The Forbidden Path to Immortality
Chapter 90

As the first rays of morning sunlight fell over the ruins, Gu Pin'er was quietly freshening up with water drawn from a newly-dug well.

Lately, she hadn’t been paying much attention to her appearance. Her complexion was pale, noticeably so. But her eyes still held a vivid, crystalline light.

She gathered her hair, twisting it into a simple, elegant bun. A few long black strands escaped, tumbling gracefully over her shoulders before she secured them with a jade hairpin.

She had worn this style for years, but today it felt unusually distinct. The hair slipping between her fingers was cooler and smoother than the finest silk. Why had she never noticed this detail in all the decades of her life before?

Just then, a squeaky, creaky noise shattered her peaceful reverie. Her brows knit slightly. After washing her hands in the basin, she turned around and saw the contorted face of a military officer.

He was waving his saber, and shouting like a madman: “Fire! Loose the arrows! Kill the witch!”

A swarm of arrows filled the sky, descending toward her like a plague of locusts. Fierce, vicious, lethal.

However, just feet from her body, the arrows let out eerie cries, twisted mid-flight, and veered off wildly, vanishing who knows where.

The military officer's face, twisted by fear, looked almost inhuman. He kicked a soldier aside, cut down a nearby archer, and screamed for another volley. The second wave came…

And ended just like the first.

This man is not good, but still…

Gu Pin'er remembered it all too clearly: it was this very man’s comrades who had awakened her from a long dream, pulling her out of the haze she’d been lost in for so long. To kill him now\... would feel a bit too cruel.

Last night, in the chaos of soldiers, blades, fire and flood, it was this very man who led his fierce soldiers charging in. After they swept through, the Lanxie Courtyard stood no chance. In the blink of an eye, it was bathed in blood.

Hmm… and what had she done at the time?

Dreams are always a bit hazy. Gu Piner couldn’t recall it clearly. She only remembered one of this man’s subordinates pinning her down, reaching to undo her skirt.

In the dream, she didn’t quite know why, but somehow it all felt... almost natural, as if it were meant to be.

She didn’t have any strength left anyway, so she simply let them do as they pleased.

But when a soldier’s tongue slithered across her face, murmuring words that felt eerily familiar yet utterly unamusing, a silhouette suddenly jumped out. And something clicked inside her, and she jolted awake, shocked.

So, those people from her dream were different after all! They were of the same kind, yet also masters; masters of her life and emotions. Everything she felt, her joy and anger and sorrow and happiness, was nothing more than the aftershock of their feelings. Even her soul was nothing more than a subordinate of theirs.

And now, these crawling reptiles, drooling with twisted faces as they tear at her clothes. What even are they?

That single moment of clarity had set her completely free. When she awoke from the dream, the illusion faded like smoke. And with its passing, the power of reality burst forth.

Evil and wickedness… dispersed!

More than ten soldiers were sent flying by the burst of Astral Qi, falling all over the ground. The Primordial Divine Sword, which had not been in her hand for many days, reappeared in her palm. Its purple blade flickered and pulsed a few times, and every crawling creature within her sight had its throat cut. Not a single one rose again.

That’s why the military officer, one of the few to survive, had mustered hundreds more, launching repeated assaults on this ruined courtyard. But after only two brief clashes, the bodies piled up by the hundreds. Terrified, they had finally resorted to sending in a squad of archers, hoping to kill her from a distance, leading to the scene she now watched unfold.

Wave after wave of arrows. All useless.

The military officer, on the verge of a breakdown, waved his saber and screamed: “Shoot her! Kill that demon bitc—”

The final word never left his lips.

An icy cold thread pierced the back of his neck. There was a sharp sound. A geyser of blood exploded from his throat, launching his head three feet into the air.

The next moment, a foot kicked over his headless corpse, blood spraying over the faces of the terrified soldiers nearby.

Gu Pin'er didn’t flinch. She wasn’t moved by the gore.

But the indifferent-looking young man now standing behind the corpse suddenly ignited a fire throughout her entire being.

A blush bloomed on her pale cheeks.

He’s here.

The youth ignored the stunned soldiers around him. His gaze found hers immediately. In his eyes was a complex storm of feelings.

But Gu Pin'er only saw one thing in those eyes, a faint trace of pity hidden deep within.

Why is he pitying me? she wondered. Doesn’t matter. What matters is… he cares about me.

Just as joy began to rise in her chest, a cold wind swept past. A finger, lighter than air, tapped the back of her neck.

Her body jolted, and in the midst of that blooming happiness, she fell into the sweetest of dreams.

…..

Under that same first light of dawn, what met Prince Fu's eyes made him feel like he’d aged ten years in an instant.

The empire’s pride and its capital for centuries, the glorious heart of the Heavenly Dynasty, was now just rubble and ruin. Beneath the wreckage lay hundreds of thousands of people—civilians, merchants, soldiers, officials… and even the emperor himself.

Longqing was dead. And he’d died disgracefully.

Not in the quake. No, he had been trapped under the rubble, smothered by fear and darkness. He had died scared, quite literally.

Li Xin couldn’t be bothered by that. In his plans, Longqing had been a walking corpse for some time already. All he needed now was to parade the body and pin the blame on a few rival ministers. That would be enough.

If not for last night’s nightmare...this would’ve been a perfect victory.

But the panic and despair of last night had wrung every ounce of strength from him, and now the ruins around him erased even the last traces of triumph.

He hadn't stepped into the hastily erected command tent. Instead, he stood where the imperial palace once stood. On the ruins of the grand hall where the emperor once held court. He was lost in thought until a sudden commotion snapped him back to reality.

Turning around, he saw soldiers stationed in the rear line slowly falling back in his direction. Blades were drawn, spears and halberds leveled. They moved as if facing a formidable enemy.

Beyond them, a young Daoist was walking forward, holding a sleeping girl in his arms. Hundreds of armed soldiers stood in his way, yet none dared approach. Step by step, they backed away.

Li Xin’s eyes lit up. Wasn’t that his son?

Off to the side, Li Cong had also arrived at the news, and the moment he saw what was happening, he nearly cried out in shock. He rushed forward and shouted an order: “Let him through! All units, stand down!”

The command was like a royal pardon. The soldiers parted like waves, forming a path. In a blur of motion, Li Xun moved with lightning speed. One moment a blur, the next he was standing before the two of them.

Li Cong was just about to greet him when Li Xun spoke first, addressing them, “Your Highness, Crown Prince.”

Li Xin froze. Li Cong was overjoyed. And both looked visibly surprised.

But this clearly wasn’t the place to discuss the matter. Li Xin returned the greeting, as one would to a National Preceptor, then asked about the earlier clash with his troops while gesturing for him to join him in the nearby tent for a private discussion.

Li Xun, however, shook his head in refusal.

Caught in the midst of their genuine surprise, Li Xun replied politely, “Your Highness, no need for formalities. I must apologize. A squad of soldiers rush into the Lanshe Garden and disturb my friends. When I dealt with them, I may have been a bit too harsh. I hope you’ll overlook it.”

His words were mild, but his expression was cool and indifferent. Whether or not Li Xin accepted his explanation, it clearly didn’t matter to him.

His attitude stirred some thoughts in Li Xin and Li Cong alike. But for some reason, they felt that Li Xun’s behavior at this moment was actually the most natural and justified thing in the world!

Li Xin, ever the seasoned schemer, saw it instantly: in just a single night, his son had become even harder to read.

He didn’t bother guessing the cause. Instead, he swiftly adjusted his mindset. Not speaking as a father, but as an ally.

Outwardly, of course, he still played the role of the dignified prince, occasionally showing the warmth and authority of a father. After a brief inquiry into the incident, he gave a clear-cut judgment: “Those idiots deserved to die. The Lanshe Courtyard was explicitly marked off-limits during the operation. They brought their fate upon themselves. No one else is to blame!”

Then he asked, “Where is the National Preceptor? And your master?”

Li Xun’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Both masters have gone in pursuit of the enemy. Won’t be back for a while. But looking at the state of things here, Your Highness, it seems your mission is complete. Perhaps it’s time... to change your title!?"

Li Xin smiled without answering. Only when he was sure no one else was listening did he speak in a low voice: “We’ll share the wealth and honor, my son.”

Li Xun felt it clearly. At the moment those words left his father’s lips, Li Cong’s heartbeats noticeably quickened. He just smiled, said nothing, and swept his indifferent gaze slowly over the ruined capital.

Li Xin understood him instantly. And he couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward. But he quickly smiled again. After all, the empire was vast. Cities like Songjing weren’t the only jewels in the crown. Why dwell on this one ruin? How could it compare to the joy and pride of becoming the supreme ruler of all under heaven?

The moment this thought struck him, the gloom that had settled over him vanished instantly. He threw his head back and laughed heartily. His mindset naturally shifted again.

Li Cong stood to the side, bewildered by it all, but his sense of crisis only grew. It felt like there was an invisible channel between his father and brother—one that allowed their thoughts and intentions to pass back and forth clearly and without misunderstanding or conflict.

In this kind of communication... he knew he was far behind. And what if Li Xun suddenly changed his mind?

What if he gave up the path of cultivation? How would he come to terms with it?

While Li Cong’s thoughts churned, Li Xun’s eyes turned to the horizon, distant and hazy. In that empty, aimless gaze, he spoke indifferently : “This time, I came to bid farewell to Your Highness and the Crown Prince.”

Both Li Xin and Li Cong stiffened.

The meaning couldn’t have been clearer.

Li Xin paused, then gently shifted into a warmer tone. “Child, where are you going? Returning to the mountains to cultivate the Dao?”

When Li Xun nodded, he said casually, “There’s no harm in cultivating in the mortal realm. Your master aunt, the National Preceptor, holds a highly respected position, yet it doesn’t seem to interfere with her cultivation. Is your sect summoning you?”

There was something strange in his tone, and Li Xun noticed it clearly, but he only smiled without answering.

With a wave of his sleeve, his true breath swept over the ground, instantly smoothing it to a flawless mirror-like surface. He gently laid Gu Pin'er down upon it.

The moment her full appearance was revealed, even Li Xin paused in surprise, let alone Li Cong, who just stared in disbelief.

Li Xun glanced at his younger brother’s not-so-subtle reaction and gave a cold smile. He pretended not to notice, and simply turned to Li Xin, and reverted to the tone of a son:

“This friend of mine has a unique background. She must stay here. I’ll trouble you to take good care of her.”

Li Cong’s eyes lit up instantly. He had no idea that every subtle shift in his expression had been clearly caught by both Li Xin and Li Xun.

Li Xun smiled faintly and said no more. His hands, however, didn't stop moving. Around Gu Pin'er, he began drawing carved patterns into the ground. One after another.

The sharp gravel couldn't hinder his fingers at all; it was as if he were drawing on loose sand. By the time the last line was drawn, there wasn’t even a speck of dust left on his hand.

Li Xin and his son watch in bewilderment as he “drew talismans.”

It wasn't until then that Li Xun finally spoke again. “Let her stay here. Maybe in a day or two, someone from her sect will come looking... There's no hiding what happened here from them.”

What happened? Li Xin wanted to ask, but something stirred in his heart. He glanced toward a patch of ground not far away. There, countless thin, blood-red carved lines marred the earth, twisting like the gaping maws of demons straight from hell, twisted and grotesque.

He could never forget those markings. It was ones just like them that, overnight, had swallowed up hundreds of thousands of lives in the capital.

Li Xin’s breath caught in his throat.

Li Xun stood up then, dusting off his hands, though there was no dust to speak of. He didn’t even glance at Li Xin’s expression, his face calm as still water. And it was precisely that kind of calm that convinced Li Xin even more of his suspicions.

Which, of course, was exactly what Li Xun intended.

Because now, he could be sure: for the days to come, Li Xin would tread very carefully when it came to this matter.

As expected, Li Xin immediately called in his personal guards, instructing them to set up a tent around Gu Pin’er as quickly as possible, to shield her from the wind and rain. And from beginning to end, he never once tried to confirm his own suspicions; that was his wisdom.

Li Xun looked down at the sleeping Gu Pin’er. To be honest, the moment he saw her, he should’ve erased her for good. A woman who knew far too many secrets should never have been allowed to live.

But perhaps it was her fragile mental state... or maybe a sliver of pity in his heart that had not yet faded. Either way, he let her live for now. Even so, he had already made the necessary preparations.

By the time everything was settled, the sun had climbed high into the sky. Li Xin looked up, about to say something, but then Li Xun turned and gave him a formal cupped-fist salute. It was simple and calm, yet somehow more serious than ever before.

Whatever words Li Xin had been about to speak, he swallowed back down.

Li Xun lifted his head, voice calm as ever. “Father, I’m heading off now.”

Seeing the complex expression on Li Xin’s face, Li Xun paused briefly before continuing, “A single day in the mountains can feel like a thousand years in the mortal world. If there’s no special opportunity, this child won’t have many chances to come down the mountain. So, I must ask Father to take care of his health..."

Before Li Xin could reply, his younger son, Li Cong, was already red-eyed. If his body weren’t too stiff from excitement, his performance would have been even more perfect.

Li Xun’s cold gaze shifted toward him, and his lips curved ever so slightly. His expression softened. “Younger Brother Cong… From now on, the responsibility of family, country, and the world lies with you. You must…”

His voice suddenly trailed off, almost inaudible.

Li Cong instinctively leaned in to hear. But what reached him instead was a thunderous wave that shook his soul to the core.

His eyes rolled back. He collapsed on the spot.

“Cong still lacks grounding. He knows too much. I had to take precautions,” Li Xun explained. “I only erased a few memories he had of me. His body’s unharmed.”

Li Xin looked from his unconscious younger son to the ever-unfathomable elder one. He remained silent for a long while, then finally let out a deep sigh.

Li Xun gazed at his father. This man who had given him life, soul, and, most importantly, a practical way to navigate the world. If he’d made it this far, Li Xin was the first person he ought to thank.

By every tradition and every basic sense of gratitude, kneeling and kowtowing right now would have been the proper thing to do.

But in the end, he simply nodded.

Then he stepped forward, brushing past his father. One step, two steps, three steps.

On the third step, a flash of sword light surged into the sky, and in the blink of an eye, Li Xun had left the capital of Songjing far behind.

A thread in the unseen realm suddenly snapped, as the sword light pierced the sky.

...

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