The space shifted once more.
Snow swirled through the air. A vast white haze sliced through the world like blades, cutting the wind into shards. A young boy knelt on the stone steps outside the sect gates.
Snow and wind battered his body. His face was pale, yet he clenched his teeth and knelt ramrod straight. His knees were frozen purple and red, the skin stiff as if it might split at any moment.
Around him, the crowd’s cold laughter surged like a tide.
“A beggar thinks he is worthy?”
“With such mediocre bones, you still dare dream of cultivating immortality? You would be better off rolling down the mountain!”
The mockery echoed across the snowfield—shrill, merciless—like knives scraping against his will.
Yet the boy did not move.
Snowflakes melted on his lashes and quickly froze into tiny crystals. His eyes, however, were the only flame in that winter—faintly flickering, but never extinguished.
Milton dropped to his knees and pulled Gu Qing tightly into his arms, roaring in fury, “Shut up! How is he not worthy?!”
He knew it was an illusion—a remnant of memory—something no amount of shouting or charging forward could change. But reason had already been torn to shreds. Those who cursed Gu Qing, those who looked on coldly, those who knew he was bleeding yet begrudged him even a single steamed bun—he wanted to tear them apart one by one.
“These animals…”
He ground out the words through his teeth, rage blazing in his eyes. His chest felt seared through by fire. Heartache and fury burned away his reason bit by bit.
“Who among you dares bully him again?” he roared hoarsely. “Who dares laugh at him?”
His voice trembled, but his tone was cold enough to freeze the air.
“He was just a hatchling and survived a hell like this—what gives you the right to trample him?!”
No one answered. No one could hear him.
The illusion continued. The laughter persisted. Snow fell endlessly. The world sank into silent cruelty.
Gu Qing’s lips moved faintly. Steady, resolute, he murmured, “…I will cultivate. I will grow stronger… I will.”
The whisper nearly shattered, swallowed bit by bit by wind and snow—yet it was stubborn as a needle, piercing straight into Milton’s heart.
Milton’s throat tightened. His heart ached dully. Kneeling beside him, hands trembling, he flung open his coat to shield him from the cutting storm.
Snow landed on his fingertips, but he felt no cold—only the scalding helplessness and fury flooding his chest.
“If I had been by your side, I would never have let this happen… Never!”
In that moment, he even hated himself—for not appearing earlier in Gu Qing’s life.
Three days and three nights passed.
Gu Qing had not touched a drop of water. Icy melt soaked through his clothes. His knees were worn open, blood seeping out, mixing with snow into dark red frozen crusts. His body was stiff as ice.
Still he clenched his teeth. Still he did not waver.
He remained kneeling.
At last, someone approached through the snow.
The footsteps were light but clear. The figure bent down, voice warm as spring wind.
“Would you be willing to take me as your master?”
Relief loosened Milton’s chest, warmth spreading through him—until he heard the boy’s voice, hoarse to the point of breaking:
“I want to live. I want to become stronger… I cannot wait for someone to save me.”
The words were soft—almost a vow to himself—nearly scattered by the storm.
Milton stood frozen, his throat constricted.
So that was it.
That calm, that indifference—it had never been innate. It had been forged through countless moments of helplessness, convincing himself again and again to endure, forcing light out of darkness with sheer will.
The scene flipped.
Milton suddenly found himself standing amid a grand gathering attended by thousands.
The sky stretched vast and high. Golden clouds layered upon each other. The sea of clouds shimmered under radiant light, rolling and surging. On platforms suspended in the four directions stood powerful figures from every race—humans, demons, ghosts—each gathered for one person.
Voices swelled around him.
“That is Gu Qing? The Sword Sovereign who slew the Demon Lord and shattered the ancient forbidden array?”
“I heard he quelled the chaos of the demon realm alone… invincible beneath his sword, heart hard as stone!”
“With backing from immortal clans, how could he not rise in a single leap?”
“Do not forget—he is a heaven-blessed genius. Otherwise how could he stand where he does today?”
Milton listened, his heart churning.
He knew. He had seen with his own eyes how that child had crawled from mud, risen from snow—not some favored son of heaven, not destiny’s darling.
Gu Qing had traded his life for this.
“You are wrong…” Milton murmured, fire igniting in his eyes.
“He is no heaven-blessed genius—he carved his way out of purgatory.”
The words had barely left him when a sword cry tore through the sky, splitting clouds and piercing the heavens.
The crowd erupted. All heads tilted upward.
On the summit of clouds, wind surged. Mists churned like tides. Heaven and earth seemed to tremble at that single blade.
A figure in white descended like flowing cloud riding the wind. Sword intent swept across the sky—like a god stepping into the mortal world.
Gu Qing stood with sword in hand. His robes billowed, black hair streaming. His expression was frost-calm, devoid of joy or sorrow. His dark eyes were deep as an ancient abyss, and beneath their stillness lay suffocating pressure. His bearing was aloof, untouchable.
Ten thousand bowed in reverence.
Milton looked at him, his chest aching.
That was no god.
That was Gu Qing—the one he wished to protect.
From a street corner beggar. From a mud-stained boy. Step by step, he had climbed to a height the worlds now gazed upon.
Never had Milton so fiercely wanted to embrace someone, to tell him:
“You truly… truly have done so well.”
Next time—if anyone dares bully you, humiliate you—
I will stand in front of you.
Not for revenge.
But because—you deserve it.
The illusion began to crumble. Fragments of light scattered like shattered silver, drifting away on the wind.
The river of memory broke off abruptly. Fire and snow, crying and sword cries—scene after scene receded like a withdrawing tide, hurling him back to reality.
Milton’s eyes flew open. His chest heaved. It took several seconds before he realized he had returned.
Cold sweat streamed down his forehead. His knuckles were white.
Silence pressed in, broken only by his pounding heartbeat.
The remnants of the illusion still flickered before him—the curled, sobbing hatchling; the trampled child; the boy kneeling in the snow. They were not mere phantoms. They were a past that tore at the heart.
He had never imagined that Gu Qing, always composed and measured, carried such weight.
Only now did he understand.
Gu Qing had never been favored by fate. He had clawed his way out of hell and wrestled destiny itself.
“Gu Qing…” he whispered.
A cool hand settled on his shoulder.
He turned sharply. Gu Qing stood there, expression unchanged, gaze calm as water.
“You saw it?” Gu Qing asked lightly.
Milton lowered his voice, nearly hoarse. “How much did you suffer… all these years? How did one person endure it?”
Gu Qing merely looked at him, tone steady as if recounting someone else’s story. “That was long ago. There is nothing to tell.”
Milton’s throat tightened painfully. “I know you have moved past it. But I cannot pretend I did not see… If I had been by your side back then—even just appeared a little earlier…”
His voice failed him.
He had always thought Gu Qing needed no one. He was too resolute, too powerful—so much so that others forgot he had once cried, once been afraid, once had nothing.
Milton lowered his gaze to the thin calluses on Gu Qing’s fingers. His chest felt clogged, aching.
So much suffering. So much pain. On another person, it would have driven them mad, crushed them, numbed them.
But not him.
Gu Qing had not let hatred corrode his heart. He had not been shoved into the abyss by malice.
He rose from the mud—wounded, bloodied—yet still walked with grace.
Milton had never witnessed such strength. It shook him, filled him with reverence.
This was not inborn magnanimity, nor forgetfulness of pain. It was the restraint and elegance of someone who had walked through purgatory again and again and still chosen not to wound others, not to resent the world.
He had fallen to the lowest depths, yet never yielded. He had been trampled, yet never harbored hatred.
—He had never been saved by anyone, yet step by step, he became the light.
A small voice in the sea of consciousness sniffled, “Sword Sovereign, you suffered so much—why did you never say anything…”
Gu Qing replied softly, “It is over.”
The little one blinked through tears. “That makes me want to cry even more!”
Milton clasped Gu Qing’s cool fingertips, silently vowing: This time, I will stay beside you. I will not let you stand alone.
Gu Qing looked at him, as if catching every suppressed, unspoken emotion. After a moment, he suddenly smiled, voice sweet as honey.
“So you care about me that much, General Milton?”
Milton’s ears reddened. “You know that is not what I meant.”
Gu Qing’s eyes curved as he laughed softly. With a sweep of his sleeve, he strode away, robes fluttering.
Milton remained where he stood, ears burning, heart pounding like a drum.
Never had he seen someone carry such a heavy past and still tease him with such lightness and mischief.
Only Gu Qing could do that.
In this world where the strong devour the weak, Milton had long learned to hide vulnerability, to sever hesitation and feeling with a single stroke. He had believed only by becoming cold and unfeeling could one survive to the end.
Until today.
Only now did he realize that strength had another form.
Not indifference. Not isolation.
But the courage to remain gentle after weathering countless storms—
To believe in light after being trampled.
To kindle hope for others in the darkest night.
For the first time, he admitted it.
Perhaps he was not incapable of relying on someone. Not incapable of pain.
—He simply had never met anyone who made him willing to lay down his armor.
Now, he had.
Milton watched that retreating figure grow distant. A faint smile curved his lips.
Warmth filled his heart, as if he had finally found the light he was willing to guard for a lifetime.