Chapter 54

“Wait!” Qi Qingqi cried out, her voice sharp with disbelief. “What in the world is going on?!” She pointed a trembling finger toward the main hall of Qiong Ding Peak. “The one inside… that is Shen Qingqiu, isn’t it? So why is there another one standing here?”

Luo Binghe looked rather pleased with himself. “Why not ask the former Peak Lord of An Ding?”

Shen Qingqiu: …Damn it. Of course, that spineless, shameless Shang Qinghua had a hand in this.

Shang Qinghua let out a nervous, wheezing laugh. Mo Beijun shot him a sidelong glare, and he immediately straightened up, took a deep breath to steady his dantian, and stepped forward, chest puffed out.

“Senior Brother Shen,” he announced in a clear, ringing voice, “chanced upon a rare treasure several years ago—the Sun and Moon Dew Mushroom. This spiritual fungus has the power to forge a new body of flesh and blood. It was with this treasure that Senior Brother Shen was able to separate his soul from his shell at Hua Yue City, leaving behind a decoy! So, the one inside is him, but it’s merely an empty vessel. The one outside is also him! They’re both him!”

Concise. To the point.

Several pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at Shen Qingqiu.

Liu Qingge immediately leveled Cheng Luan’s gleaming tip at him, the murderous intent radiating from the blade even sharper than when it had been pointed at Luo Binghe.

After the initial shock faded, Yue Qingyuan’s expression settled into one of profound bewilderment. “If that’s the case,” he said, his voice low, “why did you cut all ties with the Twelve Peaks for five long years? Did you… did you truly feel that none of your fellow disciples were worthy of your trust?”

Guilt twisted in Shen Qingqiu’s gut. “Senior Brother, please let me explain—”

“Shen Qingqiu!” Qi Qingqi cut in, her anger palpable. “Do you have any idea what you put Senior Brother and the others through?! Your disciples cried themselves sick! For a whole year, Qing Jing Peak was draped in mourning silks, shrouded in gloom—it was unbearable to even set foot there! The position of Peak Lord stood empty, while you were out there… what, living it up?!”

Shen Qingqiu had always been wary of Qi Qingqi’s fiery temper, and being pointed at and scolded like this made him flinch. “I swear, it wasn’t intentional! I was buried in the earth for five years. I only woke up a few days ago! It was his doing!”

Seeing the accusing fingers swing back toward him, Shang Qinghua looked utterly wronged. “Why is it my fault again? You were the one who said we had to hurry up and ‘ripen’ it!”

Liu Qingge pressed a hand to his temple. “Shut up!”

Shang Qinghua shut up.

The scene was almost comical—this group bickering like children. But given the circumstances, Shen Qingqiu couldn’t muster even a hint of amusement.

Qiong Ding Peak was a scene of devastation. Flames licked at the ruins of buildings, and the air was thick with the smell of scorched stone and splintered wood. After two days of siege and skirmish, none of its usual solemn dignity remained. Inside the hall and out, disciples stained with blood leaned on their comrades for support. The younger ones cast frightened glances around, their faces pale. Exhaustion hung over them all like a shroud; they were at the end of their strength.

Arrayed against them in a menacing half-circle, the black-armored demon generals and cavalry of the opposing force stood sharp and gleaming, like freshly honed blades, their predatory gazes fixed and unyielding.

Shen Qingqiu tore his eyes from the grim sight and turned to Luo Binghe. “You said you came to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect to capture me.”

“That’s correct,” Luo Binghe replied.

“You’ve captured me.”

His objective achieved, it was time to withdraw his forces.

Luo Binghe studied him. “No more running?”

“…” Shen Qingqiu gave a slow, deliberate nod. “No more running.”

The corner of Luo Binghe’s mouth twitched, forming a weak, exhausted smile. For the first time, the mocking edge that had been plastered on his face vanished from the expression.

“I’ve thought that many times before,” he said softly.

Liu Qingge suddenly spoke, his voice like ice. “What do you mean by that?”

He glared at Shen Qingqiu as if he wanted nothing more than to drive his sword through the man’s skull. “Are you planning to trade yourself?”

Yue Qingyuan’s hand settled on the hilt of Xuan Su, his expression turning grave. “A disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain is not for a demon to claim.”

Mu Qingfang reached out to stop him, shaking his head. “Senior Brother, you forcefully broke your seclusion to face a powerful enemy. You’ve already suffered significant internal damage. If you draw your sword now, I fear it will truly…”

A dark, sickly pallor surged across Yue Qingyuan’s face before he forcibly suppressed it. “I must,” he said, his voice strained. “Our shidi already died once. We failed to protect him then. Must I now stand by and watch him march to his death again?”

The words struck Shen Qingqiu like a physical blow, stirring a tumult in his chest. He faced Yue Qingyuan. “Senior Brother, look at our disciples. See how many are wounded. It’s been two days. Shouldn’t they be allowed to retreat? Look at the ruin of Qiong Ding Peak. Shouldn’t it be allowed to rest?”

If there was one person Shen Qingqiu respected and admired above all others, it was Yue Qingyuan. Not just for his unwavering dedication to the entire sect, but for this fierce, protective loyalty. He couldn’t bear the thought of Cang Qiong Mountain and its Sect Leader having to clean up his mess yet again.

He’d made his own bed. He would lie in it. “The disciple I taught, the chaos I caused—I alone am sufficient to bear the responsibility,” Shen Qingqiu declared. “Senior Brother, you are the head of this sect. The safety and lives of every disciple across the Twelve Peaks rest on your shoulders. You know better than anyone what choice must be made here.”

A dead silence fell over the hall, thick and heavy.

Helplessness was etched deep into Yue Qingyuan’s features, but as the leader of the mountain, the choice demanded by their dire situation was clear. The other Peak Lords shared the same grim understanding. It was Ning Yingying who broke the stillness.

She rushed forward, grabbing Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve. “I won’t allow it!”

“Ming Fan,” Shen Qingqiu said calmly. “Take care of your Junior Sister.”

“I don’t need taking care of!” Ning Yingying sobbed. “Whether it was that demon woman back then, or the confrontation at Jinlan City and Huan Hua Palace… it’s always you, Shizun, who steps forward. Why does it have to be you again this time? Why must you always be the one to suffer?”

Shen Qingqiu was momentarily speechless.

Yeah, why is it always me?

It was a question he couldn’t quite answer on the spot. He forced his features into a mask of calm authority. “You’re a grown woman now. What will people think, seeing you cry like this? This master isn’t going to die.” Probably, he added silently.

Ming Fan’s face was a portrait of grief and indignation. “Shizun! To hand yourself over to this demon for the sake of the sect… wouldn’t that be a fate worse than death? I’ve only ever heard of ‘risking one’s life for a noble cause.’ Who has ever heard of ‘offering one’s body to feed a demon’?!”

How do you talk?!

Ming Fan, you little brat, can’t you speak like a normal human being?!

After all this dragging on, Luo Binghe’s patience had clearly worn thin. He seized Shen Qingqiu’s wrist with one hand, his other resting on the sheath of Xin Mo. “I will be taking Shizun’s immortal form as well.”

Another Peak Lord spat out angrily, “Don’t push your luck! Taking the man isn’t enough? What do you want with a corpse?”

Luo Binghe didn’t answer. He merely raised a hand toward Mo Beijun, issuing a silent command. Seeing the hard-won compromise on the verge of shattering, Shen Qingqiu felt a desperate urge to intervene. He meant to grab Luo Binghe’s arm, but the gesture felt too intimate, too awkward. Instead, he settled for tugging lightly on the man’s sleeve. He steeled himself, forcing the words out.

“I’ll go with you. Isn’t that enough? There’s no need to go that far.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. This was humiliating.

He was a man, yet here he was, in front of all these people, speaking in such a submissive tone to another man about “going” with him. The fact that this man had once been his disciple made it all the more galling, all the more shameful.

Yet, showing weakness did have a certain effect on any man. Luo Binghe’s expression visibly brightened. Not only did his grip loosen slightly, but even his tone softened.

The tone was softer, but the words were just as unyielding. “It is, after all, Shizun’s original body. And it involves… many things. If Shizun were to perform another ‘golden cicada shedding its shell,’ this disciple truly wouldn’t know what to do.”

His face turned cold as he looked away. “Take it.”

Before Mo Beijun could move, Qi Qingqi, who had been listening to a hushed report from Liu Mingyan, first looked shocked, then shouted, “There’s no need to fight over it!”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “Luo Binghe, no one needs to give you anything now. Even if we were willing to let you take it, you wouldn’t get your wish.”

Shen Qingqiu knew her fiery temperament. He braced himself, fearing she had done something drastic to provoke Luo Binghe. To his surprise, she motioned for Liu Mingyan to step forward. “Mingyan, you tell them.”

Liu Mingyan’s voice was calm and clear. “Shen-shishu’s immortal form has disappeared.”

She stepped aside. From the rear hall, several disciples were carried out. These were the ones who had been left to guard the Meditation Platform and the body. Now, they lay unconscious, their faces and fingertips stained an eerie, dark bluish-purple.

An uproar swept through the hall. Yue Qingyuan’s face paled. Luo Binghe’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Don’t look at me,” Qi Qingqi stated bluntly. “I did consider hiding it. But when I sent Mingyan to the rear hall to move it just now, the Meditation Platform was already empty. The body we had preserved with such care is gone.”

She seemed almost pleased, preferring the body to vanish rather than fall into Luo Binghe’s hands. Mu Qingfang knelt to examine the unconscious disciples. “They have lost consciousness, but their lives are not in danger. Poisoned.”

“What kind of poison?” Yue Qingyuan demanded.

“I cannot determine that yet,” Mu Qingfang replied. “There are no visible wounds. Allow me to test their blood.”

Qi Qingqi’s eyes narrowed at Luo Binghe. “If it were a poison from the human realm, Mu-shidi would recognize it instantly. Since he cannot, I must ask: was this your doing?”

Luo Binghe replied with detached coolness. “I do not care for poisons.”

This was true. Moreover, in the current situation, Luo Binghe had no reason to lie. If he said it wasn’t him, then it wasn’t. Which meant that an unknown party had taken advantage of the confrontation at the front hall, slipped onto the mountain unseen, passed through multiple walls right under their noses, and stolen Shen Qingqiu’s corpse. The audacity was staggering.

Shen Qingqiu was utterly baffled. What would anyone want with my corpse??? Was I unwanted in life only to become a hot commodity in death?

Just how many perverts are there in this world?!

Seeing no further benefit in remaining, Luo Binghe frowned. “Very well. No matter who took it, we will find it.”

The Heart-Devil Sword slid free from its sheath, a plume of inky vapor rising from the blade. Where its edge passed through the air, it tore a ragged, lingering scar in reality. Shen Qingqiu spoke a low warning. “Withdraw the encirclement.”

Luo Binghe’s gaze flicked to him. “As my master wishes,” he said, the words clipped and hard.

Liu Qingge took an involuntary step forward, his lips parting. Shen Qingqiu looked back at the gathered disciples of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, then at Liu Qingge himself. He found no words.

The tip of Cheng Luan scraped against the stone floor as Liu Qingge raised it. Beneath his sleeve, his hand was a white-knuckled fist, the torn flesh of his palm weeping blood that streamed down the blade and fell in heavy drops.

He stood frozen for a long moment before two words ground their way out from between his teeth.

“Wait for me.”

The words were flung like twin shards of ice, yet they carried the heat of banked fury and a towering, undimmed will to fight.

Luo Binghe offered a cold smirk. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The Heart-Devil Sword slid home into its scabbard.

The rift between worlds connected to a broad stone corridor. Pairs of torches stretched into an endless line ahead, their light swallowed by an impenetrable darkness at the far end.

The style of the murals lining the walls and the oppressive, shadow-drenched atmosphere left no doubt—this was Luo Binghe’s stronghold in the demon realm.

Once the rift sealed shut behind them, Luo Binghe released his grip on Shen Qingqiu’s arm, his fingers loosening slowly.

Shen Qingqiu straightened his posture with a sharp flick of his sleeve. He said nothing.

Silence hung between them, thick and brittle. Neither spoke, neither looked at the other. They moved forward in single file, their footsteps unnervingly quiet on the stone.

A profound sense of wrongness nagged at Shen Qingqiu.

He had assumed that seeing Luo Binghe again, with all this physical proximity and drama, would have his “Satisfaction Points” skyrocketing—okay, fine, thinking that was a bit shameless. No, it was profoundly shameless.

Yet the System remained utterly silent. Not a single peep.

The labyrinthine branching paths of the underground palace did nothing to slow Luo Binghe’s pace. After several turns, the space suddenly opened up.

Most demonic architecture burrowed deep, carving out caverns that never saw sun or stars. This chamber, however, had its ceiling shattered open to the surface above, allowing a shaft of genuine sunlight to pierce the gloom, lending the place an unsettling echo of the mortal world.

Luo Binghe pushed open a door. The layout and furnishings within were disconcertingly familiar, bearing a striking resemblance to the Bamboo House back on Qing Jing Peak.

An irrational spark of anger ignited in Shen Qingqiu’s chest.

He truly wanted to ask Luo Binghe: What’s the point? Setting the stage like some cheap theatrical production, keeping me penned in here, pretending nothing ever happened so you can continue your little fantasy of a devoted master and his beloved disciple?

But a captive has no right to complaints. He swallowed the words, bitter as they were.

Luo Binghe took a step toward him.

A few days ago, Shen Qingqiu would have recoiled, putting three steps of distance between them for every one Luo Binghe advanced. Now, he refused to flinch or make himself small. That would make him look like some maiden menaced by a brute—too affected, too pathetic, too theatrical. Even a dragon in shallow water or a tiger on flat ground (the arrogance of the thought!) could strive to maintain a final shred of dignified composure.

Yet tension coiled tight in his chest, a wire drawn to snapping. His fingers curled slightly at his sides. A faint, involuntary tremor touched his eyelid.