Seven hundred miles north of Mount Wuyuan.
“Miss Nan! Where are you?” The spiritual senses of many Dragon Lion Guards swept back and forth. Nan Yan glanced at Ji Yang’s current appearance but dared not respond. Instead, she dragged him into a cave to hide temporarily.
After a while, when the searchers outside left the area empty-handed, Nan Yan finally breathed a sigh of relief. The cave was pitch black. Nearby, several red Yinzhu spirits floated back and forth in the darkness. They attempted to approach Ji Yang, who lay unconscious with faint nether fire scattering from his body, but Nan Yan scared them away with a shout each time.
“Woof! Woof woof woof woof!”
Hearing this sound, the person on Nan Yan’s lap let out a laugh that seemed both pained and pleased. Though awake, he was too weak to get up and could only say with closed eyes, “Why are you barking like a dog?”
“When I was little, the neighbor granny said ghosts are afraid of dog barks,” Nan Yan replied, vigilantly watching the Yinzhu spirits. “After you sent us all out, I crawled for five miles before finding you. These ghostly things were already absorbing the nether fire emanating from your body. I feared that if I had been a moment later, I’d have to go to hell to fetch you back.”
“That wouldn’t have been such a bad thing for me,” Ji Yang said. Sensing Nan Yan’s suppressed anger, he quickly added more seriously, “These Yinzhu are formed from years of resentment due to being unable to reincarnate. I usually feed them with soul fire. After exhausting myself with that last move and without enough blood offerings, they’re likely just hungry.”
“What if your soul fire burns out completely?” Nan Yan asked worriedly.
“Soul fire doesn’t burn out completely. As long as there are worldly attachments, it will continuously regenerate,” Ji Yang explained.
“Really?” Seeing him nod, Nan Yan relaxed a little. “Then what about Second Brother?”
“He should have come out too, but the Youquan Prison Lord tried to possess his remnant soul at the last moment. Unknowingly, he rushed into the Nightmare Fox’s mouth and became its feast instead. It will likely take some time for him to dissolve this remnant soul.”
“Oh, so that means he has to stay alone in the haunted house for a while?” Nan Yan asked.
Ji Yang nodded.
Nan Yan mourned for Yin Qiao for a moment. She then checked Ji Yang’s pulse with the back of her finger. Though his breath was faint, his strength was slowly recovering. She helped him sit up and said coldly, “Initially, I wanted to scold you, tie you up, and take you back to Chou Mountain Brahma Sea to be suppressed under the Demon Subduing Pagoda, copying scriptures – five hundred pages a day.”
Ji Yang’s expression changed from Buddha-like serenity to fierce rage in an instant. He said with some regret, “My methods were indeed a bit extreme, but I didn’t kill any innocent person. Is it not acceptable to use them to supplement the plan to overturn the Dao-born Heaven?”
“Neither you nor I are judges of this world’s good and evil. We must exercise restraint in matters of life and death. We have no right to decide how so many people die,” Nan Yan retorted.
Ji Yang wanted to say that he used to be the judge of the world’s good and evil. But Buddhist cultivators were the most stubborn. Perhaps Nan Yan felt that while she could create killing karma herself, she didn’t want to see him accumulate evil causes.
Thinking this way, Ji Yang found such a soul truly tempting – compassionate yet murderous, merciful yet ruthless, abstinent yet seductive, like a blood-stained white udumbara flower blooming peacefully in the night.
The surrounding Yinzhu spirits also visibly became agitated but still dared not approach. Their limited intelligence simultaneously raised a question – with so many delicacies in the world, why did the Prison Lord uniquely favor such a spicy one?
For ghost creatures, the most detestable souls were those of Buddhist cultivators. These Buddhist cultivators carried inherent merits after death, making them impervious to the punishments of good and evil. Some didn’t even enter the cycle of reincarnation, directly ascending to the Western Paradise. If the hungry ghosts tried to bite them, they would surely break their teeth.
After recuperating in the cave for three days, with the frequency of outside searches gradually decreasing, Nan Yan decided to leave with Ji Yang. They departed at dawn. Since Ji Yang’s soul fire was still occasionally scattering, they could only walk like mortals to avoid leaving traces.
Fortunately, they encountered a caravan of ordinary people transporting grain. After some smooth talking, the travelers agreed to take them to a small town outside Mount Wuyuan.
The realm of cultivators was always spring-like due to barriers, so it was rare to see people wrapped in thick cotton jackets, busy preparing for the first snowfall. This small town belonged to a single family, with no sects or markets for hundreds of miles around. Nan Yan felt that Ji Yang’s current condition wouldn’t allow them to travel far, so they temporarily rented a courtyard in the small town to settle down.
One day, Nan Yan went out as usual to gather information. She left early, and when she opened the door, she found a thin layer of frost on the ground. The shopkeepers who usually swept their storefronts were still huddled on their warm king beds. Walking through two streets, she only saw a paper seller and a pancake vendor leaning on each other for warmth and chatting.
The paper sold by the locals here was different from that in Fan State. They used discarded talisman paper from cultivators, repulped it, added some additives, and made drawing paper that was both good quality and moisture-resistant.
No matter where people are born, they always find their ways to survive.
The paper seller said he was saving spirit stones for his daughter to test her aptitude for joining an immortal sect, estimating he’d have enough by next spring. Nan Yan listened to him talk about his hopes for the future for a while. Initially, she wanted to warn him about the cruelty of the cultivation world, but she held back.
“… If we could donate enough for her to become an outer disciple, we could get some spiritual medicines to treat her mother’s illness. After all these years, becoming an immortal cultivator is our only hope.”
For poor mortals, if someone in the family could cultivate immortality, they wouldn’t have to worry about food and drink for a lifetime. Who cares if the cultivation world is cruel or not?
Nan Yan couldn’t help but think of the woman in Mao State who believed in those fake medicine peddlers, desperately hoping her child could cultivate immortality. She sighed softly and was about to step forward when she saw someone beat her to it, buying all the drawing paper.
“Y-young master, are you sure you want to buy so much?” the seller asked, surprised.
“Yes, I have a fondness for painting,” the stranger replied.
This person held an oil-paper umbrella, which was already covered with a thin layer of white snow. The hair hanging down from the umbrella’s edge was a mix of gray and white.
As they walked through the snowy town, Nan Yan suddenly widened her eyes, her hands trembling involuntarily. Could it be him? How could he possibly be here in person? She tried to convince herself it was a coincidence, but on second thought, what cultivator would come to this remote town for no reason… unless he was looking for someone?
At the very least, she couldn’t let Ji Yang be found.
Just as Nan Yan took a step back, the man turned around, as if he had known she was nearby all along. He said gently, “Young lady, could you help me carry these drawing papers?”
As soon as he spoke, a strange power seemed to take effect. When Nan Yan came to her senses, she was already standing beside him, holding a stack of papers. She felt a mix of shock, anger, and helplessness… she was far too weak. If it had been her facing such an enemy instead of Ji Yang, she would have died long ago.
“My surname is Ying. You’ve probably heard of me,” Ying Zeyou said casually as if he were a neighborly teacher making small talk. “I’ve often heard about a child who looks like Rong Niang, and I’ve wanted to meet her. Walk with me for a while.”
Nan Yan felt a chill down her spine. She found her limbs completely out of her control as if she had been forcibly drawn into a painting, unable to break free from this scene of a leisurely snow day stroll no matter how she struggled.
After her initial shock and anger subsided, Nan Yan gradually calmed down. Halfway down the long street, she suppressed her tumultuous emotions and spoke, “Elder, did you know my mother?”
Ying Zeyou nodded slightly. His face wasn’t cold, but his gray, lifeless eyes split his entire demeanor – half gentle and courteous, half indifferent and detached.
“Like Dragon Lord, Sword Hero, and others, I was once a fellow disciple under the Dao Sovereign when we were young. I was a bit older, so I didn’t interact with Rong Niang as much as they did. You’re probably not interested in our past; what you care about is where your mother’s remains are, right?”
“…”
“Don’t be afraid. I didn’t come specifically to find you. You can ask; I’ve cultivated for many years and wouldn’t mistreat a bereaved child.”
The more he spoke this way, the more Nan Yan dared not ask, unsure what trap might lie in his next words. Her silence didn’t earn his consideration. As if encouraging her to resist, he continued:
“Is this what Buddhism teaches you – to endure when possible, to retreat when able? Perhaps your momentary retreat might even let an enemy escape.”
As he finished speaking, Nan Yan felt the restraints on her limbs suddenly disappear. She stumbled and looked at him.
Realizing he was provoking her, Nan Yan indeed felt angry. Just as she was about to question him, someone anxiously approached from the other side of the snow-covered bridge.
“Shao Cang! Don’t come over!” Nan Yan called out, but it was too late.
She saw Ji Yang, who seemed to have been searching for her for a while, with frost crystals on his hair tips. His gaze was initially gloomy and frightening but softened instantly upon seeing them.
Acting as if nothing had happened, he casually walked over, pulled Nan Yan to his side, and said, “It’s cold and windy. Your spiritual energy is still weak. Even if you want to go out, you should have told me. What if some villain had tricked you?”
… He dares to say anything with that person still standing right there.
Ying Zeyou seemed to smile slightly and said, “Shao Cang, it’s been many years. Won’t you greet your teacher first?”
Ji Yang indeed complied gracefully, bowing his head in respect: “Ji Shao Cang greets the teacher.”
Comparing them, Nan Yan realized they both carried the same air of nobility. Even with an ocean of blood feuds between them, they still maintained all the proper courtesies.
“A few days ago, Xing Zheng told me he wanted to move your ranking back to the Mingquan Great Hall. It seems that won’t be necessary now. Perhaps the senior masters were right; I shouldn’t have kept around a leftover problem whose strategic talent frightens the entire Dao-born Heaven,” Ying Zeyou said with a slight sigh. “Do you remember what I told you that year?”
Ji Yang replied, “Of course I remember. If Dao-born Heaven could take over the netherworld of this realm, we could then comprehend life and death, allowing cultivators to be free from the suffering of limited lifespans, even if they couldn’t break through to the void.”
Ying Zeyou asked, “Then why did you choose to give the Youquan River to outsiders instead of heeding your teachers’ advice?”
Ji Yang shook his head lightly and said, “Because the words of my teachers are not worth following.”
Ying Zeyou countered, “This was the Dao Sovereign’s dying wish.”
“The Dao Sovereign’s words are also not worth following,” Ji Yang replied.
A faint trace of displeasure finally appeared in Ying Zeyou’s gray eyes: “The Dao Sovereign’s words are not to be questioned. This is my last act of leniency towards you.”
Ji Yang said, “But this may not be my last act of transgression.”
Ying Zeyou calmed down again, seeming to glance at Nan Yan behind Ji Yang. He said with sudden realization, “You’re deliberately trying to anger me because I provoked her? After all these years, has my disciple become so petty?”
“Not everyone’s heart is as centered as yours, teacher,” Ji Yang replied.
“Very well,” Ying Zeyou finally ended the topic, then added with a hint of curiosity, “I have one small question.”
“Please ask, teacher.”
“Before your Uncle Master Zhu Sui died, he seemed to want to tell me something important. Because the Yinzhu spirits had devoured his elemental and verbal consciousnesses, I’ve been unable to deduce it after days of divination. Shao Cang, can you tell me if you two had any little secrets?”
Nan Yan felt Ji Yang stiffen, his hand gripping hers tighter behind his back.
But his expression remained natural as he said, “Do you want to know about matters of the heart, teacher?”
One looked like Nan Rao, the other like his younger self – standing together, it was as if time had reversed.
The gray mist in Ying Zeyou’s eyes thickened. Simultaneously, he received a message from his sect:
“Xuan Zai, Elder Yigu has come to visit. Do you… do you wish to receive him?”
Ying Zeyou was silent for a moment. He raised his hand, and a scroll appeared. Bypassing Ji Yang, he handed it to Nan Yan.
“I came in a hurry and have nothing good to give. This scroll was painted by me at the Dao Sovereign’s command when your mother came to study at Dao-born Heaven. Take a look, but that’s all. Also… the snow scenery in Zizhou is far superior to this place. If you have time in the future, let Shao Cang bring you. Dao-born Heaven will welcome you warmly.”
As soon as the scroll touched her hands, Nan Yan almost dropped it due to its weight. When she looked up again, Ying Zeyou had vanished.
She couldn’t help but sigh deeply: “… I finally had a chance but didn’t ask about my mother’s whereabouts.”
“Saying less was the right choice. He’s adept at provoking people to speak rashly. If you had said too much, even if you didn’t realize it, he could have deduced everything about you. Fortunately, he had other matters to attend to and didn’t pay too much attention to you,” Ji Yang said gravely.
Nan Yan felt a bit scared in retrospect: “Then what about this scroll?”
“Keep it. If even a painting harbored lethal intentions, he wouldn’t be worthy of being a teacher,” Ji Yang replied.
But…He isn’t really worthy of being a teacher.