ATAVID CH46

Outside the underground palace, the light of dawn was faint, and the snow had finally stopped.

The distant horizon was tinted with a pale, fish-belly white, reflecting against the lingering darkness of the night like a stroke of ink bleeding into a watercolor painting. The air was crisp, carrying the cold, clean scent unique to the aftermath of a snowfall.

Before Wen Xingyao and the others could walk in, Wei Xun gently raised his hand and gripped Jiang Qunyu’s wrist.

He opened his eyes, the cold composure of his usual self already restored. If not for his slightly hoarse voice, that moment of vulnerability and sorrow would have been nothing more than a fleeting mist, vanishing in an instant.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Only then did Jiang Qunyu slowly retract his hand, transforming into a wisp of black mist and naturally draping himself over Wei Xun’s shoulder.

Wen Xingyao walked over quickly. Seeing Wei Xun unharmed, his eyes instantly reddened, unable to hide the agitation of surviving a calamity: “Is that female ghost dead?”

Wei Xun responded calmly: “Yes.”

He turned and strode toward the exit.

Inside the underground palace behind them, the disciples of the Profound Sword Sect who had survived and held on until this moment could no longer keep their tightly wound hearts from snapping.

It was unclear who started it, but a low, broken sob broke the silence. Soon after, the long-repressed choking, sobbing, and wailing surged like a burst dam, instantly drowning the entire underground palace.

Some sat paralyzed on the ground, covering their faces and shaking all over; others supported one another, tears rolling down silently; some held the bodies of their dead fellow disciples, wailing in agony.

The fear and despair had finally come to an end at this moment.

The sound of crying rose and fell, filled with the joy of surviving and the sorrow of losing companions.

Wei Xun did not stop his pace; he did not look back.

Jiang Qunyu lay quietly on his shoulder, saying nothing.

The wind swept over his shoulder, carrying the coldness of the post-snow air.

As the group emerged from the underground palace, Shen Peiqiu looked out at the tranquil Mirror Lake City. He stood still for a long time, finally letting out a soft sigh: “It is finally over.”

Wei Xun looked toward the distant horizon and suddenly asked with a smile: “Immortal Venerable Shen, once we leave this place, how will you report today’s events to the outside world?”

Shen Peiqiu was stunned. He pondered for a moment before saying: “I will naturally tell the truth.”

But he recalled the rumors from ten years ago regarding Wei Xun—rumors that this talented, brilliant prodigy had perished within the Immortal Sect at the age of seventeen.

When the news had spread, the various Immortal Sects had held conflicting thoughts. Some lamented with broken hearts, while others gloated with glee.

Shen Peiqiu hesitated, recalling Wei Xun’s sword intent, which carried an aura that was neither demonic nor quite like that of an evil spirit. He found himself in a dilemma.

Eventually, he took a step forward and spoke solemnly: “If Young Master Wei does not wish for others to know you are still in this world, I can place a gag curse on the remaining disciples. If anyone dares to mention even half a word of today’s events, they will surely suffer the backlash of the curse, without exception.”

Wei Xun simply laughed and said: “No need. You only need to report it exactly as it happened.”

He spoke with an ambiguous tone before walking away with a leisurely gait.

Shen Peiqiu stood where he was, quietly watching his retreating figure.

Suddenly, snow began to fall from the sky again.

The autumn of East Mirror Lake City had passed, and it was winter once more.

Shen Peiqiu raised his hand and caught a snowflake; the icy flake melted instantly in his palm.

The restless souls in Mirror Lake City had finally broken free from their bonds as Cui Mingjin’s obsession faded.

They transformed into red phantoms, drifting silently over to attach themselves to the blade of the Shouhun (Soul-Devourer) sword, waiting for Wei Xun to step into the netherworld’s Forgetful River to see them off on their final journey.

However, the “Transformed Resentful Living” (Hua Yuan Sheng) entities within the city—those forged through dark arts—remained. Deprived of the souls that possessed them, they were nothing but empty shells.

They stood blankly at street corners, under the eaves, and by the lake, like puppets without souls.

At the edge of the horizon, a faint, dark cyan tint appeared.

When passing under that large locust tree, Jiang Qunyu saw the old man from before.

He was still sitting under the old locust tree, wearing thin clothes, his white hair disheveled.

He looked at Wei Xun from afar, his gaze as quiet as a pool of water that had settled for many years.

After a long time, the old man slowly knelt down and bowed his head to the ground in the direction of Wei Xun and Jiang Qunyu.

After this kowtow, his body slumped slightly, and his breathing ceased.

Jiang Qunyu’s throat felt tight; he couldn’t say a word.

Wei Xun stopped, not looking back, but gently raised his hand. A wisp of faint demonic energy condensed at his fingertips and covered the old man with a gentle touch.

Even so, Jiang Qunyu felt inexplicably uncomfortable.

He had long since guessed that the old man was Yun Shuangjian’s father.

Because of Cui Mingjin’s obsession—a distorted, paranoid fixation—his daughter, who should have been reincarnated long ago, had been forcibly trapped in this city for twenty-seven years, suffering as neither human nor ghost.

The elderly father had been powerless.

He watched his daughter become a monster; he watched the people in the city dwindle; he watched the incense at the Three Wishes Shrine grow ever more prosperous. Knowing that everything was wrong, he could do nothing.

He could only wait.

Wait for someone who could truly send his daughter away.

By the time his hair was gray and his mind was fading, and he was barely holding on, he still dared not die.

He worried that if he died, no one would be left to send her away properly.

So, only today, having seen with his own eyes that she had been released, did he dare to close his eyes for good.

Jiang Qunyu’s gaze rested on the old man, unable to look away for a long time.

Suddenly, he remembered something and looked at the old man’s wrist hanging by his side.

It was clean, without a single red mark. In the entire Mirror Lake City, he alone had not been “forged” from beginning to end.

He also remembered that when they were in the underground palace, Cui Mingjin—who shouldn’t have been able to see him—had been able to hear his words.

At that time, Cui Mingjin’s wrist, which had been clean before, had gained a red mark. It was the same red mark Jiang Qunyu had only seen on the “Transformed Resentful Living” entities.

Had Cui Mingjin forged herself?

Jiang Qunyu felt a sense of dread.

Suddenly, a wind rose from somewhere.

The lanterns outside the Three Wishes Shrine swung violently, their dim light pulled back and forth, casting distorted spots on the ground.

Jiang Qunyu turned his head and saw Cui Nian standing quietly at the boundary of light and shadow, not far away.

His form was as thin as paper, his face filled with the pallor of death. Only the red mark on his wrist remained clearly visible in the dimness.

He opened his mouth, his lips moving gently.

Jiang Qunyu could make out his lip-shape. He said: “Dad, Mom, and Nian-nian… we are going to stay together, forever and ever.”

However, before Jiang Qunyu could speak, Cui Nian also transformed into a red phantom and attached himself to the Shouhun sword.

A long while later, a damp, salty scent of lake water rolled in with the wind.

Jiang Qunyu asked: “Do you think Cui Mingjin forged herself, or did Cui Nian forge her?”

Wei Xun walked into the snow, and after a long while, said: “Perhaps both.”

Jiang Qunyu fell silent.

Just as the sky was about to brighten, an eerie blue fire broke out in East Mirror Lake City.

Boundless demonic energy surged upward, staining the faint cyan of the horizon. The eerie blue demonic flames roared, instantly engulfing the entire city.

Bricks, tiles, dead wood, ruined halls, and old shrines were all licked clean by the fire.

The Profound Sword Sect disciples were terrified: “Why did a fire start so suddenly? There are still so many civilians in the city!”

Someone cried out, wanting to rush down to save people.

But the fire was violent and cold, carrying a terrifying pressure they had never seen before. It was not ordinary fire; it was demonic flame—the Karma Fire capable of burning away all illusions.

They couldn’t get close at all.

Waves of fire surged toward them, and the group had to hurriedly mount their swords, barely managing to hover high in the air.

Lan Yuanzhou, who had been calm until now, furrowed his brows as he gazed at the demonic energy filling the sky, a bad premonition rising in his heart: “How could there be such a high-level demonic cultivator here? Even among the Demon Tribe, such demonic energy signifies a high-ranking existence.”

The other disciples turned pale upon hearing this.

A high-ranking demon?

Wouldn’t that mean power far exceeding the Spirit Transformation realm?

But right at that moment, through the swirling curtain of fire, they saw a figure.

The youth in white, unstained by dust, stood in the center of the sea of flames.

The eerie blue demonic flames surged around him but could not harm him in the slightest. He stood there, watching the raging fire with a blank face, as if he were watching a play that had nothing to do with him.

The firelight flickered on his face, illuminating and obscuring it, making those deep eyes appear even more profound.

Seemingly perceiving their gaze, he squinted his eyes, raised his lashes, and cast a faint glance in their direction.

The Profound Sword Sect disciples all felt a chill in their hearts.

Wei Xun no longer concealed the demonic energy surging within him. The demonic energy spilled out from his body, merging with the eerie blue flames.

It covered the sky and the earth, swallowing everything.

So, almost the instant they saw him, everyone had the same thought—

Wei Xun, the young prodigy, had long since fallen into the Demonic Path.

Unfortunately, Wei Xun did not look at them again. The corners of his lips curved upward very faintly, in a gesture that was half-mocking, half-smiling, and he turned to leave, walking straight away.

The snow-filled sky, the eerie blue demonic fire, and the ruined remains of the city all fell behind him.

Jiang Qunyu lay on his shoulder and looked back one last time.

Those Profound Sword Sect disciples were still standing high in the air, staring blankly at the scene. The shock, fear, and disbelief on their faces were still clearly visible through the billowing curtain of fire.

Jiang Qunyu withdrew his gaze, his tone complex: “I fear that from today on, the cultivation world will know that not only are you alive, but you are also bloodthirsty and tyrannical, having slaughtered the entire city.”

Wei Xun’s pale lips curled, and he said with a laugh: “Jiang Qunyu, are they not telling the truth?”

“No, they aren’t,” Jiang Qunyu said very seriously.

After all, they did not know that the people in the city were no longer living beings. They were things forged by Cui Mingjin, existing outside the Five Realms, not even capable of entering the cycle of reincarnation. They were merely empty shells, skins, a group of souls trapped for twenty-seven years who had finally found release.

The world only believes what it sees. Just like Jiang Qunyu, when he had only read the original plot, he had also thought Wei Xun was just a bloodthirsty, tyrannical villain.

He said again: “You aren’t that bad.”

Wei Xun laughed even more happily: “Jiang Qunyu, you are the last person who should say that.”

Jiang Qunyu had not yet understood the meaning behind his words when he saw him slowly stop. With a light twist of his slender fingers, he slowly took an object from his palm.

It was a strand of Qing Si (Affection Thread) glowing with a faint, crystalline light. It was soft and delicate, completely out of place with the cold, bitter demonic energy swirling around him.

Jiang Qunyu’s gaze fell on the strand, and he was slightly startled: “Is this Wei Lan’s emotional thread?”

“Yes,” Wei Xun said, gently releasing his fingers. “Mother gave it to me.”

No one had expected that this thread had been hidden by Hua Zhen inside the corpse of Lin Qing. After cutting Wei Xun out, he had sealed Wei Lan’s emotional thread into Lin Qing’s body. Perhaps he wanted to destroy it, or perhaps he wanted to keep it as a contingency plan.

But he had not expected that this thread, having spent twenty-seven years in Lin Qing’s body, would become tainted with her essence and merge with her resentment.

Only moments ago, before Lin Qing faded away, she had handed it to Wei Xun.

The thread seemed to possess sentience; it drifted upward, floating away into the distant horizon along the light of the sky, finally transforming into a tiny glimmer of light and disappearing completely.

Wei Xun’s eyes showed a hint of interest: “Wei Lan owes many things; it is time they were returned.”

Jiang Qunyu remembered his memories and felt a sudden bitterness in his heart.

He did not know what to say, so he simply softened his entire black mist form into a ribbon, turning it into a blindfold that covered Wei Xun’s eyes.

Wei Xun’s face darkened instantly. He raised his hand, pulled Jiang Qunyu off his eyes, and stuffed him into his robes, his tone malicious: “Jiang Qunyu, who gave you permission to pity me?”

Jiang Qunyu: “…?”

The vibe was back, but why did this idiot become so annoying again?

“My ancestor’s kindness!” Jiang Qunyu was so angry he twisted his round black mist ball and bit Wei Xun on the collarbone, “When you were crying just now, you didn’t say ‘don’t mind me’!”

Wei Xun’s body stiffened. He looked down at the puffy black mist in his arms, lightly touched the spot where Jiang Qunyu had bitten him, and said strangely: “I didn’t cry.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jiang Qunyu couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. He curled back into his robes, huffing: “You didn’t cry, I cried, okay?”

Their figures gradually walked away, becoming smaller and smaller, finally melting into the bright distance of the dawn.

The eerie blue fire of Mirror Lake City continued to burn, incinerating twenty-seven years of obsession.

The wind stopped, the snow ceased, the long night had passed. This city would no longer have people who couldn’t return, no longer have returns that never arrived.

Old dreams turned to ash, wind and snow returned to the mountains.

From then on, Mirror Lake City ceased to exist in the mortal world.

The twenty-second year of Xi Ping.

Two major events occurred in the cultivation world.

First, the Heaven-talented prodigy of the Lingxiao Sect, Wei Xun, was not dead. Not only was he not dead, but he had also fallen into the Demonic Path. It was said that he had slaughtered the entire population of East Mirror Lake City, his methods cruel, bloodthirsty, and his demonic flames towering.

Second, the Sword Venerable of the Lingxiao Sect, Wei Lan, had his Dao broken. In a single night, his cultivation plummeted from the Great Perfection of the Void Refinement realm down to the first level of Lian Xu.

No one knew what had happened. They only knew that after the Sword Venerable had been in seclusion for two years, when he emerged, it was as if something had been drained from him; his cultivation had shattered, and he was withered and gaunt.

In an inn in a small city in the cultivation world, the discussions were intensely heated.

Seven or eight tables were filled in the main hall, mostly young cultivators gathered in twos and threes, drinking wine, eating melon seeds, and discussing these two major events.

“That Wei Xun is cruel. So many people in that city, all died at his hands,” a disciple of the Qianji Sect clicked his tongue twice. He lifted his cup and sipped the wine, his tone filled with indignation: “In my opinion, the Immortal Alliance should send people to kill him. His talent was already terrifying; now that he has fallen into the Demonic Path, he will surely be a great threat to the Immortal Sects in the future.”

“Think back to the old days, when he was only sixteen, he could fight across ranks against the likes of Senior Brother Xie, and even took the championship in the end. Such terrifying talent, he must be eradicated.”

“You overestimate him too much.” Another person spoke up, his tone dismissive. He was dressed in black, with a long sword tucked at his waist, his brow filled with disdain: “It was just a bit more talent. There are so many disciples in the Immortal Sects with cultivation talent; why would they be worse off than him?”

“If he were really that impressive, ten years ago, he wouldn’t have been wounded by a demonic creature in that secret realm. I suspect that when he won the championship that year, he must have used some unspeakable methods.”

“Perhaps he isn’t even as talented as the new disciple that Immortal Venerable Shen brought back from the mortal world.”

The Qianji Sect disciple had watched Wei Xun compete for the championship against those geniuses from beginning to end, so he was unconvinced upon hearing this.

“Then tell me, what methods could Wei Xun have used? And that Wen Xingyao, no matter how talented, is only at the Foundation Establishment stage right now. How can he compare to Wei Xun?”

“Ahem—”

Suddenly, a clear, young voice rang out. He seemed to have choked while drinking water in a hurry, coughing while covering his mouth, his face turning red.

His face was plain, nothing worth remembering. However, his physique was excellent—broad shoulders, narrow waist, upright posture—which made his plain face look somewhat out of place.

Seeing that the cultivators stopped talking and looked over one after another, Jiang Qunyu waved his hand awkwardly: “Sorry, sorry, continue.”

Wei Xun, sitting beside him, swept a cold glance over. He squinted at Jiang Qunyu’s disguised face, his tone icy: “Are you that happy to hear news about Wen Xingyao?”

Jiang Qunyu had just finished drinking water, originally intending to calm his nerves, but he choked again.

He coughed violently, lifted his misty eyes to look at Wei Xun, and was speechless: “Where did you see that?”

“They just happened to mention Wen Xingyao while you were drinking water,” Wei Xun turned his head back, looking at the apricot blossoms blooming outside the inn, his tone wrapped in coldness, “and then you started coughing.”

Jiang Qunyu: “…That’s not because I’m happy; I just remembered that I haven’t said goodbye to Wen Xingyao yet, and besides, hearing news of Wen Xingyao in the cultivation world is quite amazing.”

“Oh.” Wei Xun responded emotionlessly.

Jiang Qunyu said huffily: “They are cursing you, and you don’t have any reaction. Why do you explode whenever Wen Xingyao is mentioned? What exactly did he do to you?”

Up until now, Jiang Qunyu still didn’t understand.

That guy Wen Xingyao, although a bit silly and a bit timid, hadn’t done anything that angered the gods or men, right? Why did Wei Xun look at him with such displeasure?

Wei Xun just looked at him gloomily and didn’t speak.

Jiang Qunyu couldn’t be bothered with him anymore.

Since the two of them emerged from Mirror Lake City, they learned that the flow of time within Mirror Lake City seemed different from the outside world. They had spent only a few days inside, but two years had passed outside.

And Jiang Qunyu, through the method of Wei Xun getting up in the middle of the night and feeding him blobs of blood, could now possess Wei Xun’s body.

He felt that if he didn’t move around, he would probably turn into a moldy dough.

So, he was currently possessing Wei Xun’s body, just watching the commotion.