The recollection shattered completely here.
In the room, Zhao Yange looked worriedly at the person on the bed.
Mu Daoying frowned tightly, his fingers clutching the bedding firmly, drenched in sweat. He seemed trapped in a nightmare from which he could not wake.
That night, everyone had fallen into the water one after another and was rescued in turn.
Liu Qiao’e had vanished without a trace, and the Trace World Mirror had disappeared.
Yet Mu Daoying seemed haunted by the recollections created by the Trace World Mirror. For a whole day and night, he remained in a deep slumber.
They had not been affected by the mirror either, Zhao Yange thought anxiously, but the mirror was gone now, and they had all woken up. Why had Ning Xia still not awakened?
At first, he had frowned and muttered nonsense, but then Zhao Yange watched as tears began to flow from his eyes.
In a daze, the tears slid along his temples into his hair, his eyelashes laden with them, his limbs twitching ceaselessly. He looked like a guilty child in profound pain and sorrow.
No one knew what heartbreaking memories he had endured in the dream.
This should not be happening. Zhao Yange wiped the tears from his eyes, utterly baffled.
From what he knew, Mu Daoying had been pampered by his parents and clan in childhood. Though he had left his family early and ascended Little Cold Mountain alone, his temperament was mild; he had never quarreled with anyone and got along harmoniously with his fellow disciples. How could he be so immersed in painful recollections that he could not break free?
–
At first, Mu Daoying had not expected to witness such cruel past events firsthand. He had only held a slight curiosity about Liu Qiao’e’s history. Until the developments reached a point he could no longer bear.
He saw her in the Joyous Union Palace, living in constant fear, enduring endless bullying and torment, her days filled with anxiety.
A chill surged from the depths of his heart, freezing his entire body into a block of ice.
He saw them surround her, hurling insults and blows. His heart felt thrown into a frying pan of torment, and a scorching, intense killing intent exploded inch by inch in his eyes!
How dared they?!
Blood filled his eyes, his head throbbed painfully, hatred roiled in his chest. He wished he could slaughter everyone before him and rescue her! This was an unprecedented intensity of emotion for him from youth to now.
But he could not.
Because this was merely Liu Qiao’e’s recollections projected by the Trace World Mirror. No matter how many times he wanted to kill them all, he could not change the past.
He was forced to watch helplessly, his heart sliced by knives until it bled profusely.
Of course she recognized Mu Daoying—how could she not recognize him?!
He had always wanted to understand her ordeals.
From leaving the Cloud Mountain Song Clan to becoming the Palace Lord of the Joyous Union Palace, what exactly had she gone through?
Was this the blank piece he had always pursued?
–
Later, he finally saw her pull herself together, leave the Joyous Union Palace, and head to Spring Terrace to expound the Dao.
He saw her endure wind and frost, and he empathized deeply, rejoicing for her, worrying for her, tiring with her, sorrowing with her.
Unknowingly, he had forgotten the world outside the mirror. At this moment, his heart moved with every smile, every word, every action of hers.
When she responded proudly to the overtures of a young man, like a little peacock, he watched entranced, found her adorable, the corners of his lips curving up as he smiled repeatedly.
Her anxiety, anticipation, joy, and sweetness along the way infected even the onlooker, and he could not help but care.
She was about to meet her younger self. Would she see him?
What would he say to her?
Why did he still have no impression of it? He frowned slightly, a vague sense of foreboding in his heart. Had something gone wrong in between? Had she not met him?
…
Until he witnessed that scene with his own eyes.
He saw his own frivolity, his arrogance, as he lowered his face to continue inspecting the Spring Scroll for clearance.
He had not even thought to question her clearly before allowing others to hastily drag her away, sending her plummeting into hell.
Motionless, she lay at the cliff’s bottom, eyes closed awaiting death. Every glance felt like knives scraping his eyeballs raw.
When he saw this, he closed his eyes.
He himself could hardly bear it, dared not look further—let alone her terror and agony at the time?
Until that youth appeared.
Meng Ci’s appearance stunned him in place, his heart pounding like drums, his soul adrift.
His head spun, vision blurred.
How could this be?
How could it be? He had seen this youth before; he recognized him.
That was decades ago.
He remembered the youth’s name—how could he forget?
After all, that day, he had died in his arms.
He watched the youth make a grass mat and drag her back to the thatched hut. The tension in his heart finally eased somewhat.
He reined in his emotions, wanting to investigate the truth.
What exactly had passed between Meng Ci and Liu Qiao’e?
A few days earlier, she had refused medicine and sought death. He felt uneasy. Even knowing she had survived and later become the Immaculate Old Mother, he could not help but worry inwardly. He only hoped the youth could persuade her more. How could she abandon herself like this?
When he saw the youth finally convince her to accept treatment, he breathed a sigh of relief. Yet witnessing their harmonious interactions during the healing process, an ignoble sense of loss stirred in his heart.
The thought arose, and he quickly admonished himself.
Mu Daoying, Mu Daoying, how could you be so petty and narrow-minded?
Was it not enough that you caused her to fall off the cliff? What right did you have to feel jealous?
He saw the youth offer to teach her to read and bring over a copy of the Classic of Poetry.
He thought this coincided with his own intentions. He recalled the scene at the inn when he first taught Liu Qiao’e, her budding affections innocent and tender.
Just then, Meng Ci’s voice, laced with a smile, rang in his ears:
He froze the instant Meng Ci spoke.
Stunned, he subconsciously recited along silently:
“Guan Guan Cry of the Ospreys, on the River Isle…”
Because the youth had fallen in love for the first time, he remembered every scene and detail at the inn clearly—the sound of her voice when she spoke, her hair fluffy in the sunlight.
His heart trembled violently.
Back then, when she had been distracted, had she been thinking of this day?
He recalled her saying she could not play the qin, deliberately spouting roguish words to tease him.
The past flashed vividly before his eyes, yet those once sweet words now became knives stabbing at his heart.
All the mysteries surrounding her finally found answers in this moment.
He stared blankly, as if awakening from a dream, suddenly enlightened. His heart tightened then loosened, aching and bitter.
What he had thought was their unique marital bliss—holding the tray level with eyebrows, teaching his wife at the pillow side—had all been her vows with another.
He watched them come to know and promise each other, heard Liu Qiao’e say she did not love him.
He had become a lightly brushed-aside past between them. Bitterness filled his heart; he was lost and despondent.
This unknown past miss had become the knife that gouged his flesh later on.
He could only watch helplessly as they whispered endearments under the moon amid flowers, lute and zither in harmony, murmuring endless words of love.
–
The demon beast’s appearance briefly snapped him from his loss and bitterness.
Fear finally surfaced on his pale face.
His mind unrested, his back trembled; he could hardly bear to watch.
He knew it had come.
His sin, his karma—the youth who died in his arms, the one who haunted his midnight dreams all these years.
His mind reeled, vision darkened, like a condemned prisoner facing long-delayed judgment. His fingers shook in terror, sweat poured down.
It felt as if a heavy hammer smashed toward him, shattering his organs, pulverizing them. He wanted to vomit but could not.
So this was the missing blank in her story.
It turned out to be him—all the culprits behind it were him.
I didn’t kill Boren, yet Boren died because of me.
He had bitterly pursued this blank, never imagining it was proof of his crime, her heart-wrenching agony, a weight he could not bear.
He closed his eyes, thin lids covering his burning eyeballs.
And suddenly, everything made sense.
Her hatred, her malice, her love, her kindness, her capriciousness toward him—
All of it had explanations.
Yet he had known nothing, deeming himself the one enduring hardship and humiliation, deeming her stubborn and deluded, intent on killing her.
On what basis? On what basis did he act so superior and self-righteous?
Forget her usual beatings and scoldings—in his view, a man like him deserved to be flayed alive to assuage her hatred.
His past sins shocked him into a cold sweat.
But truly, the unbearable pain, heart and guts torn apart, came from watching his beloved suffer torment while powerless to act.
Qiao’e—Qiao’e—
Each breath felt like swallowing hundreds of knives; tears fell from his eyes.
–
After an unknown time, he finally jolted awake from the nightmare.
“Qiao’e!!” He abruptly opened his eyes and shouted!
“Ning Xia!” Zhao Yange rushed to the bedside. “You’re finally awake!”
His blurry vision gradually focused on his friend’s worried face.
Mu Daoying stared blankly. The shift from dream to reality left him dazed for a moment, unable to speak. His stiff tongue repeated mechanically.
“Guan Guan Cry of the Ospreys, on the River Isle…”
“Guan Guan Cry of the Ospreys, on the River Isle…”
Zhao Yange hurriedly brought a bowl of medicine and handed it to him.
But Mu Daoying remained immersed in the mirror’s recollections, utterly distraught. He barely managed a sip before knocking the bowl over.
He… Liu Qiao’e…
Meng Ci…
It felt like he had forgotten something.
Mu Daoying frowned tightly, cold sweat pouring out more profusely.
His head throbbed excruciatingly. He vaguely recalled contending with Liu Qiao’e over the Trace World Mirror.
Qiao’e—where was Qiao’e?
“Qiao’e!”
“Ning Xia!!” Zhao Yange’s eyelid twitched as he hurriedly held him down!
Mu Daoying’s expression changed drastically. He brushed off his hand and staggered to his feet. “Qiao’e!”
His face was deathly pale with shock and fear, his mouth repeating those few words over and over.
Qiao’e… Guan Guan… Meng Ci.
It was him!
He remembered everything; he understood it all.
It was him! He had sent her plummeting into hell and killed Meng Ci!
He asked her whereabouts.
Zhao Yange refused to say.
Veins bulged at his temples, blood nearly forced from the corners of his eyes. He muttered fragmented words, like a madman.
Terrified, Zhao Yange had no choice but to tell him, to soothe him.
After falling into the water, he had been rescued back to the Taihe Sect.
As for Liu Qiao’e…
He hesitated.
Mu Daoying’s heart pounded anxiously. He frowned and pressed, “How is she?!”
Zhao Yange said, “She was gravely injured. The Immortal Alliance is taking the opportunity to hunt her down.”
Mu Daoying slowly closed his eyes.
He had to find her.
He understood now—he understood everything!
Why she hated him deeply upon their first meeting, as if they shared lifetimes of enmity.
Why she loved him at first sight, as if their marriage was fated by heaven.
It turned out, in unknown corners, she had already loved him hundreds, thousands of times.
Why reciting Guan Guan left her distracted.
Why playing the qin at midnight filled her with melancholy.
Why she hated him so for injuring the Second Master—because he had already taken from her the one she loved once before.
Her beloved, her beloved—the youth he had killed with his own hands was her former love.
And he was merely her unresolved obsession, her irreconcilable hatred, the source of her pain, the chief culprit of it all, the object of her nightly vigil with dagger at hand, wishing to end him swiftly!
Her life had been utterly ruined from the moment she met him.
He was the disaster star, the calamity, her tribulation, her doom!
His hands trembled. Ignoring Zhao Yange’s obstruction, he stumbled out barefoot.
Along the way, fine gravel and stones ground his toes raw, leaving trails of blood.
Disheveled, he bore no trace of a gentleman’s decorum.
He urged his escape light to full speed, flying toward her direction.
He feared everything would be too late.
Zhao Yange had said she was badly hurt, and the Immortal Alliance had sent many to pursue her. Success or failure hung on this moment.
It was him—it was all his fault.
He should not have forgotten that bowl of water.
Should not have failed to exterminate the demon completely, dooming her entire clan.
Should not have casually revealed her identity, causing her to fall from the cliff, shattering every bone, leaving her to await death with closed eyes.
Meng Ci, Guan Guan.
Guan guan cry of the ospreys, on the river isle… Mu Daoying’s lips trembled as he murmured. With each word recited, his heart was torn asunder, blood gushing forth, the pain unbearable!
He shut his eyes tightly again and again, straining to suppress the burning heat welling in his eyes, yet no matter what, he could not conceal the grief and desolation surging from the depths of his heart. Tears brimmed in his eyes, bitterness coating his tongue.