Chapter 19#

Chapter 19: Obedient#

“Feng Xianyu” stared at his father for a moment, then turned and walked away without a word, ignoring Feng Qianqiu’s repeated calls behind him. Feng Qianqiu called after him but got no response, so he could only sigh and mutter, “Brat.”

But then “Zhuo Yu” suddenly stood up.

“This kid…” Feng Qianqiu seemed at a loss for words, then said helplessly, “You know Yu’er’s temper. He means no harm. Don’t take it to heart.”

“Zhuo Yu” just silently watched “Feng Xianyu’s” retreating back, his face still devoid of any emotion, leaving Feng Xianyu unable to discern what he was thinking.

Feng Xianyu watched his heart demon realm self stride out of the hall without looking back. Outside, the spring sunlight was brilliant, and petals swirled in the warm breeze. “Zhuo Yu” stood in the shadow of the hall, still silent. Watching him, Feng Xianyu suddenly felt an inexplicable pang in his heart.

He had indeed said that back then—partly because of youthful arrogance, and partly because his temper had made him speak without thinking. By the time he reached the door, he had secretly regretted it, understanding deep down that it wasn’t Zhuo Yu’s fault. Those words had seriously undermined Zhuo Yu’s dignity. He agonized for a long time, always meaning to explain himself.

But unexpectedly, starting from that day, Zhuo Yu ignored him—

Several times, he deliberately passed in front of Zhuo Yu, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, only to find that Zhuo Yu didn’t even look his way.

Several times, Feng Xianyu racked his brains for jokes to tell Zhuo Yu, but after performing a one-man show for ages, Zhuo Yu didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

Several times, he bustled about buying snacks specifically, only to have them sit untouched for a whole day. When he knocked on Zhuo Yu’s door at night, it wasn’t opened either. This left Feng Xianyu so furious that he whipped the ground with a willow branch outside the house, and his plan to win Zhuo Yu over died an early death.

—Was this his heart demon realm, or Zhuo Yu’s?

The Zhuo Yu of this life shouldn’t have known about these matters. Watching “Feng Xianyu’s” angrily retreating figure nearly disappear, “Zhuo Yu” still stood frozen in place.

Feng Xianyu hesitated, unsure whether to follow “Feng Xianyu” out or stay with “Zhuo Yu.”

As he was agonizing over this decision, “Zhuo Yu” in the hall suddenly seemed to sense something and looked up.

Feng Xianyu instinctively stepped back, only to bump his shoulder into a chest. A hand reached out and pressed firmly against his waist. That familiar scent of costus wafted over from behind, like a serpent slithering up his neck.

When did he get here?!

How could he be so silent?

Feng Xianyu’s heart slammed hard against his ribs. That hand was clamped around him like an iron vice, and he couldn’t move, only manage to twist his head to look back.

From his angle, Zhuo Yu’s jaw was clenched tight, his lips pressed straight, his expression still dazed and not quite clear-headed. For a moment, Feng Xianyu was afraid of provoking him and thought that saying anything would be inappropriate, so he swallowed the words as they came to his lips.

The scene before him suddenly shifted. Qingdu Mountain drifted away, flowers, grass, pavilions, and towers all twisted and dissolved in time.

Zhuo Yu whispered in Feng Xianyu’s ear, firm and undeniable: “Let’s go.”

His grip was so strong that Feng Xianyu suspected Zhuo Yu might have left finger marks on his waist.

At that moment, Feng Xianyu really wanted to lose his temper. But if he angered this qi-devouring sword cultivator, he didn’t know if both of them would end up destroyed here. So he had no choice but to endure, moving stiffly as Zhuo Yu forcibly dragged him toward the thick fog ahead.

Neither spoke. The silence was eerily oppressive. Feng Xianyu could even hear his own heartbeat—thump, thump, like a countdown.

After a moment, Feng Xianyu couldn’t hold back anymore and asked in the gentlest tone he could muster, “Is this your memory?”

For a long time, there was no response from Zhuo Yu. Instinctively, Feng Xianyu looked up and was stunned to see a faint smile curling at the corner of Zhuo Yu’s mouth. It hit Feng Xianyu like a thunderbolt: in both his past and present life combined, he had never seen Zhuo Yu smile before—and this was so terrifying!

Feng Xianyu’s steps faltered, and then Zhuo Yu’s unhurried voice came from above:

“Why aren’t you walking?”

Cold sweat poured down Feng Xianyu’s back. He hurriedly resumed walking, unaware that a lock of his black hair had been caught in Zhuo Yu’s palm, twining around the sword cultivator’s fingers like a black jade ring.

“So what if it is? So what if it isn’t?” Zhuo Yu said slowly, not waiting for Feng Xianyu to answer, then added, “It isn’t.”

Feng Xianyu realized that Zhuo Yu was answering his question, but before he could breathe a sigh of relief, Zhuo Yu spoke again: “But that doesn’t matter.”

Then what did matter?

Feng Xianyu felt that this Zhuo Yu before him was utterly unlike the one he knew. His mind became a tangled mess, and he almost forgot how to walk. He even felt as if the waist that Zhuo Yu’s hand was pressed against no longer belonged to him. His palm was sweaty, firmly supported by Zhuo Yu.

Until Zhuo Yu said lightly, “We’re here.”

Feng Xianyu snapped back to reality. Before him was a huge, gilded rosewood bed intricately carved with flowers, suspended oddly in midair. Beneath it lay an endless sea, calm as a giant mirror. At the horizon, the sea and sky merged into one. There was no wind, no waves—utter silence and stillness.

The style of the bed looked vaguely familiar, but Feng Xianyu had no time to dwell on it. His gaze stiffly moved inch by inch, and his whole being screamed in silence.

Six sword-wielding cultivators stood silently on the sea surface, motionless as if they had stood there for ten thousand years. But the moment Feng Xianyu appeared, led out by Zhuo Yu, they all came to life. In an instant, six identical gazes shot out like arrows, immediately fixing on him.

Feng Xianyu’s scalp exploded.

These six people—some in white robes, some in wedding attire, some in black, some in the Sword Sovereign’s ceremonial robe, and one in the plain style worn only in the mortal world… different outfits, different ages, but all held the Lingzhao Sword, all had the same face, and all stared at Feng Xianyu with heavy eyes. Not a word was spoken.

Add the one beside him—being glared at like an enemy by seven Zhuo Yus simultaneously—the feeling was simply…

Feng Xianyu thought he was going to faint.

“Don’t be afraid,” Zhuo Yu comforted him, ignoring the other six gazes.

Feng Xianyu tried to dodge, but Zhuo Yu held him so tightly that he couldn’t. Under the stares of the other six versions of himself, Zhuo Yu calmly guided Feng Xianyu to the bedside and gestured for him to sit. Feng Xianyu felt extremely uncomfortable, reluctantly sat down, and immediately tried to stand up: “Zhuo Yu, I—”

Before he could finish, Zhuo Yu forcefully pushed him back down with a decisive thud.

If Feng Xianyu wasn’t mistaken, he felt that while Zhuo Yu’s expression was extremely gloomy, there was also a hint of hidden pleasure. Then Zhuo Yu leaned down, his cold, rough calloused fingers lifting Feng Xianyu’s jaw, his thumb brushing over the corner of his lips.

Feng Xianyu frowned instinctively; the area around his mouth was already turning red from the pressure.

“Wait until I’ve cleaned things up,” Zhuo Yu said, as if sighing. “Be good.”

Zhuo Yu let go, took a step back, and carefully examined Feng Xianyu sitting on the wooden bed.

The gaze was blatant. Even with the thickest nerves, Feng Xianyu sensed something was off. But before he could figure out what that look meant, Zhuo Yu turned abruptly, drew the Lingzhao Sword from the void, and walked toward the other six Zhuo Yus.

At almost the same instant, the other six Lingzhao Swords hummed in unison.

Realizing what was about to happen, Feng Xianyu’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. He scrambled to get up, but at the same moment, seven or eight chains shot out from all directions, snapping back and binding the leaping Feng Xianyu firmly to the huge bed.

Feng Xianyu hit the bed with stars in his eyes. “STOP!!!”

But nobody listened to him.

Seven icy sword intents shot into the sky, exploding like cannonballs. Heaven and earth trembled violently. The sea was slashed open into a deep, bottomless chasm. Towering waves rose like mountains, blotting out the sun. The once-calm sea now churned as if swept by a world-ending hurricane, darkening into another hell.

The gale-force wind pulverized everything in its path, but when it passed over Feng Xianyu, it merely brushed him lightly.

Damn it!

Feng Xianyu almost knelt. Who in the world would kill their own avatars inside their heart demon realm?

No wonder he had gone qi-devouring—this Zhuo Yu was truly insane!

The first to die under the Lingzhao Sword was the Zhuo Yu in wedding attire, followed by the two wearing simple tight-sleeved Dharma robes—the ones Zhuo Yu often wore while practicing swords in Qingdu Mountain before anything happened in his past life. In the blink of an eye, the three lay on the sea surface with eyes open, blood gushing from beneath them.

Zhuo Yu slashed with his sword, without a moment’s hesitation.

Puchi—

The sword of Sword Sovereign Zhuo Yu plunged straight into his own abdomen. The blood instantly stung Feng Xianyu’s eyes.

Feng Xianyu frantically kicked at the chains binding his hands and feet, but couldn’t break free. By now, Zhuo Yu had already killed Sword Sovereign Zhuo Yu in a counterattack. Meanwhile, the black-robed Zhuo Yu had somehow walked up to Feng Xianyu, looking down at him.

Feng Xianyu, desperate, resorted to pleading, “Zhuo Yu, please let me go, okay?”

The black-robed Zhuo Yu remained unmoved: “What did you call me?”

Feng Xianyu quickly adapted and changed his address: “Senior Brother!”

The black-robed Zhuo Yu smiled faintly, lifted his robe, and knelt on one knee before the bed, his expression unreadable.

Seeing his expression, Feng Xianyu sensed trouble immediately. But the black-robed Zhuo Yu had already drawn his sword, and without a word, slit his own throat cleanly. Blood instantly spurted out.

Feng Xianyu: “…”

Feng Xianyu felt his sanity explode into the air.

The last to die in this fratricidal slaughter was actually the mortal Zhuo Yu, who seemed to have no magical power at all. As he breathed his last, he still tried to look back at Feng Xianyu. The entire sea had been dyed blood-red. In the sea of blood, even Zhuo Yu seemed to be wearing a red robe—redder than that wedding garment. He turned, dragging the Lingzhao Sword, and stepped step by step over several of his own corpses.

Feng Xianyu was so terrified that his heart seemed to stop beating.

Zhuo Yu also knelt on one knee. His eyes were chaotic, burning with eerie demonic flames. He was clearly still not in his right mind and couldn’t tell whether Feng Xianyu was real or fake. The smell of blood completely overpowered the scent of incense.

He gazed at Feng Xianyu with intense focus and suddenly said, “Do you know why he died last?”

Feng Xianyu trembled: “Why?”

Zhuo Yu laughed: “Because he got what he wanted, so he was complete. Hard to kill.”