Chapter 9#

Chapter 9: The Corpse#

“Thank you, esteemed cultivators. Without your help, I could never have returned so smoothly to see my Yan Lang.”

A’Yue smiled gracefully as she invited them to sit.

Everyone nervously found chairs and sat down, not knowing what to say for a long while.

Under a dozen terrified gazes, they watched A’Yue, as if no one else were there, fetch a basin of clean water, wet a cloth, and carefully wipe Yan Pei’s face and hands. She then tucked the quilt around him, a fond smile lingering on her face.

If not for the nauseating stench of decay, Xiang Wan might have convinced herself that this was just an ordinary loving couple—but unfortunately, it was not.

Yan Pei’s corpse was immaculately arranged, as if he were merely sound asleep, dreaming sweet dreams.

Did A’Yue actually know that Yan Pei was dead?

Was she willfully deceiving herself, or was there some mystery they had yet to grasp?

Feng Xianyu raised a finger to his lips, softly shushing them.

A’Yue let out a curious “Eh?” and tilted her head in doubt. “Why doesn’t the immortal master come over?”

“Coming now.” Feng Xianyu replied in his usual tone. He put away his bow, exchanged a glance with Zhuo Yu, and helped him over to the bedside. He said to A’Yue, “In that case, let my senior brother take a look at… this Master Yan.”

“That’s wonderful!” A’Yue said, overjoyed, making room for him.

Zhuo Yu, just like a mortal physician, pressed his fingers onto Yan Pei’s ice-cold wrist.

Dressed in white robes, brows slightly knitted as he took the pulse, he looked quite convincing.

Seizing the moment, Feng Xianyu asked, “Where is Master Yan injured? I happen to carry some medicinal powders from my sect. They might be of use.”

He added with a smile, “It shouldn’t wake him, I hope.”

Throughout, Feng Xianyu’s tone betrayed no hint of strangeness; it was even gentler than usual, like a spring breeze brushing the face. A’Yue paused for a moment, then lowered her eyes and shook her head. “Yan Lang always sleeps very soundly.”

A’Yue carefully lifted the bedding and then untied the fastenings of Yan Pei’s clothes. A long, horrifying wound that spanned the entire width of his abdomen was revealed to both Feng Xianyu and Zhuo Yu.

Flesh and skin were turned outward, but not a single drop of blood, as clean as a washed cloth.

As if it had long since drained dry.

A’Yue was still smiling. “Well, then? Where’s that medicine of yours, Young Master Feng?”

Feng Xianyu took a deep breath, feeling his mind about to go blank. Zhuo Yu subtly withdrew his hand, pulled a medicine bottle from his qiankun pouch, and when Feng Xianyu reached for it, Zhuo Yu brushed his hand aside.

Zhuo Yu said in a deep voice, “I am a medical cultivator. I’ll do it.”

Feng Xianyu could only watch as he slowly sprinkled the dark medicinal powder over Yan Pei’s wound. It didn’t look like treatment at all; the powder settling on the lifeless wound resembled a huge, multi-legged centipede.

A’Yue stood with her hands behind her back, leaning forward curiously, and asked, “When will it stop bleeding? When will a scab form? When will it heal?”

“If he were a mortal, it would be immediate. If he were half a cultivator like Master Yan, about the time it takes an incense stick to burn should be enough.” Zhuo Yu said, stuffing the bottle back into his qiankun pouch, unhurriedly adding, “But there is one thing I don’t understand.”

A’Yue giggled. “Please, go ahead.”

Feng Xianyu knew what Zhuo Yu was about to ask and quickly formed a hand seal behind his back.

“The golden cores you prepared for him—where are they?” Zhuo Yu asked.

As soon as the words left his mouth, shock rippled through everyone.

—Golden cores?

Connecting this to the dead cultivators outside, Xiang Wan and the others immediately jumped up from their chairs and retreated behind the two senior brothers. Feng Xianyu had already drawn his bow, Narcissus, in hand, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on A’Yue’s every move.

A’Yue’s expression froze on her face, and then she burst into laughter. “I was wondering just how long you two were going to keep pretending with me. So you couldn’t hold it in any longer either.”

Just then, a disciple felt something like a vine wrap around his foot. He instinctively looked down and screamed—a black snake had silently coiled around his foot at some unknown moment!

The moment the disciple screamed, the eyeless snake left him.

Chaos erupted. The black snake easily slipped through the gaps, flicking its crimson forked tongue as it slithered toward A’Yue.

Feng Xianyu frowned deeply, the knuckles of his hand gripping the golden bow standing out white.

This was clearly the same giant snake from before, the snake demon that had ambushed them outside the illusion.

The black snake swayed its head and tail as it slithered to A’Yue’s feet. It raised its upper body and bent slightly—an unmistakable gesture of obeisance. Xiang Wan felt goosebumps rise all over her body as she watched the woman she had thought was a mortal reach out her hand and, with condescending grace, touch the snake’s triangular head.

Instantly, everyone moved at once.

The disciples quickly fell back into formation, while behind them, Feng Xianyu’s eyes burned red. Seven spiritual arrows were nocked and ready on his drawn golden bow. At the same time, countless pairs of venomous snake eyes gleamed coldly from the depths of the cave, facing them down.

“The golden cores you prepared for him—where are they?” Zhuo Yu asked again.

A’Yue smiled but did not answer. Her smile seemed unchanged, yet in everyone’s eyes, it had taken on a new flavor.

Feng Xianyu gritted his teeth. “Yan Pei is dead.”

A’Yue’s smile deepened, showing no sign of sorrow. Finally, she spoke. “I know.”

“You know?! And you still called us here to save him?” Feng Xianyu said. “For what purpose?”

A’Yue sat beside Yan Pei, full of love. She retied his clothes, covered him with the quilt, took his hand, and lowered her head to gaze at Yan Pei once more.

Zhuo Yu said firmly, “You did indeed call us here to save Yan Pei.”

“How is that possible?!” Feng Xianyu couldn’t believe it. “Yan Pei is dead! How can you revive a dead person?”

“Why can’t a dead person be revived?!” A’Yue looked up and shouted. Her demeanor had completely changed. All that gentleness, innocence, and naivety were gone. What remained on her face was only the dark, demonic qi seeping from the depths of her pupils.

She was a demon cultivator!

The seven spiritual arrows were released simultaneously, transforming into a golden spiritual stream that surged toward A’Yue.

A’Yue drew a curved blade from the void. With a deafening “Clang!” her blade met the spiritual stream head-on. The force of the impact radiated outward from A’Yue, sending shockwaves tearing through the air. Furniture shattered, the disciples’ spiritual barrier warped under the pressure, and blood trickled from Xiang Wan’s nose and mouth. Even Feng Xianyu and Zhuo Yu struggled to stay on their feet.

This cultivation was nearly at the Nascent Soul stage!

Before the dust had settled, Feng Xianyu had barely steadied himself when he saw the vicious curved blade, thick with demonic energy, mere inches from his face—A’Yue had appeared before him without warning.

As an archer, Feng Xianyu was utterly unsuited for close combat. In an instant, his blood ran cold and his pupils constricted.

For a split second, A’Yue’s figure merged with the Demon Lord from his past life. The searing pain of his heart being pierced, of his natal artifact shattering—that pain had never truly left him. It had been buried deep in his bones, and now it erupted with a vengeance, hurting so much that his nails dug deep into the flesh of his palms.

Just as the curved blade was about to descend onto Feng Xianyu’s head, a fierce, icy sword light burst forth like a raging tide. With a reckless determination that defied death itself, it met the blade.

Clang!

That desperate force forced even A’Yue to take a step back.

Feng Xianyu stared in shock at the figure in white standing before him, and the chilling sword he had raised. The sword seemed forged from thousand-year ice, snow-white like jade, yet so cold to the touch it stung. The edge was slightly translucent like glass.

It was Zhuo Yu’s natal sword—“Ling Zhao.”

A’Yue sneered. “A sword cultivator? No wonder.”

Zhuo Yu remained silent. Even though his right hand had been cut several times by the blade’s edge, he not only refused to yield but instead pressed his sword forward with steady, unfeeling strength, as if he felt no pain.

Ling Zhao’s sword intent was fierce. Feng Qianqiu had once described it as “a sword that doesn’t care about life.” At the time, Feng Xianyu had naively asked, “Does that mean it will definitely kill the opponent?”

Feng Qianqiu shook his head. “No, it means it doesn’t care about its own life. Zhuo Yu’s heart is too cold, too ruthless. You are just the opposite.”

A sharp gust of wind sliced off a few strands of Feng Xianyu’s hair. He snapped out of his past-life nightmare, his fingers still twitching and numb. Still, he condensed spiritual energy into an arrow, aimed at A’Yue’s brow, and changed his tone. “Senior, we have never met, and we have no grievances. Why go to such extremes? What is it that you truly want?”

“Haven’t I made myself clear enough?” A’Yue said. “I want to revive him.”

“Revive the dead?” Xiang Wan couldn’t help but cry out. “That’s completely impossible! Once a person is dead, how can they come back to life?”

A’Yue’s expression flickered, then quickly returned to normal. “Why is it impossible?”

Zhuo Yu said, “Yan Pei is not a cultivator. He has no formed spiritual veins.”

Feng Xianyu understood. A’Yue was testing whether someone else’s golden core could turn Yan Pei into a cultivator, thereby freeing him from mortal death. He said, “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Senior. After testing so many golden cores, has even one ever successfully fused?”

“Among all the cultivators in the world, whether beast cultivators or demon cultivators, who has ever escaped the cage of life and death?”

“Yes, they can!” A’Yue shouted. “I say they can!”

Her chin trembled slightly as she stared intently at Feng Xianyu and Zhuo Yu. “Are cultivators not said to possess the power to reach the heavens? To explore the azure skies above and the yellow springs below? To defy fate itself? Why can’t this be done? I want nothing else. I just want him to live again! His body is still here, perfectly intact! He has not left me! Why can’t it be done? Why shouldn’t it be possible!”

“When a phoenix dies, it is reborn from the ashes.” A’Yue spoke each word deliberately, her eyes blazing with fierce flames. Her smile was almost twisted. Her voice rang out with conviction. “So I say, it is possible!!!”

Feng Xianyu’s throat tightened. He could not say a word. Then, as if guided by some unseen force, he suddenly said, “Even if it were possible…”

He felt Zhuo Yu and A’Yue both look at him at the same time.

Feng Xianyu’s palms were slick with sweat, but he spoke smoothly, though he wasn’t sure who he was saying it for. “Even if it were possible, you cannot escape time. The human body decays very quickly. Before you find a way, Yan Pei would have long since become a mass of rotting flesh. His beauty would be gone, his gentleness would be gone. He would not breathe, he would not smile at you, he would not speak. He would just be a pile of rotting meat. Why would anyone love a pile of rotting meat? Senior, your lifespan is very long. Yan Pei is nothing but a fleeting moment in your long, long life. There are so many living, beautiful things before you. Why would you still cling to a pile of rotting meat? Your love for him will be worn away by time.”

As soon as he finished speaking, A’Yue let out a loud laugh, as if she had heard the most hilarious joke.

“You are wrong.” A’Yue laughed without stopping.

Feng Xianyu was stunned. “What?”

“He will not decay.” A’Yue gradually stopped laughing. “This is my illusion. This is my time.”

Then she lifted her head and said softly, “Time is up.”