The chilling whisper of the spectral child, "We were born from lies. Let us end truth," resonated within Wushuang, a cold acceptance of their ultimate path. The destruction of Chixia Gong's original facility, the symbolic severing of the final thread connecting them to their creator, had solidified their resolve. The rogue "Niánmei," the demon who wore Wushuang's name, still lurked, a twisted reflection of their past deceptions, but the time for that confrontation was not yet. First, the world itself had to be shattered.
Wushuang, their fused form shimmering with an unsettling power, turned their attention to the Heaven-Sewn Court. It was a place of supposed ascension, a grand stage where the realm's most powerful cultivators sought to legitimize their power. But Wushuang saw it as a symbol of the old order, a monument to the lies they were born from. It was time for its final act.
They arrived at the Heaven-Sewn Court, not as a supplicant, but as a force of nature. The air crackled with a palpable tension. The surviving matriarchs, their faces grim, their qi flaring with desperate defiance, had gathered. They had learned of Xuelan's fate, of the Saint's Maw's rampage, of the rogue Niánmei's insidious spread. They saw Wushuang as the ultimate threat, the harbinger of their world's destruction.
A thousand spirit-bound weapons, shimmering with cold light, were aimed at Wushuang. The collective qi of the assembled cultivators formed a suffocating cage, designed to contain, to bind, to destroy.
The lead elder, her voice trembling but resolute, stepped forward. "Xu Wushuang," she declared, her voice ringing through the vast court. "You are a sacrilege. An abomination. You have desecrated the sacred, twisted the natural order, and brought chaos to our realm. We, the unified sects, demand your execution."
Wushuang looked out at them, their fused eyes holding an ancient, terrifying amusement. Execution? They had long transcended such mortal concepts.
"I accept exile," Wushuang's voice echoed, a symphony of male and female tones, cutting through the tense silence. It was not a plea, but a declaration, a deliberate act of defiance. They would not be executed; they would choose their own departure, their own ascension.
With a profound, deliberate act, Wushuang unleashed their full power. Their fused form shimmered, then began to split, not into two, but into three distinct, yet interconnected, entities. Xu Jianyu, the stoic, male figure, coalesced on one side. Xu Niánmei, the ethereal, female beauty, shimmered on the other. And in the center, the transcendent spirit, a being of pure, radiant qi, neither male nor female, but the culmination of their entire journey, pulsed with an unbearable intensity.
The Heaven-Sewn Court groaned. The spiritual cage woven by the sects shattered, its qi dissipating into chaotic winds. The sky above, already ruptured, tore further, not with a gentle opening, but with a violent, cataclysmic rip that stretched across the horizon. The very fabric of reality seemed to unravel.
The System, which had been Wushuang's silent companion, their guide through pain and transformation, flared with an agonizing, brilliant light. It burned, consuming itself, its purpose fulfilled. It was no longer a tool, no longer a stolen fragment. It was becoming one with Wushuang, a final, irreversible fusion.
The world watched, stunned into silence, as the three forms of Wushuang rose, bathed in the blinding light of the burning System. They were no longer bound by flesh, by gender, by the laws of cultivation. They were pure essence, a terrifying, beautiful trinity ascending into the fractured heavens.
The chapter ended with a final, resonant thought, echoing through the stunned silence of the Heaven-Sewn Court, a pronouncement that would forever change the realm:
"Gods do not kneel. They bloom."