Let Go.
The year Su Lingxi met Ye Zhuxu, he was seventeen and she was fifteen.
That year, the excitement of New Year’s Eve hadn’t yet faded from the myriad households of Fuyu when an even grander spring event arrived.
The four great academies joined forces to open the mirrored realm of Cangwu, with Wushao City at the center, opening it to the seventeen major cities and countless Witches and Spirits.
Cangwu was the largest water mirror in Fuyu, and it opened only once every century.
Each opening meant one thing—Fuyu was about to choose its new generation of the Twelve Witches.
If it weren’t for such a monumental occasion, Cangwu would never be opened.
It was vast and exceedingly complex, something the headmasters alone couldn’t activate.
It always required the intervention of the Gate.
Though said to be a selection of the Twelve Witches, those capable of completing all twelve paths were already well-known—rising stars with widespread fame.
Still, there was another purpose: the academies would select promising candidates to nurture.
Thus, every time Cangwu opened, two key spectacles drew attention.
Whether it was the powerful at the front or the less renowned ones at the back, everyone fought fiercely to rise above the rest.
Entrants entered Cangwu with only their essence or spirit bodies.
They wouldn’t die from injuries, but serious harm was common.
Normally, academies enforced strict discipline—no fighting among peers—but Cangwu was regarded by young people as the perfect chance to settle scores.
With spring as its overture and life in chorus, Cangwu was also in its early spring.
Ye Zhuxu had no interest in vying for a position among the Twelve Witches, nor in joining any of the four great academies.
At that time, he went wherever life took him, terribly bored—dragged into the event only by a friend.
The twelve paths didn’t appear outright.
One had to first enter, explore the terrain, exchange information, map out Cangwu, and gradually identify twelve paths.
Some of the stronger contenders were already forging ahead, but many others, unaware, just rushed blindly in.
The weak would be trapped in trial after trial, while the strong would eventually collide with other strong contenders—king meets king, and fierce battles broke out.
To become one of the Twelve Witches required not only strength, but also intelligence, temperament, foresight—and luck.
The Twelve Witches, once appointed, represented the entire realm of Fuyu for a hundred years.
They governed the cities, established academies, oversaw the Emperor, and forged paths for the world.
With supreme honor came immense responsibility.
Of course, none of that mattered to teenagers of sixteen or seventeen.
Most of them were just caught in factional fighting within Cangwu, with the academy students in particular trying to prove their mastery of various disciplines.
Ye Zhuxu had no interest in any of this, but his friend dragged him toward their destination.
That friend was his only friend—perhaps his last.
And on the very first day, they encountered faction warfare.
In Fuyu, cultivators were either Witches or Spirits.
The Witch Clan practiced diverse arts—puppet arts, curses, divination, soul control, incense arts—while the Spirit Clan focused on direct combat through sword, blade, and ambush techniques.
Hence the saying in Fuyu:
Witches deceive, Spirits attack.
There was always rivalry between the two clans.
However, the first time Ye Zhuxu saw Su Lingxi, it wasn’t because of Witch-Spirit conflict—it was an internal dispute among the Witch Clan.
Incense arts were considered the most profound among the Witch arts, but had long lacked a true prodigy.
Teenagers, no matter their discipline, were still immature—no one could truly impress or intimidate anyone else.
Early spring adorned the riverside path with budding greens and soft yellows.
It would’ve been a beautiful scene, had it not been spoiled by the two sides of dozens drawing weapons.
The two factions—puppet and incense practitioners—were already brawling when Ye Zhuxu and his friend arrived.
He found it amusing, but his friend wanted no part of it and dragged him beneath a mountain ridge, setting up a barrier to hide them.
Leaning against a rock, Ye Zhuxu watched lazily and eventually chuckled.
His friend asked why.
Ye Zhuxu pointed with his chin, his voice amused, and said he was watching the incense users embarrass themselves.
Indeed, the incense users couldn’t even control their incense burners properly.
They fought fiercely, but the incense would suddenly snuff out mid-battle, smoke dissipating and burners vanishing.
His friend muttered, “Don’t underestimate them. I hear there’s a prodigy in incense arts back at the academy.”
From Ye Zhuxu’s angle, he couldn’t see much—until he happened to glance up and saw a girl sitting on a slanted tree.
He couldn’t see her full face, only a soft, round cheek—fair and tinged with pink.
Her skirt draped elegantly down to her ankles.
Even without seeing her fully, she exuded the gentleness of a well-raised academy girl.
Ye Zhuxu’s gaze fell on her right hand.
Still slightly plump with youth, she held a burning incense stick between two fingers, spinning it deftly.
Though constantly twirling, the flame never went out.
When the ash built up, she lightly tapped it against the tree, letting it fall like snow.
At one point, she stretched and her hair swayed gently.
Then her lips moved—unclear what she said—but likely something threatening, because the next moment she flung the incense stick like a dart.
Then she jumped down, the hem of her dress fluttering past the edge of Ye Zhuxu’s vision.
The battle ended swiftly.
“I saw her,” Ye Zhuxu said after a moment.
Fascinating.
He’d seen many reverent incense practitioners, but never someone who played with burning incense like darts.
It was irreverent—absurd even.
His friend was amazed, remarking how, for once, Ye Zhuxu wasn’t being his usual biting self.
Even more surprising, the girl didn’t leave right away.
She crossed the stream to wash her hands, then waited for the wind to dry them before walking off. Halfway through, she turned around and stood before the rock concealing them.
Ye Zhuxu didn’t move, but looked at her with interest through the barrier.
She politely tapped on it with a finger, the sound like glass chimes.
“Brother,” she said, her eyes clear and bright, “You watched and listened. So why say someone made a fool of themselves?”
She didn’t wait for a reply, nor seemed to care.
She turned and walked away.
Their second meeting was a month later.
This time, Ye Zhuxu and his friend were the ones fighting, and the girl quietly watched.
She focused on Ye Zhuxu—instantly seeing that his moves weren’t from any proper academy, but dark, vicious, and life-threatening.
She’d been educated in a proper school and wasn’t familiar with such “crooked” techniques.
He was only slightly older than her, yet carried such deadly, heavy energy.
Like someone who’d already lived enough.
After the fight, Ye Zhuxu walked over and asked if she’d seen enough.
She curled her lip and said, “Let’s call it even.”
That time, Ye Zhuxu learned her name.
She really was a good student—personal disciple of a grand master—but her wild nature clashed with her obedient appearance.
Because she refused to be taken advantage of and often played mischievous tricks, others in the academy secretly called her little devil.
Su Lingxi watched Ye Zhuxu fight without hesitation for the sake of that friend.
Out of kindness, she warned him:
“Brother, people are unpredictable. Don’t place too much trust in others, or you might get bitten.”
Ye Zhuxu smiled politely and thanked her, but in the end, he was betrayed.
Badly.
Nearly died.
He found a quiet place, resigned to fate.
Two days later, he smelled blood on a gardenia tree outside his barrier.
When he looked, he saw that the very girl who had warned him had also been betrayed.
Su Lingxi’s hair was disheveled, her aura weak, a bloody gash on her face that wouldn’t stop bleeding.
She frowned, lips tight, and endured in silence for two days.
On the third, she tapped on his barrier and said:
“Brother, want to get stronger? Shall we team up?”
In Cangwu, teaming up was allowed.
Su Lingxi had started with many allies, but as challenges intensified, more people became liabilities.
Fewer people meant greater need for trust and cooperation—and more disputes over spoils.
Some trials offered only a single slot, impossible to share.
So betrayal, abandonment, even killing for loot—these were common.
Su Lingxi just never thought it would happen to her.
She thought that someone like Ye Zhuxu, who had also just experienced betrayal, would give it some serious thought.
Unexpectedly, he smiled and agreed easily, his voice pleasant as he said, “Sure.”
She took out the map and spent an entire night planning their next steps.
Ye Zhuxu listened with a faint smile, occasionally responding with a few words—agreeing to everything, as if he really was someone with no temper and extremely easygoing.
Soon, Su Lingxi realized why he always said “okay” to everything.
He didn’t care for healing at all.
When he was in a good mood, he’d just stare blankly at the stream, lean on his wrist to sunbathe in a cave, watch the moon.
On misty mountain mornings, he’d brew himself a pot of tea.
It was, indeed, a pleasing sight—his silhouette vague amid the sea of clouds, like shrouded in mist, like a jewel cloaked in fog.
You could call it free-spirited—or say he was completely unmotivated.
Soon, Su Lingxi found that Ye Zhuxu was very strange—so strange that no one could understand how his mind worked.
He was extremely smart.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know that his so-called “friend” had been using him since dragging him into Cangwu—or even before that.
But he still went along.
Even when he sensed something was off before the betrayal, he didn’t guard against it.
He just watched it happen.
He only struck back—one fatal blow—when he was nearly dead, full of regret.
Su Lingxi asked why. He said, “That was my only friend.”
She was baffled. “Why would you choose someone like that as your friend? He clearly wasn’t sincere.”
Ye Zhuxu tilted his head and smiled, “Where in this world is there such a thing as sincerity? Your friends—are they much better?”
But how could knowing and not knowing be the same?
Being deceived because you didn’t know someone’s true nature only meant poor judgment.
But knowing someone meant harm and still befriending them, constantly accommodating them—that’s just insanity.
Ye Zhuxu didn’t tend to his injuries, didn’t care about treasures or opportunities, but also didn’t want to be killed and kicked out of Cangwu.
He agreed to travel together, but never truly opened up—cunning like a hedgehog, always keeping to himself, flamboyant and rebellious, loved mocking “true feelings,” sneering at the mortal world, thriving on brushes with death.
He had many secrets and a dangerously difficult personality.
He absolutely hated being touched—one touch, and he’d instantly flip out.
He loved testing people, sometimes crossing the line.
When half-dead, his eyes would gleam as he used himself as bait to see if Su Lingxi would betray him.
When slightly injured, he’d never bandage it—he’d walk around the house with blood all over, like some beautiful male ghost.
Su Lingxi had never met anyone else like Ye Zhuxu.
Cangwu stayed open for one year and eight months.
Su Lingxi spent one year and six months sparring, scheming, and bickering with Ye Zhuxu.
They fought countless times—sometimes playfully, sometimes seriously.
When Su Lingxi thought they had been through enough to call each other comrades, even life-and-death companions, she introduced Ye Zhuxu to her former friends and said, “This is my friend, a new one.”
Ye Zhuxu smiled with curved eyes, then slowly said, “Not a friend.”
Su Lingxi thought he’d say something serious—but all he said was, “I’ve only ever had one friend. He’s already dead.”
That night, Su Lingxi fought him.
She seized the moment, jumped on his back, locked his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist.
Her long hair fell into the hollow of his pale neck, slipping inside his collar.
She laughed coldly at his ear, “Ye Zhuxu, you’re really something. I’m not even as good as a fake friend to you? What an insult. Forget teaming up—let’s just split. I’d rather get kicked out of Cangwu with Yu Lin’an than put up with this humiliation.”
Ye Zhuxu peeled her off his back, brought her to the front, set her down, and carefully untangled her hair.
With genuine confusion, he asked, “Is being my friend really such a good thing?”
Su Lingxi really did cut ties with him for a few days.
She teamed up with Yu Lin’an instead.
At that point, Yu Lin’an had used up all the items in his treasure box.
Afraid of his parents scolding him if he gave up, he was about to ask someone strong to gently kill him so he could get out.
Now, he had no choice but to stick around and endure dangerous days with Su Lingxi.“You have so many friends—what’s one more?”
He asked.
Speaking of that, Yu Lin’an perked up.