Ye Chuan had never changed that courtesy name. From youth until now, he had always carried it—unyielding, unforgotten.
That day on Xuejing Cliff, he had asked her—his surname was Ye, given name Chuan. What was his courtesy name?
She could not remember.
And because she could not remember—he went mad.
Meng Ruji sighed softly. Before her eyes, Ye Chuan still held “Shengsheng” in his arms. Within this illusion, time itself seemed to have frozen into still water.
She and Mu Sui stood together on the slope for a long while, the silence so heavy it seemed to press upon their lungs. Finally, she could no longer endure it.
“We can’t just stand here forever,” she murmured. “Watching solves nothing… who knows how long they’ll keep embracing.”
Mu Sui’s reply was faint. “Indeed. Who knows?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered.
He glanced at her. “Of course—from the beginning to the end, you know nothing.”
“Qianshan Jun…”
“Don’t call me that,” he interrupted, voice flat as winter water. “You have your great rivers and endless streams—why would you need to gaze upon a thousand mountains?”
Meng Ruji blinked at him, her expression lifeless. So dramatic again. She decided there was no use reminding him to stay composed.
Because—
It was hopeless.
The air between them was so sour it nearly frothed. His jealousy had become a living thing, impossible to restrain.
She turned her gaze again toward Ye Chuan—and her mood only worsened.
That Ye Chuan, still embracing “Shengsheng,” had grown gentler and gentler in expression. His eyes overflowed with tender longing; his hand even reached to smooth her hair with devotion that made Meng Ruji’s scalp prickle.
She yanked at her own hair in frustration. These men—Ye Dahe, Yan Tianjun, Mu Sui—each one more troublesome than the last!
Mu Sui watched her small outburst, eyes narrowing.
Pretending not to notice, she cleared her throat. “We should focus on escaping this illusion.”
He hummed in assent.
“Illusions are also formations,” she reasoned. “If there’s a formation, there must be a core, and thus a way to break it.”
Another noncommittal “Mm.”
“He’s the master of this illusion. He knows we’re here, yet doesn’t come to trouble us—that must mean he wants us to finish watching his memory…”
Before she could finish, Mu Sui suddenly reached out, his hand sliding behind her head, pulling her close until she could feel the warmth of his breath.
Meng Ruji froze, eyes widening. “What are you doing?”
His calloused palm rested at her nape, fingers tangled in her hair. His voice rasped, low and raw.
“This memory,” he said, “is his memory with you.”
Still jealous.
She exhaled helplessly. “Yes, it’s our memory. Mine and his. You’re watching it right now. So what?” Her tone was weary. “What do you plan to do about it?”
“What can I do?” he murmured, pressing closer. “I won’t lose my mind; I won’t throw myself into someone’s arms and promise marriage. I won’t forget old friends, feign true feelings, or deceive others into writing marriage papers.”
His words were bitter, heavy with wounded pride.
Meng Ruji simply stared, numb.
She let him cradle her head, feeling the heat of his palm, but her voice was dry.
“First, I didn’t throw myself at anyone. Second, I didn’t promise marriage. Third…” she frowned, gazing up at him. “I did fake true feelings toward you.”
The admission struck him like a slap. His lips pressed into a thin line.
“I also tricked you into writing that marriage certificate,” she continued evenly, “but aren’t you the one who said breaking a bond like ours would be easy? My surname is Meng—not the meng of foolish dreams. I’m clear-headed. You, on the other hand, seem lost in emotion, Qianshan Jun.”
Her words pricked like needles.
Yes—they had a bond. But what kind of bond?
Not marriage.
Not love.
Merely two people tied by circumstance—grasshoppers bound to the same rope.
Yet when his fingertips brushed her hair, fate itself seemed tangled between them. He could not release her softness, nor the heat that seared his veins.
Why block that marriage certificate?
Why strip me of my right to stand beside her?
Why does this jealousy burn so unbearably?
The thought blazed like wildfire, consuming reason.
He told himself to let her go. Instead, he drew her closer.
“Mu Sui!” she gasped, trying to block him—
But before his lips could touch her, a furious voice shattered the stillness.
“What are you doing!?”
“What are you doing in my memory!?”
“Too much!”
The illusion trembled. Black mist surged upward, twisting the forest into a nightmare of writhing limbs.
The shadows gathered, forming faces of smoke—howling, “How dare you defile this place!”
Meng Ruji shoved Mu Sui away. “See? You couldn’t control yourself! Now look what you’ve done!”
Unfazed, Mu Sui reached straight into the smoke and seized something invisible.
“Be careful! He might control you!”
“With his strength?” Mu Sui’s grip tightened. “Hardly.”
He yanked—and with a heavy thud, a figure was flung to the ground.
It was Ye Chuan—no longer the youth from the memory, but the deranged immortal she had once met on Xuejing Cliff.
Shaking from the impact, he glared at Mu Sui with venom. “I won’t tell you how to leave.”
Meng Ruji blinked. “Wait—you can just… pull him out by hand?”
At that, Ye Chuan turned toward her. His eyes were still filled with hatred, but beneath it lingered sorrow—old and deep.
She turned away uneasily. Mu Sui remained expressionless.
“I explored this illusion before you woke,” he said coolly. “It’s all show. In the Realm of No Return, illusions still require silver coins. The rabbit didn’t give him much to spend.”
Ye Chuan’s eyes burned. “If not for those rules, I’d have—”
“You’d have what?” Mu Sui crouched down, seizing his chin. “Killed her?”
Murderous intent flickered like lightning. A twist of his fingers could have crushed Ye Chuan’s throat.
But Ye Chuan only glared back. “Kill me, and you’ll never escape. Weak though this illusion is, I remain its master.”
“Let’s test that,” Mu Sui said icily.
Before he could strike, Meng Ruji exhaled. “Let him go.”
Mu Sui looked up, lips tight. “You want to keep him?”
“What else?”
He released Ye Chuan with visible reluctance.
Meng Ruji crouched beside him. “If you can drag him out this easily, he can’t cause much trouble.”
Mu Sui didn’t answer. His gaze drifted to the crater, where the illusion still played—young Ye Chuan tenderly stroking Shengsheng’s hair.
So infuriatingly gentle.
“You hypocrite,” Ye Chuan rasped suddenly. “You betrayed me! You and her both! I’d rather we all die here!”
Mu Sui’s hand twitched. Meng Ruji quickly pressed it down. “Enough. Let me speak with him alone.”
Mu Sui stared at her for a long moment, then turned away. At the foot of the slope, he clenched his fist until a tree root splintered beneath his palm.
He didn’t look back. Only gazed at the illusion, where the young Ye Chuan still held Shengsheng. Still annoying.
Meng Ruji steadied herself and faced Ye Chuan again. “Calm down.”
Without Mu Sui, the fury in Ye Chuan’s eyes dimmed, replaced by grief.
“I saw what happened,” she began gently.
“No—you didn’t.” He waved his hand, and the forest softened. Dawn broke.
Ye Chuan, exhausted, had fallen asleep while holding “Shengsheng.” She awoke, the glow fading from her skin, panic in her eyes. Seeing herself in a stranger’s arms, she fled through the forest, stumbling as she looked back in fear.
Understanding dawned in Meng Ruji’s mind.
No wonder she had no memory of this. When her Inner Core had first settled, her spirit had wandered like one sleepwalking, dream and reality blending.
Over time, those fragments blurred and vanished.
She sighed softly. “So that’s how it was.”
“No! You still don’t understand!” Ye Chuan cried.
Meng Ruji frowned. “Then what is it?”
He said nothing, face darkening.
“Ah, wait.” She recalled suddenly. “We did meet again—when you struck me with heavenly lightning and cast me into the Realm of No Return. A bit excessive, don’t you think?”
Her words made him tremble, anger and confusion twisting together.
“You have no idea…”
Darkness fell again. Scenes shifted: Ye Chuan searching—through sect gates, snowfields, bustling cities. Always holding a portrait. Always calling her name.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, “how long I searched for you.”
The portrait he carried—drawn from memory—was of her.
“My parents taught me restraint, but you and I shared… intimacy. A gentleman’s promise must be kept.”
Meng Ruji’s patience thinned. “Intimacy? None whatsoever.”
“How could there be none!”
He seized his collar, face flushed. “You—you undid my clothes! You leaned against me!”
She groaned. “That was during my delirium! It’s not called intimacy!”
“It is intimacy!” he shouted.
She was silent. Talking to him felt like chasing ghosts.
“I made a promise of marriage, and you agreed!”
“I did not!”
“You told me your childhood name! So close, so tender—how could you deny it?”
“I only had one name back then—Meng Shengsheng! My family was poor; there was no courtesy name! Meng Ruji was something I chose later!”
He froze, as if struck. Then whispered bitterly, “So you are that kind of woman.”
She pressed her temples. “What kind exactly?”
“Faithless. Heartless.”
He continued, voice trembling. “I searched for years. You became Demon Lord of Hengxu Mountain while I—while I wandered like a fool.”
Her stomach tightened. “Don’t tell me—”
“I found you just before your ascension. Your portraits were everywhere. I knew it was you.” His words spilled like water long dammed. “I waited eight hundred years beneath that mountain. My clan called me mad. My sect expelled me. But I waited.”
For a moment, she pitied him. “Brother Ye…”
“You forgot me.”
“…,” she said nothing.
The black aura rose again, coiling around him like smoke.
“You forgot my name. You forgot my courtesy name. And yet you embraced another man—half-clothed—and called it marriage!”
“I did not!”
“I saw it!” he howled.
She lifted her hands in exasperation. “Ye Chuan, this is obsession! Yes, you were sincere, but sincerity without reason becomes torment! You’re asking me to remember what even I never knew!”
The black smoke thickened, swirling.
An arrow shot from the dark. She dodged, but another flew toward her face—only to be deflected as Mu Sui’s hand pulled her aside.
“You can speak with him,” he said coldly, “but I never said he could attack you.”
Before she could answer, Mu Sui lunged forward again. From within the storm came Ye Chuan’s desperate cry: “I am the master of this illusion!”
A crash—then silence.
Mu Sui pinned him to the earth once more, fingers at his throat, eyes gleaming with lethal light. “Last chance. How do we leave?”
Meng Ruji could only watch. In that moment, Mu Sui seemed no longer a man—but an Asura born of fury, strong enough to slay gods and demons alike.
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