Fengxue only knew a handful of shallow techniques, her cultivation not even a match for some third-rate mystic down the mountain.
Even her swordsmanship, the one thing she truly relied on, was a struggle to use against monsters, ghosts, and spirits.
The disciples on the mountain had been right, all she knew was some ordinary mortal swordplay. However refined, an ordinary mortal blade had its limits, it couldn’t part the seas or cleave mountains, couldn’t soar to heaven or plunge into the underworld.
In her past life, nearly every clash with ghosts and spirits had been a fight to the death. Man-eating monsters, vicious ghosts, bandits and soldiers who slaughtered without mercy along mountain roads, none of them reasoned with you. Once the blade came out, it was you or them.
If her skill had been merely mediocre, she could have just kept her head down and survived.
But she was the type, stubborn, competitive, unable to mind her own business. Even in the mortal world she’d found herself in fights constantly.
Across countless battles, she’d built up a wealth of experience. Techniques had their own advantages, and swordsmanship had its own strengths, she’d swung her blade a million times over, until combat became instinct. The moment an opponent moved, she could read the shift in their motion and their eyes and predict their next action, her sword already swinging in response.
To an onlooker, it looked as though she was simply swinging her sword at random, and her enemies were the ones offering their own necks up to the blade.
The giant rat didn’t think much of her at all. It swept its thick tail, and the stone floor cracked apart, fragments flying everywhere.
Fengxue had already dodged clear, waiting quietly to one side, and just as the rat’s tail came down, she brought the Fuwei sword slashing across it at exactly the right instant.
In that single flash of a moment, the long blade struck the rat’s tail.
As if the giant rat had offered up its own tail to her sword.
‘Clang!’
The Fuwei sword was a fine blade, its edge like autumn water, and where it struck the tail sparks flew, carving a thin red line.
Fengxue’s right hand went numb from the shock, blood welling up where the sword’s grip had bitten into her palm. She hissed through her teeth, she didn’t expect this rat demon’s hide to be so thick that a full-strength strike had only managed a shallow cut on its tail.
She glanced back to meet a pair of blood-red eyes, each the size of a clay bowl.
The giant rat no longer took her lightly. It dropped the mangled, bloody woman it had been feeding on and fixed Fengxue with a chilling stare, its exposed teeth still flecked with strands of blood and flesh.
Her first strike having failed, Fengxue fell back, putting a safe distance between them.
The giant rat was massive, yet remarkably agile, and it charged straight at Fengxue without hesitation.
In the blink of an eye, they’d already clashed several times.
The rat was fast, but the girl was always just a touch faster. Inside the ruined temple, her sword bloomed like scattered snow, every strike precise, each pass of the blade shaving away another patch of the rat’s fur, seemingly effortless.
Once, twice, three times…
Small wounds accumulated all over the giant rat’s body, and it grew more and more agitated and vicious. A swing of its tail shattered several floor tiles, a swipe of its claws gouged deep scratches into the wall.
Whatever it managed to touch, even glancingly, either lost a chunk of flesh or came away with a broken bone.
Suddenly Fengxue spun and darted behind the shrine platform, circling around it. Her eyes flicked, without meaning to, over the platform itself, and found it entirely empty.
Where had the idol that used to sit there gone?
A monster like this giant rat wasn’t just fast and strong and thick-skinned, its stamina was formidable too.
Fengxue couldn’t wear it down the way she had the Yi brothers, circling back and forth to drain its energy. After two circuits around the platform, she suddenly pulled out a yellow talisman and slapped it onto herself, then leapt toward the door.
The whole motion flowed as smoothly as any third-rate mystic bolting the moment they pulled out a traveling talisman.
“Heh heh—”
The giant rat seemed to sneer, but it had no intention of letting her go, a dim red light flickered in its eyes as it immediately leapt after her.
It jumped faster and higher than before, its sharp claws curved like hooks, lunging straight for the girl’s back.
A gust of bloody-smelling wind rushed past her ear, but Fengxue suddenly spun around, her supple waist arching back, her sword held level across her chest.
The sharp blade sliced clean across the giant rat’s belly with a wet, tearing sound.
The rat tried to twist its body away, but its enormous form, already airborne, couldn’t turn as quickly as Fengxue’s had. It could only watch, helpless, as its own belly delivered itself onto her blade.
“Shhk—”
The sword sank three inches into flesh, and hot blood sprayed down over her head, soaking her robe and the Strength of the Titan talisman stuck to her elbow. The Fuwei sword tore a line from the rat’s belly all the way to its tail, before her strength gave out, Fengxue gripped the hilt with both hands and, twisting the blade’s angle, drove it down hard along the same wound she’d cut first.
“Rumble—”
Thunder rolled, lightning flashed, and the entire ruined temple lit up ghastly white in the flare.
The giant rat let out a shrill, agonized shriek as most of its tail was sheared clean off and fell to the ground, blood gushing out. It crouched low, eyes fixed unblinking on Fengxue.
Fengxue held her sword steady, blood beading and dripping down the frost-white blade, she was soaked through with blood herself, but her eyes stayed cold as winter stars.
She held the giant rat’s gaze.
“Filthy beast,” she said coldly. “Still think you can stay here?!”
As she spoke she turned the long sword in her grip, lightning flashing off its cold, gleaming edge.
A flicker of fear crossed the giant rat’s blood-red eyes, and at last, grudgingly, it retreated into the darkness.
Endless exhaustion and soreness washed through her body.
Fengxue bit down on her lip, still standing guard at the temple door, her posture rigid and straight.
Some cunning ghosts and monsters, once defeated, didn’t simply leave, they lurked in the shadows, watching quietly, and if their opponent showed the smallest sign of weariness, they would come slinking back for a far crueler revenge.
With these ghosts and monsters, if you showed weakness, they grew bold, if you stayed strong, they shrank back.
Only by maintaining an unbroken front of strength could you make them fear you enough to retreat for good.
She waited a long while. A cold wind carried the icy rain in and drenched her, blood and rainwater soaked her Daoist robe through, and it hung heavy and sodden on her body.
Fengxue suddenly felt a jolt of confusion—
Hadn’t she already taken this robe off and set it aside to dry by the fire?
Another bolt of lightning split the sky, lighting up the whole area, and she saw the giant rat’s retreating back as it fled into the forest. A cold smile crossed her face.
The beast really had been waiting in the dark this whole time, just for her to let her guard down.
The skin at the base of her thumb had split open, oozing thin trails of blood, and her arms ached so badly she could barely keep her grip on the sword. Even so, drained as her body was, she kept her back straight, sitting calmly by the fire, watching the drops of blood roll off the tip of her blade.
Mortal swordsmanship had its limits, but what those limits actually were, she didn’t want anyone else to tell her. She wanted to decide that for herself.
The temple reeked heavily of blood, the floor slick and red, and outside, lightning laced through the storm.
Fengxue sat by the fire, her sword laid across her knees, eyes lowered.
She’d come back tomorrow to bury the woman properly…
She looked toward the pool of blood where the woman lay, but couldn’t make out her face at all.
…
“Rumble—”
A crash of thunder exploded.
Fengxue jolted awake from her dream, opening her eyes. The fire in front of her had nearly gone out, only a few glowing black embers left, giving off a warm, faint red heat.
She looked around, there was no sign of any rat spirit, no mangled, blood-soaked woman anywhere. Just the same abandoned village temple, dim lamplight, and the steady patter of rain.
Her own Daoist robe was still leaning against the stone platform, already nearly dried by the fire, marked only by a few mud spots from her rain-soaked travels, with no trace of blood at all.
Her body, too, was still perfectly clean, without a single wound.
Had she been dreaming the entire time, ever since the woman first stepped into the temple?
Fengxue laughed to herself. “What a strange dream.”
She got up, stretched her limbs, and let her gaze wander idly around the room, until it caught on the offering table.
At some point, a bright red bloodstain had appeared on the stone surface. She reached out to touch it, the blood hadn’t dried yet.
Beside the bloodstain was something small, picking it up for a closer look, she found it was a thin, slender rat’s tail.
By the dim light, Fengxue studied the rat’s tail for a moment, then looked back up at the blank-faced idol. She drew out the Fuwei sword, sure enough, there were a few flecks of blood on the frost-white blade.
There was even a tiny nick in the edge, exactly where she’d cut the rat’s tail.
“You came into the dream with me?” she murmured to the Fuwei sword, wondering to herself whether, perhaps, she was still dreaming even now.
Fengxue suddenly smiled, cupped her hands and bowed toward the idol, then sat back down.
She stirred the coals a few times with her sword tip, added a few more sticks of wood, and coaxed the flames back to life.
“Immortal Master.” The woman’s voice came again, except this time, it issued from the idol’s mouth.
She stepped down from the stone platform and bowed respectfully to Fengxue. “Thank you, Immortal Master, for sparing me from the rat’s jaws.”
Fengxue leaned against the platform, looking at the woman, and understood at last.
No wonder the idol had vanished during the fight, it had been standing right here all along. When the woman first came in, Fengxue had had her back to the platform, if she’d turned around then, she’d have found the enshrined idol already gone.
No wonder, too, that the woman’s face had always been impossible to make out clearly, and the rain on her clothes never dried by the fire. The temple had been abandoned so long that a thick layer of dust had settled over the idol’s face, and the roof happened to have a hole right above it, letting cold night rain drip steadily onto the statue’s shoulder.
Fengxue rose and returned the bow. “May I ask your honored name?”
The woman smiled. “Just call me Grandma Yun.”
Fengxue searched her memory but found no trace of the name. That wasn’t so strange, though, every dynasty had countless deities receiving offerings, and with each change of rule, a new set often took their place. Only a handful of gods ever became so beloved, so consistently enshrined and remembered across the ages, that they were formally granted titles and statues.
A handful, though, still numbered in the hundreds when you added them all up.
But if a deity had an idol and had once received offerings, some trace of divinity always clung to them, naturally ranking above ordinary monsters, the kind of thing common ghosts and spirits wouldn’t dare offend. Fengxue, across two lifetimes, had never once seen a deity fallen on such hard times as Grandma Yun.
She cupped her hands and asked, “If you’re a mountain deity, honored one, how could even a rat spirit dare to trespass against you?”
Grandma Yun sighed. “It’s a long story…”
Grandma Yun hadn’t been born a deity, like many gods who came later, she had once been human. Born into a chaotic age, she’d fled her hometown, and by the time she reached this place, she was the only one left of her family. Fortunately, the fighting had died down by then, enough for her to settle here.
She had once been a master embroiderer. After arriving, she’d taught orphaned girls the art of weaving brocade, improved their looms and tools, and supported countless girls who’d lost their parents to war, turning this once-barren land into a place renowned for its fine brocade.
The brocade she wove shimmered with rippling light, as if she’d cut the glow of sunset clouds straight into cloth, and so a rumor spread that she was a weaving-maiden descended from heaven, able to weave rainbow clouds into fine brocade. After her death, the weavers she’d saved, moved by her deep kindness, carved her a statue and brought her into a temple, where they came often to make offerings.
“But that was a very long time ago,” Grandma Yun said, a fond, gentle smile crossing her face. “I’m just a small local deity from the countryside, never formally granted a title, even calling myself a mountain god is a stretch. I’ve only survived this long on a little incense and worship. Dynasties have risen and fallen, a thousand years have passed, and fortunately, tonight, I happened to meet the little Immortal Maiden.”
She bowed low again, formally, to Fengxue.
Fengxue could only cup her hands and return the bow. “Please, no more bowing. I couldn’t accept that. This was only what I ought to have done anyway, and besides, you gave me a place to rest, so I didn’t have to keep traveling through the storm. If anything, I should be thanking you.”
Grandma Yun’s smile remained warm and gentle as she sat back down across from Fengxue. She raised a hand and pointed, and the ruined temple transformed into a breathtaking mountain summit.
Looking down from the mountain, a thousand lamps glowed across the mortal world below, looking up, clouds billowed and rosy mist filled the sky.
Grandma Yun cupped her hands and offered Fengxue a cup of clear wine.
Fengxue accepted it with a smile, though a worry still lingered. “Grandma, I’ll be leaving in the morning. If that giant rat comes back, what then?”
Grandma Yun said, “That rat has cultivated for many years, sly and greedy by nature, but timid, and it’s never done anything truly monstrous before. It would never normally have dared come after me. It’s only that… I heard there’s a vicious ghost nearby holding some grand feast, demanding that all the local monsters and spirits offer up their treasures, that’s what gave the rat the courage to try and steal my cloud-brocade.”
“Now that you’ve cut off most of its tail with a single strike, Immortal Master, I doubt it will dare come back.”
Fengxue nodded, relieved.
Grandma Yun continued, “Still, keeping the cloud-brocade here only invites monsters and ghosts to covet it. Fortunately I’ve met the little Immortal Maiden tonight, please, accept it.”
“This piece was woven from what little incense-offering power I still have. Worn on the body, it can protect the wearer from blade and spear, untouched by water or fire.”
Fengxue would have loved to shamelessly accept, but all she’d done was help fight off a giant rat within a dream, taking someone else’s treasure for that felt deeply improper.
“But to accept it for nothing would trouble my conscience.”
Grandma Yun said, “You saved me from disaster, Immortal Maiden, what shame is there in accepting a bolt of brocade? That rat was vicious and cruel, you could easily have chosen not to intervene, and yet you couldn’t bear to see me devoured, and drew your sword in anger anyway. That shows a truly upright and kind heart. Keeping the cloud-brocade here only gathers dust and invites moths and rats to gnaw at it, far better that it travel with the little Immortal Maiden, upholding justice and slaying demons.”
Fengxue said, “Grandma, once I have the money, I’ll have your golden form recast and your temple restored.”
Grandma Yun shook her head. “No need for that.”
Fengxue said, “Why not? You’re already… people are close to forgetting you.”
These small rural deities needed the strength of belief and incense offerings to sustain themselves. The stronger the incense and the will of the faithful, the stronger a god’s power grew, but someone like Grandma Yun, left with nothing but a broken-down temple and a bowl of rainwater, forgotten bit by bit over time, would eventually find even her continued existence a struggle.
A deity who could barely fend off a rat spirit, Grandma Yun was close to fading away entirely, wasn’t she?
A shuttle appeared in Grandma Yun’s hand.
The shuttle spun nimbly, and in her wrinkled hands, the lamplight of the mortal world below and the rosy clouds of the heavens above wove themselves together into a light, exquisite cloud-brocade.
As she wove, Grandma Yun said with a smile, “Let them forget, then. As long as the weaving girls still have somewhere to stand, the cloud-brocade will keep being passed down in this world.”
“…As long as it endures a thousand years, ten thousand years, unbroken.”
“Ah,” she sighed softly, “it’s only, I nearly mistook you for something else at first. If the little Immortal Maiden truly comes from Qingming Mountain, why does your heart carry a trace of something strange within it?”
Meeting her gentle, compassionate eyes, Fengxue felt a strange sense of disorientation, and somehow found herself telling this deity everything that had happened to her these past few days.
Having heard her story, Grandma Yun didn’t question her the way everyone else on the mountain had. She took Fengxue’s hand, saying with genuine sympathy, “Poor child. You fought so decisively against those monsters, you must truly have been the one who led that man out of the Demon Den. As long as you act without shame before heaven and earth, without shame before your own conscience, those children will eventually see the truth, and know what wrong was done to you.”
Fengxue could only manage a rueful smile.
In her past life, right up until her death, no one had ever learned the truth. And even if they did, someday, long after the person involved had already died, what would it even mean by then?
She had no interest in a few crocodile tears from Shen Yujing anyway. Besides, why would he ever cry for her?
Grandma Yun rubbed at her eyes. “Still, looking at your heart, it doesn’t seem much like demonic qi to me.”
As an accomplished embroiderer, and a small deity who had once received offerings, Grandma Yun’s sight was remarkably clear and discerning.
Fengxue asked, “Not demonic qi? Then what is it?”
Grandma Yun shook her head. “My own power is too slight, I can’t quite make it out. If the little Immortal Maiden is willing to let me open your chest and take a closer look, perhaps I could find some clue.”
Open her chest and look?
Fengxue pressed her lips together, silent for a moment, then suddenly raised her brows and smiled. “All right. I’ll trouble you for that, Grandma.”