Chapter 43

At first glance, the disciple was utterly unremarkable. Huddled among the other Illusory Flower Palace disciples, he seemed to shrink into himself, his gaze shifty and evasive.

Shen Qingqiu’s attention was drawn to him for one reason: the man’s face was one color, his neck another, and his left and right hands were two different shades entirely. He wasn’t drawing his sword or putting on a show of anger. Instead, he kept ducking and weaving through the crowd of disciples, bumping into them like a pickpocket searching for an opportunity.

In Shen Qingqiu’s experience, only one type of person behaved this way.

"Junior Sister! Junior Sister, what's wrong?" Ming Fan cried out, voice tight with worry.

Ning Yingying stood frozen for a long moment, as if struck dumb, before finally snapping back to reality and raising her sword to counterattack. Spotting an old cat lazily sunning itself nearby, tail curled and licking its fur, Shen Qingqiu scooped it up and hurled it into the wine shop.

The startled cat let out a yowl and began darting frantically between the two groups. Head bowed, Shen Qingqiu shouted, "Heizi, don't run!" and shoved his way into the fray. The sudden, inexplicable intrusion made both sides pause. Ning Yingying, afraid of hurting an innocent, hesitated slightly. The young palace mistress, however, showed no such restraint. Having retrieved her whip, she attacked with renewed vigor.

Shen Qingqiu chased the panicked cat around the room, randomly shouting a stream of names—"Xiao Hua!" "Hui Hui!"—attaching every silly cat name he could think of to the poor creature. Amid the chaos, Ning Yingying, though holding back and afraid to strike recklessly, kept feeling strange nudges—an elbow lifted here, a shoulder pushed there. Her sword seemed to dance with a life of its own, flashing brilliantly. Then, two sharp, resounding cracks split the air.

The young palace mistress clutched her cheeks, standing rigid as a wooden chicken, utterly stunned.

Everyone had seen Ning Yingying's arm swing, delivering two clear, open-palmed slaps across the girl's face. The fight ground to an abrupt halt.

"Junior Sister, well done!" Ming Fan cheered.

"...No, actually... that wasn't me..." Ning Yingying said weakly.

"Don't be afraid! You hit her, so you hit her!" Ming Fan encouraged. "Everyone knows she started it. Since when does the Clear Peace Peak of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect fear the Illusory Flower Palace?"

"No, it really wasn't me..."

"A disciple of Clear Peace Peak never takes a beating without returning it twofold!"

Shen Qingqiu cheered internally: This kid Ming Fan has such a bright future! Yes, yes, that's exactly what I meant!

Tears glittered in the young palace mistress's eyes. Shen Qingqiu, having finally wormed his way into the cluster of Illusory Flower Palace disciples, caught the yowling old cat. Stroking its fur, he soothed, "There, there, got you. Don't be scared."

Even the dimmest person should have realized something was off by now.

The young palace mistress cupped her stinging face, glaring at him with palpable resentment. "Hey! Just who are you? How dare you make a fool of me like this?"

The Illusory Flower Palace disciples closed ranks around him. "The Palace Mistress is speaking to you!"

Shen Qingqiu bent to release the cat, then straightened up. Instead of answering, he pointed at the disciple skulking at the very back. "Why don't you all ask him who he is?"

Every eye immediately swiveled toward the man.

The young palace mistress had only given him a cursory glance before, but the longer she looked, the more wrong it seemed. Temporarily forgetting Shen Qingqiu, she turned, suspicion clouding her features. "...Who are you? Why have I never seen you before?" She spun toward her subordinates. "What about the rest of you? Does anyone know him?"

Seeing the situation turning against him, the disciple let out a sharp cry. As everyone's focus—and their weapons—shifted toward him, Shen Qingqiu drew a sharp breath and shouted, "Don't get close to him!" Another verdant leaf appeared between his fingers. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it shooting forward.

This time, it wasn't just Ning Yingying who stared in shock; Ming Fan also froze at the leaf's trajectory. Carried by spiritual light and sword energy, it sliced through the air, tearing the disciple's outer robe and revealing the skin beneath.

What they saw made everyone recoil as if they'd seen a ghost, some stumbling backward, others leaping clear out of the wine shop.

Crimson red skin!

It confirmed Shen Qingqiu's earlier suspicion. In his experience, only one type of person behaved this way.

A Seed-Spreader disguised as an ordinary human.

He had only painted the exposed parts of his skin a normal color, neglecting the rest. Now exposed, he abandoned all pretense. Eyes bloodshot, he lunged forward, arms wide as if to grab and embrace anyone within reach. Most of these disciples were young. They'd only heard tales of such monsters; seeing one in the flesh terrified them out of their wits.

Seeing the Seed-Spreader about to crash into a disciple from Clear Peace Peak, Shen Qingqiu flashed forward. A single kick to the chest sent the creature flying, smashing through two tables before it landed, blood spewing from its mouth.

Shen Qingqiu whirled around. "Get out of here! Now!"

But Ning Yingying, tears and laughter mingling on her face, latched onto him. "Shizun? Is it really you?"

You can recognize me even with this beard? I'm a little touched, but really, choosing now to stay and shout my identity—definitely a bit slow on the uptake!

As the tenacious Seed-Spreader scrambled up for another lunge, Shen Qingqiu acted. With one hand, as gentle as a spring breeze, he pushed Ning Yingying safely away. With the other, as cold as winter's heart, he snapped his fingers toward the enemy, aiming to release a fire spell.

It didn't land.

No—it didn't even fire.

Shen Qingqiu felt the Lingxi Blood poison, dormant in his body for years, stir treacherously in his throat.

Damn this Without-A-Cure poison! It always fails at the critical moment!

He snapped his fingers several times in rapid succession. Not a single spark appeared. It was like a lighter out of fuel, clicking uselessly, stubbornly refusing to ignite.

Just as frustration threatened to boil over, the Seed-Spreader lunged and wrapped its arms around Shen Qingqiu's thigh.

Shen Qingqiu: "..."

He instinctively raised his much-abused right hand. Sure enough, three red spots were already happily taking root and sprouting.

Unfair! Why does it infect me so fast every time!

Perhaps fueled by sheer indignation, the final snap of his fingers finally produced a result. A burst of violent flame erupted between his thumb and forefinger. Shen Qingqiu kicked the creature clinging to his leg into the air and brought his blazing palm down in a sweeping arc!

The Seed-Spreader's body was engulfed in flames and agonized screams. Ning Yingying and Ming Fan, eyes brimming with tears, rushed to flank him. "Shizun!"

There was no point in the disguise now. Shen Qingqiu reached up and roughly scrubbed at his face, peeling away the fake beard and restoring his original features. "Is anyone infected?" Then, with grave sincerity, he delivered a line he'd always wanted to say: "Take your medicine immediately. Don't ever stop the medication!"

His two disciples, one male, one female, began weeping loudly in his ears. "Shizun, we finally found you! What on earth is going on..."

Before Shen Qingqiu could reply, a cold shiver shot down his spine. He shoved both disciples aside. Xiu Ya Sword shot from his sleeve with a metallic shing, intercepting the young palace mistress's steel-braided whip mid-air.

If her earlier scuffle with Clear Peace Peak had been born of momentary anger, this attack was driven by genuine killing intent. The short whip in her hand moved with the brutal force of an axe.

Shen Qingqiu asked the question he'd long wanted to voice: "What madness has possessed you?"

Tears streamed down the young palace mistress's face. "You vile traitor, pay with your life!" she wailed. "Give me back my Senior Brothers and Sisters!"

Shen Qingqiu initially thought she was still mourning the Illusory Flower Palace disciples lost during the Immortal Alliance Conference. But her next words, screamed at the top of her lungs, shocked him: "You killed Senior Brother Gongyi! I'll kill you!"

Spiritual energy swirled at Shen Qingqiu's fingertips. He caught the tip of her whip between two fingers.

His shock was genuine. "What did you say? Gongyi Xiao is dead? When? Who did it?"

Even in the original story, the worst fate Gongyi Xiao suffered was being exiled to some remote outpost of the Illusory Flower Palace to fade into obscurity!

"Who did it?" the young palace mistress spat. "You tell me!"

The Illusory Flower Palace disciples surged forward, encircling him. "Traitor! Avenge our Senior Brothers and Sisters who guarded the Water Prison formation!"

A chill settled in Shen Qingqiu's heart. The disciples guarding the Water Prison formation numbered nearly a hundred. Could it be that not a single one was spared?

Ning Yingying shouted in anger, "You stupid girl, are you deaf? Can't you see Shizun doesn't know anything about this?" The Clear Peace Peak disciples immediately rejoined the fray.

Seeing blades and swords flashing without regard, Shen Qingqiu knew letting them fight was pointless. Without time to think, he flipped backward out of the wine shop, tossing a single, light phrase over his shoulder: "Outside!"

As expected, both sides immediately abandoned their fight, scrambling over each other to chase after him.

Once on the street, Shen Qingqiu could only stare in speechless dismay. The entire avenue was lined with a formidable row of cultivators from various sects, all poised for battle.

Well, given the commotion from the wine shop, it would have been unscientific if they hadn't been drawn here...

Shen Qingqiu pushed off with the balls of his feet, soaring upward to land steadily on the shop's flying eaves. He took a deep breath, drawing power from his dantian, and bellowed with all his might: "LIU—QING—GE!"

A figure on a sword rose into the air, shouting angrily, "Shen Qingqiu, your heart is truly vicious! You deliberately fled here to lure the forces of various sects, all to collude with the demon race and wipe them out in one fell swoop, recreating the tragedy of the Immortal Alliance Conference?!"

So now any accusation thrown at me is fair game, is that it?! Shen Qingqiu focused. Wasn't this the leader of that… what was it… Domineering Fist Sect, whom he'd earlier ordered to tear his clothes? As he was about to attempt communication, a sharp whistle of sword energy came from the east.

A figure in white robes shot toward them on a sword, moving with the speed of wind and lightning. His aura was so sharp, so overwhelming, that it stirred a fierce gale, which promptly blew the shouting sect leader right off his own sword.

Liu Qingge stood steady upon Cheng Luan Sword. "What is it?"

So reliable, Brother Liu!

Shen Qingqiu said with utmost sincerity, "Take me flying."

Liu Qingge: "..."

"The poison is acting up again," Shen Qingqiu explained. "I can't gather enough qi to sustain flight. If I try to sword-fly now, I'll just plummet from the sky."

Liu Qingge let out a sigh. "Get on."

The shouts from the crowd below rose like a tide—accusations of “Cang Qiong Mountain Sect hiding filth” and “Bai Zhan Peak and Qing Jing Peak colluding in vice.” Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge ignored them all. Riding Liu Qingge’s sword, they shot skyward, the wind roaring in their ears as they left the dozens of pursuers far behind.

“Where to?” Liu Qingge asked, his voice steady despite the speed.

“The highest building in the city,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “Once we’re there, I’ll need you to keep those people off my back.”

“What’s this about?” Liu Qingge’s tone was sharp. “You break into the Water Prison, then break out of it.”

“...Nothing. Just bored.”

Suddenly, Liu Qingge barked, “Jump.”

“What? We’re not there yet.”

“Something’s coming.”

Without another word, Shen Qingqiu leaped, landing lightly on a nearby rooftop. Liu Qingge executed a dazzling series of mid-air flips, arresting his sword’s momentum before hovering, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance. Shen Qingqiu followed his line of sight.

A low, mocking laugh came from behind. “Looking the wrong way.”

Shen Qingqiu nearly stumbled.

So that “You’ll pay for this!” hadn’t been an empty threat.

Of course it hadn’t. When had Luo Binghe ever been one for empty threats?

To risk the backlash of the Xin Mo Sword just to capture him… What profound resentment must be driving him?

Luo Binghe stood like a statue of ice concealing a raging inferno—one touch away from either explosion or absolute frost.

His eyes burned into them as he slowly extended a hand toward Shen Qingqiu. “Come with me.”

“Gongyi Xiao is dead,” Shen Qingqiu said softly.

Luo Binghe stiffened.

“The disciples guarding the Water Prison’s formation are dead too.”

A flicker of crimson passed through Luo Binghe’s pupils.

“It doesn’t matter what I say. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” His voice was cold as winter stone. “Enough talk. I’ll ask once more. Are you coming or not?”

His hand remained stubbornly outstretched. Before Shen Qingqiu could answer, a dozen figures descended from all sides, swords drawn, surrounding them on the rooftop. Leading them was the same man from the Ba Qi Sect. This time, he’d planted his feet firmly on his sword, as if bracing for impact. “Shen Qingqiu belongs to us! No one else touches him. Hand him over to the Ba Qi—”

“Scram!” Luo Binghe snarled, turning his head.

He didn’t even draw his sword. A violent surge of spiritual power erupted from him, carrying a piercing whistle that stabbed into everyone’s ears. This time, without exception, all dozen men were blasted off their swords and sent tumbling through the air.

The Ba Qi Sect disciples had met true, unadulterated force. They were wiped out. The remaining onlookers watched in horrified silence.

Who was this black-clad youth with such terrifying cultivation? Why had they never heard his name before?

Liu Qingge shoved Shen Qingqiu. “Go! Do what you need to do!”

“No need. I’ll handle him.” The memory of that 5:2 data was etched in Shen Qingqiu’s mind. He’d called Liu Qingge to deal with the riffraff and as a precaution, not to watch him die.

But neither of the two men before him was in a listening mood. Without a word—not even a disagreement—they clashed. Liu Qingge’s sword shot forth like a white rainbow. Luo Binghe didn’t draw his blade. Instead, he gathered spiritual power into his palm, meeting the strike head-on with a blade-like chop.

Shen Qingqiu knew why he couldn’t draw his sword. A moment’s distraction in a battle between masters was an opening. If demonic energy overwhelmed him here, in front of everyone, the consequences would be catastrophic. Luo Binghe’s body housed two cultivation systems—one for spiritual energy, one for demonic—and due to his unique heritage, they operated independently, even allowing for combined attacks. But now, first, he couldn’t draw his sword. Second, he couldn’t freely use demonic energy. His lethality was halved, forcing him into a deadlock with Liu Qingge.

The rooftop shook with the force of their collision, white sword-light and spiritual explosions lighting up the sky. The fight was so fierce that none of the cultivators below dared intervene.

Even the greenest novice could see that getting grazed by the killing intent radiating from these two would mean certain death.

Watching them fight, a part of Shen Qingqiu itched to join. If only this damned poison hadn’t chosen the worst possible time to flare up. But time was running out. He squinted at the sky, calculating the moment, then leaped toward the highest spire. The wind howled at this altitude, threatening to pluck him off.

Seeing this from afar, a wave of frantic agitation washed over Luo Binghe. His focus shattered. A vicious light flashed in his eyes as his hand shot back to grasp the hilt of the sword on his back.

Was he really going to draw it here?!

“Luo Binghe, don’t be rash!” Shen Qingqiu shouted.

“Too late!” Luo Binghe hissed. With a twist of his wrist, he drew the Xin Mo Sword. A visible tide of black, churning energy erupted from the blade.

Liu Qingge’s sword thrust toward him. Luo Binghe flicked a finger against the Xin Mo Sword’s blade, thin as a cicada’s wing. A wave of palpable dread emanated from the contact, and Liu Qingge’s sword shuddered to a halt mid-air.

Liu Qingge had never experienced his sword disobeying him. For a moment, sheer disbelief showed on his face. Shen Qingqiu, however, understood the severity.

If Luo Binghe succumbed to the Xin Mo Sword’s backlash now, no one here would survive. He might as well forget about being the protagonist!

He drew his own sword, Xiu Ya. “Luo Binghe, come here. It’s time we ended this.”

Luo Binghe looked up, his gaze dark and heavy. In the next instant, he materialized less than three feet in front of Shen Qingqiu. With a raised hand, he cast a barrier, sealing the entire spire’s peak and cutting them off from the outside world.

Seeing Shen Qingqiu retreat a step, Luo Binghe’s lips twisted into a smile. “End this? How? Can the two of us even be severed now?”

Why couldn’t they?

Shen Qingqiu took a soft breath. Though he held his sword, he made no move to fight. In truth, he couldn’t do much with it now.

“At this point, I have nothing left to say,” he murmured. “Only that… fate truly is inescapable.”

System… protagonist.

Luo Binghe let out a derisive laugh. “Fate? What is fate? Is it a four-year-old child being bullied with no one to help? An innocent old woman driven to her death by anger and starvation?”

With each sentence, he took a step forward, his presence oppressive. “Is it fighting a dog for scraps? Or is it the person you gave your heart to—the one you trusted completely—deceiving you, abandoning you, betraying you, and pushing you into a living hell with their own hands?!”

His voice dropped, raw and fractured. “Shizun, you see me like this now. But do you know how I survived those three years in the Endless Abyss?”

“For three years in that abyss, every moment, every second, my thoughts were of you.”

“I thought about it for so long. And I finally understood.”

The smile on Luo Binghe’s face turned savage.

“Fate either doesn’t exist at all, or it’s something meant to be trampled underfoot!”

The sun stood directly overhead, the last wisp of cloud vanishing. Brutal, unfiltered light flooded the city, gilding everything in a harsh, brilliant gold.

Shen Qingqiu lowered his gaze from the sky. From staring at the sun, his eyes seemed to shimmer with unshed tears.

Truth be told, he bore great responsibility for Luo Binghe becoming what he was today. Even if it had been unavoidable.

Seeing Shen Qingqiu’s expression soften unexpectedly, Luo Binghe faltered. At the same moment, a splitting headache tore through his skull. He gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on the Xin Mo Sword, which strained against his control.

No. Not here. I can’t lose control here!

“Don’t let it overpower you,” Shen Qingqiu said, his voice suddenly gentle, achingly familiar—like a memory from their days on Qing Jing Peak.

Luo Binghe’s mental defenses wavered further. It felt like blades churned in his mind. The black flames around the Xin Mo Sword blazed violently. As the backlash surged, pain lancing through him, he suddenly felt arms encircle him gently.

A torrent of spiritual power—vast as a collapsing dam, relentless as a flood—poured into his body. It instantly quenched the demonic fury he’d been struggling to suppress, like a life-giving downpour after a long drought.

His energy stabilized, his circulation smoothing out. But his heart turned to ice.

Self-detonation.

From below, a horrified scream pierced the air. “Shen Qingqiu has detonated his core!”

Shen Qingqiu released Luo Binghe and took a stumbling step back.

Xiu Ya fell first. Its master’s spiritual power gone, the bond severed, the sword shattered into pieces before it even hit the ground.

Shen Qingqiu had always had a habit of swallowing his blood. Now, he let it flow freely.

After detonating his core, he was weaker than an ordinary mortal. His voice was faint, half-carried away by the wind, yet Luo Binghe heard every word with perfect clarity.

“All that I owe you from the past… I return it today.”

Let this be one last good deed.

Then, he let himself fall backward, plummeting from the spire.

For a moment, Luo Binghe simply stared, the world moving in agonizing slow motion. Even Shen Qingqiu’s descent unfolded with terrible, crystalline clarity—a blood-stained paper kite drifting down. It wasn’t until his body moved on its own, darting forward to catch Shen Qingqiu before he hit the ground, that Luo Binghe realized how light he was. How thin. Hollowed out, without a trace of spiritual power. Just like a paper kite—fragile, ready to tear.

Or, not even needing to tear. Already broken.

He couldn’t believe it.

Hadn’t Shizun despised his bloodline?

Why would he detonate his own spiritual core, destroying himself, just to help suppress the Xin Mo Sword’s backlash?

Around them, vague shouts rose—something about “the demon being vanquished” and “righteous duty overriding personal ties.” The words meant nothing.

A chaotic numbness filled Luo Binghe's mind. He simply held Shen Qingqiu, murmuring, "Shizun?"

The disciples of Qing Jing Peak finally arrived. Ning Yingying, having heard Luo Binghe was alive, was initially shocked and overjoyed at the sight of him. But then her gaze fell upon Shen Qingqiu's peacefully closed eyes. Her words twisted in her throat, emerging as a tremulous whisper. "A-Luo… Shizun… what happened to him?"

Liu Qingge approached, blood still smeared at the corner of his mouth, his face grim. "Dead. Completely."

The disciples stood frozen, utterly dumbstruck.

Suddenly, Ming Fan shouted, "Who killed him?!"

Every eye turned to Luo Binghe.

Strictly speaking, it couldn't be said Luo Binghe had killed him. Yet it was the truth that Shen Qingqiu had detonated his own spiritual core right before his eyes.

Ming Fan and the disciples behind him drew their swords, ready to throw their lives away. Liu Qingge stated flatly, "You are no match for him."

Ming Fan's eyes burned red. "Uncle Liu! Then surely you can kill him! Avenge Shizun!"

Liu Qingge's reply was cool. "I am also no match for him."

Ming Fan choked on his fury.

Wiping the blood from his lip, Liu Qingge continued. "Shen Qingqiu was not killed by him." He paused, each word sharp as an unsheathed blade. "Yet, though not slain by his hand, he died for his sake. This debt will be repaid."

Luo Binghe heard none of it. His world had shrunk to a point of frantic, helpless disorder. He clung to Shen Qingqiu's rapidly cooling body, as if wanting to shout, to shake him awake, yet too afraid of being scolded. He could only mumble, "Shizun?"

"Stop calling him that!" Ming Fan roared. "Qing Jing Peak cannot bear it! Brothers, let's go! So what if we can't win? At worst, he kills us!"

Ning Yingying raised a hand, blocking his path. Furious and heartsick, Ming Fan thought she was still clinging to old affections. "Junior Sister! How can you still not see clearly at a time like this?!"

"Shut up," Ning Yingying said, her voice low. "You're so eager to throw your life away. Does Shizun know? What would he say if he did? Shizun would rather suffer contamination himself than let us be wronged or bullied. And you treat your own life so carelessly?"

Her sudden steel left Ming Fan stunned. After a long moment, tears streamed down his face.

He wept openly, a picture of utter misery. "But… if that's the case… Shizun has been wronged too grievously…"

"He didn't do any of it, yet everyone said he colluded with demons, locked him in the water prison… He never even got a chance to clear his name."

His voice broke. "He clearly liked this brat so much… After the Immortal Alliance Conference, he refused to return the Zheng Yang Sword to Wan Jian Peak. Insisted on keeping it himself, building a sword mound on the back mountain… He was heartbroken for so long… And in the end, it comes to this!"

Luo Binghe listened as if in a daze, unable to distinguish dream from reality.

Was that true?

Had Shizun actually been… heartbroken?

Ning Yingying took a step forward. Her eyes were rimmed red, but her tone was steady. "A-Luo, regarding the events at Jinlan City, we were not present, but we have all heard. I don't know why you didn't return to Cang Qiong Mountain or Qing Jing Peak after surviving. I don't know why you didn't speak in Shizun's defense. I don't know what truly happened at the Immortal Alliance Conference. But Shizun's years of nurturing and guidance—that was never false."

She paused, then continued. "If you feel Shizun was ever unkind to you… then think back to the day you lost your jade pendant. The way Senior Brother and the others were inexplicably driven back. You must have suspected something was amiss. To pluck leaves and flowers as weapons, to mete out a minor punishment… there is no second person on Qing Jing Peak who could do such a thing."

Leaves and flowers? Leaves and flowers?

Luo Binghe's arms tightened involuntarily around Shen Qingqiu.

"I was wrong, Shizun," he whispered. "I truly… know I was wrong."

"I… I never meant to kill you…"

Ning Yingying raised her voice. "I have said all I need to say. Even if Shizun ever wronged you in the past, and you truly cannot get past it… can't today be considered repayment in full? From now on, you…"

Here, her resolve wavered. She turned her head away. "I must ask you… please do not call him Shizun anymore."

Repayment?

Yes. Shizun had just said something about "returning it" to him.

Did it mean… just as he had once cast him into the abyss, today he had fallen from a high tower for him?

Panic seized Luo Binghe.

"I don't want you to repay me. I… I was just angry," he muttered to the still form in his arms. "I was angry that you looked at me as if seeing a ghost, that you could talk and laugh freely with others but wouldn't even speak to me, that you always suspected me… I was wrong." His words stumbled as he tried to wipe the blood from Shen Qingqiu's face. "You dislike that I have demon blood. You are of the righteous human path. I was just afraid that if I returned to Cang Qiong Mountain, you would drive me away. I thought if I could seize the Huan Hua Palace… maybe that would make you happy…"

A tremor ran through him. "Shizun… I really…"