Overdraw the future and become a peerless martial god

Chapter 176 Not Entering the Gold Rank
Xie Mingli raised her head, looked at the golden palace hanging high in the sky, and slowly bent her knees.

Snowflakes fell on the hem of her skirt, like lotus flowers covered in frost.

She did not ascend the steps.

It's not that they don't know the rules, but rather—they refuse to.

"Since I am meeting the Emperor, I will kneel to receive him."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached the golden steps.

The palace gates were not open, and the emperor had not yet emerged.

The eunuch standing on the steps slightly changed his expression, flicked his whisk, and sternly rebuked:

"Xie Mingli, the imperial court has summoned you. How dare you defy the imperial decree and stop?!"

She didn't answer, but simply knelt down with her head down, remaining motionless.

The eunuch said coldly again:

"This is a blessing, not an apology! Do not misinterpret the situation!"

She still didn't respond, only looked up at the sky, her eyes filled with snow and fire, but without a trace of will to survive.

The clouds were as dark as ink, and the golden palace was as silent as iron.

Time passed moment by moment.

At dawn, the sun was still shining, and she knelt motionless; by mid-morning, the wind rose, and she, wrapped in a phoenix robe, lay prone in the snow like a sculptor; as late afternoon approached, half an inch of snow had accumulated on the golden steps, and the eunuch emerged again, his anger barely concealed:

"Xie Mingli, the Emperor has personally summoned you. If you disobey again—"

Before he could finish speaking, she interrupted him softly:

"The Emperor summoned me, and I am here. But—I dare not defile the steps of the Golden Palace."

The eunuch's expression changed slightly, and he was speechless for a moment.

As he retreated, his gaze flickered slightly across the high-level palace gate, as if he had not expected that this time, the emperor would not directly order his death.

Xie Mingli is as serene as a plum blossom in winter.

She remained motionless, letting the wind and snow lash her face and the cold wind cling to her bones, without even bending her back an inch.

Beneath her phoenix robe, the unremoved soul chain still clung to her, the dark silver mark pressing diagonally across her collarbone like a slave mark personally placed by the imperial family, faintly visible beneath the brocade.

She was not a guest.

It is an object for appreciation.

They are the worshippers who were brought here to await "appointment".

Until the end of Shen Shi (3-5 PM).

There was finally some unusual activity on the golden steps.

The palace gates slowly opened, but there was no announcement of the emperor's arrival, nor any procession of ceremonial guards.

Only one person walked out alone from the top of the Golden Palace.

The golden robe billowed in the wind, and thunderclouds roared overhead.

That was the emperor himself, leaving no room for doubt.

He walked down the ninety-nine steps one by one, his pace unhurried, yet each step seemed to crush her patience.

He didn't speak, he just looked at her, at the woman who had been kneeling in the wind and snow for nearly half a day, yet refused to take a single step into the snow.

Her hair was wet from the drizzle, her lips were faded, but her eyes remained clear and sharp.

He finally smiled, looking down at him as if he were looking at a tamed wolf:
"Xie Mingli, I have been waiting for you for a long time."

She didn't get up, but simply looked up to meet his gaze, her eyes showing no fear, her lips icy:

"This humble woman can kneel, but cannot stand up."

Though the voice was soft, every word was icy cold.

That wasn't an answer, it was a rejection.

It was a golden palace she refused to give, even with her broken soul and damaged body.

At that moment, the wind suddenly picked up and the sky darkened.

She remained kneeling, at the very center of this humiliating ceremony, yet she seemed to be the only one in the palace who could truly stand up straight.

She knew she had lost everything.

But if she takes another step forward, she will lose the name Xie Mingli.

So she didn't move.

We'll just wait for him to make a mistake.

If he were truly an emperor, he should stand on the throne and make people kneel; but once he steps down, it becomes immediately clear who has lost their sense of propriety.

The emperor was not angry; instead, he laughed.

It was neither a hearty laugh nor a gentle laugh, but a kind of pitying smile from a monarch high above, looking down on all those struggling under fate, a smile that showed he knew all along that resistance was futile.

He slowly approached.

Her footsteps were silent, yet like nails falling on jade steps, each step light, each step cold.

The fragrance of cold jade emanating from him mingled with the fiery aura of dragon flames, creating an extremely contradictory scent in the air: both warm and scorching, both majestic and extremely private.

He stood before her, his gaze lowered.

That's not about looking at a person.

It's an assessment.
It is measurement.
It is an examination.

It was as if he were weighing whether a "trophy" about to be added to his inner treasury was the right size, whether the material was pure, and whether it was worthy of being called "official."

There was no anger or desire in his eyes.

There is only one thing that sends chills down your spine—ownership.

That was a true imperial aura: I need not get angry, because you cannot resist; I need not be moved, because you are not worthy of affection, only of being marked.

He leaned down, his gaze lingering between her collarbone and cheek, his voice low and deep as night rain:

"I have heard that you have been cold-hearted since childhood and do not like people to get close to you."

Before he finished speaking, his gaze paused briefly, landing on the faint red plum blossom mark between her brows. He raised an eyebrow slightly, and a barely perceptible smile curved his lips.

That smile was devoid of warmth, like a bamboo leaf broken in the snow.

He then slowly said:
"Now it seems...that may not be the case."

His tone was gentle, yet it was like a feather landing on a knife tip—silent, yet sharp.

Xie Mingli lowered her eyes, her eyelashes drooping, her expression as cold as unmelted frost.

She remained silent, but her lips were taut, her back straight, and though her body was still, she seemed like a solitary lamp standing with a sword in the snow, cutting off his gaze without uttering a sound.

But those eyes remained fixed on him.

The emperor looked at her as if he were admiring a plum blossom braving the snow and about to break, waiting not for it to bloom, but for it to fall.

In that instant, he suddenly remembered her when she first entered the court as a young girl, standing behind the assembled officials, yet her eyes were calmer than anyone else's.

I remember her standing behind Xie Chengjun, sword in hand, riding a horse, silent and unsmiling, yet no one dared to underestimate her in the slightest.

Her soul radiance was too bright.

Even now, in his wretched state, with shaved head and disheveled hair, Liang still stands tall in public, never bowing his head, pleading for mercy, or begging for survival.

He shouldn't have been moved.

Yet, amidst this golden staircase and white snow, when everyone was accustomed to bowing their heads, she stood out like an unyielding old sword, chilling yet never breaking.

—If she weren't the Xie family's daughter, if she weren't a rebellious disobedient...

He might bestow upon her the title of a noblewoman in the imperial harem and grant her eternal favor.

He might even develop a little genuine affection for her.

Even if it's just a little bit.

Unfortunately, she is Xie Mingli.

She was the woman who knelt on the golden steps for three days and three nights, begging for her father's pardon, yet refused to utter a single cry of "Your Majesty, have pity on me."

It is the remnant flame of a star that still burns today, unyielding and unyielding.

The slightest wavering in the emperor's eyes vanished almost imperceptibly.

His eyes narrowed, and his expression returned to its usual calm.

"It's a pity about his pride."

Things that are a pity... are not necessarily worth keeping.

The next moment, he raised his hand.

The hand slowly emerged from the sleeve of the golden robe, with long, slender fingers and pale skin. A faint, floating soul pattern lingered in the palm, like an old vow sealed for a thousand years, stirring in the shadows.

His movements were neither hurried nor did they require any probing.

This wasn't the first time. Nor was it something he needed to treat with utmost care.

He treated it as if it were a personal possession that he was entitled to control.

He lowered his eyes, his fingertips resting on the front of her dress.

The movement was extremely light, as if plucking a flower in a light rain.

Layer upon layer of light gauze was parted, revealing fine silk as white as snow, which slipped through his fingers.

Before the wind could move, his movement was enough to break the stillness of the snow.

Her breathing was steady, but her back trembled slightly.

It's not fear.

Rather, it is a deep-seated instinctive reaction to being violated, observed, and objectified.

She never imagined that one day her skin, her breath, her heartbeat would become a vessel to be evaluated in someone's palm.

She had her eyes closed, yet she could see very clearly.

In the past three years, she has seen too many "aristocrats".

Those old friends who once sat at the same table with the Xie family, drank and laughed together, all changed their names and went into hiding after the Xie family fell, for fear of being implicated in the slightest.

The upright gentlemen in the imperial court, who yesterday shouted "fearless of public opinion," are now kneeling at the foot of the golden steps, willing to offer their daughters to the palace in hopes of receiving rewards.

These three years have finally made her realize that in this dynasty, the so-called martial arts privileges, clan glory, and sect status are nothing more than a pretty sugar coating.

In the face of true "power"—the kind that can control life and death, determine merit and demerit, tear up laws and regulations, and create "truth"—they are no different from the children carrying water on the street corner or the old men selling medicine in the marketplace.

If he is happy, you have the right to live;
If he's unhappy, you don't even deserve to "die like a human being."

That's neither fairness nor order.

That was a cold-blooded tyranny that used all "rules" as a whip to control subordinates.

Xie Mingli slowly opened her eyes, and at that moment the emperor's hand gently slipped inside her clothes.

It was neither violence nor fanatical greed.

But it's even more suffocating.

Because he was too steady, too cold, too confident—as if this body originally belonged to him, and he was just here to take it back.

His knuckles traced her collarbone, sliding down her neck. His fingertips were icy cold, like snowflakes touching her bones, or like needles hidden in ice, peeling away her body's thermal defenses inch by inch.

Finally, he stopped at her chest—the place where a martial artist's spiritual consciousness resides, the gateway to the sea of ​​consciousness, and the location most easily imprinted with soul power.

He gently pressed down, his palm against her skin, and leaned close to her ear, his voice soft and almost tender:

“Your father, Xie Chengjun, looked at me in the same way when he stood before me—stubborn, arrogant, and unwilling to bow his head.”

He paused slightly, a mocking smile playing on his lips:
"And the result? In the end, he still knelt down."

After he finished speaking, his palm trembled slightly, and a wisp of true energy overflowed from his hand, like ice silk, slowly seeping into her body, passing through her blood vessels, and invading the depths of her spiritual core.

He wasn't flirting.

He is branding.

The goal is to leave a "Master's Seal" in her sea of ​​consciousness.

This is not enslavement, it is soul destruction.

Once the "Master's Seal" is imprinted, she will lose control of her consciousness, forget Xie Chengjun, forget Chu Ning, and forget why she lives.

Her consciousness will be connected to the emperor's soul, and she will be unable to control her emotions, her thoughts fluctuating with his.

She is still alive, but she is nothing more than a shell to be used by others.

It is no longer Xie Mingli, but the "Soul of the Imperial Family" with the imperial number.

She sat before the emperor like a jade puppet, being caressed by him daily with "favor" and "power".

His name was erased from his soul.

Her body was almost bent over in that instant.

It wasn't just physical pressure, but a tearing, icy pain emanating from the soul. She could feel a crack appear in her sea of ​​consciousness, her soul struggling in intense agony.

If she had been a moment later, her will would have been pierced by that soul energy.

She told herself:
It's tolerable.

In the Mirror Prison, she endured the torment of having her soul extracted by the cold spirit and the thirty-nine soul locks... This is nothing compared to what she endured.

She bit her lip, her posture ramrod straight.

She let that hand press down on her, explore her, and try to turn her into some kind of "markable appendage."

She didn't move, she didn't resist.

She is just waiting.

Waiting for a name that belongs to her, to be reawakened deep within her soul.

But in that instant, his fingertips probed into the most vulnerable corner of her consciousness.

A ray of soul light trembled slightly, as if it had touched a long-sealed remnant of memory.

It was a pale white soul jade, quietly floating in the abyss of the soul sea, gray and without light.

The moment the emperor's soul touched it, it suddenly flashed.

Like a candle suddenly lit, it illuminated a glimmer of will on the verge of death.

Then, she heard it.

A whisper, barely audible, came from the depths of the Soul Jade, like snow falling on branches, like stars falling from the clouds:

"I'll be back."

That voice was so familiar, so ingrained in my very bones.

It's Chu Ning.

Deep within the sea of ​​consciousness, a fragment of light suddenly appeared.

The light was extremely faint, like the flickering flame of a candle, swaying amidst the utterly disintegrated soul.

These are fragments she tried to forget, but never let go of.

Three years ago, in the wind and snow outside the official road in Qingzhou.

She was poisoned by Yin Sha Thunder, which damaged all five meridians and caused her true energy to backfire.

But in her most confused state, the young man didn't say much. He simply silently removed her blood-stained outer robe, placed his palm on her bare spine, and used his own soul fire to draw lightning as a blade, piercing through her to the bone.

He was neither a doctor nor a savior; he was simply carrying her back from the brink of death in an almost barbaric way.

He did not take advantage of the situation, nor did he ask for anything in return.

Only now does she understand.

That boy had already quietly been imprinted in her heart.

But so what?
Now, his soul is bound to his bones, and his consciousness is sealed.

What can she break free from?
She has done her best to get this far in her life.

Thirty-nine layers of mirror prison.

Sixfold Soul Restriction.

Even the Soul Jade is on the verge of breaking.

She suddenly felt very tired.

Perhaps, this is enough.

Perhaps, she has already given her all in this life, and there is no need for her to struggle anymore.

She closed her eyes and slowly exhaled.

At that moment, she was truly prepared to die.

It's not a frantic struggle driven to the brink of despair, but rather—the tranquility of true surrender.

She even felt a sense of relief:
"If this is the end... at least I didn't crawl on my knees to get there."

As the soul fire dies out, so does the will.

Just moments before all of this was about to plunge into complete darkness.

The cracked soul jade on her chest suddenly trembled violently.

The next instant, a voice pierced through the blockade, seemingly from the summit of the Ninefold Thunder Diagram, across hundreds of miles of wind and snow, passing through all the soul locks, and reaching her ears:

"I'll be back."

That vow was not an illusion.

Not a memory.

It's him.

"Brother Ning".

A flash of aurora suddenly appeared in her eyes.

It's not a memory, it's not an illusion.

Yes—light it.

At that moment, her sea of ​​consciousness, like a stagnant ice lake that had been frozen for a thousand years, suddenly cracked open, her soul patterns exploded, and the anger that had been dormant for three years surged up from the depths.

Her body trembled slightly, her eyes flickering between light and shadow, and where the emperor's fingertip touched her soul, a wisp of scorching soul flame suddenly exploded from her sternum with a "boom".

A plume of blue smoke suddenly rose.

"laugh--"

The emperor flicked his fingertip sharply, as if his soul had been scorched by the flames of the oath. His face turned cold in an instant, and he lost control of his astonishment.

He never imagined that such a strong rebellious thought was hidden in his nearly collapsed sea of ​​consciousness.

"roll."

She spoke in a low voice.

His voice was hoarse, yet it carried an undeniable resolve.

That wasn't a shout, nor was it anger.

Rather, it was a resounding shout from the deepest part of the soul, directed at the Emperor's mandate.

"roll."

She suddenly raised her hand, her five fingers like blades, and a chilling energy burst forth from her wrist, her soul power surging upwards.

She was no longer the prisoner in the Mirror Prison waiting to have her soul extracted.

She is Xie Chengjun's daughter, the last remaining flame of the Xie family.

A beam of azure soul light suddenly gathered in his palm, and the true energy at his fingertips shattered the Emperor's palm strike, forcefully repelling the still-warm hand.

The soul power surged back, like a frosty blade being drawn from its sheath, aimed directly at the emperor's chest.

"Xie Mingli!"

The emperor roared, his soul robes trembled violently, and he forced himself to take half a step back. His golden robes billowed, thunderous energy surged, and his face was ashen.

She stood there, her clothes half-open, her hair disheveled, her lips still pale, but her eyes seemed to ignite the last ray of light in her soul.

She spoke slowly, her voice calm as still water, yet colder than frost and harder than a sword:
"You can destroy my body, tear out my soul, and cut my bones."

"But you can't break my vow."

"But you, don't even think about imprinting my mark."

She stepped forward, her hand gleaming with spiritual light, her fingertips trembling slightly:
"You can give it a try—"

"Was this palm strike the last breath of the Xie family's remaining lineage?!"

Soul light surged forth from her body like a waterfall.

At that moment, she was not Xie Mingli.

She is Xie Jiahun, who knelt in a pool of blood three years ago.

It is a bone that even the emperor would not bow down to.

The emperor looked into her burning eyes, and for the first time, his expression froze slightly.

Those eyes were no longer stagnant waters of humiliation, but a flame that refused to be extinguished even in the ashes.

His hand froze in mid-air, his knuckles trembling slightly, the lingering warmth of the soul-burning light still present in his palm, as if—a prisoner had etched an indelible mark of rebellion upon him.

After a moment, he slowly withdrew his hand.

A smile played on his lips, but the smile was colder than a knife.

"It seems you've completely gone mad."

He turned around, his dragon robe fluttering like gold swirling in the night wind.

The sound fell like an imperial edict:
"Someone is coming."

Two golden-armored figures strode into the snow, their soul shackles dragging on the ground with a sharp scraping sound, like dragging the deathly silent ceremonial bells in the hall.

The Imperial Guards acted silently under the Emperor's command, their golden chains intertwined, carrying a forbidden spell to seal Xie Mingli's soul, and directly locked her shoulders.

When one person raised his hand, his knuckles stiffened slightly, as if he hesitated for a moment because of the figure being dragged by the iron chain—who still stood upright and did not bend his knees.

But he remained silent, the chain snapped shut, and the array patterns closed.

“Send her back to Mirror Prison.”

"Six layers of locks, sealing off the soul and consciousness."

"If she doesn't comply..."

The emperor's voice paused, his tone becoming extremely low and heavy, like a thousand-pound stone falling on the palace heart:

"Then let her slowly learn to obey."

In that instant, the temperature in the hall seemed to drop several degrees.

That was not an order.

It was an imperial decree to "rebuild".

The phoenix robe slowly slid down as the chains dragged it, falling into the snow, its crimson color like blood.

She was forcibly taken away, her hairpins disheveled, her hair falling to her collarbone, like a broken painting.

She struggled once, and the soul chain tightened, sending a sharp, stabbing pain through her shoulder bone, as if it were about to break.

But she didn't utter a single groan.

She just glanced back.

That gaze was cold and almost calm, as if watching an absurd drama that shouldn't exist.

She did not cry, nor was she angry; there was no cowardice or pleading in her eyes.

Only one glance—as if to say:
"You can imprison me, but you cannot imprison my vow."

She was dragged down the golden steps, passing the spot where her father, Xie Chengjun, had his soul exterminated. Her reflection shone in the puddles of snow.

Disheveled, frail, bound in tattered clothes.

But that shadow stood straighter than any of the ministers standing in the imperial palace.

The emperor never looked back.

He stood atop the Golden Palace, staring at the departing figure, his eyes filled with indescribable emotions.

Anger? Shame? Resentment?
Or... something deeper than these.

He pulled his hand back into his sleeve, his palm clenched tightly, a trace of his soul still lingering in his palm.

His lips twitched, and he uttered four words in a low voice:

“Remnants of the Xie family.”

But when those four words landed, for some reason, they trembled slightly.

It was as if he was talking to himself.

As Xie Mingli walked down the long steps, a very faint smile appeared at the corner of her eye.

It wasn't a smile of victory.

It is self-proof that it has not been completely destroyed even after reaching its limit.

She knew that her soul would be sealed, the Mirror Prison was approaching, and the light and fire would be extinguished.

But as long as that bit of Soul Jade remains in her chest.

As long as that person is still alive.

Therefore, she has not yet lost.

(End of this chapter)