The chilling whisper of the Oracle, "You are wrong, little bloom," haunted Jianyu as he left Rouling Shan. The dream of his own face birthing itself from his chest was a visceral horror, a prophecy of self-creation and profound, internal violation that resonated with the System's cryptic nature. He had dismissed the second truth—that his System was not unique—as a trick, yet a faint, unsettling doubt lingered. He was a weapon, and now he knew he was a pawn in a game far older and more complex than he had imagined.
He returned to Heifeng Cheng, a city now simmering with heightened tension. His public slaying of the Niánmei imposter had cemented his infamy, and the political maneuvering between the sects had escalated. He was a prize, a threat, and a mystery that demanded resolution.
The assassination attempts began almost immediately. First, a silent strike from the Moonbone Sect, a team of necro-cultivators attempting to bind his spirit with spectral chains. Then, a more insidious attack from Qianci Yuan, a subtle poison delivered through a hidden spiritual array, designed to unravel his qi.
Jianyu, as Niánmei, was cornered in a secluded alley, the spiritual chains tightening around him, the poison beginning to seep into his meridians. His serene facade finally cracked, revealing the cold fury beneath. He would not be bound. He would not be poisoned.
In a desperate, instinctual surge of power, he unleashed a forbidden dual-form technique. The System roared, a silent, internal explosion. The air around him shimmered, distorting. Niánmei's form flickered, then split.
For a terrifying, exhilarating moment, both were real. Xu Niánmei, ethereal and deadly, her movements a blur of spiritual silk, parried the spectral chains with elegant precision. Beside her, Xu Jianyu, solid and brutal, his fists a blur of bone-shattering force, tore through the Moonbone assassins. They fought together, two autonomous bodies, a perfect, terrifying synchronicity that utterly confused their attackers. The assassins, faced with two identical, yet distinct, threats, faltered, their formations breaking.
The dual existence, however, was unsustainable. It burned through his qi at an alarming rate, a searing pain that threatened to consume him. He felt his spiritual core strain, on the verge of collapse. But the theory was proven: his soul could fragment and operate in parallel.
With a final, desperate surge, Niánmei delivered a precise strike that shattered the spiritual array, while Jianyu delivered a devastating blow that incapacitated the remaining assassins. Then, with a gasp, the two forms flickered, wavered, and merged back into the single form of Niánmei, leaving Jianyu breathless, his qi depleted, but alive.
The world now had a new name for him, whispered in hushed, terrified tones: Saintbreaker. A heretic. One who desecrated sacred vessels, who defied the very laws of cultivation. He was no longer just a prodigy; he was an anomaly, a living blasphemy.
Later, in a private, secure chamber, Jianyu sat, his body still trembling from the qi drain. Mei Ling'er, her face pale with concern, brought him warm spiritual broth. She had witnessed the aftermath of the split, the sheer, terrifying power.
"Master Niánmei," she whispered, her voice filled with awe and fear, "what… what was that?"
Jianyu looked at her, his eyes distant, haunted by the experience. For the first time, he spoke a truth that was not a calculated lie, not a manipulation. He spoke it softly, almost to himself, the words barely a whisper.
"I think I was never supposed to be one person."
And for the first time… he believed it. The horror of his fragmented identity, once a burden, now felt like a terrifying truth, a path to something new, something beyond human comprehension.