Chapter 12#

Chapter 12: Dense Fog#

“……What is that?!”

The group was already on edge, jumpy as startled birds. The eerie wind blew, chilling them to the bone, their fur standing on end. Their faces twisted as if they were about to cry, all believing it to be Ayue’s doing. They glared at her with brows furrowed.

Unexpectedly, the “culprit” herself looked equally dazed, as if she too had been mesmerized by the fog. It took her a long moment to come to her senses, her expression shifting between uncertainty and gloom. Without a word, without even a glance at them, she hurried toward the cave where Yan Pei lay.

In a moment, Feng Xianyu broke the silence, his voice hoarse. “Let’s go.”

Zhuo Yu shot him a look, but Feng Xianyu was lost in thought and didn’t notice.

Ayue, as before, dampened a cloth with water, sat sideways on the edge of the bed, and meticulously tidied Yan Pei’s appearance. To Xiang Wan, it seemed utterly pointless—was she expecting a corpse to sweat?

Yan Pei rested peacefully, his eyes closed, oblivious to what was happening behind him.

At first, Ayue’s movements were gentle, but gradually she pressed harder, until her fingers left a dent in Yan Pei’s cheek that refused to spring back. Suddenly, as if struck by lightning, a crack appeared in her tightly sealed expression. A closer look revealed her face trembling. She hurled the cloth into the wooden basin with vicious force, sending water splashing everywhere.

“What’s the point of losing your temper at a dead man?” Feng Xianyu said bluntly. When Ayue didn’t respond, he added mockingly, “Do you think Young Master Yan will wake up to comfort you?”

Ayue whipped her head around, her eyes blazing with fury. “What do you know?!”

Feng Xianyu spread his hands. “I really don’t. Besides, I don’t have a dead husband.”

He couldn’t go three sentences without mentioning death, each word stabbing into Ayue’s wounds. She was livid, hands trembling, chest heaving uncontrollably. Yet, for the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to strike him. Her expression was so desolate that even Xiang Wan found it hard to watch.

“Alright, alright!” Feng Xianyu knew when to stop. “Even if you two are deeply devoted, should you really ask him if he wants to come back to life? Why not ask for his opinion?”

Ayue was silent for a long time. “What do you mean?”

“Our sect has a secret technique that allows us to speak with the dead. Within the first seven days after death, considering how devoted you two were, his sudden departure must have left him with lingering attachments. He wouldn’t let go easily. Perhaps…” Feng Xianyu’s voice trailed off, as if implying something, “…he’s right here watching us.”

Ayue didn’t speak for a moment, then said, “You’re lying to me.”

“Why would I lie to you?” Feng Xianyu looked innocent. “After all, summoning a ghost is far more reliable than resurrecting the dead, don’t you think?”

The air seemed to freeze. After a long pause, Ayue’s voice came out hoarse. “No.”

Her fingers clenched the hem of her skirt convulsively, each word deliberate. “I want you to bring him back.”

“I can’t,” Feng Xianyu said, stepping forward.

Ayue’s eyelids flew open. Demonic energy swirled from her brows and eyes, making even her beauty terrifying. Her voice was raspy, as if laced with blood. “You can!”

In an instant, Feng Xianyu sensed she might know something, but there was no time to dwell. Seizing the fleeting opportunity, he aimed a palm strike at Yan Pei’s corpse!

The strike was swift and fierce, faster than anyone could react. The wind from his palm was sharp, carrying all the spiritual power he could muster. It was easy to foresee Yan Pei’s body turning into a bloody pulp.

Yet, just before the blow landed, Yan Pei’s corpse erupted with a flash of black light, flinging Feng Xianyu back!

Feng Xianyu cursed under his breath. He flew through the air but, instead of crashing to the ground as expected, landed in Zhuo Yu’s arms.

“Excellent!” Ayue shot to her feet, gritting her teeth with a cold smile. “I knew you were lying!”

For some reason, after saying this, she seemed to relax, a faint smile curling her lips—one that sent chills down everyone’s spine.

Zhuo Yu pressed his palm against Feng Xianyu’s back, channeling spiritual energy. Without waiting for Zhuo Yu to speak, Feng Xianyu quickly swallowed an elixir, swallowing back the metallic taste rising in his throat. He waved a hand. “I’m fine.”

At the same time, he transmitted a message through spiritual power: “Destroy the corpse, take the bone flute.”

Ayue was completely enraged now. The curved blade in her hand hummed with icy demonic energy. Her movements were ghostly, and in an instant, she was right in front of them, her blade drawing a torrent of black energy.

Before Feng Xianyu could react, Zhuo Yu yanked him behind him. Feng Xianyu stared blankly at Zhuo Yu’s tall back, then the sword and blade clashed with a thunderous impact. The entire snake den shook violently from the collision. The dazzling brilliance of the sword light was so intense that no one could keep their eyes open.

In the midst of the quake and upheaval, only Ayue, Zhuo Yu, and Feng Xianyu remained standing.

Xiang Wan had been thrown to the ground, covered in dust. Struggling to her feet, she blinked—and thought she was dreaming. Zhuo Yu, alone, had managed to parry a strike from a demon cultivator at the Nascent Soul stage!

Ayue pressed down on her blade, a flicker of disbelief in her eyes before her face twisted into a sinister grin. “You actually—”

Zhuo Yu’s expression remained unchanged, only the biting cold intent of his sword rippling along the edge.

They exchanged a dozen moves in rapid succession, sword light and blade shadows carving deep gashes into the cave walls. Suddenly, a fiery spiritual arrow soared over Ayue’s head. Her smile froze on her lips. Her expression changed, and she pulled back her blade, turning to flee.

Zhuo Yu swung his sword, sending a wave of sword energy surging toward Ayue.

At almost the same moment, the fiery arrow struck Yan Pei’s bed. The wooden furniture immediately caught fire, spreading uncontrollably.

The sword energy left a bloody gash on Ayue’s back. She stumbled several steps, and a piercing shriek tore from her throat. “No—”

Feng Xianyu was still holding his bow, sighing with feigned pity. “People always forget I’m an archer.”

The perfect long-range ambusher!

The spiritual fire raged fiercely, leaping up to the cave ceiling, seemingly devouring everything. Yan Pei’s bedding ignited instantly, followed by his clothes and hair, as if doused in oil. The next moment, even his calm, cyan-tinged face seemed about to catch fire.

At that moment, another sharp howl of a flute pierced the air, almost shattering eardrums.

Feng Xianyu: “……”

You couldn’t just retreat after losing—it was ridiculous, practically cheating!

Nothing in the world was more unstoppable than time and death. Feng Xianyu could only watch helplessly as the fire he had painstakingly started was extinguished, returning to nothing. Then the cave reverted to its original state, the fog receded, and an invisible hand dragged them out of the snake den. They were back at the starting wooden hut. The disciples were still shaken, but Ayue stood there, still furious.

Feng Xianyu: “……”

Zhuo Yu: “……”

Without a word, Ayue charged forward with her blade, eyes blazing, the back of her clothes soaked with blood. Seeing this, Feng Xianyu immediately ducked behind Zhuo Yu, saying, “I’m an archer. I don’t do close combat.”

“Ling Zhao!” Zhuo Yu barked, gripping his sword tightly, and once again blocked Ayue’s devastating strike.

All the fake trees and leaves conjured in the illusion disintegrated into dust from the force. In an instant, only an empty clearing remained—the house reduced to rubble, and even the sunlight seemed distorted and twisted.

Zhuo Yu and Ayue were already locked in combat.

After a dozen exchanges, he still seemed to have strength to spare. Feng Xianyu felt a flicker of doubt, but had no time to dwell. He gave Zhuo Yu a long, thoughtful look, then ordered the disciples to hide, leaped into the air, and sped toward the snake den.

Ayue’s eyes burned with fury, and she immediately tried to follow.

But Zhuo Yu’s sword light was relentless, each strike faster than the last. Even when Ayue managed to land a blow or two, his brow didn’t twitch. His sword remained steady, his attacks sharp, his sword intent cold as ice. Ayue found no opening to reach for the bone flute hidden in her sleeve.

Feng Xianyu reached the snake den at top speed. From a distance, he fired a blast talisman, and before the smoke had cleared, he darted inside.

The snake corpses on the ground, already blasted once, were now reduced to an unrecognizable mess.

He hadn’t gone far down the tunnel before the venomous snake was waiting for him at the fork. It swelled up rapidly like a balloon, and in a few breaths, it was half a man’s height. It opened its mouth and spat a cloud of venomous mist, its golden-green vertical pupils unchanged.

Feng Xianyu didn’t hesitate. He turned and ran into the right fork.

He suspected the snake hadn’t actually become a demon—it was just a decoy from Ayue. It had never taken human form, and it wasn’t the true master of this illusion.

The snake chased him with blinding speed. Feng Xianyu ran without looking back, gasping for breath, his lungs burning. The tunnel ahead seemed endless. Gritting his teeth, he sprinted on. After what felt like an eternity, white bones finally appeared ahead. Joy surged—he knew he’d arrived. He mustered all his strength and lunged forward, twisting midair to shoot an arrow with a blast talisman at the snake.

Instantly, the cave shook, the ground trembled, and the explosion of dust and debris sent Feng Xianyu, who was already close, flying.

He couldn’t control his body and went crashing into the pile of cultivator corpses with a loud clatter.

—He was back at the fork again.

Dizzy and seeing stars, Feng Xianyu propped himself up halfway, still panting. Without rest, he shot another arrow into the right fork.

Boom!

Under the power of the blast talisman, both cave tunnels collapsed, trapping the snake firmly inside.

Feng Xianyu wiped his grimy face, rubbed his still-ringing ears, and forced himself to take deep, steady breaths. Gathering his spirit, he stood up from the scattered corpses.

When he fell, the bodies had absorbed most of the impact, so he was basically unharmed.

He looked at the half-rotten corpses, sighed, and bowed slightly. Thank you.

Though his clothes were now filthy beyond repair, Feng Xianyu had no time to fuss about his fastidiousness. He charged straight into the white dense fog of the middle tunnel.

Remembering the images that had flashed through his mind earlier, he couldn’t help but pause mid-run in the fog.

The moment he stopped, the memories from his past life clawed their way back with agonizing pain—

Self-detonating his golden core.

The pain felt like his entire flesh and blood had been blown to pulp, yet he was still alive.

Feng Xianyu gritted his teeth, enduring the agony. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Gradually, his vision blurred. In his daze, he seemed to see Zhuo Yu’s face.

It was the Wutong Hall from their past life, where they had consummated their marriage.

Everything was as it used to be. Feng Xianyu saw himself lying on the bed, surrounded by heavy crimson curtains. His eyes were shut tight, his hands demurely folded over his abdomen. His face was as pale as jade, his black hair flowing like silk. The dim, ambiguous red candlelight cast shadows over his eye sockets and the bridge of his nose.

Zhuo Yu sat beside the bed, dressed in black. His expression was focused as he carefully and meticulously applied vermilion rouge to Feng Xianyu’s lips, dot by dot.

Feng Xianyu hadn’t even identified when this scene had occurred when a speck of light dust fell, interrupting his memory.

Then, in the white fog, a strange man’s voice spoke.

“Immortal master,” the man said. “Someone can finally hear me.”