Chapter 41

Don't attack!

That was Shen Qingqiu's first instinct—to reach for Xiuya Sword. But he immediately checked himself. Don't attack!

This was something he had taught Luo Binghe himself: within the Dream Demon's barrier, attacking the "people" in the dream was, in reality, an attack on one's own mind.

A cold sweat broke out on Shen Qingqiu's forehead. He hadn't even noticed when he'd entered the barrier's range. He'd been running—surely he hadn't just fallen asleep by the roadside mid-sprint?

Then again, one never remembers exactly when or how a dream begins.

A childish voice sounded from behind him. "Shizun."

The voice, which moments ago had been soft and sweet by his ear, now carried an indescribable, sinister chill.

The young Luo Binghe stood behind him, his tone haunting. "Why did you abandon me?"

Shen Qingqiu decisively did not turn around. He broke into a run!

Though these faceless figures were all "looking" at him—not that they could truly look, having no eyes—their faces were turned in his direction. He could distinctly feel countless gazes fixed upon him.

Shen Qingqiu pretended not to see any of them, charging straight ahead, swatting aside anyone blocking his path. Suddenly, a hand intercepted his palm strike. He turned to look. Though slender, the hand possessed terrifying strength, like an iron shackle.

The fourteen-year-old Luo Binghe gripped his wrist tightly. Beyond the perennial bruises on his face was an overwhelming melancholy. Those pitch-black eyes stared fixedly at him, unbearably close.

You too?!

It took three attempts for Shen Qingqiu to shake him off. He pushed through the crowd and kept running. First a child, then an adolescent—if an adult version showed up next, he truly wouldn't be able to handle it! But this long street seemed endless, stretching on forever. After the street stalls, the faceless children playing, and the masked girls appeared for a second time, Shen Qingqiu finally realized: this street in the dream was a loop!

Which meant going forward led nowhere.

If forward and backward were blocked, he'd have to find another way. Shen Qingqiu glanced left and right, then ducked toward a tavern.

Red lanterns hung high before the tavern, casting an eerie, crimson glow, but the wooden door was tightly shut. Shen Qingqiu pulled the door open and stepped inside. The moment he did, the two wooden panels slammed shut violently behind him.

The interior was pitch black, with a chilling draft whistling through. It felt less like a tavern and more like stumbling into a cave.

Shen Qingqiu wasn't surprised. Dreams couldn't be measured by common logic. Any door could lead anywhere.

Then, a strange, rasping sound floated to his ears.

It sounded like a dying man, lungs punctured, struggling for each agonizing breath.

And it seemed there was more than one!

Shen Qingqiu snapped his fingers. A spark of flame shot from his fingertip toward the source of the noise.

The flame illuminated the scene completely, and his pupils contracted to pinpricks.

Liu Qingge stood there, holding Chenluan Sword reversed, driving the hilt into his own chest.

He was covered in blood, great shocking swathes of deep crimson. His wounds were numerous, blood streaming from the corner of his mouth. It seemed he had already stabbed himself countless times. Yet the expression on his face was a mix of rage and madness, one of extreme agitation. He was clearly out of his mind, having succumbed to Qi deviation.

Bathed in the flickering yellow flame light, the sight was utterly horrifying. For a moment, Shen Qingqiu forgot this was still a dream. He lunged forward to seize Chenluan Sword.

The blade was already buried deep in Liu Qingge's heart. The moment Shen Qingqiu touched it, blood gushed forth violently, nearly spraying his face. Blinded by the red, Shen Qingqiu came to his senses slightly and took two steps back—only to bump into someone else.

He whirled around. Yue Qingyuan stood there, head bowed, meeting his gaze.

Though their eyes met, those eyes were empty and lifeless. From his throat to his chest, his limbs, his abdomen… they were densely pierced with black arrows.

Pierced by ten thousand arrows.

Shen Qingqiu suddenly understood what these things were—they were their original deaths!

The deaths he was originally meant to bring about with his own hands!

Shen Qingqiu couldn't take it anymore. He'd rather be stared at by a crowd of faceless people outside than see this!

He retreated toward where he'd entered and, to his surprise, actually found the wooden door. Shen Qingqiu felt as if granted a reprieve. He kicked the door open and rushed out. This time, his mind was unsettled, his steps unsteady, leaving him somewhat disheveled. All the "people" on the street watched him in dead silence. Disoriented, Shen Qingqiu crashed headlong into someone's chest.

That person immediately wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into a full embrace. Startled, Shen Qingqiu looked up.

The man was slightly taller than him, slender and elegant, clad in ink-black robes that revealed only a pale neck. Above that was a ferocious demon mask covering his face.

Before Shen Qingqiu could speak, a voice tinged with deep laughter came from above.

"Shizun, be careful."

There was no need to lift the mask to know whose face lay beneath.

Shen Qingqiu struggled violently. The other didn't forcefully restrain him, so breaking free wasn't difficult. After putting several paces between them, maintaining a safe distance, Shen Qingqiu steadied himself.

He said, "You created this city?"

Luo Binghe slowly removed the mask.

His expression seemed to regret that the game of demon-tag couldn't continue. "That's right. What does Shizun think?"

Shen Qingqiu nodded slowly, his face impassive. "Truly worthy of being the Dream Demon's personal disciple."

For an illusion to be so meticulously detailed, it probably wasn't far inferior to the city the Dream Demon had created to trap them back then.

Moreover, it very accurately grasped certain things he feared deep down.

Luo Binghe had seemed in a decent mood initially, but upon hearing this, the smile faded from his lips. "I am not the Dream Demon's disciple."

Shen Qingqiu: "Didn't you take him as your master?"

Luo Binghe hesitated for a moment before replying in a tone that sounded almost petulant. "No!"

Fine. No means no. Shen Qingqiu felt there was no need to dwell on this.

Luo Binghe said, "Shizun, if you are willing to return on your own, everything can be discussed."

Shen Qingqiu said, "Is that meant to imply 'leniency'?"

Luo Binghe said, "As long as I don't dissolve the Heavenly Demon's blood within you, fleeing anywhere is futile."

Shen Qingqiu said, "Oh? Is that so?"

He smiled. "Then why aren't you here to capture me yourself right now?"

Luo Binghe stiffened, a spark flashing in his eyes.

Seeing him like this, Shen Qingqiu felt even more assured.

He drawled, "That sword of yours… is having problems, isn't it?"

Heaven helps me!

After Luo Binghe fell into the Endless Abyss, within the belly of an ancient beast, he had found a peerless sword forged by a master demonic smith who had poured his life's work into its creation.

That sword was named Xin Mo.

Just from the name, you knew it was something extremely dangerous, right?!

Absolutely! The more powerful a spiritual artifact, the harder it was to control. Throughout history, Xin Mo Sword had changed hands over a hundred times. Each owner was a prodigious genius of their race, yet without exception, they all met their end dying by their own sword.

Xin Mo Sword would backlash against its wielder. If you could make it submit, it was a sharp blade in your hand. If one day you could no longer control its ferocity, you became nothing but a blood sacrifice for the sword.

In the original work, Luo Binghe didn't experience his first bout of mental instability and near-backlash until after entering the demon realm arc. Solving that problem later spawned a side plot spanning five hundred chapters, during which he collected eight or nine maidens.

But now, with the plot in disarray, the backlash plot had advanced as well!

The backlash of Xin Mo Sword was no joke. No wonder he hadn't come chasing—he was busy in seclusion trying to fix it, of course he couldn't come personally to capture him!

Who told you to speed-run your leveling!!!

Just as Shen Qingqiu was roaring internally, Luo Binghe suddenly grabbed his shoulder and yanked hard.

Rip.

Not again!!!

Tearing clothes again!!! Every single time, it's tearing clothes!!! Is this the only method you have to humiliate someone?! How utterly disappointing!!!

Luo Binghe's face was nearly as dark as a pot bottom. He spoke each word as if chewing and spitting out shards. "Even if I cannot come personally, Shizun shouldn't be too pleased."

Shen Qingqiu, now even more disheveled, clutched the remaining fabric, furious. "What are you doing?!" Then don't tear my clothes either?!

System: 【Satisfaction +50.】

Pervert! Why does this feel so perverted!!!

Luo Binghe exerted force with his hand. The white fabric disintegrated into shreds, scattering with the wind. Still unsatisfied, he pressed closer toward Shen Qingqiu.

One look at his eyes, and Shen Qingqiu knew this probably wouldn't end well.

What was going on! Was Luo Binghe actually a clothes-ripping maniac?!

He naturally couldn't just wait for his fate, but he also couldn't truly fight back. He could only employ moves without spiritual power, putting up a symbolic resistance. Dozens of exchanges passed in a blur of motion, swift and seamless. Luo Binghe could have easily gained the upper hand, yet he played with him like a cat with a mouse, patiently engaging in this entangled dance.

Shen Qingqiu's movements were fast enough, but for some reason, every well-aimed strike he launched felt like hitting cotton. In Luo Binghe's eyes, he always seemed a beat too slow, allowing Luo Binghe to calmly evade by a hair's breadth before returning the favor. To make matters worse, the infuriating system added Satisfaction points after every exchange—20, 30, 50—the notifications drilling into his brain like a demonic chorus. After several rounds, it was Shen Qingqiu's turn for his face to darken.

This wasn't a fight. It wasn't even sparring practice. It was pure, unadulterated teasing!

What the hell are you aiming at?! Are you messing with me?! Isn't the whole point of a fight to knock your opponent down?!

Lost in that furious thought, Shen Qingqiu overextended. His balance broke, and he stumbled forward, crashing directly into Luo Binghe's chest.

Luo Binghe didn't even try to dodge. He let Shen Qingqiu thud against him with a solid thump. His voice, when it came, was laced with audible amusement, his mood seemingly brightened again. "This move was one you personally taught me, Shizun. The force must be controlled, never overextended. The greatest taboo is an unstable stance. Why have you forgotten your own lesson?"

In that moment, Shen Qingqiu's mind was flooded with a single, scrolling marquee of profanity: Little beast!

Damn it all, he had taught Luo Binghe that!

He remembered it clearly. It wasn't long after Luo Binghe had moved out of the woodshed. While the boy's heaven-defying talent had allowed him to develop his own rough-and-tumble way of fighting, beyond the basic slashes, stabs, and thrusts every novice disciple learned, his more advanced forms were a complete mess.

After watching him run through a disjointed sequence of swordplay, palm strikes, and footwork, Shen Qingqiu had held his forehead for a long, pained moment. Luo Binghe had waited beside him, tense and anxious for feedback.

Unable to bear crushing him, Shen Qingqiu had finally managed to squeeze out a single comment: "It shows... a certain creative flexibility."

Correcting Luo Binghe's unsightly habits had required immense effort. Shen Qingqiu ended up giving him private lessons daily. Strangely, for someone of Luo Binghe's intelligence and comprehension—who should have grasped concepts instantly—the boy proved stubborn. Earnest teachings were forgotten the moment he turned around. He always used too much force, crashing into Shen Qingqiu's arms more times than Shen Qingqiu could count. Eventually, his patience wore thin.

Are you doing this on purpose?! He couldn't help but give Luo Binghe a light smack on the back of the head. "Is this how you subdue an enemy?" he'd scolded. "This is throwing yourself into their arms!"

Only then, with a face flushed bright red, did Luo Binghe settle down and practice seriously, not daring to make another careless mistake.

And now, today, Luo Binghe had the gall to turn around and correct his posture?!

What kind of world was this?!

Shen Qingqiu felt his dignity as a master being thoroughly challenged. Before he could muster a retort, Luo Binghe's hand slid down the line of his spine.

A full-body shiver racked Shen Qingqiu, goosebumps erupting across his skin.

He gritted his teeth. "Luo Binghe!"

His mental barrage continued: Little beast! Little beast! Little beast!

The System chimed in: [Satisfaction Points +100! Congratulations!]

Congratulations, his ass!

Luo Binghe peeled away another tattered strip of white cloth. "Seeing Shizun wearing this garment displeases me greatly. It's better torn to pieces."

So he really wouldn't stop until Shen Qingqiu was stripped bare, was he?

"If you despise me," Shen Qingqiu said stiffly, "there's no need to take it out on the clothes. These belong to Gongyi Xiao."

Luo Binghe's expression darkened. "It is Shizun who truly despises me, going so far as to use a mere robe to draw a line between us."

This was utterly incomprehensible.

Why?! Why were two grown men—one a scum villain, the other the protagonist—standing here surrounded by faceless "people," having a deadly serious argument about a piece of clothing?!

Since when was Luo Binghe the emotionally delicate type?!

I patted it clean and folded it for you! What more do you want? Should I have hand-washed it and delivered it to you personally?!

Shen Qingqiu's face cycled through a series of unreadable expressions. Noticing this, Luo Binghe asked, "What is Shizun thinking about?"

His voice turned icy. "If it's about Gongyi Xiao, I advise Shizun to stop wasting your thoughts on him."

A profound sense of foreboding bloomed in Shen Qingqiu's chest.