On the Spirit Realm Continent, where spiritual power reigned supreme, the social hierarchy was always super obvious. From the Eighteenth Heaven to the First Heaven, the levels rose one after another—and naturally, the First Heaven was always pampered a bit more. The spiritual energy here was the richest, making cultivation the easiest, and even the weather was especially great.

In this kind of consistently clear and bright weather, if you looked far into the distance, you’d see Duanqing Peak, the tallest peak in the First Heaven. Its shape resembled a graceful swan’s neck—long, slender, and towering—standing out starkly among the mountains.

Duanqing Peak had a prime location, right in the central region, with a spiritual vein buried beneath it. It wasn’t just a symbol of good fortune—it was also a top-tier cultivation spot.

Whoever was the strongest sect in this land, Duanqing Peak would belong to them. But the title of the top sect was always being challenged, and Duanqing Peak had changed hands quite a few times. Right now, it was firmly held by the Wangtian Immortal Sect, which had had it under control for over a hundred years now.

The sect master of Wangtian Immortal Sect, Qin Lou, was someone most people didn’t dare address by name. They respectfully called him Emperor Wangtian. Gossip about him had never stopped. Everyone knew the Emperor’s parents had died early, and his uncles and brothers had long since turned against him. Ever since he rose to power, there’d only been one person in the harem—the Empress.

But even that Empress wasn’t really around.

Everyone knew that person was dead. Had been for several years now.

In the First Heaven, where newcomers constantly emerged and the old got replaced fast, many people hadn’t even seen what the Empress looked like. They’d only heard the older folks say he was a really beautiful and powerful man, who had known the Emperor back when he was still a nobody—supported him, stayed by his side, climbed to the top with him. But sadly, things didn’t end well.

There was even a rumor that the Empress died in the final battle where Wangtian Immortal Sect overthrew the previous number one sect, Tianshu Academy. Maybe he really was just unlucky—after suffering so much, he didn’t live to enjoy the glory and riches.

Being the strongest on the continent was never easy. That’s probably why the top peak was named Duanqing Peak—Cut-Emotion Peak. People who held that title were usually cold and silent loners, all heartbreak and no attachments. And Qin Lou? He was probably the best of them all.

Maybe the path to the highest dao was always a lonely one. Take Emperor Wangtian, for example. He’d been in seclusion on Duanqing Peak for a long time, not even seeing the comrades he once conquered the world with. But his fearsome reputation still lingered—no one dared treat him like some figurehead. The whole sect still treated him like a living god, cautiously and reverently.

They said it was because he was devastated after the Empress died and didn’t want to come down from the mountain. But there were always whispers.

—“In the end, people only regret after the person’s already gone. What’s the point?”

Nan An might have a bit of authority when it came to this matter.

She was the only servant left on Duanqing Peak. Honestly, there was nothing special about her. She looked plain, had poor talent, low spiritual power, and was already old. Her back was hunched, her face wrinkled, and when she did cleaning work, she always moved slowly. Her eyesight wasn’t great either, so she didn’t even clean that well.

The reason she could stay here was because she had served the Emperor from way back—an old, loyal servant. More importantly, she knew the Empress. Actually, they were quite close. She had witnessed many things and remembered a lot of moments about the Empress. Even her lotus cake recipe was taught by the Empress himself.

These little lingering pieces of memory were incredibly important to Qin Lou now. He’d lost the most important person in his life, and only through these fragments could he find even a sliver of comfort.

But most of the time, reminiscing felt like drinking poison to quench thirst.

Nan An lived in a small hut just a bit down from the mountain peak. She still kept many old habits. Even though she lived in such a prime cultivation location, she wasn’t interested in cultivating. Instead, she poured her heart into growing vegetables and lived like a normal old lady.

Today, though, she probably didn’t have much time to tend to her garden. A silver hawk came flying from afar, slicing through the sky like a silver arrow. When it arrived, it perched on the stump in front of the yard and let out two loud “ya-ya” cries, then tilted its head and carefully preened its feathers, each shimmering with brilliant silver light, making it look incredibly proud and spirited.

It was a special message talisman—one of the very few that could reach Duanqing Peak. Nan An took the delivery from its leg, and with a soft “boom,” the hawk made of spiritual energy turned into mist and vanished.

Messages from below came at regular intervals, reporting the happenings within the sect to Qin Lou. Of course, they always ended with a polite and earnest plea for him to come down the mountain. But Qin Lou had never once read a single letter.

What he cared about wasn’t that—but rather the other item that always came with the letter. A tiny box of galactic sand, a top-tier material for artifact refining. Even a powerhouse sect like Wangtian Immortal Sect, with resources from across the Upper Realm, could only produce a handful of this stuff each month—and almost all of it got sent here.

The Emperor had built a massive star chart on the Duanqing Cliff, right at the top, using the galactic sand as a medium, trying to find the person he’d lost.

But after searching for so long, he still hadn’t found a thing.

Nan An sighed, placed the box and letter aside, and slowly walked uphill.

At the top of Duanqing Peak, there was a small three-story tower. She gently pushed the door open—and immediately saw that the tower had no roof. A giant blue star chart spanned from the first to the third floor, like it was connected to the sky. A man sat atop the chart, back to the door, only glancing slightly when he heard her come in.

Emperor Wangtian was indeed a stunningly handsome man. But since the Empress’s death, his mental state had clearly taken a dark turn—so much so that people didn’t dare look him in the eye. Nan An held the box up high, and a gentle force floated it out of her hands, delivering it to Qin Lou.

Only when he got this did a faint spark of life return to his eyes.

Just like always, he didn’t touch the letter. Didn’t even glance at it.

Nan An opened the cabinet in the corner and stashed the letter away. Inside, a thick pile of untouched letters lay pressed beneath more. None of them had ever been opened.

She was used to it. Didn’t say much. She was about to leave after delivering the item, but just before turning to go, she looked up—and saw something on the star chart.

It was a chain.

Even after all these years, the chain still looked brand new, gleaming with a cold silver sheen. But if you looked closely, you’d see faint bloodstains scattered across it like plum blossoms in snow, painfully vivid.

The star chart required galactic sand as fuel—and an item once frequently used by the Empress as a guide to draw out any lingering information.

Xiao Xueman had left behind quite a few personal items. But the star chart consumed everything it used. After all this time, this chain was one of the last few things Qin Lou still had. The rest—he just couldn’t bring himself to destroy. So the chain became his final choice.

Nan An had thought she’d already accepted everything, that nothing could shake her anymore. But the moment she saw that chain, a flood of complicated emotions surged straight to her head—all sorts of feelings hit her at once.

“Xueman’s not coming back,” she said bitterly. Her voice wasn’t loud, but in the dead silence of the place, it was crystal clear. “Dijun, let him go. And let yourself go too.”

The man with his back turned didn’t move at all. After a long while, he finally spoke, voice hoarse.

“Leave,” he said. “If you hadn’t once taken care of Xueman, just for saying that, I’d have thrown you off the mountain.”

“I’d love to leave!”

Nan An snapped, slamming the door.

“This is the highest place. Every time I look down, I remember how the Dijun climbed to this position, and how he treated Xueman.” Her tears started to fall, voice trembling. “How dare you pull that thing out! How dare you use it to find him! How dare you!”

Qin Lou said nothing. It was like her outburst didn’t touch him at all. His voice stayed flat.

“Get out,” he said.

Nan An didn’t reply. She didn’t want to stay any longer anyway. Wiping away her tears, she turned and slammed the door behind her.

Back inside, Qin Lou held the box, dazed. After a while, he reached out and touched the chain on the star chart.

“…Don’t listen to her,” he muttered while stroking the chain, not daring to touch the bloodstains, not even daring to look at them. His voice was small, like he was nervously explaining, “She’s old. Her temper’s gotten worse lately. And I—I know I was wrong. I’ll only listen to you from now on. I won’t do anything to upset you again.”

No one responded.

He stood alone at the top of the star chart—like a curse, or a sin carved into the heavens.

Maybe trying to distract himself, he frantically opened the box. The priceless galactic sand spilled over the star chart, which immediately lit up.

Time after time, Qin Lou had his hopes sparked by that light, only to fall into crushing disappointment. If he hadn’t run out of options, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—have brought out that chain.

He watched as the light from the star chart covered the chain. Pale blue rings of light moved inward, slowly approaching the very center.

It had always failed before. The center never lit up. Qin Lou had braced himself for another failure—but this time felt different.

He saw the light slowly pour into the center, and a tiny white glow flickered to life. Then suddenly, a faint human silhouette appeared. The image was blurry, the features barely visible. The figure hung their head, as if deep in thought… or burdened by worry.

The image vanished almost instantly—but that tiny sliver of information was caught by Qin Lou.

Nan An was still wiping her tears as she walked down. She hadn’t gotten far when a loud explosion rang out behind her—like something had blown up.

Startled, she turned around—and saw a dark, misty figure standing on the steps, holding a glowing orb in one hand.

“Dijun?”

Qin Lou didn’t respond right away.

He looked stunned, like he was overjoyed, but also afraid to believe it—scared it was just a dream that’d shatter if he opened his eyes.

“…Send word to the sect,” he finally murmured. “I’m going down the mountain. Xueman… he’s back. I’m going to find him. Soon.”

Down below, the Wangtian Immortal Sect also heard the massive boom echoing from Duanqing Peak. Everyone knew who lived there.

“Probably the Empress driving him mad again, huh?”

A new disciple whispered, only to get smacked on the head by their elder.

“Don’t speak nonsense. When it comes to that person, not a single word,” the elder said seriously. “Focus on your cultivation.”

The Empress… was a forbidden topic here.