In that moment, Jian Dan felt it—the raw, bone-deep urge to kill.
Since her rebirth, she had experienced frustration, grief, even helplessness. But never this. Never such consuming fury.
The reason stood before her.
Inside the young master of the Gu family was a Life-Extending Talisman—one that carried the lingering aura of her mother.
A life for a life.
This was how he had survived until today.
"So this was the price Mother had pay to protect us for ten years."
Her eyes turned glacial as she stared at the boy, her qi leaking out uncontrollably. The air warped under its pressure, charged with unseen tension. Conversations around them died away. Laughter faded. The museum's crowded exhibit hall fell into a hush.
The girls who had been chattering beside Gu Zhongqiu stiffened, their attention snapping to Jian Dan with wide, uncertain eyes.
The young master himself stood paralyzed.
One second, he had been charming, basking in the admiration of others. The next, his limbs refused to move. His lungs constricted, as if invisible fingers had wrapped around his throat, squeezing tighter with every heartbeat. He tried to draw breath, but all he could manage were short, ragged gasps.
And then he looked into her eyes.
Cold. Lifeless. So void of emotion they sent a chill down his spine. In those eyes, he saw no humanity—only judgment. Icy, absolute judgment.
Jian Dan stepped forward.
Her movement was slow, elegant, almost unhurried, but every footfall sounded like a hammer to Gu Zhongqiu's heart. With each step, his panic deepened. Sweat rolled down his temples, dampening his collar, soaking through his shirt.
The crowd parted instinctively, as if clearing a path for something ancient and dangerous.
She was beautiful, yes—but not in the way that invited affection. There was a razor edge to her now, a blood-slick sharpness cloaked in crimson silk. The dress swayed gently around her legs, more like a war banner than an outfit, a warning of the storm she carried within.
Power gathered in her palm.
She could rip the talisman from his body with a single motion.
But what then?
Would it bring her mother back?
No.
Two lifetimes, and she still couldn't stop her mother's departure.
Her hand trembled slightly. The fury inside her screamed for release, begged for blood. She wanted to end him—not because it was just, but because the grief inside her had nowhere else to go.
She knew it was misplaced. She knew she was aiming her pain at the wrong person.
But the desire didn't vanish.
It burned.
The killing intent pouring off her body thickened, wrapping around Gu Zhongqiu like chains made of ice. His knees buckled. His vision blurred. For the first time in his life, surrounded by privilege and protection, he tasted real despair.
He was going to die.
"Jian Dan..."
A whisper—soft, gentle, achingly familiar—drifted through her mind.
Her mother's voice. Faint, but unmistakably her.
The rage inside Jian Dan fractured. Her hand stopped just short of moving. Her cultivation pressure receded like a tide, drawn back into her body. But the cold in her eyes remained.
She stood there, unmoving, only a single step away. Close enough to strike. Close enough to kill. She met Gu Zhongqiu's gaze fully. In his trembling pupils, she saw a reflection of herself. A girl molded by grief. Hardened by time. Forced to survive a world that never gave her a choice.
When the killing intent vanished, Gu Zhongqiu's legs gave out. He collapsed onto the floor, shaking.
He looked up at the girl before him.
She wasn't stunningly beautiful, but her presence was unshakable. Her eyes, though, were the most striking—utterly indifferent to life itself.
He realized then: He had just brushed against death.
Numbly, he nodded.
And then—she smiled. A faint, chilling curve of her lips before she turned and walked away.
Only then did he notice his own disgrace. His white shirt was soaked with sweat, his legs too weak to stand. He tried to push himself up but collapsed again. Around him, the world seemed to unfreeze. People stared at the boy on the ground. Two burly men shoved through the crowd, hauling Gu Zhongqiu to his feet before hastily escorting him out.
Inside the car, Gu Zhongqiu's hands still trembled. He clenched them into fists, trying to steady himself.
"Uncle Wu... what just happened? Have you seen that girl before?"
The older man beside him hesitated.
"By the time we reached you, you were already on the ground. We only saw her back. I had someone check the surveillance footage, but... part of it was corrupted. Nothing was recorded except her silhouette."
Gu Zhongqiu swallowed hard. "I don't know her. How did you realize something was wrong?"
Uncle Wu's expression darkened.
"Killing intent. So thick it was almost tangible. I couldn't even guarantee I could protect you."
A heavy silence followed.
Though called young master, Gu Zhongqiu wasn't a child. He knew the men guarding him were elite ex-special forces—each with blood on their hands.
Especially Uncle Wu, the legendary "Phantom of the Night"—a man who had once made enemy nations tremble. He had been assigned to Gu Zhongqiu only after being forced into retirement due to severe injuries.
And today, even he had been shaken.
Jian Dan stood at the edge of the plaza, gazing at the sky.
Her past life had taught her indifference to life, to cut down obstacles without hesitation. She had embodied the ruthless demeanor of a high-level cultivator—slaying gods, crushing Buddhas, advancing relentlessly.
But she had never looked back.
If not for her mother's voice today, she might have truly killed that boy.
Perhaps fate had intervened.
That whisper—so faint, so tender—had pulled her back from the brink of fury.
In it, she had heard a mother's love.
Selfless. Unconditional.