"Sign it."
Nalan Yan's voice was like forged ice, two words slamming onto the bluestone floor.
Ye Fen stood with his back spine-straight, though his fingernails dug deep into his palms. Blood seeped out—one drop, two—striking the floorboards. He stared at the girl three paces away, his throat feeling as if it were blocked by a chunk of glowing red charcoal.
She didn't look at him.
Clutched in her hand was a sheet of gold-flecked paper, its edge stamped with the Nalan Clan crest. Her voice remained flat, devoid of ripples.
"Ye Fen. Age fifteen. Originally ranked at the Seventh Stage of Dou Qi; currently regressed to the Third Stage. Meridians stagnant. Future: severed."
She lifted her eyes.
Her pupils were like a frozen lake.
"According to the ancient pact, the engagement is hereby annulled."
With a flick of her wrist, a dull, grayish jade pendant slid from her sleeve. With a clack, it landed at Ye Fen's feet. The jade was of poor quality, its corners chipped, covered in a layer of grime that no washing could remove.
"The token is returned."
Along the sides of the hall, the Elders of the Ye Clan sat upright, eyes fixed on their noses, noses fixed on their hearts.
At the head of the hall, Grand Elder Ye Shan stroked his beard and spoke at a leisurely pace.
"Fen'er," his voice carried the sickly-sweet tang of someone "acting in your best interest." "What Niece Nalan says is the truth. Your body... sigh, clinging to this is bad for both houses. Better to follow her lead, sign the papers, and keep everyone's dignity intact."
Beside him, a young man in a deacon's uniform cut in immediately.
It was Ye Qingya.
He spun the dark, dull jade thumb ring on his hand rapidly, his face a mask of feigned difficulty.
"Brother Fen, the Grand Elder is right. Our Ye Clan today... is not what it once was. By forcing this engagement, others will think we are being shamelessly desperate."
He let out a sigh that was as sincere as a serrated blade. "For the sake of the clan's face, just accept it."
Among the surrounding younger generation, some lowered their heads to stifle a laugh; others averted their gaze.
No one spoke up. Not a single soul.
Ye Fen's ears rang.
Those words were like poisoned needles, driving into his heart one by one. His chest felt suffocatingly tight; every breath tore at his lungs.
His Dou Qi surged chaotically through his meridians. The originally stagnant Qi cyclone spiraled completely out of control, like boiling oil crashing through his limbs. A sweet, metallic heat rose in his throat; he gritted his teeth and forced it back down.
Yet, a trail of dark red still leaked from the corner of his mouth.
Nalan Yan looked at that streak of blood. Her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, then smoothed instantly. Shifting her gaze away, she pushed the divorce papers forward.
"Sign."
Ye Fen didn't move.
He stared at the wretched jade on the ground, at the silver-embroidered hem of Nalan Yan's skirt, and at the dust-covered "Ye" plaque hanging above the hall. Three years ago, when he was at the Seventh Stage of Dou Qi, these people were not like this.
They were not like this.
An unholy fire surged from his dantian, charring his vision black. The chaotic Dou Qi could no longer be suppressed; it erupted.
"Pfft—"
A large mouthful of blood sprayed out, splashing across the bluestone.
His body swayed. He dropped to one knee, propping himself up with his hand to keep from collapsing. Blood mixed with cold sweat, dripping steadily.
His vision began to blur.
The voices around him became distant and distorted. Ye Shan was still talking about "the big picture," Ye Qingya's ring was clack-clacking, and Nalan Yan's figure, seen through a watery haze, was nothing more than a cold patch of goose-yellow silk.
Am I dying?
Am I going to die here, like a joke?
Unwilling...
A wild, weed-like resentment gnawed at his remaining consciousness. By what right? By what right is my life trampled like this?
BY WHAT RIGHT?!
The final thought exploded within his fading soul, carrying heaven-toppling hatred and despair.
Then.
Darkness swallowed everything.
At the very edge of total dissolution, in the instant the cold silence was about to drag him into eternity—
A deluge.
Deeper than the darkest night, more violent than the fiercest thunder, a torrent of will carrying infinite destruction and the weight of ages slammed inward.
Like a burning star crashing into a dried-up pond.
Ye Fen's remaining fragments of consciousness didn't even have time for shock before they were submerged, crushed, and forcibly merged.
Agony.
A tearing pain that transcended the flesh and reached into the soul.
Countless shattered images, sounds, and memory dregs—mixed with a cold indifference that looked down upon all living things, a weariness from surviving ten thousand tribulations, and a domineering aura that could incinerate the eight desolations—were stuffed into his narrow sea of consciousness all at once.
It's going to explode.
Just as he thought his soul would scatter in the next second, the torrent suddenly halted.
A cold, ancient voice, carrying a strange echo, rang out directly from the depths of his mind.
"Trash."
The voice said, with unabashed disdain.
"A mere pittance of humiliation is enough to shatter your Dao-heart. With such a temperament, do you truly think yourself worthy of the name 'Tian Fen' (Heaven Incinerator)?"
Ye Fen wanted to argue, to roar. He couldn't make a sound.
He could only passively endure the tsunami of memory shards—oceans of fire, a throne of white bone, a shattered starry sky, blood-stained war banners, and a solitary, desolate back standing atop a mountain of corpses, looking back with indifference...
What... was that?
"Noisy."
The voice seemed impatient.
"Since I am borrowing your shell as a temporary dwelling, I shall settle these ants for you. Watch closely... what it means to hold Imperial Might."
The words fell.
Back in the Ye Clan Hall.
Only a heartbeat had passed.
Ye Fen, kneeling on the ground, gave a violent shudder.
The blood that had been flowing... stopped.
His hand, braced against the floor, slowly tightened, his knuckles turning a ghostly white. Then, under the cold, mocking, or pitying gazes of everyone present, he slowly stood up.
The movement was stiff. As if the body wasn't yet accustomed to being controlled this way.
He raised his hand and used his blood-stained sleeve to casually wipe his mouth. The movement was slow but possessed a strange rhythm, as if he were not wiping away filth, but a speck of dust from an Imperial Seal.
Then, he looked up.
The hall fell into a sudden, jarring silence.
Ye Shan's hand stopped mid-stroke on his beard. Ye Qingya's thumb froze on his ring. The whispering disciples stood with mouths agape, forgetting to close them.
In the depths of Nalan Yan's placid eyes, a clear flicker of alarm flashed for the first time.
Something was different.
The youth before them still had that thin, pale face and the faint scar near his left eye, but those eyes...
The grief, resentment, and despair of a fifteen-year-old had vanished like a receding tide. In their place was an abyss of profound depth.
An indifference that looked down upon ants.
A heart-chilling maturity forged by the sediment of countless ages.
His gaze swept the room.
Everyone his eyes touched instinctively held their breath; a chill raced up their spines. That gaze was too cold, too still. He wasn't looking at living people; he was appraising a pile of stones.
"You..."
Nalan Yan took half a step back, then forced herself to stand firm, clutching the divorce papers. Her voice remained icy, but it carried an undetected edge of tension.
"Ye Fen, do not delay further. Sign it, and the matter is settled."
Ye Fen looked at her.
He watched her for the span of three breaths.
Then, the corner of his mouth quirked.
The curve was cold, devoid of warmth, like a blade-mark etched into ice.
He spoke.
His voice wasn't loud and was slightly raspy, yet it carried clearly to everyone's ears. The tone was calm, possessing a strange, unquestionable authority.
"Annul the marriage?"
He repeated the words, as if tasting something amusing.
"Very well."
Nalan Yan froze.
Ye Shan and Ye Qingya secretly breathed a sigh of relief, their faces showing an expression of "at last, he's being sensible."
The next second.
Ye Fen reached out his hand.
He didn't take the papers.
Instead, facing the gold-flecked sheet in Nalan Yan's hand, he made a slight, clawing motion in the air.
Rip—!
A sharp sound.
The tough, specially-made paper tore down the center without warning. The crack spread instantly. In the blink of an eye, the entire marriage contract shattered into a dozen fragments, as if sliced by invisible blades, fluttering down from Nalan Yan's fingers.
The hall went deathly silent.
Nalan Yan stood frozen, staring at her empty hand, then at the scraps on the floor. Her elegant face showed clear shock—even a trace of panic.
Ye Shan lunged to his feet, his beard trembling with rage. "Ye Fen! You dare destroy the contract?!"
Ye Qingya barked, "Brother Fen! You've lost your mind! Apologize to Miss Nalan at once!"
Ye Fen ignored them.
His gaze remained on Nalan Yan, watching the turmoil of shock and humiliation in her eyes, and deeper still, a flicker of relief she hadn't even realized she felt.
He spoke slowly, each word like an ice bead hitting the floor.
"The engagement was set by two families."
"If it is to be undone, it is a matter of two families."
"Your Nalan Clan," he paused, his gaze sweeping over the low-quality jade on the ground, the cold curl of his lip deepening, "bringing such a piece of trash, sending a little girl to recite some dog-sh*t script... you think that is enough to dismiss Us?"
Us? (Zhen/The Imperial 'We')
When that self-address came out, everyone was stunned.
Ye Qingya's eyes widened to saucers, as if he'd heard the world's greatest joke—but a joke that made his skin crawl. Nalan Yan's pupils contracted, staring at Ye Fen as if trying to recognize him for the first time.
Ye Fen leaned down and picked up the wretched jade pendant.
Holding it between his fingertips, he raised it to the light coming through the window. His look wasn't that of someone looking at a betrothal token, but a connoisseur inspecting a suspicious antique.
"Heh."
A soft, mocking scoff.
"A Bloodline Monitoring Charm? You certainly put in the effort. Using such crude methods to monitor me for three years... tell me, what have you discovered?"
Nalan Yan's face turned paper-white. Her lips moved, but not a word came out. Her hand, hidden in her sleeve, trembled. This secret... how could he know?
Ye Fen, however, stopped looking at her.
He applied the slightest pressure with his fingers.
Crack.
A crisp snap.
The jade turned to powder between his fingers, sifting down like dust.
He turned toward the ashen-faced Ye Shan and the dumbfounded Ye Clan members. His gaze was calm, yet carried the weight of a thousand tons.
"The Ye Clan."
He uttered the name slowly, his voice unreadable.
"The bloodline hasn't even ended, yet the spine is already broken. A pack of groveling sycophants... and you dare call yourselves a 'Clan'?"
"You... Insolent!" Ye Shan shook with fury. "Bastard! Men! Seize him!"
Several guards moved forward, though they did so with hesitation.
Ye Fen didn't even glance at them.
He raised his hand and gave a light flick toward the fragments of paper still floating in the air.
An invisible force rippled out.
There was no glow of Dou Qi, no terrifying sound. Yet the guards who lunged forward felt as if they had struck an invisible wall. With muffled groans, they stumbled back, crashing onto their backsides, faces full of horror.
Ye Fen withdrew his hand, as if merely brushing dust from his sleeve.
He gave one last look at Nalan Yan—pale, with a complex expression in her eyes—then swept his gaze over the enraged but fearful Ye Shan and the others.
He turned.
He walked toward the hall's exit.
His pace was neither fast nor slow, his footsteps steady on the bluestone, echoing with clarity.
Just as he was about to cross the threshold, he paused. He didn't turn back, leaving only a single sentence drifting through the deathly silent hall:
"Thirty years on the east bank, thirty years on the west?"
"No."
"I come from the West."