The dagger was still warm.
Lianxin gripped the hilt as she walked, each step crunching through scorched petals and broken bone chips scattered through the forest.
Her blade had touched his throat.
Just a little more pressure, a little more hate, and she could've ended him.
But I didn't.
The thought hissed like a curse in her mind.
---
The world around her had grown quiet, too quiet. No birds, no night insects. Even the trees had stopped whispering.
She knew what it meant.
The forest could still feel his flame.
---
She stopped at the base of a ruined spirit well—its rim cracked, its waters poisoned with smoke. Kneeling slowly, she dipped her hands into the cold, dark water and washed the sweat and ash from her face.
Her reflection stared back.
Blood on her cheek. Scratches at her jaw. Eyes that were not her own.
Not anymore.
Not since the night he returned.
---
Yanlong.
She hadn't heard that name spoken aloud in centuries. Not in this life. But her soul had never stopped echoing with it.
She remembered everything.
The first time he killed her.
The last time she forgave him.
And every moment in between.
He doesn't remember me.
That hurt more than the fire ever did.
---
She took the broken jade hairpin from her sleeve and stared at it.
Still glowing. Still warm.
It had once been a gift—a simple, silent promise between them. A token of trust. It had died with her body when he destroyed the celestial outpost they'd once guarded together.
And now it lived again.
Because he lived again.
Because fate had dragged him back, still burning, still cursed, and worse—
Still him.
---
Lianxin wiped her face dry and stood.
There was no time to grieve. No space to cry.
She had a role to play.
A vengeance to complete.
A world to protect from him.
Even if I still feel him in my bones.
"Even if I still see his shadow beneath the plum trees… just before he turned them to ash."
---
She reached the crest of the ridge and looked down.
The Frost Petal Sect was still smoking.
Bodies covered in white sheets dotted the courtyard. Her sisters. Her students. Her blood.
The elders were in hiding. The survivors were praying.
And she was the only one who knew who had done it.
And worse—
Why he didn't remember doing it.
---
"Senior Sister!"
Lianxin turned. A younger disciple—Shui Wen—ran up the trail toward her, breathless, her face streaked with tears.
"Elder Jiang… he passed. Third flame wound," she said, voice cracking.
Lianxin nodded silently.
The girl hesitated. "They said… the flames didn't behave like any spiritual fire. It was... ancient."
"Demonic?"
"Not entirely. Something else. Something higher."
Lianxin's jaw tightened.
Not higher.
Just older.
Just him.
---
"I'll take the night watch," she said softly. "You rest. Tell the others… the mountain's closed."
"But what about—?"
"Close the gates, Wen. Seal the formation. No one else dies tonight."
The girl bowed, uncertain but obedient.
When she was gone, Lianxin turned toward the inner sanctum.
The ancient sword chamber waited inside.
And within it—
Lay the only weapon in this realm that could kill an immortal.
---
The door to the inner sanctum had not been opened in decades.
Not even by the sect master.
But Lianxin's presence—her blood, her mark, her memory—was enough.
The stone seals unraveled the moment her palm touched the frame, ancient scripts burning gold and then fading like breath on a mirror. The wind didn't howl. The walls didn't tremble. This wasn't a place of fear.
This was a place of silence.
The kind you hear when Heaven turns away.
---
The air inside was cool, untouched by fire or ash.
A single pedestal stood in the center of the chamber, surrounded by crumbling murals and time-stained banners. On it rested a blade wrapped in five layers of spirit-binding silk, each seal marked with a different celestial glyph.
The sword's name was never spoken aloud. It didn't need to be.
It was built for one purpose:
To sever karma.
---
Lianxin stepped toward it, each footfall echoing like thunder in her ears. She had trained for this day in silence. Had whispered prayers over its bindings. Had bled for the right to touch it.
But she never thought she'd truly need it.
Not like this.
Not against him.
---
Her fingers brushed the topmost seal.
It flared once—golden, warm, nostalgic.
And then burned away into ash.
One by one, the seals vanished.
With each one, a piece of her steadiness crumbled.
By the fourth seal, her hands were shaking.
By the fifth, her vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall.
You weren't supposed to come back.
Not like this. Not without remembering.
Not without meaning it when you broke me again.
---
The blade hummed as she lifted it.
Lightless. Cold. Heavy with finality.
This sword didn't kill.
It erased.
If she used it—truly used it—there would be no cycle. No rebirth. No afterlife.
Just… nothing.
---
And maybe that was the only mercy left.
---
She turned to face the mural behind her.
Once, it had depicted the guardians of Heaven: a dragon, a phoenix, a serpent, and a crane. The dragon's paint had long since peeled away. Blackened by flame.
But she remembered it well.
The way it once shimmered under moonlight.
The way it once reminded her of him.
---
Yanlong had been beautiful once.
Not just in form—but in conviction.
He was strong. Righteous. Laughing, even. A flame forged to protect.
And she had believed in him—once.
Before the fire.
Before the screams.
Before the moment he turned toward her in the ashes of her sect and didn't even blink.
Because in that life… I was the one who betrayed him first.
---
She clenched the sword tighter.
"Why did I love you?" she whispered to the dark.
There was no answer.
Not from Heaven.
And certainly not from him.
---
She left the sanctum with the blade wrapped again, hidden beneath her robes.
No one saw her leave.
No one asked what she carried.
But as she stepped into the night air, the wind changed.
Warmth pressed against her skin like a whisper.
A pulse of fire—far away.
But coming closer.
---
She looked toward the horizon.
And for the briefest moment—
She saw him.
Just a flicker. His silhouette in the distance. Flame curling off his shoulder like a promise never kept.
He didn't see her.
But she felt him.
And her grip on the sword tightened.
---
"Next time," she whispered, "I won't hesitate."
End of Chapter 3