Chapter 45: A Star's Destruction

The heavy, mountain-like thundercloud writhed as if giving birth, constantly releasing flashes of lightning, some spherical, some like giant serpents. The surrounding air buzzed with vibrating currents.

Ning Changjiu, however, heard nothing. He wasn't sure if his eardrums had been shattered or if the sound was being isolated by something.

It was Ning Changjiu, who usually appeared simple and honest, who spoke first: "You must always be this kind to Junior Sister."

Ning Changjiu's lips were half-parted; he wanted to speak, but his throat was hoarse, preventing any sound.

He suddenly understood why his body felt so light: two souls had left his physical form.

These two souls were hidden deep within his consciousness, existing in a profound state of three souls coexisting in one body—a state forbidden by heaven and earth, which was perhaps the true reason for the thunder tribulation.

The younger Ning Changjiu glanced towards the temple, smiling faintly. "Take good care of Junior Sister, and live well yourself."

That night, under the gnawing of infernal spirits, his soul had been shattered beyond recognition. What little remained had been painstakingly preserved, sealed deep within his sea of consciousness, and now, drawn by the heavenly thunder, it finally left his body.

However, his soul was too weak; amidst the sky-filling lightning, the figure appeared increasingly faint and transparent.

With a thunderous crash.

Ning Xiaoling jolted awake.

"Senior Brother... Senior Brother!"

She struggled free from Lu Jiajia's embrace and rushed wildly towards the door. The wind was like knives; her foot had barely cleared the threshold when her body was pushed back, her head hitting Lu Jiajia's chest. Lu Jiajia held her close, sighing with pity.

"Sister Lu... please save my Senior Brother," Ning Xiaoling pleaded, her voice choked, as she clutched the white-clad woman's lapel.

Lu Jiajia gently patted her back. She had initially intended to make her fall asleep again, but after her hand hovered over Ning Xiaoling's brow for a moment, she eventually let it drop dejectedly, merely sighing.

The red umbrella in Zhao Xiang'er's hand had a very thin canopy, yet the ancient umbrella, supported by hundreds of finely structured ribs, possessed immense resilience. It was, after all, a treasured possession of the imperial city. Even with the current erosion from thunder and fire, it only bore faint, water-stain-like marks on its surface.

The wind continued to howl incessantly around her ears.

Zhao Xiang'er's steps grew slower and slower, and her protective spiritual energy gradually faltered. The knife-like wind, laden with lightning energy, relentlessly swept over her. The red cord tying her hair frayed and snapped, letting her dark hair cascade down and whip wildly in the air, like seaweed in turbulent water.

She was almost at the center of the thunder tribulation. The dazzling electric light, even filtered through the umbrella, was so blinding that she couldn't open her eyes.

Just as she was about to lower the umbrella to see what was happening at the heart of the thunder tribulation, the immense oppressive force distinctly diminished.

The bent edges of the red umbrella began to spring back, and what now swept past her cheeks were no longer flashes of lightning, but fragments of electricity, like shattered glass.

The massive roar had also vanished. This swift transition from extreme noise to silence made her feel temporarily deaf, and the surrounding air seemed to have been completely sucked away.

After a moment of hesitation, she lowered the umbrella. Just as she brought it to her waist, a shadow suddenly filled her vision—something was plummeting down.

Instinctively, she stretched out her hand, spiritual energy surging, intending to push the falling object away with a palm strike.

However, her spiritual energy had been greatly depleted from confronting the thunder tribulation. When the shadow plummeted down unexpectedly, the spiritual energy she had hastily woven was instantly shattered upon impact.

Her wrist went numb, the red umbrella slipped from her grasp and fell, blown behind her by the relentless wind. The figure crashed directly into her arms.

The girl let out a soft groan, recoiling several steps from the impact. Still, she uncontrollably tilted backward. The handle of the red umbrella, however, happened to brace against her spine just above her waist, preventing her from falling. Her embroidered shoes lifted from the ground, yet her toes remained fixed to it. Her upper body arched back, her long hair cascading like a waterfall to the ground, forming an exaggerated yet beautiful curve between her slender back and hips, pivoted by the umbrella handle.

At that moment, tribulation ash and lightning fragments drifted down like snowflakes, resembling a dying fireworks display.

After a brief moment of blurred vision, Zhao Xiang'er finally saw clearly the figure that had crashed into her embrace.

It was a refined yet deathly pale face. The one who had just fallen from the sky was this boy, unconscious after enduring the thunder tribulation.

Zhao Xiang'er's breath hitched. From childhood, her only companions had been the girls of Qianyu Palace. Her most intimate contact with a male had perhaps been three years ago, when she single-handedly defeated eight opponents in front of Qianyu Palace, leaving them afraid to fight again.

So, her first instinct was to push the boy away and hand him over to his junior sister.

But the moment her hand touched him, she saw immense sorrow on his face. The boy, though unconscious, had trembling eyelids and lashes, and his jaw subtly chattered. Viscous blood seeped from between his lips and teeth, dripping onto her delicate collarbone like a speck of cinnabar.

Although she had only met him once, for some reason, she felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

Bright lightning fragments continued to drift down, and the dark clouds in the dim sky gradually dispersed in the wind.

And so, this strange scene remained: the unfurled red umbrella lay on the ground, its handle propping up the girl's leaning body, as she cradled a dying figure in her arms.

When the lightning finally dispersed, Lu Jiajia arrived behind them and was greatly surprised by the sight.

She was surprised that Ning Changjiu... seemed to be still alive.

Ning Xiaoling also looked surprised, particularly by the seemingly detached little princess now holding her Senior Brother like that – it was utterly mortifying...

"No, why am I thinking about this?" Ning Xiaoling chastised herself, patting her head, and quickly ran over, concerned for her Senior Brother's safety.

Zhao Xiang'er took a deep breath and slowly straightened her supple, slender waist. With one hand, she gripped the back of Ning Changjiu's neck, moving his unconscious face away from her delicate right shoulder.

He had felt so heavy when he crashed into her, but now he was unnervingly light, as if all the water had evaporated from his body.

Ning Xiaoling looked at her Senior Brother, covered in bloodstains and scorch marks from the lightning. She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat, leaving only a profound sense of guilt.

Zhao Xiang'er gave her a slightly disapproving glance and said, "You two, follow me into the palace."

Ning Changjiu knew he was dreaming.

In his dream, he walked on an utterly dark road where he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Only a softly glowing back ahead guided him.

That was his past self.

"Where exactly are you taking me?" Ning Changjiu couldn't help but ask.

The young man in the green Daoist robe said nothing, simply walking steadily forward.

On the pitch-black road, scenes gradually began to appear.

A man with disheveled Daoist robes and sharp, angular features, carrying a long saber, looked at the tall Daoist temple perched on the cliff. He couldn't help but smooth his hair on both sides and said, "From now on, you'll be a disciple of this temple. Come, Second Senior Brother will show you around." Beside him, a four-year-old boy timidly hid behind him, his eyes gazing at the cliffside temple with a hint of fear.

On that day, four-year-old Ning Changjiu, guided by his Second Senior Brother, met his Senior Sister, who was incomparably pure, holy, and stunningly beautiful; Third Senior Brother, in striking red robes, who resembled a dashing young nobleman; Fourth Senior Sister, petite, with a weapon case on her back and slightly disheveled short hair; Fifth Senior Brother, in plain cloth robes, with a brilliant and very amiable smile; and Sixth Senior Brother, with a head full of silver hair and a reclusive nature.

Then it was his turn.

He was the last disciple of the temple.

The day he entered the temple, Sixth Senior Brother handed him the keys to the main gate and the three great halls. From that day on, he was responsible for locking up the temple every night.

This was the beginning of everything.

The temple was nestled halfway up a towering mountain, its peak hidden in the clouds. Below, nestled at the mountain's foot, was a small town of only a few hundred residents, named Dahe Town.

After that, the scenes shifted rapidly. Ning Changjiu watched himself grow older, carving the list his Master had entrusted to Second Senior Brother onto the wall, crossing off an item every now and then.

Twelve years passed in the blink of an eye.

At sixteen, he sat with Fifth Senior Brother by the cliff, gazing at the sea of clouds. The evening clouds were stained crimson by the lingering glow of the sunset, a dim yellow sun, with an orange fringe, slowly sinking into the earth.

He returned the marriage contract to Second Senior Brother, who wrung his hands and sighed with regret, then informed him of his life for the next twelve years.

Scenes flashed by.

Twelve years later, the Grand Dao was complete, and the entire temple ascended.

That night, the moon was enormous and snow-white, almost filling half the sky, as if one could reach out and touch it.

In Dahe Town, countless crimson flower lanterns slowly ascended, burning like scattered starlight.

Within the great moon, a celestial gate seemed to open, and faintly visible behind it was the holy radiance descending from the Immortal Court. Under the pouring moonlight, figures led by Senior Sister in a green dress rose from the ground, cutting through the sky and ascending against the void.

This was a night he would never forget, for all eternity.

Then he suddenly looked back. Where the lights were dim, the temple gate stood open, and sword shadows surged like a great river through three palaces. The power of the sword qi and the resolute killing intent were more potent than the combined might of the six senior brothers and sisters who had ascended before.

In the tidal white light, snow-white robes rose and fell like a cool palace lantern, and an utterly indifferent face held an indescribable beauty.

It was the ultimate sword and ultimate beauty, breathtaking at even a single glance.

And so, in that sword light, his heart truly shattered, his soul truly trembled, and his life's consciousness rapidly drained away. A faint golden shadow was forcibly pulled from his body by her and severed with a single sword strike.

He tumbled off the cloud cliff.

He awoke to find himself in a desolate world: the sky was black, everything was ash-grey, and his body felt almost weightless, as if it had shattered beyond repair. The myriad stars before his eyes were his only comfort.

He thought it was his grave.

The softly glowing figure stood in this ash-grey prison, gazing around at the desolation and sighing softly.

Ning Changjiu watched him, and following him, recalled these past events.

The years spent in this tomb were the loneliest and longest of his life, like a dream of eternal damnation.

"This is where it ends," the figure said softly.

"If you are you, then who am I?" Ning Changjiu asked.

The figure never turned back. "I am you, and that foolish little Daoist priest is also you. From now on, you are only you."

Ning Changjiu shook his head, "Why speak in riddles at a time like this? We're from the Daoist sect, not those monks."

The figure's jest was somewhat chilling: "Aren't we currently in a temple? When in Rome, do as the Romans do."

Ning Changjiu remembered that he was indeed still enduring the thunder tribulation, and truly, he was in a temple.

He didn't know how to reply.

"This is our last meeting," the figure said.

"What exactly do you want to say?" Ning Changjiu asked.

The figure turned, its face blurred, devoid of any smile, its expression extremely serious: "Find Master... you must find her!"

"How do I find her? Where in the world is that temple? Where is Master now? And after I find her... if she sees I'm not dead, will she again..." Ning Changjiu asked urgently.

The figure interrupted him. "You've calculated it many times over the years, and so have I. We never found the answer, but you *must* go find her!"

The mere thought of "Master" brought an immediate, chest-splitting pain, a heart-wrenching hallucination that left him thoroughly chilled. He took a shallow breath, touching the spot where his innate spirit had once resided, now empty. "I can't avoid her enough, why should I still seek her out?"

The figure's words were faint, almost a sigh: "I don't know either, but I only know one thing: Master killed Ning Changjiu, yet Ning Changjiu is still alive. If you live, then I live."

Ning Changjiu wanted to ask more, but the figure grew fainter. It continued: "These past few years, I've often seen a scene: an endless, pitch-black sea of stars, filled with dead, withered stars. Only a few of them are still shining, striving to emit light, as if trying to pass their flame to all the other dead stars."

"Dead stars? What are those?" Ning Changjiu asked.

"The Dead Star Domain," the figure replied. "But what floats within are not stars, but... spirit devourers."

Ning Changjiu's heart jolted at the term "spirit devourers."

"Mhm, I often feel this is the scene Master sees now."

"And we are those last stars."

His voice was already barely audible.

"My words end here. Take care..."

The light curtain shattered.

Heavenly thunder fell.

Ning Changjiu saw the first figure rise into the air and rush into the thunder pool, while the other Ning Changjiu, now almost an illusory wisp, waved at him and smiled faintly, like a simpleton.

Heaven and earth could not tolerate a person with three souls in one body, so they departed, leaving him to himself.

Ning Changjiu trembled all over. He looked up at the sky, where, in the dense thunder pool, the figure of his past self had condensed into a glowing point, like a bright star.

Amidst the ink-like sea of clouds, the figure surveyed the thunder tribulation, a faint smile appearing on his face.

He had an Ascension Sword within his heart, suppressed and unable to emerge. Before dissipating, he should at least strike something down.

The first three realms of cultivation – Entering the Profound, Reaching Immortality, and Longevity – were all completely surpassed...

Entering the Purple Palace, he reached the ninth floor in a blink, then broke through again.

He observed the Heavenly Dao of the Five Paths, reaching its peak in an instant. The legendary three realms beyond that, he grasped their true meaning but did not enter them.

The Five Paths were enough.

In the sea of clouds, a sword lit up. It was a true Void Sword, without any light or visible to anyone, yet it carried a sharpness capable of matching anything, steadily pushing forward, shattering everything it touched.

The thunder turned muffled, and the dazzling brilliance faded to insignificance.

Ning Changjiu looked up, his eyes trembling. The falling thunder and fire now held no destructive power, drifting down beside him like white snow.

He had witnessed the destruction of a star.

At that moment, the star's gravitational pull on him was severed.

Like a bird with broken wings, he plummeted through the air.

His consciousness sank to the bottom of a lake.

He didn't know how much time had passed.

When faint, hazy lights finally illuminated his sea of consciousness again, a thin trickle of spiritual energy slowly flowed into his limbs. His eyelids trembled as he painfully opened them, vaguely discerning a vermilion carved bed frame and mist-like white drapes.

His gaze shifted. Before a desk, he could vaguely make out the figure of a girl kneeling, brushing her pen across paper.

Her gracefully flowing black hair, her slender, snow-white neck, and her soft curves came into focus then blurred again, repeating several times before he could barely make them out.

"Xiang... Xiang... Zhao..."

He tried to identify the person, but his head throbbed with a dizzying, needle-like pain, preventing him from remembering for a moment.

"Xiang?" The girl turned at the sound and smiled sweetly. "What? Do I smell good?"