The Three-Year Term

Guan Jinyue walked to the other end of the platform and stood at the very edge, her toes hanging over the void hundreds of meters above the ground.

The two of them, one standing and one sitting, were barely a dozen meters apart, but neither spoke another word.

Time ticked away, second by second.

Twenty-eight minutes remained until the one-hour deadline.

Yin Chen lifted his head, looking toward the western outskirts of the city, his gaze piercing through the flames and smoke.

He was waiting for someone.

He knew that person would come.

Even if that person said he wouldn't, even if he had blocked his calls.

That person would come.

Because it was his grandfather.

Guan Jinyue was also staring in the same direction. Her hands hung at her sides, her fingertips slightly curled—the only sign of her tension.

Three years.

She had waited three years.

The answer was coming soon.

...

Yin Tianzheng did not reply.

In the courtyard, the shredded paper scraps of broken lanterns were lifted by the night wind, skimming the ground in a few spirals before settling back where they lay.

An Changqing looked at the coffin, then back at Yin Tianzheng, his grip tightening unconsciously on his sword.

Long Ao was the first to speak.

“Wait a minute. You’re saying you carry a shard of that thing’s divine spark?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t that supposed to belong to a god?”

Chen Guan did not answer. Long Ao had clearly missed too many updates on the situation. He turned to look at Yin Tianzheng.

“Old Master, you said earlier that the remnant has no consciousness, only instinct.”

Yin Tianzheng nodded, his eyes fixed on the coffin strapped to Chen Guan’s back, as if he were reevaluating this young man.

“Instinct drives it to awaken. Awakening requires complete power, and the missing part of that power is the divine spark.”

Chen Guan took another step forward. “When you break the seal, I’ll stand at the edge of the formation and pour out the full force of the divine spark’s presence.”

“When the remnant senses the fragment of the divine spark, its instinct will drive it toward me first. To it, devouring a divine spark is far more valuable than devouring a human soul.”

“The moment that soul is released, that will be our window to pull the person out.”

Hong Yuan heard his words and seemed to grasp the idea.

“You mean you’re going to take the hit for that girl?”

Chen Guan shook his head to correct her. “I’m going to steal its attention away from her.”

“And after you do that?” An Changqing’s voice grew heavy. “A mindless remnant of a demon god, all its instinct focused on you—how do you get out?”

“I don’t need to get out.”

The way Chen Guan said this carried an extraordinary confidence.

“The remnant and the divine spark share the same origin. When it closes in on me, I can try to use the divine spark fragments to absorb its power in reverse.”

“If I succeed, I’ll gradually refine the remnant, and the sealing problem will be solved once and for all.”

“That’s what I meant when I said I’d take the remnant as my reward.”

Long Ao’s voice shot up another notch.

“And if you don’t succeed?”

Chen Guan glanced at him.

“Then you’d better run fast.”

Long Ao’s face flushed red, but he couldn’t manage a single word.

Because he couldn’t come up with a better plan.

Su Yuehe stepped out from behind An Changqing, still clutching her tablet. “Chen Guan, the margin for error in this plan is too small. How long is the window?”

“At most five seconds.”

“Can you pull a soul that’s been trapped for three years out of the formation in five seconds?”

Chen Guan didn’t answer her. Instead, his gaze shifted to Yin Tianzheng.

“That’s a question for the Old Master to answer.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to the old man once more.

Yin Tianzheng’s hands were behind his back. His fingers no longer trembled. The confidence of a younger man had returned to his face. “Five seconds. It’s enough.”

His voice regained its steadiness.

“The connection point of the formation is rooted in the soul. If the remnant’s suppression disappears for even an instant, I can peel that child’s soul out.”

“I was the one who set up this formation three years ago. I can dismantle it faster than anyone.”

An Changqing raised his head, meeting Yin Tianzheng’s eyes directly.

“So you agree?”

Yin Tianzheng walked toward Chen Guan, step by step, across the cracked flagstones. Tiny bits of gravel ground beneath his feet with faint sounds.

When he reached Chen Guan, the old man stopped.

They stood less than an arm’s length apart.

Yin Tianzheng’s eyes were clouded with age, but now there burned in them something else—the desperate final roll of the dice for an old man who valued his grandson more than his own life but had no choice but to weigh his options on a scale.

“Your name is Chen Guan.”

“Yes.”

“Li Ce told me about you. Said you have guts, a sharp mind, and don’t play by the rules.”

Yin Tianzheng’s gaze moved from Chen Guan’s face to the coffin on his back, then back again.

“Now I see. He was being modest.”

Chen Guan didn’t pick up on that. He had no intention of discussing Li Ce’s opinion of him with the old man right now.

So Li Ce liked to gossip behind people’s backs, did he? He hadn’t noticed before.

“Elder Yin, now is not the time for reminiscing.”

“I know.”

Yin Tianzheng reached into his robes and took out a jade pendant.

The pendant was small, about two fingers wide, a deep bluish-green. Its surface was covered with fine, natural patterns, glowing with a warm luster under the light.

“A serenity jade. It’s been passed down through the Yin family for seven generations.”

Yin Tianzheng held the pendant out to Chen Guan.

“It can shield you from one mental attack when you suffer spiritual shock. Just one.”

“Though the remnant has no consciousness, its very power corrodes the mind. The first wave of impact as you approach it will be the deadliest.”

“This jade will get you through that moment.”

Chen Guan glanced down at the pendant, didn’t hesitate, and took it.

It was cool to the touch but not chilling, and a stabilizing energy seeped into his skin through his palm.

An Changqing spoke up.

“Elder Yin, about that divine spark on Chen Guan…”

“Don’t say it.”

Yin Tianzheng cut him off, a note of finality in his voice that brooked no argument.

“After this is over, I won’t breathe a word about the divine spark to the Association, or say a thing to the Council.”

His gaze moved from An Changqing to every person present.

“I, Yin Tianzheng, have lived most of my life. I know what to say and what not to say.”

“This boy is risking his life to save my grandson. If I turned around and sold it to save my own hide, I’d be less than an animal.”

Long Ao muttered under his breath from the side.

“That’s more like it.”