Extra three

The Fourteenth Year of Shengping, Deep Winter.

A great snowfall blanketed the land, carrying fiendish energy as it raged across the heavens and earth.

A young woman pulled her cloak tighter around her, blending into the crowd as she made her way toward the royal city.

There were too many refugees fleeing in the opposite direction. Someone bumped into her, and as she lifted her head, a porcelain-white face was revealed beneath the hood of her cloak.

The once-prosperous royal city was no more—ruins lay everywhere, and malevolent energy filled the sky.

Voices of complaint surrounded her:

"If not for the sheer horror of the fiendish aura here, I'd stay just to witness that traitor's execution tomorrow!"

"They say His Majesty sentenced him to death by a thousand cuts, but even if he dies, it won't ease the hatred in my heart."

"The entire spiritual realm is in chaos, all because of that demon. He deserves to die a thousand times over."

…

Night had fallen. Zhan Yunwei pursed her lips and found an inn to stay in.

She had come for this execution, yet an unsettling feeling lingered within her.

She was thinking about the so-called "demon" the people spoke of—the man who was once her Dao companion.

Five years ago, she had left behind a letter of divorce, erased their bond as Dao partners, and never saw him again. Yet in all these years, living among mortals, she had often heard of him.

Sometimes, it was about how he ruthlessly led massacres against villages tainted by fiendish corruption, sparing not even the children. Other times, it was about how the wealthy and powerful sought his favor, offering him rare treasures and beautiful women.

There were endless rumors about him.

They said he possessed immense spiritual power, but he was also cruel, greedy, and violent—his sins too numerous to record.

People both feared and hated him.

And they weren't wrong.

Zhan Yunwei once felt the same way.

Countless ill-fated couples existed in the world, but none as distant as she and him.

During their three years as Dao companions, he imprisoned her, forbidding her from escaping. He used her as bait to lure and slaughter her fellow disciples.

Even when they lay on the same bed, there had never been true intimacy between them.

She hated him to the bone.

And he, wary that she might kill him, guarded against her just as much.

They shared a bed but not a dream, living in constant vigilance, never at peace.

Now, after five years apart, he was finally about to die.

Zhan Yunwei had rushed to the royal city, but not to see him off—she had come for his final treasure.

The Yue Clan's greatest relic—the Everlasting Greenstone.

Once he was dead, his body dismembered, all that had passed between them would be nothing more than dust.

But trouble arose three days ago when the dreams began.

They were utterly absurd.

She dreamed of that "demon" risking his life to step into a formation to save her.

She dreamed of herself running through the snow toward him—of him opening his arms to catch her.

And even more outrageously, she dreamed of them entwined together, desperately tangled in passion—in the study, in the frozen cave, on the jade-immortal bed.

Zhan Yunwei had woken up flushed and furious, nearly fainting from rage.

Had she succumbed to corruption?

Why was she having such preposterous dreams?!

Yet these dreams felt too real.

So real that she could smell the faint scent of ice lotuses on him.

So real that she could see the cold tear-shaped mole at the corner of his eye.

But the strangest part was—she had almost forgotten what he looked like.

After days of torment, her resolve to watch him die had weakened.

She even considered finding a healer to check if she had fallen ill.

Then last night, everything changed.

A voice, eerily familiar, spoke to her:

"If you wish to save Father, to save Zhan Shujing and the clan, there is only one path. You must rescue him before his execution and force him to forge the Wheel of Time."

By all logic, Zhan Yunwei should not have believed it.

Even if she knew the "demon" was a master of artifact crafting, she had heard that he was now crippled—his spiritual core had been carved out.

She sat wrapped in her blanket for a long time before finally gritting her teeth and setting out on the road.

For two reasons.

First, the promise of saving her family was too tempting.

For the sake of Changya Mountain and her loved ones, she was willing to make any sacrifice—to take any risk, even if it was a trap.

And second—

That voice had been her own.

The visions she had been shown were written in the Book of Fate.

Her future self, across countless years, was urging her to walk a path she had never considered before.

—To save that demon in the great snowfall of Shengping's fourteenth year.

From morning till dusk, she waited.

The sky darkened into a muted gray, and at last, the sound of carriage wheels rumbled from the distance, drowning out the tavern's lively chatter.

Zhan Yunwei gripped her teacup tightly, her mood far from pleasant.

She had come to steal a treasure, yet now she was forced to stake everything on saving a man.

A voice suddenly called out—

"The prison cart is here!"

Silence fell upon the tavern.

All eyes turned toward the heavy black-iron carriage.

Their curiosity was understandable.

This was the man who had raised an army of undead, slaughtered the royal clan, and overturned half the kingdom.

His life had been a storm of blood and chaos.

Even after ten thousand years, history would remember his name.

And they—

They were here to witness his fall.

Zhan Yunwei pressed her lips into a thin line and followed their gaze.

What she saw was a man completely different from both her memories and her dreams.

The prisoner inside the iron carriage was pale, emaciated—like a grain of dust, long buried beneath mountains and rivers.

Perhaps out of fear that he might escape, twenty-four black-armored guards wielding long spears surrounded the cart, their vigilance unwavering.

Inside, the man was clad in thin white robes, his frail form nearly skeletal.

His clavicles had been pierced through, talismans sealing his body in every direction.

In the falling snow, his wounds bloomed like red plum blossoms.

A silk ribbon was tied over his eyes, already stained with blood.

The wind and snow blurred his features.

Zhan Yunwei's gaze trembled.

Five years apart.

She remained silent for a long time before, at last, a name surfaced in her mind—

A name that had always been beautiful.

Yue Zhiheng.

So it turned out—

She had never truly forgotten him.

When his forehead was struck, and blood trickled down, Yue Zhiheng's expression remained calm.

He didn't even turn his head to avoid it, allowing the blood to stain the white cloth covering his eyes.

This winter was exceptionally cold. Clad in thin prison garments, he was perhaps too numb to feel any pain.

Throughout the entire procession through the streets, objects continued to be hurled at him. Whether it was sharp stones, foul-smelling rotten fruit, or even discarded shoes, he remained indifferent, his expression unchanged.

His apathy only further enraged the common folk.

People loved to witness the downfall of a powerful minister, a fierce tiger caged, a god cast into the dust. If he had shown even a hint of suffering, it might have satisfied them. But he was utterly unbothered.

The crowd grew more incensed, their curses and insults growing ever more vile.

Yue Zhiheng paid no heed. There was nothing left in this world that he cared about.

"The heart of a beast, nothing more! Even death by lingchi is too lenient for him."

"Don't waste your anger—he doesn't care. He didn't even lift a finger to save those 158 members of the Yue clan when they were executed."

"A fitting death. He deserves every bit of retribution."

He kept his eyes closed, the cold wind seeping into his lungs. Yue Zhiheng thought, indifferently, How much longer? Have they not tired of this yet? It was tedious.

As the sky darkened bit by bit, he no longer knew how much time had passed. At last, the clamor of curses faded away.

The heavy snow had not ceased. The prison cart left the bustling streets behind, entering a forested path where the Black Armor Guards stopped to rest.

In such bitter cold, escorting a prisoner was exhausting work.

If even the guards felt worn out, how much worse must it be for the man in the iron cart?

A younger Black Armor Guard glanced at Yue Zhiheng's deathly pale complexion and cracked lips. He hesitated before murmuring, "He looks like he's about to die. Should we give him some water?"

His companion sneered. "Lord Yue was once the Chief Minister of the Chetian Bureau. Our own superiors used to fawn over him, bowing and scraping. Does he need our pity?"

He strode forward and yanked the heavy chains binding Yue Zhiheng, treating him no better than a stray dog.

"How about this, Lord Yue? Beg us for a sip of water. Maybe, just maybe, I'll take pity on you."

But the prisoner remained unresponsive. Even when the iron shackles tore at his wounds once more, he stayed eerily still, his body not even trembling.

Frustrated, the guard spat at him. "Tch. Still acting like you're the Chief Minister? What an attitude!"

In the end, he had to release him.

After all, they couldn't let him die before the execution. That wasn't what the Emperor wanted.

This man had slaughtered His Majesty's sons—his death had to be slow and humiliating.

The snow continued to fall, and fatigue weighed on the guards.

Hidden among the trees, Zhan Yunwei waited for her opportunity.

She noticed that as night deepened, the Black Armor Guards grew increasingly careless. Some left to relieve themselves, others ate spiritual fruits, and some even dozed off.

The commanding officer frowned at their negligence.

One of the guards scoffed, "Don't worry, sir. The Yue clan's rebels are all dead. Who would bother rescuing him?"

Indeed. The officer cast a glance at the half-dead man in the prison cart.

A man like him, utterly disgraced and riddled with ailments—who would possibly save him?

Still, he was more cautious than his subordinates. "Don't forget, he has a former wife…"

The moment those words were spoken, the guards paused.

His former Dao partner. The daughter of a great sect master, once renowned throughout the land for her unparalleled brilliance.

But it had been years since anyone had seen Miss Zhan. Some said she had died. Others claimed she had long since become involved with Pei Yujing. Either way, the idea of her rescuing Yue Zhiheng?

Even these battle-hardened soldiers found it laughable.

Even Yue Zhiheng himself probably wouldn't believe it.

Their conversation was quiet, but Zhan Yunwei had not expected to hear her own name mentioned. She glanced at Yue Zhiheng, only to see that he showed no reaction at all.

Once again, she found her dreams absurd.

The man who had once loved her so deeply—how could she possibly reconcile that person with the lifeless figure before her?

But there was no turning back now. No matter how difficult, she had to take him away tonight.

She touched the small fortune she had accumulated over the years and felt a renewed sense of determination.

The blizzard thickened, almost blinding.

Perhaps it was the guards' overconfidence. Perhaps her control over spiritual energy had improved after years of training. Whatever the reason, Zhan Yunwei had not expected to succeed so easily.

Yet here they were.

Inside a dilapidated temple, she caught her breath. She had suffered many wounds, but looking down at the man she had rescued, her heart sank.

He was too gravely injured.

Even if he wasn't executed tomorrow, he likely wouldn't survive much longer.

Despite all the commotion of his escape, he had barely reacted. Only when the iron chains were broken and the sealing talismans removed had he trembled slightly—after that, he remained completely still.

Zhan Yunwei pressed her lips together and moved closer, realizing that Yue Zhiheng had long since lost consciousness.

The faint scent of ice lotus, mingled with filth and dried blood, made him appear utterly wretched.

In truth, from the time they first met until now, eight years had passed.

This was the first time she had ever seen him in such a state.

The moonlight was cold and distant. Snow blurred the path ahead.

Resigned, she rose and went to fetch water, preparing to clean his wounds.

Given the weather, even getting warm water was no easy feat.

As she unfastened his tattered robes, her thoughts were a chaotic mess. She had never felt indebted to this man, and yet, here she was, tending to him as though repaying some unseen debt.

It was almost laughable.

Three years as Dao partners, and yet this was the first time she had ever seen his body.

Pale, emaciated, covered in scars.

It was neither pleasing nor repulsive—just horrifying.

She finished cleaning his wounds, then untied the silk band covering his eyes and wiped away the dried blood on his eyelids.

When she wiped his right eye, Yue Zhiheng's eyelashes trembled slightly, and then he opened his eyes.

Caught off guard by his pitch-black gaze, Zhan Yunwei was startled. She pressed her lips together, momentarily unsure of what to say.

But as she looked into his once serene, ink-like eyes, now clouded with a layer of darkness, she suddenly remembered—Yue Zhiheng was already blind. And with her altered appearance due to the Face-Changing Pill, he wouldn't easily recognize her.

Those shadowed eyes, cold and lifeless, were even more frigid than the wind and snow outside.

It was only now that she truly believed he was blind.

Yue Zhiheng had woken up but didn't stop her movements. Perhaps he himself knew that he was already at death's door. Whoever had saved him—whether they wanted something from him, or even if they were a wild beast dragging him away—he no longer cared.

His robe hung loosely open, and he didn't even bother to pull it closed.

A person without love or fear was no different from a walking corpse.

He didn't care whether the one looking at his ruined body was a man, a child, or an old woman.

In the past, when Zhan Yunwei had been trapped by his side, she had fantasized countless times about his downfall, imagining his suffering to amuse herself.

Now that day had finally come, yet she felt none of the satisfaction she had expected.

She knew that everyone in the Yue family was dead, including the mute girl Yue Zhiheng had cared for most. The only person in this world who might still provoke a reaction from him was Qu, whose life or death remained unknown.

She had a little warm water left. Pressing her voice into a rough tone, she brought it to his lips and said, "Drink."

Saving him felt too absurd; she had no good explanation for her actions.

Over the years, they had been married, they had been enemies, and they had divorced—none of their relationships had ever been normal. They were less than strangers.

Zhan Yunwei thought that at least since Yue Zhiheng didn't recognize her, she wouldn't feel so awkward.

She had expected him to refuse, but perhaps he was truly thirsty, or perhaps, being close to death, he simply didn't care anymore.

Once, he had guarded against her as if she were a thief. Now, he opened his mouth and drank without hesitation.

Zhan Yunwei let out a silent breath of relief.

The temple's doors were shut tightly against the wind and snow. With limited resources, she tore down a temple curtain to cover him and set up a barrier to keep him warm.

No matter what she did, Yue Zhiheng never once looked at her, nor did he utter a word of thanks.

After everything was settled, Zhan Yunwei finally had time to tend to her own injuries.

Fortunately, they weren't serious. By the time she finished, she found that Yue Zhiheng had already fallen asleep again.

She felt a complicated mix of emotions.

When they had been married, he had always been a light sleeper around her. Yet now, he seemed to trust a stranger more than he had ever trusted her.

What a ridiculous dream this was, trying to deceive her into believing this man had ever loved her.

No matter how she looked at it, Yue Zhiheng could love a flower, a bird, or even a lifeless stone, but he could never have feelings for her.

After all, when they had shared the same bed, he had been more ascetic than a monk.

She thought about many things—most of them useless—and realized she had no idea what to do with this demon she had rescued.

She didn't particularly regret her decision, but she couldn't help feeling troubled.

Since waking up, Yue Zhiheng hadn't said a single word to her. If she fed him medicine, he took it. If she gave him water, he drank it. But he had no will to live at all, as if being alive or dead made no difference to him.

How could he possibly recover like this? The only question was whether he would die sooner or later.

Zhan Yunwei felt a headache coming on. She even suspected that what she had saved was nothing more than a cold, empty shell.

After days of fleeing, she reminded herself that he was not important. Any problems could be dealt with tomorrow.

Hugging her knees, she fell asleep beside him.

When she woke up again, the sky had already turned pale with the first light of dawn.

Unexpectedly, the storm had passed.

She was slow to recall what she had done the previous night. For a moment, she wasn't sure if it had been a dream or reality.

Lowering her eyes, she met Yue Zhiheng's unfocused, pitch-black gaze and realized everything was real.

She had believed that absurd dream and rescued her infamous ex-husband.

Yue Zhiheng had been awake for who knew how long. His head was slightly turned to the side, facing the window.

Even though he couldn't see anything, Zhan Yunwei still had the strange illusion that he was merging with the snow outside.

She cleared her throat and forced her voice into a gruff tone. "Are you uncomfortable anywhere?"

She had only asked out of formality, fully expecting him to ignore her.

Unexpectedly, his cold voice answered, "Restroom."

"..."

A moment later, Zhan Yunwei struggled to support him outside.

When she had to pull down his pants, she realized that before life-and-death matters, the first real trouble she faced was dealing with eating, drinking, and… other needs.

This was what it truly meant to suffer the consequences of one's own actions.

For the first time, she regretted believing the words in her dream.

Fortunately, Yue Zhiheng remained as indifferent as ever, treating her like a rock, a decoration, or simply nothing at all.

If she hadn't been holding him up, she would have kicked the temple wall in frustration.

This was ridiculous.

The sound of water trickled into the snow. When he was done, she shoved him back in roughly, her face blank, feeling utterly defeated.

After throwing Yue Zhiheng back inside, Zhan Yunwei nearly rubbed the skin off her hands in the snow, then punched the frozen ground in frustration.

This whole situation was unfair.

She knew who he was. She knew who she was.

This reckless decision, their bizarre relationship—it all felt impossible.

And yet, Yue Zhiheng had no idea.

To break him out of prison, Zhan Yunwei had changed her appearance, altered her voice, even bound her chest so tightly she could barely breathe.

Yue Zhiheng didn't care if he lived or died. Why would he care about her?

Forget that she now looked like a burly man—even if she were a delicate young maiden, someone as cold as Yue Zhiheng wouldn't feel the slightest bit embarrassed.

In all the years she had known him, he had never shown any expression other than mockery or indifference. The rumors were true—he was ruthless and detached.

Squatting in the snow, she buried her hands in the freezing ice.

She cursed him in her mind while trying to erase the awkward sensation from earlier.

What had she done to deserve this?

She had saved the very demon who had once imprisoned her for three years.

Even if he had never physically harmed her, their years of constant opposition were real.

He had suppressed her ruthlessly, mocked the immortal sects, and sometimes even starved her.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became.

A bold idea surfaced in her mind—why not just tell him who she was?

Let him experience the same frustration and humiliation for once!