I Came Back to Break the Plot

How do you survive when you transmigrate into a cultivation world where the plot’s already fallen apart?

Everyone wants me dead. Fine—I’m not afraid. If someone tries to kill me, I’ll strike first.

But this place… it’s not the same world as the novel I remembered.

At first I didn’t even think I’d transmigrated.

I’d stayed up for two straight nights finishing The Immortal Survival Guide, so I figured I must’ve dreamed those scenes from the book.

Long story short, I opened my eyes and suddenly found myself inside a huge palace.

After a moment’s thinking, I remembered—this was the ancient shrine where Hazel Park forged her relic.

Across the room, Ethan Hale had one arm shielding Hazel and the other raised with his sword, pointing at me from a distance. “Claire Bennett, don’t go too far!”

Taken aback by that unfair accusation, I blinked. “How am I going too far?”

“Hazel isn’t like you,” Ethan snapped. “She’s born of the sect’s main line, blessed with endless cultivation resources, and a pure water affinity. She’s been a favored child since she was little. This shrine is unclaimed—what’s theirs by fate should go to them!”

His speech jogged my memory. I ran the scene over in my head: this was a cave left behind by a Grandmaster-level cultivator, packed with treasures. Most of the top-tier stuff—miracle pills, divine artifacts—had already been taken by the heroine. I hadn’t even had a sip of soup, and then she set her eyes on a half-finished relic here, the Ivory Fan, intending to take it back to refine into her destined treasure.

And then “I”—Claire Bennett, the story’s pivotal vicious supporting female—suddenly jumped out to snatch it from her.

“Oh?” I asked in return. “On what basis do you think I’m not fated to it?”

Ethan fell silent.

Hazel looked at me with a smile and said coolly, “Even an unfinished divine artifact has spirit. If you speak of affinity, the Ivory Fan will naturally gravitate toward whoever it’s closer to.”

I wanted to slap her right then.

There are so many things about this novel I wanted to roast, and the ancient shrine arc was especially full of problems.

The Immortal Survival Guide pretends to be a female-empowerment cultivation novel but plays at abusive romance. It was supposed to be about a heroine who fights back against fate, but Hazel is basically a white-lotus—stealing everyone’s opportunities and then dressing herself up as independent and strong at the end.

Gross.

“Fine.” I said, “If you talk about affinity, let’s test it. The Ivory Fan is a water-aligned relic, right? What a coincidence—I also have a water affinity. Fate’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”

Hazel’s face went sour.

I cocked my head and sneered at her. “If you don’t get outside help, then let’s see who the fan actually chooses.”

Her expression darkened further. “How much do you know?”

I knew way too much.

I knew the soul of the demon-world big shot, Damien Cross, was lodged inside her. I knew he had unspeakable intentions toward her, and that after she reached Forming Core and then Nascent Soul, he dragged her back to the demon realm and they started a twisted, co-dependent torment. I knew the Ivory Fan had been crafted by one of Damien’s old rivals—he’d know its weaknesses.

Boring.

I fished a spirit fruit out of the Traveler’s Satchel, bit into it, and casually strolled to the Ivory Fan. I reached out and the fan flew right into my hand, all cozy and receptive.

Hazel stared at me with murder in her eyes.

“Alright, alright, it’s chosen an owner. You should leave.” I said. “You’ve only got two Foundation Stage novices over there. I’ve got three Forming Core elders on my side—do you really want to pick a fight?”

I knew she could borrow Damien’s power for a spell, but this shrine also held some of Damien’s old enemies, so I wasn’t worried the male lead would intervene.

Hazel stormed off, spitting one last venomous line over her shoulder: “It’s mine. I’ll reclaim it sooner or later!”

Okay, shouldn’t I wake up now?

My boss had a revision to the plan still waiting. Sleep any longer and I’d get docked pay.

I snapped awake.

…Nothing had changed.

It took me three days to accept that I’d transmigrated.

Not only had I transmigrated, I’d landed inside a cruel cultivation novel—as the tragic villainess.

I hurried to piece together the plot.

The heroine, Hazel Park, is a grassroots talent born with fourfold affinity. When she was a child she met the healing demon lord, Damien Cross, in a cave and from then on her cultivation skyrocketed, entangled with Damien in a love-hate mess.

And me—Claire Bennett—I’m the textbook cannon-fodder second lead.

Born to a cultivation family, gifted beyond most, I entered the Waverly Sect at seven, favored by the sect. Because of a dispute over pills I clashed with the heroine and set myself against her. Later I set my sights on the male lead, Damien, trying to destroy the heroine. Conveniently, when Damien and Hazel had a quarrel, I acted out a scene and Hazel miscarried in grief—then Damien tossed me into the Abyssal Vault.

Dude, weren’t you supposed to act with me?

I decided to keep far away from those two maniacs from then on—no way I’d get dragged into their toxic romance.

Earlier, after the three elders and I retrieved the Ivory Fan, my master was thrilled, praising my talent, my fate, my methods.

My master was no slouch—Marcus Lee, a fire-affinity prodigy. He dared duel Nascent Soul opponents while he was only Forming Core, fought three at once, and though he was badly hurt, he broke through afterward and leaped to the Ascendant Stage.

He favored me a lot at first. But later he fell for the resolute Hazel and turned on his own disciple.

When I was near death in the Abyssal Vault, I thought he’d come to rescue me. Instead he stood over me with a cold smile and said, “You? You deserve this?” Then he took back the relic he’d entrusted to me and watched me die.

Without my own relic’s protection, the Vault’s denizens gnawed at my spirit for over a hundred days. It was pure agony until my soul finally dissipated—no rebirth, no cycle.

Thinking of that made a bitter laugh die in my throat.

Marcus in his white robe—so saintly—had the nerve to ask, “Claire, what’s wrong? You look down today.”

No kidding. Knowing he’d help the male lead kill me later doesn’t exactly put me in a good mood.

“I’m fine. I’m just thinking how to refine this into my destined relic,” I’d said.

“Oh, that’s a small matter. Let Master handle it.”

Let you handle it? And then when we’re in the Abyssal Vault you swoop in and confiscate it? How delightful for me.

“No, no, no!” I flailed. “This is minor. Don’t trouble Master. Claire can do it herself.”

I snatched the Ivory Fan from his hand.

As someone who’d read the full book, I knew how powerful this thing was.

The heroine’s greatest advantage later in the story is this fan. After Damien scraps her Nascent Soul and she escapes the demon realm broken, she still manages to use the fan to contact the Immortal Realm. This relic had to stay entirely in my hands—or if Marcus pulled a dirty trick, I’d die horribly.

I sized up Marcus’ shifting expression and instinctively took two quiet steps back. He sighed with a complicated look. “You’ve grown up, Claire.”

The next morning I was squatting by my cave cooking a fish when a white flash jolted me, and a man suddenly appeared.

“…Who are you?” I asked.

“Junior sister, I’m your Senior Brother, Liam Green. Don’t you remember me?”

Ah—Liam Green.

Of course I remembered. He’s one of Hazel’s secret admirers. Later, he accompanied me on expeditions but secretly helped Hazel countless times—stealing the precious pills that were rightfully mine and using them to save Hazel’s life. Then he had the gall to call me a vicious witch who deserved every punishment.

I looked him over: plainly dressed, ordinary looks, a simple smile. Nothing on his face hinted at how shameless he’d become later.

“Liam, is there something you need?” I asked.

He pulled a bunch of odd little items from a Traveler’s Satchel and shoved them at me. “Junior sister, Master asked me to give these to you. He said if you plan to perfect the Ivory Fan and refine it into your relic, these materials will come in handy.”

“…Huh?”

“He also said, if you can’t manage it, don’t be stubborn—just hand it over. This is your destiny; he won’t keep it for himself.”

His tone was oddly loaded.

I was packing the materials into my satchel and paused. Liam looked like he wanted to say more but held back.

“Say it,” I urged. I’d never been fond of Hazel’s bootlickers, and he didn’t get much courtesy from me. He didn’t seem to notice and stammered, “Senior—junior sister, haven’t you forgotten Master’s past kindness? Master has seen countless heavenly treasures. Why would he steal yours? You doubt him and it saddens him… He didn’t even smile when he handed me these materials.”

Talkative.

I rolled my eyes inwardly but a little doubt tugged at me. The novel barely explained the relationship between Marcus Lee and me—just that when I entered the Waverly Sect I became Marcus’ personal disciple. It didn’t explain why a high Ascendant like Marcus would take on a disciple so easily. Even if I had a water affinity, it wasn’t that unique.

In the original plot, though I didn’t manage to snatch the Ivory Fan from Hazel, I had a rare destined weapon—the Frostsong Sword—as my relic. Marcus had gotten that from some immortal’s cave; it wasn’t mundane. Later he took it back and took my life with it.

I handed a grilled fish to Liam. He waved me off. “Junior sister, I’m fasting.”

“Eat if I tell you to—stop with the drama.” How could I ask questions if you didn’t take the bait?

I shoved the fish into his hand. “Trust me, no impurities. I even ground up some spirit fruit—won’t harm your cultivation.”

Who among cultivators can resist the smell of barbecue?

After Liam had eaten half the fish, I finally asked slowly, “Senior Brother, I was injured on an earlier expedition—maybe my spirit lost some memory. I truly can’t recall Master’s kindness. Tell me about it.”

Such a clumsy pretense, but Liam swallowed it whole—no surprise he’d later be so easily tricked by Hazel.

From him I learned more about my past with Marcus. Though I came from a Waverly Sect mainline and my family had messy power struggles, the details were fuzzy. When I was six, my jealous cousin lured me into the mountains to feed to beasts. It was Marcus—then collecting spirit herbs—who rescued me and gave me a protective jade pendant. He’d saved me several times during family infighting after that.

When I was twelve, I got into Waverly Sect. Because of that jade pendant, Marcus Lee took me to Suncrest Peak and I became the most favored personal disciple of my year.

I listened, stunned. I never imagined Marcus and I had that kind of past.

If that was true, why did he try to kill me later?

Could it really be that the heroine’s halo was so blinding that it warped his love?

My confusion sat with me well into the night.

Tossing on my bamboo bed, unable to sleep, Marcus suddenly showed up.

He looked pretty surprised to find me lying there.

After a moment I remembered that cultivators often stayed up all night practicing.

Worried he might notice something off, I tried to think of an excuse. Instead he reached out and patted my head.

“Sure enough your spirit sense was damaged—you actually need to sleep like a mortal.”

Me: …How is that not a bit insulting? Maybe I’m just hypersensitive.

Seeing I didn’t react, Marcus dragged over a chair and sat down. “If your spirit sense was injured, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I only heard about it from Liam. You should eat this Soothing Fruit right away to heal, or it could harm your Foundation.”

He pulled a glittering fruit from his Traveler’s Satchel and handed it to me.

The fruit was sweet—a little like mango—but a bit tough to bite into.

I chewed slowly, unsure how to respond.

Putting the day’s events together with what was happening now, it was obvious Marcus was genuinely being kind to me.

Still, whenever I thought of how he later turned black for the heroine and what he did to me after falling for her, all I wanted was distance—farther and farther away.

Marcus sat a while, and when I stayed silent he sounded disappointed. He sighed, “You need to keep eating these Soothing Fruits for three more days. The ones just picked from the tree are the most effective. I’ll bring more tomorrow.”

Then he swept his sleeve and left.

I knew exactly what he meant.

According to Liam’s daytime chatter, my bond with Marcus was unusual; he was waiting for my explanation to clear up misunderstandings.

Too bad I’d already read the whole novel ahead of time. I knew he’d go from powder to poison later. There was no way I could stay chummy with him.

I sighed and lay back down, flipping through the plot in my head.

The Immortal Survival Guide—also known as the Mary Sue nightmare where everyone in the mortal, demon, and immortal realms worship the heroine—was a pain to summarize. The heroine Hazel Park’s tangled love-hate with the Demon Lord Damien Cross could fuel three days of ranting.

My Master, Marcus, was the miserable second male lead: he gave everything for the heroine and ultimately destroyed his cultivation to help her survive the Transcendence Trial. She didn’t love him back, gave birth to Damien’s child, and then lived happily ever after.

Everyone else—Liam Green and the rest of the male ranks—were basically the heroine’s bootlickers. They had great talent and noble families, so they both admired and felt pity for Hazel, who rose from humble roots like some legendary underdog.

By the original narrative, the ancient shrine exploration was over and the story was around twenty percent in.

Soon there would be a grand event—the Tri-Realms Battlefield opening.

Hazel would find a divine pill dropped from the Immortal Realm and give it to Damien to refine his body. Trapped in a sealed chamber together, Damien would give in to desire and assault her in all the ways the plot needed, and thanks to his strength she would finally form a Core and become a Forming Core cultivator.

Then they’d break the chamber seal together and run into an inferior rival who’d come seeking revenge. Damien would beat me senseless—nearly shattering my spirit—and the original protagonist would develop Stockholm Syndrome and fall for him.

There’s really no polite way to describe that behavior except broken.

Since I remembered the details, I made a firm decision: avoid the Battlefield if possible. If I had to go, I would stay as far away from Hazel Park as humanly possible.

…Wait. Marcus—he’s the one who starts falling for Hazel at that Battlefield mission, isn’t he?!

Maybe because of Marcus, my status in Waverly Sect was pretty high.

I was a newly formed Forming Core who’d only just made Core Stage, yet a group of senior cultivators kindly called me “Claire junior sister.” If I was missing a spice or ingredient for my cooking, brothers would bring it to me.

For someone who, before transmigrating, lived as a lowly corporate lackey answering to both a client and a boss, this was life-changing.

“Junior sister Claire, this is the copper hotpot you asked for. I refined it from brass and channeled earth-fire into it. I embedded three Flame Crystals at the bottom. Add a bit of spirit force and the fire will stay lit for a whole day.”

A senior from Cloudridge Peak—who specialized in artifact-making—set the pot in front of me and asked curiously, “But junior sister, what do you need this for? It doesn’t look like a powerful artifact. Is there some trick?”

I shook my head. “No. For hotpot.”

After transmigrating, I’d found the local food boring beyond belief.

Cultivators hoarded resources while mortals lived poorly. Ordinary people were lucky to survive on plain gruel. Many cultivators fasted and ate spirit fruits, spirit wines, and spirit teas. They had “spirit” in the name but tasted like unsweetened green tea.

Even though I’d reached Forming Core and was half a bigshot cultivator now, I still thought like a mortal when it came to food.

Waverly Sect was flush with resources right now. If I didn’t mess with the food, I’d be wasting it.

So I dug a small knife out of my Traveler’s Satchel and started chopping chili peppers with a ch-ch-ch.

These chilis had an interesting backstory. People here called them “blood-clearing fruits.” Liam had told me they were found by someone hunting spirit herbs in the mountains. Other than slightly helping those with fire affinity, they had no cultivation use.

“This isn’t for cultivation,” I said while chopping. “It’s for cooking.”

Cultivation had its charms—I could now do hotpot, barbecue, even baking. A few days ago, bored, I’d practiced sword flight and rode a low-level artifact back and forth through the sky hundreds of times.

If not for knowing what would happen to me later in the Abyssal Vault, I would have thought transmigration wasn’t so bad.

I’d also been tinkering with completing that half-made artifact. It was complicated. Even though Marcus had collected all the materials, I still didn’t know where to start.

That artifact was my lifeline. I had to finish it.

Also, I’d been at Forming Core for months without a signature relic, and my cultivation felt stuck.

With that in mind, I took my hotpot and some spirit wine to Suncrest Peak that night to find Marcus.

He was sitting by the spirit lake with a fishing rod. When he saw me, surprise flickered across his face.

“Has your injured spirit sense recovered?”

I nodded eagerly. “Thanks to Master’s Soothing Fruit, Claire is fine now.”

Then he sighed so quietly I froze in place. Had I done something wrong again?

Marcus said, “I heard from Liam that you’ve been very interested in mortal foods lately—spending your days researching them?”

I nodded like crazy and took the chance to pull the steaming hotpot and honey-and-ice spirit wine out of my satchel. “Yes. I brought some. Why don’t you try it with me?”

“I’ve been fasting for years; food doesn’t interest me much.” Marcus glanced at me. “But if it distracts you from throwing yourself into cultivation recklessly, that could be a good thing.”

…Huh?

I was stunned. Marcus went on, “I spoke with Elders Wang and Lin. They said you had a clash with someone in the ancient shrine where Hazel forged her relic.”

A chill ran through me.

Logically, Marcus shouldn’t recognize Hazel until later in the plot—he learns about our conflict after becoming close to her and then comes back to scold me. Why was this happening so early?

Had my arrival here caused a butterfly effect?

I fell silent for a long moment before managing a smile. “Master, how did you hear? It was a small spat—no big deal.”

“They told me Hazel and her friend were only Foundation Stage, while you are Forming Core. Did that happen?”

Here it comes!

Interrogation time!

In the book Marcus said the exact line: “Hazel and her friend are mere Foundation disciples while you are Forming Core. How could you use your cultivation to oppress them? How did I teach you?”

In the original, Marcus was furious and full of disappointment when he said this. After scolding me he set a formation and locked me in Glacial Hollow for six months.

The original heroine got promoted to Nascent Soul because of the incident, but that half-year frozen in Glacial Hollow intensified the original’s hatred for Hazel.

“I—” I stammered, frantically assembling an explanation in my head.

In the original, the imprisonment happened late in Forming Core when the original had the Frostsong Sword to protect her. I’m newly Forming Core with no relic yet; if they sent me to Glacial Hollow now I’d freeze to death. “Uh, that girl once grabbed a pill from the market—one I’d meant to use for healing. I lost it to her so I was upset and argued. But I absolutely did not lay hands on her.”

That pill actually only helped Hazel’s injury; the original fight had been driven by jealousy of Hazel’s beauty. If I admitted the truth now, they’d pin everything on me and I’d be off to the Hollow.

Marcus paused, then asked, “You were injured?”

What? Bro, that’s the question you should be worrying about, not blame theatrics.

Thankfully he seemed to accept my excuse and didn’t press the Hazel matter. I quickly steered the conversation. “Yes—on a trip I fought someone and my spirit sense was damaged. Good thing you gave me that Soothing Fruit; I’m fully recovered.”

Oh my, I’m such a genius. The timeline fits neatly now!

But male leads are hard to read. Except for the heroine, few people can truly grasp them.

After I’d looked over at Marcus, his expression softened. He pursed his lips and said, “Say less.”

I blinked, not sure what I’d said wrong.

Luckily Marcus didn’t pursue it further. He redirected his attention to my hotpot and spirit wine.

“I may fast for years, but since you brought this, I’ll share a little with you.”

I nodded vigorously, poured him a cup of spirits, and picked up another chopstickful of tripe and fatty beef.

With spirit energy controlling the heat, every ingredient cooked to perfection. Paired with sesame paste and fragrant oil, it was so good I felt tears prick my eyes.

Marcus ate for a while, then commented, “Not bad.”

I saw him take another sip and figured his mood was good, so I finally said what I’d come for tonight. “Master, I’ve studied this for days and still don’t understand how to perfect the Ivory Fan. None of the materials you had Liam bring over were useful to me.”

Maybe it was the hot pot spice or the spirits, but my voice came out softer than I intended, threaded with a little plaintive grievance.

The cultivation world was strict—rules between master and disciple especially so. I could already picture Marcus scolding me for “no manners.”

But when I looked up, he was smiling at me.

Had the hot pot put him in a good mood?

Looks like my strategy of winning him over with food paid off. Even in the cultivation world, few could resist the charm of a great meal.

“That Ivory Fan is a semi-finished piece, but it’s already listed among heavenly spirit implements. Even an Ascendant can barely handle it. You’re just a Forming Core girl—you wouldn’t be able to manage it,” Marcus said. “If Claire still trusts me, give it to me—don’t worry. Once I perfect it, I’ll return it to you at once.”

Drunkness clouded my head and I slurred a bit, “But… Master, aren’t you an Ascendant too?”

“Before you returned, I advanced into Refined Void.”

I snapped awake a little. Marcus had advanced to Refined Void already? That didn’t match the original plot.

In The Immortal Survival Guide, he only pushed his cultivation to Refined Void later to help the heroine overcome her inner demons; later still he overextended himself into Union Stage for her. Why was he progressing so early now?

Maybe my open-mouthed stare was too ridiculous; Marcus laughed even more and reached out a hand. “Shh, it’s a secret. Give me the Ivory Fan.”

I thought it over. I didn’t have another spirit treasure to serve as a personal relic, and the sect competition was in two months; the Tri-Realms Battlefield opened in half a year. If I wanted to change the story’s course, I needed to improve quickly. Even if Marcus forged the relic for me, he might not take it back later—if I stayed on his good side and helped him court the heroine, even arranging for her to become my master’s wife, I’d be safe.

Worst case, I hated Damien anyway; if things went south I could leave the sect, train furiously, and one day surpass Marcus so he couldn’t take my things.

Comforted by that plan, I handed him the Ivory Fan and the materials. “Thank you, Master.”

That fan was indeed impressive. Even someone of Marcus’s Refined Void level would need half a month to perfect it. To keep on his good side and prevent him from doing anything to the fan, I kept bringing him spirits and food—sometimes hot pot, sometimes barbecue.

Once I found a bright red plant in his herb garden that looked like a tomato, and I picked two and made him tomato-and-egg. Only after I served it did he tell me it was a Crimson Berry, a material rarer than tens of thousands of high-grade spirit stones—used to make longevity pills.

I nearly cried. “I’m sorry, Master—I didn’t know…”

I’d just counted my Traveler’s Satchel; thanks to the original owner opening a formation, I had fewer than a hundred high-grade spirit stones total—pathetic, not at all the background of a vicious villainess. How could I possibly repay such a thing?

Marcus waved it off. “Just two Crimson Berries. If you like, I’ll give you more.” Then he plucked one and handed it to me.

Holding that fruit felt like clutching a mountain of gold. My admiration for Marcus shot up. Rich high-level cultivators made me feel like a small, incompetent tinker.

Two weeks later, the Ivory Fan was perfected.

The day it manifested, Suncrest Peak split with thunder and lightning—the Ninety-Nine Thunder Trials struck. Marcus shrugged them off with ease; I watched awestruck.

When the storm cleared, he descended slowly and stood not far from me—tall, elegant, with sharp brows and kind eyes. My heartbeat skipped. No wonder he had once made the heroine’s heart flutter—his cultivation and looks were both a danger.

I was about to speak when a clear laugh sounded behind me. “Marcus, junior brother, what relic are you forging to summon such a spectacle?”

Marcus had already sealed the Ivory Fan in his Traveler’s Ring. “I’m helping my disciple Claire forge a personal relic; it attracted a few thunder tribulations. Grandmaster, no offense.”

They traded polite words while I stood by wearing an awkward but polite smile, until the Grandmaster left.

Marcus glanced at me. “Come inside.”

I obediently followed him into his cave.

“The Ivory Fan’s made from phoenix bone and snow-throat bird feathers plus many materials only found in the immortal realms. Unfortunately it was tainted by demonic qi in that ancient shrine where Hazel forged her relic, but the thunder trials cleansed it. You bleed into it, imprint your spirit—then it’s your personal relic.”

I did as instructed. Pricking myself for blood hurt like hell, but I gritted my teeth and finished. Marcus warned, “The Ivory Fan is too powerful. At your current cultivation you can control less than one percent of its power. As a personal relic it should be placed into your dantian for careful nurturing. It’s not suitable to pull out for dueling now.”

I nodded rapidly. “Don’t worry, Master. I’m a peace-loving person—no thoughts of dueling.”

Marcus’s smile flashed for a second so quickly I missed it. “I know, Claire. But you must attend the sect competition in two months—you mustn’t bring shame to Suncrest Peak. On an excursion I once found a spirit sword in an immortal cave, called Frostsong.”

Frostsong? The original had listed that as the heroine’s relic?!

I stared as Marcus drew a silver, steely sword from his Traveler’s Ring. “It’s not as good as the Ivory Fan, but still an excellent spirit treasure. Keep it. The devices I gave you before were mostly damaged in the ancient shrine.”

That wasn’t in the book—maybe Claire had fought others too. I took the sword and put it into my Traveler’s Satchel.

After spending days together, Marcus really treated me well—better than his senior brothers did. I decided to return the favor and help him woo the heroine. I didn’t like Damien one bit; worst-case scenario I would help Marcus win, stay safe, and later reap benefits.

I pulled out a bottle of Evergreen Bamboo Mist from the satchel. It was a perfume I’d labored over—because of childhood issues, the heroine loved the faint scent of bamboo. If Marcus paid attention to such details, he might win her heart before the male lead did.

“Master, this is from me. Press and it sprays a scented mist. Maybe it’ll be useful if you have someone you like later.”

I hinted madly, hoping that when he fell for the heroine he’d remember how much I’d helped.

Marcus raised an eyebrow and took the bottle. “Thoughtful of you, Claire.”

With pleasantries done, I returned to my cave to examine the two relics.

Frostsong was straightforward—sharp, fast, with a freezing effect. The Ivory Fan, however, was mysterious. The original had just said it was terrifyingly powerful without explaining how.

I summoned the fan, poured in a little power, and flicked it. Seedlings by the herbs visibly sprouted taller and nearby flowers bloomed brighter. Stunned, I poured in more power. In a blink the world shifted and I found myself inside a thriving herb garden and a few mountains.

A space artifact!

What kind of godly cheat was this? How could the heroine hold such a thing and still be tormented by the male lead?

I stepped out of the space and experimented more, figuring out the fan’s capabilities. So far I’d found three functions: accelerate plant growth, independent spatial pocket, and create illusions. The illusion’s limits I hadn’t tested yet—I’d rope Liam in for that soon.

This transmigration was worth it. At least I hadn’t ended up after the heroine had already gotten the Ivory Fan—then I’d have no way to recover. As it stood, even if the heroine later stumbled into countless opportunities, I already had a life-saving relic. If people wanted to pick a fight with me, I could avoid them.

Feeling upbeat, I made fish-soup hot pot and went to dine with Marcus again. Coincidentally Liam was there too. I made polite small talk; he accepted, so the three of us ate together that night.

Maybe because Liam was present, Marcus was slightly more distant. I downed a few more cups of spirits and, tipsy, flopped onto the table. My mind blurred; everything in front of me swam.

In a daze, Marcus’s cave twisted into my burial ground—the Abyssal Vault. Darkness, the wailing of ten thousand demons. Countless creatures tearing at my soul, gnawing my spirit.

I curled up in pain and suddenly saw Marcus. He still wore that white robe, looking down at me from above.

“Are you here to save me?” I heard myself ask.

“Hazel’s things can never be touched by you,” he said. “Claire Bennett—do you even deserve it?”

He reached out and ripped the blood-stained Ivory Fan and Frostsong sword from inside me. Agony surged through my limbs; I opened my mouth and asked weakly, “Why, Master?”

Marcus turned and left, apparently too disdainful to answer. Without my personal relics protecting me, my spirit was more fragile than a mortal’s. The Vault’s denizens pounced, ravenous, and the pain knocked me unconscious.

I woke up lying on my bamboo bed.

After a quick moment of recollection, I figured Marcus or Liam must’ve carried me back.

What had happened last night? My head felt fuzzy.

How could I, a Foundation Stage cultivator no less, get drunk off a few swigs of spirits?

I’d even dreamt the original owner’s ending—every inch of that realistic pain and despair. No way in hell I ever wanted to feel that again, whether in a dream or in reality.

I swung my legs out of bed and turned my head—and a small paper crane was hovering in the air.

A wisp of spirit power transmitted Marcus’s voice: "I must close myself in seclusion for a month. After that, your training will be guided by the three senior brothers. You got drunk last night. No more drinking."

I didn’t need to be told twice—no more spirits for me. As for the three seniors… I frowned and thought, then finally the plot came back to me.

In the original story, Marcus had indeed secluded himself before the sect competition. And my three senior brothers—Senior Brother Zane, Second Brother Damien, and Third Brother Liam—end up as the heroine’s admirers in the later chapters.

Damien even goes mad with love for the heroine, tries to provoke Damien Cross, and gets slapped to death by the revived Demon King.

Trash cannon fodder, dying miserably.

I clicked my tongue and pushed open the door. Standing in the doorway was a rather handsome man with a perpetually sullen look.

Matching him to the book’s description, this was Damien.

"Second Brother Damien," I greeted, feigning warmth.

He glanced at me coldly. "Since the junior sister is awake, come with me. While Master is secluded, your training falls under our responsibility."

"Uh, where are Senior Brother and Third Brother?"

"They’re waiting at Little Distant Peak."

That bastard waved a teleportation shuttle and left—didn’t even look back to see if I followed.

I snorted at how his world seemed to contain only the heroine. I muttered a few curses under my breath, pulled the Frostsong Sword out of the Traveler’s Satchel, and flew after him.

What I didn’t expect was the training plan the three of them had set up: take turns fighting me.

First fight Liam. When I beat him, face Damien. Beat Damien, then face Zane. Win against all three, and my training is considered complete.

I swallowed. "You two are kidding, right? Senior Brother Zane—you hit Nascent Soul half a year ago, didn’t you?"

That smiling tiger gave me a grin. "Junior sister’s memory is sharp."

"So why the hell would I fight them? I just entered Foundation Stage."

"Junior sister, you underestimate yourself," Zane said seriously. "You have the Frostsong Sword given by Master; your combat capability is not ordinary. Besides, Master once crossed stages to duel. As a disciple of Suncrest Peak and one of Waverly Sect’s representatives at the sect competition, you mustn’t disgrace Master’s name."

I: "…"

I fell silent, then asked, "Why can’t Senior Brother represent Suncrest Peak?"

"Because this match is only for disciples below Nascent Soul. And—this is your opportunity."

Opportunity?

What kind of opportunity is that—getting your face beaten in?

From the original text, Claire loses to the male supporting lead Ethan Hale, and after being taunted, points the blame at the heroine, sowing discord between the heroine and the male lead. It creates a big mess.

I shook my head and tried to push the original plot aside. "Then why not let Damien go? He’s late-Foundation, his technique’s strong. He’ll crush them."

Damien sneered and turned his head away—an action that screamed disdain.

I bit down the urge to slap him, and looked at Liam.

He stammered, "Junior sister, Master specifically named you to participate. None of us can replace you."

Fine. Marcus himself had already ordered it—what could I argue?

So began the endless series of battles.

Liam’s cultivation was a notch above mine—mid-Foundation—and because he often led lower disciples in the nearby forests to clear beasts, his combat experience was rich. Under Marcus’s instruction, they didn’t hold back. Every day I got my face rearranged.

I screamed, fell from the sky, and was caught just in time by Zane.

Liam landed, cupped his fists. "Junior sister, well fought."

Well fought my foot!

I was furious. "No hot pot for you tonight!"

Liam immediately put on a pitiful expression and handed me a bottle of healing tonic as a peace offering. I accepted it, satisfied, and secretly decided to keep the hot pot from him.

Those days we cooked together, feasted, and enjoyed the simple pleasures of being human—three cultivators who’d been fasting finally tasted real food again. Even Damien’s face softened a bit.

That night I poured the chicken broth into the copper pot, arranged the ingredients, fixed the dipping sauce, and happily started the hot pot.

While eating, we talked about past expeditions.

Marcus trains by letting disciples fail before they break through, so the four of us got sent out to learn more than once. I usually had an elder or two with me, but the three senior brothers often had to go solo and barely survived more than a few times.

"One year ago, I went to train and found an ancient teleportation array," Damien said between mouthfuls. "It sent me into a deep pool. I thought I was done for, but a female cultivator with crimson eyes saved my life."

My chopsticks froze halfway to the pot. Crimson eyes? That’s the heroine when possessed by Damien Cross—did Damien meet her that early?

My mind churned. In the original, Damien falls in love with the heroine later, after she saves his spirit beast and declares her thoughts on spirit beasts as friends. The timeline didn’t fit.

Zane laughed, "A female cultivator? Brother used to sneer at female cultivators. Now you remember her. Got a thing for her?"

Damien’s rare blush invited more teasing. I scoffed inwardly—when you finally fall for her, you’ll be way more over the top.

The next few days passed in bickering among the three of them and me. Food brings people closer, and in five days we’d actually grown somewhat sibling-like.

On the tenth day, I took my chance. Using a few silver-needle tricks, I managed to ambush and beat Liam.

Since Liam had lost, it was Damien’s turn.

He stood opposite me with a golden ring blade in hand, ready to go. I raised my palm. "Wait."

Damien frowned. I summoned the Ivory Fan. "Let me test whether this illusion works."

"Just fight," he scoffed, as if I couldn’t be worth his time. I thought: buddy, be careful.

I poured spirit power into the Ivory Fan like I had nothing to lose until it felt heavier in my hand, then struck.

The world shimmered. Flowers burst into bloom around Damien, then a white mist rolled in. He was inside, and faint sounds of fighting and roars came from within.

Zane and Liam gaped. "Junior sister, what weapon is that? Why have we never seen you use it?"

Only Marcus and I knew the Ivory Fan was a true relic. Liam knew I’d retrieved a powerful treasure from an ancient shrine but had no idea how strong it truly was.

I pretended to be mysterious. "Master forged this as my life-bound relic. It’s called the ‘Phantasmal Fan.’ Since I don’t like fighting, Master said a defensive illusion is enough."

Zane gave me a strange look; I didn’t care.

Damien thrashed in the illusion for a while. When the fog persisted, I decided to end him quickly, and save the question of how to duel Zane—now Nascent Soul—for later.

I stepped into the white mist and called, "Second Brother Damien—"

Before I could finish, he suddenly lifted his head. His eyes were blood-red and fixed on me.

"Vile witch! Die!"

He roared and slashed his golden ring blade straight at me.

Caught off-guard, I only managed to raise the Ivory Fan to my chest, but the blow still struck me hard and sent me flying.

My vision blackened and my throat burned. I spat a mouthful of blood.

Honestly, cultivation novels aren’t like melt-your-heart boss romance stories where a guy bursts into emotion at the sight of you coughing blood. For cultivators, every drop of essence-laden blood is precious.

That bastard Damien’s strike hit me with no warning—my primordial energy was damaged. It might take ten to fifteen days to recover.

"Junior sister!" Zane caught me and glared at Damien. "Are you mad? Master only said to help Claire train, not to maim her!"

Because I’d been injured, the Ivory Fan’s illusion failed; the fog around Damien thinned.

He panted, propping himself up with the ringblade, his expression dark.

Zane frowned. "Brother?"

Damien snapped back to himself and twisted the corner of his mouth. "She deserves to die."

"What did you say?!" Zane scolded. I clutched his robe and gave a helpless, pitiful smile, voice soft and strained: "It’s okay, Senior Brother. Maybe Second Brother saw something bad in that illusion. It’s my fault—I’m the one who insisted on testing it—"

I didn’t finish the sentence. I fainted.

—No, actually I didn’t faint.

I was only pretending, so I could watch how the three of them reacted to my absence and figure out what to do next.

Damien’s words and look made one thing clear: his love for the heroine and his hatred for me might be accelerated now.

In the original story, the line "She deserves to die" was what Damien said after I’d pushed the heroine Hazel Park to the brink of death—then Damien swooped in to save her, carried her away to heal, and later risked himself to divert pursuers so the heroine could be rescued by Ethan Hale. That’s how his arc with the heroine began.

Now those events were shifting earlier—and that spelled trouble.

The squad chasing me was led by me. I couldn’t beat him. Near death, when one of my men blurted out my identity, he didn’t stop—he only sneered, “She deserves to die.”

Luckily, the original me broke through again at the last second and nearly turned the tables.

In the end, Lincoln fled wounded, slipped into the Demon Realm, found Damien and the heroine entangled in their abusive romance, got riled up, provoked Damien—and died a gruesome death.

That’s later.

Right now the question is: why did his love for the heroine and his hatred for me both show up so much earlier?

Could it really be because of the Ivory Fan’s illusion?

And if so, what about Zane’s love for the heroine?

What about Liam Green’s unwavering devotion?

What about Marcus Lee’s vow to follow her through life and death?

If everyone around me started liking her sooner, then with the conflicts I had with her, wouldn’t I just be a tragic cannon fodder rolled out early?

… I wanted to run.

At first I pretended to be unconscious, but the wound was worse than I thought. Before I knew it, I drifted into a real sleep.

There were muffled noises in the dark at first—arguing, then it quieted into whispered murmurs.

I opened my eyes. Night had fallen. I was lying on the bamboo bed in my cave dwelling.

Liam stood a few paces away, looking relieved. “Little sister, you’re awake!”

He told me I hadn’t been badly hurt this time. Luckily Marcus left a stock of pills before going into seclusion, so they fed one to me and let me rest overnight. My wounds were mostly healed.

I nodded, then asked, “What about Senior Lin?”

“He’s kneeling outside your door, insisting on apologizing to you.”

“I and Senior Brother have already tried to persuade him, but he won’t get up. He keeps saying he was confused by the illusion and didn’t mean to harm you—he says he deserves a thousand deaths.”

I forced a smile, swung my legs off the bed, and went to the doorway. Sure enough, Lin was on his knees, straight-backed.

Backlit, I couldn’t make out his expression at first.

“Get up,” I said. “A duel can go wrong. How can I blame you? You’re my senior brother—if you kneel at my door like this, what will the other disciples think?”

His voice was hoarse. “So you don’t blame me?”

I shook my head.

He rose slowly and gave me a smile. “Our little sister is indeed magnanimous. No wonder Master favors you so.”

I stared at him without answering.

That line sounded squeezed through clenched teeth. Beneath his calm it hid a deeper rage and killing intent—like fire under ice.

I think I guessed what the illusion was.

And he will never wake from that illusion again.

After that, until Marcus emerged from seclusion, our hotpot gang never met up again.

Hotpot brothers are shallower than drinking buddies, and Lin’s naturally sullen, violent temperament meant he wouldn’t put on a sweet brother-sister show with me long-term.

He avoided me, but he didn’t know I was the one who wanted to avoid him.

Simple reason: I couldn’t beat him.

One day Liam came running, all excited, to tell me Lin had left without a word—perhaps gone off to refine himself again. He looked at me anxiously. “Little sister, Second Brother didn’t do it on purpose. Don’t take it to heart, okay? Please don’t blame him.”

Of course I’m a vicious villainess—I did nothing, and Lin’s vanishing act got blamed on me.

Fine. If that’s the case, I won’t be polite.

I forced some tears with a little spiritual trick and, blinking tearfully, glared at Liam. “What are you saying? Are you saying Claire drove Second Brother away? Fine, fine, it’s all Claire’s fault. I’ll tell Master I choose to be expelled. Don’t worry, Second Brother.”

Liam looked bewildered and was about to protest when Marcus’s voice came from behind: “What nonsense are you saying? Who’s going to expel you?”

“It’s… Claire feeling guilty. It’s nothing to do with the brothers,” Liam rushed to explain.

I kept up my white-lotus act. “Master, you’re out of seclusion?”

“If I don’t come out, you’ll actually be expelled,” Marcus said lightly, casting me a glance. My tearful, wronged smile almost slipped. “What’s going on?”

Less said, less wrong. I stayed quiet, so Liam summarized the last months: how we’d been training under Marcus’s seclusion, my progress, and the duel that led to my injury.

“Second Brother says he didn’t mean to—he was affected by the illusion and accidentally struck Sister…” Liam whispered. “He left the mountain early because he didn’t want Sister to see he was upset.”

I refused to take that blame. Sniffling, I started sobbing louder: “When did Claire ever say Second Brother looked unhappy… I never blamed him! It’s Claire’s fault—she shouldn’t have used that illusion. Waaaa… Second Brother trained so long; Claire misses him so much…”

“Enough.”

A familiar voice snapped in my ear. I froze and looked up. Liam looked guilty but otherwise normal.

Marcus was watching me, something like amusement playing on his face. So he’d been transmitting his voice to me all along.

I realized I’d been too narrow in my reading of Marcus.

“Claire is mischievous but kindhearted—of course she wouldn’t blame Second Brother,” Marcus said, a cold smile at his lips. “But Lin was smart—he guessed I’d punish him, so he left the mountain first. Fine. Let him come back and we’ll deal with it then.”

And with that, it was settled.

When Marcus heard I could beat Liam, he looked pleased and handed me a bundle of talismans, spirit tools, and a thick stack of protective charms. “The sect competition isn’t like your training matches. It’s life-and-death sometimes. Hold onto these—they’ll keep you alive.”

He ruffled my hair like a doting father. “And don’t use the Ivory Fan’s illusion unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Time flew. Soon it was the day of the sect tournament.

Seven nearby sects had sent their top disciples—this was a fight for honor.

Marcus lifted his hand and we rode the breeze to the arena. Liam and Zane summoned their flying devices and followed silently.

At the venue, Marcus whispered, giving me a rundown of the opposing sects. “That’s the Beast Cult—renowned for taming spirit beasts. They don’t use relics, but each disciple keeps a bonded spirit beast. That’s Ancient Sword Mountain—sword arts are their specialty. That’s Ice Jade Sect—they only accept female cultivators. That one over there is the Medicine Mountain—”

His voice stopped. An odd expression flickered across him—part surprise, part delight.

I followed his gaze and froze.

There she was, in a red gown, a vermilion mark between her brows, holding a verdant spirit-slaying sword—glaring coldly in my direction. Hazel Park.

The silence and undercurrent between Marcus and me had been building for over half an hour. I was fidgeting like needles under my skin, ready to stand, when he quietly ordered, “Sit.”

Refined Void—there was no way I could overpower him.

I couldn’t help asking, leaning forward: “Master, do you know that female cultivator?”

Marcus said smoothly, “No.”

Bull. His eyes had already betrayed him—he’d clearly fallen for Hazel at first sight, hadn’t he?

I sighed inwardly. It was just as I’d feared: because I’d been transported here, the butterfly effect had shifted the original plot. The original story could only serve as reference now; it wasn’t a script to follow.

From Hazel’s location, she seemed to belong to Medicine Mountain.

In the original story she showed a special talent for pill-refining. For instance, the semi-finished divine pill that helped Damien reconstruct his body was perfected by Hazel’s transcendent alchemy. Originally, she would join Medicine Mountain upon breaking into Forming Core—after returning from the Tri-Realms Battlefield. But now she’d come much earlier.

I glanced at the loyal guardian at her side—Ethan Hale—and felt a pang.

Ethan’s fate is that of a cannon fodder too. He helped the heroine a lot early on—accompanying her through trials, fighting by her side, protecting her, and helping her get into Medicine Mountain. As the Grandmaster’s grandson, he had a bright future. But later, after the heroine escaped the Demon Realm and needed to re-consolidate her Nascent Soul, he sacrificed himself to refine the pill that saved her.

So the book could also be called “How the Heroine Ascended to Immortality Through the Male Lead’s Abuse and Many Men’s Help.”

Maybe my stare was too intense; Marcus patted my shoulder. “Why are you staring over there? Did you take a fancy to someone?”

“That’s a disciple from Medicine Mountain—Ethan Hale? He’s not bad as a talent, I guess…”

I shrugged; his tone carried a warning. So I chose to get ahead of things. “Master, those two are the ones who clashed with me in the ancient shrine. The Ivory Fan was taken from them…”

Better I say it first than have it exaggerated when Hazel and Marcus interact later.

Marcus fixed me with a stare and didn’t speak, so I forced myself on: “If Master asks, Claire will return the item to that fellow.”

Smart retreat—I’d already refined the Ivory Fan into my bonded relic, and Marcus personally improved it. Besides, my feud with Hazel wasn’t as deep yet; Marcus wouldn’t risk my cultivation setback by demanding I give it back now.

I congratulated myself silently.

Marcus frowned. “Cultivation is about going against fate—everyone’s got their own luck. If it’s yours, why give it up?”

I smiled. “Master’s right.”

“Enough.” He turned his head toward the stage. “The tournament begins.”

This tournament picked the cream of each sect, and there were no mercy rules—only that killing was forbidden. Wounds in duels were expected.

Marcus, one of the few Ascendant Stage practitioners present, had a prime seat. The table before him even had fruit and spirit tea.

Riding his coattails, I had a great view. I munched and sipped while watching the matches with keen interest.

The spirit tea was as bland as ever. I took a discreet sip, then reached into my Traveler’s Satchel for milk and sugar and quietly made myself a milk tea.

I mentally kicked myself again — if the rules had allowed it, I could’ve tossed in some pearls and red beans as garnish.

Marcus gave me an amused look. "You really have a talent for this kind of thing."

"Claire loves messing around with food and drinks. Master’s known that forever," I said, nudging the cup toward him. "Want to try it?"

He took the cup with a smile but didn’t drink. Quietly: "Your turn."

I whipped my head around. Someone onstage shouted, "Next match: Waverly Sect disciple Claire Bennett versus Glacial Hollow disciple Andrew Wang!"

Whispers rose from the crowd instantly. "Oh my god, Claire Bennett? She’s the direct disciple of Core Stage cultivator Marcus Lee!"

"I heard she’s a water-root prodigy. Great aptitude — formed a Core by age twenty, and everyone’s always doting on her. Her relic was even personally forged by Marcus!"

"Poor Andrew — he just ran into a born genius!"

Of course — before she even stepped out, random spectators had to hype her up. Very on-brand for a villainess.

If it were the heroine, they’d do a slow-burn build-up first, then praise.

My smile felt a little too tight. Marcus waved a hand casually. "Go."

A push of force sent me up onto the duel platform.

Andrew was in teal robes. He bowed with a firm clasped-fist salute. "Teach me, please!"

"…Teach me, teach me," I muttered back, an awkward, clumsy bow. My brain was racing.

I’d been wandering around this world for a while now, but aside from that one quarrel with Liam Green and Senior Li, I’d never actually fought anyone. Spirit power, to me, was mostly useful for making everyday life more convenient.

Honestly? I was nervous. Used to being a mortal, suddenly being half-immortal was disorienting.

I could barely manage using artifacts properly. And now he was bringing a spirit beast into the match.

What do I even do for my opening move?

While I was pretending to be calm and panicking inside, Andrew finished his formalities. Then I watched, wide-eyed, as he pulled a…Ragdoll cat out of his spirit beast pouch.

Thanks to modern cat culture, I’m a huge fan of all felines. A Ragdoll — snow-white fur, big blue eyes — is basically a weapon of mass adorable destruction to me.

My gaze must’ve been too intense. The little Ragdoll trotted a few steps closer; when our eyes met, its blue gems of eyes melted me on the spot.

Maybe I looked too soft; the cat didn’t move for a bit. We just froze, locked in a stare-down.

Andrew didn’t notice my mushy meltdown. He was proudly explaining his beast’s capabilities. "This Devourer is a fourth-rank mutant spirit beast, adept in wind and thunder arts. Its cultivation is comparable to a late Forming Core stage cultivator — I found it in a spirit-beast cave deep in the Ten-Thousand Mountains…"

He talked for five minutes and finally barked, "Begin!"

Silence fell. The Ragdoll and I blinked at each other. After a beat, I rummaged in my Traveler’s Satchel, pulled out a little wooden stick, tied a few feathers to it, and waved it around.

Andrew watched warily. "What kind of formidable artifact is that?"

"A cat teaser."

I dangled the feather bundle and softened my voice. "Here, baby, come on, come here."

Andrew’s face went blank. "What did you say?"

"I — didn’t mean you, sir," I said.

The Ragdoll studied me for a moment, then pounced into my arms. Its long fur was impossibly soft; I stroked it twice. It meowed twice and buried itself in my chest, refusing to budge.

Andrew looked like he’d been struck by lightning. Before he could react, I flipped a spinning dart from my satchel. It whistled through the air and stopped with its tip pressing into Andrew’s neck, piercing a few centimeters.

"You lose."

Reluctantly, I handed the Ragdoll back and floated off to Marcus’ side.

Marcus gave me a curious look. "What kind of tactic was that?"

I couldn’t help asking, "Master, are all Devourers like that?"

"No," he said. "Most have short, coarse hair and look vicious. Andrew’s must be a rare mutation — long-haired."

I probably looked way too crestfallen. Marcus hesitated, then added, "If you like it, I can take you to the Ten-Thousand Mountains to catch one someday."

"Yes! Yes, please."

Thrilled, I sank back into the chair and watched the rest of the matches with Marcus. Spells and artifacts filled the sky — dizzying, gloriously impractical stuff that only shows up in novels.

The ordinary duels were kind of boring, but soon the heroine’s first fight started.

She floated in clutching a teal Soul-Slicing Sword, elegant and airy. Her opponent was another pretty girl.

"Ice Jade Sect’s Emily Yu versus Panacea Mountain’s Hazel Park."

Just hearing that name made the air feel heavier.

I glanced at Marcus. Of course he was staring at the heroine like his eyes might melt into her.

"Master," I said, "have you got a thing for her?"

I didn’t want to dance around it. Marcus snapped his gaze away like someone caught in the act. "Nonsense."

Sure, keep telling yourself that.

Emily Yu was a known beauty among the major sects with solid water-and-wood roots. But Hazel Park was the uncanny heroine of the book — with plot-boosting aura and the lingering soul of Damien Cross inside her, she was absurdly powerful.

She made short work of Emily. That’s when I remembered the origin of that Soul-Slicing Sword.

It was supposed to be a divine relic bestowed later from the Immortal Realms. How did she get it so early?

Of course — hero gets her White Feather Fan stolen and then even stronger things come looking for her.

She dazzled everyone, and the crowd started hyping her up.

"Isn’t Hazel Park supposed to have weak mixed elemental roots and no family backing? How is she this strong?"

"Oh, you don’t know. With that talent, getting into Panacea Mountain as a direct disciple was because Elder Chen Fan’s grandson favored her…"

I scanned the crowd. Marcus seemed calm again — maybe chastened after I called him out earlier. Zeng Xuan and Liam Green showed more interested expressions.

I went on to win two more matches thanks to the pile of artifacts and talismans Marcus tossed me earlier. Money doesn’t buy everything, but it can buy flashy effects — and flashy effects win matches. My background as a privileged, well-supplied villainess got more cemented.

Hazel Park, by contrast, relied on fewer tools. In the original book, she and Damien Cross explored many secret realms and grabbed a stash of powerful artifacts, many tied to the Demon Realm — she couldn’t use those openly. So she leaned on that Soul-Slicing Sword. A single weapon, but divine in origin and devastating in effect, so she won easily.

By the end of the day’s duels, we’d both made the top ten. The next day’s finals would pick the champion.

That night, as I lay thinking, Marcus dropped by unexpectedly. I was surprised.

"Master?"

He waved me to lie back. "You making the top ten wasn’t unexpected. Since you’re here, I should tell you the real reason I entered you in the sect competition."

Reason?

I blinked and remembered something Zeng Xuan had said when Marcus was in seclusion: "Senior Brother said this is my chance. What chance exactly?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "He’s a blabbermouth. The so-called chance was decided by the Seven Sects together."

"Half a year ago, in the Immortal Carp Sea, we found an Ice-Jade Purification Pool that can transform a person’s cultivation. It sadly only works for cultivators below Nascent Soul stage, and it only accommodates one person at a time. The agreement was that the top winner of this sect competition would enter the pool."

I was stunned. That sounded incredible. Why didn’t the book mention it?

"Also, you’re water-rooted, so it would be most effective for you. That’s why I wanted you to fight."

"Thank you for thinking of me, Master."

I sat up, hugging the quilt. "But you might be overestimating me. Hazel Park is terrifying — I doubt I can beat her."

I Came Back to Break the Plot

Marcus's lips twitched as if pleased. "Maybe not," he said, then reached out and ruffled my hair. "But you never know."

The breeze made the room feel solemn. I looked across at Hazel Park — murder in her eyes, like she was ready to leap and rip me apart.

I felt like prey in a jungle.

I started wondering: such a vicious heroine — how did the male lead abuse her so badly in the book? Love really blinds people, huh?

Hazel lifted the Soul-Slicing Sword and glared at me. "Claire Bennett, our grudge ends today!"

"A duel is a sect competition rule — killing is forbidden. Are you planning to murder me?" I asked.

Hazel didn't answer. A flash of malice gleamed in her eyes.

After the second day began, the fights were even more intense. I beat Ice Jade Sect's young lady and then had to face Hazel Park.

Facing the book's strongest, most murderous heroine, I couldn't be careless. I pulled my strongest artifact besides my relic — the Frostsong Sword — from the Traveler's Satchel and prepared to go all out.

But Hazel had lived through life-and-death battles. She was ruthless in dueling. I jabbed; she countered even if it hurt her. I tossed a talisman; she threw more back, shredding my sleeve.

She had Damien Cross's soul inside to mend wounds. I couldn't outlast her. When Hazel raised her sword for another strike, I shouted, "Stop! I surrender!"

Her eyes flashed with cruelty and she didn't pause. Instead, she accelerated.

Seriously — how fierce can one heroine be? First everyone criticized the saintly heroine trope; now the revenge-obsessed, cornered heroine is the trending style?

I leapt back fast, but I couldn’t outrun Hazel Park. Just as her sword was about to pierce my chest, the world went dark for a beat—and when I looked again, Marcus Lee was on top of me.

He lifted a hand and casually batted Hazel’s blade aside. Cool as ever, he said, “My apprentice lacks skill. I gladly concede defeat. But if she’s already admitted loss, why kill her?”

Huh?

I craned my neck, surprised, trying to catch Marcus’s expression.

He should’ve fallen for Hazel at first sight. Why was he stopping her now?

Was he trying to get the heroine’s attention?

That’s…strategic.

It made a kind of sense. In the original story, Marcus was always overly devoted to Hazel—the classic gentle, lovesick second lead. He gave and gave until he practically sacrificed himself, and all he ever got was Hazel calling him “brother.” Pathetic.

Meanwhile the twisted demon king—who hurt her body and heart—somehow had the heroine, a full-blown Stockholm patient, falling head over heels for him. Later, when she ascended and became an immortal, Damien Cross even moved his whole family over—impressive in its own awful way.

Maybe Marcus was changing tactics this time. Maybe he planned to lure Hazel’s attention to him by different means.

If so, as his disciple I should help.

The rest of the contest was anticlimactic.

Hazel shot Marcus a cold glare and glided back to the Wan Medicine Mountain bench. Marcus glanced at my battered body and stayed silent for a moment.

I felt embarrassed and avoided his eyes, digging into the Traveler’s Satchel for medicine.

He sighed and flicked a pill to me. “Take this. Your injuries aren’t light.”

I said “Oh” and obediently popped the pill. Sweetness bloomed on my tongue, and the pain eased quickly.

Marcus raised a hand and floated us back to our original spot.

The matches after that were hardly worth watching. Ethan Hale obviously threw the fight to Hazel—three moves, and he was done.

When the sect leaders smilingly announced the champion, a huge golden halo suddenly glimmered above Hazel Park’s head. It shone and sparkled.

She hadn’t won the title Marcus might’ve wanted, so I felt awkward around him. Back at Suncrest Peak, I lied: after losing the contest I was going into seclusion to cultivate, and wouldn’t see anyone.

Senior Li and Liam Green were moved by my tearful performance. They comforted me and gave me small gifts—misfortune partially turned to fortune, I suppose.

I locked myself in my cave and set about making it cozy.

Cultivators chase immortality and typically scorn material things, so having a decent place to live was already a luxury.

When I’d visited Liam’s cave, there’d been a single lumpy stone bed—pathetic. I spent seven whole days turning my cave into a Nordic three-bedroom setup. To make furniture that fit the aesthetic, I even greatly improved my refinement skills.

Weirdly, Marcus didn’t come by once during those seven days.

At first I found that strange. Then I thought it through: since Hazel had arrived early, her relationship line with Marcus would advance early too. His absence was probably deliberate—good for me. My wounds fully healed, and I spent the time experimenting with food.

The refinement furnace for forging artifacts maintains steady, enclosed heat. I dialed down the fire and made a small oven, built an egg-beater powered by spirit stones, and baked cranberry cake and tiramisu.

Life drifted by like that. One midnight I got hungry and snuck up to cook noodles. The chicken broth had just started to smell when Marcus turned up.

I startled, dropped the ladle, and stood. “Master?”

He glanced at me. “Eating this late?”

“Hungry.”

He didn’t argue, instead sitting in the chair beside me and watching with interest as I simmered the soup and boiled noodles.

I didn’t want to ask him outright anything, so I made small talk. “Master, want some? Claire can make you a bowl.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t refuse. So much for the idea that Refined Void cultivators don’t eat—okay.

We finished two bowls together. He washed my bowl and stood. “Come. I’ll take you to the Immortal Carp Sea. You’re due to enter the Ice-Jade Purification Pool.”

I blinked. “Wasn’t the champion Hazel Park from Wan Medicine Mountain?”

Marcus casually said, “She and Ethan stole the sect’s most precious immortal bone ginseng from the Wan Medicine treasure vault and defected from the sect. So the Ice-Jade slot falls to you.”

The Immortal Carp Sea is named for the many golden-red carp that swim in it—like diving in might rain down good fortune.

Maybe my gaze was too eager. He glanced back and said flatly, “The Immortal Carp Sea has existed for millennia. The carp within are often superior in cultivation to ordinary Forming Core disciples. Safety is more important than appetite.”

Translation: if you can’t catch a fish, don’t think about roasting one.

Was that how he saw me?

“Master, Claire’s just wondering—Hazel is the sect contest champion, and Ethan is the Grand Elder’s grandson. Why would those two steal the immortal ginseng and defect? That’s basically suicide.”

Hazel had always worried about her poor cultivation talent. If there was a chance to purify her marrow and bones, would she pass it up? Even if she needed the ginseng, couldn’t she purify first and steal later?

Then I remembered the original novel. The book didn’t mention the Immortal Carp Sea or the Ice-Jade Pool. Originally, Ethan was the champion, and later at the Tri-Realms Battlefield he leaped to Forming Core—probably thanks to a marrow purification. But now the situation had shifted: the purification slot was mine.

I looked at Marcus, suspicious. He asked, “Claire, why the look?”

He always saw through my act. I stopped pretending. “Master, did you have a hand in Hazel and Ethan stealing the ginseng?”

“How would I?” Marcus raised an innocent eyebrow. “Those two hurt the guard and broke into Wan Medicine Mountain’s treasure vault. What business is that of mine? Besides, I’m a Refined Void cultivator—why bother over two Foundation Stage kids?”

“Master, Ethan had already reached Forming Core before the contest.”

“No difference.”

“…Oh.”

I shut up. If Marcus had really engineered this, how could he face the heroine later? It probably was an accident. Hazel’s decision still looked awfully foolish.

We flew a while longer and arrived at a small island in the center of the Immortal Carp Sea. Mist wound around the island, blocking the sky—Marcus said it was the work of a formation; below it was the Ice-Jade Purification Pool.

A few other sect leaders stood on the hilltop. Waverly Sect’s Grandmaster wasn’t present; Marcus’s higher cultivation sure gave him the authority to represent us.

I recognized the haggard-looking old man at the front instantly—Ethan Hale’s grandfather, Elder Chen Song of Wan Medicine Mountain.

“Marcus.”

Marcus still presented himself outwardly as an Ascendant Stage cultivator, so Chen Song treated him as a peer.

Marcus set me down and bowed slightly. “Elder Chen.”

Chen Song sighed, ashamed. “This is Wan Medicine Mountain’s fault. We took your Crimson Berry but didn’t hand over the promised immortal bone ginseng. That she-devil beguiled my grandson—he was stupid, and they stole the ginseng together!”

Crimson Berry? The scrambled egg tomato thing? I slipped a hand into the Traveler’s Satchel; sure enough, the bright red berry sat safely inside. Why was this fruit worth so much?!

Marcus remained cool. “No one wants a guard to steal their own vault. I gave you the crimson berry; I won’t take it back. It was precious and hard to get—if I’d wanted it for an exchange, I wouldn’t have parted with it.”

This man…lying with his eyes open, and at a masterful level. I felt a little sorry for Chen Song. He kept talking: “At least the Ice-Jade slot went to your disciple as compensation.”

Marcus arched a brow. “Elder Chen, that’s wrong. Hazel and Ethan defected—this purification slot always belonged to my apprentice. How can it be compensation?”

Chen stammered, then offered, “If you need anything else, name it and I’ll find it for you.”

Marcus smiled. “There is one thing, but you needn’t search. I heard Elder Chen once obtained a Watertrack Jade in a mountain range. I’ve been studying formations and need that item.”

Chen Song’s face changed several times before he clenched his jaw, drew a pale blue translucent stone from his bracelet, and handed it to Marcus. “Take it.”

I watched Marcus tuck it away with satisfaction and finally understood.

He was a fox.

He spread word about exchanging medicinal items, knowing it would prompt Hazel to act rashly. Even if Hazel wanted to wait and steal after purifying, she couldn’t—she was only a Foundation Stage disciple. Even with Damien Cross’s soul helping, she couldn’t wrest the ginseng from Marcus, an Ascendant/Refined Void-level cultivator. So she bit the bullet and took the risk.

And Marcus? His true target wasn’t the ginseng—it was that Watertrack Jade. One plan, three gains. Ruthless.

I looked at him differently now. Marcus seemed unfazed. He waved and sent me into the formation.

“The Ice-Jade Pool is below. This formation is mine; it’s very safe—even shapeshifting beasts can’t harm you. Cultivate with peace of mind. I’ll come for you in five days.”

The Ice-Jade Purification Pool, as the name implies, is extremely cold.

I sat in my clothes and felt like I was winter swimming. I had to use spirit power to warm myself up.

Threads of cold crept straight into my skin, condensing into tiny beads of water inside me, slowly eroding my meridians.

It was numb and itchy, with a persisting, faint sting.

Mom, cultivation is so painful.

I’d always been a water-affinity prodigy, not like Hazel Park’s fourfold affinity, so my talent was pretty good. The marrow-cleansing wasn’t as grueling for me.

I froze in the Ice Jade Marrow Pool for three days and finally polished every meridian. I even advanced in cultivation—now a strong late Forming Core cultivator.

This place really was a treasure. Too bad the heroine lost such a rare opportunity because of Marcus Lee’s scheming.

That thought made me curious again.

Marcus could plot against Hazel so coldly—clearly, he hadn’t fallen in love with her, at least not yet.

Which made the original plot weird—he was supposed to fall in love with that “ordinary but stubborn, proud” heroine at first sight.

What changed him?

Could it be because I showed up?

Maybe it was because I kept turning these thoughts over in my head that the defenses in my mind suddenly cracked. Cold mist seeped through and twisted into a strange scene in my head.

That person… was Marcus?

He wasn’t wearing the usual white robe. Instead he wore dark clothes, expression indifferent.

He pinched a blood-red pill between finger and thumb. After a long silence, with a resolute face, he threw it into his mouth.

What kind of pill was that?

Before I could figure it out, the scene shifted: misty palaces and towers emerged.

A woman in plain clothes stood there—her face very much like Hazel’s—coldly staring at the man in front of her.

Hazel said, “My mind is made. I must pass this tribulation. You needn’t persuade me further.”

The man’s face was obscured by mist—blurry. I leaned in to see more clearly, and they turned as if suddenly aware of me.

A flash of light hit me, and I blacked out.

I came to because I heard Marcus’s voice.

“Claire, Claire.”

I opened my eyes to his slightly worried gaze.

I touched my damp hair and sat up from the marrow pool. “Did I pass out, Master?”

He nodded. “The Tri-Realms Battlefield is about to open. All the sects and lone cultivators will go, even demon and fiend cultivators. Since ancient times, forming a Nascent Soul carries the risk of being devoured by one’s heart demon. We must go to the battlefield and find the Bridgeheart Herb to help you safely overcome the heart demon.”

According to the original background, the Tri-Realms Battlefield is the ruin left over from the tens-of-thousands-years-long war between humans, demons, and spirits. Old sect ruins and secret caves abound, and the place is filled with vengeful spirits and danger.

After the war ended, the battlefield opens once every thousand years. Each opening lasts a long time, so many cultivators flock there to seek opportunities.

“This should really be called the Four-Realms War,” I thought. “Immortal-realm folk must have interfered—otherwise how could Damien Cross have gotten an immortal-world pill on the battlefield to strengthen his body?”

Ten days ago Marcus took me back from the Celestial Carp Sea to the Waverly Sect.

I’d nearly collapsed inside the Ice Jade Pool and picked up a light injury that took two days to heal.

During that time Marcus stayed in my Nordics-style cavehouse, stealing glances that felt off.

“Master, what are you doing?”

Marcus’s mouth curved. “Bring out the Ivory Fan.”

I wanted to resist but didn’t dare. I obediently summoned my bonded relic from my dantian.

After being nourished by a human cultivator’s energy, the Ivory Fan finally gleamed with a faint luster—as if it had a hint of human warmth.

Marcus took it, then reached into his Traveler’s Satchel for a pale aqua Water-Trace Jade and summoned a small plume of bonded flame.

I watched, baffled, as he melted the Water-Trace Jade and painstakingly forged it into the Ivory Fan, bit by bit. “Master, what are you doing?”

“Do you know what the Water-Trace Jade does?”

I shook my head. The original text never even mentioned it.

“Water-Trace Jade revives the withered and can reverse time’s flow. Only a small piece is born when the world first took shape. Its usual power is only one- or two-tenths of its full potential, so it’s mostly used in precious medicinal garden formations.”

Marcus explained while forging. “But if used on the Ivory Fan, it can fully restore the relic, protect your Nascent Soul from destruction, and even let you leap out of the cycle of life and death.”

My mind snapped into place.

No wonder.

No wonder Hazel, who in the original was tortured by Damien until her Nascent Soul scattered yet survived, must have somehow restored the Ivory Fan—so she could communicate directly with the Immortal Realm.

Water-Trace Jade is pure water-attribute, hard to forge against flame. Marcus spent most of a day perfecting the Ivory Fan.

Then he gave me assorted medicines and treasures to get familiar with before the battlefield expedition.

Two days before the battlefield opening, Marcus led Liam Green and me out.

Waverly Sect sent many people—each peak sent a team—everyone hunting chance.

With Ling Yan away, Suncrest Peak was left under Zeng Xuan’s care.

After five days of flying, we finally reached the boundary of the battlefield’s barrier.

I tilted my head up and was stunned by the boundless world beyond that huge ripple of light.

There were wastes and deep seas, skies vast and high, shattered walls and grand ruins—so huge and magnificent even Nolan couldn’t film it.

I stood by Marcus and watched his composed face. I admired him, honestly.

Liam tugged my sleeve and whispered, “Junior-sister, so many people.”

The battlefield wouldn’t open for another half hour. Thousands of cultivators stood before the barrier—most at Forming Core or higher, many Nascent Soul and Ascendant Stage.

Familiar faces greeted one another, looking to form alliances in that perilous unknown.

Marcus stood out among them.

Before long, a man from the Myriad Herbs Mountain approached—Ethan Hale—smiling politely. “Daoist Marcus, few Ascendant cultivators are here. We’re both here; why not cooperate?”

Marcus dusted his sleeve and fixed my collar. He ignored my awed look and said coolly, “Daoist Ethan, Myriad Herbs Mountain brought many people. Why partner with me?”

Ethan hesitated. “Weren’t you with the Waverly Sect?”

“Not this time,” Marcus said. “I would never come if not helping my disciple gather rare materials.”

Then Marcus flipped the pressure: “But why come here yourself after obtaining the Crimson Berry and not just take the longevity pill you could refine and settle into cultivation? Why wade into this dangerous mess?”

He sounded like he knew more than he let on. Ethan’s eyes darted like searchlights until he finally blurted, “You don’t know? Fine. Since you’ve helped me before, I’ll be honest.”

“Do you know that tens of thousands of years ago, a major sect in the human realm—called Immortal Lotus Sect—was granted a Midsunset Lotus by a Great Immortal from the Immortal Realm? This lotus is rare even in the Immortal Realm: it grows for ten thousand years, blooms for a single day, and the seed is only harvestable that one day. The Midsunset Lotus can help Ascendant-stage cultivators breakthrough to Refined Void, and even aid in Union and Grand Achievement stages later. I’m here to seek that lotus.”

Marcus smiled faintly. Ethan read his expression and faltered. “You’re not tempted?”

“I’m not,” Marcus said, lips twitching. “Such a treasure will draw countless covetous people. Even if I wanted it, what good would it do? And if I cooperated with you and we actually obtained it—who would it belong to?”

“You don’t know. The Midsunset Lotus is double-bodied: two flowers, two seeds. If we find it, each gets one.” Ethan stroked his beard, satisfied—then his face changed.

Following his gaze, I saw Hazel Park and Ethan Hale standing under a tree, their expressions icy.

“You traitor! You stole while guarding it and you dare show your face here?” Ethan thundered. “And you witch!”

He led men forward in fury. I glanced at Marcus and silently asked through spirit-voice, “Master, you’re already Refined Void—why team with him? If it’s that precious, it must be hard to get.”

“Of course,” Marcus said. “Otherwise Ethan wouldn’t have proposed cooperation. Why not take it for himself?”

“And why agree?” he added, calmly. “Because I prepared it for you.”

When he said that, he fell silent, not caring how my heart slammed.

Liam saw me change and whispered, “Junior-sister, are you okay?”

I shook my head but watched Hazel’s side like an idle spectator.

Ethan meant to assault her. As an Ascendant he could crush a Foundation-stage newbie with a single palm. Hazel’s expression didn’t change; she murmured something and Ethan stopped.

“So you made a deal,” I murmured. Marcus glanced at me, surprised. “You’re clever.”

Soon Ethan brought Hazel and his companion back over.

Old grudges flared; Hazel glared at me with barely disguised murderous intent. I was about to glare back when Ethan cut her off.

“Hazel! Claire here is Daoist Marcus’s favored disciple. What do you mean by behaving like this?”

Hazel shot Ethan a look. The brown-nosed sidekick dutifully explained, “Grandfather, this woman stole something from Hazel in an ancient ruin. It was just the two of us, and she had several Forming Core guards. We couldn’t win.”

I snorted. “Daoist Ethan sure has a high opinion of himself—calling Waverly Sect elders ‘guards’! A treasure goes to whoever’s fated to obtain it. You lacked the cultivation; it became my opportunity. How dare you call it ‘stealing’? Have some shame.”

“You—!” Ethan glared, and I returned his stare with disdain. He got angrier.

Marcus actually looked at me with grudging approval, then glanced back at Ethan, who hurriedly snapped, “Shut up!”

The argument died down, and everyone fell silent, waiting for the barrier to open.

I happened to glance at Liam and, sure enough, he was staring at Hazel Park without blinking.

It seemed like, aside from Marcus, the other characters and plot threads were proceeding exactly as in the original novel.

Why had Marcus changed like this?

I mulled it over silently. Countless answers flashed through my head until a sudden, thunderous roar in front of me cut off my thoughts.

The barrier’s light shattered. Marcus dragged Liam and me through.

The instant we passed the light, my vision blurred. For a moment I thought I saw a streak of light surge into Marcus’s body with such speed I almost convinced myself it was a trick of my eyes.

We landed in the ruins of a sect compound.

Broken walls, crumbled pavilions—completely desolate.

“Master.”

I glanced at Marcus. For some reason he had grown noticeably more solemn after entering and spoke far less. “The spirit energy here… feels strange.”

“Of course. Ancient battlefields are always like that.”

“Have you been here before?”

He shot me a surprised look. “The Tri-Realms Battlefield opens once every thousand years. I’m only a little over a hundred now—how could I have been here before?”

“Just guessing.”

I shut my mouth and didn’t dare say more.

Marcus idly surveyed the ruins. “Let’s go in and look around. Maybe we’ll find something useful.”

These cultivation-world dungeons were basically giant loot maps, waiting for players like us to scavenge useful items.

We walked a ways and could make out the outlines of halls and towers emerging from the wreckage.

Hazel said, “Looks like a human-world sect’s ruins. There must be an herb garden. Let’s search it.”

A thousand-year battlefield with a herb garden meant the medicine there would be at least a millennium old.

Even though Marcus looked unfazed, for the heroine—who hadn’t even reached Forming Core yet—those herbs would be an enormous boon.

Sure enough, after searching we found a garden half-buried under collapsed buildings. The undamaged half had several medicinal plants—some quite rare.

I knew one of them was a Bai Tan fruit, good for the Foundation-to-Forming Core transition. Hazel’s eyes flashed with delight when she saw it.

“Wait!”

I stopped her before she could reach for it. “Hazel, why the rush? We found these together. We should discuss distribution before anyone starts harvesting.”

She glared at me coldly. “What did you call me?”

“Hazel, of course.”

I smiled sweetly. If she wanted to kill me, my skills couldn’t match her heroine aura and bodyguard, but I could still be a thorn. “After all, I’m already a Forming Core cultivator and you’re still Foundation Stage. The address isn’t inappropriate.”

I swore I heard Marcus chuckle.

“Hmph.” Hazel sneered. “A Forming Core senior who can’t beat a Foundation junior—aren’t you ashamed to say it?”

“That’s unfair.” I shook my head. “Helping juniors is our duty. Didn’t Ethan give you the championship in the sect competition because he was humble like me? Are you implying Ethan lacks skill? Surely not.”

I’d never lost a war of words, and even my fake astonished tone sounded delightfully snide.

Hazel stopped arguing with me and addressed Marcus and Ethan: “I only need that Bai Tan fruit. You two can divide the rest.”

Marcus looked to me. “Claire, what do you think?”

I looked back at him. “Master, I’m tempted—an old book said Bai Tan fruit tastes sweet and I’ve wanted to try it for a long time.”

“Junior sister!”

Liam, ever the dutiful simp, objected and glared at me. “You’ve already reached Forming Core. The Bai Tan fruit is useless to you. Why not give it to Hazel?”

I very much wanted to slap him.

Probably Marcus did too.

“Brother, that’s incorrect.” I said. “You’re Forming Core—how can you address Hazel as an equal? Isn’t that teasing her?”

“I—”

“Besides, the Bai Tan fruit helps Hazel’s cultivation. Cultivation is her top priority. For me it’s just a fruit, but satisfying my appetite is my top priority. If both are top priorities, what’s superior or inferior about them?”

Liam was speechless.

Ethan pulled a string of fruit from the Traveler’s Satchel and offered it to me. “Claire, this is a Lingxu fruit recorded in ancient texts—gathers the fragrance of a hundred flowers, sweet and refreshing. I’ll trade it for Hazel’s Bai Tan fruit. How about that?”

No surprise—Ethan, ever the lovesick supporting male. I had nothing to say. I took the fruit, about to bite it, when Marcus suddenly stopped me.

“Master?”

He tapped the fruit with a finger and ran a circuit of spiritual power through it, then handed it back as if nothing had happened. “Go ahead, eat it.”

Ethan’s face went dark.

To Marcus, these herbs were trivial. But whether due to some accident or unexplained reason, he hadn’t yet fallen for Hazel and allowed me to put her in awkward positions.

After we finished dividing the spoils, we pressed on.

Elder Shen had said the Lotus Sect was at the battlefield’s center, and the original novel mentioned the sealed chamber where Damien rebuilt his body was also centrally located.

Could those two be connected?

Speaking of Damien, his soul power was very strong—especially here, where the demon realm once held sway.

From the moment we arrived, I could faintly feel a stifling, murky aura around Hazel. I wondered whether Marcus, who was supposedly a level above in cultivation compared to the original, felt it.

I’d been obsessively thinking about Marcus for days—why his personality and cultivation differed from the novel, why he treated me unusually kindly, why he hadn’t fallen in love with the heroine at first sight.

If he liked me, that seemed unlikely. Cultivators at Marcus’s level were usually detached from desire. Unless the heroine actually carried a plot aura, few would blindly adore her.

Could Marcus, like me, have been transported into this novel? Or reborn?

No—that didn’t quite fit. Even if he’d been reborn, the closeness between him and the original would be hard to explain by guilt alone.

My head throbbed from thinking. We drifted along at low altitude for a long time, the scenery changing from plains to swamp. The atmosphere grew oppressive.

“Hold on.” Marcus suddenly said.

To be honest, of the three of us Marcus was the only one Elder Shen could see well. The old man immediately perked up. “What is it, Marcus?”

Marcus stopped flying. “There’s something I need in the swamp below.”

He glanced at me. “I need to pick a Bridgeheart herb.”

Bridgeheart grew in muck and in freezing, dark places—effective against inner demons. From Forming Core to Nascent Soul is a qualitative leap, and fighting inner demons is a major hurdle. Lose focus and you’re swallowed whole.

Bridgeheart was precious and usually guarded by powerful beasts.

No sooner had Marcus descended a bit than a gray tail whipped up from the swamp, spraying muck.

Marcus reacted with blinding speed. He flicked his sleeve; a light-screen sprang up, blocking the muck and keeping his white robe immaculate—preserving that ethereal, otherworldly image.

“There’s a poisonous spirit-jiao below,” Elder Shen explained dutifully. “Cultivation level around Nascent Soul. Beast bodies are tough, and this one has a bit of dragon blood. Hard to handle.”

I felt a pang of worry.

Marcus remained calm as ever. He raised a hand and a nearly transparent short sword appeared.

I recognized it—this was mentioned in the novel: Marcus’s relic, Devourfire. Forged from a jade that consumed flame yet formed as ice—merge-less and rare.

In the original, Devourfire appeared only three times to help Hazel through different crises. I never expected to see the novel’s most mysterious item so soon.

“Go.” Marcus threw the short sword and spoke the single word.

The blade dissolved into the air with no detectable spiritual ripple. It startled Elder Shen’s party; the old man’s face showed uncertain awe.

In the next moment, the sword reappeared at the spirit-jiao’s vital point and plunged deep into its body as if there were no barrier.

The beast let out a sharp, pained cry and sank into the swamp, gone.

Devourfire drifted over the Bridgeheart and cut it free before returning.

Marcus stored it in a jade box and smiled. “Let’s go.”

After a while, the old man couldn’t hide his curiosity. “Marcus, what is that relic you used?”

He was afraid. At their level, a frontal clash might be uncertain—an invisible weapon could be deadly.

Marcus shrugged. “My relic, named Devourfire. No need for ceremony.”

He didn’t elaborate, and the elder wisely dropped it.

I leaned on the flying platform, bored, nibbling fruit and imagining the center of the battlefield.

Hazel meditated in a corner of the flying boat. I kept sneaking glances at her and could almost see the faint black qi clinging to her.

Damien’s presence made me uneasy. If we encountered that sealed chamber at the center, could Marcus fight him?

A day later—just as I was drifting toward sleep—Elder Shen’s voice jolted me awake. “Lotus Sect ahead!”

I peered down. Fog curled and swallowed the scene. The only clear sight was the three characters “Lotus Sect” at the gate—and a stranger standing there with a ferocious face.

Marcus turned to Elder Shen with an unreadable smile. “You never mentioned there was already a shape-shifted beast here, Shen.”

It was my first time seeing a shape-shifted beast up close. Honestly, it looked human enough, though its eyes were vicious. I slid back, leaving the danger for Marcus.

The beast bellowed with hatred. “Filthy human scum!”

Hmm?

Why did she seem to have so much hatred toward humans?

Old Man Chen Song clearly knew the value of courtesy before force. He bowed to the shape-shifting beast and asked politely, “Fellow Daoist, may I ask your name? Why have you come to the Lotus Gate today? Perhaps we might cooperate?”

“My name is Jin Xuan,” the beast said.

The fellow grinned, flashing a row of sharp white teeth. “As for cooperation—humans, don’t flatter yourselves. I’m here for the Evening Lotus too.”

I’d been thinking that name sounded familiar back outside the battlefield. Hearing Jin Xuan mention Evening Lotus again, I finally remembered—the original author had been lazy with names, hadn’t she?

Chen Song’s face darkened at Jin Xuan’s words. He forced a smile. “You jest, fellow Daoist. The Evening Lotus is a divine treasure the Immortals bestowed on human cultivators. Jin Xuan, you’re a beast cultivator—what use would it be to you?”

Jin Xuan scoffed. “Those immortals and the Lotus Gate people have been dead a thousand years. It’s ownerless now. If someone wants to snatch it, they snatch it. Why the high-sounding words? You human cultivators are the same as always—hypocritical and shameless.”

Chen Song’s face went green with anger, like he was about to lunge.

Still, as an Ascendant Stage cultivator, he calmed himself and shot Marcus Lee a look.

Marcus acted like he hadn’t noticed. “In that case, Jin Daoist, why not come in with us and take a look? Usually treasures like this are guarded by high-tier monsters. We should actually get our hands on the thing before arguing about division. If we bicker before we see anything, we’ll only give others the advantage.”

Jin Xuan thought that over and seemed to find it reasonable. His expression softened.

So another beast joined our group and the party grew larger.

I glanced at Hazel Park. Her face was dark; she stared at Jin Xuan. I felt puzzled.

This shape-changer didn’t appear in the original text, and the original never mentioned the Evening Lotus at all. Maybe this was a hidden plotline unlocking?

Hazel came from nowhere, no background—by the book’s prior plot, there was no way she had a grudge against a shape-changer. There was only one explanation: Jin Xuan must have some old score with Damien Cross.

By then Damien should have shown up.

Once we entered the Lotus Gate, I watched Hazel like a hawk.

In my head I’d run through a dozen possible outcomes for how the Evening Lotus would be divided—brawls, alliances—but nothing had prepared me for this: the lake thick with qi, the white mist condensing from the air, was… empty.

I looked at Marcus first. He didn’t seem surprised. He raised a brow at Chen Song. “Looks like your intel was wrong, Friend Chen.”

The old man gaped. “Impossible! Someone must have already been here!”

Jin Xuan said nothing, only stared at the pond with a dark expression.

With hopes of promotion dashed, Chen Song went pale and defeated—pitiful in that elderly way.

Marcus, however, had no patience for age: “Since the Evening Lotus isn’t here, this cooperation is off. Friend Chen, let’s disperse. I’ll take my two juniors around the battlefield and see if we find anything else.”

He called up his flying talisman and moved to leave—then someone stopped him.

“Wait!”

The voice was Jin Xuan’s.

He bowed to Marcus. “Friend, I’ve heard elders among the beastfolk speak of the Evening Lotus. Surely they wouldn’t be wrong. There must be something odd. Why not join forces and dive to the lake bottom? Maybe the Lotus hasn’t bloomed and is still submerged.”

Marcus flicked an eye. “No thanks.”

Jin Xuan’s eyes flashed, then he forced them down. He transmitted something to Marcus—sure enough, Marcus hesitated. “If you insist, I won’t be rude. But the two of us are a bit thin. Let’s invite Friend Chen along.”

Chen Song nodded without hesitation. “Good.”

The three of them dove cleanly into the water, leaving us standing there like rookies.

I felt a knot in my stomach—Marcus had just left me here. If Hazel gave in to bestial bloodlust and tried to kill me, Liam Green wouldn’t lift a finger. I’d die without a grave.

So I edged backward, trying to put distance between Hazel and myself.

Of course, of all the things I feared, that’s exactly what happened. She looked over coldly and, as if talking to someone else—probably Damien—said, “I never leave a trail. If she’s my enemy, I’ll take this chance to finish her.”

Then she drew her sword and lunged.

Holy—what the—

Was Hazel always this impulsive?

I dodged and glanced at Liam. He was utterly useless—blind as a bat to his adorable junior sister’s life being threatened.

I silently cursed Liam and Hazel a hundred times, barely avoiding that slicing gust. With no place left to retreat, I grit my teeth and jumped into the lake.

Hazel didn’t hesitate to follow.

I swore inwardly and swam down fast, then glanced back.

When she submerged, black mist seeped from her body and formed a semi-transparent figure—and the face of that figure was identical to Marcus Lee’s.

???

If this were a painting, three huge question marks floated above my head.

I stared at Hazel, dumbstruck. My survival instincts kept my legs moving, but the light faded and I sank into a world of darkness.

I froze for a heartbeat, then fumbled a Moonlight Stone from my Traveler’s Satchel. Soft light blossomed and lit the cramped area around me.

Why did the lake bottom look like this?

I looked around anxiously. Light barely carried here; visibility was tiny.

Worse, Hazel—who’d just been within reach—was gone.

Where were Marcus and the others? Still down below?

I was too afraid to go back toward the surface; Hazel might be waiting to finish me. So I pressed onward deeper.

Time blurred in a pattern of light and dark until the world suddenly shifted. Beneath the endless underwater space lay a dim land corridor.

I couldn’t sort out its structure, but from novels I’d read before, this place was definitely unusual. Marcus and Chen Song had been down here a while—they were probably somewhere ahead.

I picked a direction and walked, thinking about that face that had nearly given me a heart attack.

The original novel’s descriptions of Marcus and Damien were vague—“narrow eyes, high nose bridge, deep features”—basically a stock template. Maybe the two men looking identical wasn’t so strange after all. I forced myself to accept that absurdity and kept going.

The corridor was paved in blue-gray stone, damp and oppressive. Rounding a corner, a ripping wind tore into my ears.

I took a step back and saw the Ivory Fan had activated its auto-protect and floated to me. I grabbed it and raised my head.

The ambusher was a giant bat—red eyes blazing, hot breath roaring from its mouth. One wing was injured and dripping blood; its flapping looked labored.

To be honest, this was the first real beast fight I’d faced since transmigrating—before, Marcus always protected me, which was oddly comforting—so I got nervous.

The bat, probably hurt, didn’t rush me. We stalled.

My throat dry, I realized the Ivory Fan wasn’t much help offensively and the environment wouldn’t trigger its powers against a bat. I fretted about switching to the Frostsong Sword, but any movement might break the fragile stand-off.

As I wrestled with indecision, a searing pain tore through my chest and a coldness spread from my heart to my limbs.

I froze and looked down. A silvery blade had pierced an inch out from my chest, blood dripping from the tip.

I opened my mouth and hot, metallic-tasting blood spilled into my throat.

From very close behind came Hazel’s cold snort.

Pain—blinding, electric pain—dragged me from lightheadedness into clarity. I’d spent over twenty years in peaceful times, following Marcus around like a tagalong; I’d never felt pain like this. I gasped and slowly turned.

Hazel stood a meter away, expressionless, sword hilt gripped in her hand; a faint chill showed in her eyes.

She smoothly pulled the blade free.

Blood sprayed. I clutched the wound, staggered, the pain intensifying until I could barely breathe. I leaned against the wall, panting hard, and slowly slid down.

Through the blurred fog of my vision, Hazel walked toward me, the sword dripping. “I… don’t think I had that much of a grudge against you,” I managed. “Big sister, why finish me…?”

She tugged the corner of her mouth. “You’re a variable. You must die.”

A variable?

What did she mean—

I stared, stunned, about to protest when Hazel raised her sword again—this time not at me, but at the giant bat that had been ignored.

The bat was clearly powerful, nearly shape-transformation level. Hazel shouldn’t be able to beat it—except it was badly wounded. Even so, with Damien’s supposed help, Hazel could match it.

The fight drifted away from me, leaving me alone to feel life ebbing.

Whether mortal or cultivator, the heart is always a lethal spot.

I remembered in the original story, Hazel forged a Heartguard Mirror out of the Purple Dragon’s scales after she reached Core Stage, and that thing actually saved her life later when she dueled a scorpion fiend.

Her sword had pierced me through into a fatal strike. She must’ve guessed I wouldn’t survive, which is why she left, chasing the bat.

Cold from the wall seeped through my clothes and bit my skin. My thoughts blurred; I was sure I was done for—though dying like this felt careless.

I don’t know how long passed before a faint stream of warmth trickled up from my palm, along my veins, and spread through my body.

A fine, tingling numbness at my heart. I looked down: the flesh around a neat blood-hole was knitting itself back together.

I froze. A memory of Marcus’s words flashed through my mind: “Waters of Reversion—like dead wood turning green, like time flowing back. If used on the Ivory Fan, it can completely restore it, preserve your Nascent Soul, even let you jump out of the cycle of life and death.”

The Ivory Fan!

It glowed pearly in my hand. Light crawled along my arm and swallowed me.

I felt like I’d been put into warm bathwater; drowsiness hit me at once.

In that haze, someone stepped before me.

A polished black boot toe stopped an inch away. I lifted my head and saw Marcus’s familiar face.

But his expression was wrong.

He frowned, assessing me; his black eyes shifted from puzzled to suddenly clear understanding. Then the corner of his mouth curled into a cold little smile—I realized with chilling clarity that this wasn’t Marcus.

The smiling fox Marcus would never make that face.

Sure enough, the next second he spoke, his voice icy and rough.

“So he chose you.”

After saying “so he chose you,” he shut his mouth and ignored my stunned questions, yanking me to my feet.

Only then did I realize this wasn’t a hallucination or a dream.

My wound had healed, but the pain hadn’t completely left me.

“Marcus—”

He showed no pity as he hauled me along. When I cried out from the pain, he didn’t hesitate to slap a silence talisman over my mouth, then dragged me in the direction Hazel had left.

This was beyond anything I’d expected, and it didn’t match the plot I remembered.

As he pulled me forward, I quietly tried to figure out who this person really was.

When Hazel had plunged under the water earlier chasing me, the black mist rolling off her had condensed into Marcus’s face.

No doubt that black mist was Damien’s spirit—though why he shared Marcus’s visage, I didn’t know. I could almost be certain the man in front of me was Damien Cross.

But why had Damien left Hazel’s body? And how had he found me again?

Did he know I wasn’t dead?

…Or did he have some other motive?

My head spun with possibilities. I kept thinking until Damien abruptly stopped.

I glanced up. Not far off, Hazel knelt, breathing hard.

Her hair was loose and her skirt muddied; blood speckled her sleeves and gown. She propped herself with her sword, hair falling over most of her face.

A huge bat corpse lay in front of her.

Further on, I saw Ethan Hale and Liam Green.

My heart jumped, then swelled with hope.

If those two were here, that meant—Marcus must be here too, right?

So I might actually be saved.

But my hope sank when I scanned the area and found no Marcus. Instead, two high-level cultivators who should have been proud and unbothered stared warily at Damien.

Damien ignored them and dragged me closer to Hazel. “Done?”

She looked back and nodded. “It’s dead. I collected two jade vials of blood; that should be enough.”

At that, the two supporting characters started to play their parts.

Ethan ground his teeth like a man full of regret. “Demoness! You colluded with a dark cultivator to deceive my grandson—you must harbor ill will against our human cultivators!”

Hazel glanced at him, silent; she lifted her sword in a little show of force. The old man, sensing that, shut his mouth.

I shot him a baffled look. You’re an Ascendant Stage cultivator—why are you trembling before a Foundation Stage heroine?

Ethan fell silent. The second cannon fodder spoke up: “Human cultivator, I—Liam Green—have no quarrel with you. What you do is your business. Let me go and I’ll stay out of this, agreed?”

Hazel considered, shook her head but with a civil tone. “Brother Green, I have secrets and urgent matters to settle. I can’t let you go now. But once this is resolved, you may leave—no one will stop you.”

So Liam quieted.

Hazel produced from her Traveler’s Satchel a piece of silk-like paper, frowned, and said, “It should be here… why are there no clues?”

Here?

Where?!

Before the question finished forming in my throat, I started searching the area frantically. I found nothing—but I did make one thing clear.

Hazel and Damien were here to find something.

“According to the clue carved on the bones in that cave, the immortal’s hidden chamber in the mortal realm should be here,” Hazel muttered, head bent over the silk. I watched from a distance and noticed intersecting lines—this was a treasure map.

While they studied the map, I inched away, and tried to remember the original storyline.

The book had been primarily a romance; the emotional arc of the male and female leads was the core. Many side plots and turning points were sketched over vaguely.

All I could recall was that Hazel and Damien entered a shrine on the battlefield and found pills that had fallen from the Immortal Realm. The author hadn’t gone into more detail.

Lazy writing—really made me want to swear.

Lost in thought, a sudden blur filled my vision, followed by searing pain from my crown straight to my heart.

A silver needle flew and pinned into the center of my brow. My remaining spiritual energy, which had been trickling, stalled instantly. My little steps froze.

“You knew you wouldn’t behave,” Hazel said coldly.

She looked at me with a tilt of her head. I remembered this device’s origin.

Locking Needle—forged from extraterrestrial iron at the border of extreme cold and extreme heat, rare as can be. It can seal a cultivator’s spiritual power for two whole hours if they’re below Nascent Soul.

Of course it only works if the target hadn’t begun to use any spiritual energy—as in my unlucky case.

My escape attempt was forcibly ended. With no choice, I put on my most sincere face and tried to negotiate. “Friend, think about it—there’s no true mortal enmity between us. Just some small clashes. We’ve both had our grievances. Why don’t you let me go? I swear I won’t interfere with whatever you plan to do next. Please?”

Hazel cocked her head, amusement bright in her eyes. I felt humiliated.

“Claire Bennett, are you really that naive?” she said slowly. “You stole my pill, you and your people wrested my Ivory Fan away—then you kept opposing me. That isn’t a simple spat. We’re enemies to the death. Do you think a few sweet words erase that?”

Of course she was the heroine—her memory was sharp, timeline and all.

“Come on, sis, don’t put it like that,” I tried to reason. “Cultivators go against fate—pills and relics go to those with the destiny and the strength. These conflicts happen. They don’t have to be life-and-death grudges.”

“If it’s the strong that deserve it, then give the Ivory Fan back.”

I was speechless. She was teasing, and in this role reversal I had no room to push back. I forced a laugh. “If I could return it, I would. I—well, I refined it into my bonded relic. I can’t give it up—”

“Simple,” Hazel cut in lightly and chillily. With no more words, her sword flashed to my throat.

“Don’t play with her,” Damien interrupted, lifting a hand to stop Hazel. He cast a detached look my way. “I don’t know why Marcus chose her, so Claire Bennett cannot die yet. Once I have what I want, and if Marcus no longer favors her, then you may deal with her however you wish.”

I was meat on the chopping block. My situation was bleak, but what gripped me most was the hidden information in his words.

“Marcus chose her.”

He’d said that twice now—what did he mean?

The original book never clarified whether Damien and Marcus knew each other, so I’d assumed they didn’t. Any future entanglement would be because they both loved Hazel.

But everything I’d seen since waking up in this plot made the world clearer and different from the oblique original narration. The relationships and emotional beats among Hazel, Marcus, and Damien were not as muddled as the book implied—they were coordinated, and the emotional timeline didn’t match the original pacing.

A rough theory began forming in my head: Damien had known Marcus long ago—whether it was one-sided or mutual, I couldn’t tell. Marcus apparently had something Damien wanted.

Maybe there was something on me Damien needed too…?

I glanced sideways. Ethan and Liam still stood obediently, not moving. It wasn’t really fear of Hazel; it was fear of Damien.

Needle lodged in my brow, I stood there and exchanged bored looks with the two men. Hazel and Damien seemed to have figured something out from the map.

I didn’t know what they’d done until Hazel produced two jade vials and poured their dark red contents into the carved basin of a white stone.

The next instant, a brilliant light flared, dazzling enough to make you close your eyes.

Something invisible was pulling me forward. Through the blur I could just make out a pitch-black door rising slowly from the depths of light; beyond it lay a deep, unknowable darkness.

I tried to fight it, but Lin Hazel’s damned Spirit-Sealing Needle had blocked all my power. I was nothing but a weak, helpless piece of meat.

The darkness rushed closer and I shut my eyes instinctively, not wanting to see what came next.

"Claire!!"

Marcus's furious shout rang out nearby. I snapped my eyes open and whirled around in disbelief—at the last second, a lifeline appeared. Could this melodramatic rescue scene really happen to a disposable second female like me?

But the truth, as it turned out, was that cannon fodder stays cannon fodder. Even Marcus—powerful as a Refined Void cultivator—couldn't save me.

No matter how hard he tried, he could only tear off a scrap of my skirt from that sucking force.

My gaze slid from Marcus to Hazel’s face a few steps away.

Hazel stared back at me, eyes filled with hatred and fury.

I froze for a second. Before I could think, half my body plunged into the darkness.

A cold hand grabbed my wrist; the touch sent a chill through me.

When I looked up, the last thing I saw was Marcus’s devastated face.

His eyes, usually clear as a lake, seemed suddenly full of broken ice—so cold it made me shiver, and yet heartbreakingly fragile.

…Why?

As I sank into the dark, I suddenly remembered that face—I’d seen it somewhere long ago.

Blackness and silence. The only sound was an occasional drip, far apart.

Water?

I lay on a hard, cold floor. When I ran my fingers along it, I could feel fine grooves.

I pressed a hand to my head and slowly sat up.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark I could just make out the silhouette of the place.

A large stone chamber. Tall stone pillars supported the ceiling in a deliberate stagger, seven in all, arranged like the Big Dipper.

What was this place?

I replayed the moments before: Hazel dumped the bat's blood into the groove, triggering some unknown mechanism in the dungeon that sent me here.

If this followed the original story, this should be the secret room where Hazel and the others found the Immortal Pill and where Damien Cross rebuilt his body.

So why was I the one who ended up here?

Had the plot changed?

"Claire Bennett."

A low male voice beside me broke into my spiraling thoughts.

I jumped and slipped aside—only to have a cold hand clamp my wrist first.

"You… Damien?"

He answered impatiently, "Mm."

Why was he here with me?

I immediately remembered what happens in the original story after he rebuilds his body and the events between him and the heroine. My face drained of color; I wanted nothing more than to lie down and die.

The silence stretched awkwardly. Damien asked, "Why have you gone quiet? I remember you being annoyingly talkative."

I fought the reflex to argue and forced a weak smile. "You’ve got me confused. But why are you here? I was dragged in because of Hazel’s Spirit-Sealing Needle—someone like you shouldn’t be overpowered by that, right?"

"Me? If I hadn’t been protecting you, the turbulence in the rift would’ve ripped you to pieces already. You’d have no energy to be talking," he sneered. Then his voice turned curious, edged with something darker. "You… seem to know me?"

"I don't," I said. "But didn't you hand me over to Hazel? You're working with her, aren't you?"

I hadn’t expected him to be sharper than I thought—one question was enough to pick up that something was off.

In the original timeline, Damien’s identity was a mystery to everyone but Hazel. As a mere Foundation Stage disciple from the Waverly Sect, I should never have known him. But now that I was here I had to play along.

I dug up memories of modern dramas and gave an expression that mixed naive confusion and fear, my voice trembling with forced bravado. "Why are you disguised as my master? What scheme are you two planning?"

Maybe the darkness sharpened my instincts; maybe the will to survive helped. I felt like my acting reached its peak in that moment.

Damien’s suspicion and killing intent cooled a little. "You don’t need to know that. Just know this: what I have with Marcus is a relentless feud."

Huh?

He and Marcus?

My mind snagged on a plot inconsistency.

Ever since we entered this Tri-Realms Battlefield instance, events had been drifting farther from the original. New people and places appeared that the book never mentioned. I didn’t know whether those changes were my butterfly-effect fault or if the world was always different from the novel’s pages.

Take Marcus and Damien: in the source, it’s a straightforward tearjerker. Their conflict comes from Hazel’s final romantic choice. When Hazel ends up with Damien, Marcus sacrifices himself, earning readers’ tears. So by that logic Marcus and Damien shouldn’t be enemies yet—Marcus hadn’t even fallen for Hazel.

I tested the ground. "Are you enemies with Marcus? What did he do to you? And what’s your relationship with Hazel?"

Instead of answering, he tightened his grip and ordered, "Hand over the Moonlight Stone. Let me see how we get out."

"Why don’t you grab it yourself…" I muttered. I knew Damien in soul form hadn’t solidified his body yet and couldn’t use the Traveler’s Satchel, but we were putting on a show, so I added the line anyway and fished a Moonlight Stone from my satchel. Its soft white glow lit the chamber.

Damien scanned the room with a frown. "Good. Looks like these seven pillars are the first gate."

I followed his gaze. He spoke like he knew his stuff: "This is an ancient north-sextant formation, the lost Big Dipper Array. Its materials are rare—even in the Immortal realms it’s hardly seen. How one ended up here, I can’t say."

"You know this much?"

"Just read the records."

He glanced at me then, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Take out your Ivory Fan."

I stared in disbelief, frozen. After a beat, he sounded annoyed.

"You… how did you know I had an Ivory Fan?"

It hit me: when I first transmigrated and grabbed Hazel’s Ivory Fan, Damien had been inside her body. I’d been the fool. From his viewpoint, of course he would’ve known.

"I've been around Hazel, so of course I knew you took her Ivory Fan."

I forced an embarrassed smile. "It wasn’t really stealing… just fate. You know how cultivators are—opportunity. Besides, it’s only a half-finished piece. Worthless now."

I tried to hide the fan’s true nature. But Damien gave me a look and snorted. "Do you think I’m stupid? Even with your weak cultivation you couldn’t use it, but Marcus prepared things for you—he’d patch it right up."

My lie unraveled in a second, but another phrase snagged my attention: Marcus had prepared something for ages.

That meant Damien knew Marcus well—maybe better than the book suggested—and there were likely bonds between them the novel never mentioned.

That might explain why the three central characters—Marcus, Damien, and Hazel—weren’t matching their original portrayals and why the plot kept shifting.

Reluctant to fully expose myself, I summoned the Ivory Fan from my dantian. The completed fan had a built-in space-cleaving function, and because I’d nurtured it inside me it now glowed with a pale, unearthly light—clearly no ordinary trinket.

Damien examined it and rubbed his chin regretfully. "A fully completed Ivory Fan could manipulate space. For a high cultivator, a wave of the hand could move mountains, open voids. In your hands, it’s wasted."

He sighed. "But it still needs the Water-Seeking Jade to be whole. With Marcus’s fate, he’d never get that item. What a pity."

I stayed silent. Lovers always see beauty in their beloved; to Damien, anything good in anyone’s hands other than Hazel’s was a waste. I ignored the slight insult elevating Hazel above me and listened closely to the rest. Two things came through:

One, Marcus had somehow tricked Old Man Chen Song out of his Water-Seeking Jade—Damien didn’t know that. Two, a cultivator’s chance to obtain rare materials seems tied to a mystic thing called fate.

I couldn't tell how Damien judged Marcus's luck, but there was a strange certainty in his tone. Whatever Marcus had set up, it had to be big.

Maybe it started back at that ancient shrine—otherwise he wouldn’t have assigned me three Forming Core elders like that, almost as if on purpose to force me to clash with Hazel Park. After all, on the surface Hazel was only Foundation Stage; four Forming Core cultivators were already overwhelming.

This whole setup dragged me into it, and it even fooled Damien Cross, who’d been keeping an eye on him the whole time.

So if I’m now locked in this pitch-black chamber with Damien, was that also part of Marcus Lee’s plan?

If it was, what did Marcus want?

Was rescuing me even in the plan?

“You’ve got everything I need. Can you stop yammering and just say what you want?” Damien said. “If there’s something to say, say it.”

My stomach lurched with uncertainty. I felt a little panicked and put on a show of impatience. “The Ivory Fan’s out. How do we break the formation—tell me.”

“Pump water and wood spiritual energy into the Ivory Fan, then—” Damien paused. “Do you have any Dragonwhisk Grass seeds?”

“…What’s that?”

“Oh, right, I forgot. In the mortal realm they call it Dragonwhisk Grass now. It’s a common ingredient when refining pills to boost Forming Core cultivators.”

I snapped awake and dug a jade box from the Traveler’s Satchel. Inside were hundreds of purple-gold seeds.

They’d been among the junk Marcus shoved into my bag before we left; he’d said I’d need them sooner or later. Looks like he was right.

I carefully counted out seven seeds and asked Damien, “Is that enough?”

“Enough. Inject dual-element energy, reach balance, then arrange the grown Dragonwhisk Grass into a reverse Big Dipper formation.”

I followed his instructions to the letter. One by one, the seven stone pillars in front of us cracked into fragments of light that the wind scattered. A slightly ajar door materialized before our eyes.

I hadn’t expected that weird formation—something I’d never heard of and wasn’t in the original plot—to break so easily. I couldn’t tell if Damien really knew his stuff or if he’d already known this room used that exact formation.

While I was still thinking, he nodded toward the doorway. “Go on. You go first.”

“?”

I shot up, stunned. “Are you kidding? I lead?”

“Who knows what’s inside. I don’t even have a storage pouch, no defense. You’ll have to protect me.”

He said it with such confidence I almost doubted myself. But I remembered clearly how even Ascendant-stage Chensong and Jin Xuan tiptoed around him, and how in the original story he repeatedly possessed the heroine and fought like one man against a hundred.

I hesitated, then asked, “If Hazel Park came down with you, would you still make her go first?”

Damien was silent for a beat and gave me a cool look. The message was obvious: you don’t deserve it.

Humiliated but trapped under the roof, I knew I couldn’t beat him, so I swallowed it and walked ahead.

At least the Ivory Fan had been refined with Water-Silver Jade; whatever was inside should spare me for now.

I gripped the fan’s handle and pushed the slightly open door, closing my eyes out of habit.

Peace and quiet. I waited, nothing happened.

I opened my eyes to a medium-sized sealed chamber. The walls were slate-gray and smooth, no seams. In the center was a spring steaming faintly with white mist.

Around the spring were rings of medicinal plots, and in the very center stood a stone pedestal wreathed in fog. On it was a palm-sized jade box.

I froze, then realized: this must be the divine pill the original storyline mentioned—an item that fell from the Immortal Realm, used to refine Damien’s body again.

The room had nothing else of value; that box was the prize.

Damien examined the pedestal for a long time, as if trying to find its secrets.

I got impatient and asked, “So what now? How do we leave?”

“Leave?” He smiled an edge of a smile. “You get it for me—grab the jade box off that pedestal.”

If I had even a ten percent chance of beating him, I would’ve already drawn the Ivory Fan and the Frostsong Sword and fought for it.

This guy had no courage, no backbone, and no manners. I break the formation, lead the way inside, and now he wants me to fetch the thing.

I can’t believe if Hazel had been the one lured here, during that whole early trust-building phase he’d dare treat her like this.

I almost spat. “You don’t have hands?”

I asked politely.

Damien raised an eyebrow. “Claire Bennett, are you playing dumb? You already know I’m a disembodied spirit, right? That spring is Cold-Marrows Pool—specialized to counter spirit forms. If I get near it, it’s a death sentence.”

Oh.

I knew he was a spirit, but I hadn’t known that pool specifically harmed spirits. Now that he’d told me, this could be used.

So I leisurely pulled a bamboo stool from the Traveler’s Satchel and sat.

Damien twitched. “What exactly do you keep in that bag?”

“That’s none of your concern. It’s all stuff I use.”

That stool had actually been cleaved when I practiced Marcus’s sword form with the Frostsong Sword—when I split a table into four stools.

I said slowly, “I have no beef with you. Yet you captured me, and Hazel sealed my power with a soul-locking needle. Then I fall in, I get the Ivory Fan and the Dragonwhisk Grass, and I have to lead the way everywhere. Don’t you think that’s a little much?”

“You have a point. So what do you want?”

“An exchange.” I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll get you the jade box, but you answer a few questions first—and you must swear to your inner demon that your answers are one hundred percent true, or you’ll never advance your cultivation in this life.”

“You’re ruthless, little one… Fine.” Damien sighed. “But only three questions. I promise to answer honestly.”

Since he agreed, I didn’t waste time. “First: you and Marcus knew each other before—what’s your relationship?”

Damien clicked his tongue. “Master-apprentice bonds, deep ones. If you must label it, we’re sworn enemies. Sooner or later it will be life-or-death between us.”

“Second: what did you come to the Tri-Realms Battlefield for?”

“To find a pill to condense a body for me.”

One question left—this was precious. I wracked my brain for the one thing I most needed to know. “Third… Hazel said I’m a variable. What does that mean? Why must she kill me?”

“Trying to cheat? That’s two questions.” He chuckled. “Fine. I’ll answer, but then you owe me one.”

He explained: Hazel once used a tortoise-shell divination. The result showed the Ivory Fan and the Ice-Jade Purification Pool as hers. A cracking of the shell meant high probability. You barging in and grabbing both suggests you might become her mortal enemy and steal more opportunities from her—so she must eliminate you.

Then he leaned in and fixed me with a sharp gaze, the light in his eyes razor-sharp.

“Now my one question to you.”

“Are you actually Claire Bennett?” Damien asked abruptly.

I looked at him like someone dealing with a sweetly foolish child. “Of course I am. If I weren’t Claire Bennett, could you be?”

He didn’t answer. We stared at each other; his gaze was intense. I forced a confident exterior, but inside my pulse hammered.

My hands clenched the Ivory Fan. Spiritual energy moved silently through my meridians.

What was happening? Why was Damien suddenly doubting my identity?

I studied his face—so much like Marcus’s—and an odd suspicion flashed through me.

Since I transmigrated here, Marcus’s attitude toward me had been strange—unlike his coldness in the original story. According to Liam Green, the original Claire had met Marcus at a young age, but that tiny connection shouldn’t explain his unusual favors and blatant partiality.

I’d pulled the small incidents from my memory and, from inside the plot, they’d seemed random. But stepping back, Marcus’s actions looked suspicious.

Especially after Hazel arrived—his behavior toward her diverged drastically from the original text.

Now that Damien doubted me, I started scrutinizing Marcus, who’d been a bit too attentive. What if Marcus knew I wasn’t the original Claire Bennett? Or after his rebirth he’d learned a truth and wanted something from Claire?

Under the original timeline, Marcus couldn’t have met the original Claire at age six—so what was going on?

These guesses might be wild, but the more I thought, the more they made sense. A cold ripple crept from my chest outward.

Though I still looked at Damien, my mind had already drifted.

Maybe my calmness convinced him. Damien finally relaxed his gaze. “I’ve answered what you needed. Can you get the jade box now?”

I nodded, stood, tucked the stool back into the Traveler’s Satchel, and stepped forward.

The mist off the spring carried a biting chill that stung the lungs even at a distance.

I reached up, and the jade box obediently flew into my hand without incident.

It felt much lighter than I expected. I flipped it in my palm and, seeing Damien’s wary eyes, smiled. “What, thinking I’ll toss it into the Cold-Marrows Pool?”

A flicker of killing intent crossed his eyes so fast I almost missed it.

“This is yours,” I said. “But if I’m right, this is the pill you came the Battlefield for, the one to condense a body. You’re still in soul form, right?”

Damien Cross pressed his lips together and stared at me, silent.

“You say Marcus Lee is your nemesis,” I pointed out slowly, “but he used to train on Suncrest Peak. There’s no record of him crossing paths with you—he might not even know you.”

I looked him over, taking my time. “And you’re only a spirit form, and you look exactly like him—could you be Marcus’s shadow demon?”

Of course, that was nonsense.

How could the former Demon Lord possibly be Marcus Lee’s shadow?

Still, I needed to pin some label on him to make the next steps work.

Damien said, “I’m not.”

“Claire Bennett, you’re trying to get information out of me, aren’t you?”

“It’s not interrogation. I’m just making sure I’m safe. You’re only a spirit now and I already can’t beat you.”

I shifted the jade box from my left hand to my right and narrowed my eyes. “I want you to swear to your shadow demon that even if you take the pill and forge a new body, you won’t harm me.”

Damien stared at me for a long moment. I kept my gaze steady.

He snorted. “You’re clever, bargaining with me after you’ve already squeezed so much out of me. And now you want terms?”

“If I don’t take advantage a little, how can I guarantee I’ll get away from you?” I didn’t hesitate. “Without me, you couldn’t have broken the Big Dipper Array, couldn’t have gotten into this chamber, and wouldn’t have obtained this pill. If you refuse to swear, it proves you plan to kill me once you have a body. You’d repay me with betrayal—don’t you think that’s a little much?”

I was blunt because I’d been holding it in for too long.

Lin Hazel’s throat slash and the spirit-sealing needles she gave me, Marcus’s oddly special treatment, Damien’s amused way of looking at me like an insect to prod—why should I, an outsider from another world, have to endure all this?

“You really aren’t afraid I’ll kill you right now,” Damien said.

He didn’t sound joking—and I wasn’t either.

I curled one corner of my mouth into a bitter smile. “Fine. Then let’s see whether I can toss this box into the Cold Marrow Spring before you kill me.”

“…”

Our eyes locked. After a beat, Damien yielded.

He swore to his shadow demon in front of me, then reached out a hand.

“All set. Give it.”

I opened the jade box. Inside rested a round pill, glowing with a pale white light. Damien picked it up and, without hesitation, shoved it into his mouth.

So quick and decisive—I regretted not tampering with the pill.

Gold and crimson light erupted, blinding me. I shut my eyes against it.

When I opened them again, the world had shifted.

Where earth and sky met, it was pitch black. Gray-white mist raced by in gusts. In the abyss of nothing, a tiny spark flared—extreme Yin flame.

I knew that flame. It was the flame of deepest yin—the thing that had destroyed Damien once.

The original story had written that when he took the divine pill to forge a new body, half-true, half-illusory trials would appear—the events that led to his fall. If he failed that trial, his spirit would be annihilated along with the body that couldn’t take form. If he passed, the seven-emotion, six-desire conflagration—the opposite extreme—had to be endured to finally birth a new body.

In the book, it was the heroine, Hazel Park, who helped bear those emotions for him.

Realizing that, I took two quick steps back and positioned myself at the far edge of the Cold Marrow Spring—farthest from Damien.

Before me, visions shifted. The trial began to play out scenes from millennia ago.

Over twenty thousand years ago, Demon Lord Damien was born at the edge of the world—an extraordinary genius. He rose smoothly in cultivation to the pinnacle but stalled before ascension; for nearly ten thousand years his progress froze.

Impatient, and hearing that the once-in-ten-thousand-years extreme Yin flame was about to be born, he rushed to the Yin lands intending to devour that flame and use its power to ascend. But he failed the trial. Gravely wounded and ambushed by his mortal enemy, his body was destroyed. Only a thread of his spirit squeezed into a rift and fell into a cave.

Centuries later, a human cultivator named Hazel Park found him in that cave and he took refuge in her body.

I watched Damien’s life play out silently in the illusion. Gradually, the darkness thinned—I guessed he’d survived the vision.

Unease rose in my chest. I gripped the Ivory Fan tighter.

Then, from the splintering blackness, Damien lunged out, eyes flaming red, surging toward me.

The seven-emotion, six-desire fire burned wildly in his pupils, as if it might tear out of him. Cold ran through me. “Damien, stop! I’m not Hazel Park!”

He ignored me and barreled forward.

I poured spirit power into the fan, striking out a heavy wave of energy. It only staggered him.

I glanced around. The chamber doors were sealed. There was no saving the situation. Panic pressed in.

Frosty breath washed over my back. With nothing left to do, I turned and plunged into the Cold Marrow Spring before he reached me.

Damien grabbed my wrist and dragged me down.

—

Marcus Lee could only watch, immobilized by a strange force. He could see Claire Bennett swallowed by darkness—saw her lashes tremble with pain—yet he couldn’t move to save her.

This was “it,” the thing that had been controlling him all along. Even at the peak of the Great Ascension, there were things he could not do under its hold.

Only when the strange door finally shut and vanished into the rift did the oppressive force lift.

Marcus looked over at Hazel Park—she was watching him as well.

“Why kill her?” he asked.

Hazel arched a brow, a strange smile on her face. “You should’ve figured it out by now. If the Heavenly Way truly exists, then the one it protects is Claire Bennett.”

She continued with a little glee: “On the reset, the Ivory Fan is hers, the Frostsong Sword is hers, even the Ice-Jade Purging Pool is hers. Even if I stabbed a sword into her heart, she wouldn’t die.”

Marcus stared at her.

Hazel tilted her head; there was a dangerous satisfaction behind her anger, a kind of intoxicating allure. She was undeniably beautiful—attractive in every angle. Her curled lashes made him think of a butterfly about to take flight. But oddly, her beauty didn’t move him. He wondered why he’d ever been so infatuated—like he’d been hit with a love curse.

“Don’t forget our goal,” he said flatly. “If you kill Claire Bennett now, everything we’ve done will be for nothing.”

“She’s protected by the Heavenly Way—how could she die?” Hazel’s eyes flashed. “If the Way protects her, she wouldn’t have died at your hands last life!”

Hazel laughed. “Oh, Marcus. Maybe your memories have errors with this time reversal. Did she die at my hands last life? No—you were the one who reclaimed the Frostsong Sword and left her to be devoured by the Vault’s denizens. How could you pin that on me?”

She smirked with schadenfreude. “Luckily, Claire has been reborn without memories. If you keep playing your part and don’t get exposed, you might remain her beloved mentor until she dies—giving you a chance to wash away your guilt. Fill the gaps in your heart, ascend smoothly to the Immortal Realm—and it’ll all look like Claire’s great deed.”

Marcus calmed himself. “Same to you. If Damien finds out you’ve been deceiving him—that this was your setup from the start—how do you think he’ll take it?”

Hazel’s face tightened.

“Your resemblance to him—your looks being nearly identical—was your doing, wasn’t it? Pretending you’re natural enemies to trick him into killing Claire?”

Marcus watched her color drain. “People aren’t saints. Each of us has our schemes. But if we’re allied, then don’t start burning bridges so early.”

Silence settled between them like a shroud. They stared at each other in a way that stripped each other bare.

After a long time, Hazel spoke hoarsely, “Fine. Let sleeping waters lie. Since we reversed time at such cost, let’s stop pointless quarrels. Marcus, we both know what we are. I won’t try to take you anymore—nor will you be soft on Claire. She is going to die; it’s just a matter of sooner or later.”

Marcus took a breath and forced out three words: “I understand.”

Hazel was the first to fly off—there were other things she wanted on the Tri-Realms Battlefield.

Marcus watched her disappear, then looked down at Golden Xuan and Chen Song, both half-dead on the ground. He frowned and carved open a rift to send them away.

When he was sure the area was clear, he summoned the evening-turn lotus from his dantian—the very thing that had burst through him when the battle began, the object both Chen Song and Golden Xuan had coveted.

It had been a gift he’d meant for Claire Bennett.

Marcus examined the golden twin-bloom lotus closely and found a faint scratch at the stem. The Evening-Turn Lotus is impervious to weapons, fire, and water—leaving a mark on it is no easy feat.

His expression shifted. “So we were wrong. Time reversal? This isn’t the past—it’s the future.”

Not everything could be explained by cultivation level.

He thought of himself—how he’d been bewitched into loving Hazel Park so deeply he abandoned his own path to help her ascend, forcing himself into Union Stage and even consigning Claire to the Abyssal Vault.

He pressed his lips together. Hazel claimed Claire had been reborn with no memories, but Marcus knew otherwise. Shortly after Hazel returned from the ancient shrine where she forged her relic, he realized Claire wasn’t naive—she knew everything.

She wouldn’t fall for Damien again, but she remembered how Marcus repeatedly harmed her for Hazel’s sake. She didn’t expose it—because she was afraid. She knew she couldn’t beat him with her current cultivation.

Sharp cries split the sky. Marcus tilted his head and recognized Hazel urging him on. He rode the flying sword out at a leisurely pace, letting himself sink deeper into memory.

How did that fearless, spoiled little girl become so careful now, like she was walking on thin ice?

He knew Claire was afraid of him, so he had deliberately sent Liam in as a persuader. Sure enough, Liam convinced her to hand over the Ivory Fan, making it easy for Marcus to plant the seeds that would one day take her life.

But she hadn’t forgotten.

That night Claire had come looking for him to share hot pot. After she drank a few too many, she’d slumped drunkenly against the table.

Liam was always deferential around Marcus and hurried, “Master, the junior sister looks drunk. I’ll take her home?”

Marcus shook his head and reached out to smooth Claire’s hair. “No need.”

Sensing his touch, Claire blinked drowsily and looked up. Marcus saw her shrink back and whisper, “Are you here to save me?”

It was like every ounce of strength drained from him.

She hadn’t forgotten.

Even if Heaven favored him, he needed a way to make her forget.

Not out of any real concern for Claire—he wasn’t that sentimental—but even from the clean logic of the path, the only variable in Heaven’s balance couldn’t always remember the harm he planned to do.

Marcus’s face went cold as he thought, while Claire rubbed his palm and murmured again, “Why, Master? It’s so strange—I don’t even know why I like Damien. I won’t go against Hazel anymore. Please save me… it really hurts…”

Liam gaped beside them. Marcus found the stunned look unbearable, so he waved a hand to knock him unconscious and wiped that little stretch of memory away.

When he looked back, Claire was frowning, whining in pain while cursing softly, “Stupid villain two—Marcus, you deserve to be sacrificed to the heroine…”

He scooped her up.

No spirit power—just the most ordinary human embrace.

Claire’s affinity was water; she’d always been light. Holding her took almost no effort.

He looked down at her. The wine had flushed her face a soft, tipsy pink.

He remembered rescuing six-year-old Claire from a beast—those wet, deer‑like eyes that looked at him in panic.

He curled a corner of his mouth. “Hazel, then let’s play a little.”

***

Damien had expected reforming a body wouldn’t be easy; he hadn’t expected the pain to be this bad.

But then, it made sense. Lower‑rank Nascent Soul practitioners who were seized during takeover suffered mental demons; many couldn’t survive. How could a demon cultivator of his previous, unfathomable level expect it to be painless?

Through ice-and-fire agony, memories surfaced.

He woke in a cave, fuzzy from a long sleep. He remembered only shards.

An all-enveloping night that seemed as if it would never lift. Then a single spark appeared. A fleeting figure, blood… then deeper darkness.

When he finally woke, a human cultivator woman stood over him, calmly appraising the spirit-forging stone he’d been housed in.

“Damien.”

She spoke after a long pause, and the first words chilled him. “I know you’re awake. Come out.”

Damien hesitated in the spirit stone, uncertain.

He was conscious, but not long awake. He had slept—how long, he couldn’t tell—and his memories were fragmented; his origin and life were hazy. What remained clearer were things about cultivation.

“How do you know my name? Damien? That name…” he started, voice edged, confrontational.

The woman’s gaze shifted with a hint of amusement. He chose to leave the stone and hovered before her.

“You’ve softened after all this time,” she said, oddly pleased.

Her look carried something off. Damien bristled. “You’re Hazel, you said? For cultivators, opposing the Dao is not unheard of—such a name isn’t strange.”

She seemed to finish his thought before he could. She frowned, adopting a more serious tone. “Names don’t matter. I came to bring you out.”

“To bring me out?” he echoed.

“Yes. You may not remember, but I do. This was our old agreement.”

She introduced herself: Hazel Park. She’d been a fellow disciple with Damien thousands of years ago—a close companion who trained and grew alongside him.

Her talent for cultivation was mediocre, but Damien’s roots were strong, so their Master favored him.

Things went sideways when, just as Damien’s Nascent Soul reached completion and he neared Ascendant Stage, Master brought in another youth as the closing disciple.

Hazel was shocked when she first saw the boy—he looked exactly like Damien, and his roots mirrored Damien’s in a water-and-fire opposition, born to clash.

On an old book Hazel once found during travels, she’d read that such pairs were destined rivals: entwined fate where one’s rise meant the other’s fall. If one were to ascend, one would die so the other could use both of their shares of fate to succeed.

“I told Master immediately,” Hazel said. “With centuries of service between us, I expected Master would protect you and get rid of him. But Master didn’t kill him. Instead, he grew wary of us and gave that boy protective treasures, sending you off to dangerous trials repeatedly.”

“So Master had given up on you—planned to use your fate to feed him.”

The revelation stunned Damien. Overwhelmed, he asked, “That precious? What’s his name?”

Hazel looked at him meaningfully. “Marcus Lee.”

Damien mouthed the name, tucking it away.

Hazel summoned a water-born bagua mirror. After rippling, the glass revealed an extraordinarily handsome face. “This is Marcus’s face—and what you looked like before.”

Damien found her words believable. Just out of the spirit stone, his form was still indistinct. Seeing that face, his semblance took on Marcus’s features.

Hazel’s lips quirked with satisfaction.

She told him more. Marcus’s arrival and Master’s blatant favoritism had pushed Damien to work harder. He volunteered into the sect’s deadly Trial of Nine Deaths, stayed five years, and finally reached Ascendant.

“When you emerged, you were covered in wounds and a black-gold light seeped from your Nascent Soul. Master’s expression changed—he must have realized your fate had momentarily outweighed Marcus’s. He left without a word, forgetting even to check on you, and went to Marcus.”

“Master and Marcus closed themselves off. Marcus disappeared for ten years but returned at Ascendant level—how? He’d only been a Foundation Stage when he joined. With gifts and chance he barely formed a Nascent Soul. How could he reach Ascendant in ten years? And then, oddly, after you reached Ascendant, Marcus stalled for a decade—no progress.”

Hazel stepped closer, voice turning cold. “I suspect Master found a way to seize your fate to feed Marcus.”

The words were terrifying. Even in his current ethereal state, Damien felt a chill.

Hazel relished his fear; she’d even gone to the human world for this, hired a down-on-his-luck scholar to fabricate details, and learned the cadence of storytelling at a rhapsode’s training.

Both rivals had reached Ascendant. What followed would not be simple.

Shortly after, news arrived: the long-lost cave of a genius cultivator had reappeared, offering relics with the key to Dao comprehension and ascension. Naturally, Master sent both Marcus and Damien, making an excuse to keep Hazel by his side.

Before they left, Hazel used the ancient tortoise shell to read Damien’s fortune. The omen was dire—he would likely die.

Panicked, Hazel tried to help but was restrained by Master and confined to the sect.

“I burned with worry. I knew Marcus would prepare. You had no defense; he would steal your fate. When Master slipped, I escaped and raced to the ruins under the stars. I found you and Marcus fighting to the death.”

“Marcus unleashed an extreme Yin flame, burning your Nascent Soul and severely injuring you, then he took your fate, destroying your body. When he moved to shatter your Nascent Soul, I arrived and, sacrificing my cultivation, saved you by sealing your remnant soul into a spirit-forging stone. Then Marcus, his power greatly advanced, threw us into a spatial rift.”

“I’ve been searching for you,” she said, soft as she met his eyes. “Come with me, Damien. You can inhabit my body, borrow my strength. This time, we won’t lose to Marcus.”

So Damien followed her willingly. Hazel led him to many places seeking a relic to rebuild his body, but they found nothing.

It wasn't until the Tri-Realms Battlefield emerged that he forced himself to cast a divination with the Black Tortoise Shell and discovered that the Immortal-realm pill which could help Damien forge a new body lay within the battlefield itself. They rushed there at once.

Those were memories from before—every memory since he woke.

Because he trusted Hazel Park, he believed everything she told him. He never imagined any of it was a lie.

Only when visions appeared while he was forging his body did the truth finally come clear.

He had cultivated to the pinnacle and was stalled just before ascension, only to be made into the "Heaven-and-Earth Demon Lord"?

The extreme yin fire was something he’d planned to swallow to pass his tribulation?

He hadn't died at Marcus Lee’s hand, but by the hand of another enemy from the Demon Realm?

He wasn't even a human cultivator—what reason could Hazel Park have had to invent such a monstrous, world-shattering lie just to deceive him?!

Rage and shock collided in Damien’s chest. Wave after wave of emotion smashed against him, eating away at the last threads of reason in his eyes.

At that moment the person he hated most wasn't Marcus—this fake "fated archrival"—but Hazel Park, who had patiently deceived him for so long.

With all reason drowned, agony and desire rose up together the next second.

His eyes were bloodshot from the furnace of passions; a blaze burned in his chest, ready to erupt.

As the black mist thinned, Damien saw Claire Bennett standing before him.

She watched him with a wary, rabbit-like panic in her eyes.

Hazel had once told him she suspected this person might not actually be Claire Bennett.

Now, in hindsight, that too had been part of the con.

Damien forced a twisted smile, then his body lunged uncontrollably toward Claire.

Claire cried out, "Damien, stop—I'm not Hazel!"

She spun and dove into the Cold Marrow Spring. Without hesitation he leaped in after her.

Hazel Park rode the flying shuttle, rocking and swaying for what felt like half an incense stick’s time, and finally she broke out of the bottomless chasm.

She looked back. Above that slit in reality the white mist churned thicker, swallowing the entrance.

After a moment passed and Marcus still hadn't surfaced, impatience flared. She folded a paper talisman into a little bird and tossed it in.

If Marcus didn't come up within one incense stick, the paper bird would sing and remind him to leave, and they would proceed with the plan they'd agreed on.

According to the fragments of memory she could still grasp, after Damien remade his body he should have immediately assaulted Claire, and Claire’s cultivation would rise a notch.

Not yet on Hazel’s level, but enough to finally be taken seriously.

"Too slow… I'll just give you a hand." Hazel knew Marcus hadn't told her the whole truth—because she herself had similarly lied.

Since Claire was someone the Dao placed great value on, Hazel couldn't bring herself to kill her too quickly.

But making Claire suffer a little—hurting her pride, scaring her, letting Damien take her purity—inflicting a bit of hardship was acceptable.

They were all people pursuing the same Dao; Marcus wouldn't begrudge her for such relatively harmless details.

Besides, if Claire's cultivation rose too slowly, the world's progress would stall—and Hazel had no patience for that.

If Marcus blocked her from rushing things, then she would find another way.

The sky thickened with clouds and roiling fog, with bursts of energy scattering and agonized screams echoing.

Where heaven-bestowed treasures and opportunities coincided, peace was impossible. Whether fighting for chance or murdering for treasure, someone would act first.

Hazel's trip to the Tri-Realms Battlefield had another priority besides setting previous events straight.

When she had reached the Refined Void stage in her past life, she had returned to the battlefield once before.

The battlefield hadn't opened then; she had ripped a tear in its barrier with a realm-breaking bead and forced her way in.

On the far western edge of the battlefield stood a Calmcloud Soothing Fruit—blooming once every three thousand years, fruiting once every nine thousand.

It could help a Refined Void cultivator ascend to the Union Stage with inner peace; even if a heart-demon invaded, one could remain steadfast.

Unfortunately, the last time she came, the Soothing Fruit had only shown its first bud—no blossom, no fruit.

By the calendar, its previous fruiting coincided with the battlefield's opening—her first arrival.

Knowing that schedule, she couldn't miss it this time.

Lost in thought, Hazel flew on when suddenly a flying sword streaked at her.

She cooled at once and struck the sword into splinters, then lifted her gaze.

A man stumbled to a halt before her. When he recognized her, his grief-curled face brightened into surprise. "Hazel!"

It was Ethan Hale.

"What are you doing here?"

Ethan panted, hurriedly explaining. "Shortly after you went under, the lake froze over solid—so hard that no treasure or technique could crack it. We couldn't wait; after some time with no sign of you, we left, figuring to find you after the battlefield closed and force you out. I got separated from the people of Mount Myriad Herbs, and I happened upon an extremely rare Snow Lingzhi in the mountains—only to be eyed and chased by thieves."

Behind him, the pursuers closed in. Seeing only Hazel and Ethan, they shouted for the lingzhi to be handed over and spared them.

Hazel thought inwardly: Ethan has helped me a lot; heaven already owes him a favor. If she abandoned him now, it would damage her future path.

So she struck with a speed no one expected, cutting them down before they could react.

After they fled, staggering and wounded, Ethan stared at her, wide-eyed. "Hazel… when did you get so strong?"

He scolded himself. "If I'd known, I never would've let my grandfather owe Marcus that favor, or have given away the Water-Trace Jade…"

He'd barely finished before Hazel's gaze froze him like a blade to the cheek. She asked, word by word, "What did you say?"

When I opened my eyes, the only sound was a faint, constant trickle of water.

I tried to move my arm and a dull ache shot from my fingertips through every joint.

I couldn't help a groan. Teeth clenched, I shakily hauled myself up.

My hair dripped, my dress soaked into something limp and salty.

I cast a small drying charm, pulled fresh clothes from the Traveler's Satchel, and was about to change when my gaze idly swept the room—and then I froze.

"Lu… no, Damien!"

He’d jumped in after me.

Wasn't that the forbidden Cold Marrow Spring that, according to him, would harm a spirit body and which he couldn't approach? Damn him—what a cunning Demon Realm bastard. He'd lied to me again!

I was equal parts shocked and furious, and my heart thudded with fear.

If I’d been cruel enough to toss that box into the spring back then—wouldn't it already be cold and done for?

My fear made me look over. Damien seemed unconscious, face wet with water, hair plastered to his cheeks. In this light he didn't quite look like Marcus anymore.

Because he was still out cold, I slipped into the Ivory Fan’s pocket dimension, changed clothes, came back out, and stared at him. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his features were adjusting—he was transforming into another person's face.

What was happening? Could this be his true appearance?

As I watched, waves of emotion roiled through me.

I watched him finish changing, the face finally settling. Time passed and Damien still didn't wake.

I took two steps and then a weak male voice behind me said, "Hazel… why did you lie to me…"

I froze.

"What do you and Marcus want by doing this?"

I turned. Damien lay where he'd fallen, still unconscious, but his brow creased with painful confusion.

The face—long brows swept toward the temples, a high bridge to the nose—should have been arrogant and cold, but there was a fragile softness atypical of a demon cultivator.

I was silent. Then I bent to hoist him and shouldered him out.

Luckily I was at late Forming Core-stage; with a little power I could carry him easily.

All around was dim; thin streams ran underfoot, and the chill of the Cold Marrow Spring lingered.

Stepping over spring water and damp stone, I made for the only light.

As I walked I tried to piece together scattered memories.

I'd dived into the spring to avoid whatever Damien, driven mad by the furnace of passions, might do to me. The instant I entered I regretted it—the pain was a relentless, stabbing agony that spread through my whole being.

Worse, it wasn't just physical. It assaulted my spirit and my Nascent Soul.

The deeper I sank, the sharper the torment grew—hundreds, thousands of times worse.

I was a modern girl; this was beyond anything I’d ever endured.

I fought suicidal impulses and frantically searched my mind for anything that could ease the pain.

Before I could find a solution, a school of translucent, aquamarine fish appeared around me, glowing like jellyfish—beautiful and seemingly harmless.

How could life exist in this cursed place?

No sooner had I wondered than the lead fish opened its maw, revealing rows of small, sharp teeth, and lunged to bite.

I swung Frostsong Sword with all my strength. A pillar of light scattered the fish, tossing them aside—but the next second they were whole and surged back!

The lead fish clamped onto my wrist. Pain shot up to my crown and I screamed.

As if my spirit were being torn, the spring blurred to white and my consciousness began to fade.

In that haze I thought I saw a figure approaching against the light, reaching out a hand to me.

There was a strange black ring on that hand, gold-inlaid with a jade piece, faintly forming a Bagua pattern.

I couldn't make out the owner's face—only his deliberately muffled voice.

"Come back," he said.

The next second, I blacked out.

When I woke up again, I was in this shabby place.

Two knockouts and two wake-ups in one day—I've got to admit, this transmigration method is uniquely unlucky. The whole world probably doesn't have another like me.

Thankfully, the light in front of me grew brighter and clearer, and my steps suddenly felt lighter.

I took the last step and stood at the cave mouth, feeling the sun blare down without mercy.

Warmth turned to scorching in an instant, and then the slight weight on my back vanished.

My hairs went on end. I drew Frostsong Sword, spun around—and sure enough, Damien Cross was awake, propped against the cave wall, looking at me coolly.

For some reason, he seemed… different.

He looked more dangerous, but the murderous contempt he'd had toward me had thinned.

Half a reminder, half a warning, I said, "Don't forget, you were carried out on my back.

If I'd left you there… who knows what would have happened."

Honestly, I didn't know either, but leaving it ambiguously threatening leaves room for imagination.

Damien narrowed his eyes, and that dangerous air eased off a bit.

He clapped his hands and straightened. "Let's go."

"Go where?"

I blinked at him, instinctively wary. "I'm warning you—I am a Forming Core cultivator with a relic. If you kill me, it'll cost you something…"

"Forming Core?" he sneered, disdain flashing in his eyes. "I've flicked away Forming Core cultivators like bugs—if not ten thousand, then eight thousand.

Claire Bennett, you're only someone I cared a little about because of your Ivory Fan and Frostsong Sword. Do you really think you're that important?"

His disrespect set me boiling, but calculating in my head, I knew I couldn't beat him. So I swallowed it and turned to leave.

I took a step—and didn't move.

Looking down, a thin black chain of light had wrapped around my ankle.

I glared back at Damien. He raised one bored eyelid. "If I say come with me, you come with me. No need for so much talk."

"Are you even reasonable?!" I snapped.

"Claire, killing you would be easier than squashing an ant. You want me to explain reason to an ant?" he scoffed. With a light tug on the chain, I was at his side. "If in that cave you'd not resisted, not jumped into the Cold Marrow Spring, if you'd just mated with me directly—we wouldn't be having so many problems."

What?

I stared, thinking I'd misheard. "You… what did you say?"

"This Soul-Shaping Bone Pill is rare even in the Immortal Realm. The residual energy I leaked while reforging my body is enough to push you from Forming Core to Nascent Soul."

He said it, deadpan. "If you had mated with me, those surplus energies would be yours. With luck, you'd leap from late Forming Core straight to late Nascent Soul."

He said the term twice in seconds; my head went a little light.

"Earlier you said you carried me out of the cave, so I owe you my life—karma's a circle. I have to give something back," he continued, icy fingers clamping my wrist. "Come. I'll take you somewhere that can help you form your Nascent Soul smoothly."

He glanced at me. "Better than that bridge-heart herb Marcus Lee found."

Honestly, I wanted to bolt. But before I could, I remembered who Damien was.

Even as a spirit he bent Ascendant-stage people like Ethan Hale and Master Jinxuan to his will. Now with a full body? I, a late Forming Core girl, had no options.

I followed him obediently.

We crossed soft, muddy ground into a forest that, from a distance, looked blood-red.

The color was eerie—like the witch's woods in fairy tales. In a cultivation novel, it'd be something tied to the Demon Realm.

My fear gnawed at me. I forced my voice out, trying to sound casual. "Damien, where are you taking me?"

He stopped and looked back, indifferent. "Why so many questions? Just keep up."

From his expression, I guessed this place was a remnant of the Demonfolk from the Tri-Realms Battlefield—Damien's kind of playground. But it sure wasn't mine.

"Brother," I steeled myself. "You're not planning to sacrifice me, are you?"

That blood-red forest made my imagination run wild, and Damien's canon was cold-blooded and ruthless. I looked doomed.

He froze, then looked at me with a kind of baffled concern. "Claire, you're a Forming Core cultivator—what do you have in that head of yours? Straw?"

"You saved me twice and helped me get the Soul-Shaping Bone Pill to rebuild your body. The karma between us is heavy. If I hurt you now, even the Heavenly Dao wouldn't spare me, understand?"

He kept saying "Heavenly Dao." I hadn't fully grasped the term, but the other protagonists treated it like something massive and consequential.

Oh—so that meant… I caught on quick. "So you can't harm me right now, can you? You literally can't kill me, can you?"

He narrowed his eyes and nodded slightly.

"Fine. Goodbye."

I turned to go, but one step out and he grabbed the back of my collar and hoisted me up.

I flailed. "What are you doing? If you harm me, the Heavenly Dao won't spare you!"

"Who said I was going to harm you?" he snorted. "Claire, don't try tricks. If I truly wanted you dead, I have a thousand ways to avoid Heavenly Dao's watch. I'm just…" He paused lazily.

"Just what?" I demanded.

"Laziness. You're late Forming Core—an ant to me. Would I chase down an ant to crush it? No. I'm taking you into the Red Scorpion Wood to find a chance to repay your life debt. If you survive and it's fated, your cultivation will surge; if you don't, it's none of my concern."

He wasn't the charming, two-faced type like Marcus Lee. No, Damien was more like a demon cultivator—single-minded, direct. Harsh, but at least his words were clear. That steadied me.

"Besides," he added, "Hazel Park is dead set on killing you. You won't just sit and wait for Marcus to rescue you, right?"

Silence settled. I inhaled and forced myself calm. "Put me down. I'll go in with you."

Red Scorpion Wood, as the name suggested, was full of deep-red trees and crawling swarms of red scorpions. In modern life I hated bugs—one beetle would send me screaming ten minutes. But now, as a cultivator, I couldn't be shrieking at every scorpion. After all, Damien had suspected before whether I was even Claire Bennett. I clenched myself and walked on without a sound.

Damien's rebuilt body made him tall; even though I'm fairly tall among women cultivators, I seemed small beside him. His jaw was clean-cut, eyes cold under long lashes, like they were iced over.

He suddenly said, "Say something."

"Huh?"

"I'm used to your noisy voice. It's odd when you're quiet. I thought maybe you were cursing me inside."

Is this Demon Lord a masochist? I wondered. "What do you want me to say?"

"Anything. You're a little dim; you probably have lots of questions."

There were indeed. Since he opened the door, I pressed. "That Soul-Shaping Bone Pill you used to reconstruct your body—it's from the Immortal Realm, right? I heard you and Hazel Park mention some Golden Immortal who left it behind…"

"Oh, your ears are sharp," Damien said, surprised, then patiently explained, "Yes. It was a pill left in the Mortal World by a Great Golden Immortal tens of thousands of years ago. Hazel found a treasure map and brought me here."

"A finished pill?" I asked.

He grew impatient. "Yes—what's your point?"

You don't know what my point is? I rolled my eyes and shut up.

His pause let the truth dawn on him. "Immortal Realm things shouldn't be brought whole into the Mortal Realm, especially pills."

Finally, he figured it out.

I didn't know all the rules of the cultivation world, but the original story said that barrier rules meant such an Immortal pill would be only semi-finished in the Mortal World. Yet from Damien's behavior and his new body, it was clearly a complete Soul-Shaping Bone Pill.

In the original version they hadn't even had a treasure map—they just stumbled into a secret chamber. The more I thought about it, the less this felt like a simple butterfly effect of me transmigrating. Something tied to Hazel Park, I realized.

Damien and I wandered the woods for over two hours, then the view opened up.

Before us lay a pale-red lake that stretched to the horizon. Squinting, I could make out a small island in the center.

Damien tilted his chin. "Ignore everything else. The place I need to take you to is on that island."

"An island?"

"The Red Scorpion Wood is named for the red scorpions, but it's famous for the Scorpion Spirit Fruit on the island," he explained. "The Scorpion Spirit Fruit is produced by the red toxic scorpions to feed their young…"

"The coming-of-age gift I prepared is laced with a lethal toxin—one that can neutralize a demonic core by countering poison with poison, erasing the Nascent Soul's inner demon without a trace."

"What did you say??"

I thought I misheard. "Lethal toxin?

Bro, aren't you forgetting I'm a human cultivator, not a scorpion. Won't that poison kill me before it defeats the heart demon?"

"…I haven't finished, don't interrupt."

Damien Cross looked exasperated. "Ordinary Scorpion Spirit Fruit is naturally poisonous—whoever touches it dies. But by chance, one or two of them mutate into Scorpion Sacred Fruit. The toxin won't harm you; instead it converts into spirit energy and boosts your cultivation. It's way more effective than Marcus Lee's Bridge-Heart Herb."

I noticed something: if Damien were born in modern times, he'd be a pro at stirring up fandom wars. That whole praise-then-drag routine was too practiced.

"Find a boat and come over. We'll head to the island and hunt for Scorpion Sacred Fruit."

I blinked. "A boat? Where am I supposed to find a boat?"

"Whatever small craft or vessel artifact you have—take it. Marcus gave you a pile of stuff. Do you expect me to chop down trees on the spot and build one for you?"

His mouth was vicious. If I weren't outmatched, I'd have pushed him into the lake right then.

I rummaged through the Traveler's Satchel and, sure enough, pulled out a silvery little boat. Marcus had stashed it among some self-defense tools earlier. It shimmered with a faint scalelike pattern.

I poured a bit of mana into it, threw it onto the water, and it automatically bloomed into a small boat that could hold a person.

Damien strode on board. "Let's go."

The craft was inlaid with high-grade wind spirit stones, so it flew fast. Standing at the bow, I watched Damien's straight-backed silhouette and secretly calculated the odds of shoving him into the lake and rowing off.

He must have mind-read me: "Don't even think about it. My spirit power is enveloping this whole boat. If it's gone, you'll be eaten by whatever's in the lake in a few breaths."

…Okay, sorry to have tried.

I settled, closed my eyes to rest, and only opened them when Damien said, "We're here." We stepped ashore together, and I remembered to tuck the boat back into the Traveler's Satchel.

"Where's the fruit?" I asked.

"Right up in that tree."

I peered forward. A young, light-green sapling stood there, surrounded by thick vines loaded with bright red fruit—but the sapling itself was bare.

"Are you sure, man?"

Damien glanced ahead. He was about to answer when his face darkened and he barked, "Whoever's there, show yourself!"

Leaves crackled underfoot. I turned toward the sound and saw silver-white boots. Higher up, a white robe with a Taoist edge. And a face I knew well—one that should have been smiling but was blank instead.

Marcus Lee held a gold-and-red fruit and said to me coldly, "Claire, come here."

The scene turned awkward. On the small island, Marcus, Damien, and I formed an equilateral triangle.

Marcus expressionless, Damien expressionless—I couldn't afford to offend either of them, so I forced a stupid smile.

"Claire."

Marcus looked at me as if Damien didn't exist. "Come here."

I didn't move.

There was something wrong in his gaze. Marcus was always the smiling tiger; that half-smile made him unreadable. But now his eyes on me were bone-cold.

I took a breath and blurted, "Master, where's Hazel?"

"She had something to attend to. She left early. Why do you ask?"

He sounded practiced and natural, and a chill ran down my spine. I instinctively took a step back.

That slight movement broke the delicate triangle. Marcus's gaze hardened. "Claire Bennett, don't make me repeat myself—come over here and stay away from Damien."

"Hah."

Damien folded his arms and snorted. "Who are you to boss her around? That was the gift I promised Claire. You just swoop in and grab it? What kind of man are you? Give it back, or don't blame me for being rude!"

I mentally applauded. Classic demon lord—bold and blunt.

As soon as Damien finished, Marcus flicked his hand without looking back. A streak of crimson light shot toward Damien's throat. Damien's expression sharpened; he tilted his head and avoided it.

The fiery blade hovered midair before snapping back to Marcus's hand.

Damien snarled, and black flame coalesced at his fingertips. The fire burned furiously and, whipped by the wind, chased Marcus.

Marcus crossed the blade in front of him. The nearly transparent dagger flared, emitting a ring of light that absorbed every ember.

"…"

Damien paused. Surprise threaded his voice. "You're… at the Ascendant Stage?"

Wha—what?

My eyes nearly popped. In the original story Marcus was Refined Void; after I transmigrated he told me he was Refined Void—now how had he leapt all the way to Ascendant? You don't level up that fast even on steroids.

Marcus didn't answer; he merely exhaled and said lightly, "It seems the Demon Lord has rebuilt his body and restored his power."

He knew… everything. He was aware Damien existed and that Damien had been bodiless before. That meant Marcus knew Hazel's character and motives. And even knowing all that, he still seemed devoted to Hazel—he even remembered where she had gone.

I felt like the only fool in the world.

Probably realizing a fight between them would be mutually annihilating, they returned to a fragile truce. Damien stayed where he was and said to me, "Claire, since that's your master, go ask him for it."

Then to Marcus: "Hey, you came early to get it for Claire, didn't you?"

I still couldn't figure out Marcus's true intentions, but he had been nice to me—Ivory Fan, Frostsong Sword, the Ice-Jade Purifying Pool, Water-Tracing Jade, Bridge-Heart Herb—and now this Scorpion Sacred Fruit. Each thing he gave me was worth a fortune, and yet he used them all on me like they'd mean nothing.

I stepped forward, heading toward Marcus, and a flash of light interrupted me.

I squinted. When I opened my eyes Hazel Park descended on a sword and landed, stretching out her hand to take the fruit.

"Came just in time, right? Marcus, thanks."

My hand froze in the air for three awkward seconds before I pulled it back. To cover how pathetic that felt, I hopped in place like some springy idiot doing calisthenics.

No one noticed. Since Hazel appeared, Marcus's gaze hadn't once flicked to me. It was like glue holding his eyes to her face.

The original book always described the same—Marcus would stare at Hazel like that. A cold shiver ran through me: what had happened between Marcus and Hazel while Damien and I vanished? Had the plot already slipped back on track?

Damien watched Hazel, but his look was harder than usual. Though four people stood there, I had no agency in the scene.

The gold-red Scorpion Sacred Fruit barely lingered in Marcus's palm before it hopped into Hazel's hand. She smiled faintly and slipped it into a storage bracelet.

I realized then that their storage items were elegant bracelets and rings. Meanwhile I still used the Traveler's Satchel. Classic second-female-lead pedigree—doesn't match her characterization, does it?

Hazel turned, her gaze skimming past me and landing on Damien. The teasing spark in her eyes softened. "Damien, you did it?"

Damien shifted into an overacted, Oscar-ready tender expression. "Hazel, are you okay? About what we discussed—"

Hazel nodded. "Don't worry, everything went smoothly."

"Good."

Their eyes met and wove a syrupy, cloying pink scene that could have come from a trashy idol drama. It felt fake—so much theatricality that I could almost see the acting beneath their expressions.

Gooseflesh prickled on my arms. I looked at Marcus and unexpectedly caught his gaze on me. It had slipped from Hazel to me without warning. The look was complicated, deep—like it held a thousand unsaid things.

I froze and dropped my gaze.

"Claire Bennett, what are you thinking?"

That voice reached me via spirit-transmission—only I could hear it. What was I thinking? I was thinking about getting stronger, staying alive, and staying far away from this love triangle.

"Last time—come over here."

I took two silent steps back and moved closer to Damien. Up close I heard him snort, the mockery plain as day.

I bit my tongue and turned my head slightly to hiss, "Why are you still here? Why don't you go find Hazel?"

"You didn't go find Marcus either. He called for you multiple times and you ignored him."

I half-smiled. "Is it the same? I'm not in the same kind of relationship with him as you are with Hazel."

"With Hazel? What kind of relationship?"

"Anyway—not the master-disciple thing like me and Marcus."

"Master-disciple, tsk tsk."

I resisted the urge to slap him and watched Marcus and Hazel from a distance. Maybe because my gaze was finally steady, Hazel at last looked me in the eye.

"Claire Bennett. So you're alive."

She raised an eyebrow and glared at Damien. "Why is she still alive? Might as well just kill her and be done with it."

I understood immediately—Damien wouldn't kill me. He owed me his life twice; killing me would violate fate itself. Besides, when he was unconscious he muttered that Hazel had deceived him and teamed up with Marcus on something. He clearly no longer trusted her. Their earlier display had been for show.

As expected, Damien said, "Claire saved my life twice. If I kill her, my spirit will be damaged. I'll never reach the Dao this lifetime."

Hazel shrugged with mock regret. "Fine then."

"Hey, Marcus—"

Damien said, "That Scorpion Spirit Fruit—I was originally planning to give it to Claire Bennett. Since you've handed it to Hazel Park, you'd better find something else to replace it for Claire, right?

Her cultivation has been stuck at Core Stage for a long time. She's only one step away from forming her Nascent Soul."

"Let me tell you, that Bridgeheart Grass isn't worth much. At best it bumps success by ten percent. The heart-devil still has to be borne by Claire herself."

"A single slip and it's annihilation—no reincarnation."

He said it like that, and cold sweat popped out on my forehead. "Come on, man. You better just be trying to scare me…"

"The Scorpion Spirit Fruit is a worldly spirit item. How could you 'prepare' it?" Marcus Lee said coolly. "I already promised Hazel I'd give it to her. It's hers."

"As for Claire Bennett—she's my disciple. Lord of Demons, you don't need to trouble yourself."

"Hmph. Do you think I care to argue with you?" Damien snapped impatiently. "If I hadn't owed Claire a favor, I wouldn't even bother with your master-disciple feud. Tell me—what about Claire's Nascent Soul?"

"You needn't trouble the Lord of Demons." Marcus sounded bored of Damien.

He apparently didn't want to continue this with Damien, and after that curt reply he looked over at me. "Claire, I don't know what Damien's told you, but we've had years of master-disciple ties. You can't let his words wipe them away. You know how I've treated you before."

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and forced a laugh. "Yes, Master. You've been so good to me."

"The jade wash pool was your doing to get for me, the rare resources and treasures—those were gifts from you. I'm very grateful…"

I don't know if it was my imagination, but when I said that Marcus loosened, like some invisible constraint had fallen away from him in that second.

"But can you tell me—what's going on between you and Hazel Park now?"

I pointed at Hazel standing beside him. "I can accept that you promised the Scorpion Spirit Fruit to her ahead of time. I wasn't that keen on it anyway. But—you just heard her. She tried to kill me."

"She didn't kill you, Claire—that was hotheaded bluster." Marcus said.

I bit back a string of curses, but a rising unfairness in my chest made my voice tremble with an almost tearful fragility. I felt ashamed but couldn't stop it.

"Fine. I'll tell you. Back at that Immortal Lotus sect, after you two went into the water, Liam Green looked away and let her raise her sword to hunt me down. Marcus, do you think I jumped into the water for no reason? She aimed to strike me!

She drove the sword into my chest—deep enough to chill me through. If I didn't have a stubborn life force, I would've died then!

Marcus, she wanted to kill me. So what are you going to do? Stand with her?"

I swallowed the three words about the Fan of Ivory Feathers—how Marcus had said the fan that dissolved the water-mending jade was classified. I left them unsaid.

"A Forming Core cultivator hunted by a Foundation Stage 'junior'—that's laughable," Hazel sneered from the side.

I ignored her and kept my eyes locked on Marcus.

Logically I knew this was a fictional novel world. I knew that no matter Damien or Marcus, their romantic arcs were arranged by the author for the female lead, not me. Even if it had shifted, I shouldn't let kindness or sudden favor make me feel anything.

But reason is one thing; feelings are another.

Surrounded, confused, and alone, his obvious favoritism and care—how could a twenty-something woman who's never had a relationship and is constantly crushed by bosses not be moved?

Still, that feeling was absurd in the glaring reality. The book remained a book: when the world line tightened, everything would still belong to the heroine.

"Don't talk like this. Come back to the Waverly Sect with me. We can discuss things there." Marcus's tone carried a hint of agitation. "Claire, be good. Obey."

I shook my head and took a step back. "Master, I won't trust you again. The Tri-Realms Battlefield is closing soon. I'm going to go cultivate in the Ten-Thousand Mountains. Maybe we'll meet again someday."

His look toward me chilled.

"Claire, don't make me—then you'll see."

He said it abruptly, and while I was still puzzled, a sharp pain shot up from my dantian.

I clutched my stomach and bent over. I peered inward and saw countless golden threads crawling out of the Ivory Fan, winding tightly around my Core.

A moment later, there was a burst of light. The Core shattered into powder and was gone.

"CLAIRE BENNETT!!"

I never imagined the first person to rush at me would be Damien.

He was faster than Marcus—he caught me before my knees gave out, but when he looked up he glared at Marcus. "Are you insane, Marcus?! Is Claire even your disciple? If you don't want her, give her to me!"

My vision swam; tears and sweat mixed into a sting. I'd thought the worst pain was cramps, but that can be fixed with a couple pain pills—really, every measure in the cultivation world far exceeds what I knew.

The pain at my dantian didn't ease; it grew worse, like someone stabbed a red-hot blade into my gut.

I bit my lip and clutched Damien's sleeve until it bunched in my fist. "I don't want to play… I don't want to play! I want to go back. I want to go home!"

Damien's hand slid from my back to my wrist. Where it touched used to be cold, but now, in my state, it felt warm.

After a moment of silence his voice flared with rage. "Marcus, you shattered Claire's Core?"

"Are you crazy? If you don't want to give the Scorpion Spirit Fruit, fine. But Claire is your disciple, not your pet. She can go where she pleases without you micromanaging her!"

Marcus answered coldly, "Lord of Demons, mind your own business. Claire is safest by my side."

"That's bullshit!" Damien exploded. "Safe? You call shattering her Core 'safe'?! A human cultivator climbs from Qi Refining up to Forming Core step by painful step—do you have any idea how hard that is? How dare you!"

Inside, my shattered Core had become faint golden specks and then gone. My meridians were hollow. Not a trace of spiritual power remained.

On the plus side, the pain began to fade. But used to the lightness of flight and cultivation, my body suddenly felt clumsy and heavy—embarrassingly mortal.

"Help me up, please." I whispered to Damien. He tightened his hold, and I managed a grateful, unsteady smile as his arm supported me.

Marcus sneered. "So what? Most of Claire's cultivation progress came from my gifts. I'm merely reclaiming what I gave. Lord of Demons, there's no need to make a scene."

Damien seemed even angrier than I was. "Marcus, have you no shame? Claire is a single water-rooted soul derivative. Even without you she could be taken in by a righteous sect. And if worse comes to worst, she could always go back to the Demon Realm and be my disciple…"

"It's fine." I cut him off softly. "I need to speak with Marcus."

Hazel watched with amusement, derisive in her eyes. I stored that look and faced Marcus instead.

He looked at me. I looked at him.

Good. No flinching. No evasion. It seemed so righteous.

"As you said, Master, everything I have now is mostly what you gave me." My voice came out hoarse; the pain had been so intense that any attempt at boldness sounded rough.

Marcus pressed his lips together, looking stern. "Claire, that's not what I meant. Come back to Suncrest Peak—there are things I need to tell you. About the Core, I'll explain. Cultivation can be rebuilt. There's an old saying: after breaking comes establishment—"

I didn't listen. "Since you took back my cultivation, I'll return the treasures and the relic you gave me."

"I have no spiritual power now. Take the Ivory Fan back yourself."

"Claire." Marcus's voice called my name—soft and doubling syllables that always sounded tender. It made even an enemy's call feel intimate.

I shivered, gripping Damien's wrist. He held me up with steady silence; his fingers traced small circles along my back. In that heavy mood Hazel said, "Marcus, since she refuses, why be polite? I could use a fan. Bring it back to me."

"Wait a bit." Marcus replied.

"I've already waited long enough," Hazel snapped.

Marcus hesitated a moment. "Fine."

He walked toward me slowly, deliberately. Damien tightened his hold, and I heard a quick mind-transmission into my ear: "I have a special relationship with Hazel; I can't openly oppose her. Claire, on this battlefield you've helped me a lot. I'm not the sort to repay good with evil. Marcus has lost his mind—I will send you away first. Don't return the Ivory Fan. Rarity like that is scarce in the Immortal Realm; if you can take it, do. It will be useful. The green hills remain and the rivers flow—we'll meet again."

I said nothing.

Where could I go? Unarmed like this, he could kill me as easily as fish.

"The battlefield will close soon. I'll seal twenty-eight Concealment Talismans on you to hide your traces and aura. When the space channel opens, I'll send you out—into the human country of Dayin. It's not far from the Ten-Thousand Mountains. Maybe you can find opportunities there. With my concealments, Marcus and Hazel won't find you—though I can only help you this far."

I bit my lip and nodded faintly, watching Marcus draw nearer step by step.

He had very beautiful eyes, like clear amber with a pale brown glow.

Right now, that amber held something sealed—magma beneath a volcano, temporarily calm.

"Master."

I thought for a moment, then decided to spook Marcus before I left. "Do you know? Back when I was resting like a mortal, I had a dream."

He watched me in silence.

"I dreamed you liked Hazel Park. And because of her, you found me barely alive in the Abyssal Vault and took back my relic.

You said it was because you loved her that you wanted to avenge her—for the pain I caused her."

"But did you know I actually felt pain longer than she did? Like when you locked me in the Glacial Hollow for her, or when you punished me without question because I clashed with her… whatever, I know you don't care to hear the details."

Feeling the pull of the spatial channel behind me growing stronger, I blinked at Marcus and took a deep breath. "I can give the Ivory Fan back to you, but not to Hazel Park—because I hate her.

So, I'm leaving now, Master."

The next second the opened space channel swallowed me whole.

Marcus's unreadable expression finally broke. Shock flooded his eyes. He wanted to follow, but Damien stopped him with his extreme Yin flame.

The passage closed quickly. Before it sealed completely, Damien transmitted one last whisper into the void: "That dream you just mentioned—I'm very interested. The Abyssal Vault is one of our realm's forbidden places.

Claire Bennett, live well in the mortal world. I'll come find you."

I pulled my lips into a smile, then the lack of spirit-protection let the turbulence in the space channel tear through me with agonizing pain until I blacked out.

Before unconsciousness, a strange scene flashed in my mind.

An endless forest in nameless mountains, monkeys swinging on vines, a lone figure walking slowly over dead branches and leaves.

The scene cycled from day to night to day, monotonous and long, until the forest suddenly shifted to the mouth of a cave covered by formations.

The man's features were blurred by mist, but you could still tell he was powerful.

Instead of trying to break the formations, he bowed respectfully at the cave entrance.

He said, "Heaven above, I want her back."

Jump to the sidebar below to continue reading Chapter 6, "The Mysterious Man Not Recorded in the Original."

My Bonded Spirit: Claire Bennett—The Villainess Turns Her Fate in a Collapsing World

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The next scene of I Came Back to Break the Plot begins with: Marcus’s lips twitched as if pleased. "Maybe not," he said, then reached out and ruffled my hair. "But you never know."… Continue with the remaining 1060 story sections.

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