Chapter 77 Part 2

Silence and deathly stillness enveloped him from all sides. Wen Liuhe had lost too much blood. His heavy eyelids drooped, his consciousness grew increasingly hazy, and in his fading vision, there was only that bloodstained broken sword lying on the grass.

In his daze, Wen Liuhe seemed to hear the cry of a fox.

Finally, he passed out completely.

A gust of wind blew through the hall, shaking the glazed lanterns hanging from the eaves. The lamp wicks swayed unsteadily, their faint glow nearly extinguished by the draft.

Moonlight shone silently, spilling like clear water over the misty outlines of the mountain peaks. The wind made the glazed lanterns clink and sway.

A pair of pale bare feet stepped onto the moonlit-wet stone steps. The foot emerged from snow-white robes, its arch forming a smooth curve with faint blue veins visible beneath the skin, speckled with bits of grass and dirt.

Shen Yu had rushed over. Startled awake from his dream, his heart had pounded nonstop. He had only thrown on an outer robe over his thin undergarments before hurrying out the door.

Shen Yu did not often sleep, but the recent string of events had truly left him restless. When he awoke, the window had been blown open by the wind, and pale moonlight fell on the lifelike clay little crane on the windowsill.

The breeze happened to whistle into the crane’s sounding chamber. The oddly shaped clay whistle let out a loud, clear note.

It was so resounding—why did it sound so mournful?

Outside the Spirit Hall where the soul lamps of Taichu Immortal Sect disciples were kept, the one-eyed elder sat cross-legged with a bamboo staff in his arms, a conical hat on his head. He lifted his cloudy eyes toward the white-robed immortal who had come to visit at night.

Shen Yu lowered his gaze to meet the elder’s.

The elder spoke, as if lost in distant memories. He pinched his fingers slightly, his voice hoarse. “You’ve grown this tall.”

Shen Yu nodded and responded with a sound.

The elder had divined his purpose. He glanced at Shen Yu and lightly tapped the hall door with his bamboo staff.

“Click.” The ancient doors creaked open. A massive buildwood tree supported the entire grand hall. Countless greenish soul lamps flickered to life amid the formation woven into the ancient tree’s canopy. The soul lamps swayed and shifted in the spiritual mist, while murals on the walls flowed with ancient myths from the Cultivation World.

Shen Yu rubbed his weary brow and summoned Wen Liuhe’s soul lamp.

His slender fingers suddenly tightened around the lamp. Pale blue veins bulged beneath his cold white skin.

The flame was as weak as a bean, a sign it was about to go out.

Shen Yu froze.

“Seen enough?”

The elder’s voice was low and forceful, pulling Shen Yu back to the present. Shen Yu lowered his eyes, set down the soul lamp, thanked the elder, and turned to leave—only to be called back.

“Many years ago, at Wen He’s request, I observed the stars at night to glimpse the heavenly secrets regarding your emotional tribulation. There were two stars on it—one bright, one dim; one real, one illusory. The former obscured the latter. Do you know what that means?”

Shen Yu pursed his lips. “What does it mean?”

The elder looked at him. “Perhaps you have never truly passed your emotional tribulation.”

Shen Yu lowered his gaze, his long, ink-black lashes veiling his thoughts. A moment later, he smiled. “Thank you for the reminder, senior.”

With that, Shen Yu rose and departed.

That snow-white figure gradually blended into the night. The elder watched him go, tapping his bamboo staff lightly to close the Spirit Hall doors. Only after the figure vanished completely did he shake his head with a sigh, clutching his staff and closing his eyes.

In the room, the lamp flame flickered like a bean. Shen Yu snipped off a lock of his hair. It turned from black to white, sprouted limbs, kicked out legs, and instantly transformed into a snow fox avatar.

Shen Yu smiled and rubbed the snow fox’s head. He fastened a small blue pouch of spiritual medicines to its back, then sent a wisp of divine sense into its body. He pressed the clay whistle to its red nose, letting the snow fox memorize the scent.

Once finished, he lowered his eyes, his low, captivating voice falling softly.

“Go.”

The snow fox darted from the room and soon vanished into the night.

As the distance grew, the divine sense link between man and fox quickly severed.

Shen Yu closed his eyes and tried to swap his divine sense through the break. He had sneaked off the mountain this way as a youth—never imagining he’d be regressing like this now.

When Shen Yu opened his eyes again in the fox’s body, the first thing he saw was blood. The thick stench assaulted his nose.

Wen Liuhe lay covered in blood beside a secluded thicket, his face pale as paper, black hair disheveled, his entire form ragged and wretched. The blood on his right shoulder and chest had turned from bright red to dark brown.

Shen Yu frowned and immediately extended a fluffy paw to check his breathing.

A faint breath brushed the paw. He was still alive.

Shen Yu’s heart eased.

The snow fox narrowed its eyes and scanned warily. Though the thicket provided cover, the area was open—others might come by. He needed to get Wen Liuhe to safety quickly.

Shen Yu licked his paw, then hooked Wen Liuhe’s hand and tried to drag him out.

He didn’t budge.

Shen Yu: “…”

He had forgotten he was just a little fox now.

He flicked his fluffy tail and scanned around with narrowed eyes. He spotted the bloodstained broken sword on the grass. Noticing his gaze, the blade trembled slightly and buzzed.

Shen Yu smashed it down with one paw. The broken sword was sentient and vibrated twice in indignant protest after the smack. It was a divine sword acclaimed by the world, capable of invoking heavenly laws—

Though it had never done so even once.

Still, it wouldn’t let a snow fox suppress its dignity!

Shen Yu pinned its struggles. The snow fox was chubby, all plush and doughy, with pink insides to its ears and thick fur. It looked less like a fox and more like a fat little cat.

The cat-fox pinned the sword with one paw while firmly pointing the other at Wen Liuhe, then the bloodstains on the ground, then the surroundings—”This place is dangerous.” Its short little legs kicked the ground—”We need to go”—

Broken sword: ?

Shen Yu: “…”

The fox and sword’s first communication ended in failure. The fox paw-slapped its own face in helpless exasperation.

The snow fox’s eyes suddenly lit up. It jumped onto Wen Liuhe, gripped his collar with its teeth, and tugged outward while glaring fiercely at the broken sword.

After a few tries, the broken sword finally got it. With a buzz, it flew over.

The blade hooked Wen Liuhe’s collar and yanked him airborne in an instant.

It flew too fast. Shen Yu hurriedly stretched out a paw and latched onto Wen Liuhe’s neck, barely avoiding being flung off.

One man, one fox, one sword soon found a hidden valley.

Upon reaching safety, Shen Yu released Wen Liuhe’s neck, jumped down from him, removed the pouch from his back, and opened it. He narrowed his eyes at Wen Liuhe’s wounds, his brow slowly furrowing.

Shen Yu sighed inwardly. With a paw, he gently tore open the bloodied fabric on his body. A lotus leaf curled in his fluffy tail. First, he used clean cloth dipped in water to clean the wounds.

After a simple wash, he applied medicine. Once done, Shen Yu was exhausted. He was just a frail little fox now—his stamina wasn’t great.

He wondered if the Heavenly Dao would notice these actions. This world’s Heavenly Dao was so strong that he and 007 had been cautious for years, barely even communicating, fully immersed in their roles.

His tail swept the ground, curling up the used vials and tossing them into flowing spring water.

With everything finished, Shen Yu curled his limbs into a fluffy white ball and closed his eyes to sleep.

When Wen Liuhe awoke, a foreign presence sparked killing intent in his heart. He snapped open his eyes and summoned his lifebound sword—only to freeze upon seeing the familiar fluffy form.

Wen Liuhe’s narrow eyes narrowed further. He saw that his left shoulder and chest wounds had been simply treated—clearly the snow fox’s doing.

His fingers tightened on the hilt. This snow fox had kept him company for three months on Reflection Cliff, but its appearance here was too suspicious.

Should he kill it?

The snow-white fox ball was oblivious to the killing intent nearby. It lazily rolled over, exposing its fluffy belly with hints of pink skin.

A pair of lazy, smiling eyes suddenly flashed through Wen Liuhe’s mind.

His heart ached and soured like a waterlogged flower, but thankfully, that disgusting heart demon had not reappeared.

Wen Liuhe lowered his eyelids and looked at the snow fox lazily sunning itself. In the end, he released the hilt and casually tossed the sword aside.

The valley entrance was hidden, its interior narrow with abundant vegetation and flowing spring water—perfect for recuperation. They stayed for several days.

A sharpened wooden stick flashed like lightning through the water surface, precisely impaling a fish.

Wen Liuhe pulled it out and placed it on the spread green lotus leaf nearby. Turning back, he met the snow fox’s eager gaze.

Wen Liuhe extended the stick.

Shen Yu licked his forepaw, eyed the stick curiously, tilted his head at Wen Liuhe, then tentatively pounced toward it.

Wen Liuhe jerked it upward like he was teasing a cat.

Shen Yu: “…”

Enraged, Shen Yu leaped into the stream. His tail whipped up water at Wen Liuhe’s face, then he snatched a silver fish with a swift paw and hurled it at him in a huff.

The live fish flopped wildly, splashing water even in midair.

Wen Liuhe caught it and watched the bristling little fox, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

Night deepened slightly. Crackling firewood popped, the fish roasting to golden brown over the flames. Moisture steamed away, the flesh tightening into elastic succulence.

A tantalizing aroma wafted from the meat.

Shen Yu’s nose twitched—he was drooling.

This cooking skill really depended on the chef. With no seasonings, just some wild aromatic herbs sprinkled on the thin fish skin, Wen Liuhe made it a feast for eyes, nose, and tongue.

Shen Yu couldn’t manage that. In his first world, during his escape, he had just shoved whatever filled the belly.

A roasted fish was handed over. Shen Yu grabbed it and ate gracefully.

Wen Liuhe’s gaze lingered darkly on his eating motions, growing distant. He suddenly spoke. “The way you eat reminds me of my master. Slow movements, eyes lowered, very quiet.”

Shen Yu’s actions halted, surprise stirring in his heart. For a moment, he thought he’d been exposed.

But even the Heavenly Dao hadn’t noticed, let alone Wen Liuhe. Reassured, his heart settled, and he resumed eating.

A hand suddenly landed on his head, pressing it down. Shen Yu flicked his tail to protest—then heard Wen Liuhe’s voice.

“I don’t believe Master really wants to kill me. He’s just stubborn. Once I marry Master home, we’ll punish him by making him bear a child for me, okay?”

Shen Yu jerked his head back, dodging the demonic hand, then smacked it away viciously with a paw.

Besides, he was male—a real man. As if he could bear a child.

Wen Liuhe seemed to realize it too, his brow furrowing slightly. “But men can’t bear children. Then you, little fox, can be our child.”

Shen Yu: “…”

Night deepened. A sickening sweetness surged in his throat again. Wen Liuhe turned away, curling into himself. He bit his lower lip hard, chest heaving, breaths pained.

Nights were when spiritual energy and demonic qi turned his body into a battlefield since he refused to succumb to the demonic path.

The two forces clashed inside him, riddling his organs with holes.

Shen Yu circled him anxiously, heart sinking.

Truth be told, Shen Yu didn’t understand why Wen Liuhe insisted on suffering like this.

In the original plot, Wen Liuhe fell to the demonic path cleanly. Now the plot stalled—if it dragged on, the Heavenly Dao would notice the anomaly and eject him from the world.

He had said no romance line last world, but who knew this world’s Heavenly Dao was so overbearing? His persona, plot, and target lines tangled inescapably, forcing an adventurous path.

So, not entirely clueless.

Wen Liuhe still clung to hope.

That hope was something Shen Yu had personally planted during their decade of unchanging companionship—so naturally, he had to resolve it.

Shen Yu stopped and squatted before Wen Liuhe, lowering his eyes.

Did he really have to appear in person to sever his lingering thoughts?

Wen Liuhe sensed his anxiety. He lifted his heavy eyelids and asked him in a hoarse voice, “What’s wrong?”

That voice sounded like it had been squeezed out of a broken bellows, terribly raspy.

A chubby snow fox squatted in his field of vision. Its tail swayed back and forth, and the whiskers around its mouth were still stained with bits of fish meat.

Wen Liuhe hacked up a mouthful of blood from his throat.

“Cough cough, I forgot you can’t speak. If you still want grilled fish, tap my index finger three times. I’m in too much pain right now to grill any for you, so you’d better not make any moves.”

Shen Yu: “……”

The snow fox drooped its ears and let out a heavy sigh.

Perhaps it was time for all this to settle like dust.

Ten thousand li away at Changliu Mountain, the sound of pines melted into the moonlight. A whistle emerged softly from slightly parted lips, echoing across the empty, desolate peaks.

Shen Yu withdrew his divine sense and set down the clay whistle.

The white-clothed man’s long, silken eyelashes drooped, veiling his rippling eyes.

Moments later, he rose with sword in hand.