Ruo Xianxue raised her transparent spiritual hand, her slender fingers forming a seal that Zhi Xuan had never seen before. "Zhi Xuan, have you ever considered that not all light requires a form to cast a shadow? Light never creates shadows. It only reveals what is already there. However, even shadows can appear without light. What do you think?"

  Zhi Xuan was stunned for a moment. His mind, usually as calm as a still lake, was now stirred by the question posed by the Saint. It was not merely a riddle, but a question that touched the very roots of the Laws of Space and Time.

  "A shadow... appearing without light?" Zhi Xuan murmured. He stared at his pitch-black left palm, where the lingering life essence from the Spring of Life still glowed faintly. "If light is the most honest form of Yang, and darkness is the deepest breath of Yin... then a shadow should only be the remnant of both. Without light, there should only be total darkness, not a shadow."

  Ruo Xianxue offered a thin smile, one that felt like a razor’s edge slicing through silk. "Oh? Then what of a man who meets his death, slain beneath a blade, his body shattered, yet his shadow remains whole and intact? You say light produces shadows, but how does a shadow manifest if there is no vessel to cast it?"

  Zhi Xuan fell silent, as if his entire bloodline had frozen under Ruo Xianxue’s dual-pupil gaze. The question struck at the foundation of his consciousness, tearing down the walls of understanding he had built through experience. He imagined a human who had vanished into dust, yet their shadow remained on the ground, standing sovereign without a body to support it.

  "If the body is the source and light is the trigger, then without both, the shadow should vanish," Zhi Xuan hissed, his voice hoarse under the weight of the thought. "Unless... the shadow itself is something that predates light."

  Ruo Xianxue laughed lowly, yet the sound did not echo. Instead, she sank deeper into Zhi Xuan’s consciousness, making his inner world feel narrower than before. "Exactly. The Law of the Darkness of the Nine Heavens does not teach you to be the opposite of light. That is the shallow thinking of mortal cultivators. This Law teaches you that Darkness is the Primal Existence—something that existed before the first sun rose and will remain after the last star flickers out."

  She stepped closer to Zhi Xuan, her elegant spiritual form expanding, swallowing the remnants of the Sword Grave hall into her black embrace. "A shadow without a body is a will that refuses to be extinguished. That is the essence of the Nine Heavens Darkness. It does not need light to stand, for it is a self-sustaining truth. And because of that, anything that touches it will be forced to choose: perish completely, or endure as a shadow."

  "However, I will not yet grant you the fragments of the Supreme Law of Darkness," Ruo Xianxue continued with a seductive purr. "This realization is enough to let you understand that in the darkness without light, you will still exist and can reappear wherever your shadow resides. Your shadow will never perish as long as your will is absolute. Life and Death will pass with the eras, but a Will remains as a shadow for those yet to come."

  Zhi Xuan closed his eyes, letting every word soak into his marrow, passing through the layers of his Divine Soul until it touched the core of his Heavenly Samsara Wheel.

  He imagined himself standing in the void of the cosmos—a place where the sun was never born and the moon was but an uncreated dream. There, he did not see darkness as nothingness, but as a dense, endless ocean of energy.

  "A Will that leaves a shadow..." Zhi Xuan whispered. "Then, this darkness is not merely dark, but an eternal record of everything that was, is, and will be."

  He slowly opened his eyes, and instantly, the view at the bottom of the Grave of Rusted Swords changed in his sight. He no longer saw the piles of broken swords as mere physical objects, but as thousands of shadows of wills that remained, even though the bodies of their owners had long since turned to dust.

  Ruo Xianxue nodded slowly, her nine tails waving in a rhythm synchronized with the heartbeat of the earth. "You are beginning to understand, Zhi Xuan. That is why the Calamity Banner was so potent; it gathered the shadows of hatred that refused to fade. Now, use this understanding to step out of this place. Do not walk upon the earth, but walk upon the traces of the shadows you leave behind."

  Zhi Xuan took a deep breath, consolidating his twilight-gray essence, which was now tempered by a cold, new understanding. He no longer released an explosive spiritual pressure. Instead, he pulled all his aura inward until his divine body seemed to become part of the abyss’s darkness itself.

  With a single step, Zhi Xuan no longer triggered ripples. His body seemed to melt, merging with the shadow beneath his feet, and in the blink of an eye, he reappeared atop a metal pillar hundreds of zhang away. There was no sound, no gust of wind; he moved as fast as a human thought passing in the middle of the night.

  "Interesting," Zhi Xuan murmured, feeling the Law of Darkness respond to his will. "This shadow is a bridge unchained by the distance of the physical body."

  He surged upward through the Ancient Demon Land, passing through grounds filled with corpses and demonic mist. But this time, he did not fly or glide. He simply shifted from one sword-shadow to another, a ghostly figure untouchable by worldly senses.

  The journey out of the bowels of the earth, which should have been fraught with deadly obstacles, now felt like a silent dance in the realm of nothingness. Every time Zhi Xuan’s heel touched a shadow cast by ruins or fallen bone-trees, his form was sucked into a rift and reappeared at another point in an instant.

  This was not the standard teleportation used by Soul Transformation experts who shorten space—a technique that always leaves detectable energy ripples. This was a movement that transcended motion; a pure displacement through shadows that left no trace and faced no resistance.

  "Is this what you meant by walking upon the traces, Great Saint?" Zhi Xuan communicated as he sped along.

  "Only a small part, Zhi Xuan," Ruo Xianxue’s voice sounded lazy yet sharp in his heart. "You have only learned to slip into the shadows of the mortal world. In time, when your understanding reaches its peak, you will realize that the entire universe is but a shadow of a much greater will. At that moment, there will be no place where you cannot be present."

  Zhi Xuan continued until he reached the outer boundaries of the Whispering Bone Forest. There, he saw that the remnants of the formation previously built by Master Taixuan had completely collapsed. Without the Soul-Guiding Bell, the region had become a lifeless marsh of mist.

  Suddenly, Zhi Xuan’s sharp senses caught an energy fluctuation in the distance. It was not demonic energy, but a highly ordered spiritual aura—the aura of outside cultivators waiting at the border of the Southern Gate.

  Zhi Xuan stopped behind the shadow of a massive, cracked stone pillar. He observed from the darkness. Several miles from his position, three to four major factions had set up temporary camps. Their banners fluttered under a gloomy sky: the Heaven Sword Faction and several smaller sects from the southern region.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "They smell blood," Zhi Xuan hissed, his sapphire eyes scanning the lines of cultivators. "Taixuan’s downfall cannot be kept secret forever. And they surely plan to scavenge the opportunities within the Ancient Demon Land."

  "Of course," Ruo Xianxue chimed in. "The disappearance of Taixuan and the heavily wounded Soul Transformation experts is an earthquake for this region. They are not there to help, but to fight over the scraps."

  Zhi Xuan touched his storage bag, feeling the presence of the Calamity Banner that was now his. If he emerged in his current form—with his clean white-and-black robes and an aura still carrying the faint scent of demonic air—he would immediately become a target for interrogation, or even a siege.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling Ruo Xianxue’s words about shadows not needing light. He began to manipulate his twilight-gray essence, but instead of releasing it, he commanded the energy to shroud his own shadow.

  "The Ghost Hood might be very useful with this," Zhi Xuan muttered. He waved his hand, and from his storage bag, the Ghost Hood began to drape over his head. "Perfect. The perception of the Ghost Hood, coupled with this understanding... I will appear as whatever they wish to see."

  Zhi Xuan stepped out from behind the stone pillar, but this time his figure no longer radiated the oppressive majesty of his divine body. Under the influence of the Ghost Hood and his new mastery of shadows, his form seemed to fade and become uncertain—as if he were a blurred ink stroke on wet paper.

  Anyone who looked at him would only see a wandering cultivator who appeared wounded and exhausted, hiding his true strength behind a deep veil of darkness. He walked past the lines of bone-trees, yet not a single sharp sense from the guards in the outer camp could capture his presence.

  "Look there! There’s movement near the marsh!" shouted a disciple from a small sect, pointing toward the roiling mist.

  Several Five Element realm experts immediately dashed toward the spot, but they found only a cold gust of wind and the rotting remnants of demonic air. Zhi Xuan was already hundreds of zhang behind them, standing on a blackened tree branch, watching the crowd of cultivators with a cold gaze.

  His eyes were fixed on the main tent adorned with gold thread embroidery—the temporary headquarters of the Heaven Sword Faction. There, he felt the presence of two mid-stage Soul Transformation auras discussing in tense tones. They must have felt the sudden loss of Master Taixuan’s soul connection, an event that shook the power structure of the southern region.

  "Grand Elder, if it is true that Taixuan has fallen within the Sword Grave, then that Calamity Banner..." a woman’s voice drifted from the tent, filled with restrained greed.

  "Do not be rash," a heavy, authoritative voice replied. "The Ancient Demon Land never vomits back its prey without a high price. If Taixuan failed, then whatever killed him must be something far more terrifying than the ancient artifact itself."

  Zhi Xuan sneered behind the veil of the Ghost Hood. They were right to fear, yet they were wrong in their calculations of who now held control. Having no intention of getting involved in the petty squabbles of the factions, Zhi Xuan turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the mountains of the southern region stretched like a sleeping dragon.

  "Zhi Xuan, you have obtained what you sought," Ruo Xianxue’s voice echoed again, softer now as they moved further from the center of the demonic aura. "But remember, the larger the shadow you command, the greater the light that will try to find you. The outside world will not be as quiet as this grave pit."

  Zhi Xuan did not answer. He leaped down from the tree branch, his body seemingly swallowed by the earth as he touched the shadow at the forest floor. In the next heartbeat, he was outside the perimeter of the factions' siege, standing on a small hill overlooking the main road to the nearest border city.

  He pulled his hood slightly lower, letting the silver patterns on his left hand fade completely under the protection of the Law of Darkness. To him, the Ancient Demon Land was now merely a past record within his Samsara Wheel. Master Taixuan was gone, Li Chen had carried away a new hope for his spiritual beast, and he himself had stepped deeper into the true essence of darkness.

  "One step toward the peak, nine steps toward nothingness," Zhi Xuan murmured.

  He walked calmly along the path illuminated by the moonlight appearing from behind the gloomy clouds. Every footprint left no trace upon the dust, as if his divine body truly understood how to be a shadow in the midst of a mortal world.

  The journey took him away from the silent screams of the Ancient Demon Land. Yet, the further he walked, Zhi Xuan felt a strange pulse within his inner sea. The Calamity Banner in his storage bag seemed to breathe in sync with his own heartbeat. No longer a rotting breath, but a breath waiting to be reshaped.

  In the distance, the lights of the city—Dragon Lotus City—began to appear like a scattering of dim jewels in the dark of night. It was the place where the news of the collapse of Master Taixuan’s expedition would explode like a thunderclap. Zhi Xuan finally reappeared before the Southern Gate, just as the dim light of the mortal night market began its celebration.

  Zhi Xuan stood motionless at the threshold between the eternal darkness of the Ancient Demon Land and the colorful bustle of the mortal world. Dragon Lotus City welcomed him with the scent of burning sesame oil, the laughter of merchants, and red lanterns swaying in the night wind.

  To the eyes of an ordinary person, he was merely a young traveler in slightly dusty robes, but beneath the surface, his divine body still vibrated with the echo of the Law of Darkness he had just touched.

  He walked through the cobbled streets, passing crowds of people celebrating a night festival with shallow joy. Zhi Xuan’s presence felt like a single black dot upon an expanse of snow; he was there, yet his existence seemed separated by an invisible layer of dimensions.

  "This world is so noisy," Ruo Xianxue whispered, her voice laced with mockery. "They celebrate life upon a land filled with the bones of their ancestors, unaware that the shadow beneath their feet is the only thing that will remain when they vanish."

  "Mortal life is always the same, Great Saint," Zhi Xuan replied, feeling a wave of warmth every time he passed through the mortal bustle. "Four hundred years ago, I was still running about with only a Divine Wheel. Now, I have crossed horizons, yet the depths of my heart still wonder if I can one day grasp a star."

  Zhi Xuan stopped at an arched stone bridge over the city’s quiet river. The reflection of red lanterns on the water's surface danced, breaking into thousands of shimmering shards.

  He looked down, staring at his own reflection in the water. The shadow appeared denser, deeper, as if it possessed a weight capable of drowning the pale moonlight.

  "Stars are light trying to fight eternal darkness, Zhi Xuan," Ruo Xianxue answered, manifesting as a cool whisper behind his ear. "If you wish to grasp a star, you must first become the night that embraces it. But are you prepared for the loneliness?"

  Zhi Xuan did not answer. His fingers, covered in black silk gloves, brushed the rough stone edge of the bridge. At the end of the street, an old tea house with a weathered wooden sign caught his attention. It was not as grand as the cultivators' inns in the city center, but there, he felt a familiar ripple of energy—an information hub typically managed by the secret network of news gatherers.

  He stepped inside; the aroma of brewed tea leaves and tobacco smoke greeted him. The shop was quite full, yet a sudden silence blanketed the corners of the room as Zhi Xuan passed. Though he had suppressed his aura to a minimum, the authority radiating from a Soul Transformation body was not easily hidden from those with sharp senses.

  Zhi Xuan sat in the darkest corner, ordering a pot of the bitterest Mountain Snow tea. From behind the Ghost Hood, which now served only as an identity shield, he listened.

  "Did you hear? The news from the border of the Ancient Demon Land is getting wilder," whispered a middle-aged man with a scar on his cheek to his companion. "Someone says Master Taixuan didn't just fail; his soul was dragged into the sword hell. The Heaven Sword Faction has already sent envoys to the Main Sect to ask for the Peak Elders' help."

  "That’s not all," the other whispered even lower. "Witnesses saw flashes of black lightning and a gray light splitting the sky of the Sword Grave. Some whisper that an Ancient Devil has awakened from its slumber."

  Zhi Xuan sipped his tea slowly. The bitter liquid touched his tongue, providing a grounding sensation he needed after breathing in rot for days. He sneered thinly; rumors always exaggerated reality, but this time, they weren't entirely wrong about something awakening.

  "They search for an Ancient Devil," Zhi Xuan thought, "unaware that the Devil is sitting among them, drinking bitter tea."

  Zhi Xuan smiled thinly. He reached back and grabbed the Snow Jade hair-tie binding his hair, releasing it and clutching it in his palm. He stared at the Snow Jade, an object carrying memories of mountain peaks' cold and the warmth he had once felt in the past.

  The jade's glow appeared dim, as if responding to the inner turmoil of its owner, who had now stepped far into a path of no return. Only the karmic bond with the Holy Fairy Zhu anchored him to the memory that he still had something to return to.

  "Qinglan..." he whispered. The name felt foreign yet familiar on his tongue, like an echo from a life long buried beneath heaps of karma. "Qinglan, I hope you still consider me human as well."