That night, Xue Cuo suddenly felt a thudding in his chest and could not sleep for no apparent reason.
He turned over and sat up on the stone bed, hugging his knees, wrapped in his small white cloud quilt.
“Strange… my heart’s beating so fast aaa.” Xue Cuo murmured, pressing a hand to his chest and rubbing his eyes. He felt… confused, frustrated, and helpless, especially when he was alone.
If only Mother were here. Even if she scolded him, he could ask what he should do.
Faced with such a momentous event, and with neither parent by his side, all the panic and bewilderment in his heart he had to digest alone.
Xue Cuo huddled under his little quilt, a thin film of moisture forming in his eyes. He rubbed them and let out a sigh.
Unable to sleep, he lay on the stone bed and, under the moonlight, carefully drew a talisman to pray for safety.
Her Ladyship Goddess had once gifted him a copy of Book of Gods’ Presence. Afraid of causing trouble, Xue Cuo had seldom used it. This time, he flipped through the book and, following its guidance, drew the talisman and gathered the corresponding offerings for the water deity.
Though Her Ladyship was the Goddess of the Great Loch, he found the ritual items surprisingly simple:
Water lily flowers, shells, and a sacrificial vessel shaped like a rudder.
Xue Cuo bit his brush thoughtfully. Pray for peace… better to pray a little extra, just in case.
He patted his plump little face, clapped his hands, and figured all would be fine. Tossing about in the house in the dead of night wasn’t a problem for him.
Yet he held a measure of respect for the Xianghuo Divine Dao gods, so he invited only three familiar deities:
The Southern Peacock Lord from Xiao Yun’s family, his own goddess, and the only other Xianghuo Divine Dao deity still in existence, the Golden Crow Sun Wheel.
Xue Cuo hummed happily as he collected the simple offerings, washed his small hands, and looked up at the moon.
When dark clouds hid the moon, he pressed his fingertips together and lifted them slightly. “Ignite.”
The talisman flared at his fingertips, burning into tiny blue sparks that scattered into the air.
Kneeling, Xue Cuo pressed his palms together and recited the names of the three Xianghuo Divine Dao gods with utmost sincerity:
“Naturally Wondrous,…… Merciful and Stern, Dao-Responding Goddess of the Great Loch.”
“Supreme Ancestor of the Shangyuan, His Lordship the Southern Peacock, the Ultimate Meaning of Heavenly Origin.”
“Supreme Deity of the Primeval Beginning… Sovereign of the Vast Cosmos… Radiant and Resplendent, the Great Eastern Emperor.”
“Disciple Xue Cuo…”
“Goddess, merciful and benevolent, save the world with your majesty…”
Xue Cuo kowtowed sincerely. He did not truly believe in the Xianghuo Divine Dao gods, yet after all he had witnessed, the notion that they were evil had begun to waver.
He thought that though his mother and father were powerful cultivators, they were not immune to danger. Leaving the Immortal Forest had revealed how perilous the world outside truly was… and his own power could do nothing.
Sniffling, he whispered, “I have already tasted the bitterness of parting and death.”
“I hope my friend Zhu Xiaoyou’s true spirit remains whole and can return to his homeland. I hope Mom and Dad remain safe and sound, and that their path in the Dao is smooth.”
Moonlight fell on Xue Cuo’s fair cheeks. The mischievous, lively child, who had always dared to joke before the gods, now closed his eyes, utterly devout and well-behaved.
The wisp of his wish power transformed into a tiny golden dot, floating gently.
Under the black night sky, in the divine kingdom where black heavens met white earth, paper money drifted and settled upon Dao locks and chains scattered throughout. The small golden dot soared directly towards the colossal statue whose eyes were closed in meditation.
A red-haired ghost, watching villagers of Xiantian burn incense and offerings to the goddess, twitched his ears. “Eh? Such pure wish power… where in the mortal realm is there incense for Her Ladyship?”
The green-haired ghost leapt up in delight, kicking his stubby legs in the air. Sniffing, he laughed with joy. “It’s incense, and it’s strong! I knew that clever little boy is Her Ladyship’s lucky star!”
The waters of the Great Loch flowed quietly.
Xue Cuo waited a moment longer, preparing to rise. Suddenly, his body shivered. Thick fog swirled, a pool of golden lotus appeared, and a colossal statue of the goddess loomed in the mist. Only her skirt was visible; her upper body vanished in the clouds.
The statue trembled and returned the golden dot.
The vision vanished. Xue Cuo was stunned, but it was not over. His eyes flashed. Mist rolled, and across the horizon, clouds blazed with colour. A magnificent sacred tree appeared, radiating treasure light.
Perched atop the tree was a gigantic peacock. Xue Cuo saw only a fragment of its plumage. The peacock bowed its head, acknowledging the tiny golden dot.
“…Great—” Xue Cuo began, but before he could finish the words “Great Lord,” the mist vanished.
Suddenly he felt as if he had fallen into a blazing furnace. Gold and light swirled boundlessly around him.
At the mist’s edge rose undulating mountains, resembling a flying bird. Between valleys and ridges grew a mulberry tree wreathed in golden flames. Upon its branches rested a bright sun, within which knelt a deity on one knee, seemingly about to lift their gaze.
Xue Cuo’s scalp tingled; cold sweat ran down his back. He covered his eyes, feeling as if he were about to melt under the celestial heat.
“Your Ladyship!”
He shouted instinctively. Water splashed in his ears; his bottom throbbed painfully. He yelped, dizzy, and collapsed with a clang.
A quarter-hour later, Xue Cuo awoke, drenched in sweat. Blushing, he covered his little “birdie” and retrieved a piece of clothing from his storage ring, draping it over himself.
He wiped his hands. The original garments had burned to black ash. Heart still racing, he pressed his palms together and gazed eagerly at the air. “Thank you, my lady.”
Muttering that the Goddess was the best, utterly exhausted, he fell onto the stone bed and slept soundly without washing.
Tick… tick… tick…
The red Dragon Might Sword carved a deep groove, blood dripping from pale fingertips into the growing pool below.
The thorn hairpin was broken; the plain skirt stained with blood.
Xue Zhenzhen looked up; the surroundings seemed to shift constantly. The Dao here had been twisted.
In the darkness, strange shadows emerged, accompanied by nightmarish wails that sent shivers down the spine.
Xue Zhenzhen’s spirit surged, blood rushing to her head.
Behind her, a colossal claw, etched with Dao marks and chains, crept silently closer.
A sudden, strange premonition rose in her heart. She turned sharply, raising her sword to strike horizontally.
Clang——
The clash of metal resounded, the dragon roar reverberating through her soul.
The black claw shrieked in pain and vanished silently. Xue Zhenzhen frowned, blood trickling from her lips. Something felt… odd.
“Where did that sound of water come from just now?”
Had it not been for that sound and the sudden premonition, she might have been gravely wounded, then devoured by the evil spirit.
Xue Zhenzhen closed her eyes slightly, gripped the Dragon Might Sword, and stepped forward into the dark.
All the surrounding demons, evil mists, and temptations she ignored entirely.
Though the hidden evil spirit was powerful, after ten thousand years of sealing its strength had waned. Now, confronted by one of the East Lands’s mightiest sword cultivators, its demonic energy whirled in rage.
I hate sword cultivators the most!
If the sword cultivator above strikes me again, I will swallow you, woman!
……
……
……
Wendao Palace.
A strange event had occurred recently.
It began with a disciple named Xue Cuo. He went to Fei’e Palace to debate with the Daoist masters, only to be rebuked as heretical and incomprehensible.
All of this over what?
Merely the deaths of a few disciples in the secret realm. One unlucky fellow had offended an elder and was struck by the Five Thunders, his soul and body utterly obliterated.
The young Xue Cuo sought to seek justice on his behalf. Oh, you ask who Xue Cuo is? How could you not have heard of the boy prodigy who, with three talismans, summoned Gongming Tiansi to Fei’e Palace and held a sermon in the clouds?
Come, set your tea aside—I shall explain everything in the grove here.
Xue Cuo and Kong Yun had raced across the gates of the three mountains and five seas of Wendao Palace, yet not one official paid them the slightest heed.
He was only a six-year-old boy. What could he possibly accomplish?
Not only Xue Cuo, but the elders thought the same. Yet in the past hundred years, it had not been only Zhu Xiaoyou who had perished.
Xue Cuo thought, If you won’t grant me justice, then I shall proclaim it myself.
He picked up his brush and composed a heartfelt Letter to Fellow Daoists. Yet he could recognise only half of the large characters used by the Junior Talisman God of Liuyun Peak, and his own writing was jagged and frantic. It was difficult even for himself to read it aloud without stumbling.
Dejected, he tore sheet after sheet. Just then, Wen Renyi and Kong Yun arrived from outside the cave, picking up one of the torn pages.
Kong Yun flicked the crumpled paper. “What kind of talisman are you scribbling?”
Xue Cuo remained silent.
Wen Renyi took it, read halfway through, and his eyes lit up. He clapped his hands. “Brilliant aaa! Shixiong, you are truly talented. This is an excellent idea! Wait here, I’ll call some people to help write it!”
Kong Yun: “?”
Wen Renyi summoned a large group of cultivators, some familiar, others strangers. Among them, the most recognisable was a female cultivator carrying a blade.
Originally a casual gathering, the crowd soon demanded order. Wen Renyi proved a skilled organiser, swiftly arranging the noisy disciples and opening the first assembly.
Xue Cuo and Kong Yun found themselves inexplicably seated at the head. Below, the disciples crowded together—small figures, overlooked by Wendao Palace.
Using Xue Cuo’s Letter to Fellow Daoists, Wen Renyi gave an impassioned opening address, then solemnly described recent events across the various palaces.
These disciples, long denied opportunities and often oppressed, were the lowest of the low, their anger and grief pent up with nowhere to vent. Each had endured countless hardships to reach this moment. When they entered Wendao Palace, they had been full of fervour, eager to attain the Great Dao, roam the heavens, and live freely.
Now they knew they were but livestock waiting for slaughter, fodder for elixirs. How could they not feel anger?! How could they not feel grief?!
Moreover, in the past century, more than one of their fellow disciples had vanished upon entering Wendao Palace. All were said to have gone travelling or into seclusion. But who had ever seen them? Were they silently turned into elixirs by others, their bodies gone without trace?
Unjust!
How could it not be unjust?
Hateful!
How could it not be filled with sorrow and rage?
They sighed at their own humble and weak station. Yet even the lowly are still human; ordinary disciples are still people! They are not ladders for others to ascend to heaven, nor fodder for someone else’s elixirs.
Wendao Palace boasts a ten-thousand-year lineage, a colossal institution, but so what? If life offers no way forward, what is there to fear in death?
After reading the Letter to Fellow Daoists, a disciple’s eyes reddened. “We have no concrete evidence that they use us for elixirs. Can we write this?”
“Write! Why fear writing it? That is the point!”
The female blade cultivator, astride with her massive golden blade, smacked the table, laughing. “I do not fear death! Whatever is needed, command it, and it shall be done!”
“Even if there are thousands, I will go.”
“We cultivators, having come this far, cannot retreat. To retreat is to become the next Zhu Xiaoyou. Worse still, to retreat is to fail even him.”
“Hahaha! We live but a few short decades, have read the great books of the Dao, yet we are only prey! If we do not speak for them today, who will speak for us tomorrow when the butcher’s blade falls?”
“I will beat the drum first, and even in death, I shall not regret it!”
“Damn it! I will fight them!”
Xue Cuo listened in silence, his small face grave. The weight of their words pressed heavily upon him, yet he could not retreat. Not a single step.
He frowned solemnly. Kong Yun, previously lost in meditation, suddenly opened his eyes and glanced at him. “What is troubling you?”
Xue Cuo shook his head. Their exchange drew Wen Renyi’s attention. He smiled softly at Xue Cuo, like a breeze brushing past.
Wen Renyi thought: How old is Shixiong? He lifted Xue Cuo, cupped his little chubby face, and lowered his voice.
“Shixiong, go to sleep. Leave this to us. If you don’t rest properly, you won’t grow taller.”
Xue Cuo sighed. After listening carefully to the discussion, he tugged on Wen Renyi’s sleeve. “Wen-shidi, listen to me…”
The others were momentarily stunned, then murmured, “Is this… truly possible?”
Xue Cuo’s face was solemn, eyelashes fluttering with unease, yet his gaze remained unwavering. “I have not lied.”
“Only then will people believe it.”
The next day, at the gates of every palace in Wendao Palace, groups of young disciples appeared. Their clothing varied in style but all bore the uniform white.
They travelled far and wide, distributing copies of the Letter to Fellow Daoists.
A cultivator passing on a cloud idly took one, glanced at it: “Zhu Xiaoyou? Who is this? I haven’t heard of him…” His face changed drastically as he read on. Wendao Pill?!
Wen Renyi was stopped at the gate of an unfamiliar palace. The cultivator blocking him was powerful and immediately drew his sword.
“I will kill you, deceiver spreading lies!”
But the sword never fell. A white silk suddenly intercepted it. Wen Renyi’s heart leapt; he was not skilled in combat and had nearly been split in two.
“Shijie! Why do you aid him?” the cultivator demanded.
The female cultivator’s face was as cold as frost. A camellia was embroidered on the white silk. In her hands was a copy of the Letter to Fellow Daoists. If one looked closely, her fingertips trembled. “You… are these the truth?”
Wen Renyi’s scalp tingled. “Every word is true.”
“Who can prove it?”
“The son of the First Sword of the Eastern Lands… my shixiong, Xue Cuo.”
Her eyes widened, and she gripped the paper tightly, a look half-crying, half-relieved spreading across her face. If this were true… then her shixiong…
In Jinxia Palace, a little Daoist priest stealthily pulled at a female blade cultivator distributing the letters.
“You scoundrel! Take my blade!” the female cultivator shouted.
The young priest hurriedly covered her mouth, trembling. “Shijie, don’t act rashly! Listen to me!”
He held the Letter to Fellow Daoists, whispering fearfully: “I… I suspect that my shixiongs… have all been eaten.”
The female blade cultivator’s eyes widened. “What?!”
Elsewhere, Bai Luoluo rushed into the palace, hurriedly seeking the place where his mother was in seclusion. She paced around several times before kneeling at the door, voice trembling with anger: “Mother! That demon child, Xue Cuo, is spreading word that Wendao Pills are made from the flesh and blood of cultivators. It’s simply outrageous! Can’t he be punished?”
For a long moment, the door remained silent. Then a calm female voice answered: “Punish him? Luoluo, what have I always taught you?”
Bai Luoluo’s words caught in his throat. She lowered her head, her expression sour. “To think thrice and turn matters over nine times. Never act on a single impulse.”
The voice on the other side chuckled softly. “He is bold indeed, daring to slander the Wendao Pills, hehe.”
“Go and help them. The bigger the uproar, the better. I want to see how Xue Zhenzhen handles this.”
Bai Luoluo frowned. Bigger? What does she mean by bigger?
She could not fathom why, in the face of slander against such a divine Wendao Pill, her mother would forbid her from punishing the boy, and even urge him to help. Yet she could do nothing but obey.
Meanwhile, Xue Cuo was distributing the Letter to Fellow Daoists, sweat beading on his forehead. Suddenly, he heard his name called. Turning, he saw familiar disciples of Tianyi Sect approaching, their faces set in scowls.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Xue Cuo! What are you distributing here? Who allowed you to use Sword Immortal’s reputation as a guarantee?”
Within Tianyi Sect, the Tianyi Pavilion was the elder faction.
These disciples were highborn. Some had access to Wendao Palace and had reported Xue Cuo’s heresy back to the sect, stirring a major uproar.
They were not angry about the Wendao Pills. After all, Tianyi Sect cultivated swords, not pills. But that Xue Cuo dared cause such a commotion under Sword Immortal’s name!
Most of Tianyi Pavilion’s disciples were of elder lineage, and they had little fear of Xue Cuo. They moved to seize him and return him to the Immortal Forest.
Xue Cuo was startled. Before he could speak, another group arrived from the flank. It was his fox shidi, You Xia, hurrying in with disciples from Shujian Pavilion, forming a protective screen around him. “When did it become your turn to criticise Shixiong’s actions?” You Xia barked.
“Exactly! Your high cultivation doesn’t give you the right to bully others!”
“If you dare, come and face me!”
“What did you say? Fool! Witness the sword!”
Tianyi Pavilion and Shujian Pavilion usually avoided entanglement, but mutual disdain simmered beneath the surface. A few sharp words were enough to ignite a public clash.
Wendao Palace boasted a sword inheritance, yet once Tianyi Sect’s disciples took the field, few could compete. The finest swordsmen belonged to Tianyi Sect!
Xue Cuo was dazed by the flashing blades, then was suddenly lifted off the ground. It was his fox-shidi, You Xia, haggard and scruffy: “Shixiong, is the Letter to Fellow Daoists really true?”
Xue Cuo frowned, hesitated a moment, then nodded firmly. You Xia’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Shixiong, what should we do? Youyu-shixiong has been missing for a month.”
Xue Cuo froze. “Who did you say?!”
The commotion continued around them.
Under the shadow of a great tree, Lang Cui and Zhuo Qingyuan watched the spectacle. Lang Cui coughed lightly, his interest barely roused. “I’ll leave first.”
Zhuo Qingyuan hummed and followed, muttering in mild annoyance, “What have you been up to lately? I brought you here to watch the fun, and you show no interest at all? If it escalates, you won’t be able to make pills for some time.”
Lang Cui had grown up with him, knowing that his companion’s temperament was cold, much like his own. With a raised brow, he asked, “Do you care about me so much?”
Zhuo Qingyuan froze for a moment, then spread his hands: “I’m just teasing.”
Suddenly, he leaned over, sniffing the air and touching his nose. “What’s that smell…? Eh, you really haven’t made pills recently.”
Lang Cui usually carried the faint bitterness of alchemy, but lately there was only a gentle floral scent.
Lang Cui coughed twice, unwilling to respond. “See for yourself. I’m leaving.”
He floated away on his cloud, unaware of Zhuo Qingyuan’s lingering, intense gaze.
Passing the alchemy room, Lang Cui paused. The furnace lay under a thin layer of dust. This place had been neglected for days.
His body needed the pills stored there, yet he felt no desire for them. His cultivation had stalled, and he cared little.
He stepped over the protective wards and opened the spatial fissure, slipping inside. Within, spring breezes caressed him, birds sang, and flowers bloomed.
Xu Youyu crouched, planting flowers with diligence, when a bright piece of clothing drifted before him. Looking up, he saw Lang Cui, arms crossed, his expression cool but tinged with curiosity. “What are you doing now?”
Xu Youyu asked daily: “Can you let me out today?”
Lang Cui shook his head, lips tight with displeasure. Xu Youyu ignored him, instead squatting beside him and tugging lightly at his sleeve.
Xu Youyu sighed softly. “Fellow Daoist.”
Lang Cui froze, eyelashes fluttering. He released her grip silently, pursing his lips.
He treated Xue Cuo kindly, but with him, he was harsh.
Despite having saved Xue Youyu, he still addressed him formally.
Lang Cui silently dug a small pit, then used his hair to transform it into a tree sapling, awkwardly planting it beside Xu Youyu’s flowers.
Xu Youyu, whose temper had remained pleasant for a month, frowned and asked, “What kind of tree is this? It looks ugly.”
Although it was true, Lang Cui shot up his head, trembling as if he had been beaten, dazed as though turned to stone.
His eyes reddened, and he bent to dig at the tree. Abruptly, he stood and grabbed Xu Youyu by the collar. “Ugly? Where?”
Xu Youyu: “It’s black and bare.”
Lang Cui lowered his gaze stubbornly. “Not ugly.”
Xu Youyu: “Fellow Daoist…”
After struggling, he finally nodded, praising it against his better judgement. Lang Cui snorted in response.
Having been in the space for a month, Xu Youyu thought of other pastimes. “Hungry? Want something to eat?”
Lang Cui coughed, glanced around, rolled up his sleeves, and despite his frail body, waded into the water. “I’ll catch fish for you.”
Hours later, he left the secret space.
Unbeknownst to him, Zhuo Qingyuan soon followed the traces he left.
He and Lang Cui had grown up together, and he had always cared for her deeply. Yet recently, he sensed Lang Cui was hiding something.
Prideful like Lang Cui, he would not usually follow or spy. Yet this first attempt revealed Lang Cui’s secret.
Standing before the spatial fissure, arms crossed, Zhuo Qingyuan observed with interest. “There are quite a few wards here… what is being hidden here?”
Intrigued, he carefully dismantled them.
The fissure shimmered faintly, filled with the fragrance of flowers and the song of birds, a refreshing, uplifting aroma.
The handsome young swordsman turned his back to Zhuo Qingyuan, carefully filling the soil around an ungainly sapling. “Back already? Did you leave something behind?”
Lang Cui had gone out to fetch a flower seed. With an excellent memory, he never forgot anything he had seen. On the way back to the secret realm, he encountered fellow disciples and could not simply walk past them.
One shidi’s eyes lit up. “Lang Cui-shixiong, you’re skilled in alchemy. Have you seen this Letter to Fellow Daoists?”
Lang Cui cast a faint, uninterested glance. He had spent more than enough time killing and refining pills; nothing here intrigued him.
Tilting his head slightly, he asked in mild curiosity, “What is it about?”
The shidi excitedly poured out his thoughts, declaring how moved he was. Lang Cui remained disinterested, even impatient. Luckily, the shidi was not entirely tactless. Noticing Lang Cui’s fatigue, he fell silent, then cautiously asked, “Shixiong… you make pills often, have you ever…”
Lang Cui lifted his eyelids. The shidi blushed, scratched his head, and muttered, “You… you definitely wouldn’t have.”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Foolish.
Lang Cui bid the shidi farewell and returned to his cave. Opening the entrance to the secret realm, he was still pondering how to give the seeds to Xu Youyu in a reasonable, sensible way.
“Xiao Cui, you’re back,” came Zhuo Qingyuan’s voice.
The faint floral fragrance that normally filled the secret realm had vanished, replaced by a subtle, iron-like scent. Zhuo Qingyuan’s hands, as pale as snow, moved carefully over a sheet of human skin, smoothing its wrinkles with meticulous care. He smiled lightly. “I’ve taken care of it for you. Use it to make your pills. When you’re done, just give me one.”
Lang Cui’s grip on the flower seed faltered, and it fell silently to the ground.
……
Night fell.
Xue Cuo was in his cave, conferring with his companions about the next day’s plans, when suddenly someone spoke, “Where is that bloody stench coming from?”
The speaker raised his head and froze. “Who…?”
Xue Cuo looked up in puzzlement, but everyone’s faces had hardened, alert, and they parted like water, revealing the newcomer.
Snow-white skin, a crane-feathered cloak…
The young man looked almost spectral. Close scrutiny revealed a body trembling violently, half-drenched in blood. His voice was hoarse and barely intelligible. “Xianghuo Divine Dao… can it gather souls?”
Xue Cuo clenched his fists, eyes narrowing. “Gather souls? For whom?”
The young man remained silent. Slowly, he raised trembling hands, bloodied and still slick with moisture. He wiped them carefully, then produced a roll of skin from his bosom.
His shivering intensified, his whole body quivering.
“Xu… Youyu.”
