In my previous life, out of kindness, I picked up an abandoned sparrow with a broken wing and formed a contract with her. My fellow disciples urged me again and again to think it over. As I stroked her broken wing, I saw a reflection of myself: I had once crippled my own cultivation to protect the sect. I spent countless rare treasures and cared for her devotedly, day after day, for ten years. But once she had fully transformed, the first thing she did was try to kill me. Her true identity was that of an ancient Demon Venerable. Cursed in antiquity, she had broken her wing to survive. She had only contracted with me so she could transfer the divine punishment to me. The next moment, divine retribution descended, and golden bolts of lightning crashed down on me. She watched as I writhed in agony in the mud, my skin cracking inch by inch, her voice cold as ice. She had wanted me dead more than anything, yet when my body and soul were extinguished, she stared at me in sheer terror, as though she had seen a ghost.
