Almost at the very moment that ancient voice resounded, Xue Cuo heard another—
The Southern Great Lord.
Xue Cuo, you—
The words were cut off. A different voice spoke, cold and cutting:
Great Lord, a gambler ought to accept the loss of a wager. In ages past the Demon Great Sage gambled away the royal court. Now you have gambled away your chance at resurrection. You are forever one move too late.
Buzz—
Blazing fire burst into being out of nothingness. Xue Cuo swayed in the high air.
The vast, burning sun hurtled toward him. Yet, it was no longer searing and apocalyptic. Instead it felt like the warmth of early spring, a March sun laid gently upon the skin.
The bright blue firmament dimmed without warning. A magnificent, desolate sunset poured across the mountains. Ten thousand rays of crimson cloud unfurled, fierce and resplendent. And within that vast hush, a deep voice sounded:
Young friend, I shall form a good affinity with you.
From within the solar disc stepped a towering figure. His body bore the erosion of immeasurable years… remote, primordial. The rolling lines of his musculature seemed to carry within them mountains and rivers; every rise and fall thrummed with restrained, oceanic strength.
Strange vermilion markings traced his chest, his arms, his legs. Brilliant solar discs hung from his ears. Behind his head shimmered the Dao-manifestation of the Golden Crow. The radiance was so intense that his features could scarcely be discerned.
…
At the same time—
Within the Heavenly Palace, the Day-Patrolling Deities responsible for observing the mortal world started in alarm.
“Hiss, why has the sky darkened?”
“The sun has set at the wrong hour! Something is amiss. Report to a Star Lord at once!”
A junior immortal, trembling, flipped open the celestial register.
“Y-yes… but which Star Lord?”
The Day-Patrolling Star Lord and his attendants exchanged looks.
Heavenly bureaucracy was notoriously labyrinthine; duties overlapped, authority blurred. If they reported rashly, the matter would be passed from palace to palace until someone found a scapegoat. And that scapegoat would assuredly be them.
The Star Lord stroked his beard, sat down, and sipped his tea. “No haste. No haste. Send a memorandum first to the Palaces of Heavenly Fate, Heavenly Principle, and Heavenly Calculation. Enquire which office ought properly to receive our petition.”
“But… by the time replies return, it would have been ten days… perhaps half a month will have passed! The matter will be over.”
The Star Lord snorted. “That is precisely the point. We act in accordance with Heavenly Law. What fault can be laid at our door? If someone bears responsibility for delay, that lies with the higher palaces. Tell me, how much immortal stipend do you draw each month? Enough to contend with monsters born of a Great Calamity?”
The lesser deities brightened in sudden comprehension, though one still ventured nervously: “But the sun is under the direct supervision of the Great Emperors. If something truly grave occurs—”
“Grave?” the Star Lord waved a hand. “He has been dead for over ten thousand years. The Primordial Divine Nail long ago burned away his consciousness. What could possibly happen?”
Relieved murmurs spread.
“Nevertheless,” the Star Lord added sagely, “we must maintain appearances. Bring out the divine artefact and haul the sun back toward its proper noon position. Remember. Drag once, adjust thrice. Show diligence. Perhaps one of the Great Emperors will take notice, and we shall rise.”
The lesser gods departed delighted, praising the prudence of their superior.
…
High above—
Xue Cuo’s vision had dissolved into blinding white. Tears streamed unbidden from his scorched eyes. Perhaps he had already gone blind.
His voice was hoarse, stripped of its former clarity. “Great Golden Crow… can you save him?”
The Golden Crow stood wreathed in solar fire, divine light coiling about his fingers. His voice was deep and resonant, suffused with solar force. The Great Dao of the world is ever shifting. This calamity was written in his fate.
Twelve years ago, the Little Peacock entrusted you with the Southern Lord’s forbidden technique. Today, by that technique, you have brought him before me.
Thus does cause meet effect.
He smiled faintly and extended a finger to Kong Yun’s brow. An emerald peacock feather flew forth and began to burn. Before it was consumed, a voice emerged from within the flame… cool, elegant, austere: Eastern God Xihe, did you not once say you would never share the same heaven with me?
The Golden Crow laughed aloud. Heaven’s Way is no longer that of ten thousand years past. Great Lord, why do you still fail to grasp this?
A cold chuckle answered. Our enmity spans millennia. Do not feign magnanimity.
The Golden Crow’s tone remained expansive. You always assume the worst of us. Had the demon race once spoken a single word in favour of the Divine Path, would matters have fallen thus?
Fortune wanes, the Southern Lord replied lightly. Blame not others.
Then the Golden Crow turned to Xue Cuo.
The Nine-Bend Goddess gifted you a Qiankun Bowl. I too shall not be stingy. The mortal world is filled with parting. Today I grant you one fulfilment.
In his vast palm lay a single drop of nectar.
His gaze grew distant, suffused with remembrance… of campaigns long past, of brothers who had fallen one by one, of a consort who had betrayed him, of comrades lost. They had met when heaven and earth were newborn, endured three great calamities together, and perished ten thousand years ago.
This tear was left behind by the Lord of the Lunar Yin. The purest thing beneath heaven. I give it to you.
He swept his hand gently before Xue Cuo’s eyes. Mountains and rivers unfurled across his vision. The world lay bathed in glowing cloud-light.
The tear descended into Kong Yun’s brow. Xue Cuo rubbed his eyes and patted Kong Yun’s cheek.
“Xiao Yun… Xiao Yun.” No response.
He looked up. The peacock feather had not yet fully burned. The Golden Crow hovered serenely and inclined his head.
Understanding dawned. Xue Cuo cupped his hands and bowed. “Great Lord.”
The feather shifted. Its remaining ash took on the outline of a noble deity clad in emerald plumes. Consciousness flowed from it once more:
For his sake, you have come this far. Good. Not all humans are creatures of ingratitude.
Yet the demon race exhausted all effort to awaken me, not to fulfil your wish.
The Feather Clan perished to the last. You alone saved a single survivor. A solitary tree does not make a forest; resentment may yet grow.
If you refuse him my blood and body, what path remains?
Xue Cuo, the demon path is itself one of the Great Dao. If the Dao stands incomplete, beneath heavenly tribulation, can the Goddess of the Great Loch truly establish her great work and bear Dao-fruit?
The Golden Crow had given him leave to speak directly.
Xue Cuo wiped the blood from his lips. He first kowtowed deeply to both deities before lifting his head.
“Great Lord. I, Xue Cuo, bear the lineage of the Goddess of the Great Loch, descendant of an upper god. When I once received instruction beneath Her Ladyship, I often heard her speak of the Southern Peacock Great Sage. He is one of the Six Saints of the demon race… pure of nature, steadfast of spirit, vast in the Divine Dao. To seize the body of a junior descendant, such a thing cannot be the true intention of the Great Sage.”
A faint gleam flickered through the burning feather. Continue.
Xue Cuo exhaled slowly.
“The Great Sage did not strike at me. You allowed me to bear Kong Yun upward all the way to this place. I dare to surmise… that within your heart there remains care for your descendants.”
“The demon race has withered to this extent. Amidst this Great Calamity, survival itself is uncertain. As their ancestor, beholding such a scene. How could you not feel sorrow?”
He bowed his head. “I understand the Great Sage’s grief.”
“So,” Xue Cuo said steadily, “if the Great Lord is willing, I shall teach the demon race the method of reshaping a Dao-body through the power of vows. Let the Great Sage return openly and honourably, stainless and upright.”
The peacock feather hung in silence. After a moment, it gave a faint laugh.
Indeed, worthy of the Goddess of the Great Loch’s disciple. A mind with seven apertures clear and bright. No wonder She entered the game before us and laid out such a vast design.
The demon race, ten thousand years of grief. Without descendants such as Kong Yun, how could we endure? I shall not harm him.
If he attains immortality and sainthood, it will be the fortune of our kind.
The feather burned away inch by inch, leaving behind a final drift of ash.
Only then did Xue Cuo swallow. His back was stiff with strain; he braced himself against the drifting clouds, drawing great, ragged breaths. The voice of the Golden Crow sounded beside him, amused.
To bend when required, to stand when required, This is the mark of a true man.
Xue Cuo managed a wan smile. “Great Golden Crow.”
The divine body of the Golden Crow was too radiant to approach. The blazing aura folded in upon itself, condensing into a three-legged golden bird wrought of fire. It landed before Xue Cuo, strutting with imperial pride, then coughed twice. Two small tongues of flame drifting outward.
Xue Cuo, since fate binds us so neatly… you still possess half a bowl of Golden Pool Water, do you not?
Xue Cuo blinked, then scratched his head. From within his spiritual altar he retrieved the carefully hidden Qiankun Bowl. Within it shimmered half a bowl of golden liquid.
The Golden Crow’s eyes flared bright. It cried out in delight, circled him once, and its flames reshaped themselves into a lamp. Xue Cuo poured the Golden Pool Water into the waiting fire.
With a resonant cry, the Golden Crow seized the lamp in its beak and flew toward the sun. At once, the sky rang with the grinding of chains.
The sun, which had sunk low toward the mountains, was suddenly bound fast by invisible fetters and dragged back toward its rightful place in the firmament.
The Golden Crow struggled. Once, twice… but could not break free. Bit by bit, it was hauled away. Yet its voice remained majestic, deep and steady, without the slightest trace of decline.
Xue Cuo, the Divine Dao is arduous. Cultivate diligently. Restore the incense of the gods.
Xue Cuo stood in mid-air and saluted with cupped fists as the blazing disc receded into the heavens. The winds among the clouds stilled. At last his strength failed.
He toppled backwards, but did not fall upon cloud. Half-conscious, he forced his eyes open.
Three thousand strands of dark hair spilled before his sight. Kong Yun was holding him; they sat together amidst the drifting vapours. The rosy afterglow faded gradually, and the fierce sun reclaimed the blue sky.
They looked at one another. Their hands found each other, fingers tightening, holding fast.
“I’m sorry.”
“You damned peacock.”
Kong Yun smiled faintly.
In that instant, much became clear to him. He had passed once through life and death; no regrets lingered. All former doubts dissolved. What, then, remained to fear?
“Xue Cuo,” he said lightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear and drawing one knee up. Though dishevelled, he remained elegant, almost careless in his grace. He regarded his closest friend. “If one day I attain immortality, would you have me take a woman’s form, or a man’s?”
Xue Cuo nearly choked on the wind. He forced his battered body upright, instinctively hugging himself. “What?”
Kong Yun’s tone was utterly frank. “I ask whether you would have me male or female.”
Xue Cuo stared.
Seeing that the astonishment was genuine, Kong Yun explained calmly:
“The peacock bloodline is pure. Only upon ascension do we assume a fixed Dao body. You saved my life. Our bond runs deep. If you wish me to take a woman’s form, I shall do so, and we may become husband and wife. If you wish me to remain male, then I shall do so, and we remain brothers.”
Xue Cuo coughed up blood, trembling like a candle in the wind. “That… that is your decision.”
“Then I choose female.”
Xue Cuo’s mind went blank.
Kong Yun… becoming Kong Yun no longer, but—
The words husband and wife struck him like a hammer-blow. He shuddered. “You’re choosing… a woman’s body?”
“I do not choose,” Kong Yun replied evenly. “You choose.”
Shock warred with something far more complicated in Xue Cuo’s chest. Kong Yun had always been his dearest friend. Now, he was forcing him to decide the shape of his future self.
After a long silence, Xue Cuo managed hoarsely: “Xiao Yun… your Dao is yours to walk.”
“Will you choose?”
“No.”
“Then I choose a woman’s form.”
“….”
Kong Yun added mildly, “Male or female does not alter my Dao body. Nor my Dao heart.”
Xue Cuo stared at him for a long moment. Then, at last, he exhaled, clapped a hand upon Kong Yun’s shoulder, and muttered: “Let’s remain brothers.”
Kong Yun considered… and nodded.
“Very well.”
…
Together they returned to the Demon Royal Court.
Having absorbed the Tear of Lunar Yin and tempered his body beneath a Great Lord’s power, Kong Yun’s bloodline shone purer than before; his demonic strength surged, profound and inexhaustible.
Before the stunned gazes of White Tiger Elder and Elder Yishan, he descended from the clouds. In full view of the court, he struck down the White Snake Elder with a single palm.
The might of a demon king settled upon the air, heavy as a mountain. Ignoring the scrutiny of all present, Kong Yun stood with hands clasped behind his back and spoke coldly:
“From this day forth, the Demon Court shall acknowledge me as king. No more shall demons be slain for their blood. Any who disobey shall be executed without mercy.”
Above, Xue Cuo lay sprawled upon a drifting cloud, every bone aching. He had no desire to move.
The sky stretched vast and distant. The wind wandered without haste. Heaven and earth felt immeasurable. Then footsteps approached. Xue Cuo tilted his head.
A young man stood there clad in black armour over white robes, long hair flowing like silk, golden eyes bright as molten metal. A blade rested in his hand.
“Xue Yinbing.”
“Yin… Feixue.”
The words were not yet finished before he was pulled into a fierce embrace.
In that instant, the stone lodged within Yin Feixue’s heart finally fell away. He held him tightly, breathing in the faint fragrance of lotus.
In all his life, he had walked through countless battles of life and death. Yet never, not once, had he known such fear. Such terror at the thought of losing someone.
