Cen Yuchi snapped back to his senses, only then realizing that the shout hadn’t been directed at him.
The play continued on stage, but the cultivators of the various sects had all withdrawn, leaving a single young cultivator to face the man in the center. That cultivator wore white robes, with sword-like brows and starry eyes, his figure tall and straight, a long sword pointed directly at the red-robed demon.
Cen Yuchi already knew what this play depicted, and naturally he knew who this man was meant to be. Though far inferior to the real person’s face and bearing, there was still a certain resemblance. It was precisely that resemblance that made Cen Yuchi feel that he himself ought to look like that wretched creature that standing beside him, the difference between them was truly as vast as the gap between the two figures on stage.
He still remembered what that man said next.
“Yuchi, admit your mistake, and come with me.”
And how had he answered back then?
Roaring flames devoured everything, as hundreds of cultivators rose on their swords and surrounded the small patch of ground. Cen Yuchi’s eyes were bloodshot, and his ink-black hair, like drifting smoke, came loose as he pulled out the blood-jade hairpin. The hairpin transformed into a Jade Chariot; Cen Yuchi lightly touched his toes to its canopy, his whole body wreathed in a thin layer of flame like a trapped beast on the verge of death that still refused to bow its head, at once pitiable and laughable.
“Senior Brother, it’s too late. You can’t take me away.”
The man opposite gazed with unwavering resolve, the flames reflected in his eyes so bright they seemed to burn from the depths of his pupils.
“I can.”
Cen Yuchi shook his head.
Cen Yuchi was an Artifact Refiner, and also the demon the world spoke of. Betraying his master, slaughtering and burning, in this lifetime he had never done a single right thing, had never been worthy of anyone; his conscience had long since been fed to the dogs. The world called him fiend and demon; his ugliness laid bare, all wished him dead. But none of that mattered to him. Before only one person did he always wish he could be a little more dignified, a little less wretched like the youth he had been before leaving Immortal Feather Peak, before he had done every bad thing there was to do.
That person was his senior brother, the young peak lord of Immortal Feather Peak, Mu Linchuan.
Cen Yuchi knew everything that happened next. The sword he had forged with his own hands ultimately pierced his own chest, and he used his last thread of Dharma power to drive the Jade Chariot to its limit. The chariot erupted in a blaze of world-devouring fire but when the flames passed, the only one swallowed by that Undying Fire was Cen Yuchi himself.
Everyone said the demon Cen Yuchi had cultivated evil artifacts and reaped what he sowed, suffering a backlash in the end, consumed by his own fire, dying in madness. But only Cen Yuchi himself knew that in a lifetime of madness, that was when he had been most lucid so lucid that the searing pain of that burning still remains carved into every inch of his meridians to this day.
Cen Yuchi’s death was no backlash.
Everything after that, Cen Yuchi knew nothing of. Fortunately, the play was not over so quickly. After that battle, Mu Lian retired and installed Mu Linchuan as peak lord, and under Mu Linchuan’s leadership Immortal Feather Peak swiftly recovered its strength, reestablishing its prestige among the Immortal Sects.
Cen Yuchi also discovered something quite interesting: after his death in the play, the crowd demolished Ten-Zhang Manor and captured another of the ringleaders. Though that man appeared on stage only briefly, his shifty, thieving expression, his exaggerated makeup, and his garish red-and-green attire left a deep impression on Cen Yuchi.
Senior Brother Liu, oh Senior Brother Liu seeing you rendered as such a beauty too, Yuchi can rest easy!
The “Liu” that Cen Yuchi spoke of was none other than the rumored demon who slaughtered innocents, committed treason beyond redemption, and whose crimes were unforgivable in the eyes of heaven, the very demon who ranked first, forcing Cen Yuchi to settle for second: Nan Xunliu.
After Cen Yuchi’s death, Nan Xunliu swore never to set foot in the jianghu again, trading his vow for a place of peaceful refuge for the manor’s followers within Ten-Zhang Manor. Cen Yuchi smiled. How could a Liu shixiong whom everyone wanted dead be let off so easily? This outcome was most likely orchestrated by Immortal Feather Peak after all. Mu Linchuan was right, he had the power to protect anything he wished to protect. He had protected Ten-Zhang Manor for him.
If Yuchi were not dead, yet left Liu shixiong to trudge alone through this world, wouldn’t that be far too heartless? But times had changed. Now that Cen Yuchi stood once more, solid and real, upon this continent, he was no longer the Jade-Blood Yama who could conjure a human Illusion Realm within ten paces, on a patch of ground no bigger than a palm. And that fantastical, resplendent kingdom he had created, beautiful as a fairyland, had ultimately become the cage that imprisoned that man for a lifetime.
By the time he finished wandering around, night had fallen. Cen Yuchi figured he’d deal with tomorrow when it came, and walked into an inn. But no sooner had he stepped inside than a cultivator followed right behind him. The waiter, who had been warmly attending to Cen Yuchi, immediately rushed over to the cultivator, leaving him hanging.
“Aiya, Immortal Yin, please come right in! We happen to have one room left, it’s been waiting for you!”
Cen Yuchi rolled his eyes so hard they nearly spun into the back of his skull. The waiter had said those exact words to him moments ago. He couldn’t help sizing up the man before him.
The cultivator looked very young, around seventeen or eighteen, dressed in white robes with satin ribbons wound around his cuffs, a long sword strapped to his back. He was quite handsome and striking, but that pretty face was set in a scowl, as if someone owed him a fortune. Ignoring the waiter’s fawning posture, he walked straight to the counter, pulled out a waist token the size of his palm, and slapped it on the table.
“Put it on my tab.”
The innkeeper behind the counter waved his hands repeatedly. “Immortal Yin, what are you saying! What tab? Your presence makes our humble inn shine with glory, fine wine and fine food are yours, on the house!”
The waiter came over to keep flattering him. “Isn’t that the truth, Immortal Yin? There’s a ghost haunting this mountain, and it’s been tormenting us for days without a moment’s peace. Thanks to your divine powers, you captured that evil spirit otherwise, we’d all have lost our lives!”
The Young Immortal frowned, as if yet another person owed him money, though his voice was clear and clean. “I was merely passing through. And there is no evil spirit on this mountain. I deserve no reward without merit.”
“Of course there is! Just today a hunter’s family ran into it on the mountain! It wanted to eat them!”
Hearing this, Cen Yuchi sheepishly scratched his nose from the side. Heh heh… could they be talking about me, by any chance?
The Young Immortal grew impatient. “I searched the mountain all day. There was no trace of the evil spirit you speak of.”
The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed into two slits of smiles. “Then the evil spirit must have been scared off by you and fled! You’re truly our savior!”
The Young Immortal frowned again and was about to say something more when a voice cut him off.
“Tsk. Didn’t you just say there was only one room left? How come you’re drumming up business now? Are you planning to have this Young Immortal sleep on the floor of my room?”
Cen Yuchi stood with his arms crossed, listening to the two of them fawning over that Young Immortal, and he was getting impatient. And this Young Immortal was quite a character too, running up a tab with such righteous confidence. Cen Yuchi really didn’t want to listen to their nonsense any longer.
The innkeeper seemed to only just remember that someone else was standing there, and put on that signature smiling face as he said to Cen Yuchi, “Our guest rooms are all full. Young master, please seek lodging elsewhere.”
Hearing this, Cen Yuchi was displeased. Does he think I, the Blood Yama, am blind or deaf?
But the waiter spoke first, rudely: “You’ve been standing there listening all this time and you still don’t understand? No rooms!”
Seeing the waiter’s attitude, Cen Yuchi actually found it a little amusing, and instead of getting angry, he narrowed his eyes, putting on an air of “your master has plenty of money,” and said slowly, “All I know is that everything follows first come, first served. Since I arrived first, and I won’t shortchange you, why should I go elsewhere?”
As he spoke, he reached for his waist. But the moment his fingers touched the money pouch, he felt his wrist seized by someone. It came so suddenly that Cen Yuchi, wincing in pain, finally couldn’t help crying out.
“What are you doing!”
The one gripping Cen Yuchi’s wrist was none other than the Young Immortal who had been silent all this while. The Young Immortal’s brow was furrowed even deeper now, his eyes fixed on Cen Yuchi as if harboring some deep, bitter hatred.
Cen Yuchi thought, this is bad could I have run into an enemy? Ill intentions all around run! With a forceful wrench free, he slipped away in a flash. The kid’s lightness skill wasn’t bad; Cen Yuchi leaped up and landed steadily on the roof.
The moment he steadied himself, a fierce gust swept in from behind. Cen Yuchi dodged sideways, only to see a long sword whistle past before the blade had even left its sheath, the Sword Qi had already arrived!
The Lingyun Sword Technique?
Cen Yuchi’s heart shook. This Young Immortal was actually a disciple of the Ling-character Mantra from Immortal Feather Peak!
The long sword, having missed its strike, hovered in midair not far away. The Young Immortal had somehow already appeared there, the two ribbons tied at his sleeves drifting down in the wind, and on his spread wide sleeves, twelve immortal cranes danced without wind, wings flapping as they circled.
The Twelve Immortal Feathers, that Daoist robe that could make all of Shangyang bow its head had once been worn by Cen Yuchi as well.
The white-robed immortal touched down lightly on his toes, rode the Qi into the air, and formed a finger seal with both hands. The long sword wheeled sharply downward, pointing straight at Cen Yuchi’s face!
Though Cen Yuchi had once been a disciple of the Ling-character Mantra, he had learned this sword technique only muddled back then, and after so many years he had forgotten most of it. This Young Immortal was so overbearing, and his cultivation far surpassed the body Cen Yuchi now inhabited; after a few exchanges, Cen Yuchi could barely hold on.
The long sword came at him again, and Cen Yuchi instinctively formed a finger seal with both hands, raising them before his forehead. A flash of red light shot from between his eyes, forcing the sword to pause slightly.
The Young Immortal froze for a moment too, then his pupils darkened. He flew up to catch the sword, drew it from its sheath, and pointed it straight at Cen Yuchi!
Cen Yuchi’s jaw tightened, a crimson glow stirring in the depths of his eyes. Unless it was absolutely necessary, he didn’t want to use the Jade Chariot and expose his identity much less with this Young Immortal being from Immortal Feather Peak. Cen Yuchi truly didn’t want to harm him in the slightest. In an instant, the sword’s edge was upon him. Cen Yuchi was just about to activate the Jade Chariot when, unexpectedly, the Young Immortal as if he had already seen through him dropped that overbearing posture, turned his wrist to convert the blade’s edge into its flat, and struck Cen Yuchi’s shoulder without a trace of Inner Power.
Cen Yuchi took the blow, cried out “Aiya,” and fell to the ground.
With a “zheng” sound, the sword returned to its sheath. The Young Immortal half-crouched, holding his long sword crosswise, its blade pressed against Cen Yuchi’s neck.
Clarity instantly returned to Cen Yuchi’s eyes. Gripping the sword at his neck with both hands, he craned his head up and grinned. “Young Immortal, do we know each other?”
The Young Immortal’s brow furrowed even deeper, as if straining to discern something. Only after a moment did he answer, “We don’t.”
Cen Yuchi struggled hard, knocking the sword crosswise before him askew with a wave of his hand. “Then why are you grabbing me!”
The Young Immortal straightened up and asked from above, “Then why were you running?”
Cen Yuchi stood up too, he was about the same height as the Young Immortal. Unwilling to lose in momentum, he raised his voice and declared righteously, “Didn’t you hear the waiter say there were no rooms left? If I didn’t leave, was I supposed to share your floor bed!”
At this, the Young Immortal’s lips actually curled slightly, a rare occurrence and he let out an extremely contemptuous snort. “Weren’t you the one who arrived first?”
Cen Yuchi brushed off his dirtied clothes as he spoke. “You’re younger, I’m letting you have it!”
Someone from Immortal Feather Peak was not someone he could afford to provoke, if he damaged them, he’d pay with his life. Thinking this, Cen Yuchi moved to walk past, wondering whether he should hurry back to Ten-Zhang Manor overnight and ask Liu to make him a bowl of Ten-Complete Tonic Soup to calm all the frights he’d suffered today.
But the Young Immortal swept his long sword across, blocking Cen Yuchi’s path, and said, “You made it here from north of the river within five days. I thought your skills must be quite good.”
Cen Yuchi found this strange, I’ve spent these five days hanging in a tree, he thought, and said, “Young Immortal, I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’ve been in this town these past few days.”
“Really? I might mistake a person, but I would never mistake a thing.” As the Young Immortal spoke, he flicked his sword upward. Cen Yuchi felt a lightness at his waist, and then saw that the Young Immortal now held a small money pouch stamped with a spatial seal.
The pouch was exquisitely crafted, embroidered with gold thread into a totem of the rising sun, dignified and proud.
The Young Immortal flipped the pouch over in his hand. On its bottom, stitched in pale fine thread, was a tiny character “Yin”, nearly the same color as the pouch itself, almost impossible to spot.
And that “Yin” benefactor was now standing right in front of Cen Yuchi, glaring at him with eyes full of deep hatred, saying word by word:
“This is mine.”