The feather fan moved first.
A violent gale rose in response, roaring as it swept forth. Within the wind, ice and iron seemed to take form, clad in armour, brimming with killing intent.
Yin Feixue did not move. Only when the cold wind lifted his silver hair did he raise a hand and draw his blade. The motion was unhurried, yet none could discern how that stroke was made.
“Kong Yun. You intend to kill me.”
“Spare me the prattle.”
Blade-light flashed, merciless and unrelenting.
Only after the space of three quarters of an hour did the clash of steel finally fall silent.
Yin Feixue stood with his blade in hand, blood dripping steadily. He was upon a steep slope, while at its base lay a stretch of level ground. No bamboo grew there, only a plain stone pool.
The fallen leaves and loose earth had been swept clean away, leaving behind dark, heavy soil, as though scoured by a fierce wind.
The peacock descended beside the pool, breathing faintly. His splendid robes were torn, half a trailing hem fallen into the water, spreading like petals.
His dark hair hung loose, his features cold as frost. “Your Dao prevents the demon path from ever truly mending. You deserve to die.”
Yin Feixue held his blade, laughter clear and unrestrained. The black edge pointed straight at Kong Yun. “So you would kill me? Then how are you any different from those human marauders?”
Kong Yun gave a cold laugh. “You have never stood where I stand. You have never seen the suffering of the demon race under the weight of the Great Dao. What could you possibly understand? You speak only for yourself.”
Xue Feixue tipped his head back and laughed. Neither could persuade the other.
“Then we shall settle it through the Dao.”
At his words, they clashed once more.
Kong Yun’s gaze was sharp and cold. Every strike he made was meant to kill.
Yet Yin Feixue’s blade was too swift. It was difficult to believe he was but a mixed-blood demon, with no inheritance of any ancient lineage. Against Kong Yun, he matched him evenly, never falling behind.
They battled in mid-air.
At last, Kong Yun revealed a flaw.
Yin Feixue seized it in an instant. The black blade shot forth, swift as lightning, about to deal a grievous blow, yet for some reason, it veered aside by the slightest margin.
Kong Yun’s pupils contracted. It was the perfect opening. In that instant, he struck, intent on ending him.
A flash of clear light intercepted the blow, preventing the kill.
Warm blood scattered through the air.
Yin Feixue dropped to one knee, blood welling from his chest. He lifted his head, golden eyes drawn into narrow slits. Though grievously wounded, he laughed on.
“…Ha… ha…”
Kong Yun stood with hands clasped behind him, voice cold. “What are you laughing at?”
Yin Feixue lifted his chin, laughter catching in his breath, yet bright with genuine delight. “Did you not notice?”
Kong Yun’s expression turned icy. He stepped forward, bent low, and seized Yin Feixue by the throat. “Nonsense. A dying man, and still you prattle?”
Yin Feixue only smiled. Without warning, he swung his blade in a fierce arc. Kong Yun frowned and stepped back, widening the distance between them.
Fine threads of cold rain began to fall. For a moment, Kong Yun seemed dazed by it. Then he saw Yin Feixue seated cross-legged upon the cliff.
“Kong Yun,” he said, “did Xue Cuo ask you to promise him something?”
Kong Yun’s expression darkened. In that instant, he remembered.
Yin Feixue raised a hand, catching the soft rain. Cool drops gathered in his palm, carrying a faint fragrance of lotus. Without restraint, he lowered his head and breathed it in deeply, his smile bright.
“He asked me not to harm his dearest friend. I agreed. And I kept my word.”
“That flash just now.”
“It was a protective talisman he left behind. Mine is spent, but yours remains.”
Kong Yun stilled, his gaze drawn to the fine rain falling upon Yin Feixue. The threads of rain lingered, washing away fatigue, healing the wounds left by the quills.
[Xiao Yun, do not kill him.]
[If you insist, then I will refrain.]
The young man’s voice seemed still to echo at his ear. Kong Yun’s hand clenched. A cold gleam entered his eyes. “You did this deliberately.”
Yin Feixue gave a low laugh. “Young Saint Kong, do you think I would wager my life on chance?”
Kong Yun closed his eyes, fists tightening in anger. He knew he would not strike again today. The moment had passed. Shielded by that rain, Yin Feixue was no longer within his reach.
“Today we have decided victory and defeat, but not life and death,” he said coldly. “If there comes another chance, I will kill you with my own hands.”
Blood lingered at the corner of Yin Feixue’s lips. He wiped it away carelessly, smiling. “Then I am the opposite. If ever you fall into peril, I will save you. I will not allow Xue Cuo to risk his life for you again.”
The words were cold as steel.
Kong Yun’s anger surged anew. “You—”
Yin Feixue met his gaze. Though smiling, the gold of his eyes deepened. He tapped the sheath of his black blade lightly. The snow-white tassel at its hilt stood in striking contrast, yet seemed perfectly suited.
“If he calls, I go. If he needs aid, I stand at his side. What have you to compare with me?”
Kong Yun understood. And because he understood, his fury burned all the more fiercely.
“You?” he said with biting scorn. “And you think yourself worthy?”
Yin Feixue rose, laughing. “Heaven does not forbid me. The Great Dao does not deny me. Since neither Heaven nor Dao bars my path, I stand at his side. It is only natural that we walk together to the end of our days.”
Kong Yun laughed in anger. “Delusion. Utter folly.”
Yin Feixue folded his arms, as though finding the remark entirely reasonable. “In this world, the matter of love is nothing but folly.”
Kong Yun’s gaze sharpened. He was about to strike again when the sound of the secret realm opening echoed through the air.
He drew a slow breath, forcing down his rage. In a streak of green light, he departed, leaving only his voice behind. “I will kill you.”
When the light vanished, Yin Feixue gave a sharp hiss and collapsed to his knees, striking the ground with a low grunt. He lay back, fingers brushing the pale tassel, his golden eyes softening.
“Xue Yinbing.”
“What are you doing now?”
He could not stop himself from thinking of him.
…
Xue Cuo dealt with the Great Plague Star Lord, casting him down into the mortal world.
At first, the Star Lord remained arrogant, cursing without cease. Yet as time passed, deprived of food and clothing, he came to know hunger and cold. The eight sufferings of mortal life, untouched for a thousand years, were forced upon him within mere months.
His spiritual power dwindled to nothing. Reduced and wretched, he huddled among beggars for warmth.
They did not know who he was. Seeing only an old, frail man, they would sometimes share what little food they had.
Though he scorned them in his heart, hunger gnawed at him until his hands betrayed him, devouring the food in great gulps, even gnawing the bones clean.
Resentment coiled endlessly within him. He longed for death, yet dared not die. Without offerings or bribes for the officials of the underworld, he would only face utter annihilation. So he drifted in a daze, begging day after day.
One day, a group of physicians arrived, claiming to be folk of the Great Marsh, sent under the goddess’s command to heal the sick.
The beggars were fearful at first, but after much persuasion, they agreed to follow them to a fishing village.
Along the way lay fertile fields, clear ponds, groves of mulberry and bamboo, paths crossing one another. Upon the marsh, fishing boats sang in the evening light, pleasure craft weaving to and fro.
Villagers brought them clothing, hot tea, and broth, easing their weariness.
The Star Lord fixed his gaze upon a roast chicken set before him. The moment the village head gave word to begin, he lunged forward, tears streaming as he devoured it.
Then, catching sight of a drifting cloud overhead, he seized the village head. “Who is that upon the cloud?”
The headman looked up and cupped his hands. “An immortal from Goddess Peak. He is presently seeking worthy teachers.”
With some pride, he added, “My grandson is soon to enter the mountains to cultivate. I hear that is the senior disciple of the Goddess Temple.”
The Star Lord dropped his drumstick. He gave a low sound of recognition.
After eating his fill and weighing the matter, he gritted his teeth. Better to submit of his own accord to that accursed prodigy.
At that moment, Xue Cuo was discussing affairs with Ren Shu when a disciple hurried in. “Eldest shixiong, there is a strange old man at the gate, claiming to be a Star Lord.”
The Goddess Temple now had many new disciples. Xue Cuo had been troubled over the lack of instructors. At the mention of a Star Lord, his eyes lit with interest.
Ren Shu met his gaze and understood at once. “I will go and see.”
He followed the disciple outside and found the old man standing stiffly, chest puffed out in pretence. One glance was enough to recognise him as the Star Lord cast down by the goddess.
Ren Shu’s eyes narrowed. Without a word, he strode forward and struck. Ignoring the old man’s cries of surrender and pleas to see their eldest shixiong, he beat him soundly, leaving him wailing.
Just then, the gate opened, and a voice called out, “Gege, do not be so unreasonable.”
Ren Shu was about to strike again when the Star Lord scrambled behind the newcomer, clutching at him in panic. “Stop, stop. I have come to surrender.”
Ren Shu refused to let him off, snarling, “Don’t stop me. Let me kill him and offer him up to Heaven.”
The Star Lord was frightened half to death. Just as he was at his wits’ end, a pair of strong hands shielded him, and he was deeply moved. Once a celestial immortal, now a dragon stranded in shallow waters, living worse than a dog—caught between misery and relief, he naturally developed an intense fondness for the blue-robed youth protecting him, answering almost anything he was asked.
Before long, he had inexplicably switched allegiance, becoming a devout follower of the Goddess of the Great Loch. He began teaching the temple disciples immortal arts, working diligently to atone for his sins.
When others muttered, “Have you been duped by that eldest shixiong?”
The Star Lord would instantly flare up, stamping and throwing punches at the air, pointing skyward and cursing, “Such a good man! Keep your mouth shut. You’re jealous. Get out, go on, off with you!”
He even gave up the whereabouts of more than a dozen fellow immortals who had descended to the mortal realm, basking in the approving gaze of the blue-robed youth.
“Just a trifling matter. Not worth mentioning.”
Xue Cuo smiled. “Star Lord, such noble righteousness. I’ll bring them over at once for a reunion.”
Carrying the Qiankun Bowl and an incense burner, he went about “persuading” fallen immortals along the way, bringing them back to Qianyun Marsh to serve as instructors, with the added bonus of a personal audience beneath an ancient god’s gaze.
In such an atmosphere, the disciples of the Goddess Temple advanced at astonishing speed. Whether in temperament or cultivation, they rose like fireworks… only ever higher.
Qianyun Marsh stretched for thousands of li, its population steadily flourishing. And those who had long wandered afar began returning home.
“Xue Cuo! Hahaha, you’ve really made something of yourself!”
A scruffy Daoist, stubble covering his face, rode in on a stone dragon, leading thousands of wandering cultivators as they descended boldly from the clouds.
Beside him stood a woman with a blade on her back. Her face, as still as well water, softened at the sight of the incense smoke curling from the statue within the marsh.
Such a commotion could not escape Xue Cuo’s notice. In a flash of light, he appeared in the sky, astonishment and delight plain upon his face. “Fang Longxi shishu!”
Fang Longxi roared with laughter, leaping down and circling him, clicking his tongue in amazement before pulling him into a fierce embrace and thumping his shoulder. “When Ah Zhu came to find me, I didn’t believe it. It really is you! Good, good! Hah! Your shishu here’s been drifting about for over a decade. I couldn’t make ends meet, so I’ve come to you.”
His voice rang like a bell, his presence undiminished. His cultivation was deep and refined, with not the slightest trace of hardship.
Xue Cuo was practically wagging an invisible tail, overjoyed beyond measure, eager to drag Fang Longxi straight into the temple rolls. “Shishu, quickly, come inside. We’ll talk properly!”
That very night, the Goddess Temple gained a substantial influx of mid-tier strength. Its disciples, trembling slightly, found themselves receiving the personal attention of formidable seniors.
These loose cultivators were wild and unrestrained, fiery by nature, ready to explode into battle at the slightest provocation, bringing a lively, almost unruly energy to the temple’s previously serene and austere atmosphere.
Xue Cuo drank himself into a stupor, slinging an arm round Fang Longxi as they poured out years of hardship to one another.
Ah Zhu sat quietly below. Suddenly, the wind stirred the chimes in the corridor, setting them ringing in a clear, tinkling cascade.
She had been waiting, yet the one she hoped for did not come. With a faint, self-mocking smile, she raised her cup and drank deeply, each toast offered to herself.
When she was lightly drunk, a man’s hand came to rest gently upon the wine flask. Through blurred eyes, she looked up.
The young man wore black, his features handsome, his eyes bright and clear. He looked at her with unwavering focus, almost dazed.
Ah Zhu murmured, “You… didn’t want to see me?”
He froze. Moisture welled in his eyes. He pressed his lips together, but tears still fell, one by one. Suddenly, he leaned forward and pulled into his arms the person he had missed for twenty years.
“Shijie… I’ve missed you so much.”
Ah Zhu blinked, then lifted her gaze to the wind chimes above. All at once, the warmth of drink seemed to surge through her, flushing her cheeks crimson.
Meanwhile, Xue Cuo tugged Fang Longxi away from the banquet, slipping off quietly.
Fang Longxi, who could drink a thousand cups without falling, grumbled in a conspiratorial whisper, “You brat, let me have a look. Lovers finally reunited. I ought to contribute something.”
Xue Cuo darkened and dragged him along. “Shishu, if you go out now, you’ll be breaking up a pair of mandarin ducks.”
Fang Longxi muttered, took a hearty swig from his gourd, and followed after him regardless, pushing the door open with a bang. “Fine then, you can keep me company instead.”
Mid-sentence, he felt something was off. He looked up. Inside the room stood a handsome man, brows faintly furrowed, hair white as snow.
“You…”
Xue Cuo froze, then broke into delighted surprise. “Feixue!”
He promptly shoved Fang Longxi back out and slammed the door shut with a sharp crack, leaving Fang Longxi staring, nose smarting, from wine gourd to door.
“Xue Cuo, you little wretch!”
Inside the room—
Xue Cuo stood there, arms half-spread in surprise, already pulled into Yin Feixue’s embrace. Though somewhat baffled, he still softened, asking, “What are you doing here?”
Yin Feixue buried his face in his hair. “I missed you.”
