“Good.”
The Sovereign of Time’s voice pierced the hazy light and shadow—a crisp, single word without a trace of hesitation.
“As of now, you are my second disciple.”
The moment those words were spoken, the office fell silent for a split second.
The gentle smile on the Sovereign of Rules’ face paused, and the Power Sovereign also dropped his expression.
Both of them turned to look at the figure within the light, shock clearly written in their eyes.
The Sovereign of Time actually had another disciple?
Who?
And what was crucial was that she said “as of now”—meaning the disciple already existed, not that she would take one in the future.
Yet looking across the entire world, no one had ever displayed the confidence or strength of a Sovereign’s personally taught disciple, nor did anyone have such an outrageous backing.
Each of the two Sovereigns harbored their own doubts and silently pondered, finding the situation more and more intriguing.
“Alright, that’s enough for today. Let’s talk about everything another day.”
The Sovereign of Time seemed unwilling to wait even a moment longer.
As soon as she finished speaking, she stood up eagerly, stretched out her arm, and gently lifted the slender Su Yun into her embrace.
Her movements carried a trace of barely perceptible eagerness and care, a stark contrast to her previous mysterious and aloof demeanor.
The Sovereign of Rules was just about to speak:
“Shouldn’t we discuss her follow-up guidance and resources—”
“No need. Leave the rest to me.”
The Sovereign of Time cut him off, tightening her arms around Su Yun as light and shadow swirled around her.
Before her words had even faded, the one and the Sovereign had vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the empty office and two Sovereigns staring at each other.
In the blink of an eye, Su Yun felt a flash of light before her eyes, and the next second she found herself in an extremely simple and empty room.
The room had no excessive furnishings.
The walls were clean and gleaming, with only a brand-new velvet sofa set in the middle.
The air carried a faint, lingering scent, like the accumulation of time itself, which inexplicably put her at ease.
The Sovereign of Time pointed to the sofa beside her, her voice softer than before.
The hazy light around her also faded somewhat, as if she had deliberately restrained her aura to avoid frightening Su Yun.
“Sit. No need to be formal.”
“Yes, Master.”
Su Yun obediently replied, carefully sitting down on the sofa, her hands placed neatly on her knees.
Her gaze, however, couldn’t help but secretly observe this mysterious master.
The intense sense of familiarity persisted, yet she still couldn’t recall anything.
At that moment, the Sovereign of Time spoke first, her tone turning solemn.
“As your master, I naturally cannot allow you to be poisoned by that contract.”
Su Yun’s heart jolted.
She looked up sharply at her master, disbelief filling her eyes.
It was the master-servant contract between her and Mo Qingqing—so secretive that even Lin Mo had rarely mentioned it.
Yet her master had seen through it with a single glance.
But upon second thought, it made sense.
The other party was a being akin to a god.
“However, the cost to completely dissolve that contract is something even I cannot afford.”
The Sovereign of Time changed the topic, a hint of helplessness in her voice.
“Therefore, I offer you two choices.”
Su Yun listened attentively, not daring to miss a single word.
“First: I can ask someone to temporarily modify the contract’s rules, so that for the next seven months, whoever has the stronger mental power will be the dominant one. After seven months, it will revert to its original state.”
“Second: I can use the concept of time to directly rewind your own state to one year ago. At that point, the contract would not yet have taken shape, and you could regain freedom. However, one year later, the contract will reattach itself to you without any difference.”
She paused and added:
“Also, regardless of which you choose, you cannot frequently use magical power. Magical fluctuations will accelerate the contract’s backlash, shortening your free time.”
Su Yun silently noted this, understanding in her heart.
She vaguely knew that this contract was bizarre—not at all comparable to ordinary contracts.
Then she heard the Sovereign of Time continue explaining.
“This is a contract that transcends cause and effect. The necessary condition to dissolve it is a part of another Sovereign’s conceptual body. Aside from a few Sovereigns, no one can easily get rid of it.”
After that, she added another crucial point.
“If you choose the second option, due to the peculiarity of the Three Realms Structure in your current mental world, you may lose some memories when your state is rewound—those memories you are unwilling to recall and have subconsciously thrown into the forgotten corners of your mind.”
Upon hearing this, Su Yun’s heart sank.
She didn’t know what those forgotten memories were.
Perhaps the awkwardness of her initial arrival in this world, or the grievances of living under someone else’s roof.
But anything she had deliberately buried was certainly a past she didn’t want to mention again.
If those memories were lost, they were lost.
What she hadn’t said was that the so-called side effects simply didn’t exist.
A Sovereign never controlled superficial laws but the most fundamental “Thought” of the world.
The Sovereign of Time controls the concept of “time,” the Sovereign of Rules controls the concept of “rules,” the Power Sovereign controls the concept of “power.”
Light, darkness, life, death—all are concepts.
Only by controlling a concept can one transcend all laws and be called a Sovereign.
When two Sovereigns clash, the contest is never simply about the strength of laws, but also about the priority of laws and the depth of their understanding of the concept they control.
A conceptual lock can only be offset by conceptual power.
Ordinary methods were not worth mentioning.
Su Yun sat on the sofa, her fingers lightly stroking the Jade Seal in her arms, lost in thought.
Her master’s words had already made things clear.
Both methods were mere palliatives, not cures—just buying her free time.
If she chose the first, for seven months she could suppress Mo Qingqing with her mental power.
But once the seven months were up, or if she frequently used magical power and shortened that time, the contract would revert to its original state.
Mo Qingqing was such a domineering and possessive person.
If she had been suppressed by Su Yun for a long time, she would inevitably harbor resentment.
When she lost her dominant position, Su Yun would only end up in a worse state, or might even be directly killed by an enraged Mo Qingqing.
If she chose the second, rewinding to a year ago, she would seemingly have a full year of freedom.
But after that year, the contract would still arrive as scheduled.
At that time, she would still be Mo Qingqing’s little slave the same as before, and everything she did today would be in vain.
Moreover, no matter which she chose, she couldn’t use magical power freely—equivalent to tying her own hands.
For someone eager to become stronger and truly stand on her own, this was a kind of restraint in itself.
That is to say, though it seemed like a binary choice, in reality she only had one path forward.
Rather than risking conquering Mo Qingqing, gambling on a slim chance of survival only to end up dead from revenge, it was better to choose the rewind and use that one year to completely overturn the relationship between her and Mo Qingqing.
Su Yun’s thinking was simple, yet extremely clear-headed.
As long as she made Mo Qingqing unable to do without her, even if the contract returned after a year, Mo Qingqing would never treat her as casually as before, and would even try every means to protect her.
Previously, she had tried her best to please and be cautious, doing so many things, yet never truly entered Mo Qingqing’s heart.
The core reason was this unequal contract and their vastly different statuses.
From the very beginning, Mo Qingqing saw her as her own possession, a plaything—to be summoned at will and dismissed at whim.
And because of the contract’s shackles, Su Yun never dared to treat Mo Qingqing as an equal.
Her heart was full of fear and the desire to please, every move tinged with careful humility.
With such a dynamic, no matter how well she performed, she was nothing more than an obedient, well-behaved pet that pleased its owner.
She would never receive genuine regard.
But if she rewound to a year ago, when the contract was not yet in effect, she would no longer be Mo Qingqing’s slave.
Instead, she would stand at the same starting point as her.
That brief year of freedom would be her best opportunity to turn everything around.
Without the contract, she no longer had to be humble and ingratiating.
She could stay by Mo Qingqing’s side as an equal, use her own methods to make Mo Qingqing accustomed to her presence, dependent on her company, and make her understand that Su Yun was not a discarded item that could be thrown away, but a unique and irreplaceable existence.
When the contract reappeared after a year, by then Mo Qingqing would already be unable to part from her.
Even if the contract still denoted master and servant, Mo Qingqing would never treat her as she had before.
This seemingly unsolvable deadlock would be broken without any effort.