Warden of Highspire seemed absent-minded, yet also deeply contemplative. After a long silence, he finally let out what sounded like a sigh and said softly, “I possess all the famous mountains and great rivers under heaven. When I think about it, it’s nothing special—just a pile of broken rocks and wild river water. All I really have to my name is this bit of sincerity, which might be worth a couple of taels on the scale. Do you want it? Take it.”

In that instant, Young Wraith King was suddenly enlightened. Only then did he realize that the thing he had longed for but could never put into words actually had a name: “sincerity.” Just those two words could doom a person for all eternity.

The ghost clan are not living beings, yet in that fleeting moment, he seemed to hear the heartbeat he did not possess.

“And this—if you like it, keep it.” Warden of Highspire patted the back of his hand. “My heart’s blood became the wick of the Soulbound Lamp, my body became the lamp’s base, and only my primordial spirit remains to guard it. There’s no use in taking it back. Do you still have that tendon I gave you last time?”

The youth nodded quickly.

“Take it out and let me see.” Warden of Highspire said calmly.

Wraith King fumbled through his wild, disheveled clothes like a savage, and from close to his skin, he took out that tendon.

“I was born from Sacred Highspire, and if you trace it back further, from the Prime Axe,” Warden of Highspire gently stroked the tendon and bone he had taken from his own body, as if he had already forgotten the excruciating pain. He spoke lightly, “My tendons and bones are connected to the earth veins of the pillar of heaven, Kunlun. With a shake, they could change the color of heaven and earth.”

As he spoke, he suddenly formed a series of extremely complex hand seals. Then, the divine tendon turned into a strand of golden light, which followed his finger and shot straight into Wraith King’s forehead. In that instant, the youth felt as if he heard the roaring of ancient seas and the rising of a hundred thousand great mountains.

It was as if he had suddenly ascended to an indescribable summit, overlooking everything, able to see every mountain and river, all surging and flowing endlessly.

Warden of Highspire’s voice came through, not loud but with great penetration: “From now on, the hundred thousand great mountains will heed your command. Though you may never escape your ghostly fate, you are now half-immortal, half-ghost. You can travel freely between the three realms. I won’t interfere with you anymore.”

The youth cut him off: “I’m not leaving!”

After a moment, he added awkwardly, “With you here, I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“I won’t last much longer.” Warden of Highspire said, turning his head to gaze at the endless waters of the Forget River. “I am only a fragment of a primordial spirit. I can’t leave, and I was never meant to last. Lately, I’ve felt my time is almost up.”

Young Wraith King asked anxiously, “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to die.” Warden of Highspire said calmly.

“Impossible. How can a god die?”

“Gods die too. Didn’t Pangu, Fuxi, Nüwa, and Shennong all die?” Warden of Highspire said. “Now it’s just my turn.”

The Wraith King youth was stunned for a moment, then suddenly showed a fierce expression: “If not for the Great Seal, if you hadn’t sealed the four pillars for Nüwa, if you hadn’t turned yourself into the Soulbound Lamp, would you still have to die? Then I’ll chop down this tree and break this damned Great Seal!”

Sometimes, Young Wraith King was like a round, fluffy little wolf, almost like a puppy. His habits seemed to follow suit—if you stroked his fur, he’d obediently roll over and show his belly, but he always kept his fangs in his mouth. If you weren’t careful, he’d bare them and bite to the bone.

Warden of Highspire was long used to this and didn’t mind. He raised his hand and placed it on the youth’s head, saying softly, “Not dying, living forever… Child, even stones in the void are immortal, but in the end, they’re still just stones. Do you understand? Shennong said that without death and destruction, one cannot become a god. I always thought he was talking nonsense, but now I’m starting to understand a little.”

Wraith King slapped his hand away, not wanting to know what he understood: “Don’t you dare!”

Warden of Highspire opened his hand. Suddenly, his hand seemed a bit transparent. The furious youth was startled, grabbing his hand and turning it over and over in his palm, as if only this could confirm he was still there. Still unwilling to give up, he said, “What if I chop down the Virtue Tree?”

Warden of Highspire smiled: “You’ve inherited the authority of the Hermit of the Wildlands, and can even chop down the great sacred trees of the forbidden lands of the gods. What’s the Virtue Tree to you?”

Wraith King said again, “Then I can also split open the Great Seal, split open that damned stone left by that woman!”

Warden of Highspire gave a bitter laugh: “You could, but I’d probably die even faster.”

“I could also…” Wraith King paused, then said viciously, “I could kill everyone in the world, slaughter all living things, make the mountains barren, the rivers dry, corpses everywhere, and not a soul for a thousand miles.”

Warden of Highspire raised an eyebrow in surprise: “Oh? That powerful?”

Wraith King gripped his hand tightly: “You’re not allowed to die. I can do anything, anything at all!”

“Shennong was right about one more thing,” Warden of Highspire put on a stern face and looked at him coldly, “I should have killed you long ago, to prevent future trouble.”

The youth glared at him stubbornly, lips pressed tight.

But Warden of Highspire suddenly smiled, gentle as the first river to thaw after winter, flowing past with a hint of green: “From the moment Shennong borrowed the soul fire from my shoulder… no, from the War of Realms, from Nüwa creating humans, even from Pangu splitting the heavens, all of this was destined. Destined for me to die here, at this time, in this place. Even if you forced heaven and earth to close again, it would only make my death meaningless. It wouldn’t change anything.”

“You don’t understand.” The handsome Hermit of the Wildlands spoke with rare patience and gentleness. “What we call fate isn’t some mysterious, predestined path. There’s nothing secretly binding you. It’s just that, at a certain moment, even though you know you have countless choices, you could ascend to the heavens or descend to the earth, you will always choose only one path… I didn’t understand this when I was young either, but maybe you’ll get it when you’re older.”

Young Wraith King was finally left speechless. For the first time, he realized his own powerlessness. All his abilities were for killing, destruction, and devouring. He truly could sever anything in the world—living or dead, his birth was earth-shattering, even ghosts and gods cowered. But what was the use?

He still couldn’t keep the person he loved most.

Warden of Highspire watched as the fierce-faced youth’s brows slowly drooped. But he hadn’t yet learned to hide and suppress his emotions, so after a moment of daze, he suddenly burst into loud, wailing sobs.

Warden of Highspire looked at him with something close to affection, thinking regretfully that it was a pity he wouldn’t see the little beauty grow into a great beauty.

In the blink of an eye, five thousand years of wind, frost, rain, and snow had passed, and everything had changed.

Logan Sullivan let go of the Binding Stone as if shocked by electricity, suddenly realizing someone was behind him. That person let out a soft laugh. Before Logan Sullivan could turn around, he had already drawn the Soulbind Whip, stepped back twice, and pressed his back against the Binding Stone, warily watching Spirit Mask ten paces away.

Spirit Mask sized him up, shaking his head slightly. A smile appeared on the false ghost face: “I heard all of Nüwa’s memories are inside. What did you see?”

Logan Sullivan sneered, still unsettled, and said harshly, “Why should I tell you?”

Spirit Mask slowly paced in front of him, imitating his gesture to touch the Sealstone: “Five thousand years ago, he and I were clearly twin Wraith King, but he happened to win your Warden of Highspire’s favor. Five thousand years later, one of us is inside, one outside; one in prison, one the warden.”

The corners of Spirit Mask’s mouth drooped. Then he turned his head, lowered his voice, and said word by word, “But the Great Seal is about to collapse, so I can come and go as I please—In the end, everything will die. You, Warden of Highspire, if my foolish brother hadn’t ambushed you back then, trapping your primordial spirit and forcing you into the cycle of reincarnation as a mortal, you would have vanished like the other ancient gods by now. Was Shennong a fool? Nothing in this world that is forced can last. Only death endures.”

As he spoke, he gently reached out with cold fingers and touched Logan Sullivan’s cheek, suddenly sighing as if in a moan: “But ‘death’ itself was ignited by your soul fire, giving rise to us… these things that are neither alive nor dead. Isn’t that a twist of fate?”

Logan Sullivan frowned, tilting his head slightly to avoid the touch. He had already heard several versions about his soul fire and still didn’t know which was true.

So he asked, “Wasn’t my soul fire borrowed by Shennong? Why did it later appear in the Blighted Grounds, and why do they say ‘death’ itself was ignited by me?”