The next morning.

Zhou Jiuyu and Nan Mengling packed their bags and left City Four, heading straight for Lesser Sword God Mountain.

Due to Shao Xiuqi’s death, City Four had been locked down completely. High-speed trains, buses, cars—everything was sealed off. Outsiders could enter after screening, but no one inside could leave.

Not that it troubled him. Zhou Jiuyu simply conjured an illusion to slip past security, strolled out effortlessly, then materialized a rugged off-road vehicle and drove all the way to the summit.

Though his driving was *perhaps* too smooth—Nan Mengling now wobbled unsteadily, queasy but unable to vomit.

“I feel awful, Young Master… Lend me your thigh to rest on?”

Dizzy as she was, she still deliberately leaned into him.

“I don’t buy it for a second. You weirdo.”

Zhou Jiuyu shoved her away without mercy.

A Ninth Tier Spirit Energy user getting carsick?

She was just refusing to use Spirit Energy to soothe her own silly head!

“Mmph…”

Pushed aside, Nan Mengling puffed one cheek in frustration but kept following Zhou Jiuyu up the stone steps.

They finally reached the peak.

At the sight of the structure ahead, both felt a flicker of surprise.

“Young Master… This looks exactly like the Sword Hall,” Nan Mengling murmured.

Her heart began to pound—thump-thump-thump—a nervous flutter rising in her chest.

Scenes from the past two days flashed through her mind:

Her master plotting to have others gang-rape her. Her mother abused to death by his orders. Her father murdered by his hand…

The more she had once trusted, revered, and depended on him… the sharper the dread now gripping her at the sight of the hall.

“You said it yourself—it’s identical. But this is Lesser Sword God Mountain, not Sword God Mountain. The real one lies far outside City Three’s suburbs… very, very far. I warned you last night: be ready.”

Zhou Jiuyu took her hand, trying to steady her.

He understood that feeling all too well—like returning to the orphanage in his past life for paperwork, when all past suffering rushed back at once.

“I can do this, Young Master. Open the door.”

Nan Mengling tightened her grip on the White Moon Longsword.

Creak—

Zhou Jiuyu pushed the Sword Hall door open.

Another flicker of surprise: the interior layout mirrored Sword God Mountain’s hall exactly.

But… something felt off.

As they moved deeper into the courtyard and entered the empty main hall, faint, coquettish gasps and cries began to drift toward them.

Circling toward the inner chamber, the sounds grew clearer—

even the man’s vulgar, degrading shouts now unmistakable.

The moment Nan Mengling recognized that voice, her legs locked. Her breath hitched. She clutched Zhou Jiuyu’s hand tightly.

“I don’t know what’s happening. Stay alert,” Zhou Jiuyu murmured, frowning.

Nan Mengling didn’t respond. After a pause, she released his hand and strode quickly toward the chamber.

Her delicate fingers touched the door—and trembled the instant they made contact.

Only when Zhou Jiuyu covered her hand with his did they push it open together.

“Ah—!”

“Who—who are you?”

“Master… who are they?”

The women inside scrambled to cover themselves, faces pale with shock. The man at the center gaped briefly, then calmly wrapped a sheet around his waist.

“…Master?”

Recognizing his face, Nan Mengling’s breath caught completely.

Zhou Jiuyu’s pupils contracted sharply too—but he spotted subtle inconsistencies and stayed calm.

The Sword God blinked in surprise, then a cunning glint flashed in his eyes. A faint smile curled his lips.

“Mengling… So you’ve come back to your master after all.”

Nan Mengling stood frozen, sword hilt gripped tight, neither retreating nor advancing.

“Don’t be so wary. Whatever happened, whatever this boy showed you… you understand the truth now, don’t you?

I taught you since childhood to discern right from wrong. You’re clever, Mengling.

Who can you truly trust? Me—who raised you for over a decade? Or this boy who gave you two days of novelty?”

The Sword God sat calmly as the women fled. His expression remained gentle, refined.

Nan Mengling kept her head bowed; no one saw her face.

Zhou Jiuyu watched silently. He didn’t blame her confusion.

After all—seeing the Sword God surrounded by women in apparent pleasure? Another truth shattered.

Why was he obsessed with a cuckold fetish?

Because he couldn’t perform sexually! Even surrounded by women, he felt nothing. Only by cuckolding himself—reaching emotional and physical peaks—could he feel masculine dignity again!

But what they’d just witnessed?

The Sword God *enjoying* himself among women?

Absurd! As impossible as the sun rising in the west!

If he *could* perform… then everything Nan Mengling had learned these past two days collapsed.

The foundation of every “truth” he’d fed her crumbled. Without groundwork, even the grandest pavilion becomes a candle in the wind—shattered to dust.

This felt like that noon two days ago: the “Sword Inquiry Assembly” that shattered her eighteen years of belief.

She’d finally found someone to trust… only to be told *he* might be untrustworthy too?

She thought the Young Master freed her from the walls of “Deception”—never imagining he might have helped build them.

“Mengling… Will you believe him? Or… believe me?”

The Sword God’s gaze was serene, confident—radiating quiet superiority.

*His* Sword Fairy. Forged over a decade.

Their bond ran too deep for words to sever.

Deception? Heh… In his design, even knowing she was lied to, she’d embrace it willingly.

Zhou Jiuyu remained silent. He wanted to see *her* choice.

Nan Mengling’s breathing steadied. Under both their stares, she lifted her head, raised her sword, and walked toward the Sword God.

“Master… My choice is…”

Her voice was calm, clear—and froze the Sword God’s smug expression.

“…To kill you.”

Black-and-white energy spiraled violently through the room. The fragile chamber shattered in an instant.

But Zhou Jiuyu’s expression faltered—not from relief.

He saw it in her eyes: not resolve.

Only hollow, lifeless darkness.