Chapter 45: Memories of the Past

Within the Boundless Palace.

Yin Zhan lounged idly against his seat, listening to Chief Protector Wuchen’s report on the ongoing battle.

All seven major divisions, more than ten warships, over five thousand cult followers—except for the Hall of Hundred Herbs—had been mobilized to face the enemy. Yet the Prince Xuan’s forces were formidable as well. Even a vanguard of a hundred men had thrown the Boundless Sect into chaos, let alone the addition of the Woyun Manor and General Wuwei’s troops. The Suzhou Navy, being a regular army, only compounded their woes. By the looks of it, with such heavy losses, they would not be able to hold out much longer.

“Master, allow your humble servant to escort you to safety,” Wuchen said, bowing low with deference.

Yin Zhan sat silently, as if listening, but also as if he’d heard nothing at all.

At last, the day had come.

He found himself unconsciously letting out a breath of relief. Ever since that incident seven years ago, he’d known he was only waiting for this moment, for Meng Yuanheng to come knocking at his door.

“Where is that old Duan?” he asked calmly, his lips barely moving.

“Old Duan has remained in the Hall of Hundred Herbs and hasn’t shown himself,” Wuchen replied.

Yin Zhan nodded. “He is truly clear-headed. It’s just as well. In this entire sect, only you and he are truly loyal to the Yin imperial line.”

The others—some had joined under the compulsion of the Soul-Eroding Art, but most were simply there to make a living.

He cast his gaze across the magnificently adorned, spacious Boundless Palace and was seized by a sense of profound loneliness.

His mind drifted back to his youth, to his years studying at the Mo Sect.

Back then, he was ignorant of his true identity, believing himself an orphan, saved by an elder of the Mo Sect who took him in.

His world then revolved around two things: his training, and Mo Yan.

Gifted and diligent, his martial skills soared, and he became recognized as the Mo Sect’s brightest talent. But after Meng Yuanheng arrived, he could only take second place. So, while he admired Meng Yuanheng, he also saw him as his greatest rival, training day and night, refusing to accept defeat.

Mo Yan, meanwhile, was the most beautiful presence in his heart.

He first saw her in the peach orchard at Mo Manor. She was practicing swordplay among the blossoms, her figure graceful, robes billowing, petals cascading like rain upon her—a vision of a goddess descended from the heavens. In that instant, he was utterly captivated.

Later, he learned she was the only beloved daughter of the Mo Sect elder. Later still, the three of them—he, she, and Meng Yuanheng—became friends. Her beauty and kindness made him feel ever more unworthy, so he buried his feelings deep within.

He thought that as long as he could see her radiant smile every day, he would be content.

Those days were so simple and so beautiful—the happiest time of his life.

But one day, Wuchen sought him out and revealed that his true surname was Yin, that he was the last blood heir of the former imperial family, bearing the burden of restoring the Yin dynasty. And the Prince Xuan’s household, from which Meng Yuanheng hailed, was the very clan that had destroyed his own.

What a cruel joke fate was. He had never wanted to be a royal descendant; he only wished to be an ordinary man, to remain forever in the Mo household, silently watching over Yan’er. To see her pure, joyful smile was all he desired.

But once he learned the truth of his lineage, he lost the right to choose. His life was no longer his own, but belonged to the Yin family, to the Boundless Sect.

He laughed at himself.

The sounds of battle grew louder outside. Wuchen, anxious, urged him again: “Master, please, you must leave at once.”

Yin Zhan waved him off, weary. “It’s not necessary, Uncle Wuchen. You should go.”

“Master!” Wuchen cried. “So long as the green hills remain, there’ll be wood to burn! Would you have the Yin line end with you?”

The Yin family, again! Yin Zhan felt utterly exhausted—exhausted in his very soul. He longed to go back, back to the Mo Sect, back to the carefree days of his youth.

But they could never return.

With a crash, a huge figure was flung into the hall and landed heavily at its center.

It was Second Protector Wugou.

Immediately after, Wu Hen and Wu Xia, battered and retreating, fell back from the entrance into the hall. They turned, calling out, “Big Brother, quickly—escort the Master to safety!”

But Yin Zhan rose to his feet and said slowly, “Meng Yuanheng, come out and face me.”

He infused his words with inner power—though quietly spoken, his voice carried far.

Not far away, Meng Yuanheng, hearing him, scooped up Shen Qianmo and, using lightness skills, flew into the Boundless Palace.

Seeing Shen Qianmo in Meng Yuanheng’s arms, Yin Zhan’s face twisted with rage. “Meng Yuanheng, do you truly care for this woman so much? How can you face Yan’er after what you’ve done?”

Yan’er again! Shen Qianmo frowned. This was the second time she’d heard the name. What was Yan’er’s connection to these two men? Was she Meng Yuanheng’s former lover?

Meng Yuanheng’s grip tightened around Shen Qianmo, but his tone was calm. “I have never wronged anyone. The one who wronged Yan’er is you.”

“Lies!” Yin Zhan’s eyes reddened, composure shattered. “You killed Yan’er! She loved you so much, but you killed her!”

Meng Yuanheng’s brow furrowed. “It was you who killed Yan’er, Yin Zhan. Have you lost your mind?”

At these words, confusion flashed across Yin Zhan’s gaze, but madness soon replaced it. “No, it wasn’t me. I didn’t kill Yan’er. You did. You killed her! You killed her!”

Clearly, this was a troubled mind. Shen Qianmo surmised that Yin Zhan must have accidentally killed Yan’er, whom he loved deeply, and, unable to accept it, had shifted the blame onto Meng Yuanheng—a classic case of psychological evasion.

Yet Meng Yuanheng would not allow him to hide from the truth any longer. Ruthlessly, he declared, “That day in the peach orchard, you tried to ambush me. Yan’er, to save me, was wounded by your hand and succumbed to her injuries. Have you forgotten?”

Yin Zhan’s thoughts tangled, and at the mention of the peach orchard, fury blazed in his eyes. “Yes, that day in the orchard, you and Yan’er were clinging to each other, whispering sweet nothings. Now she’s dead, and you turn your affections to this woman—how dare you say you haven’t wronged Yan’er?”

Is that so? Shen Qianmo looked up at Meng Yuanheng. So Yan’er really was his ex-lover.

“Nonsense,” Meng Yuanheng said coldly. “I truly pity Yan’er. Do you know how much she suffered for you? As a royal heir, how could the Elder ever agree to give you his only daughter? Yet Yan’er, for your sake, broke with her family to follow you. And that day, without knowing right from wrong, you tried to take my life. You’re right—Yan’er died saving me. But it was you who killed her.”

Meng Yuanheng was not usually a man of many words—his anger was plain. He had once respected Yin Zhan as a man of courage, but realized now that Yin Zhan was a coward, unable to confess his love, unable to face his mistakes.

Gradually, Yin Zhan digested Meng Yuanheng’s words and found them unbearable. His sleeves flared, his eyes wild. “Lies! Yan’er loved you, and you killed her! You’re lying, lying…”

Perhaps, by insisting on this falsehood, he could ease his own pain.

“Master, wake up!” Wuchen called desperately from the side.

Wu Hen and Wu Xia watched with concern, exchanging worried glances. Had the Master gone mad? Should they take this chance to escape?

Yin Zhan spiraled into madness, his eyes turning a deep, unnatural violet, fixing Meng Yuanheng and Shen Qianmo with a feverish stare.

“Purple Enchantress Demon Arts, the most sinister and forbidden technique of the Mo Sect—Yin Zhan, why would you practice it?” Meng Yuanheng demanded, anger in his voice.

But Yin Zhan seemed wholly transformed, exuding a dangerously alluring aura. “Why? To be your equal, of course. Meng Yuanheng, do you know what vow I made when Yan’er died?”

Meng Yuanheng frowned. Clearly, Yin Zhan had been deeply corrupted by the forbidden art.

Yin Zhan paused deliberately, then spoke slowly: “I swore to see you friendless and loveless, alone for all your days. So… this woman must die.”

Before the words had fully faded, his scarlet figure darted toward Shen Qianmo like a phoenix of fire.

Meng Yuanheng, realizing his intent, moved instantly, shielding Shen Qianmo behind him, sword pointed straight at Yin Zhan’s chest.

At that moment, Shen Qianmo noticed Yin Zhan’s gaze—a look of utter desolation, as if he was resolved to die. Alarmed, she cried, “A Heng, stop!”

But it was too late. Meng Yuanheng’s sword had already pierced Yin Zhan’s heart.