After stirring around inside the chest cavity, Fu Yun discovered it was empty.
Qing Sheng’s heart was empty.
Only then could Qing Sheng finish speaking: “But my heart was eaten by someone long ago. The heart is the foremost among organs and cannot be reborn.”
Fu Yun immediately withdrew his hand, lowering his head and eyes, adopting the respectful posture of a dutiful disciple. “Master, I have overstepped.”
Suddenly, Qing Sheng grabbed the hand Fu Yun had hidden behind his back.
“You still seem angry,” Qing Sheng asked earnestly. “Is it because of the first time I killed you twelve times, or because I watched as your arm was severed, or perhaps.”
Fu Yun’s expression remained blank as he fabricated a lie: “Because you killed Wusheng. He once saved me.”
It was a plausible story enduring humiliation for years, acknowledging the enemy as one’s master, all for the sake of revenge. Qing Sheng was astonished: “I thought you knew Wusheng is a part of me.”
He spoke as if telling a bedtime story: “A long time ago, I severed the inner demons from my soul, and one of them was Wu Sheng.”
Fu Yun bluntly said he didn’t want to hear it. When Qing Sheng asked why, Fu Yun replied straightforwardly: “The more you know, the sooner you die. Who knows if one day Master might turn against me? I don’t want to be killed by you again.”
This was the truth.
Putting himself in Qing Sheng’s shoes, if someone invaded his consciousness and uncovered all his secrets, he would hunt that person down to the ends of the earth.
“Then how can I make you stop being angry?” Qing Sheng asked, genuinely troubled.
Fu Yun raised his hand.
Qing Sheng remained still. He was curious about what Fu Yun would do slap him? Tear off his face? Or gouge out his eyes?
Fu Yun used the space between his thumb and forefinger to wipe the blood from Qing Sheng’s face.
After years of interaction, Qing Sheng was no longer the “Sacred Qing” in Fu Yun’s mind. But Fu Yun still couldn’t bear to see Qing Sheng using the face of the Sacred Venerable to act so shamelessly.
Qing Sheng was accustomed to the sharp pain of cutting skin and digging flesh, but the gentle touch of a palm was unfamiliar to him. As his face was kneaded and distorted by the rubbing, warmth traced its contours. He stood there in a daze, as if realizing for the first time that flesh still clung to his bones.
“Do you want to eat flesh?” Qing Sheng asked considerately. Fu Yun neither spoke nor released his grip. Thinking Fu Yun was still angry, Qing Sheng added, “From now on, I’ll only let you eat it.”
That eternally calm and placid face seemed to say: You can do anything.
Because it’s Xiao Yun, so you can do anything.
Could this submissive demeanor belong to the Sacred Qing?
Why was he so indulgent toward Fu Yun? Because Fu Yun was his disciple and could aid his cultivation?
What kind of broken path was Qing Sheng cultivating anyway? The path of shamelessness?
These thoughts swirled chaotically in Fu Yun’s mind, but he didn’t voice them. Instead, he quickened his pace, leaving Qing Sheng behind.
After that day, Qing sheng no longer went down the mountain. He stayed holed up in the courtyard, answering only when Fu Yun asked a question.
Even though he had not yet become a saint, Qing sheng’s mastery over wood spirit energy was unparalleled in the world. He knew how to manipulate the largest formations with the least amount of spiritual power and how to specialize in a single talisman with the greatest expenditure of energy.
Qing sheng was not yet the Sacred Qing. The Sacred Qing commanded the reverence of the entire cultivation world, but Qing Sheng only had Xiao Yun Xiao Yun was a nightmare, a “Xiao Yun” crafted in every aspect talent, bone structure, appearance all imitating Xie Yun.
That was why, in the dream, Fu Yun could freely treat him as his master.
As Qingsheng explained formations, Fu Yun felt inspired. A formation took shape, its spiritual light faintly receding.
Fu Yun showed no sign of joy.
Formations were not something Xie Yun should excel at He had forgotten to conceal his shortcomings.
The Sacred Qing quietly observed the results of the deduction for a long time. Though he usually indulged Fu Yun, he was never careless when it came to cultivation.
A wisp of wood spirit energy brushed past, wiping away a speck of ink stain from Fu Yun’s face.
Qingsheng said naturally, “Very good.” After a brief pause, his tone deepened slightly as he spoke earnestly, “Even at your age, I couldn’t have done this well.”
He saw Fuyun freeze.
After a moment of silence, Qingsheng asked, “Would you like to return to the immortal sect with me?”
Little Yun’s pupils trembled, his eyes growing brighter and brighter, as if he had been struck by an overwhelming surprise. He found his voice and said he needed time to think it over carefully.
Fuyun did not want to return to Taiyi.
In the mortal world’s small courtyard, he was “Little Yun,” praised and indulged. In the Taiyi Sect, he was the unremarkable Fuyun, an adversary to the protagonist.
Nor did he want to return to the Sacred Peak. The better Qingsheng treated him in his dreams, the greater the disappointment he felt upon waking.
Fuyun recalled the time when he first entered the sect.
He would never have dared to disturb his master with trivial matters, so much so that even a month after being accepted into the Sacred Peak, he had not yet had a private audience with his master. Fuyun continued to navigate the internal affairs department, quietly arranging matters to ensure the clothing, food, and supplies for the Sacred Peak disciples were better the best.
A month after entering the sect, his master summoned him privately. Fuyun was filled with trepidation, fearing that even a single extra word would expose his vulgarity.
Fortunately, that day, the sect leader had urgently requested his master’s presence. The Sacred Saint summoned the eldest disciple, Xuanqing, to guide Fuyun in his studies. Before parting, the eldest disciple said bluntly, “The master is currently striving to break through his cultivation realm and must not be distracted. In the future, you may ask me instead.”
But Fuyun had seen the Sacred Saint conversing happily with Xie Yun.
Before learning he was a furnace, Fuyun’s ultimate expectation for this master-disciple relationship was merely to endure until reaching the Nascent Soul stage, leave the Sacred Peak, and use the title of “Sacred Saint’s disciple” to find a quiet life elsewhere. Nothing more.
In his dreams, Qing Sheng said he would take him back to the sect. In reality, the Sacred Saint personally brought Xie Yun back and taught him with great care.
Dream and reality suddenly overlapped. Fuyun’s fingers trembled, and he was completely awake.
Qing Sheng would never say “you are very good” to the real Fuyun, only because in Qing Sheng’s eyes, he was “Little Yun.” It was not Qing Sheng who was trapped in the dream it was Fuyun.
During the Qingming Festival, the chaotic blossoms dazzled the eyes, making it impossible to distinguish direction.
What was Fuyun, after all?
Everything was false, stolen.
Thinking about who these praises and affections were meant for, Fuyun couldn’t help but mock himself inwardly: Master, you truly lack discernment.
First, you couldn’t recognize that Fuyun was not Xie Yun. Second, you couldn’t see Xie Yun’s true nature. In the future, you could even accept sharing one person with him… Hah.
The lingering, untimely bitterness in his heart turned into icy mockery. Fuyun crushed it, severing the last trace of warm, lingering attachment.
Fuyun raised his face. He now had the appearance of a young man. Imitating Xie Yun, he revealed a bright, radiant smile “Yes!”
It was time to end this.
During the Qingming Festival, Fuyun observed the world through Qing Sheng’s eyes. The wood spirit circulated wildly, converging in two places. Having already ruled out the heart, Fuyun could determine the location of the spiritual platform.
Night.
The illusory dream technique activated. Fuyun concealed his divine soul’s aura, waiting until Qing Sheng’s breathing steadied. In the neighboring room, Fuyun slipped out of the inner chamber like a shadow and entered the courtyard.
In the courtyard, an old locust tree stood silently, its branches twisted and gnarled, never withering even in winter.
Qing Sheng’s spiritual platform was likely this locust tree.
Gathering strength at his fingertips, he was about to sever the tree and reveal the spiritual platform when ripples appeared before his eyes, spreading outward. The scene suddenly changed. Fuyun felt surprise but no fear after all, this was the Sacred Saint’s consciousness sea. Even if it was just an avatar, there would be many defensive measures.
A figure in green robes came into view.
The visitor’s face was blurred, his form ethereal, and his voice flowed like a gentle stream: “It has been a long time since I’ve seen a guest outside the inner demons. My name is Jianmu. And you are?”
Fu Yun’s breathing grew rapid, not because of Jianmu he had no idea who that was.
It was because of her green robe. The stitching was crooked and uneven like a centipede’s trail, clearly done by hand.
Yun Ji had an identical green robe.
Fu Yun had been held against her chest countless times, had seen those stitches a thousand times over he could never mistake them.
How could there be a clue about Yun Ji in Qing Sheng’s consciousness?
Should he seize the essence immediately and escape the dream? Or risk investigating further? Before Fu Yun could voice his thoughts, a sharp surge of wood-element spiritual power tore through the air, violently shattering the illusion!
This was the first time Fu Yun had seen Qing Sheng’s expression change.
Moonlight shattered across his face, carving out stark contrasts of light and shadow. His eyes were as dark as the night, heavy and fixed upon his features.
Fu Yun remained expressionless, his heart cold and detached, already prepared to launch a fierce assault and destroy the spiritual platform entirely. But Qing Sheng did not attack him.
Instead, a pure, gentle stream of spiritual energy flowed toward Fu Yun, bypassing his meridians and heading straight for the space between his eyebrows.
Qing Sheng intended to cleanse Fu Yun’s consciousness.
Fu Yun immediately shielded his consciousness, resisting the intrusion of spiritual energy.
His caution was justified, but Qing Sheng offered a simple explanation: “What you saw was the remnant soul of Jianmu, a commander of the demon race. Many years ago, we fought it died, I lived. It attempted to seize my body but was instead refined by me.”
“Jianmu’s soul is powerful and may be able to forge spiritual connections that could lead to conception. Your consciousness must not retain it.”
Fu Yun stopped resisting, not because of Qing Sheng’s explanation, but because he detected something what Qing Sheng was transferring wasn’t spiritual energy, but essence drawn directly from his spiritual platform!
Success came too unexpectedly. Fu Yun felt a cold shock inwardly, though outwardly he remained silent and uneasy.
Having obtained the essence, and with Qing Sheng’s guard lowered further, now was the best time to leave the dream.
In the latter half of the night, Fu Yun pretended to be soothed by Qing Sheng and fell asleep, his soul withdrawing from the dream. Before drifting off, he left a final remark: “Teacher, I’m utterly exhausted let me sleep a little longer don’t wake me.”
Years and months in the dream were merely two hours in reality. It was still the same night Fu Yun had entered the dream, the darkness outside the window thick and deep.
“Did it work?” The system choked back a sob. “After that, no matter how much I called, you couldn’t hear me it was like a wall stood between us. I was so afraid.”
“Fortunately, the outcome was good.” Fu Yun sealed the stolen essence into a talisman and hid it deep within his array space.
The system was puzzled. “Why not refine it quickly?”
Fu Yun’s words were startling: “I need to return to the dream.”
“Extracting essence from one’s master” and that master being Qing Sheng, no less was enough to have Fu Yun executed dozens of times over. But guiding a single strand of essence was not enough to guarantee his survival.
He needed more.
The system was blunt: “You’ve already left the dream. What if Qing Sheng has noticed something wrong? Wouldn’t going back be suicide?”
Fu Yun replied, “To Qing Sheng, I am like an ant. When a person sees an ant but doesn’t kill it, it’s either because they find the ant interesting and want to play with it a little longer, or because the ant is useful to them like leading them to the ant nest.”
Fu Yun fell silent.
“So this time, don’t follow me into the dream.”
“I saw you storing the essence in the talisman,” the system said instead. “So extracting essence from low-level cultivators, accumulating bit by bit, is possible.”
Fu Yun admitted, “Yes, I lied to you.”
For the first time, the system’s voice turned cold. “And you still want to risk your life to see Qing Sheng.” It grew more distraught the more it thought. “Do you like him? Are you so attached to the master-disciple bond in the dream that you’d rather die just to see him there?”
Fu Yun had no time to waste. He quickly explained, “I entered the dream for him… because he is one of my inner demons.”
The System said, “Then why do you still claim you don’t like him?”
Fu Yun replied, “Inner demons have nothing to do with love. Chu Wuchun is also one of my inner demons. They can make me stubbornly obsessed because I want to win too badly.”
“Only by winning can I resolve my inner demons,” Fu Yun said. “I need to understand my opponents. I want to win once… even if it costs me my life. Even if it’s in a dream.”
The System fell silent for a moment before asking, “If you win, will you be a little happier?”
Fu Yun said, “Yes.”
The System remained silent again.
It said, “Alright. I’ll wait for you.”
Fu Yun immediately instructed it, “Before entering the dream, I left a puppet in the Internal Affairs Department with a fragment of my soul inside. If you can no longer sense the puppet, run immediately and never return.”
There was another reason Fu Yun entered the dream one he didn’t mention. It was also the most important point: the remnant soul of Jianmu was connected to Yun Ji.
How Yun Ji died, he had never been able to uncover.
It was Yun Ji who gave Fu Yun this life. He couldn’t repay her with his own life, but he could make those who harmed her pay with theirs.
At this moment, years of suppressed suspicion, longing, hatred, and ambition intertwined, fermented, and exploded in his heart, surging through his organs. Even his breath carried the taste of desire, sharp and burning like liquor.
His stomach churned with a scalding heat, yet his mind remained cold.
After giving instructions to the System, less than half an hour had passed.
Fu Yun, both lucid and mad, re-entered the dream.
Leaving the mortal realm courtyard, he arrived at the Guangxia Immortal Sect and returned to the place he knew best Qing Sheng Peak.
Disciples rushed from all directions, stopping far away and kneeling in unison ten zhang away.
“Welcome, Qingzun.”
At this moment, Qing Sheng overlapped with Fu Yun’s memory of the lofty, aloof figure who looked down upon the mortal world from the clouds.
Fu Yun was similarly surrounded.
Qingzun was dealing with the elders, while the disciples chattered excitedly: “Senior Brother Yun is exceptionally talented and will surely attain enlightenment and become a revered one,” “Uncle Yun is the first disciple personally brought back by the revered one he must be extraordinary,” “Could you share your experiences with the revered one?”
Fu Yun smiled and said, “It’s simple. Everyone, close your eyes now.”
“And then?”
“And then sleep, dream, and you’ll be just like me.”
After meeting the disciples of the sacred peak, Fu Yun was taken away by Qing Sheng. Riding a sword into the clouds, the wind carried away the surrounding chatter, leaving only Qing Sheng’s gentle, familiar reassurance: “Don’t be afraid.”
Fu Yun showed no change in expression. “With Master here, I’m not afraid.”
Qing Sheng said, “Don’t call me Master. Use the old way of addressing me.”
Fu Yun declined, “That would be too disrespectful, and I fear my senior brothers might misunderstand.”
Qing Sheng said calmly, “Don’t worry about comparing yourself to your senior brothers. You are different from them.”
A shadow of silence flickered in Fu Yun’s eyes. He lowered his head and chuckled softly. “Yes.”
Qing Sheng showed boundless indulgence toward his young disciple, with no bottom line.
In the dream, Fu Yun hurt people, killed people so many that it damaged Qing Sheng’s consciousness. Yet Qing Sheng’s gaze toward him never changed, only correcting Fu Yun’s use of spiritual energy.
That night, Fu Yun was holding a fresh human head and was about to push open the hall door with his foot when it opened on its own.
The glow of the eternal lamp filled the grand hall, never extinguished. Qing sheng’s shadow lay quietly on the ground.
Qing sheng glanced at the head it seemed to belong to a certain elder from the Internal Affairs Department and asked, “Which hand did you use to kill?”
Fu Yun tossed the head to Qing heng, implying, “Teacher, help me clean up,” then placed both hands behind his back. The young man had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and stood as straight as a pine tree, his demeanor composed. “I killed with a technique. There was no physical contact.”
A sudden chill encircled his wrist. Fu Yun watched as vines coiled around his hand, forcibly pulling it out from behind his back.
Qing Sheng sighed softly, “You’ve forgotten to cleanse your hands again.”
The vines spread, and a gentle flow of wood spirit energy washed away the blood and aura of death staining Fu Yun’s fingers. Under the light of the eternal lamp, Qing Sheng’s eyelids trembled slightly, causing the soft, warm yellow glow to ripple like water.
Qing Sheng could see in the dark. The sacred hall required no candles, and the eternal lamp, though redundant, was precious. The managing disciples dared not misuse it, so it must have been lit by the Saint himself.
Qing Sheng said, “Today marks your entry into the sect.”
Yes. The Taiyi Sect’s initiation ceremony was always held around the second day of the second lunar month, the time of the Dragon Raising Festival. For cultivators, entering the path of cultivation after initiation was akin to rebirth, which was why this day was also called the “Day of Rebirth.”
Taking advantage of his extended hand, Fu Yun made a request, “Master, a gift.”
Qing Sheng asked, “What do you desire?”
“During the Qingming Festival in the mortal realm, you once showed me the world,” Fu Yun said. “I wish to see it again.”
Qing Sheng replied, “Very well.”
Fu Yun added, “This time, I want to see all of Taiyi.”
Qing Sheng said, “Granted.”
Fu Yun continued, “I want to witness the art of wood spirit energy.”
This time, Qing Sheng did not respond with approval. Instead, he raised a finger, releasing a surge of spiritual power.
Like a dewdrop falling into a still lake, countless ripples spread outward.
Wherever the spiritual light touched, withered trees revived, sprouting branches and leaves. The cliffs were instantly cloaked in lush greenery, and flower buds burst into bloom on the branches, heralding the return of spring across the mountains.
Faint exclamations and murmurs of awe drifted in from the disciples outside the hall.
Fu Yun gazed at this divine spectacle that transformed heaven and earth. At that moment, a peach blossom petal, carried by a gentle breeze, drifted into the hall, swirling between him and Saint Qing.
Fu Yun looked at Qing Sheng.
The magnificent halls and immortal sects vanished, the sea of flowers and fireflies disappeared, and the laughter and chatter of the disciples faded away. All sounds blurred, light and shadow collapsed, and everything in heaven and earth receded quietly yet powerfully, like a receding tide.
Only this one person and this one mountain remained.
Thirty years after entering the sect, Fu Yun had grown accustomed to observing the subtle details of Saint Qing, but never had he seen so clearly because Qing Sheng had allowed it.
Fu Yun was certain.
This sacred mountain was Saint Qing’s spiritual platform itself.
The scenes in dreams were illusory; only the spiritual platform and its manifestations were real, capable of taking countless forms. In this dream, it was a mountain.
Fu Yun revealed a composed, flawless smile. “I do not care for this gift.”
Saint Qing showed no trace of reproach. “Then we shall change it.”
Fu Yun’s smile, like the spring scenery outside the hall, blossomed. The corners of his lips lifted, freezing in a radiant curve.
Even as he said, “I would rather see Green Mountain die for me.”