Chapter 29#

The Evil Entity#

“When I was fifteen, Mother led the sect’s disciples out to exorcise evil spirits.” Kong Yan’s face was ashen, every word seeming to be squeezed through his teeth. “There were twelve of us in total, including me, including that beast!”

Feng Xianyu recalled the cause of Zhong Hui’s death, and his heart sank. Could this person named A Lan be connected to Zhong Zhenren’s passing?

That year, Zhong Hui led the team on a trial exorcism, while Kong Ji stayed behind in the sect to handle affairs.

The young master hadn’t originally planned to go, but after staying in the Green Sparrow Sect for half a year, and since A Lan was already assigned to this trial team, the youth thought staying home alone would be too boring. So he pestered Kong Ji, pleading repeatedly until finally, right before departure, he got his wish. He excitedly packed his things and rushed to the mountain gate.

When the other disciples saw him coming, they were greatly surprised. “The young master is going too?”

The youth puffed out his chest. “Going!”

A Lan didn’t mingle with others. Even during the trial, he kept to himself in silence, until the chattering youth arrived. His gaze darkened slightly as he stepped forward, silently and proactively taking the bundle of pastries from the young master’s hands, then followed behind him onto the spirit boat.

The youth was used to being taken care of by A Lan and showed no reaction, instead turning around with a grin to pester Zhong Hui.

Zhong Hui naturally hadn’t planned for this tagalong and kept a stern face for a long time. But the youth would act coy, calling her “Mother,” shaking her arm, pouting, and playing pitiful. After several cups of tea had passed, he still showed no signs of weariness. Zhong Hui simply couldn’t stand his badgering anymore and said helplessly, “Your father and I never use these tricks on each other. Where did you learn this, you little brat!”

The youth blinked innocently. “Impossible. I even saw Dad writing love poems for you. How can you say you don’t use that kind of thing!”

Zhong Hui choked, then laughed as she scolded, “Get lost.”

The youth immediately flopped down dramatically on the spirit boat’s deck, rolling out a few circles with a loud thud, then tilted his head. “Mom, I’ve rolled away.”

Zhong Hui: “…”

The youth asked pitifully, “Can I roll back now?”

The watching disciples finally couldn’t hold it in and burst out laughing.

Zhong Hui was truly at her wit’s end and said irritably, “Come back. Stop making a spectacle for your old mother.”

According to reports, the evil entity appeared in a dense forest to the north.

After several reconnaissance trips, they determined the difficulty was manageable for the disciples—just a few demonized spirit beasts.

At first, it went as expected. The beasts were a bit agitated, but not hard to deal with. Zhong Hui relaxed, merely observing from the sidelines, and she even stole the snacks her son had brought, eating them all herself.

“Look, another one!” The youth ran panting toward A Lan, fighting with great enthusiasm.

A Lan nodded. The youth noticed his empty hands and suddenly realized, “Hey, why aren’t you joining in?”

“I’m following the young master,” A Lan said.

The youth stared at his face for a moment, then said, “I just noticed today—the spots on your face really look like a big butterfly.”

A Lan lifted his eyelids. His features carried a sullen air, quite unappealing. No one knew what he was thinking, but finally he said, “The young master is joking.”

“Who’s joking with you?” The youth tried to imitate Zhong Hui’s stern face but couldn’t hold it for more than a few seconds before laughing. He pushed A Lan. “Alright, alright, go do your thing. I don’t need you following me.”

After much insistence, A Lan finally left the youth and plunged deep into the forest alone.

Just before disappearing, he turned back, seeming to say something in the youth’s direction. But the distance was too great, and the youth didn’t catch it.

The youth only thought about catching a bigger one. He continued walking for another two or three quarters of an hour, finding nothing. The forest was eerily silent, sunlight slicing through the sparse branches and leaves, casting crisscrossing shadows on the ground.

He was a bit distracted when he suddenly caught a strong, fishy smell of water.

How could there be water here?

The youth was stunned, but before him indeed stretched a dark, seemingly endless expanse of water, its surface calm and waveless, shrouded in thick, deep-colored mist, as if it had suddenly turned to deep night.

The more Feng Xianyu listened, the more familiar it felt, but he couldn’t quite remember. “Where is that?”

“The Lost Ford,” Kong Yan said. “A thousand leagues across, ten thousand zhangs deep. Legend says it formed from the corpse water of a dead divine beast. That’s where the Demon Palace is. Xianyu, have you heard of the Demon Lord, Qisha?”

The two words pierced Feng Xianyu’s ears like a spike driven into his brain.

Demon Lord. Qisha.

“Pick up the bow, aim at him—your dao partner, your Xuanli Sword Lord. Isn’t that easy?”

“You’ve killed so many people. Would one more make a difference?”

Feng Xianyu’s head spun, cold sweat soaking his temples. Long moments passed before he recovered his senses, hearing Kong Yan’s trembling voice.

“…I never imagined A Lan would willingly fall into demonhood and offer the lives of the Green Sparrow Sect Leader’s dao partner and child as a pledge of allegiance to the Demon Lord Qisha.”

“He killed Mother. The other ten disciples who went on the trial that year—all dead. If not for Mother, in her dying moments, flinging me out of the Lost Ford…”

Before his eyes stretched the dark waters of the Lost Ford, murky and chaotic, like the dawn of creation.

The youth, as if enchanted, walked to the shore. The hem of his magnificent robe touched the black water and instantly dissolved into soft mud.

“Young master.”

It was A Lan’s voice.

Dazed and disoriented, the youth turned around to see A Lan looking down at him. The blue spots on his face, illuminated by the black water’s shimmer, truly resembled a giant butterfly’s wing, gleaming with an eerie blue light in the darkness—as if it might flutter and take flight at any moment.

A Lan bent down, extending his hand to the youth, his voice low: “Young master, come with me.”

The youth, as if drunk, stared at him for a long time. Then, he actually placed his hand in A Lan’s.

The Lost Ford was still, without wind, rain, or waves. A Lan calmly took the youth’s hand and led him step by step onto a small wooden raft.

The raft drifted with the current. The youth obediently held A Lan’s hand, unaware of the blood shadows writhing beneath the vast, calm surface. Eleven wooden stakes stood like skewers plunged into the water’s depths. The ten disciples lay unconscious, blood pouring from slits in their wrists, spreading into a massive, crimson cloud within the black water.

At the forefront, above Zhong Hui’s dantian, hovered a dagger stained with strange water stains, poised as if to strike but not yet thrusting.

It was only a hair’s breadth from her golden core.

“It was six months before I woke from the nightmare,” Kong Yan said, his fingers twitching and trembling uncontrollably, though he seemed unaware. “I only learned then… that Mother… Mother was gone.”

Kong Yan’s face was pale. Dressed entirely in white mourning clothes, his face gaunt, as if he had become a different person, he was brought by Kong Ji to the sword forge.

The air was frozen, heavy and pressing down. Father and son stood opposite each other in silence. In the span of six months, everything had turned upside down. Neither knew how to face the other or how to accept that Zhong Hui was no longer there—not even her bones remained. The black water could corrode anything.

The forge still crackled and burned.

In the flames, the sword had already taken shape. Kong Yan voluntarily cut his palm, letting blood drip freely. The blade burned red-hot, and as soon as the blood fell, it vaporized into blood mist. The new sword hummed incessantly, acknowledging its master.

After a long while, Kong Ji’s low, hoarse voice sounded: “This sword shall be named ‘Flowing Light.’”

Flowing light and fleeting years—nothing waits.

“The Kong family tradition grants disciples their formal names at sixteen,” Kong Yan said. “I received mine six months early. My name, ‘Yan,’ means ‘rising fire,’ the essence of blazing flames.”

Feng Xianyu had no idea such a thing had happened to Kong Yan.

The Kong family had announced to the outside world that the sect leader’s dao partner had ascended. Feng Xianyu had seen Kong Yan’s despair back then and guessed it was due to losing his mother, but he never knew the secret behind it.

Feng Xianyu fell silent, not disturbing Kong Yan.

Kong Yan forced himself to pull himself together, barely managing to tear his gaze away from the false warmth on A Lan’s utterly disgusting face. “I’m fine. It’s been a long time.”

After a long silence, Feng Xianyu carefully spoke: “A Lan—where is he now?”

Before Kong Yan could answer, he added, “If he’s not dead, then that great demon outside…”

Feng Xianyu didn’t finish. As expected, Kong Yan immediately looked up, fury igniting in an instant. He seemed to be plunged into a boiling oil vat and then fished out again. Feng Xianyu even heard Kong Yan’s bones crack audibly. Then a roar shook the dream: “Flowing Light!!!”

Instantly, the sword intent of Flowing Light flashed within the dream and then vanished. Veins bulged on Kong Yan’s forehead, one after another, as he formed a claw with his right hand, desperately summoning the sword intent.

The dim, low sky trembled violently. A dark storm was brewing and spreading on the horizon.

Feng Xianyu frowned: Kong Yan was going to force it!

Summoning one’s own magical artifact within another’s dream—especially when the original sword Flowing Light was still in the hands of Kong Yan’s physical body in the waking world—was extraordinarily difficult. It was like harming the enemy ten thousand while losing eight thousand oneself. Kong Yan was clearly past listening to reason. Heaven and earth shook and split in his rage, thunder booming continuously. Feng Xianyu had to force himself to steady his mind and rapidly consider what to do.

Inside the Long Wind Hall, Kong Ji on the bed suddenly convulsed violently, his chest heaving up and down as if his throat were being choked. He couldn’t breathe. His face turned blue and swollen, his mouth wide open, gasping desperately. A raspy sound like a bellows came from his throat, but still, air didn’t reach his lungs.

He writhed and thrashed like a boiled shrimp, rolling and crying for help, bloody froth spilling from the corners of his mouth.

The others in the hall, caught off guard, rushed forward, frantically shouting “Sect Leader,” trying to hold him down but failing.

Ye Shu hurried back. From a distance, he saw blood froth at Kong Ji’s lips. Suddenly, Kong Ji sat up. The whites of his eyes rolled back, his pupils so dilated they nearly filled the entire socket, the veins on his face bulging as if they might burst.

Ye Shu quickly pressed two fingers firmly on his brow, attempting to channel healing spiritual energy.

But no sooner had the energy entered his brow than it got stuck. Ye Shu, sweating profusely, tried again. The spiritual energy barely managed to force its way through the narrow, congested meridians, and there seemed to be hope. But as it reached the heart, it suddenly stopped dead, unable to advance another inch.

In that instant, a bone-chilling cold shot straight up to his crown, the sweat on his palms turning clammy.

“Brother Ye, I won’t say much, but please pay attention to the injured person’s meridians—I think you can tell, this is no ordinary qi deviation.”

The heart… Feng Xianyu’s hesitant expression… the farmer who suddenly cried out in heart pain and died three months ago on Qingdu Mountain…

“Ye Zhenren! Ye Zhenren! Think of something!”

The wailing around him was like a boiling oil pot overturned.

Ye Shu suddenly stood up. Amid the chaotic, frantic uproar around him, he did something incomprehensible: he ripped open Kong Ji’s clothes.

“Ye Shu! What are you doing!”

“Ye Shu, you’ve lost your mind!”

“Someone! Someone! Drag this Ye fellow out!”

…

Curses rained down, but Ye Shu ignored them. In his eyes, he clearly saw that Kong Ji’s heart was beating irregularly, even swelling visibly, as if something was taking root and growing inside.

Large beads of cold sweat seeped into the corners of his eyes, but he ignored the sting, staggering as if about to fall. He swallowed hard, gulping down a mouthful of saliva.

Meanwhile, in the Peach Blossom Hall.

A magnificent sword light erupted like a volcanic explosion, illuminating the small space as if it were daylight. The protective arrays were scoured away without a trace.

The immense spiritual pressure made it impossible for anyone to approach. All the Kong family members could see was countless sword intents howling and circling, rushing into the sky, then crashing down like a hurricane, sweeping in all directions. In an instant, the surrounding trees were cut cleanly, and the ground shook continuously as if an earth dragon was turning.

“Who’s here?” someone asked in shock, their voice frayed like broken threads by the sword’s edge.

“It seems…”

“It seems to be Qingdu Mountain’s Zhuoyu!!!”

“And Feng Xianyu! Feng Xianyu is here too!!!”

A deafening boom—where Feng Xianyu had originally been lying, a crater large enough to hold half a palace exploded open. The sound pounded painfully against everyone’s eardrums, making them see white. Eight out of ten had blood streaming from their ears.

Then, like a surging wind, a cold sword carried a white-robed, jade-crowned sword cultivator, half his robes stained with blood, into the air.

He even cradled a young man in red horizontally in his arms, pale and translucent, long black hair hanging down.

“Sword Lord, when a person has weaknesses, they can’t win.” The demon smirked.

Kong Yan was always smiling, never putting on airs despite being the young master. This was the first time everyone had seen such an expression on his face.

Zhuoyu said nothing. His left arm tightened around Feng Xianyu, a cold, almost ruthless cruelty flashing in his eyes. With a flick of his wrist, a silver-white sword light descended like a thunderbolt from the sky, savagely slashing toward the demon cultivator.

The demon shook the Flowing Light Sword. A cyan sword aura forcefully blocked the momentum of the Lingzhao Sword.

Clang—!

The Flowing Light Sword trembled faintly, but the demon paid it no mind. Both immortal swords reflected Zhuoyu’s cold, bloodthirsty pupils. The battle was fiercely deadlocked, yet Feng Xianyu still lay peacefully in Zhuoyu’s arms, not even twitching an eyebrow.

The demon revealed a sinister, mocking grin and was about to say something when suddenly the Flowing Light Sword emitted a resonant “weng.” The demon reacted incredibly fast, immediately withdrawing his sword and stepping back, but he was still a step too slow—

The Flowing Light Sword overflowed with multicolored edges, like the river of time flowing past, trembling as if in convulsions.

From the blade, a strange, blue-black gleam seeped out.

If Feng Xianyu had been awake at this moment, he would have cried out in alarm. Because in his past life, just before the Qiqi Bow shattered, it had been exactly like this: when a divine artifact or immortal sword’s master was in danger and fighting with all their might, it would spontaneously release its final spiritual energy to protect its master.

The Flowing Light Sword left behind a sword intent sharp enough to tear through the void. Finally, it let out a resounding, melancholy cry.

Then it shattered!

Scraps of the broken sword rained down like petals, their flowing light scattering all over the ground.

Even the demon hadn’t expected this. The residual base sword intent of Flowing Light passed through Kong Yan’s mortal body and struck straight into the demon’s divine consciousness, exploding in his sea of consciousness like a butcher shredding meat.

At the same time, Zhuoyu’s ghostlike figure appeared in an instant. Snowy sword light exploded continuously, one after another, dazzling to the eye.

But all of this happened in the blink of an eye.

Beneath the overwhelming assault, the demon was slammed heavily to the ground with a crash. The Flowing Light Sword in his hand was reduced to just a hilt, and the body he had taken over was gradually becoming unresponsive to his will.

Instead of fear, he laughed heartily. Amid the howling gale and unceasing thunder, he spoke in a volume that only Zhuoyu could hear, his tone dripping with venom:

“You’re in pain, aren’t you, Sword Lord?”

“Does Xianyu know that his untainted, worldly senior brother actually harbors such surging, tempestuous killing intent in his heart?”

“You know yourself well. You know he likes so many things—but none of them are you…”

“Are you afraid that one day he’ll see through your veneer and see your true nature?”

“Are you afraid that one day, you too will be unable to bear it and fall into madness?”

“Haha, Lord Sword, your inner demon is right there. I see him. Guess what? Does Xianyu see him too?”

As soon as the words finished, Feng Xianyu opened his eyes.

==========Author’s Note:==========

Feng Xianyu (extremely loud, puffing out his chest, proud): I saw him!