Spirit Butterfly Shattered to Dust, Qingwan First Witnessed the Might of the Pseudo Primordial Chaos

I stared at the shriveled lizard carcass on the windowsill. The butterfly powder beneath my nails was still burning hot, like a spark buried in flesh.

It should not have left ash. Anything Blood Refined scattered the moment its soul perished, yet this powder had not only remained, it carried traces of some pattern—like some force had erased it from existence itself, allowing only the finest scraps to leak heaven's secrets. I withdrew my hand, my fingertips trembling slightly, not from fear, but because the Blood Phoenix Body instinctively rejected this aura. It belonged to no inheritance in the Northern Wastes, nor should it have appeared on someone with Wasted Meridians.

The jade box still lay beneath my pillow. I took it out and lifted the lid. Inside rested the last bit of butterfly powder. Pale gold, fine as dust, yet heavy as though it bore mountains. I poured it into the Azure Jade Medicine Cauldron. The cauldron trembled faintly, as if it had sensed something. I forced out a drop of Heart Blood from my fingertip and let it fall into the bottom. In an instant, golden-red flames surged up. The Blood Phoenix True Fire burned without exploding, yet its heat was enough to melt gold and turn bone to ash.

The moment the tongues of flame curled around the ashes, the air inside the cauldron warped. An invisible resistance rose from the powder, as though something was preventing its refinement. I gritted my teeth and pushed my power harder. Gold gleamed in my eyes as Blood Phoenix Essence poured down from my Sea of Consciousness and into the flames. The Medicine Cauldron hummed, fine cracks surfacing across it, but the fire only rose instead of weakening.

"Since you left traces behind, don't think you can vanish cleanly."

As my words fell, the flames abruptly contracted, then exploded with a roar. The ashes gathered within the searing heat, slowly taking shape—three ancient seal-script characters floated at the heart of the fire: Pseudo Primordial Chaos.

My breath caught.

This was not the name of a Cultivation Technique, nor was it a Sect Secret Technique. It was mockery of the Heaven and Earth Rules. "Pseudo" meant false; "Primordial Chaos" meant the beginning of the Dao. Put together, it was the imprint of a constitution forcibly pieced together, one that did not belong to this world. Whatever could refine such traces could never be an ordinary cultivation method.

Just as I reached for the cauldron, a thread of cold swept over the back of my neck.

Someone was standing outside the window.

He leaned against the window frame, moonlight outlining his Black Martial Robes. The faint red scar on his left cheek flickered in and out of view amid the light and shadow. Ji Wuchen. He should have been in the ruined house of the eastern courtyard, bound in iron chains and curled up in madness. Yet he stood here now, his back straight, his gaze terrifyingly clear.

"Miss Ye has quite the skill." His voice was quiet, yet it scraped past my ear bones like a blade. "It is only that this Medicine Cauldron... will likely need replacing."

I did not move. My palm had already tightened around the Green Jade Medicine Pestle. How did he know I was here? When had he arrived? It had only been half an incense stick since I returned from the Forbidden Ground. I had been cautious at every step and left no trail, yet he seemed to have been waiting for this very moment.

He slowly walked into the room, his gaze falling upon the three words at the center of the Medicine Cauldron. The flames had not yet gone out, and the words "Pseudo Primordial Chaos" still danced within them, reflecting a faint glimmer of gold in the depths of his pupils.

"It recognized me," he said, as calmly as if discussing the weather. "So it must be destroyed."

The moment his words fell, the Medicine Cauldron jolted violently. A hairline crack first appeared at its base, followed by fractures spreading with the speed of a spiderweb. I instinctively stepped back half a pace. The next instant, the entire cauldron burst apart with a boom. Jade shards flew in every direction, embedding themselves into the walls and floor with soft, muffled pops.

The fire went out. The ash scattered. Only debris covered the floor, while the scorching heat still lingered in the air.

I stared at him, my throat tight. "How did you know I was refining medicine here?"

He gave a quiet laugh but did not answer. He merely raised a hand and lightly brushed his fingertips over the corner of his lips, as though savoring something. "You sneaked into the Forbidden Ground at night. Aren't you afraid of being seen?" he asked. "Or did you want me to find out from the start?"

My heart sank.

He was turning the tables. There was none of the panic of someone exposed—only the composure of someone who had arranged everything long ago. He had not even denied the existence of the Pseudo Primordial Chaos. Instead, he used questions to seize control of my rhythm, turning me from the interrogator into the one being examined.

"Who exactly are you?" I finally asked, my voice steadier than I had expected. "Three years ago, your Dao bones were completely destroyed and your spiritual roots severed. Even the Clan Elders confirmed that you could never cultivate again. Yet in the Forbidden Ground, you devoured remnant Dao. Liquid Gold Flow coursed through your meridians, and now even a Medicine Cauldron could be destroyed because of you—none of this is something a cripple could do."

He fell silent for several breaths, then slowly took a step forward.

The candle flame in the room flickered.

"You're right," he said softly. "I'm not a cripple."

My grip on the medicine pestle tightened sharply.

But he did not continue. Instead, he took another step closer, until I could clearly see the line of his eyes slanting up into his temples, as well as the faint rise and fall of the skin beneath that scar. "But think carefully, Ye Qingwan." His voice was so low it nearly brushed against my eardrum. "You can investigate me. You can test me. But some truths, once heard, can never be pretended away. When that time comes, can you still stand there with that cold face and ask me, 'Who are you?'"

I froze where I stood.

He was right. I had already crossed that line. From the moment I saw him absorb remnant Dao in the Forbidden Ground, from the instant the Spirit Butterfly shattered into powder, I could no longer pretend that nothing had happened.

"What exactly is the Pseudo Primordial Chaos?" I forced myself to ask. "Who gave it to you? Does anyone in the Ji Clan know?"

He suddenly smiled. It was neither mockery nor pride, but a smile that was almost pitying.

"No one gave it to me," he said. "It was the price I paid to survive."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

He did not answer. He merely raised his hand, palm upward. A thread of extremely fine pale-gold airflow emerged between his fingers, circling like a living thing before sinking back into his blood. The light was faint, yet it made the air throughout the room turn thick and heavy, as though even breathing had been suppressed.

"You think I'm cultivating?" He looked at me, his eyes deep as a well. "No. I'm enduring. Every bit of strength, every thread of breath, I have to hold it down. I don't dare become strong, don't dare advance quickly, don't dare reveal even the slightest thing that should not exist. Because the moment it shows, someone will come to kill me."

He paused, his voice dropping even lower. "And what you see now is only the tip of the iceberg."

I stared at the golden light fading from his palm and suddenly realized something—he was not threatening me. He was warning me. He was not afraid that I would learn his secret. He feared I would be unable to bear the consequences that secret brought.

"Then why did you let me see it?" I asked.

He fell silent for a moment, then turned and walked toward the window.

"Because you were already here," he said. "And you didn't retreat."

With a tap of his toes against the windowsill, he leaped out of the room. The night wind lifted one corner of his cloak, and his figure melted into the darkness without looking back again.

I stood where I was, the medicine pestle in my palm icy cold. The candle flame swayed, illuminating the jade fragments strewn across the floor. Every shard reflected a faint glimmer, like countless eyes.

Looking down, I saw a bit of butterfly powder still clinging to my fingertips. It no longer burned hot. Instead, it had turned ice-cold, as though every last trace of warmth had been drawn away.

Slowly, I clenched my hand.