Healing Zhao Yuelian

He had even investigated her master's hidden and strange illness, which the sect's higher-ups had kept strictly under wraps, with absolute clarity!

Just how much effort had he spent, and how much risk had he taken, to uncover the whereabouts of the Concentric Gu in the near-fatal Immortal Burial Forbidden Ground?

Su Wanyin's vision completely blurred.

Looking at the man's cold and hard-lined face, she felt as if she had seen right through that heavy disguise called indifference.

In this cultivation world where people would eat others alive for profit, those self-proclaimed righteous geniuses who spouted morality and virtue were secretly plotting to skin her, pull out her bones, and feed her to demonic beasts.

Only the man before her.

He spoke the most heartless words, yet everything he did involved licking blood from the edge of a blade, forcefully dragging her out of the abyss of despair!

He deliberately used this cold tone of equivalent exchange just to protect the pitiful remaining pride of her broken body, didn't he?

He didn't want her to feel like she owed him a massive debt of gratitude, nor did he want her to feel even a trace of inferiority or burden.

He clearly knew how terrifying Ye Chen was and understood the profound foundation of the Dao One Sect, yet he still stood without hesitation before that crushing torrent of so-called noble righteousness, blocking all the killing intent for her.

Su Wanyin took a deep breath, and her violently heaving chest gradually calmed.

The chill on her cold, white skin was completely dispelled by a fervor that almost seemed to burn.

She slowly released her tight grip on the tree trunk, letting the blood from her fingertips drip into the muddy water.

Then, she carefully and preciously tucked the washed-out gray robe close to her body, pressing it tightly against her scalding chest.

Alright. I will take you there.

Su Wanyin straightened her back, and in those alluring peach-blossom eyes, not a trace of fragility could be seen anymore.

Replacing it was a devotion and submission akin to a moth darting into a flame.

She slightly raised her fragile, elegant neck, and the tip of her nose, beaded with fine sweat, revealed a strange rosy hue.

As long as Master can be saved, as long as it is what Young Master desires...

Her voice was hoarse, yet it carried a resolute decisiveness and a bone-softening charm.

Even if this Yin-Yang Tomb is an Asura hell, Wanyin is willing to shatter this pool of white bones for Young Master.

...

The back mountain of the Hehuan Sect, the Unfeeling Cold Pool.

The temperature here was low enough to freeze the blood of an ordinary Foundation Establishment cultivator.

Without the decadent pink miasma that covered the Hehuan Sect's main peak, the air was left with only biting cold and a freezing fog that never melted year-round.

Su Wanyin struggled to walk through the cold fog, tightly wrapping that old gray robe around herself.

Gu Yang followed behind her as if taking a leisurely stroll, the Great Sun True Fire slowly circulating within his body, isolating all the chill three feet away.

Passing through layers of ice cones, a deep blue cold pool came into view.

Curled up on a thousand-year profound ice jade bed in the center of the pool was a woman.

That was the previous generation's Holy Maiden of the Hehuan Sect, the current Supreme Elder, Fairy Lingshuang Zhao Yuelian.

With just one glance, one could feel an extremely intense, almost visually tearing crazy contrast.

In the Hehuan Sect, where people wished to expose every inch of their skin, this great cultivator at the late stage of Core Formation had wrapped herself up tightly.

An extremely large and heavy snow-white fox fur coat completely enveloped her from head to toe.

But the more she covered up, the more her mature and voluptuous figure outlined even more breathtaking curves beneath the heavy fur.

She lay on her side on the ice bed, her breathing fragmented and suppressed.

The fox fur heaved violently and uncontrollably with her difficult gasps, as if some desperate desire about to break out of its cocoon was being firmly suppressed within this tiny space.

Due to suffering from the Thousand Threads Soul-Entangling Syndrome for years, her cheeks were so pale they were almost transparent.

A layer of fine cold sweat on her forehead caused a few strands of pitch-black hair to stick wetly to her cheeks.

A thin layer of frost had formed on her long eyelashes, trembling slightly with her painful shudders.

The small section of her neck exposed outside the fox fur had lines so fragile they looked as if they would snap with a single bend.

It was an ultimate aesthetic that blended an unattainable, cold divinity with a morbid despair on the verge of collapse.

She was like a top-tier mutton-fat jade carving about to shatter, making one unable to resist the urge to violently press their fingerprints onto it and admire her decadent beauty when she completely broke.

Hearing footsteps, the woman on the jade bed struggled to open her eyes.

Those clear, autumn-water eyes that had once captivated countless demonic sects were now filled with the gray decay of stagnant water.

Master...

Su Wanyin's eyes suddenly turned red, and she fell to her knees by the cold pool with a thud.

Like a child who had finally found her pillar of support, she poured out everything about the betrayal, the pursuit, and the cold stares and schemes of the powerful elders within the sect that she had endured recently.

This included Lin Yaoyao's suppression, as well as the absolute death trap set by Ye Chen of the Dao One Sect, which threatened to swallow her whole.

Around the cold pool, there was only the echoing sound of Su Wanyin's sobs.

Zhao Yuelian listened quietly.

In those gloomy eyes, there was no anger and no surprise, only a deep sense of powerlessness and sorrow.

Cough, cough...

She suddenly covered her mouth and coughed violently.

Dark red blood seeped through her fingers and dripped onto the snow-white fox fur, as dazzling as red plums blooming in the snow.

Wanyin.

Zhao Yuelian's voice was terribly hoarse, revealing the weakness of a lamp running out of oil.

She laboriously raised her heavy arm, her trembling fingertips pointing at Gu Yang standing in the shadows.

Go. Let him take you away.

Go as far as possible, and never... never return to this man-eating quagmire.

She looked at Gu Yang, her eyes carrying a trace of pleading from a dying person.

Young Master, I do not know what methods you used to save Wanyin. But the muddy waters of the Hehuan Sect are not something you can wade through.

Take her away. My old bones... can still stall that mad dog Sima Kui for a few days for you.

Having delivered her final words, Zhao Yuelian seemed drained of all her strength. She fell heavily back onto the profound ice jade bed and closed her eyes, waiting for death.

She was tired.

It had been ten years. Every day, her soul was sliced, stitched, and sliced again by countless invisible threads of baleful aura.

Her realm had fallen, and her cultivation had stagnated.

Those sect elders who had once groveled at her feet now looked at her as if she were a piece of premium fat meat waiting to be carved up.

She knew what that pervert Sima Kui was waiting for, and she knew why the sect's higher-ups had kept her alive until now.

The three-month deadline.

Once the time was up, this once lofty body of hers would be stripped of all its disguises, thrown into an alchemy furnace, and refined into a Blissful Blood Pill for others' enjoyment.

For her current self, death was instead a luxurious release.

Thousand Threads Soul-Entangling Syndrome.

A voice, so cold that it lacked even a trace of warmth, abruptly rang out above the cold pool.

Zhao Yuelian suddenly opened her eyes.

Gu Yang stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his indifferent gaze sizing up the woman on the jade bed.

The soul pierced by baleful aura, spiritual energy flowing in reverse, and meridians withering away every day.