“Was I being watched?”

Elder You’s heart trembled slightly. He stood up, walked around the room, and then released his spiritual sense to search thoroughly both inside and out. Still, he found nothing, and his brows furrowed tightly.

“There’s really no one…”

“It can’t be that some old monster is actually staring at me, can it?”

After the snowstorm ceased, Bei Yuan was as silent as a tomb.

The Ice Palace had collapsed, and all nine towering ice pillars were broken, their fragments plunging into the abyss without even an echo. After that faint blue flame extinguished, the world seemed to lose some hidden pulse; even the air became thin and clear. Once the Shi Deng was extinguished, the Ming Lun completely solidified, leaving no chance for reversal. Those frantically lunging Lamp Slaves turned to ash the instant the light beam fell, leaving only scorched remnants of clothing fluttering in the wind, like countless unsent letters of lingering obsessions.

Lin Xiaoman knelt on the ice, her palms pressed to the ground, her fingertips still feeling the lingering tremors of the formation. She closed her eyes for a long time, but Mo Hua’s last words echoed continuously in her ears: “I am not in Chang Sheng; I am in every moment you remember.”

She suddenly understood that her teacher had never truly left. His soul had long intertwined with the Ming Lun, becoming a wisp of order that maintained the balance of heaven and earth. Now that the Ming Lun was closed, he could briefly manifest to deliver the final blow and complete his entrustment to her.

“Do you still remember?”

This question was not just for her.

Bai Lu sheathed her sword, all traces of ferocity gone from her face, replaced by an unprecedented emptiness. She had once served Su Mingxin, slaying thirty-six rogue formation cultivators, her hands stained with blood colder than the ice on the snowfields. But at this moment, looking at the extinguished flame trace, she felt that everything she had sought in life had become an illusion.

“What… what exactly was I fighting for?” she murmured to herself.

Elder Chen silently closed the bronze casket. The star chart had merged into the sky, and the twelve-pointed stars quietly faded as if they had never appeared. He looked up at the sky; the dark clouds had dispersed, and the North Star hung coldly high, just as it had a thousand years ago.

“Teacher said that Chang Sheng is a tribulation, not a Dao,” he murmured. “But people always want to defy fate and change their destiny, unaware that true ‘immortality’ is to pass on a belief.”

The three stood in silence for a long time before finally rising to leave.

The journey back was wordless. The river was frozen, and they walked south, traversing a thousand li of snowfields. Each step left deep footprints, which were then quietly covered by the wind and snow. They encountered no more attacks on the way, as if the entire cultivation world had fallen into contemplation the moment the Shi Deng extinguished.

Half a month later, the city gates of Qian Xue Zhou appeared in the distance.

In the morning mist, the sweeping eaves of the Zhen Ge still stood tall. New sprouts emerged on the槐树 (huái shù) in front of the stele, a few leaves swaying in the wind. One leaf, with clear veins, distinctly showed an ink mark:

“Do you still remember?”

Lin Xiaoman paused, reaching out to catch the falling leaf, her fingertips trembling slightly.

She knew this was no accident. This was her teacher’s response, and the memory of the world.

Three days later, envoys from the Law Enforcement Hall arrived at the Zhen Ge.

The leader, a confidant of Su Mingxin, held a jade talisman and read out the imperial decree: The seal on Bei Yuan was complete, the Shi Deng extinguished forever, and from now on, the practice of Chang Sheng techniques was forbidden throughout the land. Violators would be charged with “defying destiny” and their nine generations exterminated. Simultaneously, the Zhen Ge was bestowed the title of “Source of All Formations,” and Lin Xiaoman was appointed “Chief Formation Master,” overseeing the deployment of formation cultivators across all provinces, with the authority to summon Law Enforcement Hall forces for assistance.

Lin Xiaoman knelt to receive the decree but refused to accept the official’s cap.

“Chang Sheng is broken, but human hearts are not at peace,” she said, looking directly at the envoy. “If we merely suppress desire with laws, it is like binding a tiger with chains. What truly needs to be done is to teach people what ‘immortality’ is worth protecting.”

The envoy was silent for a moment, then finally nodded and left.

The next morning, three notices were posted outside the Zhen Ge:

First, the complete text of the “Jiu Shu Zhen Jie” was made public. All those with an interest in the Dao of formations could enter the Zhen Ge to study, regardless of lineage or origin.

Second, the “Ji Shi Zhen Fang” was established, dedicated to investigating injustices, suppressing evil, and mitigating natural disasters for the common people. Formation masters traveling with its talisman were not to be obstructed by officials.

Third, the “Ming Xin Bei Lin” was founded, recording the names of all formation cultivators who had sacrificed themselves throughout history. Regardless of their success or failure, their names would be carved in stone for future generations to admire.

When the news spread, the four directions were shaken.

Some mocked, “A mere woman, attempting to change heaven and earth with formations?”

Others sneered, “Without the allure of Chang Sheng, who would still want to cultivate the Dao?”

Yet, in just three months, changes were already evident.

A severe drought struck Jiangnan, rendering a thousand li of land parched. The common people’s prayers to the mountain gods were in vain, but then a young formation master ascended a lonely peak and set up a “Gan Lin Yin Mai Zhen.” Seven days later, dark clouds gathered, and torrential rain poured down. The villagers bowed and shouted, “Living immortal!”

In the northwest, a demon cave revived, and a thousand-year-old Corpse King broke through the earth, devouring villages. Three formation cultivators jointly formed the “Zhen Hun Jiu Gong Zhen,” using their own vital blood as a guide, and managed to seal the Corpse King into the underground magma. Before his death, one of them laughed, “My mother always said, a person must have responsibility.”

In the East Sea, the Hai Yan surged, sending monstrous waves that submerged fishing boats. Dozens of coastal formation masters spontaneously linked up to form the “Gui Xu Suo Hai Zhen,” guarding day and night, sleepless for seven days, finally calming the tempest. Afterward, the fishermen brought entire boatloads of fresh fish, but they were politely refused: “We don’t accept rewards. We only ask that you teach your children to read, so they might also understand formations in the future.”

Lin Xiaoman read the reports from various regions daily, her eyes welling up with emotion.

She finally understood why Mo Hua had insisted back then that “formations are not instruments of slaughter.” The true Dao of formations was not about taking lives, but about saving people; not about control, but about shared responsibility.

But the peace did not last long.

Six months later, a secret letter was delivered to the inner hall of the Zhen Ge.

The paper was yellowed, its edges scorched, clearly rescued from a fire. The handwriting was messy but deeply etched into the paper:

“My disciple Xiaoman:

If you see this letter, it means my premonition has come true.

Though the Shi Deng is extinguished, the ‘Lamp Seed’ still exists in the human world. It is not in Bei Yuan, nor in the Ice Palace, but in the deep-seated obsession within human hearts – the unwillingness to die, the refusal to perish – this is the soil where the Lamp Seed thrives.

I once believed that by destroying the Shi Deng, the calamity of Chang Sheng could be ended. But later I realized that the true danger has never been the lamp, but humanity’s fear of death.

Now I sense seven anomalies in the earth’s脉 (mài) veins, suspected of people secretly collecting ‘Yuan Shou Can Xi’ to recast a pseudo-lamp. They do not call it the ‘Chang Sheng Deng’ but a ‘Xu Ming Lantern,’ hidden in the marketplaces, bewitching human hearts.

Even more frightening, they have begun to create ‘Huo Zhen Kui’ – using the dying as a base, infusing them with remnant formation power, making them neither living nor dead, serving only to execute commands.

This is the Dao of anti-formations, against the natural order, harming the soul.

If left unchecked, in less than ten years, the darkness of Teacher Tu’s era will reappear.

Remember: the true enemy is not those who seek Chang Sheng, but those who exploit others’ fear for profit.

I hope you uphold your original intention and do not let the Dao of formations become a mere tool.

Mo Hua penned this on the seventh day of his secluded cultivation.”

After reading, Lin Xiaoman’s hands trembled like autumn leaves.

So, her teacher had known this day would come.

She immediately summoned Elder Chen and Bai Lu and informed them of the letter’s contents.

“Huo Zhen Kui?” Bai Lu’s pupils contracted sharply. “Those are even more evil than corpse puppets! They must be eliminated!”

Elder Chen shook his head. “Difficult. These people hide among mortals, using medical clinics, ancestral halls, and nursing homes as fronts. On the surface, they save people, but in reality, they refine them. If we act rashly, we’ll be accused of indiscriminately killing innocents.”

Lin Xiaoman pondered for a long time, then suddenly asked, “After the ‘Jiu Shu Zhen Jie’ was made public, have any core formations been mastered?”

“Seventeen people have passed the assessment and mastered the ‘Ling Shu Gong Ming Zhen,’” Elder Chen replied.

“Good,” she said, rising, her eyes firm. “Issue the order: establish the ‘Xun Zhen Si,’ directly under the Zhen Ge, dedicated to investigating unusual life-and-death matters in various places. Anyone suspected of being a Huo Zhen Kui must first be isolated, then their formation broken. Killing is absolutely forbidden.”

“But what if they resist?” Bai Lu asked.

“Then we use the ‘Fan Shi San Die Zhen’ taught by the teacher,” Lin Xiaoman said calmly. “But the target is not the person; it’s the evil formation within them. We are saving the trapped souls.”

Within three months, the Xun Zhen Si was divided into seven teams and sent deep into various provinces.

The first case occurred in Yu Zhang Jun.

A nursing home called “Yan Nian Ju” housed over a hundred elderly, widowed, and solitary individuals, claiming to use an “ancient health-preserving formation” to extend their lives. Investigations revealed that the elderly residents had vacant eyes and weak pulses but never died. At night, they would collectively wander, forming strange formations.

The Xun Zhen Si raided and broke the formation at night, revealing that seven elders were sitting in a circle, their chests embedded with black crystals, slowly drawing life force from each other to nourish a small, blood-red lamp in the center.

“Is this… a pseudo-lamp?” a young formation master asked, trembling.

Lin Xiaoman personally stepped forward, forming hand seals, and activated the “Jing Hun Gui Yuan Zhen.”

The crystals shattered, and the elders screamed in unison, then collapsed, unconscious. Three days later, they gradually awoke, tears streaming down their faces. “We… we just wanted to live a few more years… we never thought it would turn out like that…”

Lin Xiaoman crouched down and took an old woman’s hand. “You did nothing wrong. The fault lies with those who deceived you.”

The mastermind was a disgraced alchemist who called himself “Xu Ming Zhen Ren.” When captured, he was still laughing madly, “What do you know? Chang Sheng is the ultimate Dao! I was just practicing it ahead of time!”

Lin Xiaoman did not sentence him to death but imprisoned him in the Zhen Ge dungeon, forcing him to watch the recovery process of those he had harmed every day.

“I want you to see with your own eyes what true ‘continuation’ means,” she said.

Similar cases were exposed one after another.

In Jing Zhou, a wealthy merchant bought infants to refine “Xian Tian Zhen Kui,” intending to create immortal servants;

In Yan Bei, a hermit built a “Lun Hui Ta,” luring cultivators to sacrifice their lifespans in exchange for temporary bursts of divine power;

Even within the Law Enforcement Hall, two high-ranking officials were found to be secretly supporting the “Xu Ming Lian Meng,” attempting to establish a new lamp system.

With every solved case, Lin Xiaoman personally went to the scene, personally dismantled the formations, and personally treated the victims.

Her name began to be widely praised by the common people, no longer as “Chief Formation Master,” but as “Huai Ye Xian Gu” (槐叶仙姑, Immortal Lady of the Locust Leaf). This was because every Qingming, a locust leaf with characters on it would drift to her window, its origin unknown to anyone, yet everyone believed it to be the whisper of a departed guardian.

Ten years flowed by like river water.

The Xun Zhen Si had grown to over three hundred people, spread across the land. Formation cultivators were no longer mysterious hermits but guardians walking among people. Children entering school were required to learn basic formation knowledge; officials taking office needed to understand “Min Sheng Fang Hu Zhen”; even common artisans had simplified “An Ju Zhen Zhai Zhen” passed down.

Lin Xiaoman was no longer young; fine lines had appeared at the corners of her eyes, and her temples were touched with frost. But her gaze remained clear, much like the young girl who stood before the stele on that rainy night long ago.

On this day, she was reviewing documents in the阁 (Gé) when she felt her compass tremble slightly.

She looked down; the circular disc, neither gold nor jade, had the character “阵” (zhèn, formation) at its center glowing faintly, and the needle slowly rotated, pointing southeast.

“Another anomaly?” Elder Chen leaned in to check.

“No,” Lin Xiaoman shook her head. “This isn’t a warning… it’s a summons.”

She stood up and pushed open the window. A spring breeze caressed her face, carrying the scent of槐花 (huái huā, locust blossoms).

On a distant mountain path, a young boy walked, carrying a bamboo basket. Inside the basket lay a broken stele, on which half of an inscription was faintly visible: “…only love is immortal.”

The boy looked up at the Zhen Ge, his eyes shining brightly.

Lin Xiaoman smiled.

She took out a槐叶 (huái yè, locust leaf) and gently placed it on the windowsill.

A moment later, the wind rose, the leaf fell, and drifted towards the approaching boy.

He picked it up, stunned.

On the leaf’s veins, a new line of characters appeared:

“Do you still remember?”

He mumbled the words, then suddenly stiffened, as if some memory had been awakened.

He put down his bamboo basket, bowed deeply towards the Zhen Ge, then turned and walked towards the market.

That night, a murder occurred in the city’s east slum alley. A family of three mysteriously died, their bodies arranged in a strange formation. When the Xun Zhen Si arrived, they found the boy already in the house, holding a charcoal pencil, rapidly sketching on the ground.

“Don’t move!” the leading formation master ordered.

The boy didn’t look up. “Another moment, and the evil formation will be complete. Everyone on this street will turn into puppets.”

Everyone was surprised and uncertain, but they watched as he completed his last stroke. The formation patterns on the ground suddenly glowed golden, then disintegrated.

“Who are you?” the formation master asked.

The boy stood up, brushing off dust. “My name is Mo Ye, and I live at the old site of Bei Yuan. Three days ago, a槐叶 (huái yè) fell into my courtyard. I dreamt of a gentleman in a green robe who taught me to draw this formation.”

Lin Xiaoman learned of this and rushed over that very night.

She looked at the boy before her, her gaze complex.

The stubbornness in his brows, the concentration when he held the brush, were so much like someone else.

“The gentleman you dreamt of… what did he look like?” she asked softly.

“I couldn’t see his face clearly,” the boy shook his head. “But he said something to me.”

“What?”

“He said: ‘Formations ask for Chang Sheng, but only love is immortal. Now, it’s your turn.’”

Lin Xiaoman was silent for a long time, finally reaching out to touch the boy’s head.

Warmth flowed, as if time had come full circle.

She turned and looked at the night sky, the Big Dipper shining brightly.

The wind rose, and a槐叶 (huái yè) fluttered, gently landing on her shoulder.

On the leaf’s veins, characters flowed:

“Though this body perishes, belief does not die.

Chang Sheng is not in the lamp, but in the human heart.”