Three days have passed since Merin left.

Like every morning since his departure, Yu Diexin awakens to the cry of the rooster.

The sound carries across the Duan Estate, sharp and insistent, serving as the signal for servants to rise and begin their work. It has always been this way. The household runs on that sound, ordered and precise.

Diexin opens her eyes.

For a brief moment, she lies still, listening as the second cry follows the first, then a third, echoing faintly against tiled roofs and stone corridors. Only then does she sit up.

She rises from the bed, wraps a robe around herself, and follows her routine without deviation. The bathroom door closes softly behind her. Cool water, practised movements, the familiar comfort of repetition. Minutes later, she emerges refreshed, her hair pinned neatly, dressed in clean, simple clothes suited for cultivation rather than display.

She opens the side door of the room and steps onto the narrow platform outside.

The platform overlooks the inner garden.

This garden is private—visible only from her room and Merin’s, sealed from the rest of the estate except for a discreet service entrance used by the gardeners. It is a place meant for quiet, not for guests.

Diexin pauses.

The garden is beautiful in a way that never grows dull. Rows of rose plants bloom in four distinct colours, arranged with careful symmetry. Between them flows an artificial stream, narrow but clear, its water catching the morning light. At the centre stands the star-flower tree, ancient and wide, its branches spreading outward like a sheltering canopy. Pale blossoms dot its limbs, shaped like tiny stars, and birds have made their nests among its leaves, chirping softly as the day begins.

She inhales deeply.

The air is rich with fragrance—rose, damp earth, flowing water.

Only then does she reach for the rolled mat resting on a rack beside the door.

She pulls it free, unrolls it across the platform, and sits.

Her back straightens. Her hands rest lightly on her knees.

Diexin closes her eyes.

Her breathing slows.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Gradually, her heartbeat aligns with her breath, falling into a steady rhythm. As her mind quiets, something stirs deep within her dantian.

The Nine-Eye Butterfly Gu.

Still encased within its cocoon, it trembles faintly, releasing a soft, almost imperceptible buzzing sound. The vibration spreads outward, subtle yet effective, drawing in free spiritual energy from the surroundings.

Threads of spiritual energy drift toward her.

They pass through her skin, her meridians, her bones.

But she can only grasp a fraction of it.

Most of the energy slips past her control, dispersing back into the air. Some linger briefly, seeping into her cells, nourishing them gently before fading. What she does manage to guide flows inward, circulating through her Qi pathways and gathering in her dantian.

There, it enters the cocoon.

The Gu feeds.

In return, it releases a small amount of refined Qi—purer, denser—which spreads back through Diexin’s body. The exchange continues in slow cycles, stable but restrained.

Time passes unnoticed.

The Gu absorbs.

It stirs.

Then—

A sound.

A faint crack.

Diexin’s breathing falters for a fraction of a second, but she does not open her eyes. Inside her dantian, the cocoon begins to fracture.

Tiny fissures spread across its surface.

Another crack follows, sharper this time.

The cocoon splits.

From within emerges the Nine-Eye Butterfly.

It unfolds slowly, deliberately.

Its body is slender and elegant, suffused with a faint iridescent sheen. Two pairs of wings unfurl, each wing layered with shifting colours—violet, blue, gold, and crimson blending into one another like living light. Upon the wings are eyes—perfectly formed, symmetrical, watching in silence.

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Nine eyes in total.

They open.

The moment they do, the Gu devours everything.

Diexin’s Qi is consumed in an instant.

Her dantian empties, as if scooped clean, and her body becomes a hollow vessel. Spiritual energy rushes toward her from all directions, drawn by the Gu’s hunger, but it is not enough.

Not nearly enough.

The Nine-Eye Butterfly turns inward.

It begins to feed on her vitality.

At first, the change is subtle.

The warmth in Diexin’s limbs fades. Her skin loses its healthy glow, becoming dull, almost ashen. Her muscles stiffen, flexibility draining away as if time itself has accelerated within her body.

The absorption continues.

Her hair begins to loosen from its pins, strands falling free, then dropping to the mat. More follows. Her scalp tingles, then aches faintly.

Her face tightens.

Fine lines appear at the corners of her eyes, around her mouth, deepening with every passing breath. The lustre in her eyes dims, pupils clouding as vitality drains away.

Her teeth loosen.

One falls.

Then another.

A sharp pain flashes through her jaw, then fades into numbness.

The Gu is still not satisfied.

Its power spreads beyond her body.

The flowers nearest the platform wilt first.

Petals curl inward, colour draining from them as their life is pulled away. The rose bushes tremble, leaves shrivelling, stems darkening. The stream slows, water losing its clarity as the energy sustaining it bleeds away.

The star-flower tree shudders.

Birds cry out, startled, taking flight as blossoms fall like pale snow.

At the centre of it all, Yu Diexin remains seated, unmoving, her body thinning, ageing, unravelling under the relentless hunger of the Nine-Eye Butterfly Gu, while it slowly spreads its wings wider, fully born, fully awake.

Then—

Everything changes.

A few seconds later, the Nine-Eye Butterfly Gu completes its metamorphosis.

The moment its wings fully unfurl, a pulse of refined Qi erupts from its body, no longer devouring, no longer wild. The Qi is pure, dense, and luminous, flowing outward in smooth cycles that wrap around Diexin like a cocoon of light.

The effect is immediate.

The Qi pours through her meridians and sinks into her flesh like rain falling onto parched earth. Cells that had been drained moments ago drink deeply. Her stiffened muscles soften. Warmth returns to her limbs. The dull grey tone of her skin fades, replaced by healthy colour.

Her hair begins to grow back, thick and glossy, strands lengthening in moments as if time itself is reversing. Where teeth had loosened and fallen, new ones formed—strong, white, perfectly aligned. Her old skin splits along faint lines and peels away in delicate sheets, revealing fresh skin beneath, pale and smooth, touched with a faint vitality that seems to glow from within.

Wrinkles vanish.

Sagging flesh tightens.

Her age reverses—not abruptly, but smoothly—until she returns to the appearance she held before cultivation ever took its toll.

Yet the changes do not stop there.

The Nine-Eye Butterfly Gu refines her further.

Subtle asymmetries in her body correct themselves. Bones align with unnatural precision. Muscles are distributed perfectly, neither excessive nor lacking. Her posture straightens effortlessly, as if gravity itself has become more respectful. Even her facial features shift by imperceptible degrees, becoming more harmonious, more striking, more… unreal.

She is no longer merely beautiful.

She is otherworldly.

Within her dantian, space expands. The inner chamber that houses her Gu stretches outward, its boundaries growing broader and deeper, able to hold far more power than before. Spiritual energy floods in from the surroundings, drawn irresistibly toward her renewed body. Her Qi refines again, cycling faster, denser, pressing toward liquification.

It has not yet become liquid—

But it is close.

When Diexin finally opens her eyes, the sky beyond the garden has darkened. The sun hangs low, bathing the estate in gold and crimson light as it begins to sink toward the horizon.

She exhales slowly.

Then she stands.

Her body feels light.

Too light.

Every movement responds instantly to thought, as if there is no delay between intention and action.

Her mind clears—and with clarity comes memory.

That day.

The worst day of her life.

Shen Ling’s betrayal flashes before her eyes: his face, his lies, the moment she understood that everything she had given was nothing more than leverage to him. The humiliation. The loss. The collapse of everything she once believed secure.

Her hands tighten.

With her strength now, revenge is closer than ever.

But she is not foolish.

She cannot use her personal strength alone. That would be like an egg striking a stone. Shen Ling is not just an individual—he is shielded by the Shen Family, by alliances, by power structures woven deep into Yulan City.

To destroy him.

To destroy the Shen Family.

To reclaim her city.

She must use the power of the Duan Family and the Song Kingdom.

Her cultivation is the leverage.

It gives her weight.

Authority.

A reason others must listen.

Merin is not in the capital.

His younger brother is still studying.

That leaves her.

In the capital, she is now the acting master of the Duan Family.

Housekeeper Chen controls daily affairs, yes—his cultivation at the Fourth Realm of Spiritual Refining makes him formidable—but authority does not rest solely on strength.

Her status is higher.

She is Merin’s wife.

The legitimate mistress of the Duan Family.

Only second to Merin himself.

Diexin lifts her hand, Qi flowing effortlessly.

With a thought, she cleans her body, evaporating sweat, dust, and the remnants of decay that linger faintly from moments before. She turns her gaze to the garden.

The roses droop.

Leaves hang lifeless.

The star-flower tree stands dim, its vitality drained.

Diexin raises her palm and releases a rejuvenating spell.

Green light blooms outward, gentle yet overwhelming. It washes across the garden, soaking into soil, bark, petals, and water alike. Flowers straighten. Leaves unfurl. Colour surges back into every stem and branch. The stream clears, flowing bright once more. The star-flower tree trembles softly as blossoms regrow in an instant, birds returning hesitantly to their nests.

The garden lives again.

Satisfied, Diexin turns.

It is time to meet Housekeeper Chen.

She steps back into the room and walks toward the front door. As she opens it, she finds several maids already waiting outside, faces tense with relief now that they see her standing unharmed.

She looks to one of them.

“Pelan,” she says calmly, “tell Housekeeper Chen I wish to meet him in the Lord’s office.”

Pelan bows deeply.

“Yes, Madam.”

The maid hurries off.

Diexin begins walking toward the office, the rest of the maids falling into place behind her without instruction.

As they walk, she asks, “Any news from the Lord?”

One maid answers carefully, “Lord has entered Wein Province. In a few days, he will take office at Gatewatch Peak Town.”

Diexin nods.

She reaches the office door and pushes it open, stepping inside alone as the maids remain outside. The door closes softly behind her.

The office is quiet.

Sunlight filters through the windows, illuminating shelves of books, maps, and documents. The scent of ink and polished wood fills the air. She walks slowly toward the desk, fingers brushing across its surface as if tracing Merin’s presence.

She stops before his chair.

For a moment, she simply gazes at it.

The door opens behind her.

She turns.

Housekeeper Chen enters, closing the door and walking forward until he stands opposite her across the desk. His expression is calm, composed, as always.

He looks at her, then at the chair.

“Why are you not sitting?” he asks gently.

He gestures toward Merin’s chair.

“Lord allowed you to sit there.”

Diexin blinks.

She had not expected that.

“What do you mean?” she asks quietly.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep