The world had indeed broken its knees. Wushuang's ascension had unleashed an era of unprecedented chaos, a realm where qi flowed untamed, and the old order lay shattered. Their three avatars—Xu Jianyu, Xu Niánmei, and the transcendent spirit—appeared simultaneously across sacred points, silent, omnipresent echoes of their terrifying power, preventing any attempts at rebuilding. The System, now redefined as "The Blooming Trinity," hummed with a new, chilling purpose: the end of one cycle, the beginning of another.
Amidst this global upheaval, a more personal, insidious threat festered. The rogue "Niánmei," the demon who wore Wushuang's name, had grown in power, its twisted reflection of their past deceptions now a formidable force. It had established its own pseudo-sect, a chilling parody of Qianci Yuan, and its army of mirror-flesh puppets continued to swell, absorbing female disciples and replacing them with perfect, soulless copies.
Wushuang, their fused form shimmering with an unsettling power, felt the rogue echo's growing strength, its insidious spread. It was a direct challenge to their identity, a mockery of their very existence. The confrontation was inevitable.
The rogue "Niánmei" chose its target: Liuhuo Ya, the Flowing Ember Cliffs. The secluded grotto, where fire and grave qi intertwined, had been the site of Wushuang's last, fragile moment of connection with Empress Nie Yuelian. Now, it became the battleground for a tragic duel, a confrontation with a distorted reflection of self.
The rogue "Niánmei" launched its assault with an army of perfect puppets, their movements synchronized, their faces serene, identical to Wushuang's female form. They moved with a chilling efficiency, overwhelming the few remaining Moonbone cultivators who had sought refuge in the grotto.
Wushuang manifested their female form, Xu Niánmei, to meet the threat. It was a battle of reflections, of illusions and counter-illusions. The rogue "Niánmei" fought with a chilling familiarity, mimicking Wushuang's own techniques, their every strike a twisted echo. The air filled with shimmering illusions, with shifting forms, blurring the lines of reality.
"You abandoned the face that saved you!" the rogue "Niánmei" shrieked, its voice identical to Wushuang's own, yet laced with a profound, bitter resentment. "You chose power over purity! I did not!"
Wushuang, as Niánmei, countered, their movements precise, deadly. "You are a lie, a broken echo! A perversion of my purpose!"
The battle raged, a tragic dance between two identical beings. They exchanged blows, their qi clashing, their voices echoing identical dialogue, blurring the lines of identity, making it impossible for any observer to tell them apart. It was a fight against a part of themselves, a confrontation with the choices they had made, the identities they had discarded.
Finally, with a surge of cold resolve, Wushuang unleashed their full power. They did not destroy the rogue "Niánmei"; they consumed it. Their Mirrored Spirit Threads extended, drawing in the essence of the rogue echo, absorbing its qi, its memories, its very being. The rogue "Niánmei" shrieked, its form dissolving into a shimmering mist that flowed into Wushuang's female avatar.
The victory was complete, but it came at a cost. Wushuang had absorbed the rogue echo, but with it came a torrent of its memories, its resentment, its twisted perception of purity. And when Wushuang's female avatar spoke again, its voice was subtly, permanently altered. It was doubled, a faint, lingering duality that echoed with the rogue "Niánmei's" accusation, a constant reminder of the internal battle they had just fought. The demon was gone, but its whisper remained.