Chapter 18: The Discipline Inscription

Yi Xuefeng vaulted down from the wall and tore off at a sprint.

It seemed that ever since his rebirth—ever since meeting Ning Yu—all he had done was run.

He raced back to his room in a panic. The moment he pushed the door open, Qieyun, who had waited all night, flew bodily at him, clinging on with eyes brimming with tears. “Dad!”

But contrary to all habit, Yi Xuefeng didn’t catch him. Instead he seized him by the collar and pushed him away. His pupils slightly unfocused, he stared helplessly into the empty air, breathing in ragged pants. “He knows… he knows!”

Qieyun: “What?”

Yi Xuefeng pressed a hand to his frantically pounding heart, voice hoarse. “He’s taking me to Cold Huai River’s Clear Spring—he must know. My injuries flared all night; anyone but a fool could see the signs. Ning Yu… Ning Yu!“

When Ning Yu had raised his hand to steady him, Yi Xuefeng’s heart had lurched violently, a dreadful premonition rising in his chest.

That feeling had peaked the moment Ning Yu, his expression unreadable, said he would take him to the Clear Spring.

Yi Xuefeng had originally had no idea what Cold Huai River’s Clear Spring even was—but inspiration had struck in a flash, and he’d suddenly recalled the contents of that book on the Immortal Grand Assembly he’d read only yesterday.

The Clear Spring of Cold Huai River was where Cold Huai River disciples traditionally received their Admonition Word upon coming of age. The clear spring symbolized washing away stray thoughts and devoting the heart wholly to the Dao.

And ever since the Immortal Grand Assembly was moved to Cloudland City, the Clear Spring had gained a second meaning.

Every participant in the Immortal Grand Assembly was required to pass beneath the Clear Spring’s waterfall, drenched by its waters, to prove the purity of their Dao heart.

As for the final, entirely optional line of fine print, Yi Xuefeng had only given it a careless glance—the Clear Spring can detect Ghost Aura.

Even in Yi Xuefeng’s own era, Body Seizure was the most despised crime in all Three Realms, a thing everyone had the right to execute on sight—loathed even more than Devil Cultivators and Ghost Cultivators.

Ning Yu, proposing to take him to the Clear Spring for no reason at all. The intent could not have been plainer.

Qieyun called his name over and over, but Yi Xuefeng seemed to hear nothing, only murmuring Ning Yu’s name under his breath—whether in fear or in resentment, impossible to say.

Qieyun couldn’t bear to see him like this. Pressing his ice-cold hand flat against Yi Xuefeng’s burning cheek, he raised his voice. “Yi Xuefeng!“

The icy touch jolted him; Yi Xuefeng flinched hard, blinking at him blankly.

Qieyun’s fingers stroked gently along Yi Xuefeng’s pale face, and he said softly, “He still knows nothing—otherwise he wouldn’t have reacted like that. Besides, Ning Yu is your Senior Martial Brother. You two depended on each other at Returning Swan Mountain all those years. He has no reason to kill you.”

Yi Xuefeng murmured, “What if…”

Qieyun said carefully, “Hm?”

“What if he does?”

Qieyun froze.

“He hates me…” Yi Xuefeng gazed, desolate, at his own trembling fingertips. “If he hates me…”

Seeing Yi Xuefeng so utterly soul-lost, and recalling Ning Yu’s ice-cold word hate from last night, Qieyun found that for once, he did not dare imagine what had truly passed between these two men.

The year Yi Xuefeng Fell into Devilhood, the Qieyun Sword had been damaged and taken by Qiu Manxi to Returning Swan Mountain’s main peak for repairs. And exactly three days later, Ning Yu took Yi Xuefeng to the Savage Wilds.

After that, Yi Xuefeng never came back.

Qieyun didn’t even know how Yi Xuefeng had fallen into devilhood. Every time he asked, all he ever received was some vague, evasive answer.

A hundred years ago, at the edge of the Flame Sea of the Savage Wilds, the Jade Reflection Lord Yi Xuefeng habitually wore a snow-white sable-fur cloak, cradling a Little Hand Warmer as he lounged, dozing, on an incomparably luxurious soft couch gifted by Lord Zhongxin.

Several Snow Spirit Beasts slept draped around him day and night, never leaving his side. When the people of the Savage Wilds came to fetch Qieyun, this was the scene that greeted him.

His dad—always so docile, so well-behaved—was shrouded head to toe in an Evil Demon Devil Aura he couldn’t begin to hide. Hearing footsteps, he lifted his eyes slightly and spared him one languid, bewitching glance, his gaze so heavy with allure it could not be blocked at all.

Qieyun only knew that all of Returning Swan Mountain praised his dad as beautiful beyond the reach of mortals. But to a Sword Spirit, humans fair or hideous were all just two eyes, one nose, one mouth—they simply could not tell a face fair as a celestial from a mud-caked wreck.

But in the instant that devil-fallen Yi Xuefeng lazily lifted his gaze, Qieyun suddenly understood what it meant to hook a soul and steal the breath from one’s lungs.

Qieyun knew that Evil Demon Devil Aura came to all who fell into devilhood—but he had never imagined it would appear on Yi Xuefeng.

He walked over with difficulty and sank to one knee beside the soft couch, tilting his head up at him. “Dad.”

Yi Xuefeng raised a hand and gently stroked his forehead, saying nothing.

The whole area seethed with boiling magma; ordinary people could not so much as stand in such heat. And yet Yi Xuefeng’s hand was cold as ice.

Qieyun murmured, “I was only gone a few days. How did it come to this? Why did you fall into devilhood?”

Yi Xuefeng’s lowered eyes rested on him, a faint flush at the corners that only made his scarlet Devil Eyes more bewitching.

“Hm?” Yi Xuefeng let out a lazy, questioning hum, and smiled faintly. “There’s nothing bad about falling into devilhood.”

Qieyun set his hand on Yi Xuefeng’s knee, insisting on an answer. “Why?”

Yi Xuefeng’s smile slowly faded. He looked at Qieyun for a long, long moment before saying quietly:

“Because I liked it.”

After that, however Qieyun pressed him, that was the only answer he ever gave—a reason that wasn’t a reason at all.

Liked it?

How could anyone abandon the path of a proper Daoist Cultivator to become a Devil Cultivator—spat on by all, like a rat crossing the street?

Qieyun had never been able to understand it. Not to this day.

Yi Xuefeng’s fingers were unconsciously kneading at the gold thread of his cuff, rubbing it over and over. Seeing this, Qieyun raised a hand and pressed his own palm over it, soothing him. “Don’t worry. Even if he takes you to the Clear Spring, nothing will be found. Body Seizure is something only Fierce Ghosts with obsessions too deep would ever do. You…”

Yi Xuefeng looked up at him. “Then what about me? What am I? Am I also a Fierce Ghost?”

Qieyun said, earnestly, “You are Yi Xuefeng. You are not any Fierce Ghost.”

Yi Xuefeng: “But Lin Fuyu—”

Qieyun cut him off. “Must Lin Fuyu necessarily be Lin Fuyu?”

Yi Xuefeng went still.

Qieyun raised his cool hands to hold Yi Xuefeng’s face, pressing his brow to his, his usually childish voice unexpectedly steady and warm. “Don’t be afraid. You are only you. Even if you are a Fierce Ghost, Qieyun will protect you—always.”

Yi Xuefeng felt there was some deeper meaning buried in those words, but when he moved to ask, Qieyun simply gathered him into a gentle embrace—like the tender hugs the two of them had shared after every spar in the old days.

Yi Xuefeng was stunned.

Qieyun whispered at his ear, “Don’t be afraid. All right?”

Feeling the cold seeping off Qieyun, Yi Xuefeng was dazed for a long while before he finally nodded.

For some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Qieyun had somehow changed.

A hundred years had passed. The world remained, but the people in it had changed—even Ning Yu, once immovable as bedrock, had fallen into devilhood. Qieyun… surely could not still be that harmless little creature of the past.

Having just suffered his flare-up, Yi Xuefeng was weak in body and spirit, with no energy left to ponder anything further. He washed up hastily, changed his clothes, and only then took Qieyun to find Ning Yu.

Qieyun, tucked into his hair, whispered encouragement: “Don’t be scared of that Old Scoundrel. How old is he, still ordering you around? Dad, you’re young now—you’re allowed to be arrogant!”

The “arrogant” Yi Xuefeng: “…”

He drew a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Ning Yu was still seated in the soft chair by the window, looking down at something in his hands. At the sudden sound, he jerked his hand back—a flash of red vanishing up his sleeve.

Qieyun howled, “That’s my Sword Tassel!”

Yi Xuefeng looked at him absently, stepping forward slowly. “Sword Venerable.”

Ning Yu glanced at him. “Not running anymore?”

Yi Xuefeng met his gaze across the room, shaking his head slowly. “Are we still going to the Clear Spring?”

When Ning Yu had first announced the trip, Yi Xuefeng, though a storm raged inside, hadn’t changed color in the slightest. Now, having been soothed by Qieyun, he no longer felt that unease upon facing Ning Yu again.

Ning Yu studied him with a frown, but said nothing more—just gave an “mm” and rose, leading the way out.

Yi Xuefeng followed meekly at his heels, head lowered. Halfway there, he slowly lifted his gaze to the broad back three paces ahead.

Ning Yu had been born with rebellion in his bones—heterodox from childhood, his deeds forever impossible to predict.

Yi Xuefeng had been his complete opposite: from boyhood he had done everything strictly by the book, refusing to overstep by half a step. Everyone at Returning Swan Mountain praised Yi Xuefeng as clever and obedient, and as the mountain’s youngest Little Junior Brother, nearly everyone doted on him like a true younger brother.

But after his utterly unheralded fall into devilhood, everyone at Returning Swan Mountain had branded him the mountain’s greatest shame, wishing to carve him to pieces a thousand times over.

—Everyone except Ning Yu.

Yi Xuefeng stared, dazed, at that back—and suddenly realized that across the whole span of the past century, his life had been nothing but a procession of Ning Yu’s backs.

Ning Yu was imperious and cold-blooded; in all things he had to stand above others, move a step ahead. What Yi Xuefeng had seen most in his life was Ning Yu’s back—that back that never once paused.

After watching him for a long while, Yi Xuefeng suddenly quickened his pace and, as if possessed, reached out and took Ning Yu’s broad hand.

Ning Yu startled, frowning back at him.

Yi Xuefeng tilted his face up slightly and asked softly, “Sword Venerable… do you never wait for anyone?”

Ning Yu had no idea why he would ask such a thing. He flung off Yi Xuefeng’s hand and snapped, “Nonsense.”

Yi Xuefeng withdrew his hand, stepping back several paces, and advanced no further.

Soon, the two of them stepped slowly onto the edge of the Clear Spring.

The Clear Spring was a pool of water limpid to its very bottom. Crystalline spring water welled up ceaselessly like strings of pearls, spilling over channels carved into stone, streaming in dense ribbons toward the clear pool not far away.

Yi Xuefeng stood at the moss-grown rim, lowering his eyes slightly to watch the spring water climb up over his feet as though it were alive.

Ning Yu looked down at him. “Have you ever received an Admonition Word?”

Yi Xuefeng froze, staring at him in astonishment.

Ning Yu said, “You’re already this old, and no one has ever brought you to receive the admonition?”

Yi Xuefeng shook his head, bewildered.

Ning Yu said, “Then it’s just as well. Go on—pour your spiritual power into the wellspring.”

Yi Xuefeng didn’t understand. He had assumed Ning Yu brought him here to use the Clear Spring to test whether he was a Body-Seizing Fierce Ghost, and had steeled himself accordingly—but now Ning Yu showed no such intent, speaking instead as though it were ordinary business.

Not daring to ask directly, Yi Xuefeng could only do as told and pour his spiritual power into the wellspring.

In the next instant, a sudden hum detonated beside Yi Xuefeng’s ear—a sound deep and mighty as a great bell, like the very first thunderclap when heaven split from earth, sending wave after wave of ripples crashing through his spirit platform and Sea of Consciousness.

An ancient voice rose at his ear.

“Trapped in a Cage.“

Four characters—that was all it took to nearly wring blood from Yi Xuefeng’s lungs. When he opened his eyes again, Ning Yu still stood where he had been, watching him coldly.

Yi Xuefeng drew a soft breath—only to find that the violent, convulsive agony of moments ago had never existed at all.

Ning Yu said, “How was it?”

Yi Xuefeng told the truth.

Was it his imagination? The instant he spoke the Admonition Word—Trapped in a Cage—the faint lingering light that had been flickering deep in Ning Yu’s eyes abruptly went out.

Yi Xuefeng had received an admonition once before, back at Returning Swan Mountain—only his Admonition Word then had been Floating Clouds and Morning Dew. It was because of it that Qiu Manxi had always assumed him frail and doomed to a short life, forever procuring Spirit Items to gently nourish his body.

And Yi Xuefeng remembered that a person could bear only one Admonition Word in a lifetime. So now, reborn into another body—had his admonition changed with it?

He was still lost in these tangled thoughts when Ning Yu, having managed a whole morning’s “gentleness,” finally revealed his true colors. Raising his hand, he swiftly plucked Qieyun from Yi Xuefeng’s head and transformed him into a black Discipline Ruler.

Yi Xuefeng froze.

Ning Yu smacked the Discipline Ruler lightly against his own palm and said, glacial, “Hand out. That makes eight strikes on the palms, counting this morning’s. Don’t even think about running.”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”