Chapter 48: Reconstruction

The wind atop the Star Observation Platform was colder than anywhere else in the sect.

Yan Hongxiu stood at the border of light and shadow, her long robe fluttering in the wind.

There was a loneliness about her, as if she could be swept away at any moment.

She didn’t look around.

She simply gazed quietly at the distant horizon, as though she had stood there for a long time, transformed into a statue upon this abandoned high platform.

When Ye Chen’s figure appeared at the end of the stone steps, she seemed to awaken from a long dream and slowly turned around.

There was no unnecessary greeting.

She only bowed slightly, her emotions complex and unreadable—expectation, anxiety, and a decisive surrender of her fate.

“Are you ready?”

Ye Chen’s voice was calm.

“Yes.”

Yan Hongxiu nodded.

Her voice was soft, yet unwavering.

Ye Chen’s gaze fell upon her dantian, but he didn’t act immediately.

Instead, he spoke.

“The method I’m about to use isn’t a gentle channeling of spiritual power. Rather, I will condense a strand of extreme sword intent into a single line and pierce the core of your Qi Cyclone, shattering that ‘Shadow Thorn’.”

His speech was slow, each word clear in Yan Hongxiu’s ears.

“The Sword Edge is merciless. A single misstep, and both jade and stone are destroyed. Your dantian may be left with a permanent scar, or perhaps… your cultivation might be ruined.”

He paused, shifting his gaze from her to the clouds torn by the wind.

“You still have a chance to turn back.”

At the words “cultivation might be ruined,” Yan Hongxiu’s eyelashes trembled imperceptibly.

Then, she smiled.

It was faint, yet heartbreakingly desolate.

“Thank you for your honesty, junior brother.”

She spoke softly.

“But if this shackle cannot be broken, then my life is nothing more than lingering in endless despair, awaiting the exhaustion of my lifespan. If that is my fate… it’s better to gamble on this sliver of hope.”

She paused.

The wind howled past at that moment, sweeping away the heavy memories left unspoken.

“Sorry, I almost… said something unnecessary.”

She closed her eyes.

When they opened again, the last trace of hesitation was gone, replaced by unwavering resolve.

“Junior brother Chen, please begin.”

She stepped back half a pace, standing tall like a pine tree awaiting the trial of frost and snow.

“Whatever the outcome, I have no regrets.”

Ye Chen looked at her in silence.

This woman’s eyes reminded him of others from long ago.

It seemed they too bore unspeakable burdens, placing everything on the edge of a single sword.

The human heart is always thus.

He didn’t want to be swayed by such heavy emotions—they would dull his blade.

At that thought, deep within Ye Chen’s soul, a golden sea stirred faintly.

He didn’t resist.

Instead, he let go of control over his body.

—”Your turn.”

In an instant, Yan Hongxiu felt the “Ye Chen” before her change.

Not in appearance or form, but in an indescribable sense of presence.

The young man who had seemed distant and calm a moment ago now felt like the master of this world.

His black eyes were stripped of human emotion, dissolving into a pure, profound void—like a god gazing coldly upon the mortal realm.

Yan Hongxiu’s heart skipped a beat.

She even felt, for a moment, that she was not facing a human.

Instinctively, she closed her eyes, letting her senses sink into darkness.

She saw nothing.

Only felt a breeze brush gently past her ear.

Then, from the depths of her dantian, a sharp pain surged—so intense it felt as if it would pierce her soul.

Yet the pain vanished almost as soon as it arrived.

In its place was a long-lost feeling—as if ice melted and all things revived!

The obstruction that had held her back for ten years, preventing her from forming her golden core, shattered.

Spiritual power surged like a river freed from its shackles, flowing joyfully through her meridians, every revolution swifter than ever before.

She opened her eyes wide.

Ye Chen was already behind her, holding his long sword pointed diagonally at the ground, his posture relaxed, his expression indifferent.

Then, the divine void in his eyes faded, replaced by familiar calm—though his face was a shade paler than when he arrived.

“Glad I did not fail.”

Ye Chen spoke softly.

A joy beyond words and excitement overwhelmed all reason within Yan Hongxiu.

Ten years!

Ten whole years of repression and despair vanished like smoke!

Almost instinctively, she turned, took a step forward, and embraced Ye Chen tightly.

The softness and faint fragrance of her hair made Ye Chen stiffen.

He could feel her trembling—emotion bursting forth after being held in check for so long.

“Thank you… Thank you, junior brother…”

Her voice was choked, buried in his shoulder, warm dampness seeping through his clothes.

It lasted only a moment.

Yan Hongxiu sprang away as if burned.

Her face flushed scarlet, even her ears tinged pink.

She stumbled back two steps, wringing her hands and staring at the ground.

“I-I’m sorry! I was… too emotional…”

She took a deep breath, forcing down the turmoil within her.

Then she bowed deeply to Ye Chen, all the way to the ground.

“For saving me, junior brother, I will never forget. Whatever you ask in the future—even if it’s through fire or blade—I will not refuse!”

“No need.”

Ye Chen shook his head, sheathing his sword.

“It was a small thing. Your foundation is steady. Now, you can try forming your golden core.”

In his heart, he whispered, “This karma is now ended.”

“Yes!”

Yan Hongxiu nodded vigorously.

Her surging emotions made her unwilling to linger any longer.

She looked at Ye Chen deeply, as if to etch his face into her memory.

Then she cupped her fists.

“If you ever need anything, junior brother, just send me a message!”

Before the words finished, she turned into a stream of light, flying impatiently toward her Dongfu.

Within that light surged a new, irrepressible edge.

The Star Observation Platform was left empty, with only Ye Chen remaining.

He raised his hand, fingertips brushing the shoulder still damp with tears—a lingering warmth, a reminder of that fleeting, tender embrace.

He shook his head, pushing the distraction away.

Now, his entire focus was on the sword dominated by Divine Nature.

The memory of that sword was not a fixed technique in his mind, but a feeling.

A resonance between man and blade, wind, spiritual energy, and the laws of heaven and earth.

No wasted motion.

No wasted strength.

Only precision, efficiency, and the inherent beauty of Dao.

But recalling it now, it felt distant—like admiring a masterpiece not his own.

“Was this… me, once?”

Ye Chen murmured.

He drew his sword slowly, closed his eyes, and tried to recapture the sensation.

The sword moved with his will.

Strike.

Slash.

The motions remained smooth, but lacked the unity with the world—the result was clumsy.

He felt no frustration.

Instead, upon the empty Star Observation Platform, he began to practice again and again.

The sword’s light flickered through the lonely shadows, like a devoted seeker chasing the sword art he’d lost to the ages.

The wind grew cold once more.