The mad princess forces love upon him, and the aloof imperial advisor trembles every night.

She lunged at the barrier, frantically pounding on the invisible wall, oblivious to the blood streaming from her fingers.

Even with a broken nail, leaving it bloody and mangled, the barrier remains completely intact.

But that person had already disappeared.

Only the increasingly intense thunder and rain outside the window, and the streaks of purple lightning tearing through the night sky, bore witness to what had happened on this wedding night.

—It witnessed how a princess personally tore apart a Daoist's four-hundred-year-old Dao heart, and also witnessed how a Daoist personally severed his last connection with this mortal world.

After an unknown amount of time, the thunder gradually faded into the distance.

The heavy rain has stopped.

The barrier dissipated automatically—that was the last bit of tenderness he left behind, calculated precisely when the heavenly tribulation would pass.

Chu Qingyue staggered to her feet and walked to the window.

The night sky was clear, and the stars reappeared.

But on her shoulder, there was still blood he had vomited, which had dried and turned into a dark red scab.

She reached out and gently touched the scabs.

A slightly hard sensation came from my fingertips.

Then she laughed.

The laughter started softly, then grew louder and louder, more and more manic, until finally the person was bent over laughing, tears streaming down their face.

"Great... Si Chen... You're doing very well..."

She straightened up, wiped away her tears, and a flame reignited in her eyes—a flame more frenzied, more obsessive, and more reckless than before.

"You think you can escape?"

She looked down at her palm, where the bloodstains from the gold chain still remained.

"Through heaven and earth, to the netherworld and the underworld... I will find you."

"Then……"

She spoke each word slowly and deliberately, her voice as soft as a whisper, yet as weighty as a vow:

"I'll chop you up and put you in a box."

"Use a thicker chain."

"Locked up for life."

And the world beyond the barrier—she will never know.

Si Chen transformed into a streak of light and rushed out of the princess's residence. Without the slightest hesitation, he teleported repeatedly, his spiritual power burning wildly.

We must get as far away from the capital as possible, and we must not let her be affected by the heavenly calamity—we sped eastward.

That's the sea, a place far from the capital, far from her.

The night wind howled and poured into his tattered wedding clothes. The whip wound on his back burned with pain, a mixture of the backlash from the forbidden spell and the excruciating pain from the shattered foundation of his Dao, almost tearing him apart.

Blood foam kept spilling from the corner of his mouth, only to be instantly blown away by the gust of wind.

He sped towards the East China Sea, his figure so fast that it left only a faint afterimage in the night sky, a skill so practiced it was heartbreaking.

It was as if he had rehearsed such an escape a thousand times—perhaps he had indeed escaped countless times in those unknown nights and in those sinful moments.

But how can the speed of the human world outpace the lock of the Heavenly Way?

Just as he finally saw that silver line on the dark sea and smelled the salty sea breeze—

"boom--!!!"

A bolt of purple lightning, accumulated to its maximum, finally caught up with him.

The thick pillar of lightning, carrying a devastating pressure, slashed down!

The purple light illuminated the entire sea surface and Si Chen's pale face.

In that instant, time seemed to slow down.

He could see the runes of law moving within the lightning pillars, the black cracks tearing space apart, and death descending at the speed of light.

Si Chen instinctively turned around, but in the instant the lightning struck him, he did something he couldn't even understand himself—

He abruptly ripped off his blood-red wedding robe, clutched it tightly to his chest, and faced the heavenly thunder with his entire back.

Why?

do not know.

There was no time to think.

"boom--!!!"

Lightning bolts passed right through his body.

The excruciating pain instantly swept through every nerve and back, leaving it a bloody mess in an instant, with bone visible beneath the surface. The charred black and scarlet colors intertwined, creating a gruesome and terrifying sight.

The remaining lightning crackled and writhed on his wound, bringing a continuous, excruciating pain.

He could clearly feel his spine groaning under the weight of the lightning strike, his meridians breaking inch by inch, and his spiritual energy leaking out wildly.

But the wedding dress in her arms was perfectly intact.

Si Chen knelt on one knee on the beach and vomited a mouthful of blood mixed with fragments of internal organs.

The salty, fishy sea breeze, mixed with the smell of blood, filled my mouth and nose, making me want to vomit.

With trembling hands, he carefully folded the wedding dress and tucked it into his bosom, close to his body.

Then, he channeled his remaining spiritual energy, pouring it relentlessly into the horrific wound on his back.

This is an extremely painful process—wherever the spiritual energy passes, the charred remains peel away, and the flesh struggles to writhe, grow, and heal.

The regeneration of every inch of skin is like enduring another form of torture.

He could feel the itching pain of new flesh sprouting from under the charcoal, the sourness of bones slowly healing, and the tearing sensation of meridians trying to reconnect.

Cold sweat poured down his face, mingling with blood, staining the sand beneath him a dark color.

He clenched his teeth, and what seeped from between them was not only blood, but also a muffled groan that was suppressed to the extreme.

After an unknown amount of time, the thunder faded into the distance, the downpour ceased, and only the ceaseless lament of the waves remained.

The wound on my back finally healed and stopped bleeding.

But in the end, a deep scar, gleaming with purple lightning, remained—the mark of the heavenly tribulation, the punishment of the laws upon him, which could never be erased.

On his bare back, there were already sixteen such scars.

No, including tonight's, that makes seventeen.

Each one is a tribulation.

Every time...

Every time, he was running away.

Si Chen slowly stood up and looked at the dark sea.

The torrential rain poured down, lashing his pale body and flowing down mixed with blood.

His silver hair was soaked and clung to his cheeks, with a few strands sticking to his forehead, making his face look even more broken and eerie.

He reached out and touched the wedding dress in his arms. His fingertips touched the cool silk, but he trembled slightly as if he had been burned.

Why protect it?

--have no idea.

—I just...don't want it to break.

His vision began to darken, and the dizziness caused by excessive blood loss and depletion of spiritual energy surged over him like a tidal wave.

He told himself he couldn't faint, he couldn't faint here, he had to leave, he had to...

He bit his tongue, the sharp pain barely pulling him back to his senses.

It hurt so much. The newly healed wound on his back was stinging like needles as it was soaked in seawater, and the feeling of emptiness and despair made his legs go weak.

In the end, he collapsed into the sea, the icy water instantly engulfing his mouth and nose.

Before his consciousness faded, the last thing he saw was a corner of red peeking out from his arms.

So popular.

Like blood.

Like that... little madman.

—————The Imperial Palace————

The palace, where the rain had just stopped, was still damp, and the lingering moisture cast a hazy, yellowish glow on the palace lanterns.

The smoke and cries of the daytime funeral hall seemed to be completely absorbed by the damp, cold night, leaving only a deeper, thicker silence.

Inside the Phoenix Palace, however, it was as bright as day.

Inside the Phoenix Palace, Empress Pei sat regally before her dressing table, while a palace maid held her breath as she combed her long, black hair.

The face reflected in the bronze mirror was well-maintained, but between his brows and eyes lay an inescapable weariness and anxiety—traces etched by the pain of losing a child and the erosion of power.

"Your Highness," the personal maid, Li, whispered quietly inside, her voice low and trembling with unease.

"There's still no news from the Princess's residence."

The Empress gripped the jade comb tightly in her hand, her knuckles turning white.