Transforming into a stunningly beautiful fox spirit, leaving a scar on the heart of a prodigy.

The video continued.

Su Chang'an wanted to close her eyes. But these weren't her eyes; she couldn't close them.

Memories of the snow-covered plains flow forward like a river sped up by someone. The scenes jump from frame to frame.

The celestial fox taught the boy to meditate. The boy sat cross-legged in the snow, shivering from the cold, his teeth chattering. The celestial fox went over and wrapped him tightly in its tail, leaving only its head sticking out. The boy's expression froze for a moment, and its ears turned red.

Su Chang'an's consciousness twitched.

She had done the same thing in the sealed cave. When Chen Xuan was three years old, the cave was bone-chillingly cold. She curled the little cub into a ball with her tail, leaving only his black eyes showing.

The screen skipped.

The boy stood on the riverbank, his feet resting on a half-submerged, rotten log, holding a tree branch as a sword. Tianhu squatted on the bank watching. The boy swung the branch. The branch flew from his hand, and he himself plunged into the river. Water splashed all over Tianhu's face.

The Heavenly Fox didn't move.

I waited for three breaths.

The boy did not surface.

The celestial fox's tail darted into the water with a "whoosh," wrapped around the boy's collar, and lifted him up. The boy hung on the tail like a salted fish just pulled from the river. Water dripped from the hem of his Taoist robe all the way to the ground.

The celestial fox placed him on the shore.

The boy lay on the ground coughing for a long time, then looked up and smiled at Tianhu.

Su Chang'an did not laugh.

When Chen Xuan was five years old, he also fell into the underground river in the cave. She also used her tail to scoop him up. The way that brat clung to her tail was exactly the same as the boy in front of her.

The screen skipped again.

The celestial fox lay prone in the snow, a jumble of spirit herbs before it. The boy squatted beside it, frantically tossing the herbs into the stone pot. The fire was too high, and the broth overflowed, scalding the boy's hands. He hissed and put his fingers in his mouth.

The celestial fox stretched out its paw and patted him on the head.

The boy shrank his neck.

Tianhu sighed.

Su Chang'an knew that sighing rhythm all too well.

When she was making a nourishing soup for Chen Xuan, that brat knocked over the stone pot three times. Each time, she sighed—disgusted, heartbroken, yet unable to bring herself to scold him harshly.

The video is moving faster and faster.

The boy had grown taller, and his Taoist robe now fit him perfectly. He stood in the snow, the spiritual energy in his palm finally not dissipating. The shape was crooked and twisted, like a squashed rabbit.

The tip of the celestial fox's tail twitched slightly.

Just for a moment.

But the boy didn't see it.

He held up the crooked, twisted bundle of spiritual energy rabbit and turned to the Heavenly Fox to claim credit.

The celestial fox had already retracted her tail. Her face remained expressionless. She lowered her head and touched the ball of spiritual energy with the tip of her nose.

The boy's eyes lit up.

The celestial fox lowered its head and touched the ball of spiritual energy with the tip of its nose.

Su Chang'an's soul trembled.

She couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was like standing in front of a giant mirror, where the person in the mirror was wearing different clothes and doing different things, but every movement, every glance, precisely corresponded to the path she herself had walked.

She taught Chen Xuan how to condense spiritual power inside the sealed cave. Chen Xuan shaped his spiritual power into a lump of something he didn't know, held it up in front of her, and his expression was exactly the same as the boy's.

She glanced down at the time.

Then he said, "What is this thing?"

The video cut out.

Like a mirror shattered in the middle. The fragments drifted in the darkness.

Su Chang'an thought it was over.

No.

The fragments were pieced back together.

This time, the scene was much quieter. The snow had stopped. The sky was a very pale gray.

There are no celestial foxes on the snowfield.

Instead, a woman took her place.

The woman stood in the snow. She wore a dark red dress with fine embroidery on the cuffs and collar. Her hair was long, reaching below her waist, with slightly curled ends and covered in snow.

She had her back to Su Chang'an.

Su Chang'an saw her back. Her shoulders were not broad, her waist was very thin, and the posture she held in the snow had an indescribable quality—not upright, but supportive. Like a tree that had been bent countless times by the wind and snow, only to straighten up again and again.

The boy ran over. He had grown quite a bit taller, looking about seventeen or eighteen years old. His Taoist robe was still gray, but much cleaner. He ran up to the woman and stopped.

The woman turned around.

Su Chang'an's consciousness felt as if someone had grabbed his throat.

That face.

Her facial features were almost identical to hers. The contours of her eyebrows and eyes, the curve of her nose, the thickness of her lips.

But it's different.

Su Chang'an was lazy. His eyes were slightly upturned at the corners, carrying an innate air of nonchalance and shrewdness. When he looked at people, it was as if he was calculating whether the deal was worth it.

This woman is not.

There was no shrewdness in her eyes. No calculation. They held too much weight, so much weight that it bent the corners of her eyes.

It's exhaustion.

It wasn't physical fatigue, but a weariness that seeped from the depths of my soul and had lasted for far too long.

But she was smiling.

The corners of her mouth curved slightly, a very shallow curve. It was as if she knew it was all in vain, knew the road ahead was a dead end, knew she couldn't hold on much longer. But she still smiled.

She smiled as she looked at the boy in front of her.

"Chang Geng".

The woman spoke. Her voice was soft and slightly hoarse.

The boy stood before her. His eyes were fixed on the woman's face, unblinking. His fingers were clenched tightly inside his sleeves.

"Master, you..."

The boy's voice trembled.

The woman raised her hand and patted the boy's head. The gesture was the same as when Tianhu had patted his head before.

"Don't cry."

The boy did not cry.

His lips were turning white. He was desperately trying to hold it in.

The woman's hand slid down from the top of his head and rested on his shoulder. Her hand was thin, with prominent knuckles and bony protrusions.

"Have you remembered everything I taught you?"

The boy nodded. He nodded very forcefully.

"That's good."

The woman smiled.

That smile.

Su Chang'an looked at that smile.

She recognized her.

That was the smile of someone who was fully prepared. Prepared to give everything away. Prepared to empty themselves completely. Prepared to die. But before dying, they had to confirm—whether the person they left behind could survive.

Su Chang'an's nine tails were intertwined. Tightly entangled.

She didn't want to watch anymore.

She really didn't want to watch anymore.

It wasn't because I was afraid. It wasn't because this face looked too much like hers.

It was because she saw a path in this woman's eyes.

A path she absolutely did not want to take.

The name of that road is—Never mind, let's do it anyway.

Knowing full well that he would die. Knowing full well that this boy would one day become a monster who controlled everything. Knowing full well that all his sacrifices might not bring him anything in return.

But I did it anyway.

That road has no name.

But Su Chang'an recognized its shape.

Its shape is like this: even though you can clearly see that there is nothing at the end, you still break yourself off piece by piece and feed it to the person in front of you who may not even remember you.

From the very first day she transmigrated, Su Chang'an had been calculating everything. Favorability, mission rewards, cultivation advancement, and survival skills. She never made a losing deal. She had become a shrewd and calculating businesswoman.

What she fears is not "I am her".

What she fears is that she is becoming her.

The screen shattered.

It shattered completely. The red light dissipated, and darkness surged back in.