In the depths of the nightmare realm, Fu HongJun crouched behind a shattered stone wall, his chest heaving with every breath. Sweat poured down his face like rain, mixing with the blood at the corner of his lips. His eyes were wide with exhaustion and rage.

“Old monster…” he muttered through clenched teeth, “What the hell is this place? Those two savage beasts keep chasing me like I killed their ancestors! Is this really training… or just a twisted execution ground?!”

His body trembled. His qi felt sluggish. His legs burned like fire from running nonstop. His heart pounded like a war drum.

Far above the swirling gray skies of the nightmare realm, hidden among the dark clouds, Emperor Ye stood on a floating stone throne. With arms folded behind his back, he looked down at the scene below, his expression unreadable, except for the cruel curve of his lips.

“So,” he muttered to himself, “you dare slack off? Even for a breath of rest?”
He snorted. “Time is precious, brat. Seems I’ve been too merciful.”

With a flick of his fingers, strands of golden-red qi shot down from the sky like heavenly threads, weaving into the bodies of the two monstrous constructs. A dark light gleamed in Emperor Ye’s eyes.

Below, the bone golem roared as its body expanded and its muscles swelling with newfound strength, its speed increasing threefold. The corpse dragon, meanwhile, opened its mouth as a long crimson tongue flicked out. Its eyes glowed with golden light as it gained the ability to trace scent.

“Let me see if your legs are faster than death,” Emperor Ye murmured with a devilish grin. “Hahaha… entertain me, brat.”

On the ground, the dragon suddenly stopped its erratic search. Its glowing eyes locked onto the trail of blood Fu HongJun had left behind. With a low snarl, it sniffed the broken ground, then turned its head directly toward the crumbling wall.

A bone-chilling roar shook the nightmare realm.

The golem, now more intelligent and more violent, didn’t hesitate. It charged forward like a war beast and smashed through the wall with terrifying force.

BOOM!

The wall exploded and Fu HongJun was sent flying through the air with it.

“AHHHHHHHHHH!!”

He screamed as debris struck his back and knocked the wind out of him. Before he could even land properly, a shadow loomed over him.

The corpse dragon dived from the sky, eyes blazing with murderous intent. Its tail swept out like a whip of iron.

CRACK!

Fu HongJun’s body was flung again, this time crashing hard against the jagged ground. He spat out blood, his ribs screaming in pain.

“What… the hell was that?!” he coughed. “How did that beast find me so fast?!”

The golem and dragon stood side by side in the distance, preparing for another wave of destruction.

High above, Emperor Ye frowned slightly as he watched.

“This idiot… Did he think hiding in one place would save him? He should’ve kept moving,” he muttered. “Hmph. So reckless. That last hit might've damaged his soul... but as long as he doesn’t die, it’s fine.”

Below, Fu HongJun barely managed to push himself to his feet, one arm limp, his breathing ragged. The air in the nightmare realm felt thick like poison. Pain surged through his body, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

He stumbled forward, dragging his injured leg, while the dragon flapped its wings again. This time, it lifted the golem with it carrying the massive creature high into the sky.

Fu HongJun looked up and his heart nearly stopped.

The golem had picked up a massive stone, its jagged edges dripping with corrupted energy.

“No… no, no, no…..!!”

The golem threw the stone down with monstrous force.

Fu HongJun raised his arms in a desperate attempt to defend himself but it was too late.

The world went black.

Back in the carriage, Fu HongJun’s body twitched violently. Cold sweat drenched his forehead, and his brows furrowed in pain.

Meanwhile, in the realm above the soul, Emperor Ye stood and narrowed his eyes as he looked at his unconscious disciple's soul drifting back into his body.

“Tch,” he spat. “He still couldn’t dodge that boulder. Looks like I’ll have to heal him with... extra methods. Hmph. How useless.”

With a wave of his hand, the constructs dissolvedn bone and flesh collapsing back into ash. The golden-red qi that had empowered them returned to Emperor Ye, swirling around him like divine fire.

But instead of storing it, he raised his palm and cast it upward.

The qi pierced the gray skies.

In the physical world, golden-red light fell like stardust into Fu HongJun’s sea of consciousness. His expression, once distorted in pain, calmed. His breathing slowed.

He slept.

In the nightmare realm, Emperor Ye groaned slightly, clutching his chest.

“That brat… I hope you survive. I gave you one of my precious strands of Hundred Fiend Qi. Don’t waste it.”

Suddenly, the nightmarish world around him trembled.

The bloody world around him began to dissolve. Bone piles melted into water, blackened skies faded into blue, and the blood-soaked earth turned to soft jade tiles.

The broken wasteland bloomed into a majestic sect: lush green mountains, sword towers piercing the sky, ancient bridges over spiritual rivers.

A name appeared in golden mist:

Mystic Sword Sect.

It stood bathed in golden sunlight. Dozens of disciples dressed in white robes trained with elegant swords under ancient peach blossom trees. Gentle wind rustled the prayer flags. Bronze bells chimed softly in the distance. Streams of clear water flowed down stone steps where koi fish flickered like sparks. There, two young figures stood facing each other, clad in white robes fluttering in the wind.

A gentle girl, her long hair tied with a silver ribbon, held a snow-white sword in hand. Her expression was soft but conflicted.

“Junior Brother… will you come back?” she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.

The boy gave a faint smile. “Of course.”

She smiled too, eyes bright with fragile hope.

But the memory shifted like breaking glass.

The next scene appeared. Darker and colder.

A battlefield. Snow falling gently onto bloodied soil.

The same girl stood again. This time, her sword was trembling.

Tears shimmered in her eyes.

“Junior Brother… why? You still have time to turn back. I… I miss you.”

The girl now stood in battle posture on a shattered cliff under a stormy sky, her white robes soaked in blood and rain.

Across from her stood the same boy, cloaked in crimson robes, a black sword in his hand. His eyes no longer held warmth.

“Step aside, Senior Sister,” he said coldly.

“You’re walking the wrong path!” she shouted, eyes full of sorrow. “You still have a chance to return! You don’t have to become this!”

The boy didn’t answer.

Their swords clashed one radiating cold justice, the other shrouded in wrath. Each strike shook the mountain. But she noticed it. He never aimed to kill her. His movements were sharp but restrained. Pain laced his eyes, even in silence.

She tried to break through.

“Why are you doing this?! We trained under the same master. We dreamed under the same moon!”

The boy paused mid-swing.

“…I don’t have a choice.”

Then he released a blast of force that sent her flying but she landed, barely injured. He could have ended it.

But he didn’t.

She stood again, tears dripping from her chin.

Then she summoned her ultimate art. Her qi surged.

The boy trembled… then sighed.

They both leapt forward, swords gleaming.

Silver met crimson.

Qi exploded.

The petals were torn by wind and force.

Their battle was graceful, brutal, and intimate as if each strike carried not only power but history.

At one point, her blade nicked his cheek. He paused.

"You’re still holding back."

She trembled. "Because I still remember the boy under the cherry tree."

He closed his eyes. "That boy is dead."

With a final clash,her sword shattered.

But he didn’t strike.

And then one final scene.

Snow drifted gently over the Mystic Sword Sect, blanketing the stone paths and distant pavilions in a pale stillness. Plum blossoms trembled in the wind, their petals clinging desperately to their branches.

At the outer gates of the sect, a girl in white stood alone.

Her sword arm trembled, the blade lowered but not yet dropped.

Before her stood the boy again.

But he was no longer the same.

His robes were black as the abyss, soaked in faded blood and torn by battles no one spoke of. His hair had turned ghostly white, flowing freely down his back like moonlight in mourning. His face was colder than the winter wind, yet in his eyes, a buried sorrow flickered beneath the frost. In his hand, the sword with humans skull shape emitting the death qi.

The gates behind her stood open just barely. One last chance.

“Why…?” she whispered. “Why did you walk this path?”

The boy said nothing.

He simply turned his head. Just enough to let her see his expression a look filled with guilt, silence, and finality.

“I missed you…” she choked out. “You can still turn back…”

Her voice cracked at the end, as if her heart was breaking with each word.

The boy’s steps did not pause.

He walked away.

Wordless.

His figure grew smaller… and the massive gates began to close between them.

Creaking. Slow. Final.

Above, in the illusion’s sky, Emperor Ye stood silently, watching the memory fade.

The snow dissolved into mist.

The world returned to silence.

“…It’s not that I didn’t want to come back,” he murmured, voice heavy with grief. “It’s just… by the time I looked back… it was already too late.”

The illusion crumbled. The sect vanished. The petals burned away mid-air like ashes in wind.

All that remained was silence.

And the soft, steady breathing of Fu HongJun—still asleep, unaware of the sorrow carved into the soul of his master.

In the real world, the carriage continued its journey. Evening had come, and the golden sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm glow across the land.

Ahead, a bustling city came into view. Merchants, farmers, and travelers filled the road some preparing their wares for tomorrow’s market, others lining up at the gate, waiting to enter before nightfall.

After waiting for a short while, Grandpa Ji urged the horse forward and led the carriage toward the gate.

“Hold up!” a guard barked. “Old man, what are you carrying in the carriage? Open it.”

Though the guard's tone was rude, Grandpa Ji remained calm. He dismounted and opened the carriage flap.

“I’m sending my grandson to the Mortal Academy. He has awakened his spirit,” he said simply.

The guard gave the old man a long look, sizing him up from head to toe. Then he grunted.

“Go.”

Grandpa Ji nodded slightly and drove the carriage into the city.

Not long after, he stopped in front of a shabby inn, its wooden sign barely hanging above the door. The inn was run by an old woman with sharp eyes and a tired expression.

Inside the carriage, Fu HongJun stirred. His eyelids fluttered open.

He gasped softly, then let out a long sigh.

“I’m not dead... fuuuuh.”

Feeling the carriage had stopped, he peeked outside through the curtain. The inn looked plain and dusty.

“…Did Grandpa take a wrong turn and bring us to another village?” he wondered.

Outside, noticing the curtain shift, Grandpa Ji called out:

“Jun’er, come out.”

Fu HongJun stepped down from the carriage and looked around. His earlier guess instantly dismissed.

His eyes widened with excitement.

“Wooow, it’s so beautiful. And so many snacks…”

He beamed, spinning in place as he took in the lights, shops, and street stalls that lined the edges of the evening city. The joy in his expression was pure and contagious.

Grandpa Ji, watching his grandson’s happiness, couldn’t help but smile faintly.

He turned toward the old innkeeper.

“One room. And two bowls of meat porridge.”

The old woman nodded. “Five low-grade spirit stones.”

Grandpa Ji handed her the stones without hesitation.

Then he turned back to his grandson.

“Jun’er, grab the bag.”

“Yes!”

Fu HongJun dashed to the carriage, retrieved his travel bag, and followed Grandpa Ji into the inn.

A few minutes later, the two sat across from each other at a small table, steam rising from their bowls.

Fu HongJun took a big spoonful of porridge, then looked around the room.

“Grandpa, why does this place look… kind of terrible?”

“It’s just a small inn,” Grandpa Ji replied, unfazed. “Don’t mind it. If this place had been full, we might’ve ended up sleeping outside.”

“Oh… that makes sense.”

After dinner, Fu HongJun returned to their room first. He flopped down on the creaky wooden bed and stared at the ceiling.

His mind replayed the horrors of earlier being hunted through the nightmare realm by that monstrous golem and corpse dragon.

“I swear…” he muttered, eyes narrowing, “One day I’ll crush those two beasts under my foot. And that old monster... I’ll—”

He stopped mid-sentence, remembering the floating brooms.

A shiver ran down his spine.

“…I’ll…respectfully serve him porridge,” he finished quickly.

In the nightmare realm, Emperor Ye’s eyes twitched.

But he said nothing.

He merely sat cross-legged in the drifting void, eyes closed, lips tight.

Outside the inn, the moonlight bathed the silent street in silver.

Grandpa Ji stood quietly beneath the eaves, arms behind his back, eyes on the shadows.

“How long do you plan to hide?” he said calmly.

From the darkness, a man stepped forward, his body fully wrapped in black cloth. His face was obscured, but his movements were respectful. He bowed low.

Grandpa Ji’s voice was sharp and commanding.

“Spread the news. Say that a thousand-year-old ginseng has been discovered in Nine Dragons Mountain. Keep it realistic. Make sure the bait is convincing.”

The man nodded once, then disappeared into the shadows.

Grandpa Ji stood alone under the moonlight, the flickering lanterns casting long, thin shadows behind him.

His expression was unreadable.