Chapter 488: Make Way!

The cut, the collar, the heavy, layered aesthetic... they looked suspiciously identical to the robes once worn by a certain Ice Demon who had vanished five years ago.

It was a blatant, silent, unapologetic promise to the universe.

And pinned through her long, flowing black hair, holding a portion of it up in an elegant, severe bun, was a simple, unadorned wooden hairpin.

It wasn’t made of jade or gold. It was a crude, hastily carved piece of wood.

It was the antithesis of her majestic appearance. And yet, she wore it like a crown.

It was the symbol of her unyielding, immovable determination.

She had not forgotten the ice shard that had pierced her chest. She had not forgotten the cold, dead eyes of the boy whom she thought was everything of her life.

She sat quietly, her hands resting gracefully in her lap, watching a single pink peach petal drift on the wind, falling slowly toward her lap.

Before the petal could touch her pristine white robes, a hand reached out and caught it.

Ji’an did not flinch. She slowly, calmly turned her head, a soft, serene smile curling the corners of her lips.

Standing beside her wheelchair was Jiu Zui.

The population of the Drunken Peak had nearly suffered a mass cardiac event when the Sovereign had stepped out of his bamboo hut that morning.

Jiu Zui was clean.

He was completely sober. His wild beard had been trimmed and brushed.

His long, coarse hair had been washed and tied back with a neat silver ribbon. He was wearing pristine, formal Sovereign robes of pale gray and silver, the fabric devoid of grease stains, wine spills, or burn marks.

He looked sharp, commanding, and breathtakingly majestic, a terrifying reminder of the ethereal, flawless fairy-master he had been centuries ago.

He hadn’t wanted to look like a feral badger on the day his daughter left the mortal realm.

Jiu Zui stood beside the wheelchair, holding the crushed pink petal between his clean, calloused fingers. His silver eyes were bright, suspiciously moist, but his jaw was locked in rigid, parental determination.

"Master," Ji’an murmured.

Her voice was no longer the aggressive, barking baritone of the Vanguard Leader. It was smooth, rich, and vibrating with a quiet, lethal authority.

She looked up at him, her dark eyes reflecting the pink canopy above.

"Tell me," Ji’an smiled, a serene, breathtaking expression that belied the madness lurking in her soul. "Do the peach blossoms look especially beautiful today?"

Jiu Zui’s throat clicked. He looked at the blossoms, then looked down at his disciple.

He saw the black hair, the pristine white robes belonging to a ghost, and the wooden hairpin that screamed of a vendetta that would undoubtedly set the Heavens on fire.

He let out a slow, trembling breath.

"They look acceptable," Jiu Zui grunted, his voice gruff, though it lacked any real bite. He flicked the petal away. "A bit too pink for my taste. But they serve their purpose."

He looked at her, his expression softening into a helpless pride.

"You’re really wearing those robes, brat?" Jiu Zui asked, gesturing vaguely to her attire, unable to keep the protective worry out of his voice. "You’re about to ascend to the Highest Realm, the absolute epicenter of the Stargazing Tower’s authority. Wearing the uniform of their... it’s practically a declaration of war before you even clear the transit gate."

Ji’an’s serene smile did not fade. She reached down, smoothing a crease in the white silk over her paralysed knees.

"It is a declaration of war, old man," Ji’an replied softly, her tone so incredibly pleasant it was actually terrifying. "The Heavens took something that belongs to my kitchen. I am simply dressing for the retrieval."

Jiu Zui let out a short, wet laugh, shaking his head. "You haven’t changed at all. You’ve just learned how to use inside voices while plotting mass destruction."

"I am twenty-two now, Master. One must cultivate a sense of decorum," Ji’an teased lightly.

The light banter faded, leaving a heavy silence between them.

Jiu Zui looked at the wooden hairpin. He knew exactly what it meant.

For five years, he had watched her rehabilitate, drag her broken body across the courtyard using only her arms, refusing to let him heal her with pity. He had watched her compress her Heart Fire, refine her core, and push her cultivation to the absolute pinnacle with a singular, terrifying focus.

She had not cried for Xie Wangchen once in five years. She had not screamed at the sky.

She had simply gone to work.

"You know," Jiu Zui whispered, kneeling down beside her wheelchair so he was eye-level with her, resting his large, clean hands on the armrests. "You don’t have to do this. You reached Great Ascension. You could go anywhere in the cosmos. You could find a quiet dimension. You could open a restaurant. You don’t have to walk back into the meat grinder."

Ji’an looked at her master.

She saw the lines of worry etched deep into his face. She reached out, her delicate, pale fingers gently resting over his calloused hand.

"I can’t open a restaurant, Master," Ji’an smiled, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden, brilliant, unapologetic warmth. "I’m missing my prep cook. The line falls apart without him."

Jiu Zui swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

He knew it was useless. You couldn’t stop an avalanche by asking it politely.

"You tear their pristine little realm apart, you hear me?" Jiu Zui ordered, his voice cracking, squeezing her hand. "You flip every desk, burn their ledgers. And if that lobotomized idiot of an Ice Demon doesn’t remember you... hit him with a wok until his memory reboots."

"That’s the plan," Ji’an chuckled, a genuine, fond sound.

A loud, chaotic commotion at the edge of the courtyard interrupted their quiet moment.

"MAKE WAY! THE GENERAL IS COMING THROUGH! OUT OF THE WAY, YOU WEEPING DISCIPLES!"

The crowd of sobbing orthodox cultivators parted like the Red Sea.

Striding through the gap, wearing ceremonial robes that clanked loudly against the stone, was General Lin.

Behind him, walking with a stiff, rigid military posture, was Lin Feng.

And trailing behind them both, a young teenager now, sniffling loudly and wiping his eyes with a silk handkerchief, was Lin Xuan.

The family had arrived.

Ji’an’s serene smile faltered for a fraction of a second, her heart giving a painful squeeze.

Over the last five years, she had maintained a careful, delicate relationship with the Lin Estate. She had visited them several times, allowed them to dote on her. But she had kept the horrifying truth of the seventeen timelines locked firmly behind her teeth.

She could not tell them.

She could not look General Lin in the eye and tell him that his wife had essentially doomed her best friend and her children to a cosmic horror show. She could not look at Lin Xuan and tell him that his birth was the catalyst for her Tenth Timeline death.

And most of all, she could not, under any circumstances, ever let Lin Feng know what his soul had endured.

The original Lin Feng had sacrificed everything.

The man standing before her now, the current, intact Lin Feng of this final timeline, was whole. He was a brilliant general. He had his memories. He had his pride.

The Siphon Array hadn’t hollowed him out because the resets had stopped. Shen Zechuan was a separate, unique entity born of the merit fragment, leaving this Lin Feng blissfully unaware of the cosmic cheese-grater he had narrowly avoided.

To tell him the truth would shatter his mind with a guilt he had not technically earned in this timeline.

General Lin reached the peach tree.

The imposing, hardened military veteran took one look at his beautiful, paralysed, twenty-two-year-old daughter sitting in the wheelchair, and completely dissolved.

"My Ji’an," the General choked out, falling to one knee in the dirt, disregarding his ceremonial robes

He threw his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder, sobbing with the deep, racking, uncontrollable grief of a father who was watching his child leave for a war zone she couldn’t even walk to.

"Father," Ji’an murmured softly, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, patting his back with soothing, rhythmic strokes. "Don’t cry. You’re wrinkling the frost-silk. It’s very expensive."

"I don’t care about the silk!" General Lin wept into her shoulder.