Chapter 78

Although the valley was hidden, he couldn’t stay there for long. Wen Liuhe lowered his eyes, his eyelids twitching continuously. From the subtle fluctuations in the air, he vaguely sensed something wrong.

His ominous premonition soon came true.

The major immortal sects had entered the Forbidden Forest from the Moon Grotto and quickly tracked down the traces of his hiding place.

Damn it.

A fierce glint flashed between Wen Liuhe’s brows. He kicked a stone by his feet hard into the river. With a stretch of his long arm, he scooped up the dozing fox into his arms and hurried away from the valley along the narrow path, the Broken Sword on his back.

The two sides chased each other relentlessly. Wen Liuhe escaped death time and again, brushing past it several times. Perhaps due to the long period of fleeing with him, the Snow Fox had been extremely listless lately. Its pair of lively eyes were always half-closed, wilted by the snow before winter even arrived.

Its pointed ears drooped as well, no longer as lively and active as before. Its front paws delicately rested on Wen Liuhe’s arm, its head slumped, listlessly curled up in his embrace.

The mountain ridge was narrow, and the cold wind cut like knives across their faces.

Lush cloud trees emerged around them, vast and misty, with millions of branches swaying in the cold wind, sending waves through the pines as their breaths turned to fog.

The mountain winds were unusually strong that day, carrying the momentum of an impending storm. The howling gales made the hem of Wen Liuhe’s robes flap loudly. The sword in his hand had a dulled edge—it was one he had snatched from an immortal sect disciple who had always pursued him, and its blade was now stained with blood.

Several wounds on his arm were oozing blood. Wen Liuhe narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze scanning around for an escape route, but aside from the steep mountain walls, there was nothing else.

Tch, trouble.

Wen Liuhe held the fox in one arm and gripped the sword hilt tightly with the other, determined to fight his way out. He turned around and suddenly shrank his pupils upon seeing that familiar figure.

The narrow mountain ridge turned into a green ribbon amid the vast greenery, like a massive green-scaled serpent weaving through it. Shen Yu wore pristine white robes, his arms crossed. He cradled a sword in his embrace, his long hair tied into a ponytail with a jade crown, standing lazily not far away.

The man’s posture was casual, his long brows slanting into his temples. His captivating eyes held a nonchalant smile. He held his sword with elegant poise, faintly revealing the spirited vigor of his youth. A section of snow-white wrist peeked from his pure white robes, slender fingers tapping the sword body idly, the faint blue veins on the back of his hand stretching and twitching with each tap.

Though the tapping rhythm was slow, it lacked any pattern. Each strike on the sword body tugged at others’ emotions, bringing an intense sense of oppression.

The man before him was clearly smiling, yet it lacked the usual warmth like a spring breeze.

Was it because the mountain winds were too cold at that moment?

Upon clearly seeing the person before him, Wen Liuhe froze in place. Various thoughts and emotions flooded his mind like a breached dam.

He wanted to ask why he was here, yet he feared digging deeper and hearing an answer he didn’t want. The two emotions pulled at him, leaving him stuck in limbo, his chest tight and panicked, his aching heart prickling with dense pain, even making his nose sour.

In the end, Wen Liuhe opened his mouth, and a thousand words reduced to a single call.

“Mas—”

“Shh.”

Shen Yu’s lips curved into a slight arc. He raised a finger to his lips, stopping the next word from Wen Liuhe.

He lifted his thin eyelids, his gaze spilling from beneath his thick lashes, carrying a hint of amusement and scrutiny as he looked at Wen Liuhe. That look was exactly the same as when he gazed at any demon or fiend about to die by his hand.

Deep within those peach-blossom eyes, there might have once been something else.

But that emotion was like the mist drifting over the Changliu Mountains—not clouds, just thin fog that gathered quickly but scattered with a single gust of wind.

It was a gaze utterly unfamiliar to him, an expression Wen Liuhe had never seen before.

It wasn’t Shen Yu looking at Wen Liuhe, nor a master looking at his disciple.

It was the Sword Lord of Taichu, looking at a demon?

Shen Yu waved his hand, signaling the wary disciples beside him to step back.

He took a step forward, drew the gleaming blade from its sheath, and said little. He was always terse when slaying demons, aiming only for speed. The longsword flew out at once, thrusting toward Wen Liuhe.

A flash of cold light—only when Shen Yu’s icy-sharp sword stabbed toward him did Wen Liuhe suddenly react.

Wen Liuhe directly blocked the incoming longsword with his sword hand. The dulled sword in his grip fell away, the blade scraping across flesh. The air immediately filled with the scent of blood as red liquid seeped from between the bones of his fingers clutching the sword body.

Shen Yu’s lips pressed into a thin line. He hadn’t expected Wen Liuhe to not even resist, blocking with his bare hand. A flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes.

Shen Yu paused his movement. Was this to make him hesitate out of softness?

He lowered his gaze, and the longsword advanced another inch without hesitation, pressing against Wen Liuhe’s chest.

The mountains fell silent, the winds fell silent, and the air carried a damp, bloody tang.

Red liquid trickled down the gleaming sword blade, forming beads of blood midway that fell silently to the ground with a “plop,” like blood tears wept by the sword.

The fox, which had been listless in his arms, twitched its ears and instantly opened its eyes. Its limbs struggled, and sensing danger, it quickly leaped from Wen Liuhe’s embrace.

In the past, it definitely couldn’t have broken free, but now Wen Liuhe’s mind was elsewhere, so it escaped with a single shake.

The Snow Fox’s front paws hit the ground, its fur bristling all over.

A stabbing pain came from his chest. Wen Liuhe’s throat bobbed, his tongue pressed hard against his teeth. His pitch-black eyes stared straight at the sword-wielding Shen Yu. Sickly obsession, anguish, thirst, sorrow, joy, hatred—all emotions surged deep in those eyes, finally condensing into thick ink.

His voice hoarse, with so many words stuck in his throat, what came out was a nearly humble plea:

“You’re fake too, right? Another illusion created by those damn things?”

At that moment, Wen Liuhe thought: As long as you say you’re fake, as long as you lie to me then, I won’t believe any of this. I won’t believe it.

Lie to me.

Lie to me—I’m easy to fool.

Shen Yu’s hand tightened on the sword hilt. He abruptly pulled the sword back.

The gleaming tip pointed to the ground, red liquid rolling down along the blade onto the rough stones.

Shen Yu’s gaze fell on Wen Liuhe’s face. He gripped the hilt and spoke: “Considering our past relationship, I can spare you.”

Wen Liuhe blinked slowly.

“But from now on, I won’t acknowledge you.”

Won’t acknowledge me?

Wen Liuhe’s fingers turned ice-cold. The hand that hadn’t trembled even when leaping off a cliff or stabbing his own heart now shook.

The fox circled anxiously, its nose twitching as it sniffed around, probing for cracks in the sealing array.

The demon race had been suppressed for years, and spiritual energy in the Cultivation World grew thinner. Fewer geniuses emerged, and without seven-star reinforcement, cracks had long formed in the array.

But the cracks were narrow, leading to the most perilous depths of the Demon Domain, where all sorts of vicious ghosts roamed, order was chaos, and Malicious Entities fed on flesh and blood. Those who fell in rarely escaped alive, and even demons trying to emerge through the cracks faced nine deaths to one life.

But there was always that one life.

The Snow Fox extended its claw, demonic qi gathering at its tip, and swiped into the air.

“Boom!”—

Dark clouds began gathering in the sky, thick clouds like rolling waves surging in from all directions. The already gloomy weather darkened further, inky as if water could drip from it, eerie and ominous.

Cold winds rose, tree branches swayed, and a gale howled as a storm approached.

The whistling winds pushed the air to the brink of collapse.

A rift suddenly tore open in the sky, like a scar ripped cleanly from top to bottom. Eerie red mist surged from beneath the scar, enveloping the man and the fox.

The Snow Fox extended its front paw, glanced back at Shen Yu, then pawed at Wen Liuhe’s leg, urgently signaling him to hurry.

Suddenly, a sharp sword light streaked out.

A spray of blood flashed before Wen Liuhe’s eyes.

One sword pierced straight through the Snow Fox’s soft white body, pinning it to the cliff rock. The demon core shattered, no blood spilled—it directly turned into scattering snowflakes, dispersed by the wind into the air.

Wen Liuhe instinctively reached out, his head lowered, light and shadow flickering across his sharply defined face, everything alternating between light and dark.

The surging demonic qi on Wen Liuhe erupted violently. The surrounding disciples’ faces changed drastically, and they immediately surrounded him.

In that moment, Wen Liuhe suddenly thought of many things. He wanted to laugh it off dashingly, as carefree as possible, just like that day he had swung his sword to sever the Master Bell.

Decisively, freely, boldly, without fear.

But Wen Liuhe realized he was wrong.

He realized that the root of his fearlessness had all been built on the belief that Shen Yu wouldn’t bear to hurt him. That’s why he dared cut off the Master Bell, dared to betray Taichu without hesitation—because he was confident Shen Yu would soften.

No matter the reason, softening was softening.

But only when Wen Liuhe truly stood opposed to this man did he feel how unrealistic that notion had been.

His notion shattered, cracking inch by inch, fragmenting piece by piece.

The cold wind on the ridge poured in like knives. Wen Liuhe felt like a piece of iron being forged in flames, his bones and flesh growing transparent under the intense heat, turning into a red-hot branding iron.

In that transparent, searing mass, he was squeezed until he couldn’t breathe.

The instantly gathered demonic qi caused the narrow rift to the Demon Domain behind him to rip wide open.

Wen Liuhe raised his head and suddenly burst into laughter.

Moments later, Wen Liuhe laughed enough and quieted down. His expression hid in the murky fog, growing ever more aggressive and dangerous.

Wen Liuhe’s gaze locked tightly onto Shen Yu.

He suddenly stepped back.

Shen Yu’s eyelid twitched. Unease and foreboding crawled into his heart like cold snakes. Sensing Wen Liuhe’s movement, he instantly knew something was wrong. With a thought, he summoned the Evil-Exorcising Sword from his Sword Bone.

A chilling sword light flashed—extremely fast—

But Wen Liuhe was faster.

Red mist roiled, and he was swallowed by the rift almost instantly.

Shen Yu stepped forward, but the rift closed abruptly. In the final moment before it sealed, Shen Yu lowered his long lashes.

The two stared at each other across the twisted space and boundary.

Shen Yu suddenly saw clearly into those eyes, and his heart trembled.

They were a pair of scarlet eyes, gaze icy cold, piercing like glacial blades.