Chapter 25: The Man in Memory

South of Qianyang Mountain, gales roared. Black clouds converged like coiling dragons, clawing toward the Spirit Heart Sect. Darkness swallowed the sky above the sect as thunderbolts lashed like serpents, striking the ridges—a celestial warning to the mortal daring to defy heaven's decree.

At the Dark Abyss Sect, four figures stood on the Star-Gazing Platform. The tallest held a violet-gold horsetail whisk, his sharp eyes fixed on the heavens: Sect Master Zhan Renjie.

"The tribulation is at Spirit Heart Sect," murmured Wei Ziyang, Master of the Literary Dawn Hall.

Zhuo Ran, Master of the Treasure Hall, frowned. "Another core formation? Just two years since the last."

"Merely an Outer Core. Our sect has dozens such disciples," Yun He of the Zenith Hall scoffed. "Last time, that boy with peerless talent still—"

Wei Ziyang sighed. "Madam Cheng's nephew. What a waste."

"His choice, his fate," Yun He sniffed. "Had he joined us, things would differ."

Zhan Renjie stroked his beard in silence.

The thunder tribulation raged for three days before dissipating. Sunlight pierced the cleared sky. Outside Gu Pinglin's cave, scorched earth and shattered rocks testified to the ordeal.

Yue Songting and Chen Qian waited tensely at the entrance.

Bu Shuihan paced. "Junior Brother Gu couldn't have also…"

"Silence!" Chen Qian snapped.

Chang Jinxin wrung her hands. "The barrier's down. Why hasn't he emerged?"

"Solidifying his core takes time!" Chen Qian's gaze darkened, memories of Duan Qingming's failure flashing before him. This one must not fall too.

The stone door groaned open.

A disheveled youth stepped out. Though his face was pale with exhaustion, his eyes—deep as autumn lakes—gleamed with restrained triumph. The slight furrow of his brow and pressed lips now carried a gravity beyond his years.

"Junior Brother Gu!"

Cheers erupted. Bu Shuihan lunged forward, gripping his shoulders. "You made it! You—" His voice choked with laughter.

As congratulations poured in, Yue Songting finally smiled—his first in two years. The Spirit Heart Sect had birthed another Outer Core cultivator.

Gu Pinglin knelt before him. "This unworthy disciple took fifteen years to temper his body. Forgive my delay."

Yue Songting pulled him up, too moved to speak.

The Unbroken Thread

In his spotless room, Gu Pinglin studied the mirror. A violet-gold crown bound his hair into a high ponytail, thick bangs softening the intensity of his gaze.

Outer Core formation. The milestone marked a body tempered to near-perfection, slowing aging tenfold and granting millennia of life. Yet he sighed. Five extra years. Even with the Creation Art, I underestimated this path.

He donned a deep violet robe—his favored hue from a past life. The color muted his youthful vigor, wrapping him like a lustrous pearl.

The door burst open.

"Junior Brother!" Bu Shuihan froze mid-stride, then grinned. "Damn. Now you outshine even me."

Gu Pinglin fastened his belt. "When will you form your core?"

"Soon." Bu Shuihan slumped at the table. "I entered the sect before you, yet trail behind. I need solitude to focus."

Gu Pinglin smoothed his sleeves. "And Duan Qingming?"

Bu Shuihan's smile vanished. After a long pause, he whispered: "He… failed the tribulation."

Gu Pinglin's hands stilled. "What?"

Echoes of Absence

Two years had passed since the thunder subsided. Grass now carpeted the scorched earth outside Duan Qingming's cave. Moss clung to the sealed stone door—fifteen years of solitude etched in green.

No movement. No sound. The protective barrier had long shattered. Had he lived, he would have sensed them.

How? Gu Pinglin stared at the door. I never imagined… He'd braced for failure, trusting the Stone Lotus Seed to mend any damage. But silence?

His hand rose, then fell. To shatter the door meant confronting corruption—white robes fouled by decay. Unthinkable for the man who changed clothes at a speck of dust.

Did I kill him? The thought coiled cold in his chest. Had Duan Qingming joined the Dark Abyss Sect as destined, their supreme techniques would have shielded him.

His greatest enemy, gone. Yet triumph felt hollow. Their rivalry had spanned lifetimes—a twisted bond forged in fire. Would he feel this emptiness if I died?

He recalled those inscrutable eyes. A man forever lonely.

Gu Pinglin shook his head. Sentiment for an enemy? Perhaps sharing the sect these years blurred lines.

Behind him, disciples wept openly. Duan Qingming's charm had woven deep affection.

Gu Pinglin's lips thinned. They mourn a phantom. But you'd feel no remorse, would you?

He stepped forward and struck the door. Stone reverberated with a force that shook the earth.

A warrior's salute. A farewell.

"See you in ten years, Gu Xiaojiu."

I came. You broke your vow.

May your next life fare better.

"Return to the sect," Gu Pinglin ordered.

As the group turned, a deafening CRACK echoed.

Resurrection in Stone Dust

The door exploded. Shards rained like meteors.

A sword's gleam? No—a figure.

White robes blazing against rubble, knee-length hair wild and untamed, he stood motionless atop a boulder like a madman etched in moonlight.

That speed. That control. Impossible.

"Senior Brother Duan!" a disciple screamed.

Gu Pinglin's breath caught.

Slowly, the man lifted his head. Hair parted to reveal a face honed by time: sharper nose, fuller lips curved in that familiar, enigmatic arc.

"Senior Brother!"

"He's alive!"

Disciples swarmed him, laughter erupting—a warmth never directed at Gu Pinglin, whose authority bred respect but not camaraderie.

Duan Qingming met Gu Pinglin's gaze across the chaos.

Years had stretched him to his past life's height. Even disheveled, he commanded the crowd like a crane among sparrows. The fox-like slant of his eyes now hid deeper cunning, the crimson tinge at their corners faded, leaching the demonic aura into something... calmer. His gaze held only gentle warmth—not a trace of his former sharpness.

Just as Gu Pinglin braced for the old taunt—"Gu Xiaojiu"—Duan Qingming smiled.

"Junior Brother Gu."

The true Duan Qingming. At last.

Gu Pinglin inclined his head, voice icy.

"Sixth Young Master Duan."