"Alright… go and welcome the young friends over," the Chief Priest said with a soft sigh, the weight of countless years evident in his voice. Without waiting for a reply, his form shimmered and vanished into the air, leaving behind only the echo of his divine aura.
Ling Xian crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "You go and do it," she said flatly to Liu Xiao, before her body flickered and disappeared in a flash of faint violet light.
"...Hah."
Left alone in the vast sky, Liu Xiao stood there for a moment, his outstretched hand still holding the delicate, perfectly crafted pastry.
His smile twitched.
His comrades had abandoned him—again.
"Every single time," he muttered with a sigh, pulling his hand back and taking a slow, deliberate bite of the cake.
The soft, sweet texture melted in his mouth, and he let out a small sound of satisfaction, though it was tinged with the tiniest bit of melancholy.
It had been five years since that strange young man—Yun Che—entered the Pure Land.
Five years since Liu Xiao had taken a serious interest in improving his culinary arts.
He'd never admit it aloud, but watching Yun Che cook that day had ignited something deep inside him—a challenge. A spark. A memory of things long forgotten.
Since then, he'd refined his technique, experimented with flavor combinations, learned to elevate even the simplest ingredients into works of art.
This Heaven Smiles Cake was one of his newest inventions.
Delicately sweet, infused with a trace of profound energy that tickled the soul, it was a pastry that could make even a cold-hearted assassin blink in delight.
In terms of appearance, it was leagues beyond his earlier attempts. A beautiful golden crust, a filling that shimmered faintly with divine light, and a gentle aroma that lingered like spring rain.
And yet—
He was the only one eating it.
At their level, food was unnecessary. Sustenance came from profound energy. Pleasure came from power. And among his peers—none of them bothered with such "mortal indulgence."
Liu Xiao took another bite, chewing slowly, the smile on his face never fading.
But in his heart—
It was a little lonely.
"...Maybe I should just feed it to the Fog Monarch next time. That one at least knows how to appreciate flavor…"
Chuckling softly to himself, Liu Xiao licked the crumbs from his fingers, turned, and disappeared into the wind.
"Sigh… I have friends, but they all don't like my cooking… what a fate…" Liu Xiao muttered dramatically to himself, shaking his head as he flew through the clouds. His long robe fluttered in the wind, his expression a picture of tragic grievance—as if the heavens themselves had wronged him.
"Whatever," he huffed, crossing his arms. "That old hag and those old bones don't deserve my cooking anyway. Hmph."
With a flick of his sleeve, he casually ignited his profound energy to amuse himself. But right as his divine flame crackled to life—
BOOOOMMMM!!!!
Two terrifying forces suddenly slammed into the barrier he'd lazily constructed in the sky, erupting in a violent shockwave of divine power! The barrier shattered like glass, and Liu Xiao was sent hurtling through the sky like a comet.
"Waaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!" he howled—not in pain, but in sheer dramatic flair—as he spiraled across the clouds, arms flailing. He wasn't injured in the slightest… but he let himself be flung far, far away, riding the force like a leaf in a storm.
Back where the explosion originated, a certain woman stood with her arms crossed, her face flushed with indignation.
"Old hag, huh!?" High Priest Ling Xian growled, steam practically rising off her shoulders. "I won't let you borrow my divine fire for a thousand years, you damn old man!"
She closed her eyes in anger, her voice booming across the heavens like rolling thunder.
Far in the distance, the echo of Liu Xiao's voice trailed back:
"Nooooo!! I'm sorry! It was a joke! A joke I say!!!"
Another voice, cool and ancient, resonated calmly over the chaos.
"Don't embarrass us in front of the young ones."
It was the Chief Priest.
He stood with his arms behind his back, shaking his head ever so slightly, as if this kind of ridiculousness was all too familiar.
His sigh seemed to echo across the skies.
These were the High Priests…
Revered by all.
Feared by many.
And, somehow… still exactly like squabbling children.
---------
When the brilliant white light finally faded, Yun Che staggered, clutching his head as a wave of confusion and disorientation washed over him. Sweat slid down his temples, his breath shallow and uneven. What had just happened?
He immediately circulated his profound energy and began scanning his body and soul with utmost care. Once. Twice. A dozen times. But no matter how deeply or thoroughly he searched, he couldn't find anything out of place—no pain, no wounds, no changes he could detect.
Yet… something felt different. Unfathomably different.
Then, with a hint of hesitation in his heart, Yun Che directed his divine sense into his Profound Veins—and the instant he did, his heart skipped a beat.
His eyes widened in horror.
The infinite worlds that once shimmered within him—translucent, ethereal, waiting to become real—were now so faint, so ghost-like, they were barely even visible. It was as though their very existence had started to unravel, almost returning to their original form as mere stars scattered across an endless galaxy.
But then…
In the very center of it all—amidst the vastness of his inner cosmos—one world remained.
And it wasn't transparent.
It was real.
This world, unlike all the others, pulsed with life and power, as if it were a living, breathing thing. Mountains towered, oceans churned, skies crackled with divine energy—it was a complete realm unto itself.
And at the very heart of this world, stabbed deep into its core like an unshakable truth—was a sword.
A sword of dull steel, with no edge, no shimmer, no divine glow. It looked ancient and lifeless, as though it had weathered countless eons of time.
Yet from the moment Yun Che saw it, he knew.
It was alive.
The other worlds—those that still lingered like fading dreams—were now pouring their energy into this one sword, as though bowing before a monarch, sacrificing themselves to fuel something beyond comprehension.
Yun Che's entire body trembled.
The moment Yun Che's gaze landed upon the sword buried deep within the core of that living world, an unbearable pain lanced through his soul—as if that blade, dull and lifeless in appearance, had become impossibly sharp and had sliced straight into the very essence of his being. His breath hitched. His vision blurred. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt—cold, ancient, absolute.
It wasn't just a weapon.
It was a truth far beyond comprehension.
Unable to withstand the agony, Yun Che instinctively tore his gaze away. The moment he did, the pain faded—but his mind was thrown into chaos. Before he could even begin to recover, the world around him shifted—folded in on itself like a dream unraveling.
And suddenly…
He was no longer in his profound veins.
He was standing in a vast flower field.
A breeze rolled across the endless field of blossoms, carrying with it a fragrance so gentle, so nostalgic, that Yun Che's entire soul trembled. The sky above was painted in soft golds and blues, as if dusk had just begun to embrace the day. The scene was peaceful—achingly so. Too peaceful to be real.
He looked around, trying to understand what was happening, but his body no longer responded to his will. It was as if he were watching himself through another's eyes—his movements detached, fluid, like a memory playing back on its own accord.
In this vision, the "him" sat silently on the flower-covered hill, a bamboo plate resting on his lap, a slender carving knife in his hand. Word by word, stroke by stroke, he etched a poem into the smooth green surface with the utmost care. His face bore no expression of urgency or pain—only a quiet, fragile longing.
Then, a voice.
A voice that shattered time and reached into the depths of Yun Che's soul.
A voice he had longed for with every heartbeat.
A voice he feared he would never hear again.
"What are you doing?"
The sound was soft, light, ethereal—like the wind brushing across moonlit water.
Yun Che's breath caught in his throat.
That voice…
His other self—the one in the memory—turned around slowly, and standing there, amidst the sea of flowers, was a woman.
Not just any woman.
Her beauty was transcendent, unearthly. Her hair shimmered like moonlight, her skin like flawless jade. Eyes that held entire worlds within them gazed gently toward him, filled with curiosity and warmth. The long robes she wore danced gently in the breeze, making her look as though she might vanish into light at any moment.
Shen Xi.
The Yun Che in the present trembled.
"Shen Xi, I made a poem for you—hahaha…" Yun Che scratched the back of his head, his laugh awkward, his face warm with both pride and shyness. Like a young man showing off his first clumsy masterpiece, he held out the bamboo plate toward her with both hands, as though it were the most precious thing he'd ever crafted.
Shen Xi took the bamboo with her usual graceful silence. Her eyes fell upon the carved characters, tracing the uneven, heartfelt strokes. She didn't speak right away. A soft breeze passed between them as she read. Then, quietly… she sighed.
That sigh carried many meanings—one he couldn't quite grasp at the time.
Before he could ask, the world around them shifted.
The flower field faded, and another scene appeared.
Then another.
And another.
Like pages of a storybook being turned without pause, the memories flowed forward and backward—intimate moments they had shared, small gestures exchanged in silence, conversations whispered under starlight. Time no longer obeyed any order. Sometimes they walked together in peace. Other times, he stood alone.
Yun Che, the real one—the one trapped in this vision—watched as his memory played out like a dream. He tried to regain control of his body, to stop himself from saying things he now regretted or doing things he wished he hadn't. But it was all in vain. His body belonged to the past, to choices already made. All he could do was watch.
Finally, the visions stopped on one scene.
One that Yun Che could never forget.
His own face twisted in anger, desperation, and pain as he shouted at the woman before him—at her.
"If you don't let me go, I'll hate you forever!"
That roar—sharp, cutting, laced with heartbreak—echoed across the timeless realm. He remembered this moment. This was the day he left Shen Xi… the day he flew off to "rescue" Jasmine, the Star God of Slaughter. It was the moment that had marked their final parting.
Or so he thought.
But then…
Shen Xi in the vision turned her face slightly, her soft gaze locking onto him, and in a voice as gentle as falling petals, she spoke words that never existed in his memories.
"To think, this is our last time together..."
BOOM.
Yun Che's mind exploded with chaos.
Those words—he had never heard them before. Not in that memory. Not on that day.
Which meant…
His eyes widened in realization. His breath hitched.
Shen Xi in front of him, the one who had sighed at his poem… who had walked with him through memory after memory… who had spoken beyond the bounds of the past—
She was real.
Not an illusion.
Not a projection.
Not a memory.
She was alive.
The scene continued to unfold—each breath, each second a needle to Yun Che's soul.
The version of himself within the memory turned, his back facing Shen Xi. His steps—firm, determined, full of a pain he refused to admit—were moving away. Leaving her behind. Again.
No.
The real Yun Che—his consciousness watching from the outside—couldn't accept it. He had watched enough. Suffered enough. Lost enough.
Suddenly—
"BOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!"
A thunderous roar exploded through the ethereal world.
Flames ignited. Blood boiled. Will ignited.
The Phoenix blood in his veins erupted into crimson flame.
The Golden Crow blood howled with searing radiance.
The Devil Emperor's blood surged in black, seething waves of power.
His body burned, and atop it all—God Ash—his most fearsome state, burst forth like a divine calamity made flesh.
He unleashed everything. Everything he was. Everything he had become.
All of it… to halt a memory.
For the briefest flicker—just a blink in eternity—the version of himself in the scene paused. His body stiffened. A tremble ran through his back.
But it was not enough.
Not enough!
Yun Che could feel it—the overwhelming suction force pulling at his very soul. An invisible chain, an unnatural gravity trying to rip him from this place.
Because he did not belong here.
This place—this realm—it was not of the living.
And worse… it was not of the dead either.
This was a place beyond.
A place without time.
Without rules.
A fracture in reality where life and death blurred—a liminal rift between destinies.
Yun Che gritted his teeth. His body was crumbling under the pressure. His soul was screaming. Yet his heart—his heart was roaring even louder than the pull of fate.
"No! Not again! I won't let this be our last moment!"
His vision blurred, not from pain, but from tears.
"Shen Xi… please… STOP ME!"
Yet, his body continue to fly off.
"AHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
Yun Che roared with every ounce of strength, his soul tearing apart as he was forcefully being dragged back into reality. The overwhelming suction force of that liminal realm—the boundary between life and death—had begun to win. The memory was slipping. Shen Xi's figure was becoming distant again.
No. No. NO!
But then—just as the last thread of his soul was about to be yanked away—
"BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!!!!"
A blinding light erupted from within his real-world body. Bursting through his chest like a divine awakening, the Mirror of Samsara floated out, spinning slowly, serenely, releasing a radiance that shattered the dull gray of the abyss.
A sacred light.
A forgotten light.
A light that transcended life and death.
The mirror glowed brighter than ever before, as if it had finally answered the desperate call of its master. Its light pierced deep into the Endless Fog, deeper than even the Abyssal Monarch had ever reached. Deeper than time. Deeper than fate itself.
It was seeking.
It was reaching for something.
Or… someone.
But no matter how divine its light, no matter how determined its glow, the connection it sought still lay just beyond reach. The path remained blocked. Fate refused to yield.
And yet—the mirror did not give up.
It refused to give up.
It pulsed again, the light vibrating like a heartbeat—resonating with Yun Che's soul across the veil of realities.
And then—
Back in the realm of fractured memory, the Yun Che who had been turning away, who had left her once before, suddenly stopped mid-step.
His body trembled.
And a single word escaped his lips:
"Shen Xi!"
The voice didn't belong to the memory.
It didn't belong to the past.
It was him.
The real Yun Che had taken hold—wrestled control back from destiny for one impossible instant.
He turned.
He rushed into her arms, pulling Shen Xi into his embrace with everything he had. His grip was desperate, trembling, like he feared letting go would mean losing her again forever.
She trembled in his arms.
"Yun Che...?" Shen Xi's voice trembled like the breeze passing through a field of blooming flowers. Her ethereal gaze locked onto him in disbelief, her delicate lips parting as if to speak again but failing. For nearly a hundred years, she had relived these moments—this same memory, this same parting—again and again. Time meant nothing in this place, but the pain had always been real.
Yet this time… it was different.
He didn't walk away.
He didn't vanish like he always had.
He was here—warm, real, and holding her in his arms. His warmth spread into her, melting away the eternal cold that had wrapped around her soul for what felt like countless lifetimes.
She closed her eyes, leaned into him… just for a breath.
And then she spoke—softly, hesitantly. "Have you... fallen too?"
Yun Che blinked, caught off guard. "Fallen?" he echoed in confusion, his voice rough and low. His heart was pounding; he had so much to say, so many questions, so many things he had buried deep in the years of pain and longing. But before he could speak—
Shen Xi pushed him away.
Her eyes sharpened, her gentle expression giving way to seriousness. There was urgency in her voice now, and worry. "It seems you haven't fallen yet. That's good."
She took a breath—long, pained, relieved.
Then, solemnly, she spoke again. "Listen to me well, Yun Che. This place—this is a plane beyond life, beyond death. We are inside the Well of Samsara. Nothing from the living world should enter here"
Her words shook him.
"The Well of Samsara…?" he repeated, stunned.
Shen Xi nodded. Her voice softened, but it carried weight—finality. "If you are still alive, you must leave—now. Before it's too late. Before this place takes you from the world above forever."
Her hands pressed against his chest—not with force, but with determination. "Find Yun Xi. She's our daughter. She needs you." Her voice trembled slightly. "Live for her... live a happy life, even if I can't be there."
"Wait...."
Yun Che's mouth parted to protest, to plead—but there was no time.
Outside, in the real world, the light of the Mirror of Samsara began to dim. After straining to reach across realms and failing to fully connect, it began to withdraw its divine radiance. The mirror, though ancient and divine, was not omnipotent.
It had done the impossible.
But it could do no more.
Inside the Well of Samsara, Yun Che suddenly felt it.
**A pull—**far stronger than before. As if the heavens themselves had reached down to rip him back from where he didn't belong.
"No... not yet—!" he reached out to her again, his fingers brushing hers.
But the world around him flashed white, and his consciousness was swallowed whole.
And then—
"Haa…!"
His eyes snapped open.
The gray world of the Endless Fog Sea returned.
The light was dull, the abyssal dust swirled softly around him once more, and Shen Xi… was gone.
Gone from sight.
Gone from touch.
Gone again—just like before.
But Yun Che stood there, unmoving, his chest rising and falling rapidly, heart pounding with an ache that refused to settle.