Chapter 11#

Chapter 11: As You Wish#

Feng Xianyu had steeled himself, fully intent on sacrificing himself for another, but just as he was about to close in, Zhuoyu grabbed his jaw and pushed him back.

Feng Xianyu: “???”

Feng Xianyu immediately opened his eyes, maintaining that pose, his gaze clearly filled with confusion.

Suddenly, Zhuoyu’s tightly shut eyes cracked open, revealing pupils like lacquer and deep, bloodshot veins filling the whites. The sight stirred a memory in Feng Xianyu; in those depths, he saw his own reflection, a youthful and brash boy.

“It’s nothing,” Zhuoyu said, his tone indifferent. “It’ll be fine in a few days.”

Though the words were similar, they carried a completely different flavor from his previous sentence.

At the same time, the hand Zhuoyu had clamped on Feng Xianyu’s jaw tightened, pressing so hard it seemed it would leave red marks on his skin.

Feng Xianyu couldn’t help but struggle, the movement subtle, but Zhuoyu still caught it. His hand abruptly loosened, then moved to Feng Xianyu’s neck, urging him to swallow the golden core back into his dantian.

The other stubbornly resisted, his cheeks puffing out.

Zhuoyu frowned, about to say something, when in that moment of distraction, Feng Xianyu gathered his spiritual energy and blew a gust of potent spiritual breath directly into Zhuoyu’s face.

The fine, silvery specks of spiritual breath burst forth like a puff of cotton, smearing all over Zhuoyu’s face.

Zhuoyu: “…”

Having succeeded in his little trick, Feng Xianyu swiftly retracted his golden core into his dantian, broke free from Zhuoyu’s grip, stepped back two or three paces, lifted his chin arrogantly, and said smugly, “In front of me, you don’t get to change your mind back and forth. Dream on.”

With that, he turned and walked away. The two strips of red gauze on his shoulders trailed behind like the tail feathers of a bird.

Feng Xianyu looked back and saw a bunch of quail-like disciples with mouths agape, eyes wider than their mouths, clumsily covering the eyes of those beside them—a complete mess.

“What are you looking at!” Feng Xianyu’s face reddened as he scolded, “Never seen someone treating eyes before? What’s there to see!”

One disciple answered foolishly, “Never have…”

Xiang Wan was too late to cover his mouth; all he could do was watch as Feng Xianyu, blushing with embarrassment and anger, kicked the disciple, who yelped in pain. Then, like shooing ducks, Feng Xianyu herded everyone away.

Feng Xianyu rubbed his ears, urging everyone forward, deliberately not acknowledging Zhuoyu.

After they had walked a dozen or so steps, Feng Xianyu cast a sidelong glance back and finally caught sight of that white-clad figure. His eyes seemed to be opening normally now. Relieved, he took several spiritual pills of his own accord.

They walked quickly this time, and before long, they were halfway there.

Feng Xianyu noticed that many fallen leaves were only visible from a distance; up close, they were just faint shadows. The puddles they passed were actually waterless, and the scenery along the way was nearly identical.

Other ordinary illusions could make their environments almost lifelike, so it seemed that A Yue had sacrificed a great deal to achieve this so-called “time rewind.”

—No wonder there were no other “living things” in the illusion, and aside from the rising and setting of the sun, there was barely any sense of the passage of time.

The third year of Jinhui. Feng Xianyu recalled the seventh day of the seventh month in that same year from his past life. It seemed that after he and Zhuoyu had dealt with the snake demon, everything had gone smoothly. Apart from being sprayed with venom, there had been no A Yue, and no such maze.

Why was this life different?

Although cultivators of the demonic path were not like orthodox cultivators—mostly scattered demons acting independently—Feng Xianyu had still suffered at the hands of the Demon Lord. He couldn’t help but wonder if A Yue had some connection to the Demon Lord of later days.

Lost in thought, Feng Xianyu unconsciously began observing A Yue’s back until she sensed his gaze, turned around, and looked at him with a half-smile.

“Senior, I’m just curious,” Feng Xianyu said.

A Yue stared at his face and asked, “Curious about what?”

Feng Xianyu laughed under the astonished gazes of the disciples and even quickened his steps to walk alongside A Yue. “How did you and that Young Master Yan meet?”

“Haven’t I already told you?” A Yue replied.

Feng Xianyu wagged his finger. “Don’t try to fool me. Senior clearly spoke of how the mortal A Yue met Young Master Yan, but the mortal A Yue no longer exists in this world.”

That was almost a provocation. Xiang Wan felt a chill for his junior brother.

Suddenly, a flash of white appeared in his line of sight. Xiang Wan shuddered. “Senior Brother!”

Zhuoyu didn’t reply, simply following Feng Xianyu silently, keeping a distance of two or three steps.

A Yue paused, then turned her head again. After a long moment, she finally spoke. “Actually, it’s not that different.”

“Not that different how?” Feng Xianyu asked with a fearless grin. “Childhood sweethearts? Married young? Living in harmony?”

A Yue hummed in agreement.

“Then I’m even more curious,” Feng Xianyu said. “I see Young Master Yan as an ordinary, short-lived mortal. Even if he didn’t die this time, he’d eventually die someday. Why did Senior choose him?”

“Oh?” A Yue countered. “Who do you think I should choose, Young Master Feng?”

Feng Xianyu: “…”

That was a good question. He himself knew nothing of love and romance, so he was momentarily stumped. His eyes darted around several times before he finally managed, “Someone with a longer lifespan, perhaps?”

If he didn’t choose Zhuoyu, who else could he choose?

Or… who would Zhuoyu choose?

A Yue’s smile actually seemed somewhat sincere for once. Then she shook her head. “These things are always unreasonable.”

“True,” Feng Xianyu said absently, following his thoughts. “You have to find someone who pleases the eye.”

“Didn’t know you had such insights into this.”

Feng Xianyu’s eyes darted, and he quickly glanced at Zhuoyu. Those dark, heavy eyes were indeed fixed on him, making his hair stand on end. Just as he looked away, he thought, why should I be afraid of him? So he glared back aggressively.

Zhuoyu’s eyes remained unruffled, still locked onto Feng Xianyu.

“…Absolutely not,” Feng Xianyu said solemnly.

A Yue watched their silent exchange for a while and was too lazy to dig deeper when suddenly Feng Xianyu changed the subject. “You two are obviously of one heart. I think Young Master Yan must know who Senior really is, right?”

Instantly, the surroundings fell into dead silence.

That sentence was like a particularly potent curse. As soon as it was uttered, A Yue’s feigned calm cracked. Her blade scraped out of its sheath in a flash, the accompanying gust of wind lifting Feng Xianyu’s black hair.

At the same time, Zhuoyu’s Lingzhao half-drew from its scabbard, clashing head-on with A Yue’s blade—

Clang—

The burst of cold sparks illuminated the eyes of all three simultaneously.

With a weapon at his throat, Feng Xianyu remained unfazed, his demeanor calm. “Senior should know that even if we can’t claim certain victory, we at least have the strength to fight. Pushing things to the brink won’t benefit anyone.”

“As long as you don’t ask what you shouldn’t,” A Yue said, half her face hidden in shadow.

“That’s a bit difficult.” Feng Xianyu shrugged innocently, sounding regretful. “My curiosity is too strong. Doesn’t Senior know my nature? If there’s something I don’t understand, I have to ask, or I’ll suffocate myself.”

A Yue sneered. Meanwhile, a gleam of cold light rolled like a dewdrop from the blade of Lingzhao back into its sheath.

The three remained deadlocked until finally, Feng Xianyu pressed two fingers against Zhuoyu’s wrist, gently pushing back.

Zhuoyu, who had been looking at A Yue as if she were already dead, finally sheathed his sword.

A Yue snorted coldly and turned to leave, tossing behind her, “Less gossip.”

Feng Xianyu pretended not to hear, relentlessly raising his voice, “We don’t know how Young Master Yan got that wound on his abdomen, but shouldn’t Senior herself know?”

A Yue’s back stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Feng Xianyu narrowed his eyes. Just then, someone came to stand beside him. Without turning his head, Feng Xianyu knew it was Zhuoyu, and he sent a telepathic message: “I guessed right.”

Zhuoyu: “That wound was made by a sharp instrument, damaged internal organs, massive bleeding—impossible to survive.”

“I think so too,” Feng Xianyu said. “Her previous explanation was probably half unreliable. Hmm… How Yan Pei died must be the key. And that flute: its material seems a bit unusual.”

Zhuoyu: “Bone.”

“Right! It’s bone!” Feng Xianyu suddenly understood, slapping his thigh. “It must be the bone of some beast.”

Zhuoyu waited for him to continue. Feng Xianyu pondered for a moment, then said, “First, we need to confirm the scope of this time rewind. I doubt it’s very long, or Yan Pei’s body would have rotted. Besides that, I want to verify something.”

Zhuoyu: “Alright.”

Feng Xianyu turned his head in surprise. “You won’t even ask what it is?”

Zhuoyu looked up at him. Feng Xianyu strangely understood the look in his eyes that said, “As you wish.”

“Fine,” Feng Xianyu twitched the corner of his mouth. “You’ve always been like this.”

“Like what?”

Feng Xianyu hadn’t expected Zhuoyu to press further, and for a moment, he couldn’t find the words. He only mumbled vaguely, “Nothing.”

Before noon the next day, they reached their destination. This time, before the disciples could set up their explosive formations, as soon as A Yue appeared, the snake lair split open on its own.

“If Senior had shown off like this earlier, we wouldn’t have had to work so—”

Feng Xianyu didn’t finish his sentence before he was startled into a frown by the sight of snake carcasses and foul blood strewn across the ground inside the opening.

A blind snake slithered out quietly, transforming into a cold “necklace” that wrapped around A Yue’s neck.

“Are these real snakes or fake ones?”

Feng Xianyu suppressed his nausea, picked up a reasonably clean stick, and poked at the snake corpses. They were all cut into pieces, mangled beyond recognition—remnants from the previous cycle when they had been blown apart.

A Yue replied, “Real ones.”

“Cold-hearted enough,” Feng Xianyu remarked in amazement.

A Yue sneered indifferently, the snake coiled around her raising its chin and hissing at the crowd. Losing patience, she urged them to go down. Feng Xianyu had no choice but to toss the stick aside and exchange a glance with Zhuoyu.

Inside were the same eerie tunnels and the scattered white remains of cultivators.

Feng Xianyu couldn’t help asking, “How many times have you tried?”

Meaning, how many cultivators had she killed.

“I didn’t count.” A Yue flicked her sleeve, unmoved. “I’ll keep trying until Yan Lang opens his eyes again.”

The disciples’ faces immediately changed.

“Is it absolutely necessary that he comes back to life?” Feng Xianyu dared. “You could just turn him into a living corpse—he’d still be able to jump around all the same, right?”

A Yue’s brow twitched, and fury surged within her.

Just then, the white mist of resentment not far away suddenly swelled and spread rapidly.

The resentment rolled forth like an infernal wind from the underworld, piercing through everyone’s bodies in an instant, bringing bone-chilling cold, as if ice crystals had formed in their very marrow. By the time the mist had fully dispersed, Feng Xianyu stood still, struggling to extract the fleeting image that had flashed through his mind from the countless memories.