Chapter 53

The Sky-Spanning Mountain Sect maintained a defensive barrier in the airspace above its territory. Any flying sword not registered with the sect would be violently knocked off course if it tried to enter without permission. Shen Qingqiu landed at the foot of the mountain, sent the rented sword back on its way, and took a moment to change his clothes and don a wide-brimmed bamboo hat.

The town below the mountain usually bustled with cultivators coming and going, but today, the streets felt strangely quiet. As Shen Qingqiu was noting this oddity, a voice called out to him.

“Esteemed Master, are you… heading up to the Sky-Spanning Mountain?”

Shen Qingqiu nodded.

The man exchanged uneasy glances with a few others nearby. “Going up there now… might not be the best idea.”

A knot of tension tightened in Shen Qingqiu’s chest. “Why not?”

“You haven’t heard?” the man said, his voice dropping. “The mountain… it’s been surrounded for two days.”

Passing through the mountain gate and starting up the Stairway to Heaven, Shen Qingqiu didn’t encounter a single guard disciple. The ominous feeling in his gut grew with every silent step. He began leaping several stairs at a time, flying upward.

The higher he climbed, the clearer the view became. Over the Vaulting Heaven Peak, several patches of sky churned with thick, black smoke, pierced intermittently by flashes of lightning and the rumble of thunder.

The summit was a scene of devastation. Scorched forests, fields of shattered ice spikes, and damaged rooftops bore witness to recent, vicious battles. Outside the great Vaulting Heaven Hall, two distinct factions stood in a tense standoff.

On one side were the human cultivators. Some stood defiantly, while others lay wounded. Mu Qingfang moved among them with frantic purpose. On the other side stood a sea of obsidian armor—rank upon rank of demonic soldiers, their presence oppressive and overwhelming. A fragile ceasefire seemed to hold, but the air crackled with the promise of violence. One sword drawn an inch too far would be enough to ignite it all.

So, Luo Binghe has stopped hiding his nature. Shen Qingqiu wasn’t surprised. In the original story, the protagonist had revealed his heritage around this stage. With his position in the demon realm secure and the Illusory Flower Palace thoroughly subjugated and obedient, there was no longer any need for pretense. Only the specific trigger for this confrontation was different.

While most disciples on the peak wore the sect’s uniform, many established masters were exempt. Shen Qingqiu’s conspicuously ordinary attire didn’t draw much attention as he pushed through the crowd to peer into the hall.

Yue Qingyuan sat with his eyes closed. Liu Qingge stood behind him, one palm pressed firmly against his Sect Leader’s back. The flow of spiritual power around the two men flickered erratically—a clear sign both were in dire straits.

Seeing his Senior Brother and his perpetually unlucky martial brother in such a state, again seemingly because of his own actions, a wave of bitter guilt washed over Shen Qingqiu. He turned his head, and his breath hitched.

Luo Binghe stood, dark and imposing, on the opposite side of the great hall.

Dressed in profound black, his skin seemed almost translucently pale. His eyes were pools of deepest night, yet they burned with an unsettling, brilliant light. His expression was cold, but twin ghost fires seemed to dance and leap within his pupils. Mo Beijun stood slightly behind him in a subordinate’s position, yet he held his head high, a haughty ice sculpture carved from arrogance itself.

Seeing Luo Binghe again in the flesh, Shen Qingqiu found it difficult to untangle the complex mess of emotions in his chest.

This person was undoubtedly the root cause of his miserable life. Yet, looking back now, it seemed he had consistently misunderstood Luo Binghe, bumbling from one mistake to the next and making everything worse. He bore responsibility for that; he admitted it. And he had, admittedly, screwed Luo Binghe over pretty thoroughly as well. So, while the situation was profoundly awkward, he felt no burning hatred or fear.

It was like seeing a girl who was desperately in love with you. Even if she wasn’t your type, or you felt nothing for her, you still couldn’t quite bring yourself to hate her. Of course, Luo Binghe was no girl (though he was infinitely more troublesome), and ‘ugly’ was the absolute last word anyone would use to describe him.

Yue Qingyuan opened his eyes. Qi Qingqi rushed forward, her voice tight with worry. “Sect Leader, Senior Brother… are you alright?”

Yue Qingyuan shook his head slowly. His gaze settled on Luo Binghe, and he spoke, his voice measured. “Years ago, when the demon race assaulted the Sky-Spanning Mountain, you stood among those who defended it. Your own master gave his life to protect this very peak. I never imagined that today, you would be the one leading a demonic force to besiege us.”

Luo Binghe’s reply was flat. “If your sect hadn’t pushed me to this, I would not have chosen this path.”

Qi Qingqi let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Ha! We pushed you? The world should hear this! You ungrateful viper, betraying your master and forgetting his kindness is one thing. Forcing your own master to self-destruct before your eyes, then desecrating his remains for who knows what foul purpose—and now you dare accuse us? Who, pray tell, is pushing whom?!”

Luo Binghe ignored her tirade completely, his voice devoid of inflection. “Who’s next? I’m taking down that plaque.”

Shen Qingqiu’s head snapped up. The plaque Luo Binghe referred to was undoubtedly the large horizontal board hanging high in the hall, inscribed with the characters ‘Sky-Spanning.’ It had been penned by one of the sect’s founding ancestors, a symbol of immense historical and spiritual significance—the very face of the Sky-Spanning Mountain Sect. To remove it would be a slap to that face.

Years ago, Sha Hualing had led her warriors here with the very same goal: to seize the plaque and parade it in the demon realm as a trophy.

“If you want to fight, then fight!” Qi Qingqi spat. “First you burn a peak, then you smash a mountain gate, and now you want to steal our plaque? What is this? Death by a thousand cuts? Why not just finish it?”

“Junior Sister Qi, be calm,” Yue Qingyuan said. He rose to his feet. Though his side was at a disadvantage, his demeanor was as steady as a mountain, a rock for his disciples’ morale. “Shen Qingqiu’s immortal remains are housed within this hall. He was a member of our sect, a Peak Lord of Qing Jing Peak. In death, he belongs in the ancestral burial grounds of Qing Jing’s past masters, laid to rest with proper rites. Unless you wipe the Sky-Spanning Mountain Sect from existence, as long as a single one of us draws breath—no matter how long it takes—Shen Qingqiu’s body will not be handed over to you.”

A chorus of voices from the cultivators echoed his words. “That’s right!”

Shen Qingqiu had known they would take this stance. It was precisely because the sect would fight tooth and nail to protect his old shell that he had to return and make them stand down.

After the initial shock and panic had faded, Shen Qingqiu had thought it through. A corpse was just a corpse. If Luo Binghe wanted it, he could have it. Let him do whatever he pleased with it. If Shen Qingqiu himself returned, the sect could simply wash their hands of the matter. But he was too late.

A cold, humorless smile tugged at Luo Binghe’s lips. He lowered his gaze slightly, speaking with deliberate slowness. “I will not raise a hand against the Sky-Spanning Mountain myself. Nor will I kill a single one of its members. But I have all the time in the world. We can take this… slowly.”

The words ‘take this slowly’ landed in Shen Qingqiu’s ears with the weight of stones, each syllable distinct and chilling. His heart plummeted.

Luo Binghe was not the type for polite, drawn-out confrontations. Once he shed his disguises and pretense, if he wanted something from a sect, he employed the most direct and effective method: slaughter everyone, then take it.

Yet here he was, showing patience for two whole days. It didn’t seem like a newfound hobby. It felt more like he was waiting for something.

Waiting for Shen Qingqiu to show himself.

Shen Qingqiu’s fists clenched.

“Proceed,” Luo Binghe said.

Mo Beijun, who had been standing silently, let out an indifferent “Oh.” He took a step forward, then added blandly, “I’ve already ‘proceeded’ many times.”

The exploded fields of ice spikes and the pockmarked ground and walls outside the hall were testament to his work.

“Then find someone else to proceed for you,” Luo Binghe replied, his tone dismissive.

Mo Beijun nodded. He reached behind him, his large hand closing around something, and hauled out a cowering figure.

He tossed the man into the vast empty space between the two factions like a sack of grain. The figure scrambled to his feet, looking utterly terrified.

Shang Qinghua.

The moment the Sky-Spanning Mountain cultivators saw him, pure fury ignited in their eyes.

And not just them. Shen Qingqiu felt like fire was about to shoot from his own eyes and mouth. God damn it, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, you absolute—!!!

Qi Qingqi’s sword rang as it cleared its sheath. “Traitor!”

Shang Qinghua offered a weak, placating smile. “Junior Sister Qi, let’s talk this out. No need for swords…” But Qi Qingqi was already lunging, her blade a silver streak. “Who is your ‘Junior Sister’?!” she roared.

Shang Qinghua dodged frantically, trying to hide behind Mo Beijun. The demon lord showed no mercy, delivering a sharp kick that sent him stumbling back into the open. Wincing, Shang Qinghua pleaded, “I had no choice! Don’t be like this. We shouldn’t give outsiders the spectacle of fellow disciples fighting each other!”

The sheer audacity. Shang Qinghua had even less shame than Shen Qingqiu had imagined. To say such a thing now was truly beyond the pale.

“Fellow disciples?!” Qi Qingqi shrieked. “When you let those demonic beasts into the Immortal Alliance Conference, did you think of the Sky-Spanning disciples who died as your ‘fellow disciples’? When you fled to the demon realm, did you think of us then? And now you have the gall to call yourself our brother, standing there with this demonic scourge who’s attacking our home?!”

The ensuing chase around the hall descended into pure farce. Watching from the sidelines, Shen Qingqiu’s emotions surged with each near-miss. Stab him! Slash him! Ah, so close! Junior Sister, aim for his—!!!

While that chaotic comedy played out, no one else was laughing.

Liu Qingge withdrew his spiritual power from Yue Qingyuan’s back, having stabilized his own energies. He stood, his hand resting on the hilt of Cheng Luan. The sword trembled violently in its sheath, emitting a low, relentless hum.

Yang Yixuan balled his fists. “Shizun! You’ve already fought that demon for an entire day!”

Liu Qingge’s voice was gravelly. “Stand down.”

Luo Binghe glanced at him, and a faint, mocking smile touched his lips. He spoke softly, yet his clear, carrying voice reached every corner of the hall, the words laced with a contemptuous upward lilt. “The defeated.”

Liu Qingge’s grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles turned white. Lightning seemed to flash in his eyes. No insult could cut deeper for the Lord of Bai Zhan Peak, a warrior who lived for battle, than to be called ‘the defeated.’

Yang Yixuan, with his fiery temper, shot back immediately. “Demon spawn!”

Luo Binghe remained unperturbed. "That's right. I am a mongrel. And the entire Cang Qiong Mountain Sect has been humbled by a mongrel. How glorious is that?" His gaze swept the hall. "Not just Qiong Ding Peak. I can challenge every last peak one by one. Let the whole world know how the great pillar of the cultivation world, the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, was slaughtered without resistance by a mongrel. How does that sound?"

Ning Yingying's voice trembled with despair. "Luo... Luo Binghe, would burning Qing Jing Peak to the ground also make you happy?"

"No." The answer came instantly, without thought. He seemed to pause, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before his voice hardened. "...Not a single blade of grass, not a single bamboo, not a single hut on Qing Jing Peak shall be harmed. Anyone who dares will pay dearly."

Liu Qingge snorted in derision. Cheng Luan erupted from its sheath. "Hypocrite."

Sword energy sliced past Luo Binghe's cheek, whipping his hair into a frenzy. His hand dropped to the sword at his waist—Xin Mo. A mocking smile touched his lips. "Overestimating yourself."

Yet, the two blades never clashed.

Shen Qingqiu stood between them. The violent collision of their auras instantly split the straw hat he wore for mere show clean in two. His left hand shot up, fingers clamping onto Cheng Luan's blade, halting Liu Qingge's advance. His right hand pressed down firmly on Luo Binghe's, which had already found Xin Mo's hilt, preventing its draw.

There was no need for this fight to continue.

Shen Qingqiu glanced left, then right, the words forming on his lips. Before he could speak, Luo Binghe's hand snapped up like a vice, seizing his wrist in a grip of ice and iron.

The smile on Luo Binghe's face twisted, each word dripping with venomous triumph. "Got you."

Even with prior mental preparation, seeing that face up close sent a primal chill crawling down Shen Qingqiu's spine.

A beat of dead silence. Then, the hall erupted.

Yue Qingyuan's voice was faint, shaking with disbelief. "...Qingqiu-shidi?"

Qi Qingqi forgot all about Shang Qinghua, who scrambled to hide behind Mo Beijun. Ning Yingying tugged at the stunned Ming Fan's sleeve, whispering, "Senior Brother... am I seeing things? What's happening? Is that... Shizun?!"

Ming Fan stammered, "It seems like... but also... not?"

Yang Yixuan, ever the outlier, blurted out in shock, "That movement technique! Isn't that Peerless... Peerless Huang? Senior Huang?! Why... why does Senior Huang have Peak Lord Shen's face?"

Thank you for not saying the whole idiotic name.

Liu Qingge's eyes widened abruptly, the habitual placidity of his face shattering into a mosaic of shock. "...You're not dead?"

Shen Qingqiu's initial wave of guilt and gratitude evaporated into dust. He couldn't help but retort, "Shidi, what kind of expression is that? Are you unhappy your shixiong isn't dead?"

Liu Qingge's face cycled through shades of green, black, and white, a spectacular display. Many others mirrored his shock. Before Shen Qingqiu could say another word, a hand gripped his chin and forced his head around. Luo Binghe's voice was low. "Finally decided to show yourself?"

Shen Qingqiu felt his bones creak in that grip. Only his legs were free, and he couldn't very well knee the demon lord in the crotch in front of everyone—far too undignified. A memory surfaced, and a simmering anger began to boil within him.

"You did this on purpose," he stated.

Luo Binghe tilted his head. "What does Shizun mean?"

"You didn't just slaughter the mountain. You dragged this out, wearing them down... just to draw me out."

A cold laugh. "Shizun occasionally guesses his disciple's thoughts correctly. This disciple is overjoyed. I could beat my chest in elation. I will remember this moment for the rest of my life."

Liu Qingge lowered his sword, his body swaying slightly as if dizzy. He pointed at Luo Binghe. "You. Let him go."

Luo Binghe yanked Shen Qingqiu closer, his voice dripping with impatience. "What did you say?"

The rough movement made Shen Qingqiu suck in a sharp breath. The suppressed fury flared three feet high. "When did you figure out it was me in the dream?"

If Luo Binghe hadn't spotted a flaw, how could he have guessed Shen Qingqiu wasn't truly dead, lying in wait here at Cang Qiong Mountain?

"Shizun thinks too little of me," Luo Binghe said coolly. "Even if I didn't suspect the first time, failing to notice the anomaly the second time would have made me a genuine fool."

Shen Qingqiu nodded. "You're not a fool. I am."

Only someone as sky-shatteringly stupid as himself would believe Luo Binghe was so addled he couldn't distinguish an external intruder from a product of his own illusion.

"Since you noticed," Shen Qingqiu pressed, "why not expose me?"

Was playing along with that farce of affectionate master and devoted disciple so entertaining?

Luo Binghe's eyes held his. "Why expose it? Wasn't Shizun also quite pleased by my performance?"

Pleased?

Ha.

Shen Qingqiu clenched his jaw, refusing to answer. Luo Binghe continued, his tone deceptively light. "Several times, I nearly managed to trace the dream back to your physical location. Had I succeeded, today's spectacle would have been unnecessary."

His expression darkened again. Fingers dug into Shen Qingqiu's shoulders with bruising force, voice thick with bitterness. "Or, from the very beginning, if Shizun hadn't run, hadn't hidden the truth from me... everything would be completely different."

So, the architect of this entire grand disaster was himself. And the logic, damn it all, sounded perfectly sound. It made sense!

In some ways, Shen Qingqiu had to admit the conclusion held water. He courted death, and so the death he got was exactly what he deserved.

The problem was, Shen Qingqiu was susceptible to softness, not force. But you couldn't feed him that tenderness and then slap him across the face with the truth: It was an act.

Luo Binghe was no delicate, pitiable little white flower. In those dreams, believing Luo Binghe thought it all an illusion, Shen Qingqiu had let his guard down. He'd offered comfort, spoken sticky-sweet words of solace, patted heads, allowed embraces—acts that later made him cringe at his own sentimentality.

To think he had genuinely fretted over those dream scenarios, all while playing right into the other's hands... A wave of scorching humiliation washed over him, so intense he wished he could dig a hole and bury himself alive.

It was just too pathetic.