At this moment, Jian Dan truly felt the urge to kill.
Since her rebirth, she had never been this furious.
The reason?
Inside the young master of the Gu family was a Life-Extending Talisman—one that carried the lingering aura of her mother.
A life for a life.
This was how he had survived until today.
"So this was the price Mother had pay to protect us for ten years."
Her eyes turned icy as she stared at the young man. The sheer pressure of her cultivation made the air itself tremble. The crowd around them instinctively quieted, sensing something ominous. The girls surrounding Young Master Gu fell silent, their gazes following his to land on Jian Dan.
Gu Zhongqiu, the so-called young master, stood frozen—unable to move a muscle. His throat constricted as if an invisible hand were slowly choking him. His breathing grew ragged, and Jian Dan's cold, lifeless eyes sent terror coursing through his veins.
With measured, graceful steps, she approached him. Each footfall seemed to crush his heart. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the crowd instinctively parted for her.
Her elegant face, usually adorned with a faint smile, now bore a bloodthirsty edge. The sway of her crimson dress made her look like a flower of death, blooming to claim lives.
Power gathered in her palm.
She could rip the talisman from his body with a single motion.
But what then?
Would it bring her mother back?
No.
Two lifetimes, and she still couldn't stop her mother's departure.
A murderous impulse surged—she wanted to erase this boy's existence, to vent her rage.
She knew it was irrational. She knew she was taking her anger out on the wrong person.
But the desire was there.
The killing intent around Gu Zhongqiu thickened, suffocating him. His face paled, his body trembled, and for the first time in his privileged life, he felt true despair.
"Jian Dan..."
A whisper—soft, gentle, achingly familiar—drifted through her mind.
Her mother's voice.
At that moment, Jian Dan halted just a step away from Gu Zhongqiu. The suffocating pressure around her dissipated, though the frost in her eyes remained.
She stared into his light brown eyes, seeing her own reflection—a girl who had seen too much, endured too much.
When the killing intent vanished, Gu Zhongqiu's legs gave out. He collapsed onto the floor, shaking.
He looked up at the girl before him.
She wasn't stunningly beautiful, but her presence was unshakable. Her eyes, though, were the most striking—utterly indifferent to life itself.
He realized then: He had just brushed against death.
Numbly, he nodded.
And then—she smiled. A faint, chilling curve of her lips before she turned and walked away.
Only then did he notice his own disgrace. His white shirt was soaked with sweat, his legs too weak to stand. He tried to push himself up but collapsed again. Around him, the world seemed to unfreeze. People stared at the boy on the ground. Two burly men shoved through the crowd, hauling Gu Zhongqiu to his feet before hastily escorting him out.
Inside the car, Gu Zhongqiu's hands still trembled. He clenched them into fists, trying to steady himself.
"Uncle Wu... what just happened? Have you seen that girl before?"
The older man beside him hesitated.
"By the time we reached you, you were already on the ground. We only saw her back. I had someone check the surveillance footage, but... part of it was corrupted. Nothing was recorded except her silhouette."
Gu Zhongqiu swallowed hard. "I don't know her. How did you realize something was wrong?"
Uncle Wu's expression darkened.
"Killing intent. So thick it was almost tangible. I couldn't even guarantee I could protect you."
A heavy silence followed.
Though called young master, Gu Zhongqiu wasn't a child. He knew the men guarding him were elite ex-special forces—each with blood on their hands.
Especially Uncle Wu, the legendary "Phantom of the Night"—a man who had once made enemy nations tremble. He had been assigned to Gu Zhongqiu only after being forced into retirement due to severe injuries.
And today, even he had been shaken.
Jian Dan stood at the edge of the plaza, gazing at the sky.
Her past life had taught her indifference to life, to cut down obstacles without hesitation. She had embodied the ruthless demeanor of a high-level cultivator—slaying gods, crushing Buddhas, advancing relentlessly.
But she had never looked back.
If not for her mother's voice today, she might have truly killed that boy.
Perhaps fate had intervened.
That whisper—so faint, so tender—had pulled her back from the brink of fury.
In it, she had heard a mother's love.
Selfless. Unconditional.