The Heart Anchor’s Sorrow

Liu Ruyan’s remaining right hand tightened once more around the strangely shaped black dagger!

It was not the same one as before, yet its blade seemed to twist and turn like a rugged mountain path.

The faint black runes, previously subdued, now blazed to life, emitting an aura far denser and more deathly silent than ever before!

The moment this aura manifested, even the surrounding light appeared to twist and succumb, drawn into its depths.

The devastating cost was immediate: the last vestiges of color drained from her face, leaving her a flickering candle in the wind.

Her life force rapidly ebbed away, her once lustrous and delicate skin quickly aging, losing its elasticity until half of her face had transformed, resembling that of an old woman.

As Liu Ruyan’s life force was consumed with such ferocity, she perceived not only the rapid aging but also an excruciating pain.

Liu Ruyan advanced slowly, not from a lack of will, but because her body was deteriorating at an alarming rate.

Each step she took tore at her muscles and nerves, each movement a searing, agonizing torment.

Yet, Liu Ruyan’s eyes remained filled with unwavering resolve and serene indifference.

Her once straight spine bent, and her steps gradually became sluggish.

Qiu Yue’s pupils slowly dilated as she gazed at the black-shrouded, strangely shaped dagger, as if a long-buried memory had been stirred.

“So that’s it,” Qiu Yue finally said, recovering her composure. “This insidious technique is the Void Shadow Art, isn’t it? The inherited cultivation method of Void Scar Village. A clandestine organization formed by a village, specializing in assassination contracts. Their fees are exorbitant, their success rate exceptionally high, and their assassins kill without a trace, employing such bizarre methods that they strike terror into all who hear of them.”

Qiu Yue’s words failed to stir much emotion in Liu Ruyan’s heart.

She knew all too well how her home had been annihilated, how it had vanished from this world.

“When the Void Shadow Art is cultivated to its peak, the practitioner’s very existence is stripped away. At that point, the cultivator gradually fades from the ‘cognitive layer’ of the world.”

“In the initial stages, mortals and low-level cultivators will unconsciously overlook them, forgetting their appearance and names. Even in the memories of cultivators of equal standing, their traces become difficult to recall. Impressions of them rapidly fade and vanish; ultimately, even the laws of heaven and earth, the world itself, will disregard their existence.”

This description sounded truly extraordinary.

Yet, if even the fundamental laws of heaven and earth and the world’s very essence turned a blind eye to them, how then could cultivation, spiritual energy, and other powers, which operate under these very laws, possibly affect them?

They would ultimately transform into wandering specters traversing the mortal realm—unable to manifest in the present world, and equally untouchable by it.

A knowing, contemptuous curve played upon Qiu Yue’s lips as she spoke with a sneer.

“Oh,” she drawled, her voice deliberately stretched and laced with playful mockery, “so you need a ‘heart anchor,’ don’t you?”

“Your shadowy cultivation art, born of the fear that you might lose yourselves in spatial rifts or be utterly erased by this world, demands that you plant an ‘imprint’ on some unfortunate soul. You force them to become your living memory totem, unable to forget you even if they wished, correct?”

“Poor Lin Wan’er—is he the living coordinate you use to tether yourself, to return to this world?”

Qiu Yue’s gaze was brimming with blatant derision.

“No wonder you clung to him relentlessly, like a puppy, sticking so close—it was all to preserve your own life, to maintain your pathetic sense of existence!”

Qiu Yue’s mockery was like a faint, almost imperceptible breeze, incapable of even stirring a single leaf.

‘A heart anchor… is that what it was?’

‘It had been so long since she heard that term; not since she left the village had such a word crossed her ears.’

‘For those imprinted to become a heart anchor, its core function was to ‘anchor’ an existence that was constantly ‘vanishing.’ This demanded a continuous, high-intensity expenditure of their own ‘sense of existence’ and ‘cognitive power’ to resist the world’s rejection and oblivion that came with cultivating the Void Shadow Art. Such a process would cause the anchor’s soul foundation to suffer constant erosion, like an anchor perpetually being dragged outward, risking being uprooted and plunged into oblivion itself. This long-term, imbalanced connection would inflict permanent damage upon the heart anchor’s spirit, leading to sluggish reactions in other matters.’

‘During cultivation, they would be highly susceptible to qi deviation, their mind unable to fully focus. It often required a massive consumption of vital essence or life force, with countless cases of premature aging and depleted qi and blood.’

‘Then, a figure suddenly became incredibly clear, carrying the lingering warmth of sunlight, sharply piercing through the frozen layers of her memory:’

‘The girl with whom she shared no blood, yet who had been captured alongside her.’

‘The elder sister who had tirelessly learned to care for her daily needs, always wearing a gentle, reassuring smile on her face, no matter how arduous or exhausting the task.’

‘The one who, whenever she was forcibly dragged away for cultivation, fearfully huddling in a corner, would gently pat her back and, in a voice so tender it could melt ice, repeatedly whisper, “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, your sister is here.”‘

‘The one whose eyes were always filled with light, who would point to tattered pages and, tirelessly, over and over again, describe to her the vastness of the outside world, the splendor of its mountains and rivers, always vowing, “Once we become strong, we’ll escape together, and your sister will take you to see the vibrant world!”‘

‘The world her sister spoke of was the sole light in her bleak childhood.’

‘But that light was extinguished. It faded so swiftly, so silently.’

‘Liu Ruyan had cultivated too quickly. Her talent was unparalleled. Incantations others needed to hear ten times, she memorized in one. Liu Ruyan herself didn’t know how she had endured. She was like a venomous vine, unnaturally forced to grow, greedily and desperately drawing in every ‘nutrient’ required for survival. She cultivated too quickly, too fiercely, her cultivation soaring at an inhuman pace—so fast that it terrified everyone, so fast that—’

‘So fast that her ‘heart anchor,’ her sister, simply couldn’t keep up…’

‘Her sister’s vitality seemed to be violently siphoned away by unseen threads. Her smile remained, yet it was like a fading petal, rapidly dimming, shriveling, and withering, as old age, like a parasite clinging to bone, gnawed at her youthful life.’

‘She hadn’t known. She had only wanted to cultivate well, to improve her and her sister’s lives in the village. She had witnessed firsthand the fates of those in the village who failed to cultivate.’

‘Once, before being dragged away by a village elder for an extremely time-consuming secret trial, her sister, already gaunt and frail, almost breathless, still managed to smile and comfort her: “This time… it’ll be a bit longer… go without worry… I’ll wait for you to return.”‘

‘Liu Ruyan, in her innocence, had foolishly believed her sister was merely ill. She had planned to return and buy the best medicine to cure her sister’s illness. But she hadn’t known that those were the last words she would ever hear from her sister.’

‘When she had exhausted every ounce of her strength, barely escaping that purgatorial trial ground alive… the only thing awaiting her was—’

‘A cold stone monument.’

‘Yellow earth beneath the stele.’

‘And the name, casually imparted by the village, carved onto the stone, cold as a blade—”Liu Ruyan.”‘

‘Her sister, who had harbored the dream of escaping the cage to see the world with her until her dying breath… had silently exhausted her last shred of vitality, perishing in a place Liu Ruyan could not see. While Liu Ruyan was in seclusion, her sister had passed away alone, quietly, at the very precipice of old age. She had neither complained nor resented; even in her diary, not a single word mentioned the suffering she endured. She had maintained her innocence, preserved her yearning, and prayed for her own well-being, for her own wishes. She prayed. She never spoke of her pain.’

‘Fortunately, revenge was not necessary. The wicked village had provoked a powerful expert and was annihilated in an instant. She, by sheer luck, had escaped. She rejoiced, yet she grieved. Her hatred had been avenged, but not by her own hand.’

‘This bitterness, this profound sorrow, sparked a brilliant idea within her.’

‘She dispersed her cultivation, transformed herself into her sister’s likeness, froze her own age to match her sister’s, inherited her sister’s name, and, stepping into her place, ventured into the outside world—the very sect her sister had yearned for.’

‘Yet here, she saw a face strikingly similar to her sister’s.’

‘Was it truly so similar?’

‘It was too similar.’

‘She timidly stepped forward, wanting to ask his name, but as the other turned, it made her dark world suddenly… brighten.’

‘In that instant, she knew what she had to do.’

‘Now, she also knew what she must do.’

‘Even if her secret was exposed, even if she would face endless pursuit in the future, even if she would ultimately be lost in this world.’

Liu Ruyan’s withered face remained devoid of expression, calm as still water, save for a chilling killing intent, potent enough to freeze the soul, fixed firmly on Qiu Yue.

She would not allow anyone to harm Sister Wan’er.

She would not allow anyone to harm her own sister.

“Senior Sister Qiu, even if we are within a secret realm, this blade, once it strikes, can inflict harm upon you, even if this place is merely an illusion. Since you understand my secrets so well, you must also be aware of my village’s methods, yes? Regardless of whether this is a secret realm, you will die, and so will I.”

“Of course,” Qiu Yue replied with a calm smile.

That village had been annihilated not only for their terrifying techniques but, more crucially, for their lethal methods.

Once struck, the damage would be linked to reality, no matter where the victim was—be it in a dream or an illusion.

Even as Liu Ruyan stood before her, not a trace of fear marred Qiu Yue’s face.

“It’s over now.”

“Ah, yes, it’s over.”

Liu Ruyan slowly crouched, raised the dagger, aimed for Qiu Yue’s chest, and plunged it downward with force!

However!

Just as the tip of the dagger was about to pierce Qiu Yue’s chest!

A sudden anomaly occurred!