SS CH115

Chu Xiwei had never encountered such a troublesome opponent.

He intended to win with speed, striking preemptively with every move, successfully keeping the battle within his own rhythm. However, the sword in his opponent’s hand attacked and defended flawlessly, responding to all changes by remaining unchanged. There was no forewarning to his strikes; it was as if all his techniques were formless, executed effortlessly and moving as he pleased.

This sword style was from the same lineage as the one Helian Yu used during their battle at Anxi Mountain, but it possessed far more profound mysteries. Had Helian Yu wielded such swordplay back then, even using the “Life-Returning Pill” might not have allowed Chu Xiwei to retreat in one piece.

The sword’s momentum was as vast as a net covering heaven and earth, its moves highly adaptable, combining both hardness and softness. Even the angles of his strikes were bizarre and thrilling. Even though Chu Xiwei intentionally utilized the Qilu Jing, he could only follow the opponent’s martial trajectory, perpetually a step behind, while the other man’s techniques varied endlessly.

Chu Xiwei swept his blade horizontally across the sword blade, only to see his opponent release his grip, form a sword-finger, and thrust toward his face. In that split second, the man snatched his sword back. The icy blade grazed his face, leaving a faint, thin line of red.

He retreated a step, then step after step, until his back was against a large tree, leaving him nowhere left to retreat.

Knife and sword clashed. With a flick of the opponent’s wrist, the sword blade trembled slightly, and a force like a toppling mountain and overturning sea surged forward, numbing the muscles and bones of Chu Xiwei’s arm. Fortunately, Chu Xiwei was quick to adapt. In a flash of lightning, his technique morphed. Slashing upward diagonally with a “Baihong” strike, he met the sword blade again. However, instead of taking it head-on, he spun with the momentum, transforming the move into “Picking Flowers,” sliding along and locking the sword blade, practically gluing the weapons together with his qi. Channeling the force, he guided the sword blade harmlessly through the gap under his armpit. Though the terrifyingly sharp sword qi didn’t touch his flesh, it sent a chill deep into his bones.

As the sword blade sank deep into the tree trunk behind him, Chu Xiwei seized the opportunity to lock the opponent’s right arm with his left hand, unleashing the “Jinghong blade” technique “Autumn Water Rippling Horizontally” with his right hand, aiming straight for a fatal strike to the throat!

The saber’s edge reached the side of his neck, opening a shallow cut across the throat, but a pale hand firmly clamped down on the blade.

Chu Xiwei looked into those eyes, cold and dark as a freezing pool, and saw the spring ice slowly shattering within them.

The next moment, a sudden chill erupted under his armpit. Instinctively retracting his saber and pushing away, he saw a brilliant flash of sword light sweep past his eyes. The tree, thick as a massive bowl, was cleaved cleanly open from bottom to top. Had he not dodged quickly enough, that strike would have severed his arm!

Before Chu Xiwei could steady himself, the man had closed the distance. The longsword swept out, arriving at his chest in the blink of an eye!

In the nick of time, Chu Xiwei’s knife also moved. He actually mimicked his opponent’s technique, thrusting his knife straight forward, aiming right for the attacker’s face!

Knife and sword scraped against each other, emitting a piercing shriek. Ultimately, the sword tip stopped right in front of his heart, while the knife edge twisted in the fraction of a second, sweeping off the opponent’s mask.

The silver mask flew up and landed, but Chu Xiwei’s eyes only reflected that familiar yet strange face.

Cold brows, cold eyes, a face condensing frost and snow, with a cinnabar mole resting at the corner of his eye, as crimson as blood.

He glanced at the mask on the ground, stepped back twice, reached out, and pulled down the hood, revealing a head of white hair tied into a ponytail with a black silk ribbon.

This person was actually Duanqing.

But whether through his own eyes or from the accounts of Shen Wuduan and Ye Fusheng, Chu Xiwei had never seen this side of Duanqing.

The Daoist, normally as silent as an ancient painting, seemed to have torn away the canvas of feigned peace, laying bare a sharpness that hadn’t seen the light of day in ages. He still lacked the warmth of humanity, but now possessed the solitary, biting chill of a cold, lonely sword.

Such a Duanqing reminded Chu Xiwei of Helian Yu.

Aside from their nearly identical swordplay, their matching white clothes, silver masks, and cold swords drawing blood, at first glance, these two looked like reflections of each other in a mirror. But only having truly faced both could one instantly judge the difference in caliber.

Helian Yu exuded a terrifying malice inherent to his nature, while Duanqing emanated an inescapable, solitary coldness that permeated from bone to skin.

“I didn’t expect to meet the Daoist at this moment,” Chu Xiwei slowly spoke, deciding to get straight to the point. “However, the Daoist’s attire and this sword technique remind this junior of someone else.”

He didn’t state the name, but Duanqing had already anticipated it. Unfazed, he placed his sword behind his back and said, “Any imitation, regardless of skill, is ultimately clumsy. He is like this, and so am I.”

The so-called imitation inevitably implied lineage or deep understanding; either way, it hinted at a significant relationship between the two.

Chu Xiwei’s heart stirred, and he heard Duanqing ask, “The sword techniques I just used—did you memorize them?”

He snapped back to reality, carefully reviewed them in his mind, and nodded.

Duanqing said plainly, “Shen Liu said he already gave you the ‘Returning to the Sea’ mental cultivation method for the ninth level of the Qilu Jing. Since you have now broken through to the seventh level, thoroughly integrating these sword techniques within three days shouldn’t be difficult.”

Chu Xiwei raised his eyes. “It seems that in three days, a major change will occur.”

“Your mind is as cunning as a ghost, just like Xiao’er’s.” Duanqing glanced at him. “Helian Yu’s Thousand Tribulations Art is nearing great completion. If he succeeds, you must not fight him head-on before breaking through to the eighth level of the Qilu Jing. If you are forced to fight, use this sword technique to escape.”

Chu Xiwei was shocked—both by the news that Helian Yu was at such a critical juncture, and by Duanqing’s intimate knowledge of him.

He steadied his mind and looked directly at Duanqing. “As far as I know, Helian Yu’s Thousand Tribulations Art has always relied on unrestrained slaughter. Given this path, his odds of achieving great completion are likely not small. Yet the Daoist said ‘if he succeeds’. In that case… Daoist, what are you planning to do within these three days?”

Hearing this, Duanqing changed the subject, saying, “Shen Wuduan having a son like you means the Hundred Ghosts Sect has a worthy successor. Your martial arts and vision far surpass your peers in the Jianghu. Give you a few more years, and the four seas and three mountains will be unable to constrain your comings and goings.”

“The Daoist overpraises.” His doubts unresolved, Chu Xiwei couldn’t muster any happiness even upon hearing a rare compliment from Duanqing. As he pondered the Daoist’s actions, he suddenly heard the next sentence.

Looking at him, Duanqing said, “Unfortunately, this poor Daoist is still not pleased with you.”

When he said this, Duanqing maintained his eternally unchanging icy expression, his tone as indifferent and flat as ever. Yet, it struck like a heavy hammer against Chu Xiwei’s chest—it didn’t hurt, but it felt incredibly heavy.

His myriad thoughts shattered by thunder, his expression remained unchanged, but his hands slowly clenched tightly.

Shen Wuduan had once said that Duanqing was a person like ice and snow; his mind and vision were equally like cold ice and white snow, so sharp and perceptive that there was nowhere to hide. From his own few brief meetings, Chu Xiwei knew that while this Daoist appeared aloof from worldly strife, he was an incredibly difficult person to deal with.

How could someone so perceptive fail to see through his undisguised intentions?

But now he had stated it: he was not pleased.

Daoist Duanqing never lied, and his words were as solid as nails driven into iron. Since he said this, it meant he had expressed his explicit disapproval of the relationship between him and Ye Fusheng.

Chu Xiwei possessed an almost obsessive pride in his bones. He could disregard anyone’s opinion, but he couldn’t ignore Ye Fusheng’s stance. Therefore, right now, he couldn’t simply brush off Duanqing’s attitude.

He closed his eyes. “Does the Daoist feel I am not good enough?”

“That is not it.”

“Or perhaps I am not worthy of being entrusted with him?”

“Not so.”

“Since that is the case…” Chu Xiwei looked up. “Why?”

Duanqing replied, “You two are not suitable for each other.”

His tone was plain, his expression ordinary, as if stating the most obvious principle in the world. The anger flaring in Chu Xiwei’s heart had nowhere to vent, stifling him so much his chest ached, forcing him to grit his teeth. “As someone beyond worldly affairs, is the Daoist also constrained by the prejudices of worldly ethics and morals?”

Duanqing shook his head. He took a few steps to the side, bent down, picked up the dropped mask, and used a handkerchief to wipe away the dew. “A person’s life in this world is inherently short and bitter, with few moments truly meeting one’s heart’s desires. Given that, as long as it does not violate morality or one’s conscience, what is there to speak of what can and cannot be done? I say you are not suitable, not because of worldly ethics, but because there are too many irreconcilable problems between you two.”

Chu Xiwei frowned. “I ask for the Daoist’s guidance.”

Duanqing glanced at him. “You are ultimately a member of the Chu imperial family. For that reason alone, you are not a good match for him.”

Duanqing’s words remained devoid of joy or anger, but Chu Xiwei inexplicably recalled Ye Fusheng’s master. Ye Fusheng always avoided talking about Gu Qifang in front of him. Even now, Chu Xiwei only knew that since Gu Zheng, the Jinghong lineage had formed inseparable gratitudes and grudges with the Great Chu imperial family. The rights and wrongs within were impossible to untangle. With Duanqing standing on this ground, whether out of displaced anger or legitimate concern, his justification was so solid that Chu Xiwei couldn’t even complain of being wronged.

Even though he had distanced himself from the palace and cast aside his past, his surname was ultimately Chu. With that blood in his veins and those bones in his body, he could not retreat half a step from the responsibilities he was meant to bear.

Therefore, Chu Xiwei could only say, “The deeds of the predecessors will naturally be judged by the elders, and I will not refuse the responsibilities this junior must shoulder. But I believe heaven never seals off all paths. Striking this down purely based on bloodline and birth seems somewhat biased.”

Duanqing neither agreed nor disagreed with his heartfelt declaration, continuing, “Currently, the imperial court is implementing new policies; it is a time when a hundred ruined things await rebuilding. Jinghu is also swept by storms, a time of overturning clouds and rain. Yet you possess deep schemes and an ambition unwilling to accept the status quo, while he carries heavy burdens and harbors the desire to seal his blade and retreat from Jinghu. In this way, no matter how deeply your hearts intertwine, you will never achieve true honesty with each other. Though you may ride in the same boat now, your stances could oppose each other at any moment.”

Chu Xiwei opened his mouth to argue, but Duanqing didn’t wait for him to speak, laying out his final observation: “As for the grudges between you two, I have roughly heard his side. Setting aside everything else, I will only ask you this: when it comes to the words ‘gratitude’ and ‘vengeance’ alone, can you truly pick them up and let them go, ensuring there is no longer any rift between you from now on?”

The words Chu Xiwei wanted to say were swallowed back into his stomach. He fell silent.

Duanqing’s words were unpleasant to hear, but they genuinely dug out the thorn lodged in his heart, displaying it glaringly before his eyes.

After a long silence, he finally answered, “No.”

Fallen from being a favored child of heaven into Jinghu, half a lifetime of prospects reduced to nothing, rolling in the mud and skirting life and death countless times—could Chu Xiwei truly forget it all so simply?

A palace coup, close mentors turning against them on the battlefield, his father dying in defeat, his mother committing suicide as a result, becoming an orphan overnight—could Chu Yao truly toss all of this to the back of his mind with ease?

When emotions ran deep and their hearts were aligned, Chu Xiwei thought he could do it, and he had indeed made compromises for it, giving them both room to maneuver.

But he was not heartless or lungless. Scars that healed still ached, and the remaining rifts ultimately persisted.

Chu Xiwei knew perfectly well that all the love and hate in his life were tethered to Ye Fusheng; his love was uncontrollable, and his hatred was equally involuntary.

“The Daoist… speaks correctly,” he raised his head. “I am a descendant of the Chu family. My destined splendid life was destroyed in an instant, my loving parents replaced by solitary wandering. No matter the rights and wrongs, gratitudes and grudges within it, as a son, I can understand the reason, but I find it hard to reconcile the emotion.”

Duanqing listened intently, the coldness in his eyes slowly fading. His fingers rubbed the icy mask, his expression unreadable.

“Licking blood from blades these past years, walking the line between life and death—if I said I could truly let it go without any lingering resentment, even I wouldn’t believe it… But whether gratitude or vengeance, no matter how much resentment I hold, it cannot erase one fact: I am who I am today thanks to him. Without him, I had the determination to die back then, but lacked the courage to live.” Chu Xiwei slowly curled his lips. “Right now, I want an answer, an explanation.”

“And then?” Duanqing asked slowly. “If his intentions oppose your desires, if the truth contradicts what you know, what will you do then?”

A momentary blankness appeared in Chu Xiwei’s eyes.

No matter how calm and composed he was, he was ultimately just a young man in his early twenties, experiencing love and hate for the first time. Advancing cautiously step by step to reach this point was already difficult enough, and he was still anxious about the unclarified feelings between them. How could he possibly think about the future?

In fact, he was entirely unwilling to carefully consider the possibility that things might go against his wishes.

For a moment, the internal breath in Chu Xiwei’s chest fluctuated, his mind a tangled mess, his entire being utterly lost. Until a cool hand landed on his shoulder and patted it lightly.

“In worldly affairs, the words ‘advance’ and ‘retreat’ are often spoken lightly but are difficult to execute. That you are willing to retreat for him shows your deep affection, which I cannot criticize, but you must also know that for many things in this world, retreating again and again will eventually lead to a dead end with nowhere left to retreat,” Duanqing said slowly. “Even mutual affection can be casually changed over time, so growing old together cannot solely rely on you compromising and suffering in silence. There are too many things entangled between the two of you; a heart full of sincerity isn’t enough to cross a thousand difficulties and ten thousand dangers. You must think thrice before acting in everything, and absolutely avoid acting on impulse.”

His heart full of tangled knots not yet straightened out, upon suddenly hearing these words, a sentence slipped out of Chu Xiwei’s mouth without passing through his brain: “My feelings for him are not an impulse.”

The hand Duanqing had on his shoulder paused, lifting and withdrawing. “Dull.”

Although the Daoist’s expression remained unchanged, it carried a distinct feeling of ‘hating iron for not becoming steel’. Chu Xiwei finally snapped back to reality. Breaking down and analyzing that paragraph in his mind several times, he finally grasped the underlying meaning and looked up in astonishment. “Daoist, you…”

“I am biased towards him, so naturally I will demand much of you. But as for the matters between you two, as long as you do not violate bottom-line principles, what need is there for others to point fingers?” Duanqing said. “It all depends on human effort; simply seek to have a clear conscience.”

Pausing, Duanqing looked into Chu Xiwei’s eyes again. “He is older than you, and largely inherited his master’s free-spirited nature. Yet due to his life experiences, he has developed a tendency to endure in silence. This temperament is good in some ways, but it is truly headache-inducing in others. When encountering issues, you do not need to deliberately accommodate him; only through mutual friction can you truly understand each other… As for you, though young in age, your vision is high, your methods are outstanding, and your conduct already shows the demeanor of a great master. You merely need time to smooth out your sharp edges. You can seek his advice on these matters; you certainly won’t suffer a loss. You must remember that ‘those in the game are chess pieces; those watching coldly from the sidelines are the players.’ In all things, aside from spirit, you must consider things more carefully.”

Acting as an elder, treating the younger generation as his own, his intention was to take the rights and wrongs of decades past and build a bridge, hoping the latecomers could cross it and reach a good conclusion, without stumbling into the mud pits the predecessors had fallen into.

Chu Xiwei suddenly felt his eyes grow warm.

He had suffered massive upheavals in his youth. His former family and friends were either dead or had betrayed him, half his life destroyed beyond recognition. Had he not been treated with genuine sincerity by Shen Wuduan and Qin Liurong, he would likely be dead or reduced to a crippled madman by now.

Chu Yao had grown up soaked in a honeypot, but Chu Xiwei had crawled out through a storm of blood and gore.

Qin Liurong loved him like a son, but unfortunately, despite her gentle nature, she could not speak, rendering her unable to express many things. Shen Wuduan was completely hands-off in his parenting style. Therefore, in all of Chu Xiwei’s years, this was the first time he had heard such earnest, heart-to-heart teachings from an elder.

Especially since Duanqing was cold-hearted and had no close relationship with him. Even if he was considering Ye Fusheng’s well-being, he could have taken other paths; there was absolutely no need for him to come and offer guidance.

The white-haired Daoist’s frank expression of disapproval was a stance, but it was also a way to offer an elder’s advice, ensuring he wouldn’t act like a headless fly crashing into the south wall purely on youthful passion. He wanted him to calm down, shift his gaze away from the narrow space between the two of them, and look at the myriad veins entangling them, unraveling the knots formed over the years one by one.

Chu Xiwei accepted this kindness, but having calmed down, his sharp senses detected the unusual nature of Duanqing’s words, catching a faint whiff of unease within them.

However, Daoist Duanqing’s lengthy speech just now seemed to have unloaded all the words accumulated over thirteen years. He spoke no more, reaching up to fasten the mask back on his face, transforming back into the appearance of a ghostly Rakshasa.

An icy voice emanated from behind the mask: “I have said all I can. I hope you will not lose it, nor forget it.”

Seeing that Duanqing intended to leave, Chu Xiwei snapped out of his daze, finally unable to hold back, and asked, “The Daoist still hasn’t told me what you are going to do within three days… After that, what will you do?”

Duanqing had already turned and begun walking back the way he came. Hearing the question, he merely whispered, “A mistake is a mistake. Since it is unforgivable, it rightfully warrants punishment.”

Saying this felt like laying down a massive boulder that had long crushed his heart. The heavy burdens attached to it crashed to the ground, shattering into dust, completely swept away when the wind rose.

The wind carried a frosty chill; inhaling it was like swallowing a cold blade. The chill pierced his lungs, ripping apart his muscles and bones, drawing out hot blood that had not yet frozen solid.

Watching that retreating figure, Chu Xiwei suddenly panicked.

He suddenly wanted to chase after him, but his feet felt as if they had taken root. His gaze locked onto the sword strapped to Duanqing’s back, and a terrifying guess rose in his heart. When he spoke again, he forcefully changed the subject, his voice strained: “He once said that next year, when spring warms and flowers bloom, he wants to go back to Feiyun Peak with the Daoist to take a look…”

Hearing this, Duanqing’s footsteps paused, but he didn’t look back, stepping forward once more.

Chu Xiwei only heard a single word that was nearly torn to pieces by the wind—

“Okay.”