Chapter 6: Ning Yu

Ning Yu was a man no one could ever fathom.

He had been born bearing the rarest Heaven-Chosen Spirit Vein in all the world. Had nothing gone wrong, a mere hundred years of the sword dao would have carried him to Ascension. Yet, against everyone’s expectations, he had joined the obscure and unremarkable Returning Swan Mountain.

People everywhere declared that this boy’s path to the Dao was severed—what a waste of a budding immortal.

Others said that though Returning Swan Mountain lacked the deep foundations of other sects, its Sect Leader was at least a Sword Cultivator of excellent Spirit Vein; taking him as master might still leave a thread of hope.

One hundred days after joining Returning Swan Mountain, at the ceremony to formally take a master, Ning Yu chose the sect’s laziest, most good-for-nothing drunkard as his teacher.

Everyone: “…”

Well then.

Prodigies of the Three Realms sprouted like spring grass, and soon no one paid any more attention to this Ning Yu whose dao path was so obviously finished.

Yet barely a century later, Ning Yu quelled the Devil Cultivators’ rampant War of the Four Regions across the Savage Wilds with a single sword, and his name rang through the world, his praise on every tongue.

Just as everyone assumed he would enter the Dao through the sword and ascend—he fell into Devilhood in a single night at the Flame Sea of the Savage Wilds.

The Sword Venerable Ning’s fall into Devilhood shook the Three Realms and Four Regions.

Devil Cultivators were wicked by nature. Fearing their resurgence, thousands of Daoist followers banded together and marched into the Savage Wilds, hoping to strike first.

Upon arriving, everyone was stunned to discover that, in the mere span of a few days, the fallen Sword Venerable Ning had already forcibly unified the Devil Cultivators of the Savage Wilds with an iron hand.

Everyone, once again: “…”

F-fine then. As long as you’re happy.

From then on, the Devil Cultivators rarely plagued the Four Regions, and relations between the Savage Wilds and the other regions gradually eased.

Since falling into Devilhood, Ning Yu had rarely left the Savage Wilds. This was Song Jingsheng’s first time seeing him—the Devil Cultivator’s aura was by nature eerie, yet not a wisp of evil could be sensed from this man. Even fallen, he remained exactly that frost-cold figure, the air around him icy and menacing, warning everyone not to come close.

Yi Xuefeng, in a complete daze, was nudged forward by Song Jingsheng until he stood before Ning Yu—and the moment he lifted his head, he met those glacial, sinister eyes.

An involuntary shiver ran through Yi Xuefeng.

Ning Yu frowned at him and tapped a finger lightly on the table. The boiling water froze to ice instantly, cracks spidering through the porcelain cup.

That faint sound seemed to strike Yi Xuefeng directly in the heart. With great difficulty, he managed, “Sword Venerable…”

Ning Yu regarded him for a long while before finally speaking. “Sixteen years old, and only just reaching Core Formation. This is what you all call respectable Spirit Vein talent?”

Song Jingsheng looked at Ning Yu in confusion, not understanding why he was asking this.

Yi Xuefeng hung his head, cowering like a quail. The next words will be…

Trash.

Ning Yu was merciless. Coldly: “Trash.”

Song Jingsheng: “…”

She glanced tentatively at Yi Xuefeng—and found that the scolded youth had not flown into a furious rage as he once would have. Instead, he looked somewhat deflated.

Lord Linfan had only mentioned Lin Fuyu acknowledging Ning Yu as Adoptive Father in passing, and Song Jingsheng had brought it up precisely to probe Ning Yu’s attitude toward Lin Fuyu. Who knew the Sword Venerable would be so unceremonious.

Even with Song Jingsheng’s sharp mind, she couldn’t tell whether this attitude was disgust—or intimacy.

Yi Xuefeng didn’t much react. Go ahead and curse Lin Fuyu. What does that have to do with me, Yi Xuefeng?

Having finished his scolding, Ning Yu turned his gaze back to the lake beyond the pavilion, apparently deeming further conversation a waste of breath.

Just then, a disciple came in from outside and whispered something into Song Jingsheng’s ear. Her beautiful eyes sharpened; after a moment’s thought, she mouthed silently to Yi Xuefeng: Entertain the Sword Venerable in my place. Urgent business calls me away.

Yi Xuefeng nodded.

Song Jingsheng exchanged a few more pleasantries with Ning Yu before departing—during which Ning Yu offered no response whatsoever, cold and infuriating to the last.

Yi Xuefeng hadn’t seen Ning Yu in many, many years. The moment Song Jingsheng was gone, he quietly lifted his head, staring fixedly at Ning Yu’s cold profile.

Ning Yu hadn’t changed much from a hundred years ago—except that those eyes, once filled with ice at all times, had become sinister Devil Eyes, and his ink-black hair had turned a weathered white. To Yi Xuefeng, it all carried a strange air of unreality.

Ning Yu tapped a finger lightly, without turning his head. “What are you looking at?”

Yi Xuefeng promptly retracted his gaze and became deeply invested in studying his own feet.

After a long moment, he couldn’t help himself and said in a small voice, “Sword Venerable, may I sit down?”

Ning Yu paused and turned to look at him.

“My legs hurt,” said Yi Xuefeng.

This body of Lin Fuyu’s truly couldn’t endure the slightest hardship. After only a little standing, his legs were already aching in waves.

Ning Yu’s brows knit tightly, apparently displeased by such a pampered display.

Yi Xuefeng didn’t wait for permission—he hopped the two small steps to the chair nearby and, bracing on the armrest, prepared to sit.

Ning Yu’s fingertip touched the table, and the frost in the cup came racing across the entire tabletop—shhk—rising into a thicket of needle-sharp ice spikes planted square across the chair.

Yi Xuefeng very nearly drove his palm straight onto the ice. He snatched his hand back and stumbled several steps away, staring at Ning Yu with his heart still pounding.

“Did your father never teach you that the Dao and the Devil Walk Different Paths?” Ning Yu said. “Don’t come near me. If you want to sit, sit somewhere else.”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

There it is.

The good old ‘different paths.’

The last time he’d heard those words, Ning Yu had been the sword-revered Daoist Cultivator worshipped by the world, and Yi Xuefeng the Devil Cultivator Sovereign spat upon by all. Now, a hundred years gone, they met again with their positions utterly reversed.

Yet even fallen into Devilhood, Ning Yu would never be abandoned by the world the way Yi Xuefeng had been. Wherever he stood, he had never once been subject to anyone’s will—instead, it was he who used every means to make others bow and obey.

And though seas had turned to mulberry fields, that one phrase—”the Dao and the Devil Walk Different Paths”—remained exactly the same.

Yi Xuefeng didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Fate toys with people, but surely not like this.

Seeing the undisguised cold in Ning Yu’s eyes, Yi Xuefeng couldn’t predict what his reaction would be if he confessed his true identity here and now.

Yi Xuefeng tested the waters. “Haven’t the Savage Wilds and the Four Regions shaken hands and made peace these past years? Sword Venerable, the phrase ‘different paths’ hardly seems appropriate anymore, does it?”

Ning Yu said coldly, “Your cultivation is low, but your nerve certainly isn’t.”

Yi Xuefeng was about to speak again when Ning Yu—who had been watching him with cold indifference all this while—suddenly gave a tremor. His gaze had landed on Yi Xuefeng’s hair.

The Qieyun Sword, pinned in Yi Xuefeng’s hair, suddenly cried out, “Wah, Dad! He’s looking at me!”

Yi Xuefeng went blank—only then belatedly realizing that in his haste, he had forgotten to take Qieyun out.

Ning Yu raised his hand and, with an offhand little flick, hooked it through the air. Qieyun gave a scream as Ning Yu’s Spiritual Power dragged it, sword and all, straight across the room.

Yi Xuefeng instinctively grabbed for it, but Ning Yu gave him no chance. In his haste, Yi Xuefeng had time only to transmit to Qieyun: Don’t expose my identity!

Ning Yu’s present cold-faced, cold-hearted, unreadable nature filled Yi Xuefeng with instinctive dread. If he learned that Yi Xuefeng had seized Lin Fuyu’s body, would he conclude that some wicked devil’s art had been used to steal this shell? It was impossible to say.

And if his own death truly had involved Ning Yu—if his identity were exposed, Ning Yu would never let him live.

However reluctant he was to suspect Ning Yu, until the truth was uncovered, caution in all things was best.

This second life had not come easily. Yi Xuefeng had no intention of dying carelessly—least of all at Ning Yu’s hands.

Qieyun howled—and the next instant, it was clenched in Ning Yu’s palm.

“Linfan certainly doted on you, leaving you even Qieyun.” Ning Yu turned the hairpin between his fingers. “Though the you of today isn’t worthy of it yet.”

With the hairpin gone, Yi Xuefeng’s ink-black hair came tumbling down in glorious disarray. He hurriedly tried to smooth it with his hands, but he was hopeless at it—after fussing for ages he hadn’t untangled so much as a strand, and had only made himself look more wretched.

Ning Yu tucked the hairpin into his sleeve, took in the state of him, and said without an ounce of mercy, “Truly hideous.”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

And whose fault is that!?

Yi Xuefeng held back. Held back. And failed. He lifted his head and glared at Ning Yu with all the authority of a wet kitten.

“Give it back,” Yi Xuefeng said, tossing caution to the wind. “My father left it to me.”

Ning Yu said, “Then have your father come find me, and I’ll let him know just whose sword this really is.”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

How, after a hundred years apart, has Ning Yu somehow become even more insufferable?

Yi Xuefeng was so angry he kept pressing a hand to his chest. Ning Yu couldn’t be bothered with him any further—he simply waved a hand, gesturing for him to get lost.

Outmatched in skill and unable to bite the man, Yi Xuefeng seized the ends of his hair and fled like the wind.

Huaichen was waiting outside for him. Seeing him in such a state, he startled. “Little Immortal Lord, what happened?”

“Nothing.” Yi Xuefeng shoved his hair messily behind his back, said nothing more, and instead clung to the doorframe of the waterside pavilion, peeking carefully back inside.

Ning Yu had turned away again, staring out at the lake through the window, lost in thought.

That unguarded posture steadied Yi Xuefeng’s heart somewhat. He crouched on the ground and poured a fine thread of Spiritual Power from his fingertips, sneaking it stealthily around toward where Ning Yu sat.

Huaichen’s alarm only deepened. Rumor had long held that the Savage Wilds’ Sword Venerable Ning was ruthless and cold to the bone—only moments ago, the Little Immortal Lord had been rubbing his sleeve raw with fear. How was he now bold enough to attack the Sword Venerable with Spiritual Power?

Yi Xuefeng was just about to retrieve Qieyun without anyone the wiser—but it was as though Ning Yu had grown eyes in the back of his head. The instant that thread of power crept toward his lower back, he seized the slender, feeble line without so much as lowering his head.

Seeing this, Yi Xuefeng cut the flow at once and fled at top speed.

But his present cultivation was simply too weak. He hadn’t managed more than a few steps before a tide-like surge of Spiritual Power wrapped around his waist and hauled him bodily into the air. The enormous pearls on his flamboyant lapel snapped their threads and clattered across the ground in a glittering rain.

Huaichen screamed, “Little Immortal Lord!”

Ning Yu remained seated in the pavilion, the cold in those scarlet eyes visible even through the gaps in the bamboo blinds.

Yi Xuefeng stabilized himself in midair with great effort and proved fully capable of bending when bending was due: “Spare me, Sword Venerable! I know I was wrong!”

He capitulated far too fast. Even Ning Yu, who had intended to dress him down, found the words jammed in his throat by that instant apology.

Ning Yu withdrew the Spiritual Power, and Yi Xuefeng dropped out of the air. His legs buckled on landing and he nearly went down entirely, saved only by Huaichen’s outstretched arm.

Ning Yu said coldly, “If there is a next time…”

Before the threat could even finish, Yi Xuefeng had grabbed Huaichen and bolted like a rabbit.

Ning Yu: “…”

By the time Yi Xuefeng made it back to his quarters, he was still trembling with lingering terror. The Ning Yu of today truly was more frightening than the one of a hundred years ago—when that ferocious Spiritual Power had coiled around him, even now his whole body shivered at the memory.

But once he calmed down, worry crept in. Qieyun had never once learned to hold its tongue. If it slipped up and leaked something, Ning Yu might well fetch his sword and carve up this Fierce Ghost of a tenant.

“No. I have to get Qieyun back.” Thinking this, Yi Xuefeng closed his eyes, intending to summon Qieyun by force the way he had yesterday.

But no matter how many times he tried, the thread of Qieyun’s power seemed sealed by something, utterly unmoved by his call.

Yi Xuefeng opened his eyes, nonplussed.

Huaichen, standing at his side and watching his expression shift again and again, gathered his courage and asked, “Did the Little Immortal Lord have some unpleasantness with Sword Venerable Ning?”

Yi Xuefeng gave a vague nod. Then, some thought or other sparking, he said abruptly, “You said earlier that Sword Venerable Ning’s lodging had already been arranged, yes?”

Huaichen nodded, not understanding where this was going.

“Then where is he staying?”

That night, the rain still fell without pause.

Yi Xuefeng, clad head to toe in black nightclothes, leapt down from the wall like a startled swan, landing soundlessly on the corridor.

Ning Yu’s quarters weren’t far from his own. Because the Sword Venerable prized quiet, Song Jingsheng had assigned no extra servants to attend him—only two Shadow Guards standing faithfully at the door.

Yi Xuefeng slipped in without the slightest difficulty. Reaching the side of a certain window, he crouched below the lattice and finally caught a faint thread of Qieyun’s aura.

“Qieyun?”

Moments later, Qieyun’s voice came thundering back: “WAAAH! Dad! You finally came to save me! The aura on Ning Yu is so terrifying! Is he going to melt me down and reforge me into a new sword!?”

Qieyun was so frightened its voice shook. Yi Xuefeng soothed it with hasty, hollow words, “Don’t be afraid. I’m sneaking you out of here.”

Qieyun whimpered on and on.

“Even if your dad loses his life doing it, I will get you out of the tiger’s jaws,” Yi Xuefeng declared.

Qieyun, deeply moved: “Dad!”

Yi Xuefeng: “Son!”

The two transmitted to each other, brimming with tender devotion.

The next instant, Qieyun suddenly said, “Dad, Ning Yu seems to have noticed you. He’s heading for the window right now.”

Yi Xuefeng decided in a flash: “Son, take care of yourself!”

And with that, he shot away like the wind.

Qieyun: “…”