The haunting echo of Ren Kaifeng's question—Do I love anything?—lingered in Wushuang's mind, a rare crack in their terrifying facade. They had defeated the soul-echo, but the vulnerability it exposed was unsettling. The cultivation world, meanwhile, continued its descent into chaos, its matriarchal order crumbling under Wushuang's unpredictable power and the relentless advance of the Saint's Maw.
Wushuang's attention, however, was drawn by a surprising summons. A delicate, moon-white spirit-bird, bearing the sigil of Yuegu Zong, arrived with a message from Empress Nie Yuelian. It was not a demand, nor a threat, but an invitation to a secluded, neutral grotto known as Liuhuo Ya (Flowing Ember Cliffs). A place where fire and grave qi intertwined, creating a unique, volatile spiritual landscape. The message spoke of a truce, of a desire for understanding.
Wushuang, intrigued by the unexpected overture, decided to go. They arrived at Liuhuo Ya alone, their fused form shimmering with an unsettling power. The grotto was a place of stark, dangerous beauty. Veins of molten rock glowed beneath the surface, heating pools of dark, still water that reflected the starless sky. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and damp earth, a raw, primal energy.
Yuelian awaited them. She was clad in simple, unadorned robes, her face devoid of its usual regal mask, revealing a profound weariness. Her eyes, though still shadowed with sorrow, held a surprising clarity, a flicker of genuine desperation. She was alone, without her usual retinue of corpse maidens or Moonbone elders.
"Saintbreaker," she began, her voice low, devoid of its usual melancholic grandeur. "Or… Wushuang. I offer a truce. The world is breaking. And you… you are the hammer."
Wushuang merely looked at her, their fused eyes unreadable.
Yuelian took a hesitant step closer. "I know what you are," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "Not just the Moonlotus Saint. Not just a man. You are… a paradox. And I… I am a paradox as well." She revealed her own chilling truth: she was not merely the Empress, but a "false bride prototype" herself, a vessel designed to house the spirit of the true Moonlotus Saint, but never fully succeeding. She had lived a life of delusion, of yearning for a love that was never truly hers.
"I see a sovereign self in you," she continued, her voice gaining a desperate intensity. "One who can truly command the threads of creation and destruction. My sect… my life… it has been a lie. I am tired of the delusion."
She reached out, her hand trembling, and gently cupped Wushuang's cheek. Her touch was soft, almost tender, devoid of the possessiveness that had once defined her. She leaned in, and kissed them. It was a kiss of shared sorrow, of profound understanding, of two broken beings finding a strange, fleeting connection in the ruins of their world.
Wushuang did not resist. They felt Yuelian's qi, a cold, mournful energy, flow into them, but it was not invasive, not demanding. It was a plea.
When she pulled back, her eyes searched Wushuang's. "Join me. We can rebuild. A new order. One built on… truth."
Wushuang looked at her, their fused eyes holding a profound, ancient sadness. The offer was tempting, a path to shared power, to a semblance of connection. But Wushuang was beyond such things. They were the Saintbreaker, the architect of a new world, not a partner in rebuilding the old.
"You don't want me," Wushuang's voice echoed, a symphony of male and female tones, cutting through the silence. "You want a god to believe in. A truth to cling to. I am neither."
Yuelian flinched, her face paling. The truth of Wushuang's words struck her, piercing her last vestiges of delusion. She was unnerved, perhaps genuinely moved. She looked at Wushuang, then at the volatile, intertwining qi of the grotto, a reflection of their own complex, dangerous nature. After a long moment, she simply nodded, a silent concession.
"Go," she whispered, her voice broken. "The path is yours. I… I will not stand in your way."
Wushuang turned, their fused form shimmering, and walked away, leaving Yuelian alone amidst the fire and grave, a fragile, unexpected moment of connection and rejection hanging in the volatile air.