Her judgment was excellent. Yet over a thousand years, that person, relying on sheer willpower in his chest, climbed step by step, finally reaching the summit—and in the end, bit back at her fiercely.

Later, everyone called him—the Immortal Lord Brian Clark.

The world always said he was pure and kind, everyone praised him endlessly, and after so long, even she forgot: how could anyone truly good end up on the judgment platform?

Grace Turner lowered her eyes, thinking that if it really was a thousand years ago, then her regressed cultivation and this person’s conversation would all match up.

But why? Was it the Qiankun Pearl that was wrong, or had someone tampered with that great hall ahead of time?

Did Brian Clark and Adam Harris, who were also caught in that whirlwind, return to the same point in time?

No answer came for a long while. The woman bent behind the crystal curtain dared not urge her, even her breathing softened, until the sound of drizzling rain came from outside. Only then did Grace Turner speak: “Laura Reed?”

“Your servant is here.” The woman responded almost without hesitation.

So it really was.

Grace Turner's fingertips moved unconsciously, accidentally pulling out a few long, intertwined strands of snowy hair.

Half an hour later, Grace Turner had sorted out the exact year and the specific events taking place.

She had indeed returned to a thousand years ago. The injuries on her body were from when she recently led people to capture a wolf demon that had been plaguing the human sects. That demon had lived long, was extremely fierce, and somehow caught wind of their plans, even taking local villagers as hostages. Grace Turner had to act with caution, forced to negotiate patiently. In the end, although she managed to kill it, she was also lightly wounded by the demon’s dying counterattack.

After finishing the task, she should have returned to Yedu, but just then, news came from the ancestral land of Xihe: the judgment platform would open, inviting the ancient immortals of the other five sacred lands to attend.

This kind of matter wasn’t too big, but also not easy to refuse. The elders never got involved, always leaving it to the younger generation who would inherit their mantle—a form of training and tempering.

As the eldest daughter of Yedu, Grace Turner led her people to Xihe upon receiving the message.

At present, they were on the way to the nearest teleportation array, staying at a small post station. Originally, Grace Turner had planned to depart at midnight, but Xihe suddenly changed the rules. As a result, most of the little demons and spirits she brought couldn’t enter the sacred land, so they had to wait for new people to arrive from Yedu.

Thus began the earlier conversations.

Grace Turner casually gathered her open outer robe, pushed open the window, and looked outside. She saw the deepening dusk, the misty rain, and only a few orange lanterns hanging at the post station entrance, swaying in the wind, their flames inside flickering as if about to go out at any moment.

“Stick to the plan.” Grace Turner didn’t think for long before giving the same answer as a thousand years ago. “We don’t have much time. Have the people from the main city go directly to Xihe and wait for my orders to meet in the city.”

Laura Reed bowed her head in response. After answering, almost out of a natural instinct of her demon kind, she glanced up at Grace Turner.

The girl’s figure was slender, her long black hair not tied up in a bun but loosely flowing, like a stream of running water. This scene should have been tranquil and beautiful, but for some reason, every time Laura Reed looked at this young mistress, the only word that surfaced in her mind was indifference. It wasn’t the cold detachment of someone in power who had seen all the world’s joys and sorrows, but a surface-level, frosty sense of distance.

Laura Reed hadn’t been with Grace Turner for very long, nor very short—she’d seen a fair bit of the world. She knew that ancient immortals from sacred lands like her rarely spared a glance for demons, ghosts, or spirits like them, carrying an innate sense of superiority. But Grace Turner was different. She treated everyone the same. At first, those demons and ghosts who met her only found her hard to approach, living in constant fear and confusion. Only after spending time with her did they realize she meant no harm—she simply didn’t like to talk and was born with muted emotions.

At this moment, with the window wide open and wind and rain slanting into the room, Laura Reed keenly sensed a fleeting instability in Grace Turner’s emotions.

She dared not look more, nor think more, and quickly withdrew from the inner room.

Grace Turner’s entourage was extremely efficient. Barely a quarter of an hour after she spoke, the spirit horses and carriage were already quietly waiting outside the post station.

The couple running the post station were honest folk, but after receiving the generous silver reward from Laura Reed, they were restless. The proprietress called out several times, then finally hugged a jar of homemade wine and stuffed it into the arms of the little demon standing behind Laura Reed, her words carrying a local accent but surprisingly forthright: “This wine is homemade by my husband and me, using local spring water and sorghum. Many travelers from afar come just to taste it.”

“It smells strong, but the taste is good—very sweet and rustic.”

“We know you folks lack for nothing, so please just take this as a token of our appreciation. We insist you accept it.”