On Anlu Mountain, Fu Liujing’s confession did not move Changling.

A person’s life is both so short and so long. What kind of feelings must an executioner who had just massacred the entire Yue family yesterday hold to tearfully speak the four-word promise “no regrets for life,” heavy as Mount Tai?

The wrongs he had committed could neither be forgiven with ordinary human sentiment nor forgotten as the vicissitudes of life.

Buddha said: All is suffering, all dharmas are without self, cessation is bliss.

Who says revenge doesn’t necessarily require taking a life? Who says making someone unable to live or die is the greatest torment?

Such words are all lies told by those who cannot kill, who cannot bring themselves to act, used to deceive others and comfort themselves.

Feeling the last faint traces of life force flowing away, she didn’t even raise her head to look at him as she said: “You say… if you had known the truth, you would willingly follow me. Now you know, and I am about to depart for the Yellow Springs. Will you follow this path?”

Fu Liujing’s whole body trembled. He raised his head in a daze, his confused gaze gradually becoming firm: “Yes, I’ll follow you.”

He forcibly summoned a breath of energy to pick her up and walked to the cliff’s edge. Below his feet, clouds and mist swirled—the bottom was invisible.

Fu Liujing looked at her and said: “If there is a next life… will you still hate me?”

“You committed evil in this life. In the next life, who knows what you’ll be reincarnated as?” Changling said. “I won’t remember you anymore. If I don’t remember, how can I hate?”

Indeed not getting the answer he wanted to hear, Fu Liujing showed a peculiar smile. “Changling, you’re truly heartless. Twenty years later, whether I become a dog, a bird, or even an insect, I will find you.”

Having said this, he leaped forward, falling off the cliff together with her.

Not until he truly died with her did Changling suddenly feel this life-and-death debt was probably settled.

Little did she know, many years later when she opened her eyes again, she had completely forgotten everything that had happened in those two days. So when she later reunited with Fu Yangui, she couldn’t recognize him at the first moment.

This small bamboo house could no longer contain these overwhelming memories.

Fu Yangui watched Changling support herself with her sword, eyes closed, holding her head. After a moment he asked: “You… remembered?”

Changling slowly raised her head, looking at the person before her, her expression unchanged: “Why didn’t you die?”

Probably shocked by the first question she asked, after a long while, Fu Yangui said hoarsely: “After falling, I was caught by a tree on the cliff. When I woke up… I had already been rescued…”

“Oh?” Changling looked at him coldly. “Then why didn’t you jump again?”

Fu Yangui looked at her. The current Changling compared to her appearance eighteen years ago was like a completely different person, yet that gaze was exactly the same as back then—as if no matter how many events she experienced, no matter how much time passed, it never wavered half a bit.

But the him of those days had wavered.

The poisonous thorns of Thorn Ridge had caused him unbearable pain as he shed a layer of skin. He lay paralyzed on the special bed furnace prepared by the famous physician Chen Lieshu, fumigated for a full half month. His body burned like fire, but his heart grew calm.

By the time he could get out of bed, could end his own life, he had long lost that passionate blood willing to accompany her to death.

He told himself, since heaven wanted him to live, then he would live well. The woman he loved had departed from him—as for everything else, he wouldn’t allow himself to lose anything more.

Thinking of this, Fu Yangui’s gaze no longer dodged. He looked directly at Changling and said: “I want to know, even if you remember everything I did back then, will it not change your mind? Not even one bit—not at all?”

Before Changling could speak, he continued: “If I truly had a heart of iron and stone, or was greedy for life and afraid of death, I would have killed you long ago… Or after I recognized you, I would have burned down this thatched house, destroyed everything related to Fu Liujing, so you could never recognize me… But I didn’t do that. Do you know why?”

He said: “I’m wagering my life on one gamble—gambling that you can see my true heart.”

Changling’s hand holding the sword slightly stiffened. Hearing these words, a trace of softening finally appeared on her face. Fu Yangui reached out and patted his chest. “Fine, if no matter how much I do you insist on taking this revenge, then stab here… If you don’t care about even a trace of affection…”

Before he finished speaking, there came a “chi” sound of a sharp blade piercing through skin and flesh. The Muling Sword passed precisely through between his index finger and thumb, piercing through his chest, right at the center of his heart—stopping at two inches depth.

Blood seeped through his outer garment and flowed out drop by drop. The intense drumming heartbeat transmitted from the blade to the hilt. Fu Yangui looked down in disbelief. He could feel that sword tip was only a hair’s breadth from his heart. He heard her say: “I never doubted your true feelings for me… never. Unfortunately, there’s something you may have forgotten… I did disguise myself as ‘Ji Zining’ for a few days, true, but more often, I was Yue Changling.”

She said word by word: “How many knives and swords did Yue Changling block for Fu Liujing? How much thought did she put into creating a fist manual for Fu Liujing? How much wine did they drink together, how many life-and-death battles did they experience together… The second son of the Yue family treated you well. Why did you never ask him, or… why did you never trust him? Could three years of brotherhood, of life-and-death bond, not compare to three days of springtime romance, flowers reflected in a mirror, moon in water?”

Fu Yangui trembled. The corner of Changling’s mouth curved slightly—this smile held both mockery and deep sorrow: “You’ve said so much about the past, but not once did you mention those deceased Yue family soldiers, those Taixing City civilians killed by the Yan Army… You only repeated again and again your regret over mistakenly killing ‘Ji Zining’…”

Changling said: “Fu Liujing, does your heart still have affection? Does your blood still have righteousness?”

Fu Yangui’s gaze emptily moved from the Muling Sword back to her. Many scenes of being with Second Young Master Yue suddenly flashed through his mind—all those moments he had deliberately avoided and dared not contemplate deeply.

Outside, thunder rumbled faintly. Changling’s eyebrows and lashes didn’t move. Somehow, her breathing trembled slightly, yet her tone was as light as wind: “Do you still remember the oath you made on Cross Cliff?”

His form trembled ever so slightly. “I remember. I said, ‘Heaven above, I, Fu Liujing, become sworn life-and-death brothers with Yue Changling. Henceforth we shall share fortune and misfortune, support each other through adversity…'”

Not seeking to be born on the same year, month, and day, but seeking to die on the same year, month, and day. May the gods and heaven bear witness, with clear retribution.

That day was the first time in Second Young Master Yue’s life that he made a promise to heaven and earth, vowing to devote this life to his sworn brother.

“Good that you remember.” Changling said word by word: “Fu Liujing, if heaven won’t punish you, I will.”

The next moment, the sharp sword pierced through three more inches. Accompanied by two sounds of “drip” “drip” as blood splattered on the ground, torrential rain began falling outside.

Fu Yangui’s hand gripping the blade gradually loosened. He wanted to reach out to touch her but fell just short—he couldn’t reach. Those unparalleled scholarly eyes dimmed. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but what surged out besides profuse blood was nothing else.

In that instant, Changling saw his mouth open and close, asking: Did you ever love me?

The next moment, the sword edge swiftly withdrew. He finally closed those unwilling eyes, bent and softened, falling into a pool of blood.

Changling didn’t look at him again. Her left hand gripped the scabbard, her right hand held the sword. She stepped out of the wooden house, walking into the gradually approaching wind and rain.

Inexplicably, she recalled their first meeting in Maozhu Forest when she pretended to be Ji Zining and coincidentally saved him. Maintaining the image of a demonic sect witch who killed without batting an eye, as soon as he woke up, she dragged him to the seaside cliff, threatening to throw him into the sea.

Yet he had unhurriedly untied the cowhide flask from his waist, took a sip of wine and said: “A flask of wine before death, enough to intoxicate worldly splendor…”

Before finishing the poem, the wine flask was kicked into the sea by her. He looked at the sea below the cliff with lingering fear, coughed lightly, and said: “…Pour out all rivers and seas, serve drinks to all under heaven.”

Changling had just walked a few steps when she suddenly saw Lu Biqiong’s figure rushing through the wind and rain. Seeing Fu Yangui collapsed at the door, she cried out in alarm and quickly rushed forward to kneel at his side. When she reached out to check his breath, her entire being shook in disbelief.

Lu Biqiong gasped twice, drew the blade from her waist, and lunged at Changling like mad. With just one move, she was swept aside by a sword.

Changling pointed her sword at her nose and, using Second Young Master Yue’s voice, said: “Lu Biqiong, I didn’t expect that after so many years, your blade skills still show no improvement.”

Lu Biqiong’s eyes widened. The torrential rain washed the blood from the sword edge, revealing the true radiance of the Muling Sword. She began to tremble: “Sec… Second Young Master?”

Changling coldly sheathed her sword. Without another glance at her or the wooden house, her solitary figure disappeared into the curtain of rain.

This unexpected wind and rain seemed endless, without cease.

Changling left the bamboo forest, walking aimlessly in the dark night where the road couldn’t be seen clearly.

She had finally fulfilled her wish and taken revenge with one sword. In her heart there was neither satisfaction nor regret, only a trace of loneliness surging into her wilderness.

From now on, no matter how long the years stretch, how many people come and go, there would never again be a day of meeting this person.

At this moment, urgent footsteps of soldiers could faintly be heard on the wide street. An officer shouted loudly: “Prime Minister Fu has been assassinated! The assassin hasn’t left the city yet! Quick! Search separately!”

Hearing several groups of soldiers approaching her with great momentum, Changling’s hand pressed on the sword hilt and she retreated into a narrow alley.

After today’s deed, she couldn’t return to the Fu residence. However, the path of revenge was not yet complete.

She couldn’t stay in Jinling City—where should she go?

The soldiers’ footsteps were right at hand. She slowly drew her sword from its scabbard. Just as she intended to fight her way out, suddenly a sound of footsteps landing came from behind her.

Changling almost instinctively swung her elbow back forcefully, when she suddenly heard that person quickly say: “It’s me.”

She turned around. A straw raincoat couldn’t hide the light in his eyes.

Ye Qi extended both arms, embracing her, and said gently: “I’m sorry, I came late.”