The instant blood-red lightning tore through the night sky, he and I stood side by side. That scarlet rift split down from the heavens, striking straight through the center of the temple. Yet just as the thunderbolt was about to crash down, a strange force rose between us—Golden Flame surfaced uncontrollably in my palm, while the faint golden light spilling from his chest wound toward it like a stream. The two auras met and formed a crimson-gold barrier.
The temple shook violently. Tiles shattered and fell, while the beams and pillars groaned beneath their unbearable strain. Yet this time, the roof did not collapse.
After the lightning faded, the surroundings sank into a brief, deathly silence. Wind poured through the gap in the broken wall, sending ashes spiraling into the air. Ji Wuchen leaned against a broken wooden pillar, his breathing slightly heavy and fine sweat beading at his temples. I did not move. The warmth from our earlier fusion still lingered at my fingertips.
"Just now..." I said softly. "Was that your origin?"
He raised his eyes to me, his gaze calm. "I didn't draw it out. The fire within you came looking for me on its own."
I lowered my hand. The Golden Flame in my palm had already gone out, but something still seemed to be flowing beneath my skin, as if something deep in my bloodline had been awakened. Thinking back to that moment, his heartbeat had seemed to match my rhythm, even the fluctuations of Spiritual Power within us identical.
This was no coincidence.
"How much do you actually know?" I stared at him. "Has this kind of resonance happened before?"
He did not answer. Instead, he slowly lifted a hand, and a wisp of extremely faint golden light rose in his palm. It was weak, yet when I drew near, it flickered slightly, as though it had sensed something. After hesitating for a moment, I extended my fingers as well. The instant my fingertips touched that halo of light, warmth spread up my arm, and my brow began to burn faintly, as though the Phoenix Mark was about to emerge again.
"Don't suppress it," he suddenly said.
I paused.
"What you're suppressing now is instinct, not power." His voice was low and unhurried. "It recognizes you, and it recognizes me. You don't trust it, but it has been answering you all along."
I withdrew my hand and said coldly, "Answering what? Joining forces against the Heavenly Tribulation? Or perishing together?"
"Fate." He looked at me, his eyes earnest. "The Shared Tribulation of Hearts. To live and die together. Once we survive it once, we can never be separated again."
My heart sank sharply.
He spoke with far too much certainty, as though he had long seen through the ending. But I had never intended to bind my fate to anyone, especially a man shrouded in secrets. He had pretended to be useless for three years, appeared overnight, and every time he showed up, it was at exactly the right moment—as though it were all part of a meticulously arranged game.
But if it truly was a game, why had he stood in front of me when the lightning fell?
I turned and walked toward the corner, no longer looking at him. Only the wind swept through the broken walls of the ruined temple, while startled cries from Night Birds drifted from the distant mountain forest. Time passed bit by bit, and neither of us spoke again.
He leaned against the pillar with his eyes closed, regulating his breath. His posture was straight but not tense, as though he was accustomed to bearing everything alone. I stole a glance at him and found that the fabric over his left shoulder had been soaked through with blood, its edges darkened. Clearly, an old wound had yet to heal before a new one had been added.
"You're injured," I said.
"It's nothing." He opened his eyes. "The Pseudo-Primordial Body can withstand it."
"Even if it can withstand it, it still needs treatment." I took a small porcelain bottle from my Treasure Pouch and tossed it to him. "Medicine to stop bleeding and regenerate flesh. Don't waste it."
He caught the bottle, glanced at me, and the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. "Thank you."
I did not respond. Sitting cross-legged, I began circulating Spiritual Power to sort through my meridians. The unrest in my bloodline was even fiercer than before. With every cycle, I could feel the Golden Flame moving through my body as if searching for an exit. I tried hard to suppress it, and cold sweat gradually formed on my forehead.
"Don't force it down," he said again. "Let a little of it out. Follow that intention."
"What do you know?" I gritted my teeth. "This isn't something I can control."
"Then don't control it," he said. "The more you resist, the more violent it becomes. Like a wild horse—pull the reins too tight, and it will only snap them."
I abruptly raised my head. "Since when have you understood me so well?"
He fell silent for a moment before saying, "Because I'm enduring too. Enduring the urge to act, enduring the need to stay hidden, enduring being trampled into the mud. I know that feeling—having power, yet being unable to use it, able only to watch yourself get driven to the brink time and again."
My heart trembled.
Those words were like a blade, lightly slicing through the defenses I had built over so many years. I truly had been enduring all along. Enduring the humiliation of the Direct Lineage, enduring the hatred from my mother's tragic death, enduring the loneliness of having no one to rely on after my bloodline awakened. I had thought I alone understood such pain, yet the person standing before me spoke of it so calmly, as though he had already walked that path a thousand times.
"So when you spoke of the 'Shared Tribulation of Hearts'..." My voice softened slightly. "Was it because you've experienced this kind of struggle too?"
"It's more than struggle." He looked at me. "It is a fated pull. Our powers answer one another, not by chance, but because the rules demand it. If we could block this strike today, perhaps next time, we can strike back."
I lowered my head to look at my hand. That faint golden warmth had yet to disperse.
The night deepened, and the wind weakened. He leaned by the pillar, his breathing gradually steady, seemingly already in meditation. I rose to my feet and quietly left the main hall, walking toward the side room—his temporary shelter.
The door was slightly ajar. Moonlight slanted in through the broken window and fell across the bed. He lay with his back to the doorway, still wearing his Black Martial Robes, his belt tied neatly in place. I stood outside for a long while, hesitating.
Then I took out the jade pendant from within my robe.
Its edges were mottled with age. "Guard Heart" was carved on the front, while the two characters "Qingwan" were hidden on the back. It was the only keepsake my mother had pressed into my hand before she died. For ten years, it had never left my side, and I had never shown it to anyone. I held it tightly, my fingertips trembling faintly.
In the end, I gently pushed open the door and walked to the bedside with the lightest of steps. Bending down, I slipped the jade pendant beneath his pillow, moving slowly for fear of waking him.
After doing all this, I did not leave at once.
I stood by the bedside for a moment, looking at his peaceful profile. The scar was hidden in shadow, and his brows were faintly furrowed, as though he was still pondering something in his dreams. I suddenly recalled what he had said—
"Your pain—I can feel it."
I did not know whether I should believe him, but at that moment, something within my heart loosened.
I turned to leave, but my steps halted. In the end, I murmured, "If you are sincere... I won't investigate you anymore."
As my words fell, I stepped out the door, my figure melting into the night.
The ruined temple returned to silence.
After an unknown amount of time, Ji Wuchen slowly opened his eyes.
He did not move, nor did he lift the pillow. But he knew what had been added beneath it. He could feel that faint yet familiar aura—carrying the scent of medicine, along with the slightest trace of blood.
He closed his eyes, and his breathing paused faintly.
The Heaven-Slaying Origin within him quietly circulated, a fraction faster than usual. It was a long-lost sense of fullness, not from Calamity Qi, nor from Battle Intent Fragments, but from something deeper beginning to awaken.
He turned over to face the wall, his right hand quietly reaching beneath the pillow.
The jade pendant was cold, but his palm was slightly hot.
The night wind swept over the barren slope, stirring the tattered banner before the temple. The distant mountain forest remained pitch-black, and only a thin streak of light on the horizon foretold the coming dawn.
Ji Wuchen did not sleep again.
He lay quietly, listening to the wind outside and feeling the unprecedentedly steady rhythm within him. The power that had once been suppressed every moment, gathering and waiting to erupt, now carried a hint of peace.
He did not know what it meant.
He only knew that from this day onward, some things could no longer be done alone.
Meanwhile, in a crude little room in the southern part of the city, Ye Qingwan sat beneath a lamp and spread open her palm.
That faint golden warmth had yet to fade. She stared at it for a long time, then suddenly raised her hand and gently pressed her fingertips to her brow.
The Phoenix Mark did not appear, yet beneath her skin, flames seemed to flow slowly through her veins.
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