The revelation hung in the air, thick with the scent of blood and ritual: Mei Ling'er, Gong Xuelan's hidden daughter, and Jianyu's kin. The Spiral Cord of Truth, momentarily forgotten, pulsed menacingly above him, but its threat paled in comparison to the shock of this newfound connection. Xuelan, the architect of his suffering, had another child, another secret. And Ling'er, his loyal, naive companion, was inextricably tied to his tormentor.
Ling'er, her face streaked with tears and qi, continued to unleash bursts of violet energy, keeping the Moonbone elders at bay. Her blood-red rune pulsed on her forehead, a stark testament to her hidden lineage. Jianyu, still suspended in agony, felt a cold, calculating shift in his understanding of the world. The Oracle's words echoed: "Your System is not unique. Two others exist." Was Ling'er the key to one of them?
"Release him!" Ling'er screamed, her voice raw with desperation. "Or I will tear this sect apart!"
The Moonbone elders, though momentarily stunned by Ling'er's revelation and fierce display of power, began to rally. They were not easily intimidated. "Seize them both!" the lead elder roared, her eyes now fixed on Ling'er with a new, dangerous interest.
Jianyu, seizing the moment of chaos, forced his qi to surge, tearing at the spiritual chains binding him. The Spiral Cord groaned, threatening to shatter his bones entirely, but he ignored the pain, his focus absolute. With a final, agonizing wrench, he broke free, dropping to the floor with a soft thud.
"Follow me!" Jianyu commanded, his voice as Xu Jianyu, rough and urgent. He grabbed Ling'er's arm, his touch firm. He knew a way out, a path he had sensed during his earlier infiltration: the underground growth chambers, a hidden network used to breed "failed saints."
They plunged into the dark, narrow tunnels beneath the Moonbone sect, the air growing thick and humid, smelling of damp earth and something sickly sweet, almost like decaying fruit. The tunnels were not carved stone, but living, pulsating pathways, lined with a dense, fibrous growth that writhed faintly in the dim light. This was where the Moonbone sect cultivated its "vessels," its prototypes for the Moonlotus Saint.
They encountered semi-sentient root systems, thick and gnarled, pulsing with a low, mournful hum. These were not mere plants; they were connected to past iterations of Jianyu's body, to the failed experiments he had seen in the corpse garden. He felt their agony, their half-formed minds screaming with fragmented memories, with the terror of their creation and their slow, agonizing dissolution.
System Integration: ACTIVEMemory Bleed: HighWarning: Risk of identity collapse.
Jianyu ignored the System's warning. He reached out, his Mirrored Spirit Threads extending, probing the root system. He absorbed them, drawing in the residual qi, the fragmented consciousness, the raw, undiluted trauma of his predecessors. The pain was immense, a cacophony of screaming minds that threatened to overwhelm his own. He felt himself teetering on the edge of madness, the boundaries of his own identity blurring.
One of the absorbed bodies, Prototype 12, was distinctly female from the start. Her essence was pure hatred, a burning resentment for his existence, for his "success" where she had failed. Her voice, a shrill echo in his mind, screamed: "You stole my bloom! You took my chance!"
From this agonizing fusion, Jianyu gained a terrifying new ability: the Root Aspect. He could now read spirit signatures through touch, understanding the deepest essence of cultivated organisms. He could manipulate them, control them, twist their growth to his will. The very life force of the Moonbone sect's creations was now his to command.
They emerged from the tunnels into a hidden, moonlit grove, far from the main sect grounds. Jianyu was trembling, his qi exhausted, his mind reeling from the absorbed memories. Ling'er, though pale, stood by him, her hand still clutching his arm.
He looked at her, his eyes distant. She was Xuelan's daughter, a hidden bloodline, a secret prototype. And he, the Saintbreaker, was now the Saint of Twisted Roots, a being forged from the agony of his predecessors, carrying the screams of the failed. The path ahead was darker, more complex, and utterly terrifying.