Kill.
Kill.
Kill.
The verdant mountains resembled a giant sword cleaved through heaven and earth, towering majestically between them! The jagged green peaks looked even more like the horns and claws of soaring dragons and strange beasts!
The vast azure mists seemed like baleful poison fog condensed from the resentment of heaven and earth!
The white crane shuttling between the green mists and sword-like peaks also seemed startled by this heaven-piercing killing aura, letting out a shuddering, uneasy cry.
Each crane cry that pierced the ears turned into a kill character!
“Old Mother.” Only when Cheng Xun’s gentle voice sounded by her ear did Liu Qiao’e’s eyelashes tremble as she abruptly snapped back to her senses.
Through the two wide-open lattice windows before her eyes, she looked out.
She saw distant green mountains stretching far, Cloud Mountain flickering in and out of view, vast qi surging, flying pavilions linking precariously, white cranes spreading wings and soaring at the horizon—a grand, ethereal wonder of an immortal cave abode. Where was there any trace of eerie terror or killing aura?
“The scenery of the Wandering Sword Pavilion in western Shu is indeed as spectacular, majestic, and perilous as its reputation.” Leaning on the window frame, Liu Qiao’e spoke faintly.
“The scenery of Wandering Sword Pavilion has always been one of western Shu’s marvels,” Cheng Xun sighed, looking at her frail body, which had become like a sword—a blade eager to leave its sheath, restless day and night.
A trace of pity unconsciously appeared in his eyes as he consoled her. “Old Mother has been far too overworked these past days. Since we’ve come here, why not take this chance to relax properly.”
Relax? Liu Qiao’e silently chewed on those two words. How could she have the mind to relax? Ever since she had boarded Luo Naji’s thief ship, she could only walk this path to the end, all the way into the darkness.
But Cheng Xun meant well after all, and she couldn’t bear to brush off his kindness. She nodded slightly. “I know.”
Three days ago, with the Spring Terrace Dao Inquiry imminent, Liu Qiao’e had brought Cheng Xun and arrived at western Shu’s Wandering Sword Pavilion aboard Joyous Union Palace’s flying boat.
After meeting the current Pavilion Master of Wandering Sword Pavilion, True Person Zhan, she had been arranged to stay temporarily on this “Soaring Cloud Peak.”
As the Palace Master of a sect, the accommodations Wandering Sword Pavilion arranged for her were naturally in a place with peerless scenery.
“Soaring Cloud Peak” had a fine name and an excellent location, with steep and perilous terrain. Pushing open the window or stepping into the courtyard allowed one to climb high and gaze far, taking in the smallness of all other mountains and encompassing every wondrous sight of Wandering Sword Pavilion.
Thirty years.
A mere thirty years.
Liu Qiao’e still remembered her first time ascending to Wandering Sword Pavilion.
Back then, she had been an obscure, lowly female servant under the previous Old Palace Lord of Joyous Union Palace.
Her life had floated like duckweed, worthless as grass.
Disciples like her—dead a hundred or a thousand times over—wouldn’t draw any attention.
The reason she had been able to kill Song Qian back then was because she had struck a deal with the Old Palace Lord.
He had long harbored a grudge against Song Qian.
And at that time, with her rebellious and untamed nature, plus that laughably extreme yin supreme-grade furnace cauldron physique, she had caught Song Qian’s eye and become one of his personal maids.
With the Old Palace Lord’s inside-out collaboration, she killed Song Qian. She clearly remembered that day: she climbed onto his bed, first kissed his lips, deliberately flaunted her charms, and killed him when he was at the height of pleasure, his mind clouded.
A lot of blood flowed from his body, spreading all the way to her toes.
Naked, she slowly walked out of the inner chamber and looked up to see the Old Palace Lord face-to-face.
His hair was snow-white, his beard three feet long.
For a cultivator, he was no longer young. But his brows and eyes were handsome, his face like carved jade, with a dashing and elegant air.
He stepped forward, took her hand, and told her not to be afraid. From then on, she was a disciple of Joyous Union Palace. She was free.
Only then did she realize her hand was trembling, her bare toes sticky with blood.
She followed the Old Palace Lord back to Joyous Union Palace. But she fell from one hell into another.
The Old Palace Lord hadn’t lied to her. In a sense, she was indeed free—she no longer had to be locked day and night in Song Qian’s rear courtyard.
But the filthy depravity within Joyous Union Palace tormented her unbearably!
The Old Palace Lord also valued her furnace cauldron talent. He was clearly far more skilled than Song Qian; he didn’t force her but waited for her to offer herself willingly.
For quite a long time after gaining her freedom, she lost all goal and drive to live.
Until that day, when she suddenly heard the three words “Mu Ningxia” from the mouths of several Joyous Union Sect disciples.
She came alive in an instant!
He was still alive! She could still go see him!
She inquired and learned his name, realizing Ning Xia was his courtesy name. What was a courtesy name?
His actual name was Mu Daoying.
She desperately sought out every scrap of information on Mu Daoying like a starving person, collecting everything about him.
Later, she learned that the Spring Terrace Dao Inquiry was approaching.
It was an immortal grand gathering.
That day, she could no longer tolerate life in Joyous Union Palace.
Clutching her scant few spirit stones, she traveled on foot, enduring a thousand hardships—her shoes wore through—before finally reaching Wandering Sword Pavilion.
At that moment, another crane cry pierced the clouds, jolting Liu Qiao’e from her thoughts.
She snapped back to reality, and infinite emotions suddenly welled up in her heart.
Originally, she hadn’t had much interest in touring Wandering Sword Pavilion’s sights. But with memories vivid before her eyes, she was tempted to savor the taste of this fruit of power once more.
Wealth doesn’t return to one’s hometown like wearing brocade at night—who would know!
She nodded to Cheng Xun and ordered, “Accompany me for a walk.”
Cheng Xun followed a few steps behind.
Descending from Soaring Cloud Peak was a long cloud staircase.
As Liu Qiao’e walked, she thought.
Later, she finally reached Wandering Sword Pavilion. With her last spirit stones, she rented a small room at an inn at the mountain’s base, took a hot bath, and groomed herself properly.
When she set foot on that long mountain path, her mood was still leaping with excitement, as if welcoming a bright light.
She couldn’t wait to tell them of her desire to turn over a new leaf and join a righteous sect.
The Spring Terrace Dao Inquiry was a rare grand event in the cultivation world. To prevent schemers from causing chaos and to maintain order and security at the assembly,
Eighteen mountain paths led to the venue, lined with fifty-four gate caves in total, each guarded by disciples from various sects responsible for checking passing cultivators.
She finally saw him.
He sat before the “Yaoguang Gate,” a table placed before him as he chatted with fellow daoists on either side. His black hair hung to his waist, his features serene, skin white as snow, his bearing tall and jade-like, his divine splendor radiant—like an immortal.
His voice was neither high nor low, his demeanor neither humble nor arrogant.
A pine breeze stirred the jade pendants at his waist, producing a chime like spring ice cracking—pleasing to the ear.
…
Halfway down the cloud stairs, Liu Qiao’e suddenly stopped, spotting a distant, ethereal cyan figure under three pines at the staircase’s end—like an immortal.
A gust of wind blew, fluttering his wide sleeves.
His brows and lashes lowered, he murmured something to several Wandering Sword Pavilion disciples beside him—just as he had been years ago.
The difference was that the youth now carried a bit more gentle loneliness, a soft, dim shadow.
Suddenly, he seemed to sense her gaze and lifted his face.
Liu Qiao’e’s heart skipped a beat.
Mu Daoying! He had come to Wandering Sword Pavilion too?
She instinctively wanted to avoid his clear, calm gaze. But the thought flashed by, and soon she gazed back expressionlessly, her skirt hems clustering around her like petals.
She thought she would see disgust, hatred, or indifference in his eyes.
After all, she had killed his most beloved master right before his eyes.
Sure enough, a flicker of stunned shock passed through his eyes, quickly turning to pain and struggle.
In the end, he actually lifted the corner of his lips and gave her a pale, dim smile.
He wasn’t good at smiling; to Liu Qiao’e, that smile looked worse than crying.
She turned coldly.
Cheng Xun, puzzled: “Old Mother?”
Liu Qiao’e: “Not going. Tired. No mood.”
–
Mu Daoying hadn’t expected to encounter Liu Qiao’e so abruptly after two months apart, right before Soaring Cloud Peak.
After the Spring Terrace Dao Inquiry began, he had asked a familiar Wandering Sword Pavilion disciple for a spot.
That day, passing Soaring Cloud Peak, he ran into that disciple and went to thank him. They were chatting when…
A faint sensation stirred in his heart. He looked up and saw Liu Qiao’e descending the hundred-zhang cloud staircase that seemed to stretch into the heavens.
The pain of his master’s death was, after all, hard to erase.
At the first sight of Liu Qiao’e, he truly didn’t know what posture to adopt in facing her.
He also felt a bit timid recalling what he had seen at Little Thatch Ridge.
Stunned, he stood speechless for a long time until a disciple’s voice pulled back his thoughts.
“Senior Brother Mu?” The disciple didn’t understand.
Mu Daoying shook his head gently. “Sorry, I was a bit distracted just now…”
The disciple suspected nothing.
But he noticed Mu Daoying’s complexion seemed even paler than before?
He had heard bits and pieces about Mu Daoying’s ordeals.
Seeing the once dashing Jade Sword True Heart reduced to such a haggard, downcast state filled him with pity. He couldn’t help asking, “Since Senior Brother has come to Wandering Sword Pavilion, why not go find Senior Sister Shen?”
The disciple’s thinking was simple: Though Mu Daoying had been expelled from his sect and was now unaffiliated, he still had friends like Shen Chengyin and Zhao Yange—outstanding figures in the sect.
At home one relies on parents; away, on friends. A skinny camel is still bigger than a horse. Senior Brother Mu looked sickly, but the qi around him was profound and wondrous, spiritual energy misty like fog with starlight flowing within—clearly he had advanced again. Returning to his former glory should be easy, right?
Why make himself so sullen and depressed?
The speaker meant no harm, but the listener took it to heart. Those words startled Mu Daoying slightly.
He wasn’t the stubborn, obtuse sort. Back when he had been swindled out of his money on a whim of kindness after descending the mountain, hadn’t he sheepishly sought help from disciples he knew in other sects?
But this time, for some reason, he hadn’t even considered seeking out Shen Chengyin.
It was as if a woman’s proud voice echoed in his ears.
“I don’t like you getting too close to other women.”
Mu Daoying fell silent for a long time.
Having been discarded like worn shoes and turned into a discarded wife, could it be that deep down he still subconsciously upheld chastity and propriety for her?
After bidding farewell to the disciple, Mu Daoying frowned slightly, his mind heavy with worries, his thoughts tangled, his heart depressed and lonely.
When he unexpectedly saw her, that hidden, subtle resentment.
Knowing the pain of her past, he couldn’t bear it.
And… the heartbeat that still quickened upon seeing her again.
Mu Daoying slowly closed his eyes. Countless complex emotions surged and tore at his heart, nearly ripping him to shreds.