Chapter 79#

Pain#

It was snowing again.

It didn’t snow every single day of the year on the snowy plains; it was just that whenever it did, it would cover the sky and earth, drifting down in such abundance that it blotted out the sun.

Vast snow flew past Lu Yan’s eyes, blurring his vision. For a moment, he couldn’t see anyone else, yet that person’s blood on the snow was so red, startlingly crimson—

Thousands upon thousands of snowflakes, like crushed jade, rushed forth alongside the howling wind. Some caught on Lu Yan’s eyelashes, melted by his body heat into tiny droplets, making it look as though he were weeping.

Lu Yan did indeed want to weep. He wanted to stop walking toward that person, wanted to set down the longsword in his hand, wanted to panicked yet carefully gather A-Heng into his arms and warm his frozen body. Yet he could do none of those things; he could only walk forward step by step, raising his sword against A-Heng.

Destroying the spiritual platform, stripping the immortal bones, severing hands and feet—each was a form of cruel torture. Was this all… all things he had done to A-Heng?

Lu Yan clearly knew this was a dream, and one shouldn’t feel cold in a dream, yet at this moment, he felt a chill seeping into his very bones. It was as if his heart were being gripped tightly, crushed, and then churned with a knife; he couldn’t restrain his trembling, wanting to kneel and reach out to hold the man. But he was trapped in this body that was not under his control, unable even to utter a single cry, only able to watch with wide eyes—

Watching Yin Yuheng tremble in the snow; watching the person who should have been like the bright moon or white jade, the person he held closest to his heart, as the blood flowing from his body stained the vast expanse of snow red.

The surrounding onlookers were also watching. Lu Yan caught their expressions out of the corner of his eye, feeling a deep, sudden sting.

Those people watched his A-Heng nonchalantly, their gazes filled with mockery, ridicule, and disdain.

Lu Yan recognized Li Guanghan in white, seeing him gently comforting his young disciple as if afraid Zhu Anning would be frightened by the scene; yet when this white-clad Sword Lord turned to look at A-Heng on the ground, his face bore a faint look of impatience. Zhu Anning had a slight, malicious smile, as if Yin Yuheng’s execution were something quite interesting.

Further away, Lu Yan also saw the cold-faced Xue Ciling, along with other familiar and unfamiliar faces, but not one of them stepped forward.

In this moment, an irrepressible trace of hatred surged in Lu Yan’s heart.

How… how could they treat Yin Yuheng like this? How did they dare?

But Lu Yan soon realized that among everyone present, the most heartless person to A-Heng was clearly himself. The person he should hate most was also himself.

In a movement he couldn’t resist, Lu Yan raised his sword.

In the snow, Yin Yuheng’s gaze was vacant, likely numbed by the pain; he showed no expression even as Lu Yan approached. It wasn’t until the tip of Lu Yan’s sword pointed at his heart that he slightly lifted his eyes, his lashes trembling faintly.

At this instant, Lu Yan felt his hand tremble as he looked into those eyes.

Lu Yan saw his own reflection in Yin Yuheng’s eyes. He saw the cold—or rather, stiff—expression on his own face, one where it was difficult to discern his true emotions. Then, in the next moment, he saw the sword in his hand pierce through the other’s chest.

He heard his own voice ask, “A-Heng, do you regret meeting me?”

The wind was heavy across the fields, and the frost and snow fell in flurries, obscuring his vision. Lu Yan couldn’t see Yin Yuheng’s lip movements clearly; he only heard a faint, mosquito-like sound, as if it were an illusory breath, appearing to be the other’s response, but it was instantly swallowed by the wind and snow.

In the end, Lu Yan could not hear Yin Yuheng’s answer clearly.

The wind and snow grew heavier, occupying his entire field of vision. Lu Yan’s sight turned entirely white; the longsword, the blood, and the onlookers all vanished.

——————————

This dream arrived suddenly and ended just as abruptly, leaving behind only a void. And that fragment of the Kunlun Mirror, resting in Lu Yan’s palm.

Lu Yan stood dazed on the spot, his face deathly pale. He didn’t move or blink, as if he were still holding the sword, and if he were to close his eyes, he would still see that startling crimson blood.

It was only after a long time that Lu Yan slowly moved his fingers. Belatedly, he realized he had left the illusion and could finally control his body.

So he leaned forward slightly, pressing a trembling hand to his heart. Even though he wasn’t the one injured in the illusion, he felt a pain as if ten thousand arrows were piercing his heart—

Since becoming the Demon Emperor, Lu Yan had rarely been injured. Yet now, in the depths of his sorrow, with anger clouding his mind and his blood surging, Lu Yan couldn’t restrain himself and coughed up a trace of bright red blood.

Stunned, Lu Yan stared for a while before raising a hand to touch his cheek; it was damp. It turned out that, without realizing it, he had shed tears after all.

Lu Yan closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, looking at the Kunlun Mirror fragment in his hand, which was still quietly emitting a faint white glow.

It was just an illusion, Lu Yan told himself. Perhaps it was caused by this Kunlun Mirror fragment.

Cultivators were no strangers to various illusions; remaining calm within them was a way to temper one’s Daoist heart.

Lu Yan had experienced other illusions before—some used wealth and beauty to tempt him, some used hellish demons to frighten him; they were bizarre and grotesque. But those illusions had never shaken Lu Yan. Only this time…

It was too real, and too painful, as if it had truly happened, making it impossible for him to break free for a moment.

Regardless, the illusion was false. The real A-Heng was still waiting for him to return… Lu Yan struggled to steady his mind, his expression turning calm. He gripped the fragment tightly and looked around. Having just startled awake from the illusion, his mind had been so shaken that he hadn’t noticed his surroundings.

Looking now, Lu Yan realized he still hadn’t returned to reality.

The surroundings were a void of white, and he was standing in the center of this white world.

“Am I still in an illusion? Or am I inside a spatial rift caused by the Kunlun Mirror fragment?” Lu Yan thought to himself.

But soon, he was in no mood for detailed contemplation. What Lu Yan wanted most right now was to return to Chaoge immediately and hold his A-Heng tightly.

He wanted to leave, to return to A-Heng’s side.

Lu Yan looked up.

Instantly, a wisp of golden light emerged above, as if a sun were about to rise from this white world. As the light grew brighter, the white illusion began to vibrate violently, appearing unable to hold and on the verge of shattering.

——Lu Yan was the Golden Crow Demon Emperor, a divinely born bird and a symbol of the sun; unless his own heart was in chaos, nothing in the world could truly trap him. Be it an illusion, a spatial rift, or someone’s scheme… could any of it trap a rising sun?

Perhaps sensing that this white space was about to shatter, an invisible, formless will hidden within the space grew flustered. It finally lost its patience and stopped hiding itself.

“Stop!” an ethereal voice called out from the void.

Hearing this voice, Lu Yan’s expression suddenly turned cold.

As expected, something was indeed at work.

“I know you, Demon Emperor Lu Yan,” the voice said again. “Are you not curious about the illusion just now?”

Lu Yan’s gaze darkened, and the vibrations of the space finally ceased.

“Who are you?” Lu Yan asked coldly.

The voice was quiet for a moment.

“I am a wisp of the Heavenly Dao’s will,” the voice finally spoke.