The soul-brand, now a silent, insidious tracking rune, hummed faintly on Niánmei's forehead. Jianyu felt Gong Xuelan's qi, a cold, precise beacon, broadcasting her location and subtle fluctuations directly to his System. She believed she had bound him, but in truth, he had turned her leash into his own spyglass. The triumph was cold, satisfying.
Days passed in a delicate dance of appearances. As Niánmei, he continued to cultivate his growing prestige within Qianci Yuan, attending ceremonies, engaging in polite, subtext-laden conversations with other disciples and elders. As Jianyu, his male persona, he secretly continued to gather intelligence, moving through the shadows of Heifeng Cheng, making cautious contact with whispers of the male underground. He was a master of duality, his very existence a living, breathing lie.
The sects, still reeling from the public display at the Three Petal Trial and the recent confrontation between Xuelan and Yuelian, were in a state of heightened tension. Rumors of the "Saintbreaker" and the "dual-faced prodigy" spread like wildfire, fueling both fear and a morbid fascination.
It was during a grand ceremonial duel, held in a sprawling, open-air arena within Heifeng Cheng, that the fracture truly began. The air was electric with the qi of hundreds of spectators, their anticipation a palpable wave. Niánmei was to face a renowned swordswoman from a minor, unaffiliated sect, a display of grace and precision.
The duel began, a beautiful, fluid dance of spiritual energy and honed blades. Niánmei moved with effortless elegance, his movements a blur of silk and power. The crowd watched, mesmerized.
Then, a collective gasp ripped through the arena.
From the opposite side, another figure stepped onto the field. Clad in robes identical to Niánmei's, with the same ethereal beauty, the same serene smile, and the exact same qi signature. Another Xu Niánmei.
The arena fell silent, a stunned, disbelieving hush. Jianyu felt a cold dread, a profound violation. This was no illusion. This was a physical body, animated with blood-essence, a perfect, horrifying copy. A puppet.
The imposter raised a hand, its movements a chilling mimicry of Niánmei's own. "I am the true Niánmei," a voice, identical to his own, echoed through the arena, "the pure vessel. This… this is a parasite, a corruption."
Pandemonium erupted. The crowd roared, confused, terrified. Two identical "Saints." It was heresy. It was impossible.
Jianyu had no choice. His disguise, his careful manipulation, was shattered. He could not allow this imposter to exist. It was a direct threat to his carefully constructed identity, a mockery of his very being. His serene smile vanished, replaced by a cold, deadly resolve.
He moved. Not with grace, but with brutal, efficient precision. The imposter, though a perfect physical copy, lacked the depth, the cunning, the sheer malevolence of Jianyu's System. Niánmei's hand lashed out, not with qi, but with a sudden, anatomical strike that shattered the puppet's internal qi pathways. The imposter stiffened, its eyes wide and vacant, then collapsed, its blood-essence dissolving into a crimson mist.
The crowd was stunned into silence once more. Jianyu had publicly killed his own imposter, a terrifying act that solidified his image as something dangerous, something beyond comprehension.
After the duel, as the bewildered sect elders attempted to restore order, Jianyu returned to his private chambers. The System hummed, a low, satisfied thrum.
System Evolution: SUCCESSFunction Unlocked: Mirrored Spirit ThreadsNote: Absorb residual emotions from defeated entities.
He knelt beside the dissolving corpse of the imposter, his hand reaching out. He activated the new function, allowing the Mirrored Spirit Threads to extend from his fingertips, probing the dissipating blood-essence. A torrent of fragmented memories, of cold commands and a singular, chilling purpose, flooded his mind.
He saw it. A memory, clear and undeniable. Gong Xuelan, two years ago, in a hidden laboratory, overseeing the creation of this very puppet. Her words, cold and clinical: "Prepare Prototype 07. It will be used to discredit the primary vessel, should it prove… unruly."
Jianyu pulled back, his face a mask of cold fury. He had suspected it, but now he knew. Xuelan had known who he was all along. She hadn't been fooled by his transformation; she had simply allowed him to play out his role, waiting for the opportune moment to strike, to discredit, to control. He was not just her creation; he was her experiment, still, a pawn in a game he had only just begun to understand.