Yan Zhao kept her eyes closed.
Ding-ling-ling…
The sound of a bell rang out, and the world before her suddenly distorted for a brief moment. She pressed her hand against her forehead, trying to alleviate the sudden onset of dizziness.
A moment later, when Yan Zhao opened her eyes again, she saw a vast expanse of mountain forests and a sea of clouds.
She was intimately familiar with this place; it was the back mountain of Chuanyun Peak, a path she had walked countless times since childhood. In the sky, a bright moon hung high, shedding an endless expanse of clear light. Yan Zhao’s shadow fell upon the ground, a long, thin, slender silhouette.
The White Jade Sword in her arms felt strangely heavy. She looked down and realized her hands had shrunk considerably.
Yan Zhao sniffed the air. It was saturated with the overly rich aroma of strong wine. A jumble of wine jars lay scattered haphazardly around her feet. Looking ahead, she saw a young man drinking heavily, leaning against a tree behind him. His clothes were slightly disheveled, and his expression was dazed.
She remembered now this was the day her Master’s Dao companion had departed.
Upon spotting her, the Sect Leader remained in a daze for a while, as if only just reacting. He smiled and beckoned to her, “Zhao’er, come here.”
Yan Zhao walked over expressionless, clutching the White Jade Sword. “Master.”
The Sect Leader smiled and lifted a jar of wine before her eyes. “Come, you taste some too.”
Yan Zhao didn’t move. He suddenly realized his mistake and let out an “Ah ya!” in chagrin, pulling it back. “You’re still a child; you can’t drink.”
“Master, why are you drinking so heavily?” Yan Zhao sat beside him, looking up at the man.
The man was already several hundred years old, but from the moment she entered the sect and for as long as she could remember, he had always maintained a young and handsome appearance. He was exceptionally good-looking, with bright eyes like stars; whenever he tilted his brow, he carried an air of chivalry.
However, at this moment, there were dark circles under those eyes that were once full of spirit. He looked haggard and wretched. His face was wet with wine, and droplets rolled down his stubbled chin. He was a shadow of his former self.
“Why?” The Sect Leader seemed to ponder for a moment before smiling. “Zhao’er is still young. Have you never heard the saying: One bout of drunkenness dissolves a thousand sorrows?”
Yan Zhao was puzzled. “But Master, we have spiritual power to dispel the alcohol. Can we truly get drunk?”
The Sect Leader laughed softly, his voice slightly hoarse. “That is why there is another saying: It is not the wine that makes one drunk, but the person who intoxicates themselves.”
“Forget it, a little brat like you wouldn’t understand anyway.” He patted Yan Zhao’s head. “Zhao’er, you only need to remember one thing.”
“What thing?”
The Sect Leader raised his head, his gaze falling upon the distant horizon. His voice sounded far away, and he let out a self-mocking smirk. “Love is too bitter; do not taste it lightly.”
Yan Zhao stared intently at him. “And if one insists on tasting it?”
The Sect Leader turned back and looked at her with a smile. “It grants you a moment of joy, only to leave you with boundless pain. If you cannot endure the pain, then do not touch it.”
The clouds in the sky obscured half of the moonlight, casting the Sect Leader’s face into shadow, making his expression unreadable.
Yan Zhao asked, “Then Master… does it hurt very much right now?”
The man remained silent for a long time before letting out a soft sigh. “Yes… it hurts very much.”
As the sigh faded, the surroundings abruptly plunged into darkness.
When Yan Zhao opened her eyes again, she was in the Punishment Hall of the Flowing Cloud Sect.
“Kneel!”
The Sect Leader, sitting at the head of the hall, glared with cold eyes. He struck out with a palm, forcefully hitting Yan Zhao’s leg. A sharp pain surged, and she fell uncontrollably to her knees.
Yan Zhao called out in confusion, “Master…”
The Sect Leader roared in fury, “Vile disciple, do not call me that!”
Not far away, Wei Jun stood to the side, a triumphant and mocking smile hanging on her lips. “Senior Sister Yan Zhao, after committing such a treasonous act, how do you still dare to beg for the Sect Leader’s forgiveness?”
Yan Zhao’s brow furrowed. “What?”
The whispers of the disciples echoed in her ears:
“How could the Eldest Senior Sister do this? She actually released that half-demon who conspired with the Demon Tribe!”
“Indeed! That half-demon caused three Elders to be seriously injured and killed over a dozen fellow disciples. How truly detestable!”
“I always felt that useless thing staying in our sect was up to no good. Later she even seduced Senior Sister, and now she’s actually bewitched Senior Sister into doing such a thing!”
“Eldest Senior Sister is truly a disappointment. I fear she’s fallen under that half-demon’s evil spell.”
The chaotic voices rose and fell around Yan Zhao, seemingly trying to burrow into her brain, making her forehead throb. As others spoke, scenes of memory gradually became clear in Yan Zhao’s mind.
They had been fighting the Demon Tribe for the key to the Longxu Secret Realm, and eventually, they successfully secured the key and left the Bailian Mountain Range. The Sect Leader, worried, had specifically arranged for several Elders to meet them. On the way back to the sect, they were suddenly ambushed by the Demon Tribe.
For some reason, the demons were extremely familiar with their route and had prepared an ambush long ago, catching the Flowing Cloud Sect disciples off guard. At the critical moment, the Elders stepped in to hold back the demon experts, while Yan Zhao planned to return to the sect first with the key.
But at that moment, a long sword silently pierced through her abdomen from behind.
Yan Zhao’s body stiffened for a second. That sword was very sharp and very familiar it was forged from the green steel she had saved up. On the hilt, Yan Zhao had personally carved the character “Ying”.
The hand holding the sword behind her was long and fair, holding it steadily, though the blue tassel hanging from it vibrated slightly. Blood flowed along the tip of the sword, dripping onto the ground.
She turned her head and met a pair of familiar light brown eyes. Those eyes were still clear enough to reflect her appearance perfectly. But within them, there was no longer any flicker of pure joy or trust. In its place was a hollow, desolate indifference.
It was Hua Ying. It was her little cat.
After Hua Ying severely wounded Yan Zhao, she cooperated with the demons to successfully seize the key, though she herself was ultimately kept behind by the Flowing Cloud Sect Elders who fought to the death.
Yan Zhao looked down. Her little half-demon was bound by heavy chains, her body covered in bloody wounds, looking no better than Yan Zhao herself.
With a pale face, Yan Zhao crouched down in front of her.
Hua Ying looked up and gave her a smile without any trace of guilt. “Senior Sister.”
At that moment, Yan Zhao suddenly remembered a scene from not long ago, where the little half-demon sat at the doorstep waiting for her. She had crouched in front of Hua Ying just like this. It was clearly the same distance, clearly so close, yet it felt as if they were separated by a celestial chasm. Insurmountable.
After a long time, Yan Zhao heard her own calm voice ask: “Why did you lie to me?”
“Senior Sister.” The little half-demon’s smile was as sweet as ever, like frosting covering venom. She stared at Yan Zhao and said slowly: “Naturally, because… those who are not of my kind must have a different heart.”
Hua Ying was taken back to the Flowing Cloud Sect to be strictly guarded. The Sect Leader was enraged and ordered her to be punished with the ultimate penalty. Her spiritual power was scattered, and in her weakness, she reverted to her original form. Her fur, which was originally as clean as white snow, was stained with blood. The little cat raised its head, its gaze landing unerringly on Yan Zhao among the crowd. It seemed to be looking at her, yet also seemed not to be.
Later, one day, Yan Zhao released her. That memory was blurry; Yan Zhao only remembered the whistling of the bitter night wind as the little cat licked her finger and jumped into the darkness without looking back.
“Yan Zhao!” The Second Elder scolded coldly. “I told you long ago that useless thing wasn’t fit to stay in our sect. Look at the disaster you’ve caused for her! What face do you have to remain the Eldest Senior Sister of this sect?”
Yan Zhao lowered her eyes and remained silent. Beneath her long sleeves, her slender fingertips twitched slightly. The relentless rebukes rang out from all directions like a surging, boundless tide, threatening to sweep Yan Zhao away and sink her.
After an unknown amount of time, the world suddenly went quiet.
Amidst the heavy darkness, she heard a sharp, piercing laugh. “Is this the sect you wanted to protect?”
“They only know how to constantly demand from you, force you, and blame you. No one has ever cared about your feelings. In their eyes, you are merely the sect’s sharpest weapon. Don’t you understand yet?”
Her vision regained light. This time, the scene Yan Zhao saw was in the Demon Realm.
“Hua Ying,” Feng Jun raised his wine cup and laughed loudly. “I didn’t expect you to have such skill, to play even Yan Zhao for a fool. You’ve truly helped me vent a great deal of frustration!”
“It’s all thanks to you this time that we were able to deal a heavy blow to the Flowing Cloud Sect and seize the key to the Longxu Secret Realm. You are a great hero of our Demon Tribe! Rest assured, none of the rewards promised before will be withheld!”
Opposite him sat the little half-demon, whose injuries had already healed. She wore demon attire and had a cold expression, looking extremely unfamiliar. Curling her lips, Hua Ying smiled at Feng Jun. “I am merely working for our tribe; Young Master need not be so polite.”
Feng Jun tilted his head to drain a cup of wine, then suddenly raised an eyebrow and asked, “I’m a bit curious. It’s rare for Yan Zhao to be so good to someone. Did you never feel even a moment of affection for her?”
The entire world suddenly fell silent, as if only that one person remained between heaven and earth. She held her wine cup and gave a light smile. Her exquisite red lips opened and closed, uttering two words devoid of any emotion:
“Never.”
Suddenly, everything went black. That ghostly voice rang out again, eerily wrapping itself around Yan Zhao’s ear.
“Is this the person you wanted to give your heart to? Did you hear that? She never liked you. She has been deceiving you, utilizing you. To her, you were just a tool needed to achieve her goals. Your sacrifices were merely a joke in her eyes. Don’t forget, she used the very sword you personally made for her to pierce through your Dantian without hesitation.”
Yan Zhao suddenly reached out her hand, and the White Jade Sword appeared in her palm. Her gaze was fixed on the red tassel at the end of the sword. The threads were still in a pristine state, contrasting with the snow-white body of the sword like a cinnabar mole on a beauty’s face.
“And so?” she asked coldly.
The voice faltered for a moment, seemingly not expecting her to ask a question. After a while, it continued, “And so… you should feel disappointment, pain, and hatred toward them!”
The voice became low and soft, like a whisper in Yan Zhao’s ear, carrying endless temptation. “Only by becoming stronger can you trample all those people under your feet, making them experience the bitterness you’ve tasted several times over, until they all regret it!”
Yan Zhao’s long eyelashes drooped, and her cold, elegant features showed no emotion. She asked, “How do I become stronger?”
The voice hidden in the darkness secretly rejoiced, exerting even more effort to entice Yan Zhao. “I can help you. As long as you absorb my power, you can become stronger and stronger! At that time,” it skillfully painted a grand vision, “the sect that once humiliated you will be powerless. You can even bring Hua Ying out of the Demon Tribe. No one will be able to resist you; you will be the supreme sovereign of this world!”
Threads of black lines emerged from the ground at some point, crawling slowly along the floor toward Yan Zhao. Dense as a silkworm cocoon, they sought to wrap Yan Zhao up entirely.
Just as the black lines touched the hem of Yan Zhao’s skirt, she suddenly raised her head. Her eyes were sharp and clear, without a single trace of being controlled.
The White Jade Sword broke through the air. In an instant, countless sword shadows sliced all the black lines into pieces. A shrill scream came from the darkness, sounding both angry and shocked: “You! You weren’t pulled into the illusion at all!”
“No, I entered,” Yan Zhao said calmly. “It’s just that the illusion you constructed wasn’t realistic enough.”
“If I’m not mistaken, your method involves extracting a cultivator’s memories to condense a corresponding illusion.” She looked toward a certain spot in the darkness, her eyes burning bright. “On the day my Master got drunk, he felt ashamed and blurred some of my memory fragments. I have your illusion to thank for allowing me to remember the scene from that day.”
At that time, she had asked: “And if one insists on tasting it?”
The Master had replied: “Then let the bitterness kill you for all I care.”
Finally, using two precious sword manuals as a bribe, he had pressured Yan Zhao into promising not to tell anyone about his heartbroken drinking.
So, when the Master in the illusion said some nonsense like “It grants you a moment of joy, only to leave you with boundless pain” words that didn’t fit his style at all Yan Zhao knew that everything happening before her eyes was fake.
The voice: “…”
It never expected to be defeated by a misunderstanding of Dao Xu’s character. Enraged by its failure, it snarled, “Then why didn’t you shatter the illusion from the start?”
Why wait until the last moment to crush its hope? Didn’t she know that a Heart Demon’s time was very precious?
Yan Zhao said nonchalantly, “Because it felt so ridiculous, I wanted to see just how ridiculous it could get.”
The Heart Demon: “…”
But what Yan Zhao didn’t tell it was that, from beginning to end, she felt Hua Ying would never do the things shown in the illusion. Therefore, she never for a single moment sank into those phantasms. There was no specific reason; she simply chose to believe in her little cat.
The illusion shattered, and the black lines were cut. Yan Zhao’s gaze was like a torch. She swung the White Jade Sword, the sword’s momentum like a dragon heading straight for a certain direction.
Zheng— The White Jade Sword pierced straight through a tree trunk. Beneath the sword was a black sphere, like a piece of coal, its beady eyes spinning rapidly in terror. It looked… very sneaky.
Yan Zhao walked over. As she looked down, her brow furrowed slightly, seemingly in disgust. She poked it twice with the White Jade Sword, neither too hard nor too soft. “What kind of thing are you?”
“Heroine, spare my life!” The little coal ball tried its best to act cute. The voice that was once full of temptation, sounding both male and female, had now turned into the milky voice of a toddler. “I’m just a little Heart Demon who hasn’t grown up yet!”
Yan Zhao frowned. “No acting spoiled.”
Heart Demons could only rely on weaving illusions to make people sink into them, thereby gaining power from cultivators. However, their true forms were no threat to cultivators, being weak in the extreme. Thus, facing Yan Zhao, who had one foot already in the Nascent Soul stage, it could only cast aside its dignity to beg for mercy.
With the Heart Demon captured, the illusion disappeared, the peach forest vanished, and the surroundings returned to the desolate landscape within the Bailian Mountains.
Seeing no sign of Hua Ying or Ci Jiujiu after a quick look around, Yan Zhao’s eyes turned cold. She pinched the Heart Demon by the scruff of its neck, her clear voice laced with an undisguised threat:
“So, where have you taken my people?”