“Trying to run?”

A cold light erupted in Li Fuxi’s eyes. A blade of condensed sword qi tore through the void, striking with pinpoint accuracy at the invisible threads connecting Daoist Qianji to the Wangchuan puppet.

SNAP.

A crisp sound echoed, like a lute string breaking under tension.

Daoist Qianji’s figure swayed slightly. He shot a venomous glare at Li Fuxi, then wasted no more time.

BANG!

His entire body detonated into a cloud of thick blood mist. The mist churned and contracted, drilling into a spatial rift that split open silently before vanishing without a trace.

With Qianji’s escape, the final thread of power sustaining the Wangchuan puppet was severed.

The puppet instantly froze. Eerie black flames erupted silently across its body, rapidly carbonizing the flesh and metal.

In the final moment before he turned to ash, his hollow eyes seemed to shift. He looked at Li Fuxi, standing just inches away. His lips moved with agonizing difficulty, as if trying to form words, but no sound came out.

Li Fuxi stared blankly as the familiar figure dissolved into the black fire.

The flames died out, leaving only a scorched, blackened sphere on the ground. It let out a metallic clang as it settled—it was precisely the special puppet core Zhang Xian had “lost” earlier to track the enemy.

Zhang Xian stepped forward and silently picked it up.

Xia Chengyan sheathed his sword, staring at the spot where Qianji had vanished. He couldn’t help but curse.

“Motherf*cker, that guy can run. Puppeteers are such a pain in the ass to kill. I bet that wasn’t even his real body just now.”

Realizing Zhiyin was standing right there, he coughed awkwardly. “Uh, Fellow Daoist Zhiyin, I didn’t mean you. You’re cool.”

“It is fine.” Zhiyin’s expression remained calm.

With a thought, countless palm-sized Zhiyin clones surged out like a tide, beginning to methodically sweep the battlefield for loot and debris. One of the mini-Zhiyins fluttered over to Zhang Xian, extending a pair of tiny hands.

Zhang Xian smiled and placed the retrieved puppet core into her hands.

He surveyed the ravaged plaza, watching the dust settle. “Did they catch the White Venerable?” he asked Lin Xiaozhu.

“His Majesty the Emperor has trapped him in a formation,” Lin Xiaozhu replied. “We have the absolute advantage.”

Zhang Xian looked at Li Fuxi beside him. “Master, I’m going to go check on them.”

Li Fuxi nodded, her voice heavy with fatigue. “Go. I will stay here and help clean up.”

Zhang Xian summoned his sword and took to the air. Following the trail of Xia Xuanyin’s powerful aura, he soon arrived at a desolate plain on the outskirts of the Imperial Tomb.

The scene below was unexpected.

Xia Xuanyin, Daoist Wangya, and Yun Wanqing stood in a triangle formation, surrounding a thoroughly wretched figure.

It was the White Venerable. His black robes were soaked in blood. chaotic black and white energies coiled around him, trying desperately to knit his wounds, but his aura had withered to the breaking point. He was an arrow at the end of its flight.

But what made Zhang Xian’s heart tighten was the state of the attackers. Xia Xuanyin and Wangya were calm and composed. Only Yun Wanqing looked disheveled—her hair was messy, and there were several distinct tears on her snow-white sleeves, revealing faint bloodstains.

She was the only one injured!

Xuan Zhou actually attacked Yun Wanqing?

Zhang Xian was genuinely surprised. In the memory fragments of Jianchen, Xuan Zhou possessed an unshakeable obsession with his wife and daughter.

Did I cuckold him so hard he completely snapped? Is this some twisted ‘Kill the Wife to Prove the Dao’ mental breakdown?

Zhang Xian dove down, landing beside Yun Wanqing. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Yun Wanqing whispered, pursing her lips.

Throughout the battle, the White Venerable had ignored the Emperor and Wangya, focusing all his manic rage on Yun Wanqing. Every move was ruthless, filled with a heaven-toppling hatred. Although he wore a mask, she had recognized his movement techniques and his gaze.

He was Xuan Zhou.

Daoist Wangya looked at the dying White Venerable, then glanced at the heartbroken Yun Wanqing. His eyes filled with conflict and pity.

“White Venerable,” Wangya called out, his voice carrying a plea. “Black Venerable and Qianji have fallen. You’ve lost! If you are truly controlled by [Desire] and still have a shred of consciousness, surrender! We can find a way to separate the corruption—”

“Separate?”

The White Venerable jerked his head up, interrupting him. Beneath the mask, his mouth curled into a mocking sneer. His voice was hoarse and deranged.

“This Venerable is [Desire]! What is there to separate? Hahaha!”

His laughter was cut short by a sudden explosion of ferocious light in his eyes. It was the final burst of vitality before death—a huiguangfanzhao. Ignoring the Emperor and Wangya, he dragged his broken body forward, radiating a tragic, suicidal intent as he charged straight at Zhang Xian with a pitch-black water sword.

Zhang Xian’s eyes narrowed. He instantly raised his sword to block.

CLANG!

The blades collided, ringing clearly across the plain.

Simultaneously, Xia Xuanyin smashed the Imperial Jade Seal down toward the White Venerable’s back.

The White Venerable didn’t dodge. He didn’t even try to defend. He took the Emperor’s full-force blow directly on his spine.

PFFT!

A fountain of blood mixed with black threads sprayed from his mouth. But instead of collapsing, his momentum increased.

Using the force of the blow, he lunged closer to Zhang Xian. In that instant, a giant net woven from countless black threads exploded from his body, descending to trap both Zhang Xian and Yun Wanqing.

It was a mutual destruction attack.

Buzz!

The [Orange Heart Pendants] on both Zhang Xian’s and Yun Wanqing’s chests instantly erupted with soft, warm yellow light. Simultaneously, their high-tier defensive artifacts activated, layering shield after shield around them.

The black net slammed into the paid-for protection, sizzling and dissolving with a piercing corrosive sound.

Seizing the momentary opening, Zhang Xian thrust his Water Spirit Sword forward.

A curtain of condensed, impossibly pure water surged like an inverted heavenly river, smashing into the White Venerable’s chest and piercing him through.

CRACK!

A corner of the white mask shattered.

But beneath the mask… there was no face.

There was no Xuan Zhou. Only a blurry, writhing mass of greyish-white mist, formless and shifting.

The White Venerable’s body stiffened. His eyes—filled with venom and madness—were locked onto Zhang Xian’s face. Then, slowly, they shifted to Yun Wanqing standing behind him.

The gaze held an indescribable complexity—Hatred? Unwillingness? Regret?

Then, the light in those eyes faded rapidly.

A gust of wind blew across the plain. The stiffened body crumbled like dried sand, turning into ash and drifting away on the breeze.

Clatter.

The only thing left was a fragment of the white mask, which fell to the ground. Alongside it, a dim Golden Core, tainted with black and white threads, rolled out. Inside the translucent core, a tiny, curled-up phantom could faintly be seen.

A second later, the Golden Core disintegrated into dust, leaving no trace behind.

“It’s over.”

Daoist Wangya looked at the lonely mask fragment on the ground and let out a long, heavy sigh. His voice was filled with exhaustion and relief.

“He wasn’t Xuan Zhou. I believe that even if Xuan Zhou fell into the demonic path, he would never raise a sword against his own wife. That thing… was just a [Desire] puppet possessing Xuan Zhou’s memories.”

Yun Wanqing stood quietly, saying nothing.

She walked over to Zhang Xian, reached out, and gently brushed the dust and bloodstains from his robes. Her movements were soft, focused, and intimate.

Zhang Xian looked up at the sky.

Unnoticed, the lead-gray clouds that had shrouded the Secret Realm for so long had finally dispersed. A single ray of warm sunlight pierced through the gloom, spilling gold onto the scarred earth.