Chapter 27#

Heartless#

“It hurts… where did my golden core go…”

“Why am I lying here? Why isn’t my hand attached to my arm?”

“Isn’t this the Qingque Sect’s marriage ceremony? Why can’t I hear cheers, see the couple, or drink wedding wine?”

…

These were the guests who had died unjustly.

“When Miss Ni got up this morning, she was still joking with me. She even asked me to bring her a plate of pastries to tuck into her bosom. Who says she’s dead? Isn’t she fine?”

“Is Young Master Kong Xiao Yun drunk on fruit wine and throwing a fit? I should have listened to the steward and not given him any wine. Ah, he’s just drunk, not dead.”

These were the young attendants and maids who served Ni Lu and Kong Xiao Yun closely.

“Huh…”

The sighs overlapped, seeping into every crevice, like a chill wind that could crawl from the tailbone to the crown of the head, wandering back and forth, vowing to drain the very soul dry. An ordinary person would have been scared stiff by such an onslaught, but Feng Xianyu, who had walked through life and death once before, actually held firm, his feet rooted to the spot.

For a moment, countless voices rang out in his mind at once, like heavy waves piled into a small mountain, converging into one sentence:

“…How did I die?”

The souls of the thirty-one dead in the hall, men and women, old and young, all questioned in Feng Xianyu’s ears at the same time: “How did I die?”

How unlucky to be caught in Kong Yan’s attack range, without a single word spoken, without a single fault, dying for no reason at all?

Why did you kill me?

In a daze, Feng Xianyu recalled the look in Zhuoyu’s eyes.

That Mid-Autumn Festival, the night before, he had talked Zhuoyu into staying the night in his newly opened cave dwelling.

But Zhuoyu absolutely refused to touch the bed curtains, spending the entire night meditating on a couch not far away.

Feng Xianyu couldn’t sleep. From a distance, he stole glances at Zhuoyu’s features. After a while, he thought: this marriage wasn’t such a bad deal after all. Zhuoyu was actually a good Dao partner. After all these years of drifting apart in name, Zhuoyu still went to the Sea of Hatred to split the heavens and break the waves to bring him back.

Truly a good person.

Whether Zhuoyu slept that night, Feng Xianyu didn’t know, but he himself was awake all night.

The next day, people from other sects came up the mountain, demanding that Zhuoyu hand over Feng Xianyu.

Zhuoyu, unfazed, strapped on the Spirit Marsh Sword and was about to head out when Feng Xianyu suddenly called him.

He turned in confusion and saw Feng Xianyu walking over with a beaming smile, light on his feet. Suddenly, he reached out and smoothed Zhuoyu’s collar, which had not a single wrinkle.

Zhuoyu lowered his head slightly and could see his thick lashes and the corners of his eyes perpetually turned up in cheer.

Zhuoyu didn’t move, letting Feng Xianyu earnestly perform the long, unnecessary grooming ritual. Then Feng Xianyu gently pushed Zhuoyu’s shoulder and said with a soft laugh, “Go on. I’ll wait for you to come back.”

Zhuoyu’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down once. In the end, he didn’t ask anything. He just nodded and said hoarsely but earnestly, “Okay.”

Soon after Zhuoyu left, Feng Xianyu was forcibly taken out of the cave dwelling by a ghostly shadow. The shadow giggled, “Zhuoyu built you a big cage. Can’t you see? I’m taking you out. Won’t you thank me?”

Feng Xianyu said coldly, “None of your business.”

Standing on a cloud, he could see from above the silhouette of Zhuoyu fighting fiercely. At some moment, the swordsman seemed to sense something and looked up. At that exact instant, Feng Xianyu raised his golden longbow, a crimson spirit arrow nocked, aimed at the white figure before the mountain gate—why did he have to be the only one wearing white?

He remembered a long time ago, before Zhuoyu had grown up. One day, Feng Xianyu was summoned by his father. Before entering, he heard Zhuoyu’s indifferent voice from the main hall. Knowing he was inside, Feng Xianyu didn’t rush in. A few words drifted into his ears on the wind. He heard Feng Qianqiu urging Zhuoyu to cultivate the “Heartless Path.”

“The Great Dao is heartless. The heartless have no attachments, no hindrances—great benefit to cultivation,” Feng Qianqiu said. “Besides, you have no parents, no worldly ties, and your temperament is cold. Zhuoyu, I can’t think of anyone more suited to the Heartless Path than you.”

Zhuoyu only replied, “I won’t cultivate it.”

“Won’t you reconsider?” Feng Qianqiu pleaded earnestly. “You’ve entered the way of the sword. The sword’s way is inherently heartless. A swordsman walks a path straight into the dark. Why resist?”

Zhuoyu remained unmoved. “Thank you, Master, but I won’t cultivate it.”

With that, he gave a curt bow and immediately turned to leave.

Feng Xianyu hadn’t expected him to leave so decisively and couldn’t dodge in time. They came face to face at the doorway.

From Feng Xianyu’s perspective, Zhuoyu’s appearance was flawless, though his features carried an air of coldness and distance that repelled others—a trait Feng Xianyu had come to understand over the years of growing up beside him. He had to admit that Zhuoyu was a snowman that couldn’t be melted, as freezing as his sword.

Awkwardly, Feng Xianyu rubbed his hands. “I didn’t mean to…”

But the other didn’t show any intention of listening to his explanation. He merely glanced up at Feng Xianyu with an expressionless face, like a gust of winter wind—swift and icy—and vanished from Feng Xianyu’s side in an instant.

At this moment, Feng Xianyu thought: If Zhuoyu had agreed to Feng Qianqiu that day and entered the Heartless Path, would he not have suffered my arrow today?

The spirit arrow left the bowstring. Feng Xianyu gasped sharply and snapped awake.

Before him, Kong Yan knelt on one knee, looking at him with concern. “Yu’er! Are you all right?”

“Kong Yan?!” Feng Xianyu came to his senses at once and scrambled to his feet. “You aren’t straying into demonic cultivation? No, wait—where are we?”

All around was chaos.

“This is my father’s dream,” Kong Yan said with a bitter smile. “The me outside truly has gone berserk… no, I should say, I’ve been controlled. I can only sense that the one controlling me is a great demon.”

Meanwhile, in the Peach Blossom Hall.

Zhuoyu turned sharply and caught Feng Xianyu as he collapsed limply. Feng Xianyu lay unconscious in his arms, head tilted back slightly, revealing a pale, soft neck, eyes tightly shut, lashes trembling. Zhuoyu reached out and gently brushed aside the stray strands of hair on Feng Xianyu’s cheek. He pressed two fingers together against his brow, infusing warm spiritual energy, and gazed down at his uneasy sleeping face.

If only… if only he could always be this obedient.

Behind him, the thirty-one corpses in the Peach Blossom Hall creaked as they stood up one by one, their eyes rolling back to reveal white pupils. The few remaining lit candleholders went out simultaneously, plunging the hall into pitch darkness.

“Hehe… hehe…”

Strange laughter echoed. Kong Xiao Yun, standing at the front, picked up his sword. Its tip dragged on the ground, making a grating sound. His head was tilted, revealing stark white teeth. His movements were stiff but eerily fast—in an instant, he vanished from his spot!

Zhuoyu didn’t even raise an eyebrow. The Spirit Marsh Sword descended from the air, flinging the living corpse that had suddenly appeared beside him away. With a sharp clang, a piece of the blade hit the ground. When the living corpse scrambled up, it held only a short sword.

The sword light of Spirit Marsh had sliced its right arm into bloody shreds, with strips of skin barely hanging from the bone.

The living corpse felt no pain. It still laughed hoarsely, making an opening move with the broken sword.

The Spirit Marsh Immortal Sword returned. Its white sword light, like a luminous ribbon, instantly coiled around the corpse’s arm. In a flash, blood and flesh flew everywhere. At almost the same moment, Zhuoyu—one arm still supporting Feng Xianyu’s limp shoulder—reached out like a whirlwind, his hand precisely aimed at the corpse’s heart. With a tearing sound, his fingers penetrated the corpse’s chest, directly breaking the ribs and grabbing its heart!

The living corpse’s movements seemed to freeze solid. Its eerie laughter stopped abruptly.

Without blinking, Zhuoyu heard a soft, cruel squelch in the silent air. The living corpse suddenly lost all strength and fell heavily onto its back. In the center of its chest was a gaping, bloody hole! The splattered blood stained Zhuoyu’s robe and sleeves black, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he examined the blood-drenched heart in his palm.

Deeply embedded in the heart was a half-open, dark red flower.

It seemed to have a mind of its own; it began to quiver. Then, under its roots, the blood in Zhuoyu’s hand diminished. Even the heart visibly shriveled. It greedily sucked every drop of blood it could reach, and then, bit by bit, it fully bloomed!

Look at its delicate, enchanting form—no other flower in the mortal world could be more beautiful or more alluring. Its tender petals even glistened with dewdrops, like a beautiful dream. Its fragrance instantly cleansed the air of blood.

But it bloomed only for a moment before withering, crumbling into dust that drifted into the pool of blood.

Yet now, thirty living corpses remained in the hall, each holding its own weapon from life, glaring menacingly from the shadows.

Feng Xianyu was still spotless, but Zhuoyu’s white robes were mostly stained with blood. He sent his sword flying to cut a clean section of curtain, spread it on a cushion, and carefully laid Feng Xianyu down. As soon as Feng Xianyu touched the ground, as if in a dream, he suddenly grabbed Zhuoyu’s arm and rubbed his cheek against the fabric.

Zhuoyu’s hand, holding Feng Xianyu’s shoulder, tensed until his knuckles stood out.

At that moment, someone said lightly from not far away, “Long have I heard of your fame, Sword Lord Xuanli.”

The Spirit Marsh Sword immediately assumed a threatening posture, buzzing with vibration.

“Yu’er has entered the dream. What shall we do?” The speaker’s tone carried a hint of unpleasant amusement. “Shall we fight?”

“Of course.”

Zhuoyu set Feng Xianyu down, extended his right hand, and the Spirit Marsh Sword instantly returned. A thin layer of frost swiftly coated the blade. An inaudible explosion seemed to ring in the air. He said coldly, “I’ve seen enough of that face.”

Sure enough, he saw Kong Yan’s detestable face.

“Is that so?” The person scratched his cheek, smiling even more deeply. “It seems I chose the wrong target.”

The demon snapped his fingers. Instantly, all thirty living corpses shrieked in unison, a sound sharp enough to tear ears. At their master’s command, they surged forward in a tide of flashing blades and swords, like a wave crashing toward Zhuoyu.

“I’m just curious,” the demon cultivator said absently as he toyed with a glowing sword. “If I had your junior brother’s peerless, unmatched face, would you, Sword Lord, feel love and spare me?”

“No.” The blood-soaked swordsman spoke through gritted teeth. “You would only die more horribly.”

An icy, domineering spiritual energy surged skyward, like the Heavenly River reversing its flow. In an instant, the torrent of spiritual power poured out like a breached flood, and the immense force sent the living corpses stumbling and falling.

Amid the intense white light, even the shrieks of the living corpses were dragged into shadow. Countless sword lights churned everywhere, like blades turning into wind. Zhuoyu’s form moved like a ghost, too fast to track—only the flash of the sword could be glimpsed. In the blink of an eye, one living corpse after another fell heavily to the ground. Each had its chest pierced, the strange flower attached to the heart precisely excised. Wherever Spirit Marsh passed, only flower pulp remained.

The Peach Blossom Hall shook violently. Then the entire ceiling was ripped off by Zhuoyu’s sword energy, even shaking the restrictions under the Qingque Sect. In an instant, cracks spread everywhere.

The members of the Kong family at the hall’s entrance were shocked. Ye Shu, who had arrived upon hearing the news, stopped dead in his tracks dozens of steps away, stunned.

The spiritual current surged so violently that before anyone could react, the restrictions, like an overinflated balloon, twitched incessantly but continued to expand. The Kong family members finally realized—too late—that there was an outsider’s spiritual power inside. Qingque Sect disciples held their swords, staring wide-eyed as the edge of the restrictions grew thinner and thinner, until finally, with a ripping sound, it broke.

Ye Shu felt an overwhelming weight of spiritual energy pressing down on him.

Crack!

His knees gave way first, and he fell to the ground with a thud. The back of his neck was crushed, and he couldn’t lift his head. The fierce wind howled. Ye Shu had never experienced such a torrent of spiritual power before. Stars burst before his eyes, his ears rang incessantly, every bone in his body creaked under the strain, and even his entire sea of consciousness was churned into chaos.

If not for Ji Yuandong shielding him—rapidly playing a series of notes to form a protective barrier—Ye Shu would likely have suffered blood flowing from all seven orifices.

…Who was it?

Ye Shu lifted his head with difficulty. His vision was blurred for a long time before he could barely make out two figures standing amid the ruins, where the smoke and dust had settled. At their feet lay a field of corpses, but the blood had all been burned dry.

Boom!

As Feng Xianyu walked, his heart suddenly began to pound uncontrollably.

Kong Yan, watching his every move, immediately asked with concern, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Feng Xianyu shook his head, pressing his hand over his still-palpating chest, but thought: Could Zhuoyu be causing a big commotion? What kind of commotion? Could he be fighting the demon controlling Kong Yan? Thinking this, he tugged at Kong Yan’s sleeve. “I need to tell you something.”

Kong Yan: “What?”

“My senior brother is here too.” Feng Xianyu dropped this thunderbolt in a flash, his expression innocent, poking his two index fingers together. “If he ends up beating you and your family outside, don’t be mad, okay?”

Kong Yan: “…”

Kong Yan’s face went blank, and he tripped over his own feet, falling flat on his face.

Feng Xianyu: “???”

It couldn’t be that terrifying, could it?

But then he saw Kong Yan’s face as mournful as if he’d just crawled out of a coffin, wailing, “Why is Zhuoyu here?! Why did you have to call him here? Don’t you know he’s always had it in for me and wanted to beat me up?! Are you getting back at me through official channels?”