The Only Home in Three Winters

Amid flames that nearly scorched the heavens, Luo Yue stood expressionless, gripping his spear as he pressed forward with unwavering resolve.

"Ha!" Luo Yue roared, his spear transforming into a streak of light as it crashed toward Chu Xingchen.

Chu Xingchen remained calm, raising his sword, Wan Ban, which had taken the form of a long blade. Faced with Luo Yue's overwhelming momentum, he did not hesitate to swing his sword in retaliation.

Boom!

The two figures flickered through the sea of fire, each clash between them seemingly capable of annihilating everything in its wake.

Terrifying shockwaves rippled outward.

Yet, despite their power—enough to level countless mountain peaks—the flames around them remained undisturbed.

Though their battle appeared fierce, both were cautiously probing, wary of any underhanded tactics.

It seemed perilous, yet neither had truly committed everything to the fight.

But within the flames, a small, pure-white figure—a flower spirit resembling Luo Yue—was already on the brink of collapse.

The flower spirit cried out desperately, only to be met with the merciless fire.

The surroundings fell eerily silent.

Then, several figures emerged, their bodies shielded by fire-resistant talismans.

Their intent was clear. With gleeful expressions, they advanced toward the flower spirit, still struggling to escape the inferno.

A faintly glowing yellow cloth net was swiftly cast over the spirit.

The flames devoured everything, seemingly draining the last of the flower spirit's strength—or perhaps it had long been exhausted, leaving it powerless to evade the yellow net.

Just as it could not escape its fate.

Despite being in the probing phase, Chu Xingchen still leveraged Wan Ban's superiority to press Luo Yue relentlessly.

Wan Ban's grade was absurdly high—at least in terms of raw weapon clashes, it dominated Luo Yue's spear completely.

Compounding this was Luo Yue's miserly expenditure of spiritual energy, relying solely on centuries of combat experience to bridge the gap.

A surge of sword intent rose, and a flash of blade light streaked through the air like a drop of water disturbing a still pond, sending ripples through space itself.

Luo Yue's spear gleamed as he faced this sword strike that arrived in an instant. He had no choice but to pour everything into blocking it.

His expression was grave. Chu Xingchen's cultivation was exceptionally refined, and though his mastery of divine abilities was only at a minor achievement level, their innate quality was so high that even an incomplete execution was formidable.

Most terrifying was that divine weapon—it felt as though it embodied the very essence of all things.

As if… it was the Dao itself.

Chu Xingchen's sole weakness was his inexperience in life-or-death combat, bordering on clumsiness.

He had likely always crushed weaker opponents, never truly facing a worthy adversary.

This flaw should have been Luo Yue's path to victory—yet the man was far too… cautious!

No matter how many openings Luo Yue feigned, Chu Xingchen refused to take the bait.

He wouldn’t risk the slightest misstep, content to wear Luo Yue down as if attrition alone counted as victory.

But this was precisely Luo Yue's fatal weakness.

His reserves of spiritual energy were already meager.

Especially against attacks of this caliber—unavoidable and devastating.

Luo Yue could only block with his spear and body, his energy nearly depleted.

The spear transformed into light as it met the strike.

Luo Yue felt the terrifying force reverberate through his weapon, sensed the distortion of space, and endured the pain as residual energy sliced through his defenses, cutting into his flesh.

Chu Xingchen noticed Luo Yue's desperation and prepared to press his advantage—but then halted.

An illusion surged forth.

The flames vanished, the scenery twisting.

Under a moonlit night, countless spirits stood among the mountains, their gazes fixed on the one at the forefront—a younger Luo Yue.

His face twisted with fury, spear pointed at over a dozen figures ahead.

The spirits behind him rallied, their combined aura majestic.

Yet the figures ahead only wore mocking smiles.

Luo Yue charged—then the scene froze.

The jeering enemies. The enraged spirits.

But the younger Luo Yue did not stop. Instead, he turned and lunged straight at Chu Xingchen.

His expression was one of pure wrath, his spear piercing through space itself as it thrust toward Chu Xingchen.

Chu Xingchen could sense the spear, could feel its power.

But compared to the present Luo Yue… it was childishly weak.

With a casual swing of his sword, Chu Xingchen sent the furious young Luo Yue crashing to the ground.

"Is this your memory?"

Chu Xingchen's gaze shifted to the present Luo Yue, whose left-arm armor had shattered and fallen away, spiritual energy leaking from his shoulder.

A chunk of his left shoulder was missing, though what spilled out was not blood but pure energy. Luo Yue had survived the divine technique—but at a steep cost.

Luo Yue tightened his grip on the spear, his eyes sweeping over the motionless spirits.

He wanted to look—but couldn’t bear to.

He should have died there too.

Chu Xingchen hovered in the air and spoke plainly:

"We don’t have to fight to the death. Even if you defeat me, what then? There’s no place for you in the outside world anymore. This isn’t the same as a thousand years ago."

"If we don’t fight to the death… there’ll be even less of a place for us. Or should I just… trust you?!"

Luo Yue raised his spear and flashed toward Chu Xingchen:

"I still have debts unpaid! I promised them a homeland—and I haven’t fulfilled it yet!"

For this, he had exhausted every means possible.

Deception, lies, theft, murder.

He had done it all—betrayed humans, betrayed even fellow spirits.

He had given everything, even his own life, trapped in this place for untold years, all for the homeland he once vowed to reclaim.

Luo Yue surged forward, launching a near-suicidal assault against Chu Xingchen.

Spiritual energy churned around him as his spear gleamed—arriving before Chu Xingchen in an instant.

A pure white radiance erupted, piercing both the sky and the illusion’s night.

Chu Xingchen stared into Luo Yue’s eyes and understood his resolve—if he could not succeed, he would rather die.

He raised his sword, water-like sword intent manifesting.

Against Luo Yue, who had abandoned all defense, Chu Xingchen brought Wan Ban down in a decisive slash.

On the walls of Wan Hua City.

The crowd watched the distant flower ridge with bated breath, awaiting the outcome.

San Dong pressed close to Li Yingling’s side, gazing toward the familiar ridge it had called home for so long.

It understood nothing—only that the once-peaceful Wan Hua Ridge had somehow become a place of danger.

"Can San Dong still live there?"

It looked up at Li Yingling and asked in a small voice.

Li Yingling glanced down at San Dong.

"That place is San Dong’s only home."

Before Li Yingling could respond, San Dong hastily added.

"You can," Li Yingling said, gently stroking San Dong’s cheek with a solemn expression.

"No matter what happens, San Dong will always have a home to return to. I promise."

Even if everything crumbled. Even if all turned to nothingness.

Li Yingling would rebuild Wan Hua Ridge for San Dong, whatever the cost.

Because if the ridge was lost, the fault would lie with her—she was the one who disturbed its peace, who disrupted San Dong’s life.

She would bear the responsibility.

Because San Dong was her friend.

Because this was San Dong’s only home.