Chapter Six: The Hunt for Gui Zhi

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As dusk descended and shadows thickened, Gui Zhi struggled to break free from Gu Zhiheng’s magical restraints, but all her efforts proved futile. For the first time, she realized that in the face of life and death, she truly had no right to choose. Sometimes, existence itself could be snuffed out in an instant, leaving no room for reaction—everything ended abruptly and unceremoniously.

Though she had lived for centuries and witnessed countless partings, when death finally came for her, the fear was inescapable. When Gu Zhiheng cast his final spell, Gui Zhi believed her fate was sealed. Resentment flickered in her heart as she closed her eyes, bracing for the end.

Yet time passed, and death did not claim her. Instead, there was only a sharp pain in her chest. She understood then that Gu Zhiheng had spared her. One third of her heart had been excised by him, but the remaining two thirds still pulsed within her chest.

Though she was gravely injured, the loss of a portion of her heart was a small price compared to the loss of her life. As long as she survived, she could reclaim what was lost in the days to come.

Still, she knew Gu Zhiheng’s mercy was not born of sentiment, but of the Gu family’s blood-stained history. He wished not to incur further karmic debts.

Meanwhile, Gu Zhiheng brushed the dust from his robes, the severed third of Gui Zhi’s heart in hand, and walked toward Chu Xingran. He had no further interest in Gui Zhi; he took only what he required.

Little did he know that by sparing her, his own life would one day be saved in turn, when death loomed once more.

He handed the heart to Chu Xingran, then calmly took up a cup of tea from the table and began to wash the blood from his hands. He offered no explanation for sparing Gui Zhi, simply carrying on with his actions at an unhurried pace.

Only after the teapot was emptied and his hands were clean did he finally look up at Chu Xingran and Chen Yuan, the meaning in his gaze clear—he had done his part; it was now up to them.

“Tsk, what a lordly existence,” Chen Yuan muttered, feigning indignation. “He’s got all the skill, but still relies on us lackeys to do the dirty work.” Reluctantly, he got to his feet.

This was the first time Gu Zhiheng had feared he might fail, which was why he sought the help of Chu Xingran and Chen Yuan.

The matter of devouring was simple enough: with the use of spellcraft, a drop of Gu Zhiheng’s own blood, and cinnabar, the heart would be refined and fused, then inscribed into a talisman.

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Of course, the talisman had to be drawn directly onto Gu Zhiheng’s body; there was no other way. The method differed for each race, but Gui Zhi’s heart could only be used thus.

“This time the charm must be inscribed on your back. Enhanced by the spell, it will surely be painful. Are you ready for this?” Chu Xingran’s eyes were filled with concern as she looked at Gu Zhiheng.

But in the end… she let it go. People must learn to face reality.

To avoid unnecessary complications, Gu Zhiheng led Chu Xingran and Chen Yuan away. Before leaving, he glanced back at Gui Zhi and placed a talisman over her wound, hoping it would not threaten her life.

Chen Yuan’s tongue was as sharp as ever, his complaints incessant.

“That old woman deserved to die. By sparing her, you’ve left behind a disaster—trouble will come because of it.” He clicked his tongue. “She always repays a grudge. Master, were you out of your mind?”

His words were harsh but not untrue—though undoubtedly courting disaster.

Chu Xingran stifled a laugh, glancing at Gu Zhiheng, but kept her own counsel. She understood him well; he could never bring himself to kill.

Yet, when survival and gain were at stake, Gu Zhiheng was as pragmatic as anyone, putting his own interests first. That was why he had taken only a third of Gui Zhi’s heart and even tended to her wound—there remained a kernel of kindness within him.

“Nothing can happen in Mingshui Town right now. There are too many heavenly dragons from last year—if chaos breaks out, the consequences will be dire.” His voice was low and rough, but earnest.

Having lived twenty-three years, Gu Zhiheng rarely spoke, and so his speech was often awkward and strange. It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak, but his voice was odd—sometimes normal, mostly peculiar.

“I understand. You two handle it this time, but next time I’ll take care of it myself.” One cannot rely on others forever. Neither Chu Xingran nor those old men from his family would always be there.

Chen Yuan snorted with laughter. “Don’t worry, your woman’s fierce enough—she’ll take care of anything for you.”

It was true that Chu Xingran could handle any trouble, but that was not what Gu Zhiheng wanted.

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All his life, he had never participated in anything but the outcomes. If not for tonight being his first time taking action, he would not have left the rest to Chu Xingran and that doll-faced spirit.

“Enough talk. If there’s an uproar in Mingshui Town, we’ll be trapped here,” Chu Xingran said, glancing back at the lantern-lit streets before pulling Gu Zhiheng and Chen Yuan away at speed.

Rumor had it that Mingshui Town was protected by a formation that, once activated during an attack, would prevent even the mightiest immortals from escaping. Whether the stories were true, it was best to err on the side of caution.

Suddenly, Gu Zhiheng’s expression twisted in pain. He clutched Chu Xingran’s arm, sweat beading on his brow. Killing was, indeed, a forbidden act for him.

“The formation in Mingshui Town is real, but it doesn’t affect me. Any other spirit or demon who enters will perish without exception!” His voice was faint and labored, breathless as he hurried alongside Chu Xingran—yet even so, he could not help but look back at the town one last time.

There was a strange familiarity about this place, just as there had been a flicker of pity in Gui Zhi’s eyes when he tore out her heart. Perhaps that was why he had turned back to heal her wound—a reason he could not name.

As for Gu Zhiheng’s words, Chu Xingran and Chen Yuan exchanged a quick, searching glance. How did he know about the formation? It had been laid five centuries ago, spoken of by no one. How could he possibly remember?

Could it be…

It made no sense! How could Gu Zhiheng possess memories of a past life?

But now there was no way to explain it—especially since, despite their pact to kill, he had taken only a third of Gui Zhi’s heart and let her live. This was wholly at odds with their original agreement, and neither Chu Xingran nor Chen Yuan could fathom what was truly in Gu Zhiheng’s heart at that moment.