Chapter 37

In her youth, Fu Juan had whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted; people envied her the most. Although her father came from humble origins, relying on his supreme talent, he had climbed step by step to the pinnacle, becoming the vice-president of the Xuanzhen Dao Court and one of the entire Mystic Sect’s leaders. Her mother hailed from a great Mystic Sect clan, inheriting the Daoist orthodox tradition, while Fu Juan herself was born with an Innate Dao Bone, raised by her parents as the heir. But all of this was shattered in an accident eight years ago. Since then, she had tasted the full spectrum of human warmth and coldness; so-called blood ties and kinship meant even less than nothing.

Everyone looked at her with pitying eyes, reminding her that she was a cripple with ruined legs. Once her Dao Body was incomplete, what did it matter how high her innate talent was? Her potential achievements could already be seen at a glance, reaching a dead end. Rumor had it that in Western Kunlun, there were deathless trees, immortal springs, and other heavenly treasures that could heal her legs. But that was the mythical Western Kunlun! After the Revival of Mountains and Seas Realm, who could cross lands overrun by Great Demons and find those fabled precious medicines?

She was not a cripple.

But every time she uttered those words, she would recall that accident from the past, loathing her own powerlessness.

That Ghost King had indeed been formidable, but with the Xuanzhen Dao Court and the noble clans joining forces, the Ghost King had almost no chance of victory. Her mother and father had been certain of success; only because of that did they agree to take her along to broaden her horizons. And what was the result? The price paid had already exceeded what the Dao Court had ever anticipated.

Fu Juan buried her face in her hands. The pain in her legs surged like a tide, wave after wave. Her bangs were soaked with sweat from her forehead. She let out a low moan; a flicker of agony showed in those dark, ink-black eyes. That past event was the nightmare that had haunted her for eight years.

Suddenly, Fu Juan whispered, “Tell me… was it the Xuanzhen Dao Court, or the Mystic Sect that made the move from the shadows?”

The little paper dolls were startled by her words. They stammered, not knowing how to answer.

They hadn’t participated in that battle. With the Ghost King’s disappearance, the matter was considered settled. In the beginning, the names of the deceased were remembered as heroes, but gradually, their existence faded from the human world, living on only in the hearts of family and friends.

“Little Juan.” Fu Yi looked worriedly at Fu Juan, shrouded as she was in gloom. It inexplicably felt a bone-deep, icy cold, as if plunged into an ice cellar. As an existence of spiritual power, it shouldn’t feel temperature at all.

“I’m fine.” Fu Juan smiled toward Fu Yi. She lifted a hand to stroke Fu Yi’s head, then suddenly said, “By tomorrow, the baleful energy on the female ghost should be refined away. At that point, we can ask her in detail about the evil Daoist.”

“Will we still need to seek out Jiang Yiguang?” Fu San suddenly asked, recalling how Jiang Yiguang had turned and left on the street. It felt a little angry. They were fellow Daoists who should fight side-by-side; how could Jiang Yiguang show not the slightest concern for Little Juan?

Fu Juan countered, “Why wouldn’t we?” After a pause, she added, “Aunt Jiang’s whereabouts are currently unknown. If Jiang Yiguang is willing to change, I should help her, to repay the kindness the Jiang family showed me.”

“But her attitude—” Fu San thought for a moment before finding the right word to describe it, “is still abominably arrogant.” The Jiang Yiguang of the past was like a wild wolf with glowing green eyes—somewhat obsessive, somewhat crazy, always acting without considering consequences. Her so-called “goodness” toward Little Juan was merely what she thought was good, never considering Little Juan’s health or feelings. It was purely by virtue of her mother being that personage that she dared act so willfully. The Jiang Yiguang of now, however, lacked that suffocating fervor she used to have, but her attitude was hot and cold in turns, impossible to predict. In its opinion, they simply shouldn’t indulge Jiang Yiguang at all!

Fu Juan lowered her eyes, her crow-black lashes casting small shadows that veiled the deep gloom within her irises. She said calmly, “Does Jiang Yiguang’s opinion matter? Don’t the people who never voiced those thoughts… think exactly the same?”

“But—”

“I don’t need concern.” Fu Juan cut off the little paper doll’s words, then deliberately emphasized, “From anyone.”

Her expression was very cold. Fu Yi didn’t dare make another sound. If it remembered correctly, back on Crabapple Street, Little Juan had even looked at Jiang Yiguang with hope in her eyes, hadn’t she? How could her stance shift so quickly? Moody and unpredictable—even worse than Jiang Yiguang.

–

Jiang Yiguang had slept soundly and peacefully. Perhaps because she had been cultivating the Dark Lady Sword Art in the Eternal Space before sleep, in her dreams, her sword qi swept across three thousand li; she possessed the roving swordsman’s spirit of old Chang’an—“Kill one man every ten steps, leave no trace for a thousand li.” When she woke, she shot up from the bed and dashed over to the coffee table, looking at that ritual sword lying atop it.

This ritual sword was the one Fu Juan had handed her. It was a fine sword. But compared to the one she used in the Eternal Space, it was nothing but scrap metal.

That ritual sword within the Eternal Space—one side carved with mountains, rivers, plants, and trees; the other carved with sun, moon, and stars. Its name was “Xuanyuan.” It was precisely the divine sword that the immortals, gathering copper from Mount Shou, forged for the Yellow Emperor. After the Yellow Emperor’s passing, this sword vanished without a trace, only reappearing at the time of King Yu, thus also known as the “Xuanyuan Sword of Yu the Great.” But after King Yu’s death, no Thearch ever again laid eyes upon the Xuanyuan Sword.

Even if the use was only brief, Jiang Yiguang still felt the melancholic sense of “Having once seen the vast ocean, nothing else feels like water; having glimpsed the clouds of Mount Wu, no other clouds are clouds.” Yet this melancholy didn’t last too long before it was interrupted by the crisp, pleasant chime of the doorbell. Jiang Yiguang casually smoothed her hair, did a simple, hasty tidy-up, and then slid on her slippers, reluctantly opening the door.

Meeting Fu Juan’s pair of tranquil, composed eyes, Jiang Yiguang wasn’t particularly surprised.

Nor did she care that Fu Juan saw her slovenly state. She stepped aside to let Fu Juan into the room, then lazily headed to the bathroom to continue freshening up. Only after some ten-plus minutes did she emerge, refreshed and clear-headed, casting a sidelong glance at Fu Juan, who wore her usual expression of cold indifference, keeping others a thousand li away. Crossing her arms over her chest, Jiang Yiguang held back the flood of words about to burst forth and waited for Fu Juan to speak first.

Meeting Jiang Yiguang’s gaze, Fu Juan said flatly, “The female ghost’s name is Yan Zhenghe. She died in the Xitai Campaign.”

Jiang Yiguang raised an eyebrow. Any person from Shenzhou had heard the words “Xitai Campaign.” This was the last large-scale war to take place on Shenzhou soil. After that war ended, Ming Yizong, the final emperor of Shenzhou’s last dynasty, announced his abdication and abolished the imperial system, ending Shenzhou’s millennia-long “family rule under heaven.” From that point on, Shenzhou society fully stepped into the modernization process.

Many people survived that period, but many others also died on the eve of dawn.

Seeing Jiang Yiguang somewhat moved, Fu Juan lowered her lashes and continued evenly, “After her death, only a sliver of obsession remained. Eventually, she was encountered by the evil Daoist. Originally, refining her would have been extremely difficult for him, but this evil Daoist borrowed the blood of a thousand-year Great Demon. The Meritorious Golden Light on her was completely worn away and destroyed.”

Jiang Yiguang’s eyelids twitched violently; an ominous premonition surged within her. She had originally intended to maintain a certain posture, but upon hearing Fu Juan’s words, she couldn’t help exclaiming in shock, “A thousand-year Great Demon?”

Fu Juan said, one word at a time, “Precisely, a Nine-Tailed Fox. This Daoist is exceptionally skilled in evil arts. The evil spell in Head Hill Cave was likely his doing.”

Jiang Yiguang asked again, “With such ability, will we be any match for this Daoist?”

Fu Juan replied, “The evil Daoist sustained severe injuries not long ago; his foundation was shattered. The Xuanzhen Dao Court has no records on him. It shouldn’t have been an elder of the Dao Court who made the move.”

Jiang Yiguang’s heart clenched. “Could it be my mother?” Jiang Li had come to Jiang City, but they hadn’t found a single trace of her. If she was in Jiang City, would she be unaware that she and Fu Juan had appeared here? Would she not contact her? Steadying herself, Jiang Yiguang exhaled a breath of turbid air and frowned. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to reach my mother.”

A look of confusion crossed Fu Juan’s face as she glanced at Jiang Yiguang. “I recall you saying not long ago that Aunt Jiang contacted you?”

Jiang Yiguang’s face flushed. A moment of panic flashed through her at having her lie exposed, but she quickly composed herself. She didn’t acknowledge Fu Juan’s words, instead changing the subject: “If it was Mother who made the move, then if we find the old Daoist, could we learn Mother’s whereabouts?”

Fu Juan shook her head. “I’m not certain.”

Jiang Yiguang’s heart sank further. After obtaining this information, she felt an inexplicable heaviness. She could only deduce, based on her own tragic ending, that by that point her mother might no longer be around—but she didn’t know when exactly this “loss” began. Could it be that after “Jiang City business trip,” her mother had gone missing? The Xuanzhen Dao Court had no news… what about the noble clans who had some dealings with her mother? Did they know anything?

Fu Juan’s mouth opened, but in the end, she merely sighed and said, “Don’t worry.”

How could she possibly not worry? This was her only family left in the world! Jiang Yiguang shot Fu Juan a cold glance and said, full of sarcasm, “I know—worry is completely useless, just a waste of emotion.”

Fu Juan: “…” She didn’t know how to comfort Jiang Yiguang, nor did she want to argue with her. After a moment of silence, she continued on the topic of the “evil Daoist.” “The evil Daoist was seriously injured. He seems to want to use the dragon vein for his cultivation.”

Jiang Yiguang didn’t pick up the thread; she hadn’t yet realized the significance of this matter.

Fu Juan continued, “After the Great Ming Dynasty was established, there were still over a hundred dragon veins across the Shenzhou land. The Taizu ordered the Earl of Chengyi to sever all dragon veins except the one belonging to the imperial house, leaving only a single True Dragon vein. This has persisted to the present day. Once those branch veins were severed, only a single vein remained to suppress the Mountains and Seas—without doubt, it has accelerated the process of the Mountains and Seas revival.”

Jiang Yiguang raised an eyebrow. “And then?”

Fu Juan’s gaze darkened. “That evil Daoist’s surname is Liu—he is precisely a descendant of the Earl of Chengyi.”

It took Jiang Yiguang a long moment to react. She clicked her tongue in amazement. “To sever dragon veins and ruin others’ Qi Luck—wouldn’t that invite Heavenly Punishment? And he still managed to leave descendants?”

“The Earl of Chengyi possessed heaven-spanning, earth-weaving talent. With his cultivation reaching such a level, he naturally had methods to protect his descendants.” Fu Juan gave a cold, humorless laugh. “But his descendants ultimately entered the evil path. That evil Daoist holds his family’s inherited Dragon-Slaying Art. If he is allowed to approach the dragon vein, what will happen then?”

Jiang Yiguang muttered quietly to herself, “The venerable seniors’ divinations all point to ‘Revival of Mountains and Seas Realm.’ This is proof enough that the dragon vein is collapsing step by step. Isn’t it said the outcome can’t be changed?”

Fu Juan stated flatly, “But our efforts now can at least make this surge more gradual, buying us more time to prepare.”

Jiang Yiguang didn’t possess Fu Juan’s lofty sense of mission. Glancing at the pitifully low Chivalry Points on her character panel only gave her more “confidence” to be a slacker on these matters. Still, she put on a look of sudden realization and gave Fu Juan a thumbs-up, thinking: As expected of the female lead—indomitable, perpetually battle-damaged, yet her original heart and sense of duty never wane.

Fu Juan discreetly swept her gaze over Jiang Yiguang’s thumbs-up, suppressing an urge to push her thumb back down. But her brow furrowed involuntarily.

Jiang Yiguang asked, “Does Wang Xuanming know yet?” If she remembered correctly, Wang Xuanming was here investigating the evil Daoist. Since both matters pointed to the same issue, there was no way he, being involved, would stay out of it. Fate was truly opening the door wide for the male lead, doing everything to keep him and Fu Juan together.

Fu Juan shook her head. “Not yet.”

Jiang Yiguang said, “Why not invite him out to discuss it together?”

Fu Juan raised her eyes and looked at Jiang Yiguang somberly. “Do you want to see him?”

Jiang Yiguang found it strange—could Fu Juan actually be considering her feelings? She didn’t hide her own thoughts, answering honestly, “No.”

Fu Juan said, “I’ll talk to him alone.”

Jiang Yiguang: “…That’s really not necessary.” It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to see Wang Xuanming—she didn’t even want to see Fu Juan. But since she wanted to break free from Fate, she had to seek a thread of survival amidst the coincidences Fate created, facing some people she didn’t want to see and bearing some responsibilities she wasn’t keen to shoulder.

Just as they were speaking, Fu Juan’s phone rang.

Jiang Yiguang had no intention to pry, but her eyes flicked over and she still caught the name “Wang Xuanming.”

Her teeth ached sourly at once. Did this guy have some kind of sixth sense? They’d just mentioned him, and here he appeared? Looking at Fu Juan, who was frowning as though she didn’t want to answer, Jiang Yiguang felt another wave of satisfaction. “Respecting each other like ice”—was this her male lead? Even “Fate” couldn’t make a heartless person grow a heart, could it?

Jiang Yiguang asked politely, “Do you need me to step away?” She swore there was no sarcastic intent whatsoever, but the tone influenced by “Fate” even made herself frown. She lifted her eyes to see Fu Juan’s expression, but Fu Juan’s head was lowered, those ink-black eyes devoid of divine light, carrying only an oppressive sense of heaviness. Jiang Yiguang took a step back, startled by that unintentionally caught glimpse.

Fu Juan’s response was to answer the call, putting it on speakerphone.

“Fu Juan, how are things going? Any news on the evil Daoist?” Wang Xuanming asked. He’d accepted a mission from the Xuanzhen Dao Court, and his food and lodging were arranged by the Jiang City branch. After the night’s events, he’d wanted Fu Juan to return to the branch with him, but had been coldly refused. He felt too embarrassed to ask Fu Juan for the talisman sealing the female ghost again.

“Yes.” Fu Juan concisely relayed the information she’d obtained to Wang Xuanming.

Wang Xuanming was silent for a long while before sighing emotionally, “It really is connected to the dragon vein. Ah, right—I ran into Zhao Zhi. He’s here because of the dragon vein. He’ll be joining us when we deal with the evil Daoist later. Fu Juan, what do you think?”

Zhao Zhi was a scion of the Zhao family. In this generation, though not matching the past Fu Juan, he still had some talent.

Fu Juan said indifferently, “Suit yourself.” With the investigation already reaching the dragon vein in Jiang City, did her refusal mean Zhao Zhi would turn around and go back to the Zhao family?

“Alright.” Wang Xuanming nodded. After a silence, he couldn’t help but add with concern, “Are you really okay? How about leaving this matter to me to resolve? When the time comes, I’ll give you all the mission rewards from the Xuanzhen Dao Court.” Performing an Altar Ritual, continually casting divine powers and Daoist techniques—even with the highest talent, you couldn’t handle this kind of overdraft. He could guess Fu Juan’s inner demons and was willing to take her on some missions behind the Dao Court’s back, but he couldn’t bear to see her wreck her body so recklessly. What if there really was news from Kunlun?

Jiang Yiguang heard everything perfectly clearly. She curled her lip slightly: Wang Xuanming was truly generous. In the past, Wang Xuanming had been a valued scion of the Wang family, but ever since he’d defied the family’s wishes and joined the Xuanzhen Dao Court, the Wangs had long since given up investing further resources in him. If he wanted to catch up to his clan’s peers, he could only rely on the “rewards” from merit points earned in the Dao Court and a not-so-generous salary. Compared to his bygone life as a young master, he was practically living hand-to-mouth now. His heartfelt devotion to Fu Juan was plain to see. Jiang Yiguang couldn’t restrain her emotions and gave Fu Juan a cold smirk.

Fu Juan’s tone remained cold: “No need.” She hung up before Wang Xuanming could say more.

Jiang Yiguang laughed. “If it involves the dragon vein, the Xuanzhen Dao Court’s handouts should be far more generous, wouldn’t they? You really don’t need them?”

Fu Juan looked up. “Jiang Yiguang.”

These three simple words, in her mouth, carried the piercing, icy energy of a blade drawn from its sheath.

Jiang Yiguang reined in her smile and asked, “Zhao Zhi is coming? The Zhao family—aren’t they always looking down on the Xuanzhen Dao Court?” The cultivators in the Dao Court were all those who’d achieved enlightenment after the Spiritual Energy Revival; many were from rough, unorthodox backgrounds. How could the noble clans with their own inherited traditions ever respect them? Moreover, the Dao Court was heavily supported by the government and was gradually threatening to surpass the noble families. Those old fossils were deeply dissatisfied.

Fu Juan replied, “When it concerns the dragon vein, how can they wash their hands of it?”

Jiang Yiguang thought it over and found it reasonable, but there was still a nagging sense of incongruity she couldn’t quite shake. They refused to allow the investigation into “Xie Chaoyun’s” matter, yet now, connected to the Nine-Tailed Fox, they suddenly show up. Wasn’t that a little too coincidental?