Starting as the heir of a marquis's mansion, I gained access to a summoning system.

The lamp sparked and popped.

Fine red shavings splattered on the corner of the table, like a drop of dried blood. Dongfang Weiwo paused, then tore open the seal and unfolded the yellowed, brittle animal hide.

The candlelight flickered, casting an unpredictable glow on his face.

Dongfang Wei did not look up at the light.

His gaze fell on the faded vermilion characters, and he suddenly stopped breathing.

"In the autumn of the 1324th year of the Tianxuan calendar, the affairs of the Marquis of Weeping Blood in the Northern Border are kept secret and permanently sealed."

1324. Thirty-six years ago.

He turned to the first page.

"In autumn, General Dongfang Wudi, the Great General Who Guards the North, received a secret imperial order to march north, leading three hundred personal guards, venturing three hundred li into the frozen soil..."

Dongfang Weiwo read on word by word. At first, his brows were relatively calm, but when he reached the third page, his hand suddenly clenched the edge of the file—his knuckles snapped, and his fingertips pressed against the brittle animal hide, making a soft "crack" sound as he pinched a shallow white crease into the edge of the file.

The creases covered two lines of text. He loosened his fingers, revealing the two lines again, but his gaze did not move.

He stared at those lines of text for a long time.

He waited until the candle flame had burned down to half an inch and the lamp wick popped open again before he suddenly closed his eyes for a moment.

The file contained little information, but every page was like a branding iron.

Thirty-six years ago, when Qin Muzhi was still in office, he secretly summoned Dongfang Wudi, who was then the Great General of the Northern Territory and a Grandmaster.

The emperor's voice was deep and low, the candlelight in the hall was dim, and the secret edict was stamped with multiple seals—these were not recorded in the dossier.

It only recorded one command: An ancient seal remnant was discovered deep within the frozen north, its surface covered in chilling demonic energy, originating from the runes of the Penglai passage. Qin Muzhi suspected that the ancient demons' invasion of the Eastern Continent originated from more than one source, and that the seal in the north might be even older and more crucial than Penglai.

Dongfang Wudi led three hundred personal guards on a secret northward journey. In the frozen earth, wind and snow obscured the sun, and of the three hundred, only thirty-one survived to reach the stone gate. The thirty-one stood before the stone gate, a cold, eerie blue light seeping from beneath the cracked rock beneath their feet, and something seemed to wriggle within each crack.

Dongfang Wudi reached out and touched the stone door.

Just a touch.

A dark golden line was imprinted on his palm, and a certain power in his bloodline was instantly activated—like a stagnant pool being smashed into a boulder, ripples spread from his palm to his limbs and bones, and even his bones hummed in that instant.

But the real crisis is not inside the stone gate.

When the file was turned to the fifth page, the handwriting suddenly became messy, clearly indicating that the clerk in the secret archives was not steady on his hands while copying it.

The inscription read: "On the night of returning to the Marquis of Weeping Blood's residence, a dark figure broke in. The person was shrouded in eerie green flames, his face was blurred, and the style of his internal energy was the same as the Dongfang family's inherited techniques, but even more sinister and domineering."

Dongfang Wudi exchanged over a hundred blows with him, yet despite his Grandmaster-level cultivation, he was suppressed and ultimately struck in the chest by the black shadow's palm—the shadow's five fingers seemed not to be flesh and blood, but rather five cold iron hooks, forcibly probing into Dongfang Wudi's body and tearing away the dark gold pattern. The black shadow intended to take over his body and be reborn.

That dark figure—was the Underworld Emperor, who had been missing for a hundred years.

Dongfang Weiwo's fingertip hovered over that line of text.

He suddenly remembered that his father would cough up blood every winter. His father said it was because of the strong winds and sandstorms in the north. Only now did he realize that it was the wound left by that palm strike thirty-six years ago. The Underworld Emperor's hand had once reached into his father's chest, and those five chilling demonic energies were like nails driven deep into his father's meridians, never to be removed for thirty-six years.

The case file includes a separate secret memorial, handwritten by Qin Muzhi himself, each word filled with sorrow:

"The Underworld Emperor was the direct descendant of a branch of the Eastern family three hundred years ago. He suffered a qi deviation while practicing the family's inherited techniques and was then tempted by the power of the demon race, leading him to betray his sect."

After entering the Underworld Palace, he tempered himself with demonic energy, reversing the Dongfang family's 'Demon-Sealing Bloodline' into the 'Demon-Devouring Bloodline'—this bloodline can devour the demon-sealing power of others for its own use.

Thirty-six years ago, he sensed the awakening of Dongfang Wudi's bloodline and sought to seize it to obtain the complete Demon-Sealing Bloodline. If it weren't for the Eldest Princess sacrificing her own century of cultivation to activate the royal secret technique, the 'Heavenly Vein Reversal Technique,' using the power of the Northern Stone Gate's origin to backfire on the Underworld Emperor, Dongfang Wudi would already be dead.

Dongfang Weiwo's breath caught in his throat.

He stared at the words "Princess," his Adam's apple bobbing up and down suddenly.

Mother. Princess Qin Lanyin.

A century of cultivation is offered as a sacrifice.

He always thought that his mother's low level of cultivation was due to her limited talent, and his mother herself said so.

Whenever he encountered a bottleneck in his martial arts practice, his mother would sit beside him sewing his winter clothes. The needle and thread would pierce through the thick cotton cloth as she would say without looking up, "My cultivation level isn't high enough in this life to help you much. You'll have to strive for success yourself in the future."

When she said this, her mother's voice was very soft, like snow falling on the windowsill in the North in winter, falling and then remaining still.

His mother's cultivation level is only at the early stage of Grandmaster. When he was a child, he used to feel regretful—why were the mothers of other families' sons all experts, able to fly over the city walls with their children on swords, while his mother could only pick a flower for him in the garden, standing on a stone bench and tiptoeing to reach the highest-blooming white plum blossom.

As he clutched the dossier, he suddenly felt that the white plum blossom was heavier than anyone else's sword light.

Thirty-six years ago, on that night, my mother burned away all her cultivation, talent, and all her trump cards, just to save my father.

After that, her cultivation level plummeted to the early stage of Grandmaster, unable to advance any further. She knew she had fallen, she knew she could never go back. But she never uttered a word.

The file concluded with a comment by Qin Muzhi, the ink so thick it almost pierced through the animal hide:

"The Princess's cultivation has been completely destroyed, which pains me greatly. However, although the Underworld Emperor has retreated, he is not dead and will surely return. The invincible bloodline of the East has been activated, and the Underworld Emperor will not stop until the Stone Gate of the Northern Territory is sealed."

Furthermore: The infant daughter born to the Eldest Princess still carries traces of the Underworld Emperor's Demon-Devouring Poison within her. I have suppressed it with a secret royal medicine, which will extend her life by at most eighteen years. This matter must not be revealed to the Eldest Princess.

Dongfang Weiwo stared at the words "young girl," and his throat suddenly tightened, as if something had grabbed it.

Little sister.

That little girl, only thirteen years old this year, spent all her time chasing butterflies in the backyard of the Marquis's mansion. When she ran, her sleeves filled with wind, like a clumsy little bird. After catching a butterfly, she would squat down, cup her hands, and carefully lift a slit to peek out.

The butterfly flew away, but she wasn't annoyed. Instead, she looked up and smiled, saying, "It went to find its mother."

After her mother gave birth to her, she carried the poison left by the Underworld Emperor in her body.

He wouldn't live past eighteen. No one knew—his mother didn't know, his father didn't know, only the emperor knew. He suppressed it for thirteen years with a secret royal medicine, but only five years remained.

Five years.

Dongfang Weiwo closed his eyes, his knuckles gripping the edge of the dossier so tightly that the animal hide made a soft cracking sound. He pressed the dossier down on the table, his palm pressing down so that the entire dossier was flat against the wooden surface. He bent over, his forehead almost touching the edge of the table.

The candlelight flickered behind him, and his shadow fell on the dossier like a mountain about to collapse.

The room remained quiet for a long time.

Then he straightened up and said, "Someone come here."

The voice was hoarse.

The guard descended from the beam silently, kneeling on one knee.

Dongfang Weiwo had his back to him, his fingertips slowly tracing the crack on the edge of the file. He didn't turn around, his voice calm, as calm as water beneath ice.

"Make a copy of this document and send it to the Marquis of Weeping Blood's Mansion in the Northern Border with the highest level of security, to be personally delivered to the Marquis. I will keep the original."

He paused for a moment.

"And another message—"

He suddenly turned around, the candlelight casting a deep shadow on his profile. He looked at the guard, his gaze as deep as the bottom of a lake frozen for a thousand years.

"Say: I already know about the poison in my little sister's body. Please, Father, remain calm and don't move. I'll think of a solution."

The guards received the order and immediately disappeared into the shadows.

"etc."

The guards paused.

Dongfang Weiwo looked at him and remained silent for a moment.

"Emphasize the last two words—'solution.' Tell your father I have a solution. Whether I actually have one or not, make him believe it."

The guard nodded, and this time he truly disappeared.

Dongfang Weiwo stood alone before the table, the candlelight flickering again. He raised his hand and straightened the lampshade, the wick calmed down, and the flame once again coalesced into a single beam.

He turned and walked to the window, pushing it open. A night wind rushed in, causing the rolled-up animal skin on the table to flip a page with a "whoosh." He reached out and pressed it down, his palm covering the line of vermilion annotations.

He gazed at the northern night sky. There was no moon on the horizon, only a thin layer of clouds, like the worn cotton fabric of an old winter coat his mother had sewn. Behind the clouds lay the direction of the northern border, and the deep courtyard of the Marquis of Weeping Blood's mansion.

He could almost see that thirteen-year-old girl, chasing butterflies in her dreams. She didn't know she only had five years left. Her mother didn't know. Her father didn't know.

But he found out.

He remembered his mother holding his hand as they walked in the garden. He was six years old then, and he looked up and asked:

"Mother, why aren't you practicing your martial arts? General Zhang's wife from next door flew over the city wall on her sword yesterday."

His mother knelt down and straightened his collar. Her fingers were warm and carried the faint scent of soap. She said, "Your cultivation is not high enough; you can't fly."

"Then why don't you practice?"

His mother smiled. She patted his head and said, "Because I have to stay with you. If I fly away, who will pick flowers for you?"

Six-year-old Dongfang Weiwo nodded, finding it quite reasonable. He turned and ran after a white butterfly, while his mother stood there, watching him run away, a smile still on her lips.

She had only reached the early stage of Grandmaster cultivation by then. She couldn't even fly on a sword anymore. But as she watched her son run away, she smiled so calmly, so contentedly.

At that moment, Dongfang Weiwo gripped the window frame tightly, his knuckles turning white. The wooden window frame made a dull thud under his hand.

"Mother," he whispered, "you didn't fly away. You never flew away."

A night breeze blew in, causing the rolled-up file on the desk to turn another page.

On the last page, below Qin Muzhi's vermilion annotations, there is a small note, lighter in ink than the annotations, as if it was added later. The note reads:

"The poison of the Underworld Emperor's Devouring Demon has entered the fetus, and cannot be cured by ordinary elixirs. There are only three methods: First, kill the Underworld Emperor to sever the source; second, cleanse the marrow with the Heavenly Gate Spiritual Vein; third—"

The third line was erased by something. The ink was so heavy that it almost wore through the animal hide. Only a few faint traces of writing could be made out: "...using the bloodline of the Demon Sealing Sect as a catalyst...at the cost..."

Dongfang Weiwo stared at the few remaining strokes of the brush and fell silent.

Then he closed the window gently, as if afraid of disturbing something.

He returned to his desk and sat down, refolding the file and placing it at the bottom of the book box. He took out a new sheet of paper, ground ink, picked up a brush, and wrote a line:

"Mother, you will return to your parents' home in three months. Do not worry."

He put down his pen and looked at the line of words, the ink slowly drying in the candlelight.

Outside the window, the northern night wind swept around the rooftops and howled into the distance.

The lamp sparked again.