Chapter 62

As midnight drew closer, the night wind grew increasingly chilly.

True to its name, Ascending Cloud Tower was exceptionally tall, and the high-set, bright windows of the VIP chambers made it feel as though one could reach out and pluck the stars from the sky.

When An Wuxue had first entered, he had found this expansive view of the mortal world wonderfully bustling, but now, a sudden and profound desolation gripped him.

After speaking those words, he curled one hand into a fist, his grip tightening progressively until the calm expression on his face finally crumbled.

He had to admit it—he was not nearly as calm as he pretended to be.

How could he be calm? How on earth could he remain calm?

Ever since he had woken up, wasn't his greatest fear precisely that Xie Zhefeng would recognize him?

A tangled and contradictory storm of thoughts churned within him, nearly choking his chest and suffocating him alive.

Unable to make sense of anything, he could only cherish tonight’s fireworks while they lasted.

Even the words he had uttered just moments ago were not meant as a defense for himself.

He merely hoped that Xie Zhefeng would not genuinely mistake him for the mastermind behind the northern Netherworld's Zhaoshui incident, thereby allowing the true culprits to remain hidden in the shadows.

Beside the tea table, the stove in the chamber had been burning for who knows how long, boiling water and sending up curls of warm steam that drifted out into the night wind.

Without the sound of popping fireworks, the night market gradually quieted down. As the commotion died away to a faint hum, the noise of the kettle boiling dry became jarringly distinct.

Xie Zhefeng’s eyes, instantly reddened, were blurred behind the rising mist. It sounded as though it took an immense, exhausting effort just for him to speak: "Shixiong..."

Shixiong...

An Wuxue felt a sudden ringing in his ears, echoing a past verdict—"Shixiong brought this upon himself; he deserves it."

A sharp pain lanced through his chest, and he abruptly stood up.

Startled, Xie Zhefeng scrambled to his feet as well, rushing forward a few steps until he was right in front of him. "What is wrong?"

An Wuxue instantly retreated, stepping backward until he hit the side of the stove, with nowhere left to go.

"Immortal Venerable!"

Xie Zhefeng stiffened all over, ultimately stopping short of approaching further.

Amidst the bubbling sound of boiling water, with his back to the bright windows and the myriad lights of the mortal world, he blocked the cool breeze and said to An Wuxue, "I didn't... I would never..."

He seemed at a loss for words, pausing twice before finally managing, "I could never doubt Shixiong. It is even more impossible for me to do those things you mentioned. Won't you... believe me one more time?"

By the end, his voice held only entreaty.

A blank look crossed An Wuxue's face.

"...What?"

Xie Zhefeng instinctively reached out a hand to touch him.

His pupils dilated in shock, but before he could react, the man pulled his hand back just as quickly, murmuring to himself, "I won't move. Shixiong, please don't be afraid of me."

An Wuxue asked with instinctive vigilance, "What on earth are you trying to do?"

Pain contorted Xie Zhefeng’s features.

His eyes, which were normally as cold as frosted ice throughout the years, now looked like melting snow, shrouded in a thick layer of mist.

"Shixiong can do whatever he wishes; just... do not think of yourself that way again..."

With his body tensed and his heart on edge, An Wuxue was even more bewildered.

Think of himself that way?

How had he thought of himself?

He had ceased asking for anything; he had merely stolen a few fleeting moments of fireworks and lanterns.

Yet...

"...Whatever I wish?" he repeated.

Hearing this as a sign of concession, Xie Zhefeng’s eyes lit up.

He lowered his head, opened his spirit pouch, and drew out Chunhua.

This sword had once been An Wuxue’s natal blade. It had been startled into resonance by him across the frozen sea, and it was also the weapon Xie Zhefeng had driven an ice spike through him with at the Cloud Sword Sect.

Just days ago, Xie Zhefeng had still been using Chunhua to test him.

Now, Chunhua was finally being handed over to him in a "just and proper" manner.

After all, this was An Wuxue’s true natal sword.

Now that his identity was exposed, he no longer hesitated, raising his hand to take it.

As his divine sense brushed against Chunhua, the spirit blade quivered, emitting a crisp, melodious ring.

"You may do whatever you wish with it," Xie Zhefeng said in a very soft voice. "If you hate me and resent me, it is fine to use Chunhua to kill me."

An Wuxue was still staring down at his natal sword with a melancholy expression, but at these words, his gaze flickered, and he suddenly let out a laugh.

"Kill you?" He paused, then chuckled a few more times until he choked on his breath and broke into a fit of coughing.

Xie Zhefeng curled his fingers slightly, yet dared not move a muscle.

Once An Wuxue had laughed enough, he abruptly gathered away all amusement and said in a low voice, "How could I kill you? The crisis of the Zhaoshui Sword Array remains unresolved, those who used the cloud skiffs have vanished without a trace, and regarding the northern Netherworld miasma, Zhao Duan has already revealed that a powerful demon likely holds the secret method of ascending through cultivated turbid energy. The Immortal Venerable is regarded by the world as the pillar that holds up the heavens—how could I ever dare to break you?"

Even if Xie Zhefeng were out of his mind right now and offered his neck to be executed, could An Wuxue kill him merely for his own selfish desires?

"I..."

Xie Zhefeng wanted to refute, but found no argument.

Every single word An Wuxue spoke was true.

He couldn't even grant his Shixiong the solace of revenge and hatred.

An Wuxue continued, "I do not know what the Immortal Venerable is truly thinking, nor what your intentions are toward me. Waking up this time, I am truly completely in the dark and had no choice. My past affairs have nothing to do with 'Suoxue'. Since the Immortal Venerable said I may do as I wish, then there is indeed one thing I beg the Immortal Venerable to grant—I want to leave."

"...Leave?"

"I have told the Immortal Venerable more than once."

Panic clouded Xie Zhefeng’s expression. "I truly will not do anything, and it is even more impossible for me to harm Shixiong. Regarding what happened back then, I have many things to explain."

"But I have nothing to say."

Though his mind was in a chaotic knot, An Wuxue was resolute in what he wanted.

If Xie Zhefeng truly did not suspect him, that would naturally be for the better.

Yet he had no desire to stay on Falling Moon Peak to listen to this man utter the same words Qin Wei had once spoken, nor did he wish to remain by this man's side in the ambiguous status of a dual-cultivation partner's cauldron, knowing full well who he really was.

He spoke again, "What I ask for is truly very little. Immortal Venerable, I have done nothing wrong, nor do I harbor any resentment; I simply wish to leave."

"If the Immortal Venerable is willing to show me a little more mercy and let me take Kunkuan with me as well, then this sinner will be eternally and overwhelmingly grateful to you."

"You are no sinner—"

An Wuxue cut him off sharply, "That matter is unimportant."

Xie Zhefeng’s lips twitched slightly as if he wanted to say something, but realizing he could not persuade An Wuxue, he swallowed the words back down.

The water in the stove had nearly burned dry, leaving behind an eerie silence.

Finally, before An Wuxue could speak to break the deadlock, Xie Zhefeng asked, "Then what about the puppet curse branded upon your body?"

An Wuxue paused.

"Shixiong’s puppet curse can only be alleviated by my spiritual energy. When the curse reaches its limit, the agony is worse than death."

Everything Xie Zhefeng voiced stemmed from his own anxieties.

This curse posed a grave danger, and who knew how many hidden threats lurked behind it? If Shixiong wanted the curse lifted, how could he not want the same?

He bit out each word clearly, "Didn't Shixiong say before that we would wait until the curse was lifted before leaving? As of now, there is still no clue on how to break it..."

Xie Zhefeng had never spoken in such a submissive tone before.

He said, "I am still of use to Shixiong. For the sake of this puppet curse, won't Shixiong stay for a little longer?"

An Wuxue, however, let out a light laugh.

*Clang—*

Chunhua left its scabbard!

Assuming An Wuxue had finally decided to unleash his grievances upon him, Xie Zhefeng had lowered his guard entirely.

Yet in the next instant, the blade turned toward An Wuxue himself, and in the blink of an eye, Chunhua was pressed horizontally across his own throat!

He gasped in shock, "Shixiong!"

An Wuxue said calmly, "I am indeed constrained by you because of the puppet curse. The Immortal Venerable may kill me, but if you intend to use the puppet curse to coerce me... considering we once shared life and death as fellow disciples, you should know I am not someone who clings cowardly to life."

As he spoke, he applied force to his hand, pressing the edge flush against his neck.

Once Xie Zhefeng attempted to control him with the puppet curse, he would not hesitate—at worst, he would become a lonely wandering spirit, or scatter into nothingness. Having witnessed tonight's fireworks, he could die without regret.

"I had no such intention!"

Sensing An Wuxue's hand shift, Chunhua grazed lightly across its owner's throat. The spirit blade was razor-sharp, instantly drawing a thin line of blood.

The three-day duration of the spell had not yet expired; while An Wuxue felt nothing at all, Xie Zhefeng abruptly felt a sharp stinging sensation at his own throat.

Xie Zhefeng dared not utter another word.

He stumbled back in a panic, retreating all the way to the window.

The pain in his chest was a hundred times sharper than the sting at his neck, but ignoring it entirely, he hurriedly channeled spiritual energy to his fingertips and tapped several major acupoints across his body.

Noticing this, An Wuxue slightly loosened his grip on the sword, his gaze faltering.

—Xie Zhefeng had sealed his own spiritual energy.

The revered Immortal Venerable of the Cold Immortality was now indistinguishable from an ordinary mortal before him; any random cultivator could take his life with ease.

"I can do nothing now," the man said carefully. "May Shixiong rest assured?"

An Wuxue was utterly taken aback.

Yet a trace of relief did wash over him.

He lowered Chunhua in a daze, only to notice that the tip of the sword was stained with a smear of fresh blood.

Blood...?

Was he bleeding?

He reached up to touch his neck, and sure enough, his fingers came away wet, though he felt no pain whatsoever.

Simultaneously, Xie Zhefeng instinctively furrowed his brows.

—He reacted as though he were the one who had been injured.

Taking this in, An Wuxue snatched a single thread of realization from the chaotic storm of thoughts in his mind.

He remembered how his suspicions had first arisen.

Over the past few days of sleep, he had broken through a tribulation stage in his dreams. His meridians, which ought to have been wracked with needle-like agony every moment, had remained completely calm, while Xie Zhefeng’s complexion had turned poor instead. Earlier, when a wooden splinter had pierced his skin and he hadn't felt it, Xie Zhefeng had reacted to it first.

That was why he had just now confirmed that something was wrong with Xie Zhefeng...

"...What spell or technique have you cast on me?" he demanded with absolute certainty.

"I have never cast any spell," Xie Zhefeng answered instantly.

An Wuxue sneered, "Does the Immortal Venerable take me for a fool?"

Chunhua was still unsheathed; without a second thought, he turned the blade and ruthlessly slashed it across his own arm.

"Shixiong!"

The freshly changed robe instantly stained red with blood. At almost the exact same instant, Xie Zhefeng felt an identical wave of agony tear through his arm.

Yet the forbidden spell could only transfer pain; it could not spare another from injury.

That wound was real, and it was carved into An Wuxue's flesh!

Before Xie Zhefeng could even hesitate for a breath, An Wuxue blinked not a single time as he brought the blade down for a second slash!

Shock rippled across Xie Zhefeng’s face.

Through both cuts, An Wuxue had felt zero pain.

How could there possibly be nothing wrong?

"What has the Immortal Venerable done to me?" Fear laced his tone.

He was deathly afraid that Xie Zhefeng had resorted to some means of binding and imprisoning him.

With a heart as if pierced by a thousand knives, Xie Zhefeng finally dared conceal nothing longer: "It is merely a forbidden spell to transfer pain. The time limit will pass very soon."

He wanted to reach into his spirit pouch for healing elixirs, only to remember with a jolt that he had just sealed his own spiritual energy and could not access the pouch while the seal remained.

With no other choice, he unhooked his entire spirit pouch and placed it beside An Wuxue, his voice hoarse, "Chunhua is sharp; Shixiong, apply the medicine first."

Though blood had soaked through An Wuxue’s sleeve, he didn't even glance at the pouch.

Instead, Xie Zhefeng heard his Shixiong address him with the most distant and estranged form of address possible: "Immortal Venerable..."