The Eternal Empire:On the Brink of Severing Everything

Tenzin watched the scene in silence. He rarely spoke—but when he did, his words seemed to ripple through the air like truth too heavy for denial.

"It's been a while since I've seen him that angry," he said quietly.

"Probably not since the divorce… when you two broke."

No one responded. They didn't need to.

Tenzin's voice, though soft, felt like it had finished something that others were still trying to name.

Lady Xunahe sighed—long and low—then vanished in a shimmer of divine mist.

She returned to her realm without fanfare.

As her feet touched celestial ground, she didn't speak.

She walked straight to her chambers and lay down, surrendering to the silence.

Sleep claimed her instantly.

The headache throbbed behind her eyes, dense with everything Yanxie had stirred—memories, pride, pain.

So what if she'd slept beside someone else?

Nothing had happened.

Nothing except warmth shared across distance, and a quiet comfort in knowing someone hadn't left.

They'd gotten closer, that was all.

"What's it to you if we marry?" she murmured aloud—though he wasn't there.

"I'm a free woman now. We're no longer bound.

You're the one who broke that bond. You divorced me, remember?"

She stared at the ceiling of her divine realm.

"Idiot," she whispered, voice thick with disappointment and weary pride.

She heard a knock.

Low. Steady. Somehow familiar.

With a sigh, Lady Xunahe rose from bed, the remnants of sleep and headache clinging to her like fog. She opened the door—slowly, warily.

And there she stood.

The Eternal Empress.

Ren's first wife.

Known across countless realms by another name now—one veiled in legend, radiant with authority.

Her presence was calm, unassuming. Yet the air seemed to part for her as she stepped inside. Not out of dominance, but recognition. Respect. Memory.

Xunahe blinked once, then let out another sigh.

"You, of all people."

Bai smiled gently. Not smug. Not superior. Just… knowing.

"You didn't deserve that headache," she said. "I figured a warm drink and quiet company might ease it."

Ren finished cooking and sat outside, near his favourite spot. He drank in peace, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the weather. The tea was warm in his hands, the silence warmer still.

Liáng Xu and Fei Yan broke the quiet.

"We wish to fight you," Liáng said. "To test our cultivation. Will you help us?"

Ren opened his eyes slowly. He took another sip before answering.

"Why not," he said. "Since you ask. I don't know how I can help, but..."

He set down the cup.

As they fought, Ren faced both Liáng Xu and Fei Yan at once, his sword cutting through the air with effortless precision. Gone was the fool's mask he often wore—no staggering steps, no misplaced strikes. What remained was something stripped of pretence. Efficient. Exact.

Liáng Xu circled wide, eyes scanning for a lapse. Fei Yan pressed closer, hoping to bait an opening. But Ren moved as if he'd already seen the fight play out a dozen times, each variation ending the same.

Still, they held on—driven not by confidence but by the quiet desperation to prove something. To find even a hairline fracture in the image before them.

Ren's blade never paused. And yet, somehow, he hadn't drawn blood.

They both struck at the same time.

Ren stood perfectly still.

Not a ripple passed through him. No wound. No motion. As if the blades had passed through mist—sharp but unfelt.

Liáng Xu blinked, his sword arm trembling. Fei Yan stepped back, eyes wide.

They looked at their blades. Still drawn and still pressed to Ren's body.

And yet—no scar. No resistance. Nothing.

It was as though Ren hadn't been there at all.

They both looked around, eyes wide.

Ren's domain was wreathed in flames—heat so intense it blurred the edges of vision, so thick they could barely breathe. The air shimmered with spiritual fire, ancient and absolute.

Then his voice cut through the inferno.

"Don't play with me, Fei Yan. And you, too, Liáng Xu."

He stood now at the centre of the blaze, untouched, his mask glinting in the flame-light.

"You think I don't know what you're doing. But I do. Nothing escapes my notice... unless I choose to wear the fool's mask."

The flames surged higher.

They tried to back away from him.

But no matter where they turned, the flames were everywhere—blinding, suffocating, absolute. Heat clawed at their lungs. Their skin blistered beneath the infernal pressure.

Ren did not move.

The fire consumed Liáng Xu and Fei Yan, folding around them like a verdict. They screamed—not from pain alone, but from the shock of being unmade. Their cultivation, their pride, their sense of self—none could shield them.

Above, Emperor Shadow watched in amused silence, dragon mask unreadable. He did not intervene.

Ren stood still, eyes calm as he watched them burn—first flesh, then bone, then even the memory of them—until nothing remained. Not ash. Not echo.

Just emptiness.

When they woke, they found themselves back where they had started.

The air was calm. The flames had vanished. The clearing was untouched, as if nothing had happened.

Ren stood a short distance away, silent. His gaze was indifferent—neither hostile nor welcoming.

Without a word, he turned and walked to his usual spot. He sat, picked up his cup, and resumed his tea.

"You can go now," he said softly, not looking at them. "Try to find another solution, if you wish."

He took another sip, then added, almost to himself:

"But know this… nothing can beat me. Nothing can kill me."

A pause.

"Only I can do that."

He stared into his cup, not at the sky, not at them.

"That's the sad truth."

"Shen Wuyin, what the hell are you doing here?" they demanded in unison.

He didn't answer.

He simply drank his tea in silence, the steam curling like breath from another realm. Then, with deliberate calm, he offered Mianmian a nut. She nibbled it gently, unfazed.

"You're such fools," he said, voice edged with contempt. "You don't value what you have. You're blind to it."

He stepped into the light, calm but unwavering.

"You're tall. Handsome. Rich. Adored. There are women—many—who truly love you. But you ignore them."

His gaze darkened.

"Even now, you keep chasing after your master... and mine... driven by lust, conquest, and obsession. Every time, you look for more. And when you find it, you tire of them. You discard what others would give eternity to keep."

He paused.

"You even desired Lady Xuanhe—one of the Legendary Six of Mìngjiè Xiānlù. That kind of arrogance... Your former selves would be ashamed."

His voice was quiet now, but every word struck like thunder wrapped in smoke.

"If that doesn't get through your thick skulls… then fine."

He turned his back.

"I leave you with it. Sit with it. Choke on it."

The tea had gone cold, but he didn't care.

"Just leave me alone. You're both exhausting."

Even Mianmian paused mid-nibble, sensing the shift—not of power, but of release. Not wrath, but resignation.

"Leave. Before I kill you," he said quietly. "I'm growing tired of this. You were entertaining once… now you're just noise."

His voice didn't rise—but the room felt heavier.

"I see no reason to keep either of you alive. Not unless you give me one."

He stepped closer, unblinking.

"Your master. My master. And a few others still hold out hope for your redemption. Don't disappoint them."

A pause. Then, almost with pity:

"Or act blind to the truth, like you always do. The answer's right in front of you."

"Screw you, you bastard!"

They shouted as one, reckless fury blinding judgment.

They attacked again—like idiots. Like children chasing a vanished dream.

He turned to face them.

But his eyes...

His eyes didn't register their existence.

It was as if they'd already died in his mind.

Before their strikes could connect, Lady Yueh and Fairy Jin appeared—again—like fate refusing to give up.

Lady Yueh's voice trembled, ancient and worn:

"Why don't you ever learn?"

"Every time I think redemption is within reach, you disappoint me. Again. And again."

She stepped forward, not to block their blows—but to beg for their hearts.

"Please," she whispered, "stop this. I beg you. As your master, I know you can change. But you never try hard enough."

Fairy Jin said nothing.

She sat beside Ren, sipping tea in silence.

Feeding Mianmian with slow, tender motions—as if the fight didn't exist.

As if Ren's quiet was the only truth worth preserving.

"I can't do this anymore," he said, his voice low with the weight of a thousand disappointments. "Maybe you're right, master… maybe redemption is possible. But I can't stand the way you treat Shen Wuyin. All that care, that protection—like we were never worth the same."

He turned, eyes barely masking the tears behind defiance.

"Fei Yan and I—we're leaving."

There was silence.

"We're joining a sect that sees us. That values us. Maybe we'll join Yuēn Sīzhào, the Blood Orchid Sect Master. He's changed since we last crossed paths. Word is, he's found a god to back him… and he's rising faster than fate allows."

"If you leave," she said, voice trembling beneath the weight of centuries, "then I have no choice."

The air grew still.

"I must kill you both. Not because I want to… but because I must protect myself. Protect the sect. I can't allow traitors to walk away only to return with blood on their hands."

She stepped closer, eyes soft but burning.

"Please. Don't make me do this."

Her voice cracked.

"I do love you. I care for you more than you know. Somewhere deep inside, you feel it. You must."

"But you keep seeking constant affection… from me, from everyone. As if what I've given isn't enough."

She lowered her gaze.

"I failed you—not as a cultivator, but as your master. I let you drift too far from your truest selves. And now… you're on the brink of severing everything."