Zhen didn’t wait for the bastard to get close. Screw that! He turned and ran. One opponent. Just one. He could escape—he just had to be fast enough, move quickly enough, disappear before Zhao Shi caught him.

  The cold night air burned in his lungs as he sprinted through the trees, his body moving on sheer instinct. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding like war drums, adrenaline surging, feet slamming against the ground. He could do this. He had to do this.

  But then—his world twisted.

  A chill ran down his spine as space itself warped. His body jerked to a halt, and before he could react, something cold—deathly cold and bony—clamped onto his shoulder.

  Then—pain.

  His head slammed against the ground. The impact rattled his skull, his vision exploding into a sea of stars before it settled into the vast, indifferent hazy expanse of the night sky. He could see the dark outlines of the trees swaying above him, the crisp scent of earth filling his nose. His breath came ragged, his body frozen. Only one percent of qi left.

  I might really die here.

  The thought lodged itself into his mind, chilling, absolute. Not an idle fear. Not something distant. Not something he could outrun. It felt real. More real than anything else in his life.

  Death.

  He had assumed—hoped—that when his time came, he would be ready. At least, he would have lived his second chance to the full. That he would have fought until his last breath for something meaningful.

  But now, lying on the ground, pain rippling through his skull, he realized his only regret.

  I’m dying… for someone I barely even know.

  His mind flashed back to the morning. To the moment when he made the choice that led him here. I should have stayed away. He could have ignored it, walked past, let someone else deal with it.

  But he hadn’t. And why? Because it was his first time seeing someone kind murdered before his eyes?

  He closed his eyes, memories slipping through his fingers like sand. Right… because I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal. He had been confident. Rescuing her had seemed simple, like an easy favor, a minor detour in his own journey.

  Because she wasn’t a jade beauty.

  That was the logic, wasn’t it? The arrogant, thoughtless reasoning that had sealed his fate. Beautiful women in trouble? Disasters waiting to happen. Everyone knew that. The kind of trouble they attracted could get a man killed. But a plain-looking girl? That was supposed to be safe.

  But who would have thought—even ordinary-looking girls could bring calamity?

  A bitter laugh bubbled up in his throat. Damn those novels for lying. All those stories—all those damn stories—made it seem like only breathtaking goddesses attracted chaos. But reality? Reality was cruel.

  And now, because of his own arrogance, he was about to die.

  A shadow loomed over him.

  Zhen’s blurry vision sharpened just enough to make out Zhao Shi stepping into his field of view, his skeletal hand still stretched out, green qi flickering between his bony fingers like ghostly embers. His face twisted into something wild—triumphant, deranged, yet strangely hollow, like a man who had already lost everything and now sought to drag others down with him.

  "You… made me do this," Zhao Shi spat, his voice trembling with something between rage and exhilaration. "If you had just given up, if you had just died like you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have needed to take things this far!"

  Zhen’s vision swam, pain gnawing at him from every direction. His limbs felt heavy, sluggish, his body a broken shell of its former self. The words were sharp, cutting through the haze in his mind. Is this the part where I get taunted before I die?

  His mouth tasted of blood, a metallic, bitter sting on his tongue. But even as he felt the overwhelming weight of his fate closing in on him, there was a spark deep inside. Something defiant, something that refused to be swallowed up by the madness around him.

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  "Made you?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper against the pressure in his chest. "Yeah, and now you live like an abomination…."

  It wasn’t necessary. He didn’t have to lash out. He didn’t even have the strength to keep his head up, let alone argue. But Zhen couldn’t help himself.

  His body screamed in agony, the pain raking through him like claws. Yet he pushed himself to speak—he couldn’t let this monster have the final word.

  He wanted to hurt him back, even if it was just with words. Even if it was nothing. Even if it didn't matter.

  Zhao Shi eyes burned, his breath heaving. "Yes. This… this is your fault. All of it. You forced my hand!" Then his lips curled into something cruel. "But it doesn’t matter now. You? You’re nothing. You're already dead." His expression darkened, and his voice dipped into something almost reverent. "But her… she will be useful."

  Zhen’s stomach twisted. "What?"

  Zhao Shi’s grin stretched, the madness in his gaze deepening. "You think I’d let all this power go to waste? No. I will have my body back. And for that… I need a vessel."

  The air felt colder.

  Zhen knew exactly what he meant.

  The girl. Somehow that girl would help him regain his body. And my death would be wasteful.

  She wasn’t supposed to be important. She wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a bystander he helped on a whim. Even if she had whatever spiritual roots.

  But before he could move, Zhao Shi reached into his pouch at his waist.

  A storage pouch.

  The motion was slow, deliberate. A moment later, he pulled out a sword. Made up of bone.

  It wasn’t the brittle, half-rusted weapon the previous skeleton had used. This one was different—its blade dull white, lacking a refined edge, but humming with an eerie pure green qi, the energy swirling in jagged patterns across its surface. It pulsed, as if alive, as if whispering of things long since dead.

  "Bonesea Nether Sword," Zhao Shi mused, admiring it with skeletal fingers. "Fitting, don’t you think? If I’m going to carve through you properly, I should at least use my most important treasure."

  Zhen saw the blade descending, a cold glint catching the dim light, and he knew—this was it. His body was spent, his vision hazy, and the strength to even lift his hand had long since fled.

  Then—Puti!—a wet, thick sound.

  Zhen braced for pain, for the end, but none came, other than some warm liquid on his chest.

  Instead, Zhao Shi’s face twisted, confusion flickering before the area around his chest froze with a layer of ice. He staggered, choking, and as he fell to his knees, the icy blue blade of a sword jutted through his chest.

  The ice spread, and the green qi in his body froze. His lips parted, but no words came—only a strangled gurgle before his body slumped to the dirt.

  Zhen's vision swayed, barely conscious, his mind scrambling to grasp what had just happened. He was alive. Why? How?

  His gaze lifted.

  There, standing behind Zhao Shi’s fallen corpse, was a pale Ning Xue—her small hands still trembling around the hilt of the blade she had driven through the cultivator’s heart.

  Strands of short dark hair clung to her sweat-slicked face, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. Faint wisps of blue qi clung to her hands like mist, the ice shimmering against her pale fingers.

  Even from some distance, Zhen felt the biting cold radiating from the sword, the frost creeping into his wounds like a lingering curse—but his focus was locked on the girl before him.

  The girl that I had come to rescue.

  A sixteen-year-old orphan. Young. Inexperienced. Yet her blade had struck with lethal precision straight through the heart—as if she'd spent years training.

  At least she hadn’t run. Maybe, just maybe rescuing her wasn't a wrong decision.

  The first stage of Qi Condensation. With a powerful artifact in her hand.

  But that should have been impossible. She was supposed to be a mere mortal—no training, no cultivation.

  Then she gave him a half-smile, lips parting as a wet cough wracked her body. A spray of blood bloomed against the frost-covered ground, and then she slumped down—just beside the lifeless Zhao Shi.

  Two people. One corpse.

  Zhen wasn’t surprised. Most likely, it must be some last resort forbidden technique. A desperate strike at someone far beyond her level. It explained her sudden surge of power. It also explained why she was barely clinging to consciousness now.

  He exhaled, his body sagging under the weight of battle. The pain set in fully now, no longer dulled by the rush of combat. Fresh wounds burned across his arms, his robes hung in tatters, sticky with blood. His qi was spent, the stars within him dull and empty. Worst of all—his spirit stones were gone.

  No instant recovery.

  This was going to hurt.

  He forced himself to sit straighter, shutting his eyes as he slowly initiated the Hundred Stars Refinement process. The surrounding qi stirred, drawn toward him, flowing through the dim stars within his core. It wasn’t much, but it was something—enough to keep him from collapsing outright.

  Then—something flickered. A presence he hadn’t felt in too long.

  Starlight qi.

  Faint, barely a trace, but undeniably there. A familiar, long-lost flavor weaving into his refinement, fragile yet unmistakable. His breath hitched. Had it returned? Or had it always been there, too weak for him to notice?

  Zhen tilted his head back, gaze drifting toward the night sky. The cold air filled his lungs, sharp and grounding, as the half-moon bathed the battlefield in its pale glow. Maybe… maybe it had always been there. Dormant. Hidden. Waiting for the night.

  His thoughts shattered as he felt another shift—this one from Ning Xue.

  Her qi, the flickering remnants of her first-stage Qi Condensation, vanished in an instant. Gone, like a candle snuffed out. All that remained was the raw, uneven drag of her breath beside him.

  Zhen exhaled, glancing at her. She was still conscious—just barely. Her chest rose and fell in shaky rhythm, exhaustion pulling at the edges of her expression.

  "You alright?" His voice came out rough, worn.