The journey to Yuegu Zong began at dawn, a stark, silent procession that cut through the humid air of the cultivation lands. Jianyu, now outwardly Niánmei, rode in an ornate, enclosed palanquin, its silk curtains embroidered with skeletal patterns. Beside him, Mei Ling'er sat wide-eyed, clutching a small, worn satchel, her excitement tinged with apprehension. The Moonbone entourage was a chilling sight: silent corpse maidens, their skin unnaturally pale, moved with an eerie, synchronized grace, pulling the palanquins and chariots. Nie Yuelian, Empress of Yuegu Zong, rode ahead in her bone chariot, a figure of profound, almost sacred sorrow.
As they traveled, Jianyu studied Yuelian. Her interactions with Niánmei were unsettling. She spoke to him as if he were truly her lost wife, her voice soft, laced with a grief so profound it felt like a physical presence. Even in private moments, when the curtains of the palanquin were drawn, she would murmur endearments, recall shared memories that were not his own, and touch his hand with a possessive tenderness that made his skin crawl. He allowed it, observing, analyzing, absorbing the nuances of her delusion. It was a terrifying form of intimacy, a weapon he could wield.
Days blurred into a monotonous rhythm of travel, punctuated by brief, silent stops. They crossed Xuehai, the Scarlet Sea, a vast, churning expanse of condensed spirit energy, its surface a horrifying, acidic red. The air above it tasted of iron and ancient battle. Jianyu felt the raw power of the sea, a memory of a gendered war that had scarred the land.
One night, under a moon as thin and sharp as a sliver of bone, Jianyu slipped away from the encampment. He used his Absolute Body Control to alter his qi signature, making himself a phantom. He was drawn by a faint, sickly sweet scent that hinted at decay and spiritual preservation. He found it: a hidden corpse garden, nestled in a secluded valley within the Moonbone lands.
It was a horrifying sight. Rows upon rows of perfectly preserved female corpses, suspended in glowing, amber fluid within transparent sarcophagi. Their faces were serene, beautiful, and unsettlingly familiar. Jianyu moved among them, his heart a cold knot in his chest. They were all women with near-identical faces to his own, to Niánmei's. His female form, the one he had thought was a unique manifestation of his System, was not a miracle. It was a mass-produced ideal. His body was part of a larger breeding experiment, a line of failed "saints" designed to house a specific spiritual essence.
A soft rustle behind him. Yuelian. She stood at the entrance to the garden, her face shadowed, her eyes fixed on him. She did not express anger, only a profound, almost desperate understanding. She walked to him, her movements slow, deliberate. Her hand rose, cupping Niánmei's cheek.
And then she kissed him. Softly, tenderly, her lips cool against his. Jianyu didn't resist. He was confused, shaken by the revelation of the mass-produced bodies, by the depth of Yuelian's grief and delusion. The kiss was a violation and a strange, unsettling comfort, a moment of shared, twisted sorrow. He felt her qi, a cold, mournful energy, seep into him.
That night, back in his palanquin, the kiss still a phantom sensation on his lips, Jianyu made a decision. He had absorbed enough. He needed to be truly free. With a silent, agonizing precision, he cut open his own abdomen. The blade, thin and sharp, sliced through skin and muscle. He ignored the pain, focusing on the internal landscape of his body. Deep within, nestled against his spiritual core, was a hidden control rune, placed there by Chixia Gong. A silent, ever-present leash. With a grunt of effort, he reached in, his fingers closing around the pulsating rune, and tore it free. Blood welled, but his System immediately began to knit the wound, leaving only a fine, blooming scar. He was no longer bound.