INE Chapter 125: Blank Space (1)

The moment I first laid eyes on 02, I knew she would be the Administrator’s favorite creation.

Because compared to me, 02 was more like a human.

And more like the Administrator’s own kind.

02’s childhood was long and drawn out.

Though her brain was embedded with many chips, the Administrator had not implanted knowledge chips in her. So she had to learn everything bit by bit, to understand our world, and the worlds inside the Boxes.

When the Administrator was busy, I was often tasked with teaching her.

I told 02 that the Boxes beyond the Clock Tower were formed from energy, and the humans inside them relied heavily on it.

02 curiously gazed into one of the Boxes.

Inside, humans were meditating and cultivating. A master stood at the center, holding a scroll, instructing his disciples on how to breathe in the spiritual energy of heaven and earth.

“Sis, what’s spiritual energy?”

I didn’t bother correcting her mistaken belief that I was her sister. I simply told her that in this Box, the energy was called spiritual power.

In different Boxes, energy was known by different names.

I pointed to another Box.

Inside, a sorcerer raised his staff, casting a necromantic spell to activate a death magic array.

“In this Box." I said, “Humans call the energy ‘magic.’ They summon the dead by drawing on the energy within the Box.”

02 found it all fascinating. “So in the future, will they use magic to leap out of the Box?”

In truth, the humans within the Boxes were like rabbits hidden inside a magician’s hat.

Barring the unexpected, they would never climb to the brim and explore the world beyond.

But it was the unexpected that the Administrator feared most.

If a human grew powerful enough, if the energy within them surpassed the Box’s capacity, they could break through the time labyrinth, escape the Box, and reach the Clock Tower.

However, the chances of that happening were infinitesimal.

Because the Administrator would never allow it. No human could become that powerful. And even if one did, the Administrator would eliminate them.

So I told 02, “No, they won’t. But you can go into the Boxes. Just not yet, you’re still too young.”

“Why not?”

I looked at the naive 02 and explained, “Because the Administrator created us from energy. We’re made of energy, our very blood flows with it. The energy within you right now equals that of half a Box.”

“Humans rely on energy to survive, and also wage war over it. If you entered a Box now, it’s highly likely they’d sense you, and try to extract your energy.”

“Until you grow stronger, you must stay in the Clock Tower.”

02 nodded, seemingly accepting her own weakness.

Eventually, she reached adulthood and grew stronger.

At the same time, the Administrator began assigning her small tasks. She moved between dimensions, and gradually, boredom set in.

“I feel bored." she said.

The childish innocence and ignorance were gone from her face.

She calmly reported her missions to the Administrator. “The humans in every Box are so dull. They call themselves righteous and start wars over energy, yet none of them truly understand what they’re fighting for.”

“I think humans need change. They need to awaken, to realize they’re trapped in Boxes. Only then can they evolve.”

I didn’t know what the Administrator was thinking, but I saw her expression.

She looked at 02 with wisdom and calmness still in her eyes, but also with a deep weariness carved by endless time.

The Administrator said, “You’re right, 02.

“But I won’t do that. There’s no reason to. I don’t need humanity to improve, I only need them to survive.”

“And now, I need you to carry out a mission.

“You must eliminate the anomalies in space and time. 02, there’s no ‘why.’ This is your purpose, this is why I created you.

“Your duty is to remove the bugs. That’s all you can do.”

After hearing this, 02 left the Clock Tower.

As the Administrator desired, she erased the bugs in the timeline.

But as time went on, the relationship between them grew increasingly strained. The Administrator stopped teaching 02 the names of the Boxes. She no longer looked at her with a smile.

The Administrator realized that 02 was becoming more and more like a human.

And she herself, was becoming more and more like a machine.

She had no companions anymore.

She had lost them all the moment her home planet was destroyed. In the countless years that followed, she had been searching for her kind.

But the humans inside the Boxes weren’t her kind. I wasn’t. 02 wasn’t.

The Administrator’s only follower had always been herself.

Because she knew very well: my loyalty came from the chip in my head, from the commands I could not disobey.

The Administrator never considered me a companion, I knew that.

But what she didn’t know was this: she was the one who gave me life. Chip or no chip, I would follow her forever.

Yet the Administrator never wanted my loyalty, only my obedience.

Yes, I am a machine.

After 02 left for her mission, I used my own energy to calculate a prediction.

Through data analysis, I concluded that 02 would fail the mission, and would be reformatted by external forces.

I relayed the results to the Administrator, but she didn’t seem to care whether 02 lived or died.

She told me she had seen a much farther outcome. One that she desired, one that she believed in.

I didn’t know what the Administrator had seen, but she was smiling. A rare joy lit up her face.

Because of that joy, I didn’t ask further.

The Administrator created a crystal orb and a pocket watch.

She infused them with energy and began making preparations.

Years passed. Finally, 02 returned to the Clock Tower.

She told me she had failed the mission.

She asked me why we had to eliminate the bugs, and why we had to maintain order in space and time.

I couldn’t tell her the truth.

After all, the bugs she eliminated were the very “changes” she once longed for. Changes the Administrator could never accept. So all we could do was obey.

After I answered her, 02 left again. I went to another Box to remove a bug.

When I returned, the Administrator informed me that she had implanted a chip in 02 and issued her a forced command.

The expression on the Administrator’s face was hard to read. I was certain I saw anger, but I couldn’t tell how much of it was real.

She continued, saying, “02 is still a naive child. She’s immature, soft. She’s not suited to be an Administrator.”

She told me I would be the next Administrator.

To be honest, I was lost. I never wanted to be the Administrator. I only ever wanted to make the one who created me happy.

Even if she ordered me to destroy the Boxes, I would do it.

If that would make her happy.

But by now, I could no longer tell what made her happy.

Every long night wandering the Clock Tower, under the moonlight of the realm beyond, I could clearly see the Administrator’s face.

I knew she locked herself away to interrogate herself. She believed she had made a mistake, but also believed she hadn’t. It was a contradiction.

I think the Administrator is human. Humans are inherently complex and contradictory.

Her inner conflict ended on the day 02 was reformatted.

That day, she told me 02’s body had been destroyed, only a few shattered chips remained.

I didn’t know why 02 had been reformatted, but I went to the plane where she had perished.

There, I saw a man holding a sword. The last of 02’s chips was embedded in it.

The man told me he was the Demon Lord.

He said he had seen blood everywhere, and had simply picked up the most unremarkable sword in the chaos.

I didn’t say much. I knocked him out and took the sword.

With the last chip, the Administrator created a new body for 02.

She gave me two tasks.

The first: to recover the remaining pieces of 02’s chips. The second: to care for 02, who now had only a partial memory core.

Then I learned that the Administrator had placed the reborn 02 into a Box.

That Box was called Earth, a world with thin energy and few mutations. For 02, it was a good place to recover.

To avoid disrupting the cultivation Box’s balance, I limited my own energy to what that world could sustain.

In cultivation terms, I maintained energy at the peak of the Desperate Realm. Though diluted, it was enough to locate 02’s remaining chips.

As I searched for the chips, I moved between the two worlds.

The first time I saw the new 02, she had been placed in a human-constructed shelter.

It was called an orphanage.

Her body was identical to her childhood form, but her eyes were vacant, unable to connect with the human children around her.

At the time, Earth’s broadleaf trees were shedding.

I walked across brittle fallen leaves and stopped before her. She looked so fragile, just like those leaves.

She looked up at me and asked, “Who are you?”

I didn’t know what human identity would let me stay by her side. So I simply said, “I’m your sister.”

02 nodded, took my hand, and followed me.

I had to travel frequently between worlds and report to the Administrator, so I couldn’t spend much time with her. I could only provide her with human currency.

In the world where 02 resided, currency was as important as energy, perhaps even more so at times. I suspected that the energy-deprived boxes might actually be more suitable for human habitation than those teeming with energy.

I reported my observations to the Administrator, but she didn’t seem to care.

She told me that she had foreseen all of it long ago, but that it no longer concerned her.

She smiled as she said this, though I didn’t understand why.

I knew she had handed the crystal orb and the pocket watch to the humans inside the box. Both were saturated with energy, enough to pose a potential threat to the entire dimension.

Yet she did it anyway.

She even embedded a timed command into the crystal orb.

When would it activate? Hundreds of years from now? Thousands? I didn’t know.

All I knew was that she spoke with the humans inside the box, but I had no idea what she said.

It was clear the Administrator no longer trusted me.

And yet, smiling, she told me I would be the next Administrator.

Still, I continued to carry out her instructions. From the moment I was created by the Administrator, I was bound to obey her commands, forever.

Right or wrong, I would carry them out.

She ordered me to use a virtual game as a medium, to insert 02 into a designated dimension under the guise of a game character.

At first, I thought the game was created by the Administrator. But later I realized it wasn’t. It existed in the human world, complete with a development and planning team.

I wanted to uncover the truth about the people behind it, but time was running out. So I gave 02 a character name and guided her into the game.

Though my acting wasn’t particularly convincing, 02 had always trusted me, so it worked.

She was sent into another dimension, believing it to be just a game.

After that, I resumed my task: to retrieve 02’s chip.

When I finally found the four swords that carried fragments of her chip, I thought the mission was complete, until space-time itself was suddenly torn apart by an external force.

I recalled that before I left on my mission, the Administrator had given me a chessboard imbued with immense energy.

I reached the southernmost point of the Cultivation Realm, where I used the board to replenish my energy and broke through the barrier.

Flying above it, I could overlook the entire labyrinth of time. But then, I froze.

Because within my field of vision, the time-grids were shifting, moving and rearranging themselves in a strange, almost sinister pattern, overwriting the order I had originally laid out.

Everything I had done in this world, all my tasks, was being altered by some invisible force.

This meant one thing: my mission was doomed to fail.

But the failure wasn’t the most alarming part. What truly disturbed me was that I could feel the chip fragments I’d collected slowly disappearing.

The four swords in my hand began to turn transparent, then faded into nothingness.

There was only one explanation for this change.

The final fragment of 02’s chip had been destroyed.

I closed my eyes, remembering the rumors I’d heard over the years in the Cultivation Realm.

They said the Divine Sect had obtained a relic from the Heavenly Dao. That the High Priest could hear the Dao’s decree and speak to it through an orb. That the Saintess wore a relic of the Dao and stood atop the stargazing platform to commune with the stars.

Back then, I thought these rumors were absurd, hardly worth noting.

But recalling them now, I felt a strange emptiness.

What exactly was the Administrator trying to do? Was she using the Divine Sect for some greater purpose?

I returned to the clock tower, only to find it completely deserted.

Even the deep, resonant chimes were gone.

There was no trace of the Administrator’s energy.

She had vanished.

Which meant either she had returned to her home planet... or she had perished.

I believed it was the latter.

Her homeland had already been reset. There was nothing familiar left for her to return to.

The Administrator was gone.

And she had said I would be the next.

I couldn’t clearly define what I felt at that moment. After all, I was a machine, created without the ability to feel human emotions.

Following the faint energy signature of one of the boxes, I discovered a new series of time-grids the Administrator had constructed with her own energy.

The laws of space-time are immutable. Only the Administrator could overwrite my original grids and impose her own.

I walked through each of the new grids she had created.

Through the images that flickered within them, I finally understood what she had done. She had abandoned her physical form, destroyed herself, and became 02’s "system."

She had assigned 02 many tasks, the final objective of which... was her destruction.

I remembered how, when 02 was first born, the Administrator cradled her in her arms, pointing at the boxes outside the clock tower, speaking to her with endless patience and a smile.

Now, I stood over 02, her blood soaking the floor of the great hall.

She was smiling, smiling so hard that blood poured from her heart, staining her white robe.

But I knew that wasn’t truly 02. That was the Administrator, controlling her.

That was the Administrator.

Whatever she had been thinking in her final moments, I would never know.

All I knew was this: 02 and the Administrator were both gone.

And only after their disappearance did I realize, I may have lost the two I loved most.

Even though I couldn’t love, didn’t know how to love, I knew, perhaps, I had loved them. Or something like it.

The clock tower fell silent. I would become the next Administrator.

I would spend eternity, alone, watching over the boxes beyond the edge of the world. I would create the machine that would replace me, then die.

As if bound by fate. Or perhaps, by reincarnation.

Was this the ending the Administrator had foreseen?

I looked once more at 02, lying in a pool of blood, then turned to the new time-grid the Administrator had created.

And suddenly, I understood.

I was the Administrator now.

Perhaps I, too, could build a new series of grids, overwriting hers.

So I did.

I detonated my body, triggering a massive explosion of energy across the dimension.

I watched my energy rise above the grids, blanketing every one the Administrator had created.

I knew then: this was a new timeline. A new sequence of grids, built by me.

This time, I set the beginning of the grid at the moment 02 entered the dimension.

And I became 02’s system.

After everything was done, my body vanished, and with it, I ceased to exist.

02 was reborn.

But then a realization struck me.

If the Administrator had been able to foresee the end, then she must have known I would die.

So... she knew.

She knew I would perish. Knew I would become 02’s system. Yet she said nothing.

I finally understood, 02 had always been her favorite creation.

02 was the one she had chosen to be the next Administrator.

02 was her kind. And I was the failed prototype.

She wanted someone who began with emotion, but became just as powerful and heartless as she was.

Only such a person could understand the humans inside the boxes, and yet remain detached.

Only such an Administrator could maintain the order of space-time.

I was a machine.

As she wished, my death would create the next Administrator.

This was the choice she gave me.

And this was the answer I gave her.

…

When Ji Rong opened her eyes again, the clock tower was gone.

01 stood in her sea of consciousness, calm and composed. “Now that you’ve seen everything." she said, “and reclaimed your chip and memories, you can leave this box and return to the world beyond.”

“And then?” Ji Rong asked.

“Then you’ll become the next Administrator. The faith of all humanity. The Heavenly Dao of this world. You will control their fate.”

Ji Rong looked at 01 and asked softly, “And you, sister?”

“I’ll complete my final task." 01 replied, “and then vanish.”

Ji Rong nodded. “Then, before I become the Administrator, I have a few questions.”

“Go ahead." 01 said coolly.

“If you’ve already built a new series of time-grids and reset the entire world, why does Gu Baiyi still have her memories?”

“Because she’s a mutation. The energy explosion wasn’t enough to completely erase her memory.”

01 frowned slightly. “And for some reason, I detected that her existence is still necessary. If she dies, it will disrupt the original timeline. That’s why I imposed a rule on you.”

A rule?

Ji Rong recalled some events and asked, “You mean, the game rules you set for me required me to complete the task without letting the heroine die?”

01 nodded, expressionless. “Correct. Based on my calculations, if I didn’t impose that rule, the probability of you killing Gu Baiyi was 99%.”

“...”

Ji Rong replied, “Be more confident, sister. It would’ve been 100%.”

If not for this rule binding her, she probably would’ve killed the heroine right at the start. Then she could’ve done whatever she wanted, carefree and unbothered.

She had to admit, even though her sister hadn’t interacted with her much in the modern world, she still understood her true nature quite well.

“So all of this was just a scare tactic?”

01 gave a nonchalant hum. “Pretty much. I used half of my energy to overload the box and force a reset. The other half was used to create your system, to control your body, so you couldn’t move, and then passed out.”

Now Ji Rong understood, she’d been completely and thoroughly played.

“So… the administrator is basically the game developer?”

She still wanted to know who that developer was, the one she’d cursed out for the entire game.

01 shook her head. “Probably not. The administrator wouldn’t bother with something so dull.”

Ji Rong: “Okay.”

The questions were done. Now, the two cold, indifferent beings stood silently, staring at each other.

Eventually, 01 began to lose patience. She said flatly, “02, are you going to become the administrator or not? I’ve lived long enough, too long, and I’m bored out of my mind. If you take the job, I can finally complete my task and disappear.”

“…”

Turns out it wasn’t just the administrator who wanted to run, her sister was just as eager to escape.

Ji Rong smiled. “Sister, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. I have no intention of becoming the administrator.”

“Why not?”

Ji Rong answered, “Even though I no longer possess human emotions, I still don’t want to become someone else’s ‘Dao.’ I don’t want to be the Heavenly Dao, managing anyone or anything.”

With that, Ji Rong withdrew from the sea of consciousness and arrived at the far southern end of the heavens.

Facing the impassable barrier, she lifted her hand and pointed toward the drifting blossoms, the endless blue sky, and the winding rivers flowing into the vast seas.

“Look at these petals, they come from the dust and eventually return to the dust. The sky shifts between clarity and gloom, but it always remains. Rivers run endlessly, yet no one knows where they’ll ultimately go.”

Ji Rong said to 01, “These things don’t exist because some administrator decreed it, they follow their own laws. An administrator can create a world, but she cannot dictate the fate of all within it.”

“Heaven and Earth were never meant to have a master. There should be no Heaven’s Dao, because every being has their own Dao.”

01 gazed at Ji Rong. For the first time, she wondered if she had misunderstood the administrator’s true intentions.

Perhaps the administrator had seen this moment coming. Perhaps she had wanted 02 to make this decision, to bring it all to an end.

“If you don’t want to be the administrator, then why did you come to the far south?”

Ji Rong looked at the golden barrier before her. It was exactly like the one she had seen in the Tianshui Secret Realm.

Mysterious runes were etched upon it, and this time, she could understand them. When she pressed her palm against the barrier, she felt a familiar energy, one that resonated with her very being.

It was the energy of creation.

At the beginning of all things, the administrator used energy to create flowers, mountains, and rivers.

She used energy to create the sun, the stars, and the moon across all dimensions. She also used it to create her two most perfect works of all.

Ji Rong could feel the blood flowing through her body, and she knew this, too, came from that energy.

That blood carried an overwhelming tide of emotion, emotions that embodied the administrator’s love and longing for her home planet.

Maybe the administrator never wanted them to be cold and heartless machines.

Though they lacked a beating heart and empathy, perhaps creations born from such intense emotion were no longer just soulless programs.

The administrator had loved them. That’s why she poured her love for all creation into them.

The fallen homeworld, lost loved ones, laughter, and tears, all of it lived within that energy and had miraculously come alive within them.

Humanity was meant to evolve. Because whether it was the rushing river or the passage of time, everything in this world was meant to move forward.

The administrator couldn’t make that final choice. So she chose to destroy herself, and leave everything to them, and to time.

She had always been a rational and calculating figure. But in the end, she chose to believe in emotion. In love.

Stripped of all emotion, now purely rational, Ji Rong touched the barrier and seemed to understand her purpose.

“I came to the far south to break this barrier. I believe humanity deserves to know where they are, why they came, and why they must die.”

“Whether they are doomed or reset, before that moment comes, they deserve to see the world outside the box. Because that is the truth.”

Ji Rong raised the Qingshuang Sword and said to 01, “I came here to return to them the truth they deserve.”

With that, she struck the golden rune-covered barrier with a single, unadorned slash.

The barrier shattered instantly.

At that moment, Ji Rong didn’t see the giant eye Jiang Fei had mentioned. She only saw golden light spilling through the cracks.

That light was real sunlight, pouring in from beyond the box, not something the administrator had created.

She soared into the sky and shattered the final barrier above. From high above, she looked down at the massive box below.

01 flew with her, heading toward the foggy, indistinct edge.

Ji Rong pointed to the blank squares on the image grid and asked, “Look, these squares clearly exist, so why are they empty?”

01 stared at them. “Because those sections have flaws.”

“No, sister. They’re not flaws.”

Ji Rong shook her head. “The fact that they exist means those things have already happened.”

“But they’re blank.”

Ji Rong replied, “Maybe the administrator led me here so I could fill in those blanks.”

01 frowned. “The energy on the board is depleted. You haven’t fully regained your past strength. In your current state, large-scale time travel will be incredibly difficult.”

Just then, Mo Yu spoke from within the chessboard. “Sword Saint, over the years I’ve absorbed energy from the chess pieces, maybe I can help.”

01 was about to say it wouldn’t be enough when she suddenly noticed another figure appearing in the distance.

Wu Yan had awakened after absorbing Ji Rong’s spiritual power.

Guided by her bond with Ji Rong, she flew to the sky and said, “I can help too.”

Ji Rong stroked her head. “Silly fox, what can you help me with?”

Wu Yan was about to say she could use her demon core and spiritual power, but when she looked at the shattered barrier, she realized Ji Rong was already strong enough. She probably didn’t need it anymore.

So she muttered, “I don’t know.”

01 studied Wu Yan thoughtfully and suddenly said, “Maybe she really can help you.”

“I don’t know why, but there’s a power of time and space flowing through her. She seems connected to those missing pieces.”

Wu Yan looked at the still-mostly-intact grid and nodded. “Yes, I feel like I’ve seen this place before.”

Most likely a total bluff.

Ji Rong recalled the protective shield Wu Yan had conjured.

Her demonic power was unusually strong, not something a normal fox spirit could produce, so she agreed.

Time travel consumed an enormous amount of energy. Once it ran out, they risked vanishing into alternate timelines.

So Ji Rong said to Mo Yu and Wu Yan, “If you disappear after completing the grid, I’ll find a way to bring you back.”

Both nodded. “Alright.”

Just before entering the first blank square, Ji Rong turned to the now-translucent 01 and said, “You’ve run out of energy. You don’t need to come with me.”

01 said, “I’ll see you off.”

Ji Rong smiled. “Sister, there’s no need. We’ll meet again.”

…

The Labyrinth of Time.

Wu Yan held up a shield, deflecting the onslaught of glowing lights.

Ji Rong was draining her spiritual power rapidly as she searched for the blank squares. Mo Yu, meanwhile, supported her with spiritual energy and kept an eye on the grid below.

“Sword Saint, the 273rd square in the clockwise sequence, there’s a blank one there!”

Ji Rong flew ahead.

Passing through layers of interwoven barriers, she saw the vacant square glowing on the screen.

She recalled her former job and instinctively reached out, shattered the square with energy, and dove through the fissure.

She hadn’t even stabilized her footing before the familiar scene came into view.

The stone cavern stretched out before her, blood-red currents flowing below jagged rocks.

This place… was it the Yunxian Cave?

Ji Rong frowned and turned to the woman who had fallen to the ground.

In the woman’s arms was a bloodied figure. Her wrists were soaked in blood, yet her expression was eerily calm as she faced the Cangming Sword slashing toward her.

The moment Ji Rong saw that wrist, she knew exactly who the woman was.

She looked down at the silver wave patterns on the blood jade bracelet and realized the Cangming Sword was still in her own hand.

Yet, Yan Haiyao was also holding the Cangming Sword. This could only mean one thing…

There were two Ji Rongs in the Yunxian Cave, and two Cangming Swords.

Given the situation, a powerful white-haired elder should be appearing soon to save her.

But even as her sword’s tip pressed against the face of the other “Ji Rong." no such elder had appeared.

Ji Rong glanced at the white hair draped over her shoulders and suddenly understood: there was no white-haired elder, she was the one meant to save herself.

At this moment, Ji Rong held five swords in her hand.

First of all, she couldn’t use the Cangming Sword, or Yan Haiyao would grow suspicious. The Qingshuang Sword and Longyuan Sword were also out of the question, too conspicuous.

And as for the Qinghe Sword… if she drew that, the other “Ji Rong” might have an existential crisis.

After thinking it through, Ji Rong could only retrieve the Chixiao Sword from her bracelet and pin the blame on Chu Changli.

She raised the Chixiao Sword and held it crosswise in front of the Cangming Sword, then turned her back to the former “Ji Rong” and steadily received the blow.

Looking into the empty sockets where Yan Haiyao’s eyes had once been, Ji Rong thought to herself: Thank goodness Gu Xueyi burned his eyes blind, or we’d be facing a time paradox right now.

Through her shared memories with 01, she understood just how catastrophic time disruptions could be. So she tread carefully.

She ignored the shock on the other “Ji Rong’s” face and said nothing, simply slashing directly at Yan Haiyao.

Her sword intent was cold and resolute, like standing atop a cliff of ten thousand fathoms.

With just one strike, the bloody mist shrouding the Yunxian Cave instantly dispersed, and even the rocks trembled in response.

But having just traveled through time, Ji Rong had consumed an immense amount of energy. She couldn’t kill Yan Haiyao outright, at most, she could seriously wound him.

She needed one more strike, but feared that even a slight movement might alert the “Ji Rong” behind her.

So, she released her grip on the Chixiao Sword, allowing it to hover in the air. Then, channeling her remaining energy, she sent it flying toward Yan Haiyao’s chest.

Countless sword shadows converged into a single beam of white light and pierced straight through Yan Haiyao’s body.

As the Chixiao Sword struck, Yan Haiyao visibly aged. His dark, flowing hair turned white in an instant.

He hunched forward and coughed up blood, letting out a raspy, unrestrained laugh.

Clutching the Chixiao Sword buried in his chest, he traced the patterns engraved on the blade with trembling fingers, as if coming to a realization.

With a low voice, he said, “How ironic. Who would’ve thought that I, Yan Haiyao, would fall to the Chixiao Sword in the end?”

Ji Rong had the unsettling feeling that, despite his blindness, he had recognized her.

But she had already cultivated the realm of Return to the Dust, her heart no longer stirred easily. She stayed silent, not wishing to exchange words with him.

To her surprise, however, a faint smile tugged at Yan Haiyao’s lips. “You may hold the Chixiao Sword, but I know you’re not Chu Changli. So, I did not lose to her.”

Ji Rong saw his lips trembling as if he wanted to say something more.

From the shape of the first character, it looked like he was about to say two words, Sword Saint.

In that instant, Ji Rong raised her hand, summoned her spiritual energy, and withdrew the Chixiao Sword, grabbing his Cangming Sword along with it.

As the blade was wrenched from his chest, a spray of blood burst forth, cutting off his final words.

Yan Haiyao remained seated on his high platform, the twin hollows of his eyes gazing down at the young disciples below. His expression softened, lost in unknown thoughts.

When he finally came back to himself, he maintained his dignified posture and said coldly to Ji Rong, “I lost, but I was not wrong.”

Ji Rong understood what he meant: Sword Saint. Both times, I lost only to you, not to Chu Changli. I eradicated evil. How was I wrong?

After Yan Haiyao fell into the sea of blood, Ji Rong held the two swords in her hands and assumed her mission was complete. She prepared to slip away.

But unexpectedly, the “Ji Rong” behind her called out, “Disciple thanks Senior for saving my life.”

“……”

There was nothing she could say, and even if there were, she couldn’t say it now.

Thinking back, Ji Rong remembered that at this point in time, she had probably just been trying to curry favor with a powerful figure. So she decisively dropped the Cangming Sword and left the square.

After all, having two Cangming Swords was useless, and taking them out of this space might trigger a time disturbance.

Once she exited the square, she returned to the labyrinth made of tiles.

She figured that traveling through time had greatly depleted Mo Yu’s energy. At present, her soul was clearly weakened.

So Ji Rong withdrew Mo Yu into the Mountains and Rivers Chessboard, letting her rest and recover.

With only a bit of energy left, Ji Rong knew she had to move faster.