."

Ling Shuanghun: "...That won’t be necessary."

Still unconvinced, Ling Shuanghun pressed, "But how could you possibly tell that’s what it meant?"

Even through the thin white veil, Ling Shuanghun could sense Wu Manshuang’s pitying gaze.

Then, Wu Manshuang sighed softly and pressed a hand to his chest, rubbing gently.

Admittedly, Wu Manshuang had a restrained elegance, his delicate features making even such an exaggerated gesture seem natural—more like quiet endurance than affectation, carrying a unique charm reminiscent of Xi Shi cradling her heart.

Ling Shuanghun sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. "Look, just because I didn’t understand your little charade doesn’t mean I’ve given you heart palpitations...?"

—Since when were you so fragile?

But before Ling Shuanghun could finish, a loud thud came from behind.

"!!!"

Startled, Ling Shuanghun whirled around.

Yan Luoyue lay stiffly on the ground, limbs splayed, her head lolling to the side with an expression that suggested her departure had been anything but peaceful.

"..."

Witnessing this, Wu Manshuang covered his mouth in solemn grief.

...Though Ling Shuanghun strongly suspected he was just stifling laughter.

Wu Manshuang declared, "My little sister has always been frail—even a sip of my blood leaves her pale for hours... Yet you spoke so loudly in front of her, shocking her into this dire state..."

He concluded firmly, "Unless you pay a million spirit stones today, this matter will not be settled privately!"

Ling Shuanghun: "..."

At last, Ling Shuanghun grasped the meaning of that earlier gesture.

So... it was a signal for a staged accident?!

And honestly, if someone could drink Wu Manshuang’s blood and only turn pale, wouldn’t that make them one of the hardiest beings in existence?

If Yan Luoyue could manage that, she was tougher than 99.99% of all living things—how could she possibly be "frail"?!

With a laugh, the "deceased" Yan Luoyue sprang back to life, dusting herself off lightly.

"Anyway, that’s how it is. After spending so much time together, we’ve built up a lot of shared history—many gestures have taken on special meanings."

Yan Luoyue nodded. "For example, when Song Qingchi threw down his sword, it rolled three times in the mud. That was their way of agreeing to meet again in three months."

Ling Shuanghun’s gaze sharpened slightly. "If the brothers never truly turned against each other, then why...?"

Why had Song Qingchi wandered alone for eighty years, leaving Chu Tiankuo to bear the infamy of a deranged murderer?

Yan Luoyue sighed. "To answer that, we’d have to start from when they met again."

...

Though the senior and junior brothers had staged their rift with perfect synchronicity, born of years of camaraderie...

The truth was, Song Qingchi still didn’t know what had happened in that past month.

From his perspective, it was a tragic tale with no beginning or end—just a sudden, brutal climax.

—He and his junior sister had just confessed their feelings, only to be detained together for a month. Then, out of nowhere, his senior brother arrived with a sword, declaring he would kill one of them.

Had he died by his senior brother’s blade, he would have borne no resentment.

But the one struck down was Tao Tao.

Then, in the depths of grief and shock after Tao Tao’s death, his senior brother signaled for him to play along.

Barely holding himself together, Song Qingchi obeyed.

After carrying Tao Tao away, he carefully arranged her lifeless form, wiping away the blood and dressing her in the clothes she had loved most in life.

Song Qingchi took out rouge and powder, clumsily tracing the contours of the young girl’s brows and eyes.

Tao Tao lay quietly and obediently in his arms, as if merely asleep.

Her long, curled lashes cast a small shadow beneath her eyes, and her stiff lips still held a serene smile.

Were it not for the icy corpse slowly stiffening in his embrace, Song Qingchi would never have believed that Tao Tao had truly left him.

With his own hands, he placed a Biyi Pearl in Tao Tao’s mouth—a treasure that would preserve her body from decay—before gathering handfuls of earth to cover her face, which looked as though she were merely in a deep slumber.

Then, Song Qingchi rose resolutely, changed into plain white mourning robes, and returned to Camellia Town.

He had to uncover what had happened over the past month—what had happened in Camellia Town, and to his senior brother.

Camellia Town was draped in mourning. Every household wore white and scattered paper money in the streets.

Song Qingchi walked through the town unnoticed, blending seamlessly into the half-dead ancient streets.

Then, a group of disciples clad in brightly colored sword robes appeared at the end of the road, standing out like ink dropped into clear water.

"…"

From the five embroidered insignias on their robes, Song Qingchi recognized them at once as disciples of the Hongtong Palace.

Silently, he concealed his presence and listened as the disciples questioned the townsfolk one by one.

Those still alive in the town were almost all people who had stained their hands with blood to survive.

If they told the truth, wouldn’t they implicate themselves?

Because of this, their answers were disjointed, and they hesitated at every critical detail.

Even Song Qingchi could tell they were lying—how could the Hongtong Palace disciples miss it?

The disciples huddled together, whispering among themselves before sending a few messages through their communication stones.

Soon, as if receiving clear instructions, their leader resumed questioning—this time with pointed accusations.

"What? You’re saying there were demons in Camellia Town?" he demanded harshly. "If you can’t produce a demon, then falsely reporting demonic activity is a crime punishable by a thousand cuts. Think carefully before you speak."

"Ah… maybe there weren’t any demons?"

"Maybe? There either were or weren’t!"

"Yes, yes! I misspoke—no demons! There were no demons!"

Hidden in the shadows, Song Qingchi’s eyes widened.

How could there be no demons? He had seen with his own eyes how the demon had threatened his senior brother—

The Hongtong Palace disciple pressed further, "Then why did half your town die?"

The questioned man, guilty of murder, dared not explain.

The disciple sneered. "What about Chu Tiankuo? Why did half your town die after he came here?"

"…Yes!" Overwhelmed by a desperate need for absolution, the man blurted out the accusation without hesitation. "Chu Tiankuo killed them!"

—Chu Tiankuo killed them. At least a dozen corpses bore the marks of his sword.

This was irrefutable evidence.

As for the rest of the bodies…

Fearing corpse transformation—or perhaps out of sheer guilt—

No one dared to examine the bite marks, chisel wounds, or torn-out hair.

Before Song Qingchi arrived, the townsfolk had piled the bodies onto a pyre and burned them to ashes.

The Hongtong Palace disciples left, satisfied with their "evidence."

Today, Hongtong Palace’s domain remained peaceful and secure.

No demon would dare cause trouble here—especially not a legendary fiend like the Gray Mist. If chaos were to descend upon the world, how could it possibly start in Hongtong Palace’s territory?

Everyone knew that demons had been appearing across the land for decades.

Yet only Hongtong Palace’s jurisdiction remained untouched.

…

Ling Shuanghun scoffed. "Such self-deception might fool people for a while, but history’s blade will cut through the lies."

Yan Luoyue sighed. "At least Senior Brother Song was clever. He didn’t reveal himself in Hongtong Palace’s territory…"

"Otherwise, if something happened to him too, Senior Brother Chu would truly be doomed."

Since Hongtong Palace had already framed the incident as "Chu Tiankuo succumbing to qi deviation and slaughtering half of Camellia Town—perhaps even his own junior sect brothers and sisters,"

Song Qingchi’s sudden appearance would only put him in danger.

At best, he’d be accused of "shielding his sect brother, ignoring right and wrong."

At worst, he might be dragged down with Chu Tiankuo—what if Hongtong Palace declared that Song Qingchi had helped kill the townsfolk?

After all, during that time, Chu Tiankuo had been wielding Song Qingchi’s sword.

As one of the cultivation world’s top sects, Hongtong Palace dominated the south with unchecked arrogance.

The north, already weaker, had to count the entire Snow Dominion as its equal just to stand alongside Hongtong Palace, Guiyuan Sect, and the Temple of Divine Sound.

The Hanson Sect, led by Song Qingchi’s father, was just one faction within the Snow Dominion.

This explained why neither of them had immediately informed Sect Leader Song.

Ling Shuanghun slowly closed his eyes. "Sect Leader Song… is a righteous man."

Such an unyielding hero would never stand by while his disciples were wronged.

Even if it meant pitting his own arm against a thigh—even if it meant sacrificing half the Hanson Sect—he would charge headlong into Hongtong Palace, demanding justice for Chu Tiankuo and Song Qingchi.

This wasn’t just for his son and disciple. It was for the sake of righteousness itself.

Yet, Yan Luoyue and the others also knew: With the Hanson Sect’s strength against Hongtong Palace’s, could Sect Leader Song truly win justice?

Ling Shuanghun frowned. "But the testimonies of Camellia Town’s survivors could still be used—"

Halfway through his sentence, he realized how naive that sounded and shook his head with a sigh.

With enough cultivation or the right artifacts, a cultivator could alter a mortal’s memories—just as Chu Tiankuo had erased the memories of those who had taken the bounty notice.

That was why, in the cultivation world, mortal testimonies were only supplementary evidence.

There were simply too many ways to manipulate them.

Besides, the townsfolk of Camellia Town had already killed their own neighbors and friends to survive. What courage would they have now to speak the truth?

Recalling his own investigations in New Camellia Town, Ling Shuanghun mused:

"Wait—didn’t most of the original townsfolk die within a few years?"

"Right," Wu Manshuang confirmed. "They didn’t leave Old Camellia Town immediately… but as people kept dying, they grew fearful, claiming the town was cursed before scattering elsewhere."

Yet even after leaving, most met the same fate, perishing within years.

Because of this, Old Camellia Town became a ghost town, avoided even by homeless beggars.

Ling Shuanghun glanced at the others. "What do you think really happened…?"

Yan Luoyue shook her head. "It definitely wasn’t Senior Brother Chu."

Wu Manshuang also shook his head. "Definitely not Chu Tiankuo."

Back then, even under the coercion of the gray mist, Chu Tiankuo hadn’t killed those people—so why would he do it afterward?

If Yan Luoyue had to guess, part of it might be the guilty conscience of those involved.

But the bigger reason… was probably that the Hongtong Palace had done something.

After all, to cover up the fact that the gray mist had appeared in Camellia Town, they hadn’t even spared Chu Tiankuo.

Let’s not forget—Chu Tiankuo was the first disciple of Sect Leader Song, a young prodigy who had just won first place in the Sword Dao Tournament.

Compared to him, the lives of a few ordinary people were even more insignificant.

After piecing together the general sequence of events in just a few words, the three of them exchanged glances, each feeling a sense of melancholy.

"This could be considered… karma, I suppose," Ling Shuanghun murmured softly.

"If you ask me," Yan Luoyue said with a slight smirk, "this feels more like the strong preying on the weak…"

Big fish eat little fish, and little fish eat shrimp.

Under ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‍immense pressure, those townsfolk had first turned into violent mobs, then buried the truth—all just to survive.

Yet in the end, they remained as insignificant as dust, easily scattered with a single breath.

Amid the silence, Wu Manshuang suddenly turned to Yan Luoyue and smiled.

Ling Shuanghun looked surprised. "Xiao Wu, you’re… happy about this?"

Seriously? After hearing such a heavy story, shouldn’t he at least sigh in sorrow for a moment?

Wu Manshuang replied lightly, "Because I know this story must have a decent ending."

"Huh?" Ling Shuanghun perked up. "Did I miss some clues?"

Wu Manshuang pressed his lips together, then pointed meaningfully in Yan Luoyue’s direction.

"If this story had a bad ending… based on what I know of Luoyue, she’d already be executing those people’s virtual ancestors by now."

Yan Luoyue: "…"

Ling Shuanghun slapped his thigh in admiration. "You’re absolutely right!"

Yan Luoyue: "???"

What the—you two…? What kind of image do I have in your minds?!

These two friends of hers were way too skilled at backstabbing her!

After glaring at each of them, Yan Luoyue stopped beating around the bush and continued the story.

"The ending is actually quite comical—I mean, decent."

"Man Shuang, do you remember that hairpin we saw in the storeroom back then?"

Wu Manshuang’s eyes lit up in realization. "You mean the peach blossom hairpin inlaid with a Soul-Nourishing Pearl?"

Immediately, his expression brightened. "Wait—did Chu Tiankuo recognize the pearl from the start? No, he probably didn’t."

If he had known that the Soul-Nourishing Pearl could preserve remnants of a soul, he wouldn’t have been driven to such despair during that month.

Then again, it was precisely because of that despair that the gray mist hadn’t suspected anything and confiscated the hairpin—otherwise, they wouldn’t even have had that last sliver of hope left.

Yan Luoyue shrugged. "Senior Brother Chu really didn’t know what that pearl on the hairpin was…"

…

Three months later, as agreed, Song Qingchi and Chu Tiankuo finally met again.

Once inseparable as master and disciple, the two now stood facing each other in silence for a long moment.

After a while, Chu Tiankuo finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "Tao Tao’s funeral arrangements…"

Song Qingchi still hadn’t taken off his white mourning robes. Or rather, the green robes he once wore—he had no intention of ever wearing them again in this lifetime.

He and Tao Tao had pledged their lives to each other. Though they never married, she was already his wife in his heart.

Now that the girl he loved was gone, he would observe the mourning rites for a widower—no more, no less, for the rest of his life.

At his senior brother’s question, Song Qingchi lowered his eyes. "I’ve… already buried her."

Taking a deep breath, he stiffly changed the subject to the real purpose of this meeting.

"About what happened in Camellia Town, Senior Brother… there are rumors spreading now, all blaming the Hongtong Palace…"

He recounted everything he had uncovered over the past few months.

As expected, Chu Tiankuo only nodded faintly in response.

He showed no reaction to the slander.

To him, those false accusations were like grains of sand, tossed into the depths of an unfathomable river.

That devastating ordeal hadn’t broken Chu Tiankuo’s spirit or shattered his bones.

But it had undeniably left him with a heavier, more profound presence.

Not long ago, at the Sword Dao Tournament, Chu Tiankuo had dragged his junior brother and sister onto the stage with him and declared to the world:

"The three of us, master and disciples, have journeyed from the Snowy Peaks to accomplish great deeds together—our names will be known far and wide!"

But now, whether his reputation was praised or slandered, it all meant nothing to Chu Tiankuo.

He skipped past the topic entirely and brought up his plan for killing that demonic creature.

"That monster claimed that 'sword energy, spells, talismans, and Buddhist light' could not harm it."

Chu Tiankuo’s eyes burned with two faint flames. "But I refuse to believe it’s truly immortal."

He said firmly, "Over these three months, I’ve gone over every single moment of that month again and again… and I realized something."

Chu Tiankuo turned, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. "Why did it release its control over you just before I struck?"

If it hadn’t let Tao Tao take Chu Tiankuo’s hand, if it hadn’t let her speak those comforting words—if instead, it had made her shrink back in fear from his blade…

Then Chu Tiankuo’s despair would have been far deeper.

Chu Tiankuo said coldly, "If it didn’t control them, it wasn’t because it didn’t think of it—but because it couldn’t."

Song Qingchi shuddered violently, as if a long-blocked passage in his mind had suddenly opened.

He stared at Chu Tiankuo. "Senior Brother, you mean…?"

Chu Tiankuo stated decisively, "If no attack can harm it when it’s in its mist form… then what about other times? Like when it’s controlling someone, or when it’s burrowing into their skull to feed?"

Upon closer reflection, apart from initially twisting Chu Tiankuo’s arms to force his compliance, the gray mist had never actually tortured him.

If that was because it knew Chu Tiankuo’s will was unbreakable, then what about the others?

In the wooden cages, the mist had merely hovered over its chosen victims.

It had never restrained their limbs to make them submit without resistance.

Over these three months, Chu Tiankuo had dissected his own memories, examining every bloodstained detail.

He said, "If it comes to feed on me one more time, we’ll have our answer."

Song Qingchi frowned. "Then, Senior Brother, you’re planning to…?"

Chu Tiankuo smiled faintly, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his thin wrist to Song Qingchi.

"Junior Brother, that idea you proposed before... the one that made the master so furious he grabbed a snow-sweeping broom in the middle of the night and chased you for thirty miles—we can try it now."

At this, Ling Shuanghun held his breath and asked, "What idea?"

Yan Luoyue pondered for a moment before replying, "Do you remember what I told you about Senior Sister Chang Lili...?"

Wu Manshuang leaned forward abruptly. "Don’t tell me Song Qingchi beat Chu Tiankuo to death and then grew him back from scratch!"

Ling Shuanghun gasped. "What? Wait—what’s the point of that? Just to feed lunchboxes to this gray mist?"

Yan Luoyue: "...Stop making wild guesses. That’s not it."

She cleared her throat and revealed the truth: "Senior Brother Song... he refined Senior Brother Chu."

The iron-gray hue in Chu Tiankuo’s eyes was not a sign of a heart turned to ashes.

It was one of the indicators of a successful refinement.

To draw a comparison, it was somewhat like the Monkey King being tempered into possessing fiery golden eyes.

With Chu Tiankuo’s full cooperation, Song Qingchi combined artifact refinement with formations, refining Chu Tiankuo into a living version of himself.

That sentence might sound a little strange.

But considering the raw materials were Chu Tiankuo and other things, and the goal was to counter the gray mist, suppress it, while ensuring Chu Tiankuo remained alive (bold and underlined!), continued cultivating, comprehending sword intent, wielding his sword, and ideally still enjoying good food...

In the end, this artifact became one of a kind in the world.

Tailor-made for Chu Tiankuo’s unique properties, and an irreplicable masterpiece of its time.

So, when Song Qingchi named this artifact "Chu Tiankuo," perhaps it wasn’t such a big deal.

"—No, it absolutely is a big deal!"

Chu Tiankuo turned his head in shock.

Pulling his outer robe tighter to conceal the intricate formation marks on his body, he glared at his junior brother.

"Did you even name me? That’s the name my parents gave me!"

Song Qingchi: "Hahahaha!"

When Yan Luoyue later heard this anecdote: "..."

So, why was it that earlier, even though the gray mist hadn’t controlled anyone’s actions or burrowed into Chu Tiankuo’s skull for a feast, Chu Tiankuo alone had been able to forcibly drag it into his own body?

Because Chu Tiankuo had been refined into a sword.

A sword born for the sole purpose of slaying it!

"And here’s where things get a little ridiculous..." Yan Luoyue closed her eyes in exasperation. "During the early stages of refinement, they went to sweep Tao Tao’s grave..."

Since Tao Tao was buried near Camellia Town, and they had encountered that demonic entity in Camellia Town, both of them feared the town might be one of its strongholds and that it wouldn’t leave easily.

So they waited three years before seizing the opportunity to visit Tao Tao’s grave.

Chu Tiankuo took out a golden peach blossom hairpin from his sleeve, about to bury it in the earth.

His voice was rough with emotion. "I meant to give this to you that day... If I had, you would’ve worn it all night."

Now, even if he wanted to give this gift, it was too late.

Before Chu Tiankuo could place the hairpin into the grave, Song Qingchi snatched it from his hands.

Chu Tiankuo blinked in surprise and stepped aside. "You want to put it in Tao Tao’s hair yourself?"

That was understandable.

"No!" Song Qingchi stared at his senior brother, torn between shock and fury.

The towering, dignified image of his senior brother finally crumbled in Song Qingchi’s heart at that moment.

Clutching the hairpin, Song Qingchi pieced everything together in an instant.

He inhaled deeply, once, twice, before finally losing his temper. Grabbing Chu Tiankuo by the collar, he shook him violently three times.

The ever-gentle second junior brother uttered the first curse of his life:

"How many times have I told you—Senior Brother, you really can’t do your own artifact refinement homework!"

The bad habit of sneaking answers to his senior brother during refinement exams, even ghostwriting his assignments—leading to punishments like balancing twenty books on his head outside the door—had finally borne its bitter fruit today.

Song Qingchi howled at the sky, "You don’t even recognize a soul-nurturing pearl? A soul-nurturing pearl!"

When he took a closer look at the peach blossom hairpin, he nearly coughed up blood.

"This... this..."

Chu Tiankuo sensed a shift in the situation.

But he remained composed, placing a hand on his junior brother’s shoulder. "Calm down. Explain slowly."

"I can’t calm down!"

Song Qingchi gripped Chu Tiankuo’s sleeve, his expression still livid.

But beneath his eyes, two streams of hot tears had already begun to flow—for himself, for Tao Tao, and for his wronged and long-suffering senior brother.

His words came out in broken fragments. "Senior Brother... the people of Camellia Town, and Tao Tao... they’re all inside here!"