Chapter 27

His duties discharged, the official turned and left without another word.

Now that was an NPC who took his role seriously—utterly efficient, no lingering, no fuss. Exactly in keeping with the original work’s style: wherever Luo Binghe was needed, he would inexplicably appear. Forced, eccentric, and utterly devoid of logic!

But what felt truly forced was what Shen Qingqiu now faced: the final trial.

After a brutal battle, Luo Binghe knelt among the ruins, his eyes vacant yet burning with a violence that seemed ready to tear the world apart. His mind, once a dormant volcano, had violently erupted; molten rage now flowed through his veins. The mere thought of it made Shen Qingqiu’s bones ache, his head throb as if scorched from within.

The system issued an unprecedented, piercing alert:

【Warning! Critical Mission: “The Endless Abyss and Boundless Hatred, Sky-Filling Frost and Sky-Filling Tears” has officially commenced! Failure will result in -20000 Protagonist Satisfaction Points!】

Were the mission names getting more absurd each time, or was it just him?

And hadn’t he confirmed just the other day that the penalty was >

How had it doubled in just a few days?

Trembling, Shen Qingqiu approached Luo Binghe, who remained half-maddened. He struck his back several times, channeling the last remnants of his spiritual power into the youth’s body.

Did he really think it would be that simple? Dream on!

Not only did Luo Binghe not regain his senses, the demonic energy within him rebelled, forcing out a mouthful of blood Shen Qingqiu had been suppressing for far too long.

Only then did Luo Binghe stir slightly toward clarity.

Slowly emerging from his stupor, he managed to piece together a few fragmented words. That familiar face before him gradually sharpened into focus.

Seeing the light finally return to his disciple’s eyes, Shen Qingqiu sighed in relief. He wiped the blood from his lips, his tone calm. “Awake?”

A pause. “If you’re awake, then we can talk properly.”

Shen Qingqiu said, “Luo Binghe, tell me the truth. How long have you been practicing demonic arts?”

The question struck Luo Binghe like a plunge from suffocating heights into an icy abyss—shocking him into utter, chilling lucidity.

His heart sank as he stared at Shen Qingqiu’s frost-cold expression.

Shen Qingqiu had always called him ‘Binghe,’ never his full name.

He whispered, “Master, this disciple can explain.”

Though still a youth, Luo Binghe had always carried himself with a composure beyond his years. Now, for the first time, panic flashed across his face—a desperate need to explain, with no idea where to begin.

To see the protagonist brought so low was more than Shen Qingqiu could bear. His heart aching, he cut in sharply, “Silence!”

The moment he spoke, he knew his tone had been too harsh. Luo Binghe flinched as if struck, his dark eyes wide and dazed, obediently falling silent.

Unable to meet that gaze, Shen Qingqiu recited his lines woodenly. “When did it start?”

“…Two years ago.”

Shen Qingqiu fell silent. Answering so readily, so honestly—he must truly be terrified.

Unbeknownst to him, Luo Binghe interpreted that silence as, “Well done. You wretched disciple, hiding this from me all this time!”

Shen Qingqiu said softly, “Two years. No wonder your progress has been so swift. Luo Binghe, you truly are… exceptional.”

In truth, it was a genuine, heartfelt remark. As the protagonist, Luo Binghe was exceptionally gifted. If anything, Shen Qingqiu felt a tinge of envy, a pinch of jealousy.

But to Luo Binghe, the meaning was entirely different.

He dropped to his knees before Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu felt his life flash before his eyes. A man’s pride lay beneath his knees; a protagonist’s kneeling could cost a life! To accept such a gesture now, at this critical juncture, would only deepen Luo Binghe’s future hatred. He immediately flicked his sleeve. “Rise!”

The gust from Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve forced Luo Binghe to his feet, stumbling back several steps, more lost than ever.

Had he erred so grievously that he was no longer even permitted to kneel and beg his master’s forgiveness?

He murmured, “But Master, you once said… people can be good or evil, demons can be kind or cruel. That no one in this world… is beyond redemption.”

Did I say that? After so many years, Shen Qingqiu thought carefully.

He really had!

But back then, he’d been considering the long term. Now, a blade hung at his throat.

Though driven by necessity, wouldn’t turning his back on his own words now be utterly shameless?

“You are no ordinary demon,” Shen Qingqiu said. “The mark upon your brow is the sin-brand of the Fallen Celestial Demons. This lineage has wrought endless slaughter in the human realm; their nature is notoriously uncontrollable, a scourge throughout history. You cannot be compared to other demons. I cannot wait until your bloodlust consumes you, only to prove my past words wrong.”

Hearing Shen Qingqiu shatter his hope with his own voice, Luo Binghe’s eyes reddened.

His voice trembled. “…But you said it.”

I’ve said many things. I once spammed hundreds of forum posts about castrating the original Shen Qingqiu.

…Not funny in the slightest.

Shen Qingqiu, usually adept at self-comfort, found his inner sarcasm hitting new heights today, breaking records with frantic frequency. Yet no amount of it could lighten his heart; instead, he felt only weariness, a pale exhaustion.

He kept trying to convince himself: The suffering Luo Binghe endures now is necessary for his future rise above all. No bitter cold, no plum blossom’s fragrance; no three years in the pit, no world-threatening demon lord. With inner demons mastered, the world is his; with a harem of three thousand, no need to… But it was useless.

Completely useless. He couldn’t lift his own spirits.

Shen Qingqiu abruptly looked up, formed a sword seal, and summoned Xiu Ya back to his hand.

His grip on the hilt trembled slightly, fine tendons standing out. Luo Binghe still couldn’t believe it. “Master… you would truly kill me?”

Shen Qingqiu couldn’t bear to look at his face. His gaze fixed straight through him. “I do not wish to kill you.”

In Luo Binghe’s memory, he had never seen Shen Qingqiu regard him with such coldness. Not even when he first joined Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, when his master showed him little favor—his eyes had never been this hollow, this dismissive.

Devoid of all warmth. No different from how he looked upon vile demons moments before cutting them down.

Shen Qingqiu said, “But that man earlier was correct. The human realm is not where you belong. You should return to the place meant for you.”

With each step Shen Qingqiu took forward, Luo Binghe retreated, until they stood before the gaping maw of the Endless Abyss.

A glance back revealed churning demonic energy within the chasm, the wails of countless spirits, thousands of malformed arms stretching upward from the fissure toward the human realm, craving fresh blood and flesh. Deeper still, everything vanished into black mist and sinister crimson light.

Xiu Ya pointed obliquely into the depths. Shen Qingqiu said, “Will you descend on your own, or must I force you?”

Selfishly, he hoped Luo Binghe would jump. Those who leapt willingly always caught on something halfway down—then he could delude himself into seeing this as a happy ending.

Better than remembering, day and night, that he himself had struck Luo Binghe down.

But Luo Binghe still clung to hope.

He couldn’t believe that the master who had been so kind to him would truly push him over. He couldn’t believe that years of companionship would end like this.

Even when Xiu Ya pierced his chest, he held to that final shred of hope.

Shen Qingqiu hadn’t meant to stab him.

Really. He’d only swung the sword to frighten him, steeling himself for the act. If Luo Binghe dodged backward, he’d fall naturally. But he hadn’t expected Luo Binghe to stand there, silent, and take the blow.

My life is over. Originally, it was just a kick down. Now, there’s the added enmity of a sword wound!

Luo Binghe’s hand came up to grasp the blade—not forcefully, but lightly. Meaning, if Shen Qingqiu pushed, Xiu Ya would continue forward, straight through his heart.

His throat trembled slightly, no words emerging. Though the tip hadn’t reached his heart, Shen Qingqiu felt the painful throb of it through the sword, a vibration traveling up the blade, over his hand, along his entire arm, until it reached his own heart.

Shen Qingqiu yanked the sword free.

The motion made Luo Binghe sway, but he quickly steadied himself. Seeing Shen Qingqiu had not delivered a fatal strike, a faint light rekindled in his dimmed eyes—like dying embers struggling in ashes. The corner of his mouth twitched, perhaps attempting a smile.

And now, Shen Qingqiu would use one final blow to snuff out that last glimmer of light forever.

He knew he would never forget the look in Luo Binghe’s eyes in that moment of falling.

By the time the Sect Leader and other cultivators, having cleansed the demonic creatures within the Juedi Valley barrier, arrived at the scene, the rift in the Endless Abyss had long since closed.

Apart from Shang Qinghua, who was playing dead, Shen Qingqiu had tended to the wounds of everyone who had collapsed. He paid little attention to his own injuries, his robes stained with blood, his expression blank, his face pale—a truly wretched sight.

Yue Qingyuan stepped forward to check his pulse, his brow furrowing as he gestured for the more specialized Mu Qingfang to come examine him. The various sects moved among the figures strewn across the ground, each identifying and claiming their own, carrying them away for further treatment.

Liu Qingge noticed one person was missing—and not just anyone, but the one who was constantly at Shen Qingqiu’s side, impossible to overlook. “Where is your disciple?” he asked.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t answer. He merely lowered his head, gathering the shattered fragments of a longsword from the ground. The disciples of Qing Jing Peak hurried over. Ming Fan, at their head, had sharp eyes. Upon seeing the sword, he stammered, “Shizun, isn’t that…?”

Back then, he had coveted this Zhengyang Sword from Wan Jian Peak, dreaming of it for years. After Luo Binghe had drawn it, Ming Fan had burned with jealousy, cursing through countless sleepless nights. He would never mistake it.

Ning Yingying suddenly burst into loud, wracking sobs. “Shizun, d-don’t scare me. Is this… is this A-Luo’s Zhengyang? It can’t be, right? It can’t be!”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. “The Zhengyang Sword?” “Are they talking about Peak Lord Shen’s beloved disciple, Luo Binghe?” “Where the sword is, its master is. If the sword is broken…” “He couldn’t have also… ahem.”

Someone sighed. “If it’s true, what a pity. Along this journey, Luo Binghe had already claimed the top spot on the Immortal Alliance’s Golden Leaderboard.”

“Heaven envies true talent! Heaven envies true talent!”

There were sighs of regret, gasps of shock, genuine sorrow, and not a few who secretly relished the misfortune.

Ning Yingying wept openly where she stood.

Though Ming Fan had always disliked Luo Binghe, cursing him to die both openly and in private, he had never truly wished him dead. And now, thinking of how much their Shizun had doted on the brat, only for him to end up dead without even a body to bury… Shizun must be heartbroken. Ming Fan couldn’t find any joy in it either. A pall of gloom settled over Qing Jing Peak. Over at Xian Shu Peak, the disciples, led by Qi Qingqi, were also visibly moved.

Liu Qingge, never skilled with words, patted Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder. “You lost a disciple. You can always take on another.”

Shen Qingqiu knew he meant it as comfort, but he still had the urge to roll his eyes, weak as the impulse was.

Everyone who hasn’t personally kicked their own closed-door disciple and the story’s protagonist into the Endless Abyss talks without feeling the pain in their own back!

Forget it. It’s done. The die is cast.

Shen Qingqiu spoke slowly, his voice hollow. “Luo Binghe, disciple of Qing Jing Peak… was slain by demonic forces. He has fallen.”