Xue Cuo would not allow them to ascend the immortal path, nor would he permit them to cast aside all living beings and depart in plain sight.
If this broken, battered mortal world was to be destroyed, then they would all be destroyed together.
The immortals did not regard a mere human disciple as worth their notice, yet the three looming phantoms behind him forced them to take him seriously. They halted and brought out their finest techniques.
Xue Cuo stood alone against them, fighting until heaven and earth changed colour. His entire body was drenched in blood. His talismans shifted endlessly, impossible to predict, while the three great Dao manifestations behind him transformed without cease, killing without form or trace.
An immortal moved to take his head and scoffed, “Xianghuo Dao heretic. A nest of undying vermin. Be crushed beneath this heavenly tribulation.”
“Oh?”
The manifestation wreathed in three thousand peacock plumes suddenly transformed into a tall and beautiful deity. Clad in resplendent robes, expression cold and distant, he raised the Wheel of Purification in his hand. Its radiance flared, shielding Xue Cuo.
“What is that thing?”
“Do not waste words. Its aura is decayed, it cannot match us. Kill it.”
A deluge of magical artefacts blotted out the Wheel’s brilliance. Peacock feathers scattered in all directions, igniting emerald-green demonic flames.
The Southern Peacock Great Sage held the immortals at bay alone. His divine voice was soft and lingering as he spoke to Xue Cuo.
“Xue Cuo, if you do not leave now, when will you?”
Blown back by the gale, Xue Cuo faltered, then looked up at the heavens. Beneath the ninefold celestial palaces hung the sword of heavenly tribulation, poised to annihilate all life.
“Many thanks, Great Sage. But in such a situation, how long can you hold them off?”
“Do not concern yourself. This is a debt I owe the Great Loch. Tell her this. She seeks to act for all living beings, but are my demon kind not also living beings? If the land is saved in the future, I ask only that she treat us equally.”
As his words fell, the sky tore open.
A vast and towering demon court descended upon the mortal world. Countless demons surged forward, eager for battle, throwing themselves at the ascending cultivators.
The young peacock spread his wings and activated the perfected Supreme Freedom Technique, circling the heavens as he called out loudly,
“Xue Cuo!”
Xue Cuo turned sharply, delight flashing across his face. “Xiao Yun, why are you here?”
Kong Yun’s voice was cool and clear as he flew to his side. “Come up. I will take you higher. The Great Sage said the Goddess of the Great Loch has not yet fully broken free. To end the heavenly tribulation, one final step remains.”
Xue Cuo glanced back once at the demon host, then leapt onto Kong Yun’s back. With a beat of his wings, Kong Yun became a streak of azure light, the true Supreme Freedom Technique.
“Hold tight.”
The streak shot away, weaving past falling heavenly fire, soaring straight towards the celestial palaces. The Golden Crow’s manifestation lingered in the sky, wreathed in flames as it laughed loudly within the blazing sun.
“In life, you and I fought without end. Who would have thought that in death we would stand together to save the world?”
The Southern Peacock Sage stood with arrogant bearing, glancing aside with a cold snort. “Who stands with you? I act for my own kind, nothing more.”
The Golden Crow wheeled within the sun. As the solar disc flared with its final blaze, his laughter faded. “Very well. It is time I fulfilled my promise.”
Kong Yun carried Xue Cuo ever higher. Midway through their ascent, a sharp blade fell from above, piercing through Kong Yun’s wing.
He cried out in pain, his form collapsing into human shape as he plummeted.Xue Cuo immediately reached out and caught him. Peacock feathers were torn away, revealing stark white bone beneath. Kong Yun gritted his teeth and glared upwards.
“They have come.”
Xue Cuo had already sensed it. His expression darkened as he hurriedly fed Kong Yun medicine, yet the wound refused to close, exuding the faint aura of a Heavenly Dao injury.
The clouds above were swept aside, revealing a powerful severed hand clutching a mottled bronze sword. Though incomplete, it radiated a vast and boundless presence.
Kong Yun clutched his arm. “A new god from the heavens.”
Thunder roared. Violet lightning split the firmament. A cold voice crashed down, shaking blood from their mouths and noses as whispers spread through the sky.
“A demon must be slain. Where is the mandate of heaven?”
“Here.”
A celestial deity in dark robes stepped forward, holding a court tablet. From his lofty vantage, he looked down upon Xue Cuo. The tablet in his hand transformed into an ancient circular artefact, three concentric rings representing heaven, earth, and humanity, with six bronze bells hanging from its rim, each toll echoing the fate of living beings.
“Mortal, do you know your crime?”
Xue Cuo lifted his head, his hands slick with blood, and shouted, “You call yourself a god and question my crimes. Then tell me, what crime have I committed?”
The deity did not answer. His gaze hardened. “Obstinate.”
The bronze bells unravelled into countless threads, slicing down towards Xue Cuo, seeking to kill him through the weaving of fate itself.
Yet before they reached him, the threads vanished.
The deity hissed and tried again, but the artefact would not respond.
He turned to his superiors. “This…”
The assembled gods murmured among themselves, as though encountering such a thing for the first time. The deity retreated, fiddling with the silent bells.
“Enough. Where is Heavenly Punishment?”
“This lesser immortal is present.”
The God of Heavenly Punishment stepped forward, holding a massive bow. No arrow lay upon the string, yet wind and fire coiled about it. He drew the bow and aimed at the figure in the clouds.
Xue Cuo’s heart sank. He stepped before Kong Yun, talismans snapping in the wind.
“You are a god. Why do you not look upon this world? You do not save, yet you would kill me.”
The deity cast a disdainful glance, only to find his bow utterly unresponsive, as though it had lost its very spirit. No matter what he did, no tribulation thunder would fall.
“What is this…”
Xue Cuo’s chest heaved, sweat pouring down his face. Yet after a long moment, nothing happened.
Kong Yun, clutching his arm, frowned. “Did you bribe them?”
Xue Cuo snapped, “I would sooner feed dogs than bow to these feathered gods.”
Kong Yun frowned in confusion. “Then what are they doing?”
Heaven’s mandate could not bind him. Heavenly punishment could not strike him. The laws, fate, and order of heaven all fell silent.
They began frantically searching through the registers of destiny.
“Strange. Why can we not find him?”
“Who is he? Check his past life.”
“Nothing. Let me check further back.”
“Well?”
“There is nothing. No such person exists in the records. I cannot find him. Come and look. Have I searched wrongly?”
They scoured the records, yet found no trace of his origin or past. A strange silence spread among the gods.
Then suddenly, the heavens blazed with light. A crimson sun tore through the darkness, blazing into existence. Like fire itself, like light itself, it cleansed all corruption and burned away every evil.
Within that radiance, a god knelt upon one knee, wreathed in flame, his body marked with blood-red totems. His form rose like mountains, his will vast and unconquerable, seizing that portion of the heavens.
The Golden Crow, slumbering for ten thousand years, opened its eyes and slowly rose. Its formless golden gaze fell upon the new gods, and in that instant, two of them were reduced to nothing.
“Fire! Fire! Why has it awakened?”
“Inform the immortals at once. The old calamity has risen. The heavens will be overturned!”
A heavy step resounded. The giant strode forth from the blazing sun, stepping out from the coffin that had bound him for so long. Laughing loudly, he ran across the sky towards the opened firmament.
“I have come.”
The blazing radiance nearly blinded Xue Cuo and Kong Yun. They dared not look directly, hearing only the frantic cries of the gods as the might of heaven shook the firmament. Severed limbs rained from above.
“Do not panic. Bring the God-Slaying Spear. Inform the star lords. Today, we slay a god once more.”
Chains were yanked tight around the Golden Crow, restraining him even as he raged.
“Golden Crow, you truly are finished.”
A clear, ethereal female voice rang out.
Boundless waters surged upward, a divine river suspended across the heavens. A deity in yellow robes stepped forward, countless dao manifestations rising behind her.
The Golden Crow stood upon blazing fire, scorching the earth below. “So, you have come as well.”
The Goddess of the Nine Bend Yellow River struck with a vast tide, crashing into the heavens. Her eyes shone with terrifying divine light.
“Let us see who stands as the lesser one.”
The Golden Crow laughed. Striking his fists together, he said, “Good. Today, we slaughter cultivators again and exalt the divine path.”
A divine voice sounded beside Xue Cuo.
“Xue Cuo, the Golden Crow and I will hold back the heavenly gods. The fate of this world rests with you. The Great Loch has not yet fully broken free. You must aid her.”
Xue Cuo clasped his fists, not daring to look back at the blazing divine light. He released Kong Yun’s arm. “Xiao Yun, I must go.”
Kong Yun’s eyes were filled with reluctance. He turned his face aside, unwilling to let Xue Cuo see the tears he could not hold back. “I have to return to the demon host. I cannot see you off.”
Xue Cuo smiled. “Then I will leave the immortals below to you.”
Kong Yun nodded. He grasped Xue Cuo’s shoulder firmly. “Come back alive. I have much I still wish to say to you.”
Xue Cuo gave a faint smile. His figure dissolved into a streak of light and sped away, noticeably slower than before. Kong Yun heard his reply carried on the wind: “All right.”
Only after watching him vanish did Kong Yun transform into a peacock and return to the Demon Court, leading the demon clans to fight alongside the Great Lord.
Above, the Immortal Path blazed with splendour.
Below, the fires of tribulation still raged, calamity unending. Vast ferocious beasts crouched within the night, exhaling gust after gust of chaotic yin wind, stirring the great catastrophe.
Xue Cuo stepped into the gale. The lotus in his hand unfolded layer by layer, transforming into profound Dao resonance that shielded him. Holding the golden lotus like a single flickering flame, he walked alone across the wasteland. Beyond the storm lay only beasts and heavenly tribulation. He had long been prepared. Without the slightest hesitation, he stepped forward.
The darkness receded. From the heights of the Nine Heavens, a clear radiance descended. At its centre stood an immortal, robes flowing, features like a painting, his aura cold and distant.
In his hand was a withered branch, its tip directed at the beast below. The world-devouring Swallowing Viper retreated step by step, its body covered in wounds, as though seized by utter terror.
One hand clasped behind his back, his gaze calm, he seemed as at ease as one returning from a moonlit stroll. The faded blossoms clinging to the branch trembled in the wind, fragile yet unyielding, and somehow capable of cowing an ancient fiend into silence.
He sensed the presence of another and turned slightly, looking towards Xue Cuo.
Xue Cuo looked back. Their eyes met across the void, and a chill hostility surged between them. Then Xue Cuo’s thoughts stirred, and he glanced behind Jun Wuwei.
A woman lay there.
Her dark hair had turned white. Her plain robes were torn and stained with blood. Her great sword lay broken. In her hand remained only a shard of red jade marrow.
Xue Cuo’s pupils constricted. His gaze traced her face again and again, over those familiar features, those familiar clothes. Soundlessly, he mouthed, “Mother.”
She could not hear him. Nor did she seem able to see.
Xue Cuo stared, stunned.
A sudden grief rose in Jun Wuwei’s heart. His once untroubled mind fell into turmoil.
Why, after so many years of planning, had it still come to this? Why had Xue Zhenzhen forced matters to such an extent? Perhaps it would have been better if Xue Cuo had never been born. Then he and the Swordmaster might have ascended together, instead of ending in utter estrangement.
“The Great Dao is fifty, Heaven derives forty-nine, and one escapes. Why is it you who are that one?”
Father and son moved almost at the same instant.
A dazzling sword-light fell from the heavens. This sword was Jun Wuwei’s very soul and life, two aspects of a single being, peerlessly hard and sharp.
It pierced the firmament, tore through the darkness, and shot straight towards Xue Cuo.
Xue Cuo raised his silver brush. With a sweep of his hand, countless talismans surged forth, some transforming into wind and rain, others into Dao manifestations, forming an unbreakable cage.
“Ignite!”
“Trap!”
“Combine!”
The talismans scattered among the stars and collided with that supreme sword. In an instant, they shattered.
Jun Wuwei showed no surprise. Calm as ever, he raised his hand and struck again. Yet the shattered talismans did not fade. They revolved within the sword-light, glimmering faintly.
Xue Cuo spat blood, his eyes cold and distant, as though gazing not upon his father, but an enemy. He gave a low laugh. “The Twelve Heavenly Sword Forms amount to nothing.”
Sword Immortal said nothing. His gaze had always been unclouded; he simply could not see worth in this untalented child, seeing only calamity. He bore no hatred towards Xue Cuo.
Jun Wuwei understood that this world was already beyond saving. He sought to transcend it, to escape the endless chains of cause and consequence, and attain true freedom. Xue Cuo was the cause born of Heaven’s attempt at self-salvation.
But what of it?
His origin was wrong. His Dao was wrong. He had been born only to die, dragging those closest to him down with him. What could be more helpless than that?
He swung his sword again. Its radiance arced like a rainbow, like a grand requiem bringing all things to their end.
At that moment, a single star lit the sky. Then another. And another.
They were as small as fireflies, yet endless, unceasing, gathering into a vast river of stars.
Xue Cuo lifted his gaze, watching the incoming blade. “Stars Shrouding the Moon.”
Swordlight and starlight collided, both shattering. The violent shock made even the Sword of Heavenly Tribulation tremble. The clash of Dao erupted into furious winds that swept in all directions.
Jun Wuwei looked at him in rare surprise.
Xue Cuo, grievously wounded, knelt on one knee. He wiped the blood from his lips and stared back, unyielding.
All of it had happened in a single instant, like lightning.
Freed from Jun Wuwei’s restraint, the Swallowing Viper stirred once more. Yet it no longer dared target Xue Zhenzhen. Instead, its gaze shifted towards the Immortal Path. Above, that path began to dim, as though on the verge of vanishing.
Jun Wuwei could no longer linger. In this life, he still had one final strike to deliver, one final knot of karma yet unpaid.
The moment had come. Lowering his lashes, he cast one last glance at the woman in the clouds. “Swordmaster.”
A faint smile touched his lips. Then, without hesitation, he rose into the sky and flew straight towards the heavenly tribulation.
Xue Cuo’s inner world shook, true qi surging wildly, on the brink of bursting his body apart. Yet he ignored it. Gritting his teeth, he flung twelve talismans towards Xue Zhenzhen.
Then he drew out the Qiankun Merit Furnace and, beyond the Ninth Heaven, struggled to light three ancient incense sticks.
The Heavenly Dao trembled. A mass of yin fire crashed down, extinguishing the incense and tearing open his flesh.
Someone was shaking the Sword of Heaven, attempting to shatter that blade of great tribulation. The heavens roared with thunder and lightning. The shockwaves surged like tidal waves.
Xue Cuo clenched his teeth, raised the furnace, and tried again. Another gust of yin wind howled in, snuffing it out.
His hands were flayed open, white bone exposed. Sweat poured from him in agony. A broken sound escaped his throat, yet he persisted, again and again, trying to relight the incense.
Then—
A vast Dao-voice resounded through heaven and earth.
A lone figure stood between sky and earth, clutching that frail, withered branch. It trembled, yet neither the raging winds nor the crushing Dao could destroy it.
He pressed forward without turning back, crossing the shattered Great Dao, reaching the far side of the void.
The air stilled. Smoke from the incense finally rose, drifting upward into the Ninth Heaven.
The Swallowing Viper, undying and indestructible, felt a terror it had never known. It reared its head and roared, trying to retreat into the void, but its bloated hunger weighed it down, leaving it nowhere to flee.
At Qianyun Mountain… the Great Loch trembled.
Its once clear blue waters darkened into a deep black. Beneath it, layers of Dao chains shattered, and the deity bound for ages opened its eyes at last.
In an instant, white funeral paper drifted down from the sky. Vast waters surged upward, encircling the firmament. The goddess appeared.
Her form was ethereal. Behind her head shone a luminous wheel like a rudder. The waters of the Great Loch became her flowing robes, manifesting ancient Dao. As she stepped forward, the heavens fell into silence and stillness.
She came to Xue Cuo’s side and gently rested a hand upon his head. His shattered body healed at once. He coughed out remnants of chaotic yin wind.
Jun Wuwei lowered his gaze to her. “Goddess of the Great Loch. You too have come, seeking sainthood.”
Her eyes were a clear, boundless blue, without sorrow or joy, without anger or resentment. With a gesture, she dispersed the clouds, revealing the devastated world below.
Heavenly fire rained down. The earth ran red with blood.
Jun Wuwei remained unmoved. “The malice of all living beings has formed this tribulation. This is their fate.”
“You are one of the Five Divine Maidens. You once sacrificed yourself to preserve the Three Mountains and Five Seas. Yet even such merit could not raise you to sainthood.”
“Because cause and effect are too tangled.”
He looked at her steadily. “The Dao of this world is beyond saving. Only by severing everything, by destroying it and allowing rebirth, can there be a true beginning.”
He stood there, assured of victory. His sword flared once more, radiant as a falling galaxy, blazing across the sky with overwhelming force.
Each stroke clashed against the will of heaven and earth itself, every blow carrying the power to end all things. Mountains collapsed. The land split apart. The seas roared.
Under that terrible swordlight, the Swallowing Viper’s vast body broke apart.
Terror filled its eyes. Its flesh and bones split asunder, shattering into countless fragments.
At last, when that swordlight faded, what remained was boundless silence and emptiness. Only the torn fragments of space and the shattered mountains and rivers bore witness to the power and terror of that strike.
Under that single blow, the whole world seemed to dim. All living things trembled in that instant.
The Sword of Heavenly Tribulation shuddered. Cracks appeared along the Dao inscribed upon it, spreading wider and wider until, like glass, it shattered into countless pieces.
Within those fragments lingered a single thread of light. That light was formless, without substance or shape. It linked the Nine Heavens and sank into chaos, impossible to grasp, impossible to comprehend.
Jun Wuwei stood with his hands behind his back, quietly waiting for that glimmer.
In this life, his merit was complete. In this life, he desired nothing more.
His gaze swept across the myriad beings below, yet his heart did not stir in the slightest. His sword Dao was condensing into form, and his body already sensed that faint, ineffable summons. Time itself seemed like a narrow fissure, and all things in the world were no more than dust slipping through it.
The mortal realm—
The demon court lay in ruins. The Southern Great Lord’s incense-forged body was gradually dissipating. Corpses were strewn everywhere; not a single elite of the demon clans had survived.
The young Peacock King lay fallen, his feathers shattered. His fair, handsome face was frozen in a moment of utmost fury. A gaping hole pierced his chest. His heart no longer beat. His blood had run dry, and he lay there in stillness.
Tiandu City—
A lone white tiger stood amidst a city of corpses. Beside him rose a great flowering tree, its blossoms withered, engulfed in roaring flames.
He gazed towards the high heavens. The black blade in his hand snapped in two. Then, from behind him, came the cry of an infant. He staggered to his feet and turned back towards the city.
In the Eastern Sea, the waters boiled.
A small golden dragon darted to and fro, carrying the aquatic clans to safety, yet even it could not escape the heavenly fire. Its scales peeled away under the flames.
Across the Three Mountains and Five Seas, across the twin continents of the Divine Land… there was only silence.
In the Western Buddhist lands, the light of the sacred mountain dimmed as countless mortals were gathered within. The young monk had ceased his chanting. Gripping a vajra, he fought the heavenly tribulation until his body was nearly destroyed, his features ruined beyond recognition. Yet wherever he looked, he saw only living beings reduced to ash, perishing within the catastrophe. Xi Tao lowered his blood-blurred gaze, unable to bear it any longer.
High above—
Jun Wuwei waited for the moment of ascension. Yet the light did not descend.
He lifted his head. And heard something.
The Dao… was weeping. The Dao could weep?
The glimmer of light drifted away from him. In that instant, he felt his fate draining away. The radiance above him dimmed utterly. His connection to the Great Dao was severed at once, even his sword Dao falling silent.
“No… no…”
He could not believe it. He was the embodiment of the sword Dao in this world. How could he no longer sense the Dao? What had gone wrong? Where had it gone wrong?
A hazy figure approached. A distant, ethereal voice fell into his ears. “It has abandoned you.”
Jun Wuwei jerked his head up. The branch in his hand split into three, its blossoms withering, its leaves crumbling into ash. “Abandoned? How could that be? I have attained the Dao. I owe no karmic debt to the living.”
That thread of light fell instead into the goddess’s hand.
Her radiance grew ever brighter. Her Dao-form became whole and complete. Across the divine realm upon the earth, countless suffering mortals silently recited her name. Their faith gathered into points of golden light, drifting down to settle upon her robes. “The fate of all living beings has never been ours to decide.”
Her gaze was utterly detached, yet boundlessly compassionate. Before Jun Wuwei, she completed her perfect Dao-body, pure, harmonious, and without flaw.
Jun Wuwei murmured, “I do not understand… I do not understand.”
No one answered him.
Xue Cuo walked to Xue Zhenzhen’s side. He reached out to feel her breath, but touched only cold skin.
He seemed both laughing and crying, like a child wronged beyond bearing, his heart full of pain with no one to understand it, no one to whom it could be spoken.
“Are you still alive?” he asked softly.
He tried to stand, but his legs would not support him. He sank back to the ground, staring blankly at the shattered sky, the broken earth, the bleeding mountains and rivers, the world beyond saving.
Then what had any of it meant?
He wiped his face, hoisted Xue Zhenzhen’s body onto his back, and flew towards the demon court. “Xiao Yun.”
The peacock’s lifeless eyes stared at the heavens before being gently closed by his hand.
Xue Cuo sat amidst the corpses. In the vast world, there was only him. Silence reigned, absolute.
“My Lady… they are all dead.” His voice was numb, hollow, steeped in grief.
He spoke to the sky. When he finished, the goddess appeared at his side. Lowering her gaze, she replied to her disciple, “They perished in the great calamity.”
“Are there any living beings left?” Xue Cuo asked.
“One in ten remains.”
“Can you save them?”
“No.”
He paused. “Can I save them?”
She inclined her head. “You can.”
“How?”
“This body is the golden pool. This body is the one that Heaven lacks.”
Xue Cuo gave a quiet laugh. “So it all comes back to this. Fate, whichever way one turns. Very well. With the world in ruins, what is the point of leaving me alone? I will save them.”
The goddess said nothing. With gentle compassion, she placed a hand upon his head.
After a moment, Xue Cuo asked, “My Lady… is Yin Feixue still alive?”
She nodded.
He brushed off his robes and rose. “Then I will see him once more. After that… it will not be too late to die.”
…
Tiandu City—
Yin Feixue sat alone upon a flowering tree, binding his wounds. His spiritual power was spent; he was on the brink of collapse.
The heavenly fire had faded. A pale blue returned to the sky.
He spat out a mouthful of blood and looked upon the devastated land, his face devoid of expression.
“Yin Feixue.” A low voice sounded.
He turned sharply, leapt from the tall tree, and ran towards the source. He ran with all his strength, heedless of the blood seeping from his wounds.
A young man stood before the ruins of a wine shop, clad in blue, black hair loose behind him. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned—
—and was suddenly pulled into a warm, trembling embrace.
Silver hair brushed against his cheek, tangling with his own dark strands, indistinguishable from one another.
A faint smile touched Xue Cuo’s lips. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He did not know why, but sorrow welled up uncontrollably, flooding his chest until his eyes reddened.
He lifted his arms and held Yin Feixue in return. Two people who had lost everything stood amidst the shattered city, clinging to one another, unable to speak.
Yin Feixue’s golden eyes were bloodshot. “You’re alive… you’re still alive.”
Xue Cuo nodded. “Mm. I want a drink.”
Yin Feixue asked nothing. He went into the ruined shop, poured what little wine remained, and handed it all to him, watching as Xue Cuo drank it down, sip by sip, like a thirsty cat.
“I’m leaving,” Xue Cuo said.
Yin Feixue’s eyes widened. He caught his hand at once. “Wherever you go, I’ll go with you.”
Xue Cuo shook his head. “You cannot go where I’m going.”
Yin Feixue did not let go. His chest rose and fell, his golden gaze flickering. He did not know where that place was. He only knew that Xue Cuo looked unbearably sad. “Don’t go,” he said. “Whatever it is, tell me. I’ll go in your place.”
Xue Cuo said, “You cannot take my place.”
Yin Feixue replied, “Even if it means death.”
Xue Cuo fell silent. He wondered how he could have been so foolish, how he had only realised it so late. Yin Feixue had scarcely ever concealed his feelings, so why had he never noticed?
He could not hide it any longer. Or perhaps it was because there were too many people in this world he needed to save, while Yin Feixue was the only one who had always come to save him.
Xue Cuo did not try to deceive him with promises of returning. He told him everything plainly: his origins, his past, and the choice he had made.
Yin Feixue listened in silence. His gaze on Xue Cuo seemed ready to shatter, tears spilling one by one from his golden eyes. Unable to restrain himself, overwhelmed by despair, he clutched Xue Cuo and wept aloud.
Xue Cuo said calmly, “Do not think of following me. When I am gone, see that I am given a grand burial, otherwise I shall have died at a loss.”
Yin Feixue’s golden eyes dimmed, his lips trembling. He wanted to refuse, to say it could not be allowed, yet he knew he had no power to stop him. He might possess immense strength, yet there was nothing he could do. He could only watch as Xue Cuo went to his death.
Xue Cuo lowered his lashes, brushed his fingers over Yin Feixue’s cheek, and gave a soft smile, though his eyes were filled with sorrow. “Forgive me.”
Yin Feixue was silent for a long moment, then shook his head. The molten gold of his eyes had gone dull, filled now with pain and despair. His chest rose and fell, and every word seemed torn from his heart as he said, “Do not apologise.”
“You want me to live, so I will live.”
“For as long as you wish. I could not save you, that is my failing. Hate me if you must, but do not cry.”
Xue Cuo said, “Am I crying?”
He wiped his cheek, then patted Yin Feixue lightly on the shoulder. “Walk with me a little further. Is that flowering tree still there?”
“It is. Wait here.”
Yin Feixue returned to the tree. His fingers tightened around the trunk. The tree had been destroyed by heavenly fire and should not have been able to live again.
He stood there in silence for a moment, then cut open his arm and let his blood fall upon it. From the charred wood, a tender green shoot forced its way out, blossoming into clusters of small white flowers.
He concealed the wound, turned back to Xue Cuo, and pointed to the branch. “It is still alive.”
He led Xue Cuo up into the tree. The two of them sat in silence. After a while, Xue Cuo leaned quietly into Yin Feixue’s arms.
The setting sun shattered across the horizon. The earth ran red with blood.
Two lonely figures, fingers entwined, foreheads resting together, sat upon the flowering branch, watching the final sliver of light fade from the world.
The young man lifted his gaze. His body dissolved into countless tiny motes of golden light, dispersing within the other’s embrace.
Yin Feixue remained as he was, arms still wrapped around empty air, lashes lowered. After a long while, a single clear tear fell, striking the cold bark below.
“Xue Cuo.”
…
A gentle breeze swept across heaven and earth.
High above, the goddess sat and wove anew the fate of all living beings. That which had been missing returned to the Dao; the shattered order reformed and became whole.
Broken mountains and rivers seemed to reverse the flow of time, restored to their former state. The flesh and blood of the dead gathered once more; they stirred, sneezed, and opened their eyes in bewilderment.
A name echoed through the heavens. Countless people searched for where he had gone, yet no answer ever came. Until grief itself took root like an illness.
…
Dim and boundless.
The goddess sat astride a dark tortoise, which did not dare utter a sound. Small and squat, like a clay figure, it carefully drew out a single drop of blood, dazed, both joyful and sorrowful. “I had thought this blood would never be needed.”
“My thanks… my thanks, Heavenly Lady.”
…
Some six hundred years passed.
Snow fell thick upon the mortal world.
It covered a solitary grave.
The tombstone bore no inscription. The tree beside it was overgrown with vines. The sky was bitterly cold, the earth split by frost, and human presence was sparse. A newly appointed little demon followed closely behind his aloof king, chattering endlessly about the rumours of the demon realm.
At last he asked, “My king, whom do we come to see every day?”
The king’s long lashes were dusted with snow. He seemed languid as he cast him a glance and said, “My greatest enemy.”
The little demon gave a small cry, baffled, scratching his head yet not daring to press further. How could it be an enemy, when his king came every day to sweep the snow, pour wine, burn incense, and even take on his true form to keep vigil beside the grave?
He returned and recounted the matter to an elder, seeking guidance. The elder sprang up at once and hissed, “You are young and blind to such things. Mind your tongue, lest retribution find you.”
“But that is what the king said,” the little demon protested.
The elder looked at him, sighed, and said quietly, “Six hundred years have passed without notice. The feelings in the king’s heart have long since turned into something else, something that lingers like a blade, cutting him again and again. It is only because of that feeling that he would jest with you so.”
The little demon gave an uncertain sound, his mind in a whirl, unable to make sense of it.
After the snowfall, another deep winter came.
Someone returned to dig at his own grave. Snow covered his head as he worked in earnest. Then suddenly, the mound of snow shifted, revealing a single beast’s eye.
The man and the king both froze.
A gust of wind rose. Snow fell in soft flurries. And beneath the white hush of the world, they stood together, as though time itself had grown old.
