Lu Shaohua stood at the edge of the courtyard, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched the corner of her robe.
The air still smelled faintly of blood and burned spirit energy.
Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.
She had never seen anything like this.
Never in her life had she imagined that someone would dare talk back to a representative of the Sword Shandian Sect, much less challenge their authority so openly.
She stared at Han Ji, the man everyone now called ruthless and arrogant, standing tall in the center of the chaos he himself had created. His posture didn't falter.
His face was calm, even though the entire Han Family seemed to tremble before the sect's envoy.
That cold, fearless look in his eyes—it terrified her, yet she couldn't look away.
Is he really doing all this because of me? she thought, confused and shaken.
The moment the blood hit the ground, she could hardly breathe. Her legs weakened. Everyone was shouting—Han Cui, Han Zukong, the servants—but Han Ji never wavered.
Every word, every movement he made felt deliberate, like a sword that struck only where it intended.
Her chest felt tight. She had seen cruelty before. She had ordered killings herself in the past. But this was different. Han Ji didn't act like someone drunk on power or revenge. His eyes were too clear for that. There was something terrifyingly calm about the way he moved, as if he had done this countless times before.
"Could he really… be doing this for me?" she whispered softly, not realizing she had spoken aloud.
The nearby servants turned their heads but quickly looked away, pretending not to hear.
Lu Shaohua bit her lip and lowered her gaze. "No," she murmured to herself. "It can't be just that."
Her thoughts went back to the warning one of her old subordinates had whispered to her days ago, the last time they secretly met.
"He could be someone from the Five Element Sect," the woman had said. "Or worse, a spy from another force. Be careful. Men like him don't act without reason. If he's protecting you, it's not because he loves you. It's because he wants something."
Those words echoed in her mind now, but when she looked at Han Ji again—standing firm, facing down even the sect representative without fear—she wasn't sure what to believe anymore.
Is this really about me? Or about something else?
But as her eyes lingered on him, her heart trembled for another reason. Maybe… just maybe, he was like her. Someone pretending. Someone forced to wear another face in this cruel world.
Her breath caught when that thought crossed her mind. A faint warmth spread through her chest, and she found herself blushing. "No," she whispered again, trying to stop her thoughts. "Don't be stupid, Shaohua."
But her eyes betrayed her heart, and they kept returning to him.
…
Wei Ji, standing in the middle of the courtyard, suddenly felt something cold crawling down his spine. For a moment, everything around him faded. The shouting, the murmurs, the whispers—all vanished into silence. His eyes drifted to Lu Shaohua.
And then his world froze.
Behind her, a shadow stood. It wasn't shaped like a person—it was vast, endless, suffocating. Her shadow stretched, twisting, forming the outline of a throne, of wings that shimmered with darkness, of a crown that seemed made from dying stars.
The world dimmed around him. The air turned heavy, and his breath caught in his throat.
"No…" Wei Ji's voice was barely a whisper.
The shadow smiled.
Her face—her future face—looked down at him. The Celestial Demon Empress. The same presence that had haunted his nightmares, the same power that once tore worlds apart.
A cold wind blew through him, and the world around him vanished. He was no longer in the courtyard. He was falling through darkness. A spiral of demonic mist pulled him downward. Screams echoed from unseen mouths. Countless eyes stared at him from the void.
He fell, deeper and deeper, into a pit of shadows where the screams turned into whispers. "You cannot change what has already been written," the voice of the Celestial Demon Empress echoed. "You can kill, you can save, but in the end… you cannot escape me."
Wei Ji struggled, but his limbs refused to move. He felt his body being pulled apart, his soul stretched thin by the weight of her power. Every breath he took felt like swallowing molten iron.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended.
He gasped and opened his eyes. He was back in the courtyard.
The noise returned—the whispers, the murmurs, the sound of his father scolding, of Zukong's sword being drawn. But his forehead was covered in cold sweat. His heartbeat roared in his ears.
"What was that…?" he muttered under his breath. He looked again at Lu Shaohua. Her face was calm, unaware of the vision he'd just witnessed.
Her heart glowed faintly through his spiritual sight, and he saw it—an ember of the Celestial Demon Heart.
But it was dim now, as if sealed or suppressed. The demonic energy that had frightened him moments ago was gone, leaving only a faint trace that disappeared when he blinked.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down. "It was just an illusion," he whispered to himself. "Just… an illusion."
But deep down, he knew what he saw was real.
And for the first time since he entered this family, Wei Ji felt fear—not for himself, but for the woman standing silently in the crowd.
…
Han Zukong gritted his teeth, trying to calm the storm in his chest.
The tension had lowered slightly, but the silence that followed was worse.
The sect's representative was still standing nearby, his arms crossed, clearly unimpressed. The family members avoided his gaze.
Han Zukong stepped forward, bowing slightly to the representative. "Honored elder," he began respectfully, "since the… unfortunate loss of three servants today, I will need replacements before I depart for the sect."
The representative gave him a brief nod, uninterested. "That is acceptable. Every disciple is permitted to bring a few attendants."
Han Zukong turned his gaze toward Wei Ji, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Elder brother," he said loudly, "since you were the cause of their deaths, how about replacing them for me? Surely you won't mind doing your younger brother a favor."
The crowd stiffened again. His words were polite, but his tone was laced with mockery.
Wei Ji narrowed his eyes slightly, but said nothing.
Zukong stepped closer, lowering his sword. "After all," he continued, his voice carrying a hint of sarcasm, "it's only fair. I lost three servants, and it would be ungrateful of me not to ask my brother—the one who caused it—to make it right."
Han Cui's brow furrowed. "Zukong," he said quietly, "enough."
But Zukong only smiled, pretending not to hear. "What do you think, elder brother? You can spare three people, can't you? Maybe… someone you value?"
The words hung in the air, sharp and poisonous.
Wei Ji frowned slightly. "What are you implying?"
Zukong's smile widened. He turned his head slowly, his eyes moving toward Lu Shaohua, who stood quietly in the corner. "What about your wife?"