Xie Xuechen walked back in a daze, Mu Xuanling’s pale face haunting every thought. Halfway down the path, he encountered Fu Lansheng and Nan Xuyue.
Fu Lansheng’s spirit-binding chains held an unconscious man, and both cultivators wore grim expressions.
“Sect Leader Xie,” Fu Lansheng greeted solemnly. “There’s unusual activity in Yongxue City. We detected fluctuations in the formation near the Five Elders’ residence—someone has entered.”
Xie Xuechen’s brows furrowed. “Impossible. Yongxue City’s barrier is one-way. It must be activated from within to open a two-way formation. Did you see who did it?”
Fu Lansheng shook his head. “No trace when we arrived.”
Nan Xuyue spoke quietly, “Some formations can delay activation if materials are ready. Anyone absent could be responsible—including the Five Elders or the sect leaders still in the Righteous Hall.”
Fu Lansheng nodded. “Miss Lingr and I were first on the scene. Her treasure-sniffing rat sensed treasure aura fluctuations. We followed it and caught this man.” He nudged the unconscious figure with his toe. “But he claims ignorance. He doesn’t seem to be pretending. Still, if he’s innocent—why did he run?”
Fu Lansheng sighed, then smirked teasingly. “By the way, Nan Xuyue, your cousin’s got quite the talent. She kept up with me.”
Nan Xuyue’s smile was faint and unreadable.
Fu Lansheng chuckled. “Everyone hides something. I doubt she could fool you, though.”
Nan Xuyue replied, “I only wonder if Lingr caught the other one.”
Xie Xuechen paused. “Another?”
“Yes,” Fu Lansheng confirmed. “This one had an accomplice—faster, more cunning. Miss Lingr chased him down.”
Before the words had even faded, Xie Xuechen’s figure vanished.
Mu Xuanling floated in endless darkness. Her body felt weightless, her soul drifting in the void. At first came fear, then numb relief—unconsciousness meant no more pain. But soon confusion crept in. Why… did she still hurt?
Her thoughts scattered like ash. She could no longer tell who she was or where she existed.
Then, a voice sliced through the dark—cold, commanding, unforgettable.
“Xuanling. Come here.”
Her heart trembled.
“Master…”
From the darkness, Sang Qi’s figure emerged, draped in black robes, silver hair glinting faintly beneath the hood. His voice was devoid of warmth.
“It’s time to practice.”
Fear clawed at her chest. Yet to disobey him meant punishment worse than death.
She stumbled forward until she saw his outstretched hand—a hand of silver metal, engraved with runes that pulsed with sinister light.
Mu Xuanling knelt. “Master.”
The metallic hand descended upon her head. In the next instant, a torrent of demonic energy surged into her body, ravaging her meridians like countless venomous insects.
“It hurts…” she gasped, body trembling violently.
Sang Qi’s icy voice fell like thunder:
“Do you desire power? Do you crave revenge?”
Mu Xuanling bit her lip until blood welled. She said nothing—but her silence was answer enough.
“Embrace it,” Sang Qi commanded. “Let the demonic energy consume you. Pain is your teacher. Power, your only salvation. People will betray you. Emotions will betray you. The only truth is strength.”
She tried to obey, but every breath was agony. For a half-demon, cultivation was torment by design.
Master, why must our path be filled with pain?
Because we were born sinful.
Later, Nan Xuyue examined Mu Xuanling’s unconscious body.
“Her demonic energy ran wild after the battle. The backlash left her unable to suppress it. I can treat injuries—but not this kind of cultivation.”
“I understand,” Xie Xuechen replied, his face pale. “Leave her to me.”
When he had first found her, she was half-buried in snow—shivering, hiding from sunlight. He had gathered her into his arms, shielding her from the light with his own body. Now she lay pale as frost, breathing shallowly.
Her soft voice echoed in his mind—calling his name before she fainted.
If only he had turned back then.
If only he hadn’t walked away.
Even if she deceived him again, it wouldn’t have mattered.
He clenched his fists, regret cutting deep.
Then, a weak sound—“It hurts…”
Xie Xuechen leaned close. Her lashes fluttered, tears trembling on them.
“Ling…” he whispered.
No response. Her breathing slowed.
His gaze landed on the black demon pill in her pouch—a Lust Demon’s essence. It could save her… but it violated every principle he upheld.
His hand trembled. Either abandon his beliefs—or watch her die.
Finally, he sighed and pressed the pill between her pale lips.
Demonic energy burst forth, flooding her body. Suddenly, her teeth grazed his fingertip—a faint bite, her unconscious body seeking life. A strange tingling traveled up his arm, straight to his heart.
He barely had time to recover when a pair of slender arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind.
Hot breath touched his ear.
“Xie Xuechen…”
Her voice was soft, thick with pain and something deeper. “I hurt…”
Her body burned with fever, her mind consumed by the Lust Demon’s energy. She trembled, seeking release from the torment, her skin pale and glistening with sweat.
Xie Xuechen tried to restrain her gently. “Circulate your energy—don’t resist it.”
But she didn’t hear him. To her, everything was confusion, poison, and the desperate need for an antidote.
And when she looked at him—her gaze filled with longing and despair—he was the antidote.
She broke free, pressing against him, lips finding his.
It tasted like salvation. Like melting snow.
She clung to him, whispering his name again and again, voice breaking between sobs and breathless desire.
Xie Xuechen’s will faltered. He could have dodged—but didn’t. Not this time.
Then came his sigh, soft as falling snow. His fingers brushed the back of her neck, sealing her meridians.
Mu Xuanling slumped unconscious once more.
Her flushed face, her disheveled robes, his torn clothes—all told a story neither would speak of again.
He looked down at her peaceful face, eyes clouded with emotion he couldn’t name.
He fed her a Liuli Mingxin Pill. Gradually, her breathing steadied, her aura calmed.
“Practicing demonic arts… you’ve suffered too much,” he murmured.
Covering her gently with a blanket, he changed his own tattered robes and stepped out into the cold corridor.
Nan Xuyue approached. “Brother Xie, I might have a way to ease her pain.”
“She’s fine now,” Xie Xuechen said quietly.
Nan Xuyue blinked, puzzled. “She’s… fine?”
“I’ll be gone for a while. Watch over her.”
Nan Xuyue watched Xie Xuechen’s departing figure vanish into the falling snow.
—How did he cure her?
—And why… had he suddenly changed clothes?
At Wenxue Cliff, the snow had just stopped. The heavens cleared, revealing a cold, crystalline sky.
Yet, with a single sweep of the sword, wind and snow stirred once more.
A solitary figure stood at the cliff’s edge, his long sword buried in the rock, robes fluttering against the pale horizon.
Xie Xuechen closed his eyes, feeling the chill of the snowflakes melt upon his skin—none of it could extinguish the strange warmth that lingered in his chest.
Twenty-one years ago, it was here, on this very cliff, that he had questioned the Dao, the sword… and his heart.
To establish destiny for all beings, to serve the supreme, to forget emotions.
But for what did his sword sing?
For whom did his heart waver?
A voice echoed softly in his mind, faint and tender—someone calling his name with endless devotion.
Whether she was human, demon, or devil no longer mattered.
He shouldn’t have fallen so easily, and yet… he could not resist. It wasn’t her deliberate charm that had undone him—it was her vitality. She lived as if aflame, fearless in her joy and pain, with only one person in her eyes and heart.
If that person wasn’t him, perhaps he would have felt jealousy.
But when she was in danger… he had lost himself.
Ling…
He opened his eyes, gazing toward the vast, white mountain range beyond. Only now did he understand the meaning of his father’s words spoken twenty-one years ago—
Between all living beings and her, he could only choose one.
He could only give his life… to one of them.
Mu Xuanling drifted endlessly in a black sea of consciousness. Somewhere in the void, she felt a hand—cool, steady—grasping hers. She clung to it as if to life itself, refusing to let go.
After an eternity, she finally found the strength to open her eyes. Her lashes trembled; the world swam into view.
It was night. No candles burned in the room, yet moonlight crept through the cracks in the window lattice, painting the world in silver.
Her fingers were still clasped around that hand—slender, cold, faintly damp from her grip.
“Xie Xuechen…” she murmured weakly.
The figure beside her stirred, turning slightly.
“Miss Mu, you’re awake.”
The voice was soft, gentle.
Mu Xuanling blinked, startled. She released the hand.
“Young Master Nan.”
Nan Xuyue chuckled under his breath, a note of helplessness laced with relief.
“It’s me. You seemed to be trapped in a nightmare and wouldn’t let go. I could only stay by your side. Forgive me.”
“No… I’m the one who should apologize,” she said hoarsely.
Nan Xuyue rose and moved to the table, striking a fire stick. The faint light of an oil lamp bloomed across the room, chasing away the shadows. He poured water into a kettle and set it on the small stove nearby.
“The water turned cold,” he said softly, back to her. “I thought it better to warm it first.”
Mu Xuanling nodded absentmindedly. “Alright.”
The memories returned piece by piece—the snow, the agony of demonic energy dispersing, Xie Xuechen’s face… his retreating figure.
When Nan Xuyue approached again with a warm cup, he asked, “Can you sit up?”
“I can manage.”
She struggled upright, leaning against a stack of pillows. The cup in her hands was pleasantly warm, almost human in temperature. But when she saw the faint red marks on Nan Xuyue’s wrist—imprints from her grip—guilt pricked her heart.
She lowered her eyes and sipped quietly. The water of Yongxue City carried a sweetness like melted snow, soothing her parched throat but not the ache in her chest.
Nan Xuyue spoke after a moment, his tone light. “It was Brother Xie who carried you back.”
Mu Xuanling froze. Her gaze lifted involuntarily.
Nan Xuyue smiled faintly. Half his face lay in candlelight, half in shadow.
“I’m not sure what method he used to suppress the demonic energy, but you’ve stabilized. He had urgent matters to attend to, so he asked me to look after you.”
So he hadn’t left her.
Warmth rippled through her heart. Her lips curved into a small, unconscious smile.
“I see,” she whispered.
Nan Xuyue watched that smile—the soft light in her eyes—and something unreadable flickered in his own.
“Miss Mu,” he said at length, “you like Brother Xie very much.”
Mu Xuanling didn’t deny it. She nodded.
“Why?” His tone was calm, yet curious. “At first, I thought you approached him with ulterior motives. But breath and heartbeat don’t lie. Perhaps that’s why he believes in you too.”
She was silent.
Nan Xuyue’s gaze lingered on her delicate features, as though searching through the layers of her soul.
“Perhaps… you knew him long before this.”
Her breath caught.
“Your breathing tells me the answer.” Nan Xuyue chuckled softly. “Your eyes look at him not only with affection, but with sorrow… like one remembering an old dream.”
Mu Xuanling lowered her eyes. “Young Master Nan, you’re too clever. I have nowhere to hide.”
“He doesn’t remember,” Nan Xuyue said. “Why don’t you tell him?”
“He doesn’t need to remember.” Her lips curved in a wistful smile. “I owe him. It’s enough that I remember.”
“…Is that so?” His voice was light, yet it brushed against her heart like wind over snow. “Then what about me? Do you remember me too?”
Mu Xuanling froze. She slowly lifted her head, staring at him.
Nan Xuyue’s eyes were calm, but within them swirled something dark and bottomless, like a whirlpool in still water.
“Your heartbeat tells me the answer too,” he said softly. “When we first met, it felt like greeting an old friend from another lifetime. A heart like the moon at the world’s edge, bound to another across time.”
His fingers reached out, brushing through her soft black hair, pausing at her temple before resting lightly against her cheek. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“At that time, you wore a bell anklet that chimed softly in the night. And upon your face… there was the mark of the demon clan.”
The faint scent of agarwood surrounded her as he leaned closer.
Mu Xuanling’s cup slipped from her trembling fingers, water spilling across the bedding. Her heart pounded wildly, the world spinning around her.
He—he recognized her!
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