When Zhong Yulan heard Feng Qingyun’s words, she gripped her sword and suddenly closed her eyes. An endless wave of sorrow and unwillingness surged in her heart.
Her disciple was still so full of attachment to the world, had even found a partner to share his life with… He was only three hundred years old.
But the world was fickle. When the heavens collapsed, even a mortal child of three years was cast into the unceasing flood of Yellow Springs, crying helplessly.
Disaster spared no one because of age.
“…As your teacher, I will certainly not tell him. You may set your mind at ease.” Zhong Yulan’s grief was hard to suppress, but she still reminded him: “But you must think carefully. There has never been a precedent of merging with the Heavenly Dao alone. No one can give a definite answer to what the outcome will be. Whether one turns into something else entirely, whether there is even a next life, all is unknown… Qingyun, you must be clear.”
Zhong Yulan spoke in veiled words, leaving no path of retreat, yet still giving her disciple the most hopeful expectation for the future.
But in truth, both of them knew.
There was no such thing as another life.
To merge with the Heavenly Dao might sound like the purest ideal of countless cultivators. To become immortal, undying, one with Heaven and Earth. Yet in reality, it meant the loss of thought, of action, of everything.
And how was that any different from the destruction of both body and soul?
Feng Qingyun knew it well. He also knew that Zhong Yulan, by phrasing it in such a gentle way, was laying the bloody truth before him, hoping he would give it up.
But if he gave it up, then what?
Should he throw away the Linshuang Sword? Cover his ears like a fool, pretending nothing had happened while wandering freely with Long Yin, waiting for the Qilin’s heart to choose another sacrifice?
If so, how would he be any different from Mu Hanyang?
Those elders who had endured thousands, even tens of thousands of years of suffering, should he watch all their efforts go to waste because of one small hesitation?
Zhong Yulan, moved by the love of a Master for her disciple, could place the choice of sacrifice into Feng Qingyun’s hands. But Feng Qingyun could not, for the sake of personal love, truly choose to abandon the world.
“Thank you, Master, for telling me…” He drew a deep breath, gripped the Linshuang Sword, and solemnly vowed, “I have already decided.”
Zhong Yulan choked. “…You have truly decided? You still wish to walk this path?”
“Yes.” Feng Qingyun’s voice was still quiet, but as firm as ever. “Once I am gone, there will still be Ruolin in the Xiān Gōng Sect. The world will continue, with successors to carry on. Though it is said the rise and fall of the world is every man’s responsibility, we who cultivate must be the first. For the world’s sake, we must go before others.”
“Otherwise, even if I linger on until my last day, it would be shameful before the Yellow Springs, disgraceful before the Ancestors.”
Feng Qingyun’s words were not passionate, but calm and steady, as if such truths were only natural to him. Yet he had never used them to boast of himself, nor ever to brandish as a badge of honor.
Hearing this, Zhong Yulan’s heart grew hot. Looking at him, she felt both an unspeakable pride and an unspeakable ache. But still, he was only three hundred years old, merely a rosebud that had just begun to bloom.
Why must he face this? Why must Heaven choose him?
Was that Heaven’s favor, or a curse?
Yet for that question, no one could answer.
“Xuanwu’s heart has already been given to me by Long Yin.” Feng Qingyun was already considering the road ahead. “It is rumored that Zhuque’s remains are in the hands of a cultivator who once entered its ruins. If I find him, I may be able to find the heart.”
Zhong Yulan came back to herself, nodded, and said, “That is indeed so.”
Feng Qingyun then asked, “And what of the Baihu’s and Qinglong’s hearts? Master, you have glimpsed the affairs of ancient times. Do you have any clue regarding these?”
Zhong Yulan restrained her emotions slightly, lowered her eyes, and thought for a moment. “The dragon represents the emperor, so Qinglong belongs to wood, to the east. Perhaps you may seek its trace in the mortal lands of the east.”
“As for Baihu, it belongs to metal, to the west. If Qinglong’s heart truly lies in the lands of the mortals, then Baihu’s heart might be found in the Underworld.”
The Underworld… again the Underworld.
Feng Qingyun frowned slightly at her words.
Since the heavens had collapsed, it seemed as though some unseen force had always been guiding them toward the Underworld. Yet in this life, there also seemed to be an invisible resistance. Every time affairs had settled, and they were about to set out for it, some new matter would arise to block their way.
So, what was in the Underworld? During the heavens’ collapse, when its waters flooded everywhere… what did that truly signify?
Feng Qingyun’s heart brimmed with questions. He was about to ask when he looked up, only to see that Zhong Yulan’s soul body had grown several times more transparent than when they had first met.
His heart jolted. “Master, you… What is happening to you?!”
At his words, Zhong Yulan seemed to remember to look down at herself. She realized instantly that her time was running short. Her actions, combined with the use of the Qilin’s final trace of power, had forced her to divide the three of them and speak to each separately, creating the illusion of a flawless story.
To deceive others, she had even split her soul into three parts, each bearing a different set of false memories. But only one of the three contained the truth; the other two were but illusions.
And yet, only by deceiving herself could she truly deceive the others.
Even for a soul as powerful as hers, splitting into three and altering memories was not something she could endure for long.
As for Feng Qingyun, the higher his realization grew, the paler his face became.
“It seems the time is nearly here.” Yet Zhong Yulan herself did not mind. She even smiled, gently comforting him: “Do not weep, Qingyun. If one day you enter the mortal world, perhaps we may meet again.”
Zhong Yulan had once been the daughter of a human butcher. Even in reincarnation, the chance she would be reborn as a human was high. Thus, her words were not entirely empty comfort.
Hearing this, Feng Qingyun tried to lift the corners of his lips to make this parting less sorrowful.
But he failed.
Tears filled his eyes despite himself.
Zhong Yulan hurried to divert his attention, softly asking: “Good child, don’t cry. While I can still be of use, is there anything else you wish to ask?”
Feng Qingyun wiped at his tears and was about to shake his head when suddenly, he remembered something. He paused, then immediately brought out his little egg.
The egg, sensing something amiss, only knew that his eyes were red, as though he had been crying. Its aura sank low, and it rubbed anxiously against his palm to comfort him.
Feng Qingyun’s breath caught. He rubbed the eggshell gently and forced down his grief, comforting it: “I’m fine.”
Then he wiped his eyes, took out the jeweled box in which the egg had been kept, and from within it drew a jade tablet carved with water ripples and handed it to Zhong Yulan. “This is the egg Long Yin and I obtained by chance. The box was the treasure chest that held it. This box, along with the jade and jewels within, must have been left by its parents. But the writing upon them, we cannot understand. I ask Master to explain it.”
Zhong Yulan received the jade, lowered her gaze to read, and said with understanding: “Indeed, these are words its parents left for it.”
The egg seemed to understand human speech. It rolled slightly, as though pricking up its ears to listen.
Feng Qingyun tensed. “What did they write?”
“The front half of the inscription was covered with many words, but later they were smeared out. Now it can no longer be read,” Zhong Yulan said. “Only the latter half remains, and its general meaning is: ‘Child, if you can truly hatch, that alone is already the fortune of us and of our entire clan. Therefore, we have no other expectations for you, only that you may live happily through every day that lies ahead.’”
Feng Qingyun froze at her words, and for a long time could not come back to himself.
In their final despair, hearing the cries of blood and grief as their people were slaughtered, that couple had clutched an egg they did not even know would ever hatch, altering and revising their last words upon the jade tablet in their anguish.
But in the end, when they looked at the egg, they swallowed down any blood-deep hatred, leaving behind only one hope: that their child might live happily.
After a long silence, Feng Qingyun asked softly: “…And the reverse side?”
“The words on the reverse seem to be left for the kind-hearted person who would raise the egg,” Zhong Yulan turned the jade over. “It says that the jewels in this box, along with the gauze inside, are the last of their worldly possessions. They wish to leave all of these to the kind person who raises their child.”
“They especially note that these jewels are transformed from their own scales. Compared to those formed from tears, they are purer and can be refined into top-grade artifacts.”
“As for how the egg should be raised, they have no requirements, only one. They earnestly plead that the child not be kept as a beast-pet.”
“They wrote that once the egg hatches, its tears would turn into pearls. Though still young, those pearls could be ground into powder and used to refine pills. They beg that this be taken as its means of support.”
After reading those words aloud, Zhong Yulan fell into silence together with Feng Qingyun.
Only the egg, not understanding, “looked” at Feng Qingyun’s sorrowful face, then rubbed against his cheek in comfort.
As parents, they would rather dig out their own scales at the moment of death, hastening their end, just to protect their child’s last trace of freedom, unwilling to let it become someone else’s beast-pet.
Zhong Yulan’s heart felt pierced as she clenched the jade tightly in her hand.
An indescribable ache also welled up in Feng Qingyun’s chest. He stroked the egg gently and said in a low but firm voice: “I will not let you become anyone’s pet. I promise.”
Zhong Yulan watched the scene, her heart struck like by a heavy hammer. But alas, her tears had long since run dry, and no more could fall.
So now, all the regret and pain she bore had nowhere left to go.
She hated herself for having fallen to the state of nothing more than a remnant soul.
As for hating Heaven?
She could not even utter the words “Heaven is unjust,” for even Heaven itself had been torn apart by invaders.
There was no longer anyone to hate, no retreat left to her.
The world was a battlefield, and everyone who stepped onto it would give all they had for its survival, until the moment their oil was exhausted and their lamp burned out. There were no exceptions.
Seeing the indignation in his Master’s heart, Feng Qingyun stroked the eggshell and comforted softly: “In the ancient war, those immortals came with great momentum, yet even then they failed to completely destroy this world in one blow.”
“Now, their momentum has only waned further with each attempt. In the end, all that awaits them is annihilation.”
“So you may go in peace.” Feng Qingyun pressed down the boundless grief in his heart and gave Zhong Yulan a faint smile. “All these years, you have labored hard. Your disciple will inherit all your will and walk the road you could not finish, so please rest assured.”
By now, Zhong Yulan’s remaining soul-force was no longer enough to support speech. Hearing Feng Qingyun’s vow, she smiled at last. A final tear slid down her cheek, and then she completely dissolved into the air, her light scattering like stars across the sky.
She had gone to meet the Wheel of Reincarnation.
But that void had been sustained only by her obsession and the Qilin’s last trace of strength. The instant she dissipated, it also began to collapse. Therefore, the void fractured apart, and Feng Qingyun was instantly forced out. But before he could recover from his overwhelming grief, the sound of a blade roared in his ears.
He startled, then turned his head sharply, only to see, among the collapsing jade towers, a vast surge of demonic Qi cleaving down. Its target was none other than Mu Hanyang, his body already covered in blood.
Mu Hanyang’s condition made it clear he could not possibly withstand that strike, and Feng Qingyun’s heart leapt into his throat. His Master’s last words rang in his ears. Without thinking, he drew the Linshuang Sword and rushed forward, screaming: “Wait, Long Yin!”
Long Yin paused, as though believing he meant to kill Mu Hanyang himself. Truly stopping his strike, he even looked over with a smug lift of his brow, as though waiting for praise.
But in the next second, clang! Feng Qingyun’s Linshuang Sword crossed against his demonic Qi!
The air itself seemed frozen.
Long Yin’s expression stiffened, then he raised his eyes in disbelief at Feng Qingyun. He had never thought Feng Qingyun would draw his sword against him, for Mu Hanyang’s sake.
Feng Qingyun was pierced by that gaze, his heart tightening, an ache rising bitterly up from his stomach.
By now, Mu Hanyang’s cultivation had fallen all the way to Qi Condensation from Long Yin’s pursuit. His handsome face was battered, blood streaming, with hardly one uninjured spot left. He was utterly wretched, but even in that state, when he saw what was happening, he still forced a twisted smile.
“I said long ago, Qingyun would help me, and you didn’t believe it!”
He paused, his face contorting as he spat a mouthful of blood. Wiping his lips, he sneered with venom and jealousy: “Lowly demon, you are…”
But before he could finish, Feng Qingyun, who only a moment ago had seemed guilty and unable to meet Long Yin’s eyes, suddenly went cold-faced. He turned, eyes full of revulsion, and swung his sword down.
Mu Hanyang’s face went pale. With no way to dodge, his right hand was severed by Feng Qingyun’s strike.
Blood sprayed, and his sword clattered to the ground.
Feng Qingyun glared at him with rage and loathing. “Shut your filthy mouth!” he demanded.
As for Mu Hanyang, he writhed in agony, clutching his fallen sword and arm, cold sweat soaking his brow. Yet in his mind, there was no hatred left, only the thought:
So this was the pain Qingyun had suffered when his own branches were severed?
If I suffer it now in return, will he forgive me?
Will he… look at me once more?
But his desperate plea met no response. Feng Qingyun, having just cut off his arm, did not even spare him another glance, turning instead, anxious, to look at Long Yin.
Like a child who had done wrong, seeking reconciliation by offering proof.
Yet the severing of Mu Hanyang’s arm, even his right arm with which he held the sword, was not enough.
Because both of them knew: Feng Qingyun still had no intention of killing Mu Hanyang.
Long Yin ignored Mu Hanyang’s provocations entirely. Now he only watched Feng Qingyun in silence, his gaze chilling and waiting for Feng Qingyun’s answer. However, Feng Qingyun, thrown into the situation immediately upon emerging, was struck numb. He had not thought of what excuse to make.
Or rather… he did not want to make one.
He knew Long Yin was waiting for his answer. But bitterness filled his mouth, and in the end, he only shut his eyes.
Mu Hanyang, even in pain, brightened with sick delight at the sight. But before his twisted grin could fully bloom, Feng Qingyun opened his eyes and said to him, his first word cold and cutting: “Get out.”
When he did not respond, Feng Qingyun added icily: “Will you leave now, or shall I sever all four of your limbs, abolish your cultivation, and then throw you out?”
Mu Hanyang finally came back to himself. Meeting Feng Qingyun’s cold and hateful eyes, he realized the man was serious. Because of Zhong Yulan’s final words, he truly would not kill him. But beyond that, anything was possible.
Feng Qingyun watched as Mu Hanyang, face twisted, writhed like a beaten dog. More than once, he seemed about to cry out, “I am the incarnation of the Heavenly Dao!” But his fear of death made him choke the words back.
After all, who could say whether hidden immortals were watching? With barely any cultivation left, even old enemies from the demonic path could finish him off, let alone any surviving immortals.
At that thought, Mu Hanyang propped himself up with his remaining left hand, clutching their Master’s sword that he had been awarded, blood seeping between his teeth as he forced himself to stand.
As he rose, he instinctively cast a wary glance toward Long Yin, as though fearing that Feng Qingyun’s words might not suffice to sway him, and that Long Yin might be angered instead by letting him go.
But contrary to Mu Hanyang’s expectations, Long Yin did not so much as look at him. Hearing Feng Qingyun’s command to leave, Long Yin only stared unblinking at Feng Qingyun for a long moment, then actually dispersed his demonic Qi.
Seeing that, Mu Hanyang’s heart wavered between suspicion and disbelief, while Feng Qingyun’s heart suddenly trembled. A warmth laced with bitterness welled up inside him.
He had really done it.
Long Yin had once promised Feng Qingyun he would no longer grow jealous or angry over Mu Hanyang. And now, he truly had not lost his temper, but instead had stopped, willing even to let go of the man he wished dead above all.
Because he trusted that Feng Qingyun would give him a reasonable explanation.
Yet trust was like a sharp knife, scraping away all lies like rotting flesh, cutting to the bone with unbearable pain.
Silence spread thickly between them as neither spared Mu Hanyang a second glance. Their entanglements of love, hate, trust, and doubt were theirs alone, of no concern to outsiders.
Mu Hanyang had thought himself clever, but now, he could no longer think so.
Zhong Yulan’s words came back to him, her expression of disgust mixed with helplessness as she had said: “You are the incarnation of the Heavenly Dao. I cannot kill you. For the sake of the world, I must have Qingyun let you go.”
“But from this day forth, you are no longer my disciple, and he is no longer your Junior Brother.”
“Master!”
“Do not call me Master,” Zhong Yulan had said firmly. “I have already sent him to help you seek the Four Ancient Beasts’ hearts. If you truly still hold a shred of old affection…” Reaching this point, her voice had trembled with pain: “Do not remain obsessed with Qingyun. Heavenly Dao, your so-called love will only drag him into the mire. Let him go!”
Heavenly Dao…
Out of all she had said, what Mu Hanyang heard most clearly were just those two words.
Heavenly Dao!
Rolling the title over and over in his mind, his swollen and bloodied face split into a smile at last, lips tugging upward beyond his control.
So what if that monster was some dragon God? The illusory world he belonged to was broken, and beyond that little world of his, what could compare with the true Heavenly Dao?!
As for losing his right hand, what of it? He simply could not hold a sword for the time being, but out once he took back the Four Ancient Beasts’ hearts, once he reclaimed the Dao and returned to his rightful throne…
Mu Hanyang stared fixedly at Feng Qingyun, as though trying to brand him into his very eyes. All his regrets twisted into an even more grotesque emotion as he finally spoke, his tone warped with fury yet brimming with mad confidence: “Qingyun, Senior Brother knows Xuanwu’s Heart is in your hand. I will not force you now, but do not forget our Master’s words. At the Heavenly Gate Ceremony, I will be waiting for you to return and meet me.”
He was certain Feng Qingyun would give him Xuanwu’s heart for the sake of the world.
Truly arrogant to the extreme.
Without Feng Qingyun needing to act at all, he had believed the story Zhong Yulan had crafted for him. Even with his arm severed, even though all the sword arts he had cultivated were now useless, and he would have to start over left-handed, a fate more painful than death for a swordsman, Mu Hanyang still laughed.
He truly believed himself to be the incarnation of the Heavenly Dao. Truly believed a missing arm was nothing.
Truly indulged in his delusion.
But watching him preen like a clown, Feng Qingyun could only feel his heart tangled and heavy, unable to laugh. Irritation knotted his chest, and with the dog still barking in his ears, he could no longer endure. Again, he spat out one word: “Scram!”
Mu Hanyang’s face stiffened. He seemed about to speak further provocations before Long Yin, but as the pain of his injuries struck him, he bit his tongue and dared not.
At last, he cast Feng Qingyun a long look, then, like Qi Jiang once had, clutched his severed arm like a pitiful rat gnawed half to death by a cat, and fled.
The former Sword Master Mu Hanyang now indeed looked like the stray dog Long Yin had once called him, fleeing in disgrace.
Yet the two men still standing did not move.
Feng Qingyun stared without blinking at Long Yin’s ink-dark expression. Like a guilty youth caught in a lie, his scalp prickled, his chest tight with dread. The ruins had begun to collapse when Feng Qingyun emerged, and now, as jade towers toppled and vanished, the true form of the City of Mirrors was revealed.
At last, it was Long Yin who spoke first, offering them both a way out: “For letting that man go, this Lord feels I ought to ask you for a reason… Little Palace Master, what do you think?”
Even now, he believed Feng Qingyun had his reasons. His tone was subdued but still even, far calmer than that night of madness.
Yet Feng Qingyun would rather he be furious, at least then he could have something to cover with lies. But now, with nothing prepared, he could only frown and clutch his sword tightly.
And Long Yin, surprisingly, showed patience.
Time stretched like a lifetime before Feng Qingyun finally parted his lips, forcing his voice to sound steady: “I thought I need not explain… Did Master not tell you? Gather the Four Divine Beasts’ hearts, and the Heavenly Dao can be revived.”
But Long Yin neither agreed nor denied, only looking at him and letting him continue.
Feng Qingyun pressed on stiffly: “But to truly revive the Heavenly Dao, one must hold the four hearts and merge with it. Only then can it be done.”
He was poor at lying, and each word felt hollow even to himself, yet he forced the tale out.
And opposite him was Long Yin, the man who was most adept at lying.
Feng Qingyun had been deceived by him countless times. He knew that if he tried to cover everything with falsehoods, the ancient dragon would see through him at once.
So he mixed truth with lies, hoping to muddle through.
“Yet merging with the Dao is no different from death. Luckily, the Quilin’s heart, that is, the heart of the Heavenly Dao itself, lies within the Linshuang Sword, so the one to mend Heaven must be chosen by me. My Master gave me two choices: Mu Hanyang or you. You walk the Ruthless Path, closest to Heaven’s own way. Master urged me to choose you…”
Feng Qingyun’s instinct was to avert his gaze, but he forced himself to hold Long Yin’s eyes, straining for sincerity. “…But I did not want you to die. So I chose him.”
He thought himself flawless, but his story was full of holes, and his guilty manner gave him away.
All the lofty vows he had spoken to Zhong Yulan were crushed by reality.
He could not hope to hide this from someone with such experience.
Long Yin lowered his gaze and looked at him for a long time. Feng Qingyun’s hair stood on end, unsure whether he had been believed. Just as his heart quailed, Long Yin suddenly closed the distance, staring straight at him.
“Do I look so easy to fool, Feng Qingyun?”
It was almost the first time in memory the man had spoken his full name. Feng Qingyun’s scalp tingled, sweat rising cold. Had he revealed his true form, his petals would have long curled closed.
For a moment, he nearly confessed everything.
But at the final instant, he clenched his teeth and said nothing.
“Not willing to speak?” Long Yin narrowed his eyes, at last showing a trace of his demonic nature.
“No matter. If you will not say, then don’t.” He raised his gaze toward the fading ruins and the heart of the City of Mirrors beyond. At last, he gave his warning: “But do not forget, this place reflects everyone’s heart demons.”
At first, Feng Qingyun did not understand. But as the meaning sank in, his eyes widened in shock, his body frozen.
The man’s voice, cold with anger, rang again in his ear: “Have you ever seen a chamber made entirely of mirrors, built solely for interrogations?”
“In such a place, with your inner demons roused… Little Palace Master, how long do you think you can endure?”
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