Chapter 61

Ruan Xuezong paused for a moment, then slowly rubbed his fingertip over the inscription several more times. He confirmed that the line was indeed there.

“Sun and Moon Shine Together.”

This was a rare and peculiar astronomical phenomenon—the sun and moon shining side by side, their lights blending as both appeared in the sky at once. Of course, it might also refer to a person. If Ruan Xuezong hadn’t misunderstood, Qu Wangshu’s name carried the implication of the moon. This phrase likely hinted at her origins, adding yet another layer of mystery to the already enigmatic puzzle.

Ruan Xuezong knew one thing for certain. In his previous life, Qu Wangshu had firmly believed herself to be the daughter of Du Qing’e. With her stunning beauty, it made sense that she could be the offspring of that peerless enchantress. Yet after she set off for the Western Regions brimming with joy, she had died in a foreign land. Was it due to some illness from the unfamiliar climate and water, or had the Demonic Sects discarded and killed her once she lost her usefulness? No one knew the truth…

Perhaps he could uncover it in this life.

The Western Regions were vast and sparsely populated, with wildly varied terrain. Ruan Xuezong rode a white steed through endless dunes and barren expanses until he reached a small town near Yumen Pass. Only then did he snap out of his reverie. The Great Desert lacked water, and the scorching heat had drained everyone’s energy. Their waterskins and rations were depleted. They needed to find lodging, restock supplies, or they wouldn’t last two days before thirst claimed them amid the sands.

The town was surprisingly bustling.

Low square houses of sun-baked mud stretched in every direction, and hardy poplar trees dotted the streets. But its position along a key trade route between the Central Plains and the kingdoms of the Western Regions had filled it with vendors. At the town gate, a handful of guards took one look at their Central Plains features, collected a nominal toll, and waved them through without hassle.

The place had a lively vibe.

With dusk approaching, Ruan Xuezong selected an inn. The desert’s weather was extreme—scorching by day like an oven, bone-chilling by night like a freezer. They had no choice but to stay.

The Innkeeper’s Wife showed no surprise at the sight of Ruan Xuezong and his large group of players.

The locals all had rugged features, carved by years of wind and sand, women included. Speaking in halting Central Plains dialect, she said, “Lately, plenty of martial artists with sheepskin papers have come here chasing treasure. You’re not the first batch, and you won’t be the last.”

The players tucked away their sheepskin papers and chuckled. “Sharp eyes, Innkeeper’s Wife. You caught us.”

Her face remained impassive. “Of course. Fools who rush into the desert clueless aren’t the first, and they won’t be the last. The man-eating yellow sands here don’t mess around.” Her words came slow and deliberate, each one hammered out with exaggerated rhythm, sending chills down their spines.

Damn, this NPC’s got a savage mouth. The players fell silent.

After registering them all, the Innkeeper’s Wife added slowly, “Don’t just tie your horses to trees. A sandstorm’s coming. Get the horses and camels into the stable, or the wind will carry them off.”

The players blinked in confusion. What kind of storm could blow away camels? They figured she was exaggerating.

But then the street vendors packed up at lightning speed, rolling their stalls and fleeing. Moments later, a thin line of sand appeared on the horizon. The wind picked up.

Before they knew it, a thick haze engulfed their view. One reckless player flung open a wooden shutter and stuck out his hand. He yanked it back with a yelp of pain. This wasn’t fog—it was a sky full of yellow sand. Camel bells clanged faintly amid the whinnies of panicked horses. The players rushed out to retrieve their precious mounts.

They’d already lost a batch of horses. They’d scraped together coin for these new ones—no way they could afford another loss.

Darkness fell swiftly as sand choked the sky. Winds howled past mud-brick walls and poplars, wailing like ghosts and wolves. The once-bustling town vanished into zero visibility.

The players huddled quietly with Ruan Xuezong inside the inn, savoring the cozy calm within while apocalypse raged outside.

Suddenly, a heavy thud slammed against the door and shutters. The players jumped.

The Innkeeper’s Wife, unfazed, remarked, “Probably some loose camel got swept up.” Sure enough, amid the gale, a jianghu man in tight garb shouted, “My camel—!” But his cry drowned in the roar. His feet lifted off the ground as the storm whisked him away.

“See that?” the Innkeeper’s Wife said coldly. “That’s the desert for you.”

This wasn’t a place for anyone short of grandmaster level. The locals had lived here for generations, thriving where outsiders perished. Deep in the desert, any real treasure would be claimed by the 36 Countries of the Western Regions above or the natives who swam through the sands like fish below. No chance for outlanders to snag scraps.

No sooner had she spoken than a figure emerged from the blinding sandstorm. The man strode through the ravaged town as if the tempest didn’t exist, perfectly steady on his feet.

The players gasped. “Who the hell is that? Walking in this weather?”

The Innkeeper’s Wife paled in shock. “That could be a Half-Step Grandmaster!” A true expert who could brave such conditions numbered fewer than the fingers on one hand, as far as she knew.

“What? A Half-Step Grandmaster!?” The players’ faces filled with horror. In two months of playing, they’d encountered only two: the Sweeping Old Man by Madam Qu’s side, and the antagonist Du Rulan. The former lurked in obscurity until enraged, unleashing Grandmaster Fury that made a thousand spew blood. The latter played the Song at the Hongmen Banquet, its demonic melody tormenting guests near death. Without timely reinforcements, Peacock Manor would have been wiped out.

Now another one?

Ruan Xuezong grew wary too. He’d just ordered a bowl of noodles, but the word “grandmaster” killed his appetite.

He set down his chopsticks slowly and peered outside, wondering who this could be. An old acquaintance from his past life, or a BOSS from the Western Regions Demonic Cult?

The tall shadow drew nearer under their stares, slipping silently through the whirlwind. He pushed open the inn’s door, revealing his face.

A man in black robes, towering stature, high brows and deep-set eyes sharp as daggers. His handsome features were flawless, sculpted from ancient glacial ice high on the plateaus. Wind whipped his robes, sand stung the eyes, but not a speck clung to him.

A closer look revealed red embroidery along his robe’s hem, like blazing flames. His eyes were pitch-black abysses; the inn’s candlelight flickered in them but vanished instantly, swallowed by the ink.

He approached the counter, picked up a portrait, and said coldly, “Have you seen this person?”

His aura was a drawn blade—murderous, edges gleaming.

The Innkeeper’s Wife froze, her face draining of color, pupils contracting at the sight of the image. That split-second flinch caught Qi Hongxin’s eye. He turned slowly.

His gaze locked with Ruan Xuezong’s across the room.

“Found you at last,” Qi Hongxin said. He stared at Ruan Xuezong as if no one else in the world merited a glance.

How to describe Qi Hongxin’s eyes?

They were utterly cold—not the eyes of an assassin steeped in kills, but those of a lofty god. Gods slew without remorse. Anyone meeting those icy pool-like depths shivered involuntarily. Ordinary folk couldn’t hold the stare.

Qi Hongxin was a taciturn loner on missions. He wasted no words.

Ignoring the Innkeeper’s Wife’s strangled scream, he whipped out the blade at his back.

Blade light flashed like lightning, thunderous roar splitting the air. In an instant, tables and chairs splintered into shards.

Ruan Xuezong dodged swiftly, but his bowl of noodles and table lay in ruins.

Now he knew. Qi Hongxin was here on Huo Chonglou’s orders, just as in his previous life—to kill him.

Having clashed before, Ruan Xuezong understood. Qi Hongxin was ice that never warmed, Huo Chonglou’s most trusted adopted son and ideal creation—a blade honed to sever all emotion and desire. Once drawn, it thirsted only for blood.

Ruan Xuezong said, “Are you sure that man’s order was to kill me, not capture me alive?”

He knew Huo Chonglou still had use for him. He was a key piece on that man’s board; no true death order.

Qi Hongxin’s eyes shifted, inscrutable. Then he delivered an even colder truth: “You’re right. He ordered me to capture you alive. But I can beat you half to death first, then drag you in.”

Cold, loyal—a blade through and through. His mind was filled with his adoptive father. Against such a man who struck to kill, reason was futile.

Ruan Xuezong had no desire to die or be captured this life. He bolted decisively into the sandstorm. Qi Hongxin pursued.

“Don’t go out, sir! The storm’s only getting worse!” the Innkeeper’s Wife shouted in fear. She could tell Ruan Xuezong wasn’t a grandmaster. He was too young. He might reach that realm someday, but not yet.

As she warned, the sandstorm intensified, swirling skyward to engulf the entire town. No place for a fight.