Chapter 15: Rouge Undone

Here, the grudges of the living never dissolve.

At that same moment, within the Pagoda Palace.

The short blade cut through the palace’s poisonous miasma as Geng Ying sprang nimbly aside, dodging Yan Rushi’s strike.

“Finished an assassination at the Ghost Market looking all sorry for yourself, and now you’re throwing your weight around?” Geng Ying jeered as she evaded. “Turns out Young Sect Master Yan is only fierce inside her own walls?”

Yan Rushi had no habit of shouting threats mid-fight. They traded forms for dozens of exchanges, and all she managed was: “Who — who shares a wall with you!”

“Oh, quite right, not the same walls at all,” Geng Ying laughed. “You’re living under another’s roof, watching the host’s face for your daily bread.”

Yan Rushi’s hands never slowed, the short blade clean, wind tearing through the palace hall.

She was still bewildered: “But I don’t understand — why are you attacking me…”

“Since when does our heretical Devil’s path need a righteous pretext? Want to fight, so we fight.” Geng Ying leapt, and with a raised hand summoned a row of Silver Needles — in an instant, a storm of needles rained down.

Yan Rushi couldn’t dodge in time; the short blade flew from her grip, and she was cut by the needles as well. This was clearly nothing like the practice platform — Geng Ying had stopped playing, every move charged with killing intent. At first Yan Rushi had still hesitated, unwilling to wreck a perfectly good palace, defending without attacking; now, using the pillars for cover, she narrowly wove through Geng Ying’s assault. Gritting her teeth, she tore several flowering branches from the desk and strung them on a bow of pure, formless spiritual qi.

Shff—

The branches scattered, swift as arrows.

The spiritual qi they carried was pure to the utmost; the last branch struck the palace gates dead center. Morning wind poured in, instantly sweeping away the hall’s black miasma and the storm of needles.

The blaze of daylight forced Geng Ying’s eyes shut. When she looked up, Yan Rushi stood with the short blade at her throat.

“You… you should go. I’ll tidy the hall.” Even performing the most dangerous act, her voice was achingly gentle. “Geng Ying — stop now, and I can pretend nothing happened…”

Even now, she did not want to blow things up and disgrace You Fusang.

But Geng Ying, heedless of the blade’s edge, trembled at both shoulders, as if struggling to contain some emotion—

Mockery. Scorn. Wild, howling contempt.

“HAHAHAHAHA!!!” She burst out laughing. “Young Sect Master Yan! Young Sect Master Yan! Look at you — this pitiful, groveling wreck of a pose!!”

She crept closer by inches, letting the edge bite a line of blood, pressing it toward her own throat. “This is what I despise most about you — the blade is at my neck, and you still don’t dare kill me! I attacked you first, you hold the advantage now, and you STILL don’t dare kill me!! Like this — how will you take your revenge? How will you cut your way back at the righteous path? I used to hate you righteous types for your hypocrisy above all — but seeing you, I’ve learned there’s another word: foolish goodness — that’s the word for you! If you dare not take a life, how will you attain long life?”

“Wh-what nonsense are you spouting!” Yan Rushi was astonished. “Spare me your Devil Cultivator’s crooked sophistry — what has killing to do with long life? Only those who scorn life are least worthy of it…”

“If you do not understand death, how can you hold onto life?” Geng Ying’s reverse grip closed on the white blade, fresh blood beading from her fingertips, chasing Yan Rushi’s gaze, that cold look pressing in step by step. “If you do not kill, how will you follow the departed? If you do not cling to life, how will you see long life? Only when you’ve watched those people die before your very eyes can you know what it feels like to stand above others… that comfort… that satisfaction…”

Yan Rushi’s jaw clenched: “I have nothing to say to a Devil Cultivator like you. In my heart, cultivation was never about killing, or standing above others. Enough — you won’t convince me, and you won’t listen to me. Let it end here. I don’t care why you chose today to strike, but the blade is at your neck now. If you don’t want to die, do as I say — get out of the palace!”

Geng Ying stared at her for a long, long time, thinking in her own way.

After a few more breaths, she pushed the white blade aside, wiped the blood from her clothes, and said flatly: “Splendid. Young Sect Master Yan, truly splendid.”

“And so, I have already charged Geng Ying to strike first.”

Almost the instant Qingluan’s words fell, You Fusang moved with Shifting Shadow — Qingluan could not dodge in time.

This exchange held no suspense — or rather, it was no exchange at all, only You Fusang’s one-sided attack and Qingluan’s pointless struggling.

You Fusang’s hand closed on Qingluan’s throat, her brows dark with anger. “Who gave you leave to act on your own?”

Bloodshot to their depths, Qingluan’s eyes gripped You Fusang’s hand with all her remaining strength, forcing up a broken smile. “You truly… cannot cut away old feeling. A lover’s… a friend’s… You cannot…”

You Fusang found it absurd: “Whether I can or cannot — since when did it need your comment?”

“Qingluan has never seen you so irresolute… Venerable Lord, I respect you — but I despise the way you look at Young Sect Master Yan… like those common, mediocre people, ready to trade away what is truly graspable, truly holdable… what is real… for some hollow phantom of feeling… of love…”

“And which feeling have I traded away, and for what? Do say it more precisely.” You Fusang’s grip did not ease; she sneered. “Do remember — the one who cannot even hold her own life right now is you.”

A smile of release surfaced on Qingluan’s face as she spoke in broken gasps. “I once thought — compared to dying at the righteous path’s hands, dying by yours… seemed fine too. I am not like you. I was born with only the Heretic Path ahead of me, while you came from the Yan Sect… even fallen into heresy, your words still carry that… that unnameable… compassion of the righteous.”

“Venerable Lord, we are all people who despise the righteous path, each for different reasons. You see — you despise it, yet you can never cut away the lessons and ways of seeing it taught you… kindness, reason, human feeling… I despise the righteous path, and yet even I was drawn to someone like you… I was once a Demon Cultivator — the lowliest Azure Bird of Penglai. At fifteen, when I took form through Shapeshifting, a few righteous page-boys chased me for sport; they meant to roast me, to pluck my feathers for fans… At death’s door I was found by the young City Lord, Zhuang Xuan — your predecessor — who watered my spirit veins with Devil Qi, and I followed her thereafter. When she left, she charged me to look after you…”

“Like every other Devil Cultivator, I admired you. Admired your strength, admired your cold, pitiless heart. Venerable Lord — will you hear one… word of counsel from Qingluan? Softness and pity for the weak are both poison… they will eat away at your strength… and your nature…”

You Fusang watched her in silence, and when she finished, only smiled: “How interesting. If I spare you today, no doubt you’ll call it softness and pity — and if I kill you, it looks as though your presumptuousness simply angered me… and at bottom, that I was defending Yan Rushi. And what good was having Geng Ying strike first? If she can’t even fend off Geng Ying’s sneak attack, then that’s a Junior Sister I’d just as soon not claim. Geng Ying can’t kill her, and she won’t kill Geng Ying — only afterward, true to her nature, she’ll most likely pretend it never happened. This little test of yours: a few crooked words spoken, a few blows taken, and from now on…”

She let go. “Go to the Pagoda Tower and take your punishment. You know which portion is yours.”

To You Fusang, the Pagoda Tower was a place of cultivation; to everyone else, it was Purgatory. Within the high tower, resentment bred and congealed; one trip inside — if you survived, you left a layer of yourself behind.

You Fusang said, “Since you’re so eager to rebel and be punished, then… be careful what you wish for.”

Geng Ying had scarcely wiped the blood from her neck and loosened her limbs when she stepped out of the Pagoda Palace gates and into a beating that rained down without mercy.

You Fusang was nothing like as gentle and reasonable as Yan Rushi — fists and feet aimed to kill, yet always leaving one breath in the body. “This kind of beating is the worst kind of torture…” Geng Ying, still breathing, raised her face from the ground — a small face painted red with blood, weeping and laughing at once. “You might as well have finished me outright. Made it quick.”

“The beating is for your memory. The heavier, the better it sticks.” You Fusang’s face was cold as she looked down at her. “Geng Ying, I will ask you once. Do you follow Qingluan’s word, or mine?”

Geng Ying steadied her breathing, was silent a long moment, and finally said: “Yours.”

“Then remember those words forever.”

With that, You Fusang’s robe hem swept over Geng Ying’s hair, and she entered the palace; the doors boomed shut.

The City Lord’s chambers were vast but sparsely furnished, almost empty — one bed, one window, one set of doors, flowering branches against white walls, long calligraphy scrolls trailing to the floor. Cleaner and tidier than expected — presumably Yan Rushi had tidied a little.

Seeing You Fusang enter, Yan Rushi stood holding a few stray flowering branches, and gave an awkward little smile. “Venerable Lord, these flowers…”

“Throw them out.” You Fusang was toneless, not meeting her eyes, strolling to the edge of the chamber to glance at the scrolls and books severed by blade-qi. “A pity, these calligraphy scrolls.”

Yan Rushi lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You Fusang studied her for two breaths and pulled out a smile. “Just an apology? Nothing else you’d like to say to me?”

“Say…” She swallowed the words say what? whole. Yan Rushi gathered the ruined branches, drew a deep breath, and looked You Fusang in the eye. “Venerable Lord, you saw the wreckage when you entered and showed no surprise — you must already know what happened. And in any case, you must be tired of it by now. The truth is, I understand their suspicions perfectly. I understand them completely. If they trusted me, that would be the strange thing.”

Had it been anyone else, You Fusang would have judged these words smooth-tongued theatre — playing the weak to loosen others’ guard. But looking down at Yan Rushi now, You Fusang felt only…

…that she was looking at a white peacock with rain-soaked feathers.

Jade branches for bones, a skin of snow and moonlight — and yet brow lowered, eyes downcast, so pitiful in her misery.

Before You Fusang’s eyes the room dimmed for an instant, and she felt something within her own heart grow at a ravenous pace — a desire she could not suppress.

The two stood facing each other in a long silence, until it was You Fusang who smiled and asked in return: “They don’t trust you. They suspect you. And what will you do about it?”

“I…”

“Do you remember the Blood Pact I made with you?” You Fusang cut in. In the darkness, her pupils bloomed rapidly with golden Devil Qi, eerie with Ghost Qi, and she closed in step by step, every sentence pressing tighter. “Young Sect Master Yan wants peace within Pagoda City? It’s simple. Give me your emotions. Give me everything that is yours… give all of it to me.”

Like an Evil Ghost bargaining for a trade, You Fusang reached out and brushed aside the hair at Yan Rushi’s ear, baring the Blood Pact’s mark on her earlobe, kneading it lightly a few times. Her smile spread, each word dropped like a stone:

“Yan Rushi — give me everything you are.”

“And then you are me, and I am you — and no one will ever dare speculate about you, or doubt you, again.”