Dead silence fell over Deer Jade Terrace.
One lightly spoken sentence, like a thunderbolt, struck everyone where they stood.
Though Daoist Lord Tongxu had anticipated such words from Lin Zhuoyu, his face turned ugly in an instant.
He Xing had assumed this scene would repeat the familiar script of years past—”Little Junior Brother causes trouble, Senior Martial Uncle prepares a beating, Eldest Senior Brother draws the fire, everyone walks away unscathed”—and, too lazy to get involved, set down the spirit medicine and made to run.
Hearing that sentence, He Xing nearly fell over. He stiffened in horror and turned to stare at Lin Zhuoyu in disbelief.
A Dao Companion?
If the name Lin Zhuoyu had announced today were “Yan Su,” He Xing wouldn’t have been surprised in the least—he’d only have run off wailing in heartbreak.
But Lu Qi?
Lu Qi!
The man ranked neither as high in cultivation as the Eldest Senior Brother, nor as noble in standing, nor as handsome—and he couldn’t match a childhood friendship either.
A stranger they’d known barely days?!
He…
What gave him the right?!
He Xing instinctively looked toward Yan Su, wanting to urge his Eldest Senior Brother to say something, anything—but when he turned his head, the Eldest Senior Brother was standing to one side, seemingly stunned, his expression utterly unchanged.
Having said his piece, Lin Zhuoyu waited anxiously for Shizun’s reaction.
Daoist Lord Tongxu regarded him coldly and beckoned. “Come here.”
A beating was coming.
Lin Zhuoyu was far too quick-witted for that and promptly retreated a step. “Shizun, hear me out! This is a solution I arrived at after careful deliberation. Forming a Dao Companion Pact does no harm and much good.”
Daoist Lord Tongxu said indifferently, “This master has already conferred with Lord Qingxiao. There is another method.”
Lu Qi had lost his spiritual power, his life force draining away—but if his meridians were sealed inch by inch, and he entered Breath Concealment in a false death, he could survive the month and have his Origin Core restored.
Lin Zhuoyu cried anxiously, “But that method gravely harms the Origin Soul! One slip and he dies. Even if he wakes and reclaims his core, he may never cultivate again. Shizun, think it through!”
“I have thought it through. It works better than your plan.”
Lin Zhuoyu dropped to his knees with a thump. “Shizun! I won’t allow it!”
Daoist Lord Tongxu looked down at him from on high. “Are you forcing your master’s hand?”
Lin Zhuoyu went rigid, gazing helplessly at Daoist Lord Tongxu’s terribly grim face. “No… Shizun, calm your anger. You look terrible.”
Daoist Lord Tongxu’s heart was, in fact, badly knotted.
He had known of Lin Zhuoyu’s “Peach Blossom Calamity” divination in advance and long been prepared for this day to come—yet he had never imagined it would be a man.
A man younger than Lin Zhuoyu, one who couldn’t even truss a chicken.
If this person were truly Lin Zhuoyu’s fated true love, then once the Dao Companion Pact was formed, with feelings surely deepening over time, there would never again be a chance to sever it.
Lin Zhuoyu had been raised bathed in love. Even setting everything else aside, if he must take a man as Dao Companion, that man ought at least to be older than him, someone who would dote on his every need before earning the right.
Daoist Lord Tongxu looked squarely at Qingshan Qi for the first time.
One glance was all it took. Qingshan Qi’s entire body locked rigid, pinned in place by the divine sense invading his body, unable to move so much as a finger.
—Just like that gaze in Gengwu Province years ago, the one that had terrified him so.
The divine sense of the Foremost Cultivator Beneath Heavenly Dao scoured Qingshan Qi from the inside out—meridians, inner organs, spirit platform—inch by inch, again and again.
Cold sweat poured off Qingshan Qi as he forced himself to keep standing, yet he was certain that even the God of Slaughter could find no trace of anything amiss.
He had dared to enter Floating Jade Mountain openly; naturally, he had made every preparation.
This shell had belonged to the original Lu Qi; what possessed it was merely a strand of Qingshan Qi’s divine soul.
Every trace of divine sense and demonic qi on the Origin Core had been wiped clean by Cang Zhou. Even the closest probing would never reveal that he was a demon.
Seeing this, Lin Zhuoyu assumed Daoist Lord Tongxu meant to kill him and hurriedly said, “Shizun, Shizun, this is a last resort too! It’s only one month—once my Origin Core recovers, we can break the pact.”
Daoist Lord Tongxu abruptly retracted his spiritual power, wrestled down the impulse to strike the man dead on the spot, and said icily, “Silence. This matter will not be mentioned again!”
“Shizun—!”
Seeing his Shizun immovable, Lin Zhuoyu could only turn pleading eyes on Yan Su, urging him with a look, his whole face screaming, Senior Brother, say something, Senior Brother!
But on closer look, Yan Su’s face was even darker than Daoist Lord Tongxu’s.
Yan Su’s eyes were faintly red, fixed murderously on Qingshan Qi behind Lin Zhuoyu.
Lin Zhuoyu’s words still echoed in his ears.
Dao Companion…
Dao Companion?
Yan Su had cultivated the Heart-Purifying Dao all his life. The feelings Lin Zhuoyu stirred in him ran from tenderness to love, from anger to guilt—but now, for the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to hate someone to the bone.
Never had he felt such violent hatred toward someone he’d met only a handful of times. He wanted nothing more than to cut the man down where he stood, to hack him to pieces.
Lin Zhuoyu’s voice flickered at his ear.
Origin Core. Breaking the pact.
Yan Su could not think. He could only tell himself, over and over: Lin Zhuoyu would never fall in love at first sight with someone he’d known mere days, never fight tooth and nail to become his Dao Companion—there had to be a hidden reason, a stopgap forced by impossible circumstances.
The Heart-Purifying Dao he had just barely steadied began cracking again. Yan Su stood frozen, desperately using his spiritual power to anchor his divine soul.
And at that very moment, Qingshan Qi—who had said nothing all this while—silently curled his lips at him in a smile: hidden, and openly taunting.
Yan Su’s sword left its sheath in a flash.
In the next instant, the Wuyou Sword came roaring at Qingshan Qi’s face, wrapped in the crushing pressure of the late stage of Spirit Solidification and a killing intent cold to the bone.
Lin Zhuoyu cried out in shock and, without time to think, flung up his hand and summoned Qingru in front of Qingshan Qi.
“Senior Brother!”
Qingshan Qi seemed petrified with fear, standing frozen without even dodging.
It was the first time Lin Zhuoyu had ever sensed the true power of the Wuyou Sword.
The blade carried the lethal ferocity of a late-Spirit-Solidification strike, like the great palm of Heavenly Dao pressing down—terrifying at a glance. It showed no mercy, punching through Qingru’s powerful barrier and slamming into Qingshan Qi’s body.
The ring of steel.
The Sword Intent that had passed through Qingru shed part of its force against the water, but its edge remained undulled. Blood sprayed out in an instant.
Dead silence fell; everyone stood stunned by the sudden violence.
As Qingshan Qi’s body crashed down heavily, Lin Zhuoyu was the first to react, charging forward, his face twisted with alarm. “Lu Qi—!”
That sword strike had aimed straight for his life. Only Qingru’s intervention had turned it, so the blade carved a line from Lu Qi’s neck down to his chest—half an inch short of killing him outright.
Lin Zhuoyu didn’t stop to think. Frantic, he fished out a life-sustaining spirit pill and forced it into Qingshan Qi’s mouth. “Lu Qi, look at me!”
Blood welled up in great gulps from Qingshan Qi’s mouth. He clutched desperately at Lin Zhuoyu’s hand. “Bro… Elder Brother… I… I don’t want to die… S-save… me…”
Lin Zhuoyu stared at him, dazed and lost.
Yan Su’s eyes were scarlet. Expressionless, he advanced with his sword.
He Xing stood frozen in horror—then, from who knew where, found the guts to dart forward and block the man’s path. “Eldest Senior Brother! Eldest Senior Brother, calm down! Even if you kill him, you can’t do it in front of Zhuoyu!”
Yan Su’s whole body was rigid, his hands locked white-knuckled around the Wuyou Sword. “Move!”
He Xing had never seen Yan Su in such a rage. He faltered—and seeing the man truly meant to finish the job, dropped to his knees with a thump and wrapped his arms around Yan Su’s legs so he couldn’t pass.
“Eldest Senior Brother! Strike now, and Zhuoyu will hate you forever!”
The words couldn’t restrain a man teetering on the brink of Qi Deviation—yet Yan Su’s body went suddenly stiff, and he stopped where he stood.
Because Lin Zhuoyu had looked at him.
All of vast Deer Jade Terrace reeked of blood. Lin Zhuoyu’s azure robe and white hair were stained with hideous red, disheveled in a way he almost never was. His palm channeled an unbroken stream of spiritual power into Qingshan Qi’s wound, and amid the chaos, he raised his head and looked at Yan Su.
Those beautiful eyes had always turned to him brimming with joy and expectation—even in tears they had sparkled with sly mischief, calling to him, again and again.
Senior Brother.
Now those eyes were empty. Looking at him, there was bewilderment, there was anger—but more than anything, a disappointment that sent an icy chill down to the bone.
Yan Su froze completely.
Seated in the place of honor, Daoist Lord Tongxu pressed a hand to his forehead as he surveyed the chaos below. Unable to bear seeing Lin Zhuoyu in such distress, he said helplessly, “Shengzhi. Go fetch your Shizun.”
He Xing scrambled up and scrambled out, yes-yes-ing all the way.
Li Buwei was outside sipping tea when He Xing came pelting out, gasping. “Shengzhi? What happened?”
He Xing ducked his head instinctively. He had run too fast; between pants he managed, brokenly, “Zhuoyu… is forming a Dao Companion pact. Eldest Senior Brother… Eldest Senior Brother drew his sword… cough, cough.”
Li Buwei’s brow arched, and he waved the boy off to his errand.
A faint scent of blood was drifting from Deer Jade Terrace. Could it be that Yan Su had wanted to take Zhuoyu as his Dao Companion, provoking his elder brother into striking someone down?
So Lin Zhuoyu’s divinations really were worthless.
A calamity of blood today. Great misfortune.
Qingshan Qi had already lost half his life to the loss of his Origin Core; now the Wuyou Sword had nearly split him from neck to chest. Had Wei Qingxiao not arrived in time, he would almost certainly have died.
Inside Xuanxu Residence, the blood had yet to be wiped from Lin Zhuoyu’s robes and hair; he looked utterly pitiable.
Wei Qingxiao finished applying medicine to Qingshan Qi’s wounds, and seeing Lin Zhuoyu sitting there in a daze, felt her heart soften. She came over. “Zhuoyu.”
Lin Zhuoyu startled out of his trance and scrambled up. “How is he?”
“Relax. You think my hands could heal him to death?” Wei Qingxiao wiped the blood from Lin Zhuoyu’s cheek with a handkerchief and said gently, “Xing’er already told me what happened at Deer Jade Terrace. Forming the Dao Companion Pact really is the best solution for now—you did nothing wrong. Later I’ll go persuade our Sect Master. Be good, hm?”
Lin Zhuoyu nodded, his soul somewhere far away.
Wei Qingxiao hesitated, then said carefully, “There’s also your Senior Brother…”
Lin Zhuoyu went rigid, the image of Yan Su swinging the Wuyou Sword flashing through his mind again.
“Don’t blame him.” Wei Qingxiao patted his head. “His Dao Heart was already unstable. Learning out of nowhere that you meant to take a man you’d known mere days as your Dao Companion—it was simply a flash of rage getting the better of him.”
Lin Zhuoyu stayed silent and glum.
Wei Qingxiao didn’t press further. After a few more soothing words, she left Xuanxu Residence.
Deer Jade Terrace had seen blood today; the little Dao attendants were still scrubbing, and a faint tang of it lingered in the air.
In the Cold Pond of the rear hall, Daoist Lord Tongxu, his face dark as still water, drew grim sigil-arrays with his spiritual power, pinning down Yan Su, who stood at the very center on the verge of Qi Deviation.
Blood seeped from the corner of Yan Su’s mouth, yet he still strained against the formation, wanting nothing but to take the Wuyou Sword and grind that man’s bones to dust.
His once-unshakable Dao Heart had shattered in a single day. In the illusions, “Lin Zhuoyu” no longer clung to him like a beautiful ghost, but gazed at him with disappointment clouding his eyes, rebuking him in a low voice.
“If you kill him, I will consider you my mortal enemy for the rest of my life!”
“It was your coldness that drove me to venture out alone and meet him. You should be thanking me—otherwise we’d never have managed to become Dao Companions at all.”
“If he dies, I will have your life in payment!”
Behind that phantom figure, a shadowy silhouette stood, making no attempt to hide its eerie, taunting smile, arms climbing slowly around Lin Zhuoyu’s shoulders like a closing cage.
…And then, with a sudden sweep, wrapping Lin Zhuoyu up entirely.
Leaving only that sinister voice ringing in Yan Su’s ears.
“He is mine.”
Blood-tears nearly wept from Yan Su’s pupils. He slashed out a wave of spiritual power that all but shattered Daoist Lord Tongxu’s barrier.
Face grim, Daoist Lord Tongxu channeled the Cold Pond’s power into Yan Su’s meridians, forcibly dragging him back to awareness.
“Yan Linyuan! Will you follow your father into madness and slaughter the innocent?!”
Yan Su knelt wretchedly, propped on his sword, and violently vomited blood, struggling to hold onto a thread of clarity. Jaw clenched hard: “Shizun… that man harbors ill intent. You cannot let him form a pact with Zhuoyu…”
“Compose yourself!” Daoist Lord Tongxu roared.
But Yan Su paid him no heed. “Shizun!”
Daoist Lord Tongxu had half a mind to let the man live or die as he pleased—yet this was, after all, the eldest disciple he had raised with his own hands. He sighed silently, flung out a hand, and pinned Yan Su in place with spiritual power, letting the Cold Pond’s chill crawl over his body.
“What could you do if you went now?” Daoist Lord Tongxu looked at him coldly. “Run him through with one stroke? And then?”
Yan Su faltered.
“You know Zhuoyu’s temperament better than I do.” Daoist Lord Tongxu rebuked his impulsiveness. “That man willingly cut out his own Origin Core to save Zhuoyu’s life. Zhuoyu already feels guilty toward him—that is the only reason he proposed the Dao Companion Pact, to preserve his life.”
Yan Su’s eyes were blood-red and cold. “If that man hadn’t intervened, I would have found Zhuoyu in time. I would have saved him!”
Daoist Lord Tongxu’s head ached ferociously. “But nothing in this world runs on ‘if.’ I was never going to permit it—no matter how Zhuoyu raged, there would have been no other outcome…”
After all, a Dao Companion Pact requires an elder’s consent. However guilty Lin Zhuoyu felt, he would never go behind his Shizun’s back and secretly form a pact with that man.
Once he’d been soothed, Wei Qingxiao could be sent to find another way to keep the man alive, and every problem would resolve itself.
But now Yan Su’s rampage had very nearly cut Lu Qi down with a single stroke—and knowing Lin Zhuoyu’s temperament, his guilt would only deepen. How could he ever agree to that soul-wounding method now?
Daoist Lord Tongxu had never expected matters to come to this.
Was the Peach Blossom Calamity truly so powerful? Was this genuinely Heaven’s will?
Yan Su stared blankly for a long while—and then suddenly remembered that hidden little smile on the man’s face.
He had done it on purpose?
“For this month, you will cultivate here. Steady your…”
Daoist Lord Tongxu had meant to say “Dao Heart,” but one look at Yan Su’s near-deviated state told him the Heart-Purifying Dao had already broken. He changed his words. “Steady your mind. No more acting on impulse.”
Only then did Yan Su fully grasp that his Shizun had already resigned himself to letting Lin Zhuoyu and Qingshan Qi form the pact. He slammed a hand against the barrier at once. “Shizun—!”
Daoist Lord Tongxu looked at him coldly. “Only a purified heart opens this barrier.”
With that, he swept his sleeves and left.
Yan Su sat alone within the Cold Pond’s barrier, his Sea of Consciousness churning again with the illusions that made him grind his teeth in hatred—”Lin Zhuoyu’s” furious condemnations, Qingshan Qi’s smug triumph, and that faint, half-formed Dao Companion Pact threading into being.
Yan Su’s eyes grew redder and redder, his blood roiling.
At last, he violently coughed up a mouthful of blood that spattered across the frost—like a plum blossom blooming in the teeth of winter.
