Chapter 20

It was deep in the night at the Thistle River, where the moonlight poured down like a deluge, coating the barren land in a layer of pallid white. Thorns crawled across everything in sight, flowing like a turbulent, endless river upon the earth.

An Wuxue’s consciousness drifted along with the memories drawn out by the Soul-Nurturing Tree spirit. He gazed from afar, unable to discern the expression of his junior brother in the dark, seeing only a complexion even paler than the moonlight. Xie Zhefeng was still wearing the same attire he had worn on the day An Wuxue died, but his hair was disheveled, and his robes were covered in scratches—a far cry from the neat appearance of that day. The sharp thorns could not harm the immortal body of a Long-lived Immortal, but they snagged and tore at his clothes.

What was he doing?

The Four Seas were settled, the chaos between the two realms had ceased, and even An Wuxue—the "astray," "deserving-of-death" Head Senior Brother—had been executed before the gates of Luoyue Mountain. Xie Zhefeng should have been sitting high upon the pedestal where all living beings looked up to him, his words law, acting as the pure, flawless, and impartial Immortal Venerable in the eyes of the world.

But Xie Zhefeng did not. He simply walked through the Thistle River. It seemed aimless, yet it looked as if he were searching for something.

An Wuxue had never seen Xie Zhefeng like this. He had seen his junior brother at his most uncomposed only once: the year Langfeng City fell. The City Lord, Xie Zhui, had been severely wounded, his cultivation plummeted, and his roots destroyed. Desperate, Xie Zhui had set his sights on his own ten-year-old son, intending to destroy the boy’s gifted soul to seize his body and start anew. When An Wuxue and his master arrived at the City Lord’s mansion, flames were raging, and black miasma scorched the sky. The child stood amidst the ruins, his cheeks splattered with blood, his long sword piercing Xie Zhui’s dantian. The child had turned to look at them, his hand gripping the sword trembling.

Ever since then, that child had grown into the Immortal Venerable who ruled the two realms, and An Wuxue had never seen that hand tremble while holding a sword. Until now.

He watched Xie Zhefeng stumble through the Thistle River, drawing ever closer to his vantage point. He gradually made out Xie Zhefeng’s expression: a face filled with grief. Every few steps, he would tremble with anticipation, pushing aside the tangled thorns, only to walk away in disappointment. The spiritual energy in the Thistle River was thin, and it was difficult to extend one’s spiritual sense. Searching bit by bit like this—when would it ever end?

What was Xie Zhefeng looking for? Why was he so frantic and desperate? There was nothing here but a wisp of An Wuxue’s remnant soul.

An Wuxue suddenly thought: Is he looking for me?

Impossible.

An Wuxue watched as Xie Zhefeng searched for who knew how long, his lips appearing to murmur something. The thorny branches, which no one had been willing to touch for thousands of years, were snapped by him and lay scattered across the ground.

Finally, he heard clearly what Xie Zhefeng was calling.

"Senior Brother."

Xie Zhefeng was calling for his Senior Brother. His voice was soft, yet it trembled, laced with a sob. Looking into the moonlight, he saw that Xie Zhefeng’s eyes were actually red.

He really is looking for me. Why is he looking for me? I’m already dead. And he’s crying. What is he crying for? I didn’t even cry.

As An Wuxue stood stunned, Xie Zhefeng moved closer. He seemed to sense that he was about to find this remnant soul, his expression growing increasingly expectant, like a parched mortal seeing a single drop of dew.

But the moment Xie Zhefeng drew near, An Wuxue’s vision suddenly pulled away—his perspective drifted off, following the remnant soul as it moved. He did not want to be found by Xie Zhefeng.

Xie Zhefeng’s movements stiffened. But he did not leave. To An Wuxue’s surprise, Xie Zhefeng continued the search. His junior brother carried on as before, following every possible path. The thorns tore his robes into rags, and his hairpiece had been snagged away somewhere—he was in a state of disarray that bore no resemblance to the junior brother in An Wuxue’s memories.

An Wuxue did not understand. When a cultivator’s soul is extinguished, they are gone completely. He did not know why he had become "Su Xue," but at the time, with only this last wisp of soul remaining, he was effectively dead. This remnant was insignificant; if Xie Zhefeng wanted him dead, it mattered not if this wisp survived or vanished. If Xie Zhefeng wanted him alive, this wisp was useless and would eventually fade away over the long passage of time.

What was there to search for?

You were the one who said I deserved my crimes, you were the one who used the Cold Sword Qi to extinguish my life, and now you are the one mourning after my death.

He felt not a shred of comfort. Though he was submerged in the memories of his soul, he still felt as if his heart had been ripped open. Ten thousand arrows could pierce through him, yet they could not pierce his already hollow heart.

He watched Xie Zhefeng repeat the same actions. And then, he knew not how much time had passed.

A man in crimson robes arrived, sword in hand, rushing straight at Xie Zhefeng. "Xie Chuhan, what are you doing!?" It was Qi Xun.

"Everyone saw your tribulation clouds; they are waiting for you to use your immortal power to cleanse the world of its turbidity, yet you hide here in the Thistle River doing this useless task!" Qi Xun shouted sternly. "Even if An Wuxue were alive, he would avoid you in disgust if he saw you like this."

Hmm, Qi Xun was actually right.

But Xie Zhefeng clearly did not want to hear it. He stood straight, suddenly summoning his life-bound sword. The blade of the Chuhan sword pierced the air, heading straight for Qi Xun, pinning him to the thorns behind him through his shoulder blade!

Qi Xun hissed, his brow furrowing, but he did not cry out in pain. Instead, he looked down at his blood-stained shoulder and sneered. "What, do you want to settle accounts with me regarding An Wuxue? I was the one who led people to find him in the Thistle River, but wasn't it you who dealt the final blow? If we are to settle accounts, shouldn't the Immortal Venerable start with himself?"

An Wuxue’s vision went black again.

When he opened his eyes, his consciousness had returned to the dilapidated small peak of the Cloud Sword Sect. Everything he had just seen was but a fleeting cloud of a thousand years ago. "An Wuxue" had been dead for a millennium; his name now was "Su Xue," and he was here with Xie Zhefeng’s avatar to investigate the destruction of the Cloud Sword Sect.

He leaned against a rock, holding the golden branch in his hand, its golden luster having dimmed slightly. The Soul-Nurturing Tree spirit was no longer effective on him. He sat blankly, staring at the small branch in his palm—a treasure that would normally incite a frantic scramble among the experts of the cultivation world.

He had only intended to disable the Soul-Nurturing Tree spirit, never expecting to see his own post-death existence, something he had never known. What were Xie Zhefeng and Qi Xun doing? How could they point swords at each other in life, only to run about mourning in death? When he was alive, he was a great villain condemned by all. And in death? Was he the "regrettable, gone-astray" Luoyue Head Senior Brother in the mouths of others, or a deceased soul that those who once knew him occasionally remembered to comfort themselves?

He could not understand. Forget it, nothing worth understanding anyway. Why make himself miserable?

He tucked the Soul-Nurturing Tree spirit back into his spirit pouch at his waist and stood up, using a spirit technique to brush the dust from his clothes. Though the events of his life and death had flashed through his soul for only a few moments, he felt utterly exhausted. He was just about to check the spirit pouch for a suitable medicine to help him recover when a cold wind blew by, carrying a sinister voice from behind: "Where did this blind little immortal cultivator come from..."

An Wuxue turned around.

Standing there was a person with a stiff, blue-black complexion. Their attire was very similar to the Cloud Sword Sect disciple uniforms worn by Yun Zhou and Yun Yao, but neither the turbidity on the person nor their manner of speech belonged to a disciple.

It was a demonic entity controlling a human corpse. This creature was not highly cultivated, unlike the one that had controlled the body of the Cloud Sword Sect Master earlier. Was it drawn here by the spiritual fluctuations caused by the Soul-Nurturing Tree spirit?

He observed it nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow. "There are several types of demonic cultivators in the two realms: those who turn to evil mid-path, those born from the miasma as spirits of heaven and earth, and the last, monsters transformed from spiritual treasures."

"Spirits of heaven and earth cultivate with incredible speed and are all extraordinary; they do not appear easily. And you have borrowed a human corpse, so you are not a cultivator turned demonic. Then..."

"What kind of monster is your true form?"

The "person" was taken aback, lowering its voice. "A little immortal cultivator in the Inedia stage, yet you know quite a lot. The item in your hand has such rich spiritual fluctuations; what kind of treasure is it?" It looked at An Wuxue’s face and licked its lips. "What a beautiful face, much better than the body I’m currently using..."

The monster stepped toward him.

An Wuxue stood his ground, showing no sign of panic. Xie Zhefeng was not here, and there was no one else around; he couldn't even be bothered to act.

The moment the monster was only seven feet away—

He leaned slightly to the side, and with the speed of thunder, snapped a thick branch from a nearby stunted tree. Su Xue’s body did not have much spiritual energy left, but he channeled all of it into that branch at that moment.

The monster didn't take it seriously, sneering as it easily blocked An Wuxue’s strike. "You don't even have a spirit sword—AHHHHHHH!"

The branch shattered, and An Wuxue’s spiritual energy was nearly drained. He turned pale, his body swaying. But the monster was in a far worse state; it fell to the ground clutching its head, howling incessantly.

"You—you—you are not in the Inedia stage!"

"I’ve been wronged," he said. "I truly am."

What cultivation could this waste of a body have? The strike of spiritual energy was just a feint. The moment he moved, his spiritual sense had already pierced the monster’s consciousness.

He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and then pulled back his spiritual sense, asking calmly, "What kind of monster are you?"

The monster asked instead, "Who—who are you?"

How uncooperative. An Wuxue sighed. He gathered the last of Su Xue’s meager spiritual energy at his fingertips, lifted the monster, and pulled it toward him. The creature was terrified.

He said, "I generally do not like to ask a question twice."

His spiritual sense pierced into the monster’s consciousness again. This time, he did not strike and retreat; instead, he turned his sense into a sharp blade, slowly slicing through the creature’s soul.

"AHHHHHHHH!!!"

An Wuxue had heard such screams countless times in his previous life and felt no ripple in his heart. He watched quietly, his eyes deep and dark, his expression calm. He had intended to cut it slowly, but the Mirror Demon’s screams were too grating on his ears. He tilted his head, neatly sliced off a corner of the monster’s soul, and crushed it directly.

The pain of a shattered soul was thousands of times greater than any physical pain.

"AH! AHHHHHH! I’ll say it, I’ll say it!"

"I am a Mirror Demon..."

"Why are you here?"

"I am just a small demon. Many cultivators died here, and there is a lot of resentment and turbid energy, so I and other small demons followed the mirror with the highest cultivation and came in."