The morning bed was filled with cozy warmth and a lazy ambiance. The blanket arched in a comfortable curve, revealing only a few stray strands of white hair resting on the pillow. Outside the window, birds chirped—some rare species, apparently, though what they were chattering about was anyone's guess.
“Mmh~”
A certain white-haired Sword Immortal let out a soft, kitten-like whimper from beneath the covers, rolled over, and wrapped the blanket even tighter around herself. She stretched a pale, slender arm from the edge of the blanket, blindly pushing at the person trying to wake her. Her fingertips brushed his chin before she quickly withdrew them. “Ah Yan, I'm so tired. Can I sleep a little longer?” She yawned, her voice muffled by the blanket, soft and sweet.
Lu Yan sat on the edge of the bed, smiling helplessly at the white fluffball curled up beneath the covers. He reached out and stroked her messy white hair, his fingertips sliding through the strands to touch her warm scalp. Jiang Ci whimpered a few times at his touch, burying her face deeper into the pillow, leaving only the crown of her head visible to him. He sighed, his eyes overflowing with indulgence. “Fine, fine. It looks like I'll have to go by myself. Any later, and everyone over there will probably be dead as a doornail.” He threw on his robe, tied his sash, and stood up from the bedside. He looked down at Jiang Ci; she was still asleep, her eyelashes trembling slightly, lost in some unknown dream. He sighed, turned, and pushed the door open.
The wooden floorboards in the hallway creaked under his feet. He walked slowly, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. The passing maids stopped and bowed their heads in respect when they saw him. He waved his hand, signaling them to skip the formalities, then remembered something and stopped one of them. “Warm up some porridge for the Madam, so it won't be cold when she wakes up.” His tone was gentle, as if he were discussing a mundane daily chore. The maid complied and bowed as she withdrew. He added, “Keep it warming on the stove, but don't let the flame get too high. Lest it burns.”
Only after he had walked far away did the maids begin to whisper among themselves. A younger maid's eyes sparkled with envy. “Aren't gentlemen supposed to stay out of the kitchen? The Sect Master makes porridge for the Madam every single day. Their relationship is so wonderful.” “Keep your voice down! Gossiping about the Sect Master... watch your skin!” the maid next to her hissed, but after her scolding, she couldn't help but lean in and whisper, “I heard from the kitchen staff that the porridge the Sect Master makes is bitter and sour, barely fit for humans. I have no idea how the Madam manages to finish it every time...” Before she could finish, her colleague nudged her hard with an elbow. She immediately shut her mouth, catching a glimpse of the Sect Master's figure reappearing at the corner of the corridor. She quickly bowed her head and pretended to polish the railing.
Lu Yan walked past them without any expression, but when he reached the corner, he awkwardly rubbed his nose. Was my porridge really that bad? I've made some progress over the years, haven't I?
He walked from the antique pavilion to the backyard. The backyard featured a morning practice field they had specially built, paved with bluestone slabs and lined with weapon racks. A few swords were slotted into the racks, their tassels swaying gently in the morning breeze. Jiang Ci would occasionally come here to practice her swordplay. She didn't like being watched while practicing, so Lu Yan would always pretend to just be passing by, stealing a couple of glances before leaving. After all, who wouldn't want to watch their wife practice her swordplay? Lu Yan certainly did.
But today, he wasn't here for morning practice; he was here to settle a karmic debt. Standing in the center of the practice field, the morning light filtered through the gaps in the clouds, spilling onto his shoulders and into his eyes. His eyes shone like stars, no longer the cloudy, blind eyes of before. Stamping his left foot, a phantom clock materialized beneath him. A golden clock face slowly rotated in midair, its markings distinct as the hands ticked second by second, making faint clicking sounds.
Too bad there's no background music, Lu Yan thought, clicking his tongue. At a moment like this, there should be a voiceover saying, “Rejoice! The most benevolent, most righteous, supreme and strongest...” He thought about it, then shook his head, realizing he was getting sidetracked.
The clock face began to spin, the hands moving faster and faster until the markings blurred into a golden halo. With a casual swipe of Lu Yan's hand, a rift tore open in the air. Countless scenes that did not belong to this point in time flooded out of the rift, hovering around him like shards of a broken mirror. He sifted through the shards, flipping through them one by one. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and his finger stopped on one of the shards. Found it!
Within the shard, he saw himself kneeling in the snow, cradling Yao Wu's head, cloudy tears welling in his cloudy eyes. The bitterness of the Focus-Stabilizing Pill spread in his mouth, but his cultivation did not return, and his spiritual sea burned as if molten lava were being poured into it. He asked himself why—why was he still so powerless, unable to do anything?
Lu Yan looked at his pathetic self in the shard and clicked his tongue. Was I really that pathetic back then? He casually crushed the temporal shard, the shattered light dispersing between his fingers. Hmph, it's finally my turn to show off! Curling his lips into a smirk, he activated the Soul Transfer Art, stripping his consciousness from his current body like a wisp of smoke and diving into that shard.
Back at the original point in time. Lu Yan knelt in the snow, cradling Yao Wu's head, his entire body trembling violently. The bitterness of the Focus-Stabilizing Pill kept spreading in his mouth, but it was utterly useless. His lost cultivation did not return; instead, his shattered spiritual sea burned hot, searing, and painful, as if filled with molten lava. Why? Why was he still so powerless, unable to do anything? Cloudy tears pooled in his cloudy eyes, mixing with the falling snow and dripping onto Yao Wu's pale, lifeless face. Pain and despair swirled in his heart. And then, he was possessed. Possessed by himself.
He opened his eyes. His previously dull, cloudy eyes instantly became clear and bright, a golden clock face flickering deep within his pupils before vanishing. He looked down at the dying Yao Wu in his arms, then at his own blood-stained hands, and clicked his tongue. “Qingzi is still so pathetic. I really want to take a photo to show his future son-in-law.” On second thought, he abandoned the idea, fearing that if Yao Wu ever found out he was using his miserable state as a laughingstock, he would blow up his house in retaliation.
He casually tossed Yao Wu against the wall, sealing his wounds in the process. Lu Yan stood up, brushed the snow off his robes, and turned to face the overwhelming Ice Spirit tide. Deep blue specks of light surged from all directions—from the sky, the ground, the street corners, and the rooftops—dense and endless. The black-robed old man stood on the city wall, his grayish-white fingers still in a blade-gripping posture, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Lu Yan narrowed his eyes, looking at the black-robed old man and the surging Ice Spirit tide behind him, and suddenly smiled. Anyone who knew Lu Yan well would know that whenever he smiled like this, someone was about to suffer terribly.
“Now, it's time to settle the score!” His voice was crisp, carrying a pride that did not belong to this era. The wind and snow howled in from outside the city, making his robes flutter wildly. His shadow stretched long across the snow, overlapping with the youth who had knelt crying before the ruins ten years ago. But this time, he finally possessed the power to control everything.
Rate on N.U.
