Hope

“Run! This way, this way!”

Tang Qiaohuan waved urgently at Gong Ning.

She had been here in her past life.

Back then, she’d come as an envoy for her Master, trying to persuade Tao Lingling—the already infamous Vessels of Calamity, Demoness—to turn back from her path.

She knew the way well.

But in truth, she didn’t need to guide Gong Ning.

The path was obvious.

Yan Sha’s deep footprints were clear—each hole still steaming with white mist.

It was still in its weakened state… Fortunately, Yan Sha saw her as the enemy, not as a means to escape this prison.

If it had broken free to the surface, San Shi Street—and even all of Yongdu—would have been thrown into chaos.

Following the trail deeper, Gong Ning finally reached the lowest point of the secret realm.

Here lay a dead lake.

White mist curled through the air, heat rising like a bathhouse.

Yet a faint spiritual energy flowed beneath—trying to freeze the boiling water once more.

At the center of the lake was a large hole.

Stepping closer, it led into a downward passage.

The walls were deeply gouged by scales—clear evidence of Yan Sha’s recent struggle through this tunnel.

At the very bottom, the cold was unbearable.

Wind howled through narrow gaps, making one shiver uncontrollably.

“Ugh, so cold…”

Tang Qiaohuan stomped her tiny feet, blowing warm breath into her palms, rubbing them rapidly.

Her thin clothes offered no protection—she curled into a ball, trembling.

She tried wrapping her wide sleeves around her head, only for the wind to rush into the cuffs.

She flinched, and her nose turned red in an instant.

“Wear this.”

Gong Ning turned, handing her a robe.

Across two lifetimes, Tang Qiaohuan had never figured out how large her Master’s storage artifact was.

She carried everything—clothes, pots, pans, even furniture.

Gong Ning was cold too, but not to the bone.

The Su’e Nine Luminaries True Scripture circulated on its own, resisting the chill.

Then, Gong Ning saw something that made her heart leap.

Ahead, a young man sat hunched, sniffing, glancing around warily.

She hurried forward.
“Excuse me—are you a disciple of Yuqing Sect?”

The youth had clearly suffered.

When he saw her, he stammered—yet the sight of her stunning face brought a flicker of calm.

“Y-yes…”

“I am Gong Ning, elder of Xuantian Sword Sect.

Don’t worry. The Xuan Yuan Sect cultivators have been defeated.

Please take me to your companions.”

Hope flashed in his eyes—but caution remained.
“P-please… let me go report…”

He rushed back, then returned shortly, beckoning Gong Ning forward.

She stepped inside.

At a glance, she saw the captured disciples—around forty or fifty.

Some wore robes from other sects.

Some lay on the ground, wounds horrific.

Some huddled together, coughing.

Others clung to each other for warmth.

Some wore only thin garments—likely having given their clothes to others.

A few tried to generate small flames, offering the group a sliver of heat.

Most striking was the cultivator surrounded by disciples.

Though Gong Ning’s cultivation had fallen, her experience told her this was a Golden Core cultivator—though barely clinging to life.

He was covered in layers of clothing.

Disciples continuously poured their spiritual energy into him.

Gong Ning’s heart ached.

A century ago, during the war with Great Yuan, she had first stepped onto the battlefield.

She had seen suffering—hundreds of times worse than this.

Corpses. Limbs. Ruin.

But suffering remained suffering—its essence unchanged by scale or severity.

What brought comfort was that these disciples hadn’t given up.

They still held that faint, flickering candle of hope.

“Tang Qiaohuan, do you know how to activate spirit stones?”

“Yes.”

“Hand them out.”

Gong Ning pulled out fire-attribute spirit stones from her System space.

Spirit stones were formed by the world’s natural energies.

Though now artificially produced, they still had cost—and served as universal currency among cultivators.

More commonly, they were used for cultivation—far more efficient than ambient spiritual energy.

Or as power sources for formations, constructs, or artifacts.

Those containing a single, pure elemental energy were especially valuable.

What Gong Ning was about to do was wasteful—she would release the stones’ energy directly.

It was like burning gold.

But it would solve their most urgent need.

Tang Qiaohuan didn’t make a joke this time—no call me Huanhuan nonsense.

In her past life, she’d once failed to read the room—and earned a hard slap from her Master.

Gong Ning approached the Golden Core cultivator.

“Are you a senior of Yuqing Sect?

I am Gong Ning, of Xuantian Sword Sect.”

His eyes opened slowly—then he broke into a violent cough.

Gong Ning could see it—his spiritual energy was exhausted.

“Gong Ning Elder… I… remember you…

Two months ago… Hua Province, Spring Mountain Secret Realm…”

“You’re in no state to speak.

Here—my artifact, the Healing Pearl, and these pills.”

“…I cannot… refuse…

I will repay you… with endless gratitude…”

As the fire spirit stones were distributed, the coughing subsided.

Gong Ning finally exhaled in relief.

She called over a disciple to learn the situation.

These disciples had originally been sent to the Central Land for training.

Each sect had different methods.

Yuqing Sect mainly brought disciples to mortal-world clinics and apothecaries.

But before reaching the Central Land, they were ambushed.

Thanks to the disciples’ desperate resistance, this elder had survived.

Clearly, the Xuan Yuan Sect hadn’t wanted to waste resources—so they left this non-threat alive.

As for casualties…

Thirteen Yuqing Sect disciples had already been sacrificed.

Other sects fared worse—only about ten remained.

Looking at their pale, broken faces, Gong Ning felt a deep, choking grief.

She called Tang Qiaohuan aside.

“You know so much—why didn’t you stop this earlier?

Even if you feared getting involved, you’re the Sect Master’s daughter.

You could’ve used his authority to intervene.”

“I didn’t know any of this.

I only knew about the Xuan Yuan chaos.

I told my mother, and she warned my father.”

Tang Qiaohuan truly knew only that.

In her past life, she’d still been in her room, learning fox magic—hadn’t even joined the sect yet.

She only knew there was chaos.

How the Xuan Yuan Sect operated.

Where the attack began.

Which sects were targeted.

She knew none of it.

Even her Master from that life hadn’t participated.

She only learned fragments later, when Tao Lingling had taken over this place as her lair.

Tang Qiaohuan knew her limits.

In matters of life and death, she couldn’t play tricks with her Master.

She couldn’t betray conscience for personal gain.

Gong Ning finally shook her head, reminding herself not to take her anger out.

These disciples were still encouraging each other, helping each other.

Instead of blaming others, she should focus on what to do now.

“Though trained in Yuqing Sect, my time has been short—my medical skills are lacking.

Tang Qiaohuan, organize the injured disciples.

I’ll treat them one by one.”