Several days later, the world had already changed.
Within the Seven Profound Martial House, the lingering fear and awe from Acacia Peak's destruction didn't fade—it condensed. The shattered mountain, the kneeling Revolving Core master, the image of Ren Ming standing alone against an entire third-grade sect… all of it became a whetstone pressed against every disciple's heart.
Every morning, the training fields were filled before dawn.
Human Hall disciples who once skipped basic stances now stood drenched in sweat, repeating the most ordinary punches and kicks until their arms shook and their joints screamed. Their rough linen robes clung to their backs, the chill of the early morning wind biting into bodies that still moved, refusing to stop.
Earth Hall disciples forced their true essence to circulate until their meridians felt like burning ropes. Those who had previously been complacent at Late Body Transformation now sat in meditation until their legs went numb, teeth clenched as they hammered open half-stagnant channels again and again.
Heavenly Abode elites, once content with their lofty status, suddenly found that their pride couldn't withstand the pressure of a man whose disciples—whose women—were already treading Altering Muscle and Bone Forging. The words "Heavenly Abode" had once meant superiority. Now, when they watched Bai Jingyun's steady aura or Murong Zi's calm, terrifying power, those same words sounded hollow.
On the main field, the stones still bore faint scars from the projection Ren Ming had used to broadcast Acacia Peak's fall. Some cracks were shallow, some deep; disciples would unconsciously avoid stepping on them, as if the earth there still remembered a higher will bearing down.
No one mentioned Ren Ming's name too loudly. But when they spoke of "that senior," of "those five fairies," of "the man who crushed the Valley," everyone knew who they meant.
The Seven Profound Martial House was rising with a kind of grim, silent determination.
But compared to the storm churning in the Seven Profound Valleys themselves, this was only the faint echo of thunder.
...
Far away, in the sealed mountain range of the Seven Profound Valleys, the air was still heavy with a pressure that did not belong to this sect.
Heaven-Piercing Martial Intent had carved traces into the land itself.
Even after Ren Ming withdrew his will, the "scar" it left on the world could not be erased so quickly. The heavens above the Profound Sky Mountain Range were too clear, as if washed with some unknown flame. On some nights when the moon rose, Xiantian elders who stared up too long would feel a faint stabbing behind their eyes, as if some thin, multi-colored hue was still hanging point-down in the firmament.
Sometimes, in the deepest part of the night, junior disciples on patrol would feel their hearts tighten for no reason, their breath catching as an invisible pressure brushed past. They would look up and see nothing—only a sky so clean it felt wrong.
As if some vast martial intent had once torn through the heavens, and the world had not yet forgotten.
In the highest forbidden grounds, where only Revolving Core and Extreme Xiantian elders could tread, silence reigned.
Shi Zongtian, the Valley Master.
Jiang Wuji, the Sword Faction Sovereign.
Jiang Huan, the Revolving Core Highest Elder.
And several other Faction Sovereigns whose names were once enough to shake an entire kingdom—Array, Mirage, Puppet, Zither, Refiner—had all entered emergency seclusion one after another, their bodies and Dao foundations bearing the imprint of that foreign, heaven-tearing intent.
Ren Ming had not killed them.
But in some ways, what he left behind was more terrifying than death.
Heaven-Piercing Martial Intent had invaded their meridians and dantian, not to explode them, but to exist there, quietly gnawing at their condensed Dao. A thin strand of multi-hued light lay coiled in the depths of their true essence seas, neither merging nor dispersing.
The slightest attempt to mobilize their full strength caused that scarlet spear intent to stir.
It was not a simple wound.
It was a blade left sheathed in their Dao Hearts.
So they did the only thing they could.
Seclusion.
Suppress. Heal. Stabilize.
Before they sealed themselves away, they passed down terse, decisive orders.
The elders that still retained mobility gathered in the main hall. Above them, the sculpted image of the Seven Profound Valleys' founding ancestors seemed to look down in silent judgment. The air was thick, not with true essence, but with humiliation and fear.
Shi Zongtian's last decree came not in person, but as a voice transmission echoing directly in their seas of consciousness.
"From this day forward," that voice said, cold and heavy, "the Acacia Faction is formally dissolved."
No explanation.
No further words.
Just a verdict.
With their Sovereign dead, their Xiantian Elders slain, and their crimes exposed beneath the gaze of the entire Valley, there was nothing left to argue. The Acacia Faction's main mountain was stripped of its banners. Its formations were dismantled, its cultivation grounds sealed and reassigned. Training chambers that had once reeked of incense and aphrodisiac pills were emptied, their arrays shattered, the earth beneath them scorched clean.
The disciples who had been ignorant of their elders' atrocities were redistributed to other factions, their identities re-checked one by one.
The ones who weren't ignorant…
Those whose hands were stained with the same filth as Ouyang Shenxiu's—human trafficking, coercion, the abuse of female disciples under the guise of dual cultivation—were imprisoned without mercy. The worst among them were executed swiftly, their deaths carried out less from righteousness and more from raw, primal fear.
Fear… of the man who had crushed a mountain.
Fear… of the one who had killed an Extreme Xiantian Sovereign as if stepping on an ant.
Fear… of the Heaven-Piercing Martial Intent that could still be felt in the bones of the Valley.
The Ouyang Clan fared little better.
The main branches that had once basked in the glow of Acacia Faction's backing woke up to find their status shattered. Those directly involved in Acacia Faction's crimes were either locked in the deepest prisons or had already lost their heads beneath the Valley's execution platform, their blood flowing into formations that would slowly grind their souls to ash.
The remaining branch members, even those who had done nothing more than ride the tide of their clan's prestige, found that doors which had always opened for them now remained shut. Servants who had once bowed at the sight of the Ouyang crest now kept their eyes lowered and their words few.
Within the Seven Profound Valleys' inner council, a silent decision had been reached:
—Never provoke that man again.
—Follow his demands.
—Give him what he wants.
In exchange… the Valley would keep its life.
And as that unspoken pact formed, a different kind of atmosphere spread through the Seven Profound Valleys.
Not the tranquil peace of a stable sect.
But the sharp-edged, teeth-gritting determination of a wounded beast forced to grow stronger—or die.
...
The Sword Faction, Mirage Faction, Zither Faction, Refiner Faction, Array Faction, Puppet Faction—
The remaining six branches of the Valley all felt the pressure.
The elders had once believed that Xiantian was the dividing line between "ordinary" geniuses and true peak talents. That Revolving Core was a distant summit that only a handful could reach.
Then, a youth at Xiantian had walked into their home like a storm, killed their Extreme Xiantian experts, and heavily injured their Revolving Core backing.
And that youth's women…
They had stood in the sky above Acacia Peak, beside him.
Their cultivation bases weren't at the Xiantian realm. Some hadn't even passed Bone Forging yet.
But every disciple present had clearly felt it:
The aura they exuded.
The battle presence that rolled off their bodies like tidewater.
The way their true essence and blood roared, their Martial Intents burned, their movements carried a pressure that rivaled, even surpassed, many Pulse Condensation "geniuses."
The fact that most Seven Profound disciples couldn't even compare to Ren Ming's women was a bitter pill to swallow.
For many, it stuck in their throats like poison.
For the top disciples, it became fuel.
...
Within the Sword Faction's training grounds, sword light screamed through the sky like bolts of lightning.
The Sword Faction's mountain peaks were normally wrapped in elegant, restrained sword intent, clouds sliced into neat, straight lines. Now, that elegance had become violent. Sword-like True Essence ran rampant, tearing through the mist, carving new scars into cliffs already covered in old ones.
Jiang Baoyun stood atop a towering stone pillar, long sword in hand, his black hair whipping in the wind. The sword intent around him was like a waterfall, pouring down the pillar's sides.
Behind him, Jiang Lanjian's sword aura condensed into a razor-sharp gale, each slash carving shallow marks into the mountain rock. He practiced alone on a neighboring pillar, every movement silent, cold, and focused.
They had both watched Acacia Peak's fall. They had seen the man who used his own Martial Intent to suppress even their Sovereign's sword, a single line erasing techniques they had revered since childhood.
Now, they cultivated with the silent fury of men who had realized they were climbing the wrong mountain.
"We couldn't even force that man to draw his weapon," Jiang Lanjian said quietly between sword practices, eyes narrowed as he recalled that endless, crushing spear light.
His sword sliced out, drawing a brilliant arc. The air along its path shuddered, and the faintest hint of spear intent—left behind by Heaven-Piercing Martial Intent's passing—resisted his cut.
He felt it. He hated it.
Jiang Baoyun's reply was simple.
"Then we climb higher."
His sword left its sheath with a ringing sound like a dragon's cry, his Sword Intent pressing down on the faint line mark… and failing to erase it. The mark remained, indifferent.
His gaze grew even sharper.
...
In the Zither Faction, soothing melodies turned cold and sharp. Qin Wuxin's zither strings vibrated under her bloodied fingers, notes weaving killing intent into sound. The mountain winds carried her music down the valleys, the usual tranquility replaced by a faint, dangerous edge that made weaker disciples' hearts race.
In the Mirage Faction, Huan Xiaodie sat cross-legged within an illusory sea of mirrors. Every version of herself was cut down again and again by a phantom spear that ripped through her illusions as if they were fog. Her domains collapsed and reformed, each rebirth slightly stronger than the last.
In the Array Faction, Fang Qi stood amidst a forest of flags and formation disks, his true essence draining away as he restructured arrays that were no longer meant to trap mere beasts or rival sect disciples. He sketched formation patterns in the air, then tore them apart, muttering to himself.
"…Not enough. Even if we layered ten of these, that line would still punch through…"
He wasn't trying to "block" Heaven-Piercing Martial Intent anymore.
He was trying to find a way to survive it.
In the Refiner Faction, raging flames illuminated the night as Huo Yanluo burned through mountain after mountain of ore. His hammer fell again and again, the sound ringing out like war drums.
Sparks flew. Some fell into nearby quenching pools and hissed, scattering steam. Others traced lines in the air that, in his mind, became spear tips, trying to imagine tools that could handle that level of power without shattering.
The Puppet Faction's underground halls echoed with the grinding of gears and the creak of reforged puppets as Mugu Buyu rebuilt, disassembled, and rebuilt again. He stuffed new cores into old frames, layered them with defensive talismans, then detonated them in controlled tests.
Every experiment ended the same way in his mind's eye—somewhere above them, invisible yet unavoidable, a light descended and drove straight through.
Their pride stung.
Their fear simmered.
And in the shadow of all of this, one name seethed like poison:
Ouyang Ming.
—
Once, he had been the proud heir of the Acacia Faction, one of the Seven Profound Valleys' chosen disciples, a man whose future seemed destined for greatness.
Now, his faction had been erased.
His clan was crippled.
The master he had idolized, the foundation of his status, had died beneath a stranger's hand.
He had watched Acacia Peak crumble.
He had seen Ren Ming's simple hand shattering Ouyang Shenxiu's last defenses as if they were dried leaves, that Heaven-Piercing Martial Intent tearing through every secret technique the Acacia Sovereign had cultivated all his life.
The humiliation of having his entire life stolen in a single afternoon lodged in his heart like a barbed spear.
In a secluded cultivation room, Ouyang Ming knelt shirtless, sweat dripping from his body, his true essence surging violently through his meridians.
The room's walls were covered in faint, desperate scratches—remnants of his failed attempts to steady his mind. On one side, an abandoned dual cultivation array lay shattered, the jade slips that had once promised him an easy road to power now ground to dust beneath his heel.
Each circulation of his cultivation method brought sharp pain. The scars from Acacia Peak's pressure still hadn't healed; his meridians had been squeezed nearly to the point of collapse when Ren Ming's will had descended.
But he gritted his teeth and forced his cultivation to continue.
"I will kill him…"
His voice was hoarse, his eyes bloodshot.
"Even if I must burn my life… I will kill him…"
Obsession took root.
Hatred crystallized.
He had lost his faction, his master, his status. The path of a normal genius had been cut off. If he walked forward now, it would be as a madman chasing the back of a monster.
This, too, was part of Ren Ming's shadow over the Seven Profound Valleys.
...
Under the combined weight of fear, unwillingness, and brittle pride, the Valley made its next move.
A formal decree was issued.
From the Profound Sky Mountain Range, sound transmission talismans shot out like shooting stars in all directions, piercing the skies of thirty-six kingdoms and descending upon sixteen ancient martial families.
—In four months, a grand Martial Meeting would be held in the Seven Profound Valleys.
—All kingdoms and martial families under their banner were commanded to send their best talents.
In name, this was the same Total Faction Martial Meeting held every three years.
In truth… everyone knew.
This would be the gathering that would determine how the Seven Profound Valleys faced Ren Ming from now on.
Would they have disciples that could stand before the women at his side?
Would they have talents strong enough that he might consider them worth teaching… or at least, not worth stepping on?
Or would they be nothing more than a faded background in the path of his Dao?
The decree spread like wildfire.
Along trade routes and through border cities, in martial houses and clan halls, jade slips flared one after another. In small frontier martial houses, young disciples clenched their fists as rumors of a "monster youth" who had humiliated the Seven Profound Valleys reached their ears.
And above all of it, one story walked ahead of the decree like a blazing banner.
The story of the man behind it all.
...
News of Ren Ming's actions spread day by day.
Under normal circumstances, the affairs of a third-grade sect like the Seven Profound Valleys would not stir the higher heavens of the South Sea.
But this time was different.
Ren Ming had broadcast his actions across the entire Seven Profound territory. It was near impossible to suppress this news.
The projection of Acacia Peak's destruction had been seen not only in the Seven Profound Martial House, but in many cities and subsidiary powers. Merchant caravans that passed near the Profound Sky Mountain Range carried the story with them, wagons creaking under the weight of goods and gossip alike. Wandering martial artists who had sensed that Heaven-Piercing Martial Intent even once would retell the tale in taverns, sects, and kingdoms, their words growing more exaggerated with each round of wine.
"That man walked into the Seven Profound Valleys alone."
"He killed multiple Xiantian Elders, one of them an Extreme Xiantian Sovereign, as easily as slaughtering chickens."
"He suppressed several other Extreme Xiantian Sovereigns to their knees with one spear."
"He heavily injured their Revolving Core Highest Elder. The last reports said that elder had been forced into seclusion just to survive…"
At roadside inns, young talents would listen with faces flushed, either with excitement or with jealousy.
In obscure clans, elders would quietly warn their disciples: "If you ever meet someone from the Seven Profound Martial House called Ren Ming… be careful what you say."
The story grew with each retelling—but there was a core of truth that no one could ignore.
An unknown youth.
A cultivation base that, at least on the surface, had no right to accomplish what he had done.
A battle so one-sided that even third-grade sect elders spoke his name with trembling voices.
It was this core that finally reached an ethereal island far to the south.
...
An island mortals called the Immortal Island—beautiful, elusive, like a mirage carved from jade and flame.
In truth, it was the home of a fourth-grade Holy Land that had ruled the South Sea for three thousand years: Divine Phoenix Island.
Within Divine Phoenix Island, a great sea of fire stretched beneath the main island, its heat channeled through countless fire arrays. Phoenix cries echoed faintly from the depths; Vermillion Bird and Blue Luan phantoms danced across the sky at dawn.
The sect's intelligence network stretched across the South Horizon Region and beyond. The Divine Phoenix had always paid attention to the rise and fall of powers under their influence—especially other sects practicing Fire Laws.
When the first jade slips about Ren Ming arrived, they were set aside with mild curiosity.
Another talented junior.
Another promising fire-user.
But as more reports came…
As the details lined up…
As the Seven Profound Valleys themselves confirmed the injuries to their Revolving Core Highest Elder, Jiang Huan, and the humiliating suppression of their Sword Faction Sovereign, Jiang Wuji…
The intelligence hall grew quiet.
In the main pavilion, several red-robed elders sat around a jade table, phoenix flames dancing faintly in their pupils as they scanned the jade slips one by one.
"This age…" one elder murmured, voice low. "Has such a monstrous talent appeared in the lower countries?"
"A youth at Xiantian injuring a Revolving Core master… no, not simply injuring. The report says that elder's foundation was shaken," another elder said slowly. "If he weren't already at the end of his lifespan, he would have been crippled."
"That Seven Profound Valleys is only a third-grade sect," a third elder said, fingers tapping the table in a slow, rhythmic pattern. "Their Revolving Core is nothing compared to ours. But even so… with such a low cultivation base…"
"…this cannot be ignored."
Heavenly flame flickered across the room, reflecting off jade tiles and phoenix carvings. For a long moment, no one spoke.
One elder finally broke the silence.
"Divine Phoenix Province has been quiet for too long," she said softly. "Now, a foreign variable appears… with a strange martial intent that can wound Revolving Core at Xiantian."
"Shall we investigate?" someone asked.
"We already are," the intelligence elder replied. "The Seven Profound Valleys' latest message confirms everything. Their Acacia Faction has been destroyed. Their Ouyang Clan crippled. Their highest elders in seclusion. And this Ren Ming… is the cause."
Eventually, the jade slips made their way into the hands of a young woman in red.
...
Her long hair cascaded down like a waterfall of black silk, her figure tall and slim, her eyes as clear and bright as burning phoenix flames. Every breath she took left a faint scorch in the air.
Mu Qianyu.
Divine Phoenix Island's Holy Maiden.
She stood alone in a quiet pavilion suspended above a sea of lava, the light of the molten rock below painting faint gold along the hem of her scarlet dress. The latest intelligence slip rested between two fingers, true essence gently revolving as she read. The script lit up with every word.
Ren Ming.
Seven Profound Martial House.
Acacia Peak.
Thundercrash Mountain.
Her slender brows drew together slightly.
"…This is him…"
The last time she had seen Ren Ming, it had been in the depths of Thundercrash Mountain.
The storm clouds had been so thick they blocked out the sun; thunder snakes had writhed across the sky, their bodies woven from pure lightning. The Thunder Flood Dragon had coiled through the storm like a living mountain, each roar shaking her bones.
He had stood before that Saint Beast of lightning and storm… and pierced through it as if tearing paper.
The way he had guided her Fire Laws, how he had calmly analyzed the defect in her Thunder Phoenix Flame and helped her refine it… those memories were still vivid. The subtle adjustment of a circulation path, the sharp, casual critique of Divine Phoenix Island's core heritage that would have been unforgivable coming from anyone else.
His true essence had been pure, his understanding of Fire profound.
He had helped Little Flame with a kind of easy kindness that made her chest tighten when she thought about it.
And… his words.
His faintly teasing tone.
The casual way he had flirted, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
At that time, he had still been in the Houtian realm.
Not even Xiantian.
Now…
He had not only stepped into Xiantian, but slain an Extreme Xiantian, suppressed other Extremes, and shaken a Revolving Core master.
Even for Divine Phoenix Island, where the highest elders walked in the Life-Destruction realm and Revolving Core was a matter of course, this was enough to make waves.
"…He truly…" she murmured.
"…cannot be measured by common standards."
She set the jade slip down, fingers lingering on its warm surface. Her heart, which had been as still as a lake during seclusion, suddenly felt as if someone had dropped a burning stone into it.
Ripples spread.
She closed her eyes.
Even now, she could recall the way he had looked at her within the storm, his gaze calm and steady despite the countless thunderbolts crashing down around them.
"If you want to walk further," he had said then, his voice calm even as lightning danced around them, "your current Fire Laws are still too restrained. Divine Phoenix Island's inheritance is extraordinary, but your own understanding can't just follow the grooves others left behind."
He had spoken as if advising a friend.
Not as someone from a small sect groveling before a Holy Land.
He had even smiled at her, that warm, confident smile that seemed to say the sky is wide, why don't we walk it together?
She had not forgotten.
She had not been able to forget.
In her quiet room, surrounded by the dense Fire origin energy of Divine Phoenix Island, Mu Qianyu exhaled slowly.
Her hand slipped into her sleeve.
Her fingers brushed against a familiar, cool object.
A soul-locked communication talisman—refined by Ren Ming himself.
He had given it to her at Thundercrash Mountain, pressing it into her hand with that same easy smile.
"If you miss me too much and still don't use it," he had said then, "I'll be offended."
At the time, she had flushed and snapped something about "who would miss you," but she had carefully stored it in the safest corner of her spatial ring.
Now, she hesitated only for a brief moment.
Divine Phoenix Island had already begun to discuss Ren Ming based on cold intelligence and strategic value.
She…
Would speak to the man himself.
Her fingers tightened around the talisman.
True essence flowed.
The soul-brand Ren Ming had left within the talisman stirred like a waking dragon.
...
The instant Mu Qianyu activated the talisman, somewhere within the Seven Profound territory, Ren Ming's consciousness stirred.
He was seated beneath an ancient tree within the Seven Profound Martial House's restricted cultivation grounds, eyes half-closed. The tree's roots sank deep into a small spirit vein Ren had personally cleaned, its leaves rustling with a faint rhythm that matched his breathing.
Around him, true essence and Heaven and Earth origin energy flowed quietly. Not far away, Bai Jingyun, Murong Zi, and Qin Xingxuan were each in their own secluded spots, integrating the Azure True Dragon Infinity Seeds he had planted, consolidating their new realms. Flames rose and vanished within Bai Jingyun's meridians; Murong Zi's bones crackled faintly as Chaotic Virtues Combat Meridians tempered her flesh; Qin Xingxuan's sword intent silently cut lines through her true essence sea.
When the talisman at his waist trembled, a smile rose to his lips before he even checked who it was.
Only one person's soul imprint felt like that.
Phoenix flames hidden under a calm surface.
"Qianyu, huh…"
He touched the talisman lightly, soul power brushing its surface like a knock.
"Answer."
The soul-space opened.
Consciousness brushed against consciousness.
The world around him faded.
In its place was a vast, hazy space formed by gathered soul force—a realm between thoughts.
A gentle, familiar presence appeared before him like a flame igniting in the dark.
"…Ren Ming."
Mu Qianyu's voice echoed within the soul realm—soft, clear, with that faintly cool edge unique to her.
Even without seeing her, he could picture the slight lift of her chin when she spoke, the way her phoenix eyes narrowed slightly whenever she tried to maintain her composure.
His smile deepened, the casual, relaxed curve of a modern man who had seen too many storms to be easily rattled.
"Qianyu," he replied lazily. "I was just thinking about you."
There was a tiny pause.
"…You were?"
"Mm." His tone was light, like he was talking over coffee instead of across realms. "What kind of face you'd make when you finally heard about the mess I stirred up in the Seven Profound Valleys."
"…!"
Her aura wavered for a brief instant, like a flame caught by the wind.
Then it settled again, steadier than before.
"I… did hear," she said. "The Seven Profound Valleys' intelligence was transmitted to Divine Phoenix Island. You… killed their Extreme Xiantian Elder, destroyed the Acacia Faction, suppressed several Sovereigns, and even severely injured their Revolving Core Highest Elder. When I last saw you, you were still at Houtian. Even with what I know of you, this… is still hard to believe."
Ren chuckled.
In the soul realm, the sound was warm, brushing against her senses like a hand placed casually at her back.
"Hard to believe," he said, "but you don't doubt it."
A small silence.
"…No," she admitted quietly. "I don't."
She remembered Thundercrash Mountain.
She remembered the Thunder Flood Dragon's massive body tumbling from the sky, torn open by his Laws.
She remembered the way her own Fire Laws had leapt forward under his guidance, like shackles falling from her meridians.
If it were someone else, she would have dismissed the reports as exaggerated rumors.
But with him…
It was just another step along a road she already knew would not be ordinary.
"I heard you're planning a Martial Meeting in the Seven Profound Valleys," she continued, forcing herself back to the main topic. "A gathering for the geniuses of the thirty-six kingdoms and sixteen martial families. Is that true?"
"Yeah," Ren said. "Since I already stirred up their whole nest, better to use that wave properly."
His voice carried a lazy humor, but beneath it the calm steadiness of someone who had already calculated three steps ahead.
"A Martial Meeting is the easiest way to pull all the interesting pieces onto one board," he added. "Let everyone show their cards in one place. Saves me the trouble of hunting."
His tone was utterly calm, as if the "board" in question was just some casual game, and the "pieces" were not the proud geniuses and hidden trump cards of an entire region.
Mu Qianyu's lips tightened.
"You…" she began, wanting to scold him for treating sects and geniuses like toys.
But the words stuck in her throat.
Because deep down, she knew:
He had the strength to speak like this.
And this strength was precisely what made the elders of Divine Phoenix Island pay attention.
"…I didn't contact you just to confirm rumors," she said instead, regaining her calm. "The higher-ups of Divine Phoenix Island are already moving. They cannot ignore someone like you. A young Xiantian who can heavily injure a Revolving Core master and casually kill Extreme Xiantian experts… even in the Divine Phoenix Province, this has never happened before."
Ren let her finish.
Then, instead of immediately discussing politics or plans…
He laughed under his breath.
"That's good and all," he said. "But before we get to business, indulge me a little."
She blinked.
"…What?"
"We haven't talked since Thundercrash Mountain," he said, voice dipping into something softer. "You vanished back to your island like a shooting star. I've been surrounded by my own girls, the Seven Profound Valleys, and a pile of annoying elders trying not to die." His tone stayed light, but there was a faint, sincere warmth beneath the joke. "Hearing your voice again? I'd rather enjoy it for a bit before I start thinking about sects and meetings."
Mu Qianyu's composure cracked for a moment.
"…You…"
Heat rose unbidden to her cheeks, even though they were only linked by soul.
She was Divine Phoenix Island's Holy Maiden, a woman countless geniuses could only look up to from afar. Men had fought over a single glance from her, had written poems and burned incense and dreamed for years.
And yet this man…
This man from a mere Martial House spoke to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world to say—
"I missed you, you know."
His words were simple.
No flowery exaggeration.
No elaborate lines.
Just plain, honest truth, spoken the way an ordinary man from the modern world might speak if he decided to stop hiding.
They struck harder than any honeyed speech.
"…Ren Ming," she said, a little helplessly, heart slightly racing. "Do you always speak like this?"
"Like what?"
"So direct…"
"Qianyu," he said, amused, "in Thundercrash Mountain, we faced a Saint Beast together, cultivated side by side, and I helped refine your Thunder Phoenix Flame. If, after all that, I still couldn't say I missed you when I did, wouldn't that be a bit… boring?"
Her heart skipped.
In the soul realm, the phoenix fire around her rippled, light flickering.
His momentum pressed gently against her mental world.
Not forcefully.
Not crushing.
Just… there.
Steady.
Warm.
Inescapable.
She realized, with a trace of exasperated amusement, that she was once again being pulled along by his rhythm.
Just like Thundercrash Mountain.
"…You haven't changed," she said at last, half sigh, half laugh. "You're still like this."
"Mm? Handsome? Charming? Helpful?"
"…Shameless."
He laughed outright at that, the sound rolling through the soul realm like distant thunder, heralding storms yet to come.