Sure enough, Lin Ge didn't give him any trouble—just told him to be careful, then turned back to admiring his antiques.
Li Xun had long since made his preparations. Without lingering, he stepped out of the small building, leapt onto Azure Jade, and soared into the sky, heading straight for Zuowang Peak.
He had spent seven years on that peak. Though he couldn't claim to remember every blade of grass or every tree across its vast 270,000 li expanse from mid-mountain to the base, the general layout and key landmarks were still etched into his memory.
Now flying high above, the scenery below blurred into lines as it rushed past his eyes. The peak was wrapped in the chill of autumn—clear skies, crisp air, and a sense of desolation. Seeing this, a thought stirred in his heart.
Back when he first climbed Zuowang Peak, he'd already noticed that this mountain was... different.
Ordinary high mountains, once they reach several thousand zhang, have snow and ice at the top that never melt. That's because of the fierce winds and frozen air up there—the cold moisture condenses and builds up over centuries. This is the case whether in the Mortal Realm or the Tongxuan Realm.
Only Zuowang Peak defied this norm.
As Li Xun recalled, once he climbed past a certain dead-silent, snow-covered height—tens of thousands of zhang up—the landscape above strangely returned to normal. There were still four seasons, birds and beasts, changing weather… everything continued in a natural cycle.
It didn't feel like climbing a mountain. It felt like stepping into a completely different world.
Now, flying toward it once again, Li Xun's cultivation and knowledge far surpassed what they were seven years ago.
That deadly snowy stretch that had nearly claimed his life last time? He crossed it in the blink of an eye. It barely even registered—he only remembered it when he started thinking about how strange the peak truly was.
Could it be that Zuowang Peak… doesn't actually belong to this realm? A vague idea flickered in his heart. He didn't try to overanalyze it for now. He just tucked the question away for later.
Gradually, he cleared his mind and focused on his sword flight.
The technique he used—"Sword-Stepping Style"—involved standing on the sword's blade and relying on it to maintain his balance. It was considered the most basic, beginner-level technique.
But Li Xun was never one to overreach. For now, this form was good enough for him. He had no plans to chase after the more advanced "Qi-Riding" techniques anytime in the next ten years. Besides, even this "simple" method had plenty of depth.
One of Li Xun's best habits was his attention to the small, easily overlooked details of any technique. He'd cultivated that careful mindset over his seven years on Zuowang Peak, and he had no intention of changing it.
He had been flying since morning—over two hours now—and though his spirit was still sharp, his qi reserves were wearing thin. More importantly, Blood Nightmare was about to flare up again. He quickly guided his sword lower and searched for a landing spot on the peak.
As his eyes scanned the terrain, something looked familiar. A flicker of recognition stirred in his heart. He drifted upward a few hundred steps, then dug into a rocky recess with his sword. Sure enough, a stone slab lay buried beneath.
There were dozens of slabs stacked there, the topmost one carved with the words: "Notes at the Half-Year Mark of Climbing the Peak." The carving was crude, made with a dagger—clearly the work of a young, inexperienced hand. It was the first marker he had left for himself, half a year after beginning his ascent all those years ago.
One by one, he flipped through the slabs. A complicated feeling welled up inside him.
He was only sixteen or seventeen now, but what he had experienced in those past seven years was something most mortals wouldn't go through in a lifetime.
This wasn't the kind of path a young prince from a noble family should've had to walk. But he had survived it. And along the way, he'd learned how to endure and grow stronger in the harshest of environments.
For most people, when he descended the mountain in triumph, his future looked dazzling—full of glory.
But for Li Xun… it wasn't that simple.
For that single moment of glory, Li Xun had paid far too high a price.
Or perhaps, more accurately, that honor—second only to the founding ancestor of the third generation—was merely a small token of comfort bestowed by the heavens after he had endured suffering beyond what most could imagine.
The Blood Nightmare Devouring Heart was like a wire wound tight around his throat. One slight twist, one reckless move, and the razor edge would sever his head cleanly.
Of course, he had never forgotten Ghost Master's century-long contract with the Yin-Transforming Pool.
When distant ideals stood side by side with brutal reality, Li Xun chose reality without hesitation.
Every choice he made now would ripple into his future in ways he couldn't foresee. He had neither the time nor the luxury to ponder what lay far ahead. For now, his eyes were fixed on the mere five hundred or so days immediately in front of him.
After reburying the stone slabs, Li Xun sat down cross-legged. His mind soon returned to calm.
Just a few months ago, each episode of Blood Nightmare Devouring Heart had pushed his newly-formed "Golden Core True Breath Lock Structure" to its limit—threatening to shatter it entirely.
But one day, while deep in thought, he suddenly discovered a way to deal with it.
Over the next two months, he carefully studied the Blood Nightmare's path through his body—its cycles, its hunger—and designed a unique technique he called the Hawk-Feeding Method, tailored to his own strengths and knowledge.
It was like feeding a ravenous hawk. Instead of letting the beast roam freely within and tear into him at will, he began proactively offering potent spiritual nourishment. Once it was fed, it no longer needed to bite. That was how he finally ended eight years of torment.
It sounded simple. In truth, it had been anything but.
To leave nothing to chance, he had treated his own body like a testing ground—tracing the Blood Nightmare's every move down to the most delicate strand. For each reaction, he prepared in painstaking detail.
There was no visible suffering, no blood or flesh torn apart, but the level of precision required—down to every pore, every hair's breadth—was nearly enough to drive anyone insane. He completed the final step relying on something like masochistic determination.
Yet in that agonizing process—and in the hollow exhaustion that followed—he had felt something… strange. Not quite joy. Not quite satisfaction. A quiet, unspeakable beauty lingered within it. It was a feeling he'd never known before, and it had etched itself deep into his memory.
The pain of Blood Nightmare Devouring Heart had, in that moment, become a thing of the past.
He could feel the Blood Nightmare now, opening its maw and devouring the essence he'd offered. Then, it fell quiet. Li Xun's face, however, remained heavy.
Though the torment was gone and his true breath flowed freely once again, there was no joy in his heart. All he had done was shift from passive torment to active appeasement. The essence hadn't changed. If anything, it made the weight inside him even harder to bear.
Still, there was a benefit: every time this happened, his hatred for the Blood Wanderer grew deeper.
He would never forget what that demon had done to him.
He had sworn—one day, he would return all this pain a thousandfold. Every humiliation, every wound… all of it, repaid in full.
So long as he lived…
Letting out a long breath, Li Xun rose to his feet, straightened his robes, stepped onto Azure Jade, and soared into the sky once more.
In a flash, three days passed.
Li Xun had no idea how high he'd flown. He simply paused to rest now and then, roughly estimating the altitude based on memory, before continuing upward.
Now, he hovered beside a cliff face, staring at a jutting ledge above him, momentarily lost in thought.
If he remembered right, wasn't this the very spot where the golden-winged roc had struck him down the cliff? And hadn't that accident led him, by chance, to the Netherworld Record?
Just a little further up… and he would reach the end of the path he had climbed seven years ago.
It was also there that he had first met Qingyin—that enigmatic, unforgettable cultivator.
Three days. Thirty-six hours. He had retraced in days a path that once took him seven years to climb.
Perhaps that night—when he was sent down the mountain by Qingxu—the contrast in time felt more profound, but the shock of completing this journey on his own struck him even more directly now.
He hovered above the platform for a long while before ascending again. Guided by the lingering mist, he quickly found the large hot spring once more.
Truthfully, he had been looking forward to this place. Not with any particularly "mature" expectations, of course—just a vague hope of another "chance encounter."
Disappointingly, he circled the spring, which was as wide as a small lake, three full times—yet never heard that cool, melodious voice.
Letting out a sigh, he skimmed low over the water's surface, drifting through the gentle warmth of rising steam. For reasons he couldn't quite name, his mood suddenly turned sour. Originally, he'd planned to continue upward and fly straight to the peak, but now… it all just felt meaningless.
What's gotten into me?
He stepped onto the shore and found a dry spot to sit. Staring at the mist drifting lazily across the lake, his mind was a chaotic mess—he didn't even know what he was thinking anymore.
He didn't know how long had passed when suddenly his heart gave a jolt. A moment later, he seemed to hear a strange sound—like the faint tinkling of bells, or perhaps jade bangles softly clinking together...
He sprang to his feet, a single thought flashing through his mind: Could it be Immortal Mistress Qingyin?
Without hesitation, he rushed toward the sound's direction, his heart pounding.
He ran for over ten miles. The sound was lovely, but strangely elusive. He was sure the direction was correct, yet no matter how far he ran, it never grew closer or louder. It stayed constant—hovering around his ears like a whisper, elusive but undeniably real.
Li Xun's patience ran out. He summoned Azure Jade and soared skyward, scanning the area from above.
Beneath him lay a dense forest, now touched by autumn's hand—leaves golden, most of them already shed. Through the thinning branches, he could just barely make out the forest floor.
What puzzled him was that the moment he took flight, the sound vanished.
What was going on?
Still trying to make sense of it, he felt a sudden shift—looked up instinctively—and saw a streak of sword light plunging from the heavens. It was fast. Very fast.
Whoever it was clearly hadn't expected to see someone here. But their gaze was razor-sharp—within moments, even across several hundred zhang, they locked eyes with Li Xun. The sword light curved midair with elegant precision, turning toward him.
"Li Xun?"
"Fourth Martial Aunt?"
A genuine coincidence.