Chapter Forty-Seven: The Spirit in the Rain

Having finally obtained the money, Bingyan wandered aimlessly through the streets, unsure of where to go. Dawn was approaching, and the eastern sky was already tinged with a pale white light.

“Where should I go?” Bingyan, with several hundred coins in his pocket, was at a loss. Suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck him—there was one place he absolutely had to visit, where certain matters needed to be settled once and for all. If he didn't, this unresolved knot would become a barrier, a demon obstructing his progress in cultivation.

The Han Family Residence.

Cold Bingyan lifted his head and surveyed the scene, his eyes filled with a chilling intensity that seemed poised to burst forth at any moment. Ignoring the icy iron gates, Bingyan slipped inside with a flicker of his body.

It was as if the dawn, just beginning to break, sensed his inner turmoil; the sky abruptly grew overcast, clouds piling up like mountains, the calm before a storm.

The Han Family, renowned for their martial prowess, was indeed an ancient clan. Especially within their residence, where strict family rules governed everyone. Even at this early hour, figures could be seen training diligently—groups sparring or practicing alone—creating an atmosphere that felt vibrant and flourishing, with no hint of cruelty.

But appearances can be deceiving. Bingyan's heart trembled as memories of his own treatment surfaced, a stark contrast to what he saw now. With that thought, he grew silent, his heart gradually settling into calm.

Watching their practiced movements, Bingyan felt no stir of excitement. Those were theirs, nothing to do with him. Just as he ignored their every move, they too were oblivious to his presence.

At that moment, a familiar figure caught his eye—it was her! His pupils contracted, a wave of bitterness flooding his heart. Bingyan had thought himself indifferent, but seeing her again, he realized he could not entirely sever the bond.

Han Qianyu—Bingyan’s mother. In her presence, his psychological defenses were fragile indeed. Lost in a perpetual drunkenness, believing that passion was a sickness, he was now delicate and shy, almost girlish in his vulnerability.

“No! I am no longer Han Bingyan; the former self is dead. What remains... is Cold Bingyan!” he stubbornly told himself, feeling a measure of relief—he was different now, and it was time for a final separation.

Rain began to fall unnoticed, at first fine threads, then a gentle drizzle, finally swelling into large drops. Bingyan did not shield himself with power, letting the rain strike his body. Dancing in the rain, purple energy surged around him, and the Violet Sword appeared unbidden—as if responding to Bingyan’s inner call. Clad in a white silken robe, sword in hand, she unconsciously transformed into her feathered form; the crescent star wheel emerged, whirling around Bingyan ceaselessly.

Like a spirit of the rain, sword held against her chest, she danced a ghostly, miraculous sword dance. Bingyan kept dancing—For whom does beauty bloom? She dances with the wind, her shadow enchanting; for whom does beauty intoxicate?

Alas, the passionate are ever troubled—it was all just his own passion. Bingyan vented the sorrow and resentment in his heart, thunder booming overhead as if to spur her on.

One sword stroke severs all ties, marking the boundary; tears streamed from her eyes, unspeakable, frenzied in the rain, driven by obsession, dissolving into mist...

Through the blur of tears, Bingyan could no longer care for what he saw—this time, the bond was truly broken. With a flicker, she vanished into the empty sky.

The rain continued its gentle patter, subdued after its brief fury, with only occasional winter thunder rumbling in the distance.

Walking along the road, Han Qianyu suddenly felt a tremor in her heart. She looked up at the sky, not immediately understanding, but sensing that something had departed from her.

“Master, are you all right?”

Her body swayed, and Bingyan appeared thousands of miles away, utterly drained, feeling powerless. “I’m fine,” came her soft reply. If one listened closely, there was a note of relief in her voice.

Having let go, her heart felt much lighter.

She smiled, a hint of pride in her tone. “We need no longer concern ourselves with the Han Family—let’s pretend they don’t exist.” Sensing that Ziling in her mind wanted to speak, she quickly added, “I won’t seek revenge. After all, they gave me life. Of course, if they expect repayment, that’s nothing but a dream.”

“Congratulations, Master,” Ziling said with sincerity. Bingyan’s ability to let go of her stubborn attachments was truly rare, and would be invaluable on her path of cultivation. Of course, just because Bingyan would no longer seek vengeance, did that mean nothing would happen to the Han Family?

Who could say? At least Han Bingruo remained a mystery.

Having set aside her burdens, Bingyan’s state of mind soared. Now, finally, she possessed the composure befitting her strength—an early-stage Immortal Emperor, worthy of the title.

She expanded her divine sense, surveying the land; wherever her mind reached, she understood it fully. Right now, her priority was not to immediately revert to her male form, but to search for Xia Yu’s whereabouts.

Like sifting gold from sand, Bingyan’s divine sense combed through heaven and earth, first identifying those with some strength, then singling out the true experts. From Mo Wuxie, she knew Xia Yu was no weakling; her current method was perfect.

Before long, Bingyan withdrew her divine sense, smiling to herself—she had found him at last. BJ—the target was in BJ, at QH University. There, Bingyan sensed two exceptionally powerful energy signatures; one matched the strength of a Golden Core expert—that was Xia Yu. The other was no mystery: Xia Yu’s second brother, the king of the Dragon Clan—Xia Tian. This Xia Tian was formidable indeed, possessing the power of the Tribulation Stage.

“We’re leaving!” Bingyan declared, and with that, her figure vanished once more...