Chapter 68: Simplification of the Heart Part 1

It was Sang Chencao.

Sang Chencao yanked Feng Yun’ai up with such force it nearly dislocated her arm. It was as if she wanted to save her, yet couldn’t bring herself to care whether she lived or died in the process.

A voice, breathless with frantic irritation, hissed in her ear. But Feng Yun’ai could no longer see the face of the person beside her. All she saw was a blurry mass, like smoke or mist.

Smoke cannot be touched, yet this person gripped her with solid reality, making her feel as though she had plummeted from mid-air onto firm ground, no longer drifting without support.

In the moment she was pulled up, Feng Rong’s corpse slipped from her grasp. Feeling as though half her body had fallen into an ice cellar, Feng Yun’ai scrambled forward, desperate to take Feng Rong with her.

“You can barely look after your own life, yet you’re still worrying about a dead person?” Sang Chencao said coldly.

Feng Yun’ai reached out in a panic, catching only a segment of a flowering branch. The sharp thorns dug into her palm, causing a stinging pain, yet she refused to let go.

Unable to win the argument, Sang Chencao muttered a disgusted “annoying” before hauling Feng Rong’s body up as well.

She turned her head toward the surrounding martial artists and shouted, “If you want to live, follow me immediately! Otherwise, stay here and turn into a pile of charcoal!”

With that, she leaped upward, bursting through the thick smoke. She lowered her voice and said, “Xiuxiu, do you have any idea how hideous you look right now?”

Feng Yun’ai felt a scorching pain across her entire body. She didn’t know if she had been burned beyond recognition, but she imagined the flesh on half her body must be a mangled mess. How could it not be hideous?

Fortunately, she had never taken pride in her appearance. Even if she were ugly, she wouldn’t feel much sorrow or regret.

However, her throat was parched and raw. Choked by the smoke, she could only cough until her lungs ached, unable to utter a single word.

Sang Chencao let out a cold snort and stopped teasing. Suddenly, she dove toward the ground, looking for all the world as if she were jumping straight into a sea of fire.

Feng Yun’ai couldn’t see clearly. In the instant they plummeted, she couldn’t help but think that this woman was disregarding her life again—and this time, she was dragging Feng Yun’ai down to die with her.

But her skin didn’t feel the expected surge of intense heat. Instead, a biting chill washed over her. There was a gurgling sound in her ears as she was submerged.

It wasn’t a sea of fire; it was water.

The water was incredibly cold, seemingly drawn from an underground spring. As her burning, aching body was immersed, even her heart seemed to find peace.

Feng Yun’ai closed her eyes, feeling as though she had become a small boat drifting with the current.

The cold water brushed against her burns. For a moment, her senses went numb, as if she had been healed. But as the initial chill faded, the pain returned so sharply that tears began to flow uncontrollably.

It was too much—a pain like being flayed alive. She couldn’t stop shivering.

A warm finger pressed against the tip of her nose, then traced over her philtrum and lips before lightly touching her neck. It was a signal for her to hold her breath.

Feng Yun’ai complied, though the pain made it nearly impossible to keep her lungs still. After a while, her head began to swim. She vaguely felt her lips being pressed firmly, and a hot breath was transferred into her.

Accompanied by a faint scent of medicinal herbs, the breath forced its way into her mouth with an intimacy that was both tender and overbearing, as if determined to claim her as its own.

Even though there was only the sound of rushing water, she thought she heard a deep sigh—one filled with a touch of helplessness and a rare, precious sense of concession.

Before they could break the surface, Feng Yun’ai’s consciousness blurred, and she fell into a dead faint.

She dreamed she was back on Listening Goose Peak. A familiar silhouette stood before her—that solitary, slender figure could be no one but Feng Rong.

However, this figure would not allow anyone to approach. No matter how many steps Feng Yun’ai took, she could not get an inch closer.

Feng Rong held the Lonely Heart Sword. Her every move was decisive and crisp, yet because she wasn’t using her internal breath, the movements were merely the form of the sword.

Feng Yun’ai watched, entranced. The mysteries of the sword techniques she had failed to grasp in the past seemed to be revealed to her in this moment of enlightenment.

The distant figure spoke softly. “Xiuxiu, you used to think my swordplay was too complex to master, believing the realm was beyond reach. You didn’t realize that all things should progress from complexity to simplicity, and simplicity in turn pursues complexity in a never-ending cycle. All the martial arts in the world follow this same path.”