ATAVID CH83

His tone carried a trace of hatred, yet also a trace of begging.

Begging Jiang Qunyu not to abandon him again.

Jiang Qunyu was a liar.

This was a fact that Wei Xun only recognized after waiting for ten years at Yujing Pavilion.

Jiang Qunyu’s promise not to leave him was nothing more than a false, hypocritical lie.

Perhaps Jiang Qunyu truly had found a way to return to that alternate world, thoroughly breaking free from this world, and thoroughly breaking free from him.

He was originally a lonely soul who did not belong here, coming from a distant and unfamiliar world. Now that he had obtained his heart’s desire, he was presumably living exceptionally well.

Without him, he no longer had to endure death time after time, and no longer had to rely solely on attaching himself to him just to barely create a tie with this world.

They were no longer each other’s mirror, having finally become two independent entities.

Wei Xun told himself over and over again that he ought to be happy.

Thus, in the tenth year after Jiang Qunyu left, Wei Xun decided to forget him.

He deliberately recalled the first time he met Jiang Qunyu. At that time, he truly detested him to the extreme.

Because of Wei Lan, he originally disliked his own face, yet Jiang Qunyu happened to be born with a countenance identical to his.

After discovering this, instead of behaving himself—whether transforming into a clump of black mist or staying inside his divine sense—Jiang Qunyu actually doubled down, always loving to strut around right before his eyes while wearing his face.

So during those initial days, he truly hated and loathed Jiang Qunyu to the core.

He hated how he always curled his lips into a shallow smile, looking completely heartless; he hated how every time he cultivated, Jiang Qunyu would always lazily slouch over the desk, sitting without proper posture, looking utterly unsightly.

He also hated how he always noisily chattered in his ear; if he didn’t want to respond to him, Jiang Qunyu would drawl his voice out, calling his name tirelessly. He hated even more that leg that always draped itself unbridled over his waist every night when they went to sleep.

Since he was an inner demon, he ought to eliminate him.

He tried every possible method, attempting to peel Jiang Qunyu away from his soul and thoroughly obliterate him.

But he couldn’t. He was like something that had suddenly appeared in his life, disrupting his daily routine and turning his life’s trajectory completely upside down.

Yet Jiang Qunyu could hardly be considered a qualified inner demon.

Seeing a slightly bloody scene, he could listlessly lie on the ceiling beams for an entire day; the first time he killed someone, his entire body shook beyond recognition.

By then, Wei Xun’s initial hatred and detestation toward him had long vanished. He merely watched quietly, watching him sleep with tightly knitted brows for several consecutive nights.

He truly couldn’t understand why Jiang Qunyu would have such a massive reaction.

After all, in Wei Xun’s cognition, the very first person he killed was his own mother.

As for exactly when he stopped hating him, Wei Xun couldn’t remember clearly himself.

Perhaps it was the first time they were hunted down, when Jiang Qunyu unexpectedly blocked a sword for him. He couldn’t describe his feelings, but at that moment, he actually really wanted to laugh—a mere inner demon actually wanted to protect him?

Or perhaps it was those seven years of wandering the mortal realm. To search for clues about Dongjing Lake City, they were always on the road. Winter went and spring came, summer passed and autumn arrived; the days were spent in a daze, until even the years and months became blurred.

Jiang Qunyu had gone off somewhere again. Wei Xun found a tree, sat on the ground leaning against the trunk, and closed his eyes to take a short nap.

An unknown period of time passed before a gentle itchiness suddenly came from his eyelashes.

He slowly opened his eyes, only to see Jiang Qunyu squatting in front of him, snapping a broken flower branch in his hand. Seeing him awake, he curved his eyes and smiled: “I snapped some pear blossoms for you.”

Deep blue spiritual butterflies flitted about in the dense forest. Wei Xun’s brows twitched slightly, his expression peculiar: “What kind of trick are you trying to play again?”

The two of them were accustomed to playing pranks on each other, so even up until that flower was tossed into his lap by Jiang Qunyu, he was still thinking about what kind of hands and feet Jiang Qunyu had scrambled onto the flower this time.

Rendered speechless by his gaze, Jiang Qunyu rolled his eyes: “Is today not your birthday?”

Wei Xun then paused. He didn’t speak, remaining silent for a long while before saying: “These are apricot blossoms.”

Jiang Qunyu: “……”

In the days that followed, the relationship between the two of them eased slightly. Probably because he had drunk his blood, Shahun often couldn’t distinguish their auras. Consequently, extending to Shahun, Jiang Qunyu also developed a sense of possessiveness, matching the sword with a sword tassel.

Then, finding it too desolate when the two of them fell silent, he tied a tiny silver bell onto the tassel the following year.

Sometimes when he grew tired from walking, he would transform into a small clump of black mist and hang onto the sword tassel, shaking the silver bell until it jingled.

Wei Xun glanced coldly, truly unable to restrain himself: “Do you not find it noisy?”

Jiang Qunyu shook it even harder, acting perfectly justified: “Do you not think it’s too quiet without any sound?”

Wei Xun said without a second thought: “I don’t.”

Not until after Jiang Qunyu left did the white jade long steps of Yujing Pavilion become blanketed in perennial coldness, the long nights endless with no boundary.

And that long sword casually thrown onto the bed by Wei Xun—the silver bell on its tassel never rang again.

Wei Xun lowered his eyes, finally saying: “Jiang Qunyu, it is very quiet.”

He wanted to forget, but he couldn’t.

The more he recalled the memories of the past, the more he hated Jiang Qunyu.

He hated him for abandoning him, for not wanting him. He hated how, despite knowing clearly that he never wished for him to block swords for him, Jiang Qunyu still stubbornly vanished before him time after time.

Occasionally, that thought would pop up in his mind again.

Had Jiang Qunyu truly returned to his world? Or rather, had his soul truly dissipated?

…But this possibility was far more cruel than Jiang Qunyu returning.

So it was better to hate.

Hating was much better than his soul truly dissipating.

Only, sometimes Wei Xun truly missed him.

In the long years that stretched to the point of numbness, he finally remembered that laughable rumor.

It was said that within the Nine Underworlds realm stood a Hall of Longevity. It was rumored that as long as one could light a Soul-Returning Lamp inside that hall, they could allow the person of their desire to be reborn or resurrected.

He was unwilling to think about that worst-case conclusion, yet he still stepped out of Yujing Pavilion.

Be it hate or love, he could disregard everything; he only wanted Jiang Qunyu to be alive.

The Nine Underworlds was vast and boundless.

Wei Xun walked through endless deserts, sometimes also mistakenly entering Yizhen Huangquan again, sinking and getting trapped within illusions. His obsession was too deep, every single matter entirely related to Jiang Qunyu; thus, the illusions wove one harmonious ending after another according to his wishes.

But that was ultimately a fleeting dream.

No one would ever charge into the illusion again, tightly grip his wrist, and say with a smile that they were going to take him away.

Wei Xun would then self-harm time after time, forcefully breaking through the illusion right when Yizhen Huangquan was about to end.

Searching aimlessly like this for one year, two years, three years…

That legendary Hall of Longevity never appeared.

It was as if it truly corresponded to that phrase from back then—illusory and intangible.

He had also walked across the River of Forgetfulness.

The water of the River of Forgetfulness was bone-chillingly cold. He had not yet thoroughly transformed into a fierce ghost, so every time his ankles stepped through, they would be scorched with small injuries.

Yet he didn’t feel the slightest bit of pain, merely thinking blankly: if Jiang Qunyu’s soul had truly dissipated, would he also walk across such a path?

From the ninety-ninth year of Xiping to the eleventh year of Changning, Wei Xun was still unable to find the Hall of Longevity.

Sometimes he would see flocks of crows flying across the sky of the Nine Underworlds, and sometimes he would see a layer of shredded-gold-like sunset glow floating above the River of Forgetfulness, dyeing the boundless Equinox Flowers to look like clouds caught on fire.

Deep blue fireflies floated up and down in the dark night, landing on the ancient trees where flowers grew from withered bones, brightening and dimming, contrasting the entire Netherworld to be quiet to the point of desolation. The flowing water of the underworld was soundless, carrying a river full of remnant soul reflections as it slowly trickled toward the darkness where the end could not be seen.

He stood quietly for a long time, his features cold and detached, with only a faint thought flitting through his heart.

If Jiang Qunyu were here, he would probably like it very much.

In the winter of the twelfth year of Changning, heavy snow blanketed the Nine Underworlds. While Wei Xun was passing through Huanyunque, he ran into a strand of lonely soul amidst the sky full of flying snow.

That was an old soul on the verge of death, his hair and beard entirely white, his figure withered and thin like a remnant candle in the wind. His eye sockets were deeply sunken, his eyes cloudy and lightless—clearly long blind—so he could only rely on a sliver of weak obsession to stumble and linger in the snow.

His steps staggered, shivering from the cold. Whenever he sensed any passing ghost cultivators or demons, he would tremblingly stretch out his withered, skeletal hand.

His voice was hoarse and dry, carrying endless pleading and anticipation, repeating over and over again, only muttering that his grandson was lost, begging passersby to help him look for him.

But within the Nine Underworlds, it had always been the survival of the fittest, cold and ruthless. The passing living souls all avoided him with cold eyes, let alone stopping for an insignificant old soul.

Wei Xun was naturally cold-natured, yet right at the split second they were about to brush past each other, Jiang Qunyu’s appearance surfaced in his mind without any omen.

Jiang Qunyu was a good demon. He had always been soft-hearted; if he were here and saw this kind of scene, he would definitely bend his waist to lend a helping hand.

As if possessed, Wei Xun retracted the step he was about to take. He walked silently before that old soul without a single extra word. Merely lifting his hand, he followed that sliver of weak bloodline tie, leading the old soul to find that equally terrified and anxious small soul amidst the vast wind and snow.

The moment the old soul touched his grandson’s hand, old tears instantly streamed down his face. He tightly shielded the small soul in his arms, choking with emotion as he thanked him nonstop, a smile finally blossoming upon his wrinkle-covered face.

He lifted his head, making a deep bow toward Wei Xun, sincerely asking him what kind of reward he desired—so long as he possessed it, he would surely offer it all up.

Wei Xun looked down at the embracing grandfather and grandson, his expression remaining flat, his voice clear, cold, and without ripples: “No need.”

As the words fell, he turned around, unwilling to stay longer, still maintaining that detached and indifferent appearance as he took a step to leave.

Yet right at the moment he turned around, a wild gale abruptly rose from the flat ground. Boundless yellow sand, engulfed in flying snow, swept over frantically; the space between heaven and earth instantly turned into a sheet of murky yellow. The wind and sand blurred the eyes, and the piercing sound of the wind howled past, vibrating until the eardrums ached.

Once the wild gale gradually subsided and the yellow sand slowly settled to the ground, the clouds and mist before his eyes suddenly dispersed. A grand, majestic palace abruptly appeared mid-air before him.

The palace was covered in pure white snow, with flying eaves and upturned corners. An ancient, heavy plaque hung high, upon which the three large characters “Hall of Longevity” were written with a chilling, vigorous, and powerful brushstroke, gleaming with a gentle yet cold light under the gloomy sky.

Wei Xun stood in place, staring blankly at that palace he had searched for several years. His always cold and desolate eyes rippled with a trace of waves.

His fingertips hanging at his side curled imperceptibly; he suddenly wanted to laugh.

He thought, so after searching through the years and treading across the Nine Underworlds, in the end, to be able to find this Hall of Longevity and have a sliver of a chance to find Jiang Qunyu back, what I relied on was actually still that bit of scarce kindness that Jiang Qunyu left on my body.

That old soul and small soul were the guardians of the hall; the old soul was called Weng Shouji, and the small soul was called Weng Nian’an.

Weng Shouji asked him: “He might have already entered reincarnation. Even if you light the lamp, he will not necessarily be able to return. Even so, do you still wish to light it?”

Wei Xun’s long eyelashes drooped slightly. Without hesitation, he parted his lips and said: “Light it.”

Thus, he knelt at the Hall of Longevity for nearly a century. Only occasionally, when pressed by yearning to the point of being unable to breathe and truly wanting to hold Jiang Qunyu, would he briefly return to Yunque City.

In the ninety-eighth year of Changning, a great fire broke out at Yujing Pavilion.

Within that heavenly fire, Wei Xun lost everything he owned.

Weng Nian’an was playing inside the hall as usual, yet at a single glance, he saw Wei Xun collapsed on the ground. Demonic qi and ghostly qi wound tightly around his body, gloomy, terrifying, and shocking to the eye.

He was covered in injuries, with his flesh turned inside out in multiple places, even exposing grim white bones. He just lay on the ground with his eyes open, not knowing where he was looking, a sheet of complete emptiness.

Weng Nian’an was startled, hurriedly running to look for Weng Shouji.

Weng Shouji rushed over to take a look, his expression instantly changing. Just as he was about to step forward to administer rescue, he suddenly discovered that the wounds on Wei Xun’s body were actually healing themselves at a bizarre speed.

He froze for a long while before saying: “It is actually the Heavenly Demon Body.”

But this was merely a record written down. Rumor had it that only those chosen by god—with their inner demons born and accompanying them, and having decapitated the inner demon seven times—could cultivate the supreme sword dao, since then becoming unborn, undying, and unextinguished.

But right now, that Heavenly Demon which only existed in ancient texts appeared right before his eyes; Weng Shouji was temporarily speechless.

Let alone the Wei Xun before his eyes, whose gaze was a sheet of dead silence, without even a single trace of vitality left.

Inside the hall, thousands of soul lamps brightened and dimmed, yet the Soul-Returning Lamp belonging to Jiang Qunyu remained pitch-black from beginning to end, never once lit.

The corners of Wei Xun’s lips pulled into a smile.

He slowly stood up, gazing at that Soul-Returning Lamp for a long time without speaking.

Weng Shouji asked softly: “His Supremacy, what are you thinking about?”

Thinking about what.

Wei Xun was merely thinking, on what grounds? Being chosen by god, so god made Jiang Qunyu come to his side, and once his sword dao reached grand completion, god took Jiang Qunyu away again.

“Slaughtering god,” after a long while, Wei Xun said expressionlessly.

Whether searching up to the blue sky or down to the yellow springs, he would find Jiang Qunyu.

Weng Shouji froze, but before he could speak, Wei Xun had already turned around and vanished outside the Hall of Longevity.

Since then, the Demon Realm changed masters.

Wei Xun also rarely returned to the Hall of Longevity.

Only occasionally, Weng Shouji would still see him kneeling alone before the hall.

“His Supremacy, since you have already resolved to slaughter god, why bother to still beg for this lamp,” Weng Shouji couldn’t help but advise.

After all, the god enshrined inside the Hall of Longevity was the Heavenly Dao.

The corner of Wei Xun’s lips hooked into a mocking sneer, a malicious shade churning within his gaze as he didn’t speak.

Weng Shouji let out a sigh, looking at a disloyal believer who plotted to slaughter god, his entire body covered in gloomy ghostly qi, kneeling beneath god just for that one strand of inner demon who might never return.

In the early summer of the one hundred and twenty-fifth year of Changning, Weng Shouji saw Wei Xun again.

This past master of the Demon Realm was now at the fifth layer of the Integration Stage, only three stages away from ascending.

Weng Shouji asked: “His Supremacy, are you still staying for two months this time?”

Wei Xun’s expression was cold and listless, as he said calmly: “Yes.”

He only had this place left. Only here could he dream after a long absence, dreaming of Jiang Qunyu.

Two months turned over in a flash, yet at the instant he left the Hall of Longevity, that soul lamp which hadn’t brightened for over a hundred years actually emitted a faint radiance.

Wei Xun’s steps halted abruptly.

He turned his head back to look. A wind rose inside the hall, blowing his hair.

The snow that was delayed by one hundred and thirty-eight years finally fell in the depths of Wei Xun’s eyes, a bit cool.

It was just like many, many years ago, when Jiang Qunyu turned around and, in a posture akin to an embrace, lifted his hand to cover his eyes, saying that his tears would flow out from his eyes instead.

“Jiang Qunyu, Jiang Qunyu…” Wei Xun murmured in a low voice, “Don’t leave me, don’t forget me.”

Jiang Qunyu was held a bit uncomfortably by him. With a wooden face, he recalled those harsh, threatening words Wei Xun had used on him when they first reunited, and he ought to have been full of anger. But Wei Xun seemed very sad right now…

Jiang Qunyu then stopped being angry.

As if possessed, Jiang Qunyu also turned around and gently embraced Wei Xun.

Forget it, he thought, deceiving himself in his heart, me being like this should also count as pretending to be asleep, right?

Amidst the dim lights and shadows, the two closely embraced, like grabbing onto each other’s sole light within the endless darkness.

Wei Xun’s tense shoulders and back finally relaxed, yet he still held the person in his arms tightly, as if wanting to rub Jiang Qunyu straight into his own bone and blood.

And inside the room, that incense burner stood quietly in the corner. From beginning to end, it had not burned a single strand of incense.