Chapter 866: No Regrets

Long ago, Zhao Changhe had already come to understand that

gu

insects were not tied to cultivation levels. In other words, they bypassed the entire cultivation system. Whether it was an ordinary person without a shred of internal energy or a top-tier demon god at the third layer of the Profound Control Realm, if they were afflicted with the Heart-Bonding Gu, the effect was the same. It was irresistible.

This thing was, at its core, a manifestation of the Heavenly Dao’s will.

So then, could one break free of it? Cultivation, no matter how powerful, did not offer a straightforward answer. This was not a problem that sheer cultivation could resolve. However, that was not to say it was completely irrelevant. After all, stronger cultivation did grant sharper focus and greater clarity of mind, which could prove useful.

Sisi’s own cultivation, at least, was sufficient for that level of detached concentration, and that should be enough.

The real question now was how they were supposed to proceed.

No matter how Zhao Changhe turned his inner sight upon himself, he could not locate the

gu

. It had long since melted into his body, indistinguishable from the nutrients he absorbed daily. It was no longer separate, no longer a foreign entity. Even the Wang Clan’s Heavenly Sea-Suppressing Art, which he had quietly practiced for just such emergencies, could not purge what he could no longer identify as foreign.

And yet, his heart throbbed as if some alien force was invading it, as if it were about to rupture from within.

Zhao Changhe did not buy it; he did not believe that something could have infiltrated him so completely and yet leave no trace.

Heaven’s will is unfathomable, my ass. Call it what you like. Strip away the mystical layers, and it’s all just patterns within the world’s logic. If something can exert an influence, then it has to exist.

The truth was simple: the thing was intangible, without physical form. But deciphering illusion and reality was the very path he walked. If something existed, then there had to be a reason it existed.

Set aside the other

gu

for now. Take only the Heart-Bonding Gu. Its prerequisite? Love and longing. That was what made two hearts one.

But love itself was intangible. Love was formless, without substance. You could not find it inside a body, and yet, could anyone deny its existence?

If it existed, then there had to be a way to give it shape. And once it had shape, it could be caught.

The precondition? That both parties truly resonated with each other’s thoughts at that moment. Only then could their shared emotion draw out the

gu

.

So, in the end, the only real solution... was for the two of them to be genuinely, wholeheartedly of one mind. Even without the

gu

, they would already be connected. Only then could the surplus of the Heart-Bonding Gu be made manifest and then removed.

That meant knowing exactly what the other was thinking at this very moment.

In this great marionette play, Zhao Changhe and Sisi had the least time together, the fewest foundations for love. Their relationship had begun in distrust and betrayal. What followed was more about grace, conquest, and service. Even politically, her nation was subordinate to his. To this day, their relationship was still a dynamic of “master and servant.” Sisi remained the only one who would willingly kneel under the table to serve him.

Could that really be called love? Could such a pair be said to share one heart? It was a miracle they had not turned on each other already.

Sisi gazed across the distant void at Zhao Changhe. He, too, looked back at her from afar.

Though the distance was vast, they could see each other’s eyes with startling clarity—one filled with gentle laughter, the other with glimmering tenderness like a rippling lake.

“In some people’s eyes, you and I aren’t truly in love,” Zhao Changhe said with a smile. “What do you think of that?”

Sisi tilted her head with a smile. “It might seem that way to others. We meet too rarely, and you have too many other women. I’ve always been the one dragging you into trouble. This whole

gu

incident is probably my fault too.”

“But do you know what I’m thinking right now?”

“I do. Do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Shall we try? Let’s say it together. If we get it wrong, we might die.”

Sisi’s smile deepened. “Then let’s say it together.”

There was no need to count to three—if they needed to count, then they were not truly of one heart.

In the next instant, they spoke in unison.

Sisi said, “You’re thinking that the

gu

was something you asked me to plant in you, so it isn’t my fault, and you’ve never regretted it.”

Zhao Changhe said, “You’re thinking that if you pretend it’s your fault, my first instinct will be to think, ‘but I’m the one who asked for it, and I’ve never regretted it’... so if you guess that, you can’t possibly go wrong.”

Both of them blinked at each other.

And then they smiled—mischievous, foxy little grins.

To guess someone’s thoughts, you needed a frame. The little enchantress had slyly given them one, creating a moment where their hearts could easily align. It was clever, but was it not also proof of how deeply they knew each other?

Gu

or not, they were of one heart.

As their voices faded, Zhao Changhe suddenly reached toward his own heart and plunged his hand in.

Han Wubing, standing nearby, gaped in disbelief.

But strangely, though the hand went in, there was no wound, no blood. It was as if it had passed into a different space. And when the hand came back out, Han Wubing saw clearly that between Zhao Changhe’s fingers, a pitch-black

gu

writhed in his grip.

At that same moment, a

gu

insect emerged on Sisi’s chest and fell to the ground with a soft thud.

The Heart-Bonding Gu, once golden and radiant in appearance, was at its core utterly black, no different from Papiyas.

“It won’t die...” Zhao Changhe muttered, trying to crush it in his hand as though squashing a dream. “We’ll need to think of something else...”

“I’ve got it.” Han Wubing smiled and, with a sudden flick of his fingers, summoned Sisi’s

gu

into his hand. Then, without ceremony, he snatched Zhao Changhe’s

gu

as well and promptly popped both into his mouth like roasted crickets.

Zhao Changhe: “?”

Han Wubing’s face turned pale, sweat the size of beans beading on his forehead. Hunched over, he spoke in a low voice, “You may have severed my karma with the White Tiger, but this body was still forged from the White Tiger’s sword bone, and that will never change. I was never meant to experience romantic entanglements, so the Heart-Bonding Gu has no effect on me. I’ve used my own body to imprison it. He sets a cage for us, so I return the favor. Isn’t that satisfying?”

Zhao Changhe stared at him in stunned silence.

Yes, Han Wubing was, in a sense, “unwell[1].” His emotional development was incomplete. A

gu

like this was meaningless to him and could only flail about like a headless fly inside his body. If karma truly existed, perhaps not even the Heavenly Dao foresaw this. So what was heaven’s will, then?

“But you might be plagued with illness for the rest of your life because of this... I honestly don’t know if I can cure it. Won’t you regret it?”

Han Wubing gave him an odd look, as if he did not understand why he was asking such a soft-hearted question. Then, he smiled faintly and said, “No regrets.”

As his words fell, a dull groan echoed from beyond the sky.

A

gu

trap two eras in the making had just been completely undone, and the Heavenly Dao had, without question, suffered backlash.

And this was only the beginning.

* * *

“Heaven save us...”

Across Miaojiang, countless people dropped to their knees in terrified prayer, staring up at the colossal giant that towered into the sky.

One casual stomp from that creature could flatten a thousand mountains. A single breath from its mouth would unleash a storm that could level entire mountain ranges. If even a sliver of stone flaked from its body, it would crash down like a meteor, a catastrophe from the heavens.

The common folk had never seen anything like this. They did not even know what it was or where it had come from.

And in the sky above, the Four Idols shimmered, flames blazed across the heavens. A monstrous demonic face twisted and writhed in the firmament, the oppressive aura emanating from it so intense it made it hard for anyone to even breathe.

Is this the end of the world?

Today was supposed to be the Mid-Autumn Festival, yet fear gripped every heart like icy chains.

However, those with stronger cultivation could sense something more—up above, the demonic face was being pinned down by four distinct auras. It was trapped in the sky, encircled by figures on the Ranking of Heaven. These figures were the venerables of the Four Idols Cult and Yue Hongling.

And that apocalyptic giant? It was not moving, not because it was immobile but because it was being held in check. Binding it was a woman in a flowing purple dress. Her lithe figure looked minuscule before the towering colossus, nothing more than a speck of dust. Yet the immense, all-devouring aura of darkness and annihilation that radiated from her seemed to say: “Destruction? Apocalypse? Those are mine to command, not yours.”

It was the second-ranked demon god, Ye Jiuyou.

Those with any knowledge felt a chill seize their hearts the moment her name surfaced in their minds.

But why... is Ye Jiuyou... helping us?

That stone giant, though imposing, had yet to cause any real harm under her suppression. It looked fearsome, but it was being toyed with.

Some began to recall the soaring sword qi from earlier, when every sword in the land trembled and rebelled. That must have been the third-ranked demon god, the Sword Emperor. And the force now protecting everyone from the swords, the one keeping flesh and blood from being sacrificed, was without a doubt the fourth-ranked demon god, Piaomiao, the embodiment of the qi veins of the mountains and rivers.

This was a true clash of demon gods, with the mightiest of the world stepping into the fray, and it had all begun without warning. Not even veterans of the divine like Yuxu had sensed it coming. This world-shaking battle had erupted in an instant.

The Hungry Ghost Festival is supposed to take place on the fifteenth of the seventh month... It’s Mid-Autumn now. Did they pick the wrong holiday or what?

[2]

Yuxu stared into the distance and muttered to Li Shentong beside him, “Ye Jiuyou could destroy the three realms on her own. If this giant is merely the manifestation of the Spirit Tribe’s world, she should be able to obliterate it with ease... But she’s holding back. It seems she’s waiting for something.”

Li Shentong was deeply uneasy. “If she has other intentions... who could possibly stop her? People like us don’t even qualify to participate anymore.”

Yuxu nodded, feeling troubled.

Anyone with eyes could tell that Ye Jiuyou was beginning to withdraw her power. She seemed to be losing interest in this giant entirely. If she abandoned it now, who would stop it?

In truth, her struggle with the stone giant had not lasted long.

As the origin of this world’s darkness incarnate, she could almost call herself the mother of the world, greater even than Ye Wuming, though she had suffered far worse persecution. In matters of stone transforming into flesh, she was practically a specialist.

And she could tell that the blood sacrifice feeding the transformation was far from sufficient, as too much of it had been cut off by Piaomiao.

No, the problem that came with the stone giant was another one altogether: its sheer size. Once destroyed, even the debris would become celestial meteorites, crashing down and causing mass devastation. Miaojiang, which sat directly beneath, would be obliterated. Tens of thousands of li would be flattened.

To destroy it would require enormous effort, and even if she succeeded, she might not have the strength left to stop the fallout. If she let that happen, it was almost certain that she would end up scolded by the damn boytoy.

On the other hand, if the underwhelming amount of blood offered allowed the body to transform, perhaps into a corpse puppet instead, then that would be much easier to handle. Moreover, handling it would not be her job. She had far more important matters to attend to.

As soon as the stone giant fully transformed its body into one of flesh and blood—a form that could truly be called the body of an ancient god—Ye Jiuyou abruptly withdrew, her lithe figure soaring skyward in a flash.

In the next instant, a streak of blood-red light erupted where she had just stood.

Lie sat cross-legged in the void, facing an array plate brimming with vicious qi. He looked up through the glow of the formation at the colossal figure ahead and grinned. “Too brittle, utterly lacking in blood and qi. Pathetic.”

The giant, now with a body of flesh and blood, finally opened its mouth to speak, “It is one thing for Ye Jiuyou to oppose me... but you, Lie? You were a creature born of my own surface. You turn against me as well?”

“You? If you’d stayed obediently in the ground, I might’ve lit three sticks of incense for you and called you an ancestral god. But since you’ve climbed out to stir trouble, then I shall be sending you to your death.”

The ancient god’s voice rumbled like thunder. “Earlier, you were still clashing with Zhao Changhe... Was all that a performance?”

“Not exactly. I had my own plans. I never intended to ally with him. But after fighting him, I realized he was stronger than me, and his plan was far more complete, so I played along. It couldn’t be helped. It’s all based on mutual understanding. No one knows which words might reach your ears, after all.”

“So this blood sacrifice of all living things... was your aim to drive me into this very state?”

“Of course. You needed a sacrifice of at least a million souls to take proper form. The so-called blood of all beings was just to give you something vaguely human. Now that some Blood Ao and other beasts have been tossed in, it’s good enough. Do you know how annoyed Ye Jiuyou has been, dragging this out just to wait for you to reach this state? You really think you could stand on equal footing with her?”

The ancient god paused and then asked, “...What is it that you want?”

“None of us can say for sure whether killing you again would just birth another minor cosmos and end up wasting all our effort. But here’s some great news: I’ve got one method that’ll make sure you’re gone for good.”

A dreadful premonition crept into the ancient god’s heart as Lie’s Blood God Saber slashed down onto his own skull. His soul drifted free, absorbed by the array plate in front of him.

The ancient god roared, “You’ve gone mad!”

Lie’s laughter echoed. “I wield blood and qi. And you... you’re the one who finally gave me the fuel. Now I can... Restart Creation!”

Boom!

A torrent of blood-red light erupted from the array plate, a surge of power great enough to rend the firmament, engulfing the ancient god.

The freshly reborn body, just beginning to stir with blood and flesh, instantly boiled and withered. In mere moments, it crumbled into a mummified husk. The nascent consciousness, still in the middle of forming, was obliterated beneath the wild fusion of Lie’s soul and the Blood God Array Plate.

As his essence shattered, the ancient god murmured in disbelief, “You slept through an entire era... just to wake up and throw yourself into this one strike?”

Lie’s voice, already fading, responded in calm finality, “If I once swore to scatter the gods and Buddhas, then why should this world still contain a Lie? Dying with you... is the perfect ending. I’m glad I saw it through.”

The colossal husk collapsed. At the point where it fell, an endless abyss of darkness flashed briefly, and the corpse vanished entirely, drawn away into nothingness.

Ye Jiuyou glanced back once but did not linger.

That husk, now drained of all vitality and blood, would become nothing more than a corpse puppet for her to toy with. It would never again escape her grasp.

This, too, was part of her revenge.

Lie had long maintained secret contact with her. When Ye Jiuyou told Zhao Changhe that she had prepared some contingencies, she had been referring to him.

Just as Ye Wuming once sought to ally with Lie, so did Ye Jiuyou now. The reason was the same. Lie was a demon god forged from the cultivation of a human—an ancient version of Zhao Changhe, and one far more extreme. The moment he pledged his ultimate strike to be Scattering the Gods and Buddhas, his path had already been set.

Everyone has their own aspirations. The only thing you can do is die with no regrets.

Boom!

Up in the sky, Ye Jiuyou’s hatred, cultivated over two eras, surged forth as a cataclysmic wave of annihilation, crashing violently against the resentful remnant soul that the Four Idols were struggling to contain.

The Four Idols, on the brink of exhaustion, were suddenly reinforced by the strongest support yet.

The remnant soul let out a shrill, hate-filled screech. “Ye... Jiuyou... Last era, you were used by Ye Wuming, and both of you suffered for it! And now, instead of turning on her, you strike at me again?”

Ye Jiuyou deigned to even spare it another glance. “A mere remnant soul. I just happened to pass by, so I gave you a slap. Do you think you’re worthy of more?”

The remnant soul howled, distorted, and slowly disintegrated within the raging inferno.

She called it a casual blow in passing, but the damage done was something even Ye Wuming had never achieved: complete annihilation.

After truly realizing her nature, Ye Jiuyou was no longer a worldly boundary to be torn down. Zhao Changhe could slay gods, and she was now able to do the same.

The failure of

gu

arts, the destruction of the ancient body, and the obliteration of the remnant soul—three pieces laid down by the original Heavenly Dao within the world—all backfired simultaneously at this moment, their cumulative force crashing into the skies beyond the highest heaven.

BOOM!

Thunder echoed across the three realms. Lightning cracked and lanced through the highest heaven.

In the world beyond the highest heaven, the Heavenly Dao let out a low grunt, clearly shaken. Caught off guard, it retreated momentarily and thrust His palm toward Ye Wuming’s forehead, attempting to force her back.

But Ye Wuming did not dodge. Instead, both of her palms surged forward, slamming heavily into the Heavenly Dao’s chest.

Almost at the same instant, Ye Jiuyou tore through the boundaries of the world, emerging like a mirrored twin, and struck toward the Heavenly Dao’s back.

A short distance away, Zhao Changhe stood atop a world of fluttering pages, as if balanced on a book laid open across the void. His bow was drawn, arrow nocked, aimed straight ahead.

At the tip of the arrow gleamed divine light. This light revealed that this arrow was meant to slay gods and demons alike, and its brilliance was so cold and resolute that even Ye Wuming felt a chill from it.

Zhao Changhe had conserved his strength throughout, rarely stepping directly into the fray. Yet all along, he had been micromanaging each battlefield, guiding the tides, controlling the flow of battle. And now, at the decisive moment, he appeared exactly where he needed to be.

He held mastery over time and karma, and his grasp of both had already reached an incredibly high level. At this point, he was in no way inferior to even Ye Wuming.

And yet, within this seemingly flawless ambush, inside this meticulously laid trap that had perfectly played out, a smile emerged on the Heavenly Dao’s face.

1. This is a play on words on Han Wubing’s name. Wubing (无病) means well or healthy. ☜

2. The Mid-Autumn Festival is held on the fifteenth of the eighth lunar month, so Ghost Day or the Hungry Ghost Festival is a month before this. ☜