Chapter 7

Chapter 7: A New Grudge

Chen Little Yan lifted her chin, gaze cold behind the veil.

“What does Third Miss Lin say?” she asked, tone dripping with condescension. “Before you choose, think carefully. The Lin Family is declining. You already offended Mount Yun Ding of Ten Thousand Swords Sect. Yao Chi Sacred Land is your best choice.”

She tilted her head, voice turning sweeter as it sharpened.

“Besides, though you have Phoenix Fortune… if we speak honestly, Chen Luo Luo—the little disciple from Mount Yun Ding who has her heart set on the Holy Son—seems to surpass you in Fate Luck, talent, and strength.”

Lin Zhao’s mother drew a sharp breath, anger rising—Lin Zhao pressed a hand lightly against her mother’s wrist to stop her.

Then Lin Zhao looked directly at Chen Little Yan.

Her gaze was calm.

“Is that Shen Yu Han’s meaning?” she asked.

Chen Little Yan didn’t dare claim the Holy Son’s words outright. But she also didn’t fear the Lin Family enough to swallow her arrogance. Seeing Lin Zhao refuse to bend made her irritation flare.

So she dodged, and she struck.

“So what if it isn’t?” Chen Little Yan said, voice cold. “Even top noble houses can’t necessarily marry the Holy Son. As for that accident on the wedding day, it was only youthful impulse.”

Her contempt turned blatant.

“Your Lin Family should be grateful to marry into Yao Chi Sacred Land.”

Lin Zhao’s fingers curled slowly, nails biting into her palm.

She exhaled once, then smiled without warmth.

“I really want to beat you out with a club.”

“Impudent!” Chen Little Yan snapped, lifting her hand—

A streak of fire flashed past her shoulder.

Pain lanced through her. Her body locked as if chains had wrapped around her meridians.

Chen Little Yan’s eyes widened. She couldn’t even tell where the attack came from.

Lin Zhao was already standing.

“On the wedding day,” Lin Zhao said, voice cold as winter steel, “Shen Yu Han wronged me first. The guests of the Heavenly Phoenix Continent witnessed it.”

She nudged the token on the table with two fingers, as if it were filth.

“The token was returned. I have nothing to do with him anymore.” Her gaze sharpened. “Today, how dare you insult my Lin Family because of that?”

Chen Little Yan opened her mouth to curse.

Then she met Lin Zhao’s eyes.

Killing intent flooded them—thick, heavy, unmistakable.

For a heartbeat, Chen Little Yan felt as if she were facing the Old Ancestor of Yao Chi in true fury. Her spine stiffened. No sound came out.

When the pressure eased, humiliation surged, hot and violent.

She had been scared by a mere Foundation Establishment?

Chen Little Yan slammed her palm against the table and surged to her feet despite the lingering pain.

“Fine! Fine, Lin Family!” she hissed. “I will report everything you did today to His Highness, the Holy Son!”

With that, she flew away on her sword, red and gold vanishing beyond the eaves.

Lin Zhao watched her go. In silence, she took back the token and tightened her fist around it until it pressed into her skin.

After greeting the elders, she left alone.

She went to the Lin Family’s back mountain, where ancient trees leaned into the wind and the air smelled of pine resin and stone.

At the peak, she sat atop a fallen, weathered trunk and rubbed the battered scroll between her fingers.

Today’s humiliation burned in her chest like an ember that refused to die.

She put away the scroll and began cultivating.

Spiritual energy trickled toward her inner palace and turned into her cultivation—slow, painfully slow.

By sunset, frustration tightened her throat.

Lin Zhao stood, drew her sword, and began practicing the Hong Hu sword art that Granny had passed down alongside the Phoenix Pulse Art.

The Hong Hu sword art had three levels: Wandering Light, Chasing Shadows, and Union.

When sword light and spiritual energy fused perfectly, and the blade’s dance condensed into a milky-white halo, one had stepped into Wandering Light.

Lin Zhao trained until sweat drenched her clothes. At dusk, when sword light and spiritual energy burst together, she finally saw it—a faint trace of white.

Her breath caught.

In her mind, a line of text appeared, clear and sudden:

Hong Hu Wandering Light lies in speed and distance.

Hong Hu were the highest-flying descendants of the phoenix—proud, upright, unmatched in speed and endurance. The sword art born from their nature carried that same spirit.

Lin Zhao’s eyes lit with understanding.

She sheathed her sword, set a formation, and turned inward—looking into her inner palace with fierce concentration.

…

Yao Chi Sacred Land, Central Divine Hall.

A pale-faced youth stared at the marriage token in his hand, anxious eyes fixed on the doorway as if staring could pull fate by force.

Immortal Venerable Ling Yao found it almost funny.

“If you keep staring like that,” she teased, “you’ll bore holes through the door. By the dates, Little Yan should be back soon.”

Her tone softened, coaxing. “That child Zhao Zhao knows you’ve fallen ill and been bedridden for her. She will definitely come with Little Yan.”

Hope flared in Shen Yu Han’s eyes.

His long fingers tightened around the token, knuckles whitening.

“Zhao Zhao has always felt sorry for me,” he whispered.

Yes. Lin Zhao wouldn’t abandon him.

She liked him too much. It couldn’t only be because of Yao Chi Sacred Land. In the past, she had endured every bitterness and grievance for him. She wouldn’t stay angry over this one time.

When she came, he would tell her the truth—that he had been controlled by an unknown force and made her suffer.

How could he bear it?

Holding to that hope, Shen Yu Han stared toward the Lin Family’s direction, sleepless and restless.

Then the doors burst open.

Chen Little Yan stormed in, face twisted with fury.

“Your Highness!” she cried. “Lin Zhao is utterly ungrateful! She said the engagement was already returned on the wedding day, and she has nothing to do with you!”

Shen Yu Han sat as if the floor had dropped away.

The last thread holding his mind together—Zhao Zhao will come—snapped.

The breath he’d been clinging to broke. His body collapsed heavily back onto the bed.

Ling Yao’s expression changed instantly.

“You shameless thing with no manners!” she snapped, lifting a hand.

Spiritual energy seized Chen Little Yan by the throat and raised her into the air like a toy.

“If anything happens to the Holy Son,” Ling Yao said, voice icy, “you will pay with your life.”

She flung Chen Little Yan out of the hall with a violent sweep.

Then she turned back and poured spiritual energy into Shen Yu Han again and again, trying to stabilize the chaotic pulse beneath his skin.

But his condition worsened.

Ling Yao’s face darkened. In the end, she sealed key acupoints and placed Shen Yu Han into a crystal coffin, frost spreading across its surface as it locked shut.

She rose, expression unreadable, and opened a spirit crystal mirror.

Hand seals flew. Blood dripped onto the mirror’s surface, forming a sacrifice array with practiced precision.

When the rite completed, Ling Yao’s face turned deathly pale.

On the spirit crystal, the star that had once been dim suddenly blazed with unprecedented brilliance.

Ling Yao’s eyes narrowed.

“So even this crippled phoenix can find a chance to awaken,” she murmured, voice cold with disbelief. “What a fated Phoenix Maiden. What a Lin Family.”

Her gaze lowered, and a slow, chilling smile spread across her lips.

“You refuse to be the wife who supports Yu Han?” she whispered. “Then become the Holy Son of Yao Chi Sacred Land’s forbidden concubine.”

The smile sharpened.

“I refuse to believe a crippled phoenix—robbed of nine parts of Phoenix Fortune—can truly rise again.”

The forests of Yao Chi Sacred Land trembled.

Heaven and earth shuddered beneath the wrath of a Spirit Transformation expert.