Chapter 8: Yuheng (Part 6)

Since Yun Zhi first picked up a sword at age ten, he had never lost a match against He Tingtong on the sword trial platform.

He Tingtong’s comprehension was poor—each move and stance required long practice before he could master it. Unlike Yun Zhi, who had excellent memory, photographic recall, and could extrapolate from learning and breaking moves. Often when Yun Zhi had finished an entire manual, He Tingtong was still on page two.

But when exactly did he become so strong?

On the second floor of Luomei Courtyard, Yun Zhi knocked over a table while running, along with the vase on it that shattered on the ground. Amid the clattering sounds, he fell to the floor, wounds on his back tearing open, blood soaking his heavy clothes. With a sharp clang, he stared at the long sword driven three inches into the ground beside his neck, forehead covered in cold sweat.

From downstairs to upstairs, He Tingtong had given him five chances to fight. He lost every time, and in the final round couldn’t even pick up his sword.

This He Tingtong dragging his sword and toying with him like a cat with a mouse was completely different from the taciturn, honest senior martial brother in his memory. It was just one fall from a cliff—could someone’s personality change this drastically?

Yun Zhi tremblingly raised his head to meet a pair of gentle, smiling eyes. He hadn’t looked properly at He Tingtong in many years, and in this moment of life and death, he surprisingly discovered his martial brother was actually quite good-looking. The youth’s eye corners were blunt and round, making him appear harmless and gentle. When he smiled, it was like basking in a spring breeze, without a trace of aggression.

Then He Tingtong nimbly pulled out the sword, walked forward slowly, and pressed the tip to his brow. “You lose.”

The gentle beauty instantly transformed into a vicious demon. Yun Zhi snapped back to awareness, his whole body spent of strength, unable to move, lying on the ground like a dead dog. Yet he still stared warily at the person before him, stubbornly saying: “You’re just taking advantage while I’m down. If I hadn’t been punished, you wouldn’t necessarily beat me!”

“Right, I am taking advantage while you’re down.” He Tingtong laughed aloud. “Otherwise how could I crush you however I please?”

Yun Zhi: “…”

“Young sect leader, I still remember very clearly those two sword strikes Shen Xiyuan gave me.” He Tingtong clicked his tongue, patting Yun Zhi’s face with the blade. “Don’t you love Shen Xiyuan dearly?”

Yun Zhi’s gaze froze, not understanding his meaning. Then he heard He Tingtong speak leisurely: “As the saying goes, the father’s debt is paid by the son. But Shen Xiyuan’s closest person would be you, young sect leader, wouldn’t it? He shattered my meridians and destroyed my dantian. No matter what, I should return those two sword strikes. Unfortunately I can’t see him now. Since you have such deep feelings for him, young sect leader, why don’t you repay this debt for him?”

The sword tip moved down, hanging over his heart. He Tingtong applied force, the blade piercing through clothing.

“You wouldn’t dare! My father will kill you!” Yun Zhi’s voice was shrill, though the tail end trembled uncontrollably.

“Don’t worry, I’ll kill you first, then say you died for love.” He Tingtong pressed the sword down further, pushing against Yun Zhi’s dantian. “Weren’t you madly in love with Shen Xiyuan? You couldn’t get over it originally, missing him excessively, suffered a shock—suicide is common enough.”

The blade sank into his chest and abdomen. Yun Zhi’s pupils contracted as many thoughts flashed through his mind.

He was only sixteen, extraordinarily talented with excellent spiritual roots. Since childhood, his father had said that with his qualifications, joining a Central Province sect or even entering one of the world’s five great sects wouldn’t be a problem. He had a brilliant future ahead, a clear immortal path. Should he really die for Shen Xiyuan?

His lover’s delicate, beautiful features floated in his mind. Counting those sweet, happy days—actually they were barely three months.

Three months… he should sacrifice his life for these three months?

“No!! Wait, I was wrong!”

Yun Zhi screamed, clutching his head, weeping bitterly, words tumbling out incoherently: “I don’t like him anymore! Don’t like him! Shen Xiyuan has nothing to do with me!”

“I don’t want to die. What do you want exactly? Please, spare me, I’ll agree to anything!”

“Senior martial brother, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have bullied you, shouldn’t have looked down on you. I should have saved you then! I was wrong, I really know I was wrong!”

He Tingtong abruptly stopped, kicking Yun Zhi’s calf. “Go, sit over there. Write it down.”

Yun Zhi raised his head with tear-blurred eyes. “Write what?”

He Tingtong’s face showed no expression. “Naturally a confession—Shen Xiyuan’s demon race identity, how you two met, what he plotted by entering Yuheng, and clearly write down everything about how you colluded with the demon race to harm me.”

At the window ahead, sunlight was perfect, illuminating the entire desk where brush, ink, paper, and inkstone were neatly arranged.

Yun Zhi hesitantly sat down, looking at the bright blank paper, barely able to hold the brush.

Once he wrote this confession, he was finished. Immortals and demons were irreconcilable enemies. Father had always been stern—he would really beat him to death.

But He Tingtong before him was too fierce. He had no doubt that if he refused now, this person would chop off his head.

Yun Zhi could only write while crying. He Tingtong held his sword, leaning on the desk, standing beside him reading word by word.

He Tingtong wanted this confession now simply to get revenge on him. Once this confession was handed over today, how would his father view him in the future? How would his martial brothers see him? How would fellow disciples gossip about him?

Not to mention He Tingtong’s current state was too painful. If he stayed at Yuheng Sect, Yun Zhi felt his entire future would be dark and bleak.

No… he absolutely couldn’t let He Tingtong continue staying in the sect.

A ruthless, merciless senior martial brother who held all his weak points would eventually destroy him!

At this point, only one method remained.

He quietly looked toward the jade tablet placed before the desk.

It was the Yuheng Sect disciple jade, also used by sect disciples to call for help and transmit messages when in danger. Once crushed, the array technique within would send a distress call to all fellow disciples within five hundred li.

He’d casually tossed it here before sleeping yesterday, never expecting it would become his only lifeline.

He Tingtong seemed bored and turned to look at the scenery outside the window. Yun Zhi raised his hand, taking advantage of his turned back to quietly grasp the disciple jade, then crushed it forcefully.

With a crack, He Tingtong slowly turned his head.

He saw Yun Zhi with a deathly pale face, throwing aside the half-written confession, retreating continuously until he reached the window, then smiling at He Tingtong: “Senior martial brother, you can’t defeat me.”

The window on the second floor of Luomei Courtyard was wide open, light flooding the room. Dust particles in the air stirred by the airflow. Yun Zhi suddenly flipped over and fell backward. With a muffled thud, a heavy object hit the ground. He Tingtong heard shocked cries from outside the courtyard.

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Yun Zhi fell from upstairs—not high, only breaking his leg. He vomited blood, crawling on the ground, dragging a trail of blood beneath him, weeping miserably: “Father! He’s trying to kill me! He’s trying to kill me!”

The sect leader arrived first. Seeing Yun Zhi’s miserable state, his eyes split with rage. “Who’s trying to kill you!”

Yun Zhi tremblingly twisted around, pointing toward the room.

The sect leader, furious beyond measure, leaped into the second floor. His nose first caught a strong scent of blood. His steps halted as he saw bright red blood slowly spreading on the floor. He Tingtong leaned weakly against the wall, huddled in shadow, hair disheveled and plastered to his head, revealing eyes filled with extreme sorrow. Looking at the sect leader, he raised his hands, tears streaming down in two lines: “Ah… ah… Master… this disciple is useless… couldn’t dissuade the young sect leader…”

The sect leader trembled all over, quickly stepping forward to check. He saw Yun Zhi’s long sword embedded in He Tingtong’s waist and abdomen, blood pooled everywhere.

The entire sect knew He Tingtong could never defeat Yun Zhi.

Actually, the sect leader had known from the start what Yun Zhi intended by having He Tingtong come keep him company—nothing more than wanting to get even, vent some anger, that would be fine… but this strike was too vicious.

Fellow disciples attacking each other, dantian damaged, cultivation fallen… this lifetime it would be difficult to repair.

And Yun Zhi still wanted to use a self-harm scheme to divert attention… too foolish, too ugly!

He had been far too indulgent with this son, actually letting him learn to be so ruthless!

He Tingtong vomited blood, face sorrowful, tremblingly reaching out to grasp the sect leader’s sleeve, sobbing: “Master, the young sect leader insisted on dying for love with that outer sect disciple. I couldn’t stop him. This disciple is foolish, cultivation inadequate…”

“Don’t speak anymore.” The sect leader silently carried He Tingtong out. By now countless people had gathered in the courtyard after receiving word, surrounding Yun Zhi in a circle, listening to his tearful accusations, originally filled with righteous indignation—until they saw He Tingtong’s miserable state, everyone froze.

Yun Zhi on the ground was most baffled. No, where did that sword wound come from?

“Master, your kindness in raising and nurturing this disciple will never be forgotten. Only now I likely cannot attend the Azure Cloud Trials.” He Tingtong pressed his waist and abdomen, spitting out blood, on the verge of death. “I know the young sect leader dislikes me, but it doesn’t matter. From now on, this disciple won’t be an eyesore anymore.”

“If… if I still have a life left, I wish to descend the mountain. That mortal is probably still waiting for me down there…”

“Not right… not right at all! I didn’t stab him! He stabbed himself!” Seeing this, Yun Zhi panicked and protested. He crawled to the sect leader’s side, grabbing his arm and shaking it, looking crazed. “It’s all lies. He hates me, only wants to harm me. Father, we can’t keep He Tingtong! Kill him! Quickly kill him!!”

The sect leader backhanded Yun Zhi with a slap, sending him flying. “Rebellious son! Shut up!”

The entire courtyard fell silent.

Yun Zhi lay on the ground, blood streaming from nose and mouth. He looked around with trembling eyes at those strange, contemptuous gazes, his heart sinking to the depths.

It’s over… everything is over…

He Tingtong had been set down. Elder Song pressed on his wound, pulling out the sword with a sigh. “Injured at the dantian, cultivation has fallen to the first realm.”

The youth lay on his back, complexion dark. He spoke softly, like a sigh: “Master, I feel so guilty. It’s all my fault. I failed to properly counsel junior martial brother, instead causing him to jump from upstairs… But matters of the heart, even I cannot see through. Junior martial brother has his reasons. Won’t you forgive him?”

After speaking, he looked sympathetically at the dazed Yun Zhi, expression full of understanding, saying weakly: “I don’t blame him.”

Thinking back to being beaten for over an hour in Luomei Courtyard, Yun Zhi in the corner widened his eyes.

No wonder he didn’t hit the face during the fight!! Damn!

Fury filled his heart. His mouth opened and he cursed aloud: “You despicable person! Shameless… mmph mmph!!”

But before he could finish, the sect leader raised his hand and directly cast a silencing spell, lest his son spout more disgusting, arrogant words.

He Tingtong’s face was ashen. He turned his head toward the mountain base, expression desolate: “This disciple knows this life has no affinity with the immortal path. Now I only wish to accompany my beloved until old age.”

“Master, expel this disciple from the sect. I have only this one small wish.”

“Please grant it.”

After what seemed like ages, amid the surrounding silence, he finally heard the sect leader say: “If you want to leave, then leave. Your master cannot keep you.”

He Tingtong closed his eyes with a heart dead as ash, two long tears falling.

Beside him, Yun Zhi made muffled sounds of protest, writhing on the ground. The sect leader extended his hand and a spirit-binding rope flew over, wrapping the person up like a dumpling.

Yun Zhi glared with fury: “Mmph mmph mmph!!”

Presumably cursing quite foully.

Yun Zhi: “…”

He Tingtong’s eyes curved in a smile, though his gaze was ice-cold. Lying on the ground, he showed Yun Zhi a blood-stained smile, like an evil spirit crawling from hell: “Young sect leader, remember to hide well.”

“I’ll come find you.”

This look filled with killing intent seemed to grasp Yun Zhi’s throat, preventing him from making the slightest sound.

He suddenly recalled that day when heaven and earth seemed to collapse in the snow. He Tingtong pulled him to escape, and when covering their rear was struck away by that fifth-realm demon beast, his long sword broken. He only pushed at his back, urgently telling him to flee quickly.

Against a fifth-realm demon beast they had no solution, but Shen Xiyuan did. When the great demon made his move, that fifth-realm beast knelt on the ground like an obedient dog. His heart and eyes were full of his lover then. In his ears he heard his senior martial brother’s voice after surviving disaster: “Thank goodness, we’re safe, truly wonderful.”

His senior martial brother had always been foolish, naturally also failing to notice the danger hidden beneath their survival.

To conceal his identity, Shen Xiyuan chose to silence them.

Those two sword strikes were extremely vicious and precise, both vital points critically wounded. He watched with his own eyes as He Tingtong fell, the gushing blood scalding hot.

He Tingtong should have been a certain death.

Yet he lived, and only suffered superficial wounds.

How exactly did he survive… or rather, was this body, this soul sneering at him coldly, still the same He Tingtong from before?

Or was it… a monster’s possession.

Yun Zhi suddenly shivered.

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Three days later, He Tingtong insisted on descending the mountain despite his injuries.

He had very little luggage and no friends in the sect. When leaving, only Elder Song and that young medicine boy saw him off.

Elder Song gave him several bottles of healing medicine, saying what a pity—the sect leader felt guilty toward him. Actually staying in the sect with a sinecure position would be more stable than becoming a mortal.

He only smiled, waving goodbye to them.

At age three he was led by the hand into the sect, at seventeen he died at the valley bottom. After that, eighteen repetitions—he had done more than enough. Now he could finally leave openly and honorably, no longer entangled with Yuheng Sect.

At the mountain base, a clear breeze blew.

Fu Fengyan had waited several days without moving. He sat with his back to the mountain gate, posture upright, hugging a small bamboo pole, head lowered looking at the withered yellow weeds in the brick cracks.

He Tingtong walked over and lightly patted his shoulder. “Divine Lord.”

“Mm?” Fu Fengyan turned his head, first delighted, then his gaze fell on his waist. “You’re injured.”

“Help me out, can’t walk anymore.” He Tingtong leaned against him accordingly, sucking in a sharp breath, then laughing out loud: “Good news—I’m finally free!”

Fu Fengyan laughed along, then heard He Tingtong’s next sentence: “Bad news—I only have three spirit pearls, completely broke.”

“Divine Lord, may I ask if you’re easy to support?”