Chapter 239: Ruling All Under Heaven (8) — A Heart of Utter Sincerity Given to Cold Bones, in the End It Was All a Mistaken Yearning

When the sword light finally faded, its lingering echo still bounced between the cliff walls like the final muffled beats of a broken drum.

Jiuyou stood quietly, hands resting at his sides, the hem of his robe whipping in the lingering spiritual pressure. Two points of light swept down from the distant sky, and Saint Teacher Mo landed with the woman on a jutting boulder ten zhang away.

Jiuyou recognized the figure at a glance. It was Graceful. Over two hundred years had passed, and she was no longer the lively, bouncing girl she once was, though the faint contours of her former self still lingered in her features.

Saint Teacher Mo stepped forward and cupped his hands, forcing a faint smile. After a few brief words introducing Graceful, he didn't linger. He turned into a streak of ink-colored light and departed swiftly—clean and decisive, as if deliberately giving them space.

Only the two of them remained on the boulder.

Wind swept up from the depths of the rift, carrying the acrid scent of scorched stone.

Graceful stood in place, hands folded before her, the pads of her fingers absently rubbing the silver embroidery along her cuffs. She glanced up at Jiuyou, but the moment her eyes met his face, she pulled them away as if burned.

Her lips parted, and an exceedingly faint sound rolled in her throat. "Qing..." Barely half a syllable escaped before she stopped abruptly, as if something had caught in her throat.

Lowering her eyes, she stepped back half a pace and gathered her skirts in a formal bow. Her voice was low and clear. "Junior Graceful greets Senior Qing. Congratulations to Senior on successfully achieving Deity Transformation and agreeing to aid the Northern Plains. For this great kindness, all of the Northern Plains—"

She paused abruptly, her breathing slightly unsteady, before forcing herself to continue. "—can never repay you. Should Senior have any commands, please speak plainly. As the Saintess of the Northern Plains, this junior has her duties to bear and dares not shirk them."

Though she spoke the words, her voice trailed lower and lower toward the end. Her eyes remained downcast, but her lashes trembled, and the knuckles clutching her cuffs turned white.

She could not go on.

In those years, she had been protected far too well. Her father was the Great Elder of the tribe, her elder brother the earliest genius of the younger generation to achieve Foundation Establishment, and the entire tribe treasured her like the apple of their eye. Later, when she was discovered to possess a water-attribute heavenly spiritual root, the Holy Masters treated her as an invaluable treasure, pouring spirit stones, medicinal pills, cultivation methods, and magic treasures into her hands like flowing water. Whether others looked on with envy or jealousy, she had never cared.

Back then, the sky was blue and the snow was white. She only needed to focus on cultivating with an untroubled heart, for someone was always there to shield her from the wind ahead.

Later, she became a Nascent Soul cultivator and a candidate for Saintess, but the alliance never permitted her to take the battlefield. The Holy Masters said her temperament was still unsettled, that her foundation needed further tempering, and that the Northern Plains did not lack a single Nascent Soul cultivator like her. She had argued and rebelled, only to be placed in solitary confinement for fifty whole years, forced to break through to the mid stage before they finally released her. By the time she finally took hold of the Sacred Relic and set foot onto that scorched earth, it was already too late.

During that time, she had experienced much, and come to understand much...

Now, standing before Jiuyou, her cultivation at the Nascent Soul Late Stage felt as thin as a sheet of paper before this Deity Transformation Divine Lord, easily pierced with a single touch.

She suddenly remembered that night two hundred years ago. Illuminated by bonfires, she had stood beneath the starlight and asked, "Is the sea there really as blue as the sky, just like the rumors say?"

How she longed to call him "Brother Qing" once more, yet those two words rolled across her tongue only to crumble to ash, impossible to voice.

She was no longer the Graceful of those days.

Jiuyou showed no expression. He had lured Graceful here alone, so how could he fail to guess Saint Teacher Mo's intention? They wished to curry favor and attach themselves to him, but Jiuyou's thoughts had never lingered on matters of romance and affection. Now that Graceful was of no use to him, there was naturally no need to maintain that gentle pretense.

Jiuyou turned his back, his voice cold. "There is no need for further words. The Purple Gold Furnace is already in my possession, and I require nothing more. Between you and me, from beginning to end, it was only ever a transaction. Return at once. I have pressing matters and must depart immediately."

He laid his words bare, speaking with utter finality and leaving no room for retreat.

With that, he didn't spare her a single backward glance. His figure dissolved into a streak of divine light and vanished in an instant. He left behind only the cold, desolate view of his black-robed back, severing every tie without the slightest lingering attachment.

Graceful stumbled forward a few steps, staring blankly after the fading figure. The tender affection hidden deep in her eyes for hundreds of years, and the frail sliver of hope lingering in her heart, dimmed and dispersed bit by bit, finally sinking completely into the icy depths of the abyss.

In truth, she had known the outcome all along.

Ever since four or five hundred years ago, when Jiuyou departed the tribe and she happened upon those two bottles of medicinal pills, she had understood that everything was calculation and exploitation. She knew full well that his gentleness was feigned and his every step an act of use. Yet she had willingly allowed herself to sink into it, delusionally hoping to warm his dao heart with a heart of utter sincerity.

She had wagered on genuine affection. She had wagered on being an exception.

Yet today, she had finally awoken to reality.

Mountains and rivers could be crossed, the immortal path could be scaled, but Jiuyou's heart had never held room for the slightest tender warmth. All her obsession, all her deep affection, all her patient waiting—in the end, it was nothing more than her own unrequited longing, an empty dream.

A short while later, Graceful returned alone, her spirit shattered.

Looking at her dull, lifeless expression, Saint Teacher Mo had no need to ask to know the final outcome of that foolish wager. He had foreseen it long ago, yet seeing her return alone and steeped in dejection, he couldn't help but sigh softly to himself, a wave of melancholy and regret stirring in his heart.

In a slow, gentle voice, he offered measured comfort. "Saintess, why be so crestfallen and despondent? You have walked this path through myriad perils and the frost of a hundred battles, weathering every storm. Now your cultivation has reached the Nascent Soul Late Stage—a tremendous blessing, worthy of celebration across the land."

His tone was warm, offering every reassurance. "Shortly, I shall dispatch word to the tribes to prepare a grand assembly in your honor. Though the Purple Gold Sacred Relic has changed hands, it doesn't diminish your glory in the least. The figure you cut on the battlefield, bathed in blood to defend the countless people of the Northern Plains, has long been engraved deep within the hearts of our people. None shall ever forget it. You will forever be the supreme Saintess of the Northern Plains."

Graceful lowered her gaze, hiding the surge of bitterness and shattered longing in her eyes. Forcing away the melancholy that wrapped around her, she replied softly, feigning calm, "Thank you for your thoughtful guidance, Saint Teacher. This disciple was merely unsettled, letting her thoughts wander over trivial matters. It is nothing serious."

Every word sounded light and composed, yet beneath them lay an indissoluble sorrow. She was simply unwilling to let anyone glimpse the wretchedness of her unrequited devotion.

Saint Teacher Mo watched her for a moment, his gaze clear and perceptive. Seeing through the truth without laying it bare, he merely nodded with a faint smile and offered no further words of comfort. Only long after Graceful had departed did he raise his brush and write in the empty air: "Alas, what is love in this mortal world, that it makes foolish yearning turn on itself? A heart of utter sincerity given to cold bones, in the end it was all a mistaken yearning."

Jiuyou stood atop the mountain peak, gazing into the far distance. It was not that he was entirely devoid of emotion, but in this man-eating cultivation world, he had grown accustomed from his weakest days to walking alone, leaving himself no soft spots.

In this life, he had used far too many people, and let down far too many.

Whether his grand-disciple Canfeng, or Xie Yunqing, Blood Sea, Blood Vine, Dan Xuanzi, Gu Qing... even Graceful and the myriad people of the Northern Plains today—all were nothing more than tools for him to use.

Now, standing here just as he was, Jiuyou had already proven that he was right.