“Parasol tree wood.”
Jun Lin narrowed her eyes slightly and softly murmured the name of the “wooden stick” currently pressed against her neck.
The flock of phoenixes in the sky had always perched exclusively on the branches of this particular tree.
The crisp, clean fragrance of foliage lingered at the tip of her nose. Jun Lin had been lost in her own thoughts just moments before.
She could not understand why her physical body, no matter how unpolished, was forged from rare, high-grade spiritual herbs, yet it had been so easily scratched by a mere mortal wielding a tree branch.
Now that she had identified the type of wood, a sense of clarity dawned upon her.
The parasol tree was one of the oldest spiritual trees in the immortal cultivation world, boasting an inheritance spanning ten thousand years, and its general strength was far from ordinary.
However, that was the absolute limit of it.
She thought to herself that a branch detached from the main trunk could, at most, only carve a shallow scratch upon her neck.
Jun Lin raised her hand, her fingertips similarly pressing against the neck of the person in her arms.
“Now, we are even.”
With that said, she pettily scraped the soft flesh with her slightly lengthened nail.
Unexpectedly, the snow-white skin merely flushed with a hint of red, failing to reveal any actual wound.
Jun Lin tightened her brow, unable to help uttering a soft gasp of surprise.
How bizarre. How could this mortal’s physical body… be so remarkably resilient?
The sudden emergence of doubt was abruptly interrupted by a sharp, piercing pain.
A rich, fresh fragrance of plants surged upward. Her fingers instinctively stroked the aching spot, only to brush against a sticky liquid. As if reacting with a delayed realization, a look of sheer disbelief appeared on Jun Lin’s face.
Green sap still stained the tip of the parasol tree branch pressed against her neck. A cut had been sliced open in her flesh, and a growing volume of fluid slowly trickled downward.
This was a life-or-death situation now. Unwilling to bring Song Qing any further trouble, Yan Zhu gritted her teeth and, with trembling hands, pushed the wooden branch a fraction forward.
Even Jun Lin could not help letting out a soft hiss. She felt somewhat dazed, unable to remember how many years had passed since she last sustained an injury.
The pain felt like a familiar review, the sensation transmitting throughout her entire body, and strangely, she felt a trace of nostalgia.
“Heh, interesting.”
This time, showing no more mercy, her hand stained with sap widened and tightly gripped the neck of the person in her arms.
Simultaneously, the sharp tree branch thrust a bit deeper.
“I am not afraid of death. Even if I ‘die,’ my soul remains, and I can still be reborn.”
The slight movement of her throat triggered a fiery, burning pain, and the “blood” flowed even more unstoppably.
Jun Lin paid it no mind, fixing her gaze intently on Yan Zhu’s eyes.
At this moment, this person struck her as rather endearing, resembling some small, timid herbivore seized by panic.
A lamb… or perhaps a rabbit.
“Then what about you? Do you dare to wager your life against mine?”
Without a moment of hesitation, the person in her arms quickly replied:
“If I die, then I die.”
Her voice was exceedingly light.
She watched as the timidity and panic in those eyes were replaced by a much firmer expression. At that moment, it seemed as though she were not discussing life and death at all, but rather something else entirely insignificant.
Jun Lin’s expression grew much more solemn. Naturally averse to uttering idle words, she could not resist asking, “Are you truly not afraid of death?”
The other party ignored her further.
Jun Lin chuckled, the curve of her lips carrying a chill.
Suddenly, she whipped her head around, gazing at the black cat that had somehow appeared right before her. Just a fraction closer, and its sharp claws would have razed her face.
“Spatial law?”
Her voice shifted slightly in pitch due to surprise.
“Fascinating… but…”
Exerting force, Jun Lin tightened her grip on Yan Zhu’s neck to restrict her movement. Almost simultaneously, she released the arm wrapped around Yan Zhu’s waist and raised it into mid-air.
With fingers spread wide, she made a fierce grabbing motion.
The black cat let out a piercing shriek, its glowing yellow pupils instantly dimming, and its tiny body tumbled to the ground like a kite with a broken string.
Giving her no chance to catch her breath, the tip of a sword arrived in an instant.
Jun Lin casually tilted her head to dodge, flipped her hand, and swiftly tapped her fingertips against the mask of the young woman who had nearly closed in on her.
As if struck by a binding spell, Song Wenqing, who had rushed over to save them, froze in place, unable to shift her weapon even a fraction of an inch.
The mask she wore shattered into pieces in an instant, revealing a bloodless face.
“You…”
The moment she caught sight of that appearance, Jun Lin’s expression froze completely, her entire body stiffening in place as if paralyzed.
She no longer cared about confronting Yan Zhu, staring blankly solely at Song Wenqing.
No further confirmation was needed.
There was simply no possibility of an error.
A voice in her mind shouted with absolute certainty.
The parasol tree branch pressed against her neck drove in a few more inches, a massive wave of pain radiating from the spot. Any further forward, and it would likely injure her “bone.”
Yan Zhu grabbed tightly onto the woman’s sleeve while risking a desperate push. She could not let the woman advance any further, or at least, she could not let her get close to Song Qing.
Yet, Jun Lin paid it no mind, releasing her grip on Yan Zhu’s neck without the slightest hesitation.
The woman’s figure flashed past her eyes, directly shifting to stand right before Song Qing.
“Resembles… she truly resembles her…”
She heard her murmur under her breath.
Consumed by burning anxiety and worried that Song Qing was in danger, Yan Zhu tried to rush forward, only to find her feet seemingly glued to the ground, utterly unable to move.
“The brows and eyes resemble her the most…”
“The contours of the face are also alike… other features look… truly alike… though I do not care for them…”
Jun Lin circled around Song Wenqing, observing her meticulously from head to toe.
“Still, I must confirm it.”
She reached out and touched the back of Song Wenqing’s neck. Fumbling around for a moment, her fingers hooked a red string and pulled it upward.
A slender, oblong piece of red sandalwood was clutched in her palm.
Yan Zhu observed the entire exchange, catching sight of a specific character carved onto the wooden plaque precisely at the moment Jun Lin retrieved it.
Because it had flashed past her eyes too quickly, the memory of it remained quite vague.
Frowning, Yan Zhu thought back on it repeatedly and earnestly until she finally determined the approximate shape of the character, which looked like “Qing” (清).
“Song Qing… Song Qing…”
“Was it actually this ‘Qing’ character?”
“Song Qing… Song Qing… Song Qing…”
Yan Zhu silently chanted in her heart; with every repetition, her heartbeat quickened by a fraction.
She thought of Song Wenqing.
The “Qing” character in Song Wenqing’s name bore a striking resemblance to the “Qing” character.
Yan Zhu shook her head, ultimately feeling a sense of helplessness toward herself.
She realized that she always seemed to associate “Song Qing” with Song Wenqing.
They were clearly two entirely different people.
Song Wenqing possessed a gentle disposition, whereas Song Qing radiated an aura of coldness throughout her entire being.
Yan Zhu attempted to dismiss her baseless association between the two, attributing it simply to her overwhelming desire to see Song Wenqing.
Meanwhile, Jun Lin, having secured the redwood plaque, began to examine the object closely. She suddenly chuckled and raised her gaze to look at the anxious young woman before her.
“Song Qing.”
She spoke, her gaze sweeping across the worried expression of Yan Zhu before shifting back to the face of Song Wenqing, who was beginning to grow tense.
“This item has already been used. What sort of divine soul avatar possessing Void-refining cultivation stage did you encounter previously that required you to ward it off?”
The young woman merely stared at her steadily, showing no intention of answering.
Yet, Jun Lin caught the flash of deep pain that swiftly darted across her eyes.
“Give it back to me.”
Song Wenqing’s hand holding the sword began to tremble slightly. She attempted a small-scale movement of her weapon, her heartbeat threatening to shatter her ribs, while a cold sweat soaked a large area of her back.
Frowning, she looked at the eccentric woman of unknown identity, maintaining a calm expression on the outside without revealing any flaws.
“Oh? That won’t do. I still need to borrow it for a while to accomplish something.”
With a tug, Jun Lin snapped the red string tied around Song Wenqing’s neck and pocketed the wooden plaque.
“Aside from that…”
Her fingertips tapped against her glabella (between the eyebrows).
It felt like a needle prick; the pain was fleeting, vanishing even before Song Wenqing could react.
A single droplet of blood materialized in mid-air, slowly floating toward Jun Lin’s palm.
“I also need this.”
Recalling something presumably pleasant, she smiled.
“Be it for you, or for me, this is advantageous.”
“We ought to be allies, after all.”
Song Wenqing let out a cold snort, channeling the spiritual energy she had accumulated for quite some time into a sweeping sword strike. The blade missed the “enemy’s” waist by a mere hair’s breadth.
“Well done, except…”
“It is still too slow.”
The woman let out a small yawn and her figure vanished from the spot in an instant.
An ethereal voice resonated throughout the cave.
“Until we meet again.”
The binding restriction abruptly vanished. Stumbling a few steps from her strenuous struggle, Yan Zhu nearly fell.
Her waist was lightly supported as she collided with the soft embrace of the person beside her.