Thunder Tribulation Resonance, Wuchen and Qingwan's Love Deepens

The instant the blood-red lightning tore through the night sky, he and I stood shoulder to shoulder. The scarlet rift split open from the heavens, piercing straight through the center of the temple. But just as the lightning was about to strike, a strange power surged between us—golden flames materialized uncontrollably in my palm, while a faint golden light emanating from his chest coiled around it like a stream. The two energies converged, forming a crimson-gold barrier.

The temple trembled violently, tiles crumbling and pillars groaning under the immense pressure. But this time, the roof did not collapse.

After the lightning dissipated, a brief, dead silence fell over the surroundings. Wind gusted through the broken walls, swirling the scattered ashes. Ji Wuchen leaned against a broken wooden pillar, his breathing heavy, fine sweat beading on his forehead. I remained still, the warmth of our recent connection still lingering on my fingertips.

"Just now..." I began in a low voice, "was that your Origin?"

He looked up at me, his gaze calm. "I didn't summon it. The fire within you sought it out."

I lowered my hand, the golden flames in my palm extinguished, yet something still seemed to flow beneath my skin, as if something deep within my Bloodline had been awakened. Recalling that moment, his heartbeat seemed to sync with mine, and even the fluctuations of Spiritual Power within us were identical.

This was no coincidence.

"How much do you really know?" I stared at him. "Has this kind of resonance happened before?"

He didn't answer, merely slowly raised his hand, a wisp of faint golden light appearing in his palm. The light was weak, but it pulsed slightly as I drew closer, as if sensing something. After a moment's hesitation, I extended my finger. The instant my fingertip touched the halo of light, a warmth spread up my arm, and my brow throbbed faintly, as if the Phoenix Mark was about to reappear.

"Don't suppress it," he said suddenly.

I paused.

"You're suppressing instinct now, not power," he said in a low voice. "It recognizes you, and it recognizes me. You don't trust it, but it's always been responding."

I withdrew my hand, saying coldly, "Responding to what? To resist the heavenly tribulation together? Or to perish together?"

"It's fate," he looked at me, his eyes serious. "A Shared Tribulation of Hearts, sharing life and death. Once you overcome it, you can never be separated."

My heart sank abruptly.

He spoke with such certainty, as if he had already seen the outcome. But I had never intended to bind my fate to anyone, especially not to someone as full of secrets as him. Three years feigning weakness, appearing overnight, every appearance perfectly timed, like a meticulously planned scheme.

But if it was a scheme, why would he have stood in front of me when the lightning was about to strike?

I turned and walked towards a corner, no longer looking at him. The only sounds in the ruined temple were the wind whistling through the broken walls and the occasional cry of a night bird from the distant mountains. Time ticked by, and neither of us spoke again.

He leaned against the pillar, eyes closed, meditating. His posture was straight but not tense, as if he were accustomed to bearing everything alone. I stole a glance and saw that the fabric on his left shoulder was soaked with blood, the edges dark, clearly an old wound that had been aggravated.

"You're injured," I said.

"It's nothing," he opened his eyes. "My Pseudo-Primordial Body can handle it."

"It needs treating even if it can handle it," I took out a small porcelain bottle from my Treasure Pouch and threw it to him. "Medicine for stopping bleeding and healing flesh. Don't waste it."

He caught the bottle, glanced at me, and the corner of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly. "Thank you."

I didn't respond, sat down cross-legged, and began circulating my Spiritual Power to clear my meridians. The restlessness in my Bloodline was more intense than ever. With each cycle, I could feel that golden flame moving within me, as if searching for an exit. I tried to suppress it, cold sweat gradually forming on my forehead.

"Don't force it," he spoke again. "Let a little 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 break free."

I looked up sharply. "When did you become so understanding of me?"

He was silent for a moment before saying, "Because I've also been enduring. Enduring not acting, enduring not revealing myself, enduring being trampled into the mud. I know that feeling—having power but being unable to use it, watching yourself be pushed to the brink again and again."

My heart trembled.

His words were like a knife, gently slicing through the defenses I had built up over the years. I had indeed been enduring. Enduring the humiliation from my Direct Lineage, enduring the hatred for my mother's tragic death, enduring the loneliness of my Bloodline awakening with no one to rely on. I thought only I understood this pain, but now, the person standing before me spoke of it so calmly, as if he had walked through it countless times.

"So you said 'Shared Tribulation of Hearts'..." my voice softened, "is it because you've also experienced such struggles?"

"More than just struggles," he looked at me. "It's a fated connection. Our powers will echo each other, not by chance, but by rule. Today we could block this strike, perhaps next time we can counterattack."

I lowered my head, looking at my hands. The faint golden warmth had not yet dissipated.

The night deepened, and the wind lessened. He leaned against the pillar, his breathing steadying, as if he had entered a meditative state. I got up and quietly left the main hall, heading towards the side room—his temporary resting place.

The door was ajar. Moonlight slanted in through the broken window, falling upon the bed. He lay with his back to the door, still wearing his Black Martial Robes, his belt neatly fastened. I stood outside the door, hesitating for a long time.

Then, I took out the jade pendant from my bosom.

Its edges were worn, engraved with "Guard Heart" on the front and hiding the two characters "Qing Wan" on the back. This was the only keepsake my mother had pressed into my hand before she died. I had carried it for ten years, never parting with it, never showing it to anyone. Holding it, my fingertips trembled slightly.

Finally, I gently pushed open the door and tiptoed to the bedside. I leaned down and slipped the jade pendant under his pillow, my movements slow, afraid of waking him.

After doing so, I didn't leave immediately.

I stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, watching his peaceful profile. A scar was hidden in the shadows, his brow slightly furrowed, as if he were pondering something even in his sleep. I suddenly remembered what he had said—

"Your pain, I can feel it."

I didn't know if I should believe him, but at this moment, a place in my heart loosened.

I turned to leave, my steps pausing, and finally whispered, "If you are sincere... I will stop investigating you."

As the 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 didn't move, nor did he lift his pillow. But he knew something had been added beneath it. He could sense that faint yet familiar aura—carrying the scent of medicine, and a trace of blood.

He closed his eyes, his breathing pausing slightly.

The Heaven-Slaying Origin within him circulated quietly, its speed a little faster than usual. It was a sense of fullness he hadn't felt in a long time, not from tribulation energy or Battle Intent Fragments, but from something deeper awakening.

He rolled over, facing the wall, his right hand quietly returning beneath the pillow.

The jade pendant was ice-cold, yet his palm felt somewhat hot.

The night wind swept across the desolate slope, rustling the tattered flags before the temple. The distant mountains and forests remained pitch-black, with only a sliver of light on the horizon, heralding the approaching dawn.

Ji Wuchen did not sleep again.

He lay quietly, listening to the wind outside, feeling the unprecedentedly stable rhythm within his body. The power that had been suppressed, accumulated, and waiting to erupt every moment before, now carried a hint of tranquility.

He didn't know what this meant.

He only knew that, from this day forward, some things could no longer be accomplished alone.

Meanwhile, in a simple hut in the southern part of the city, Ye Qingwan sat by the lamplight, her palm spread open.

That faint golden warmth had yet to dissipate. She gazed for a long time before suddenly raising her hand, her fingertip gently pressing against her brow.

The Phoenix Mark did not appear, but beneath her skin, it felt as if flames were slowly flowing through her veins.