In such a desolate wasteland, sunrise and sunset felt like two different seasons. As the sky darkened, the road became devoid of human life.
They traveled another ten miles south toward Yellow Sand Cliff. The path was crawling with insects and scorpions, but Feng Yun’ai avoided them whenever she saw them, refusing to let them near her.
The horse behind her was being led entirely by the ribbon; even the rider seemed content to let things be, not even bothering to hold the reins.
“Why so afraid? You aren’t scared of the dead, yet you fear insects?” Sang Chencao let out a snicker from behind.
Feng Yun’ai pinched a thin blade at her side and flicked it out. In an instant, a scorpion emerging from the sand was sliced in two.
She continued to urge her horse forward, nudging its belly as she spoke. “I have heard that Wen Lanxin of Yellow Sand Cliff is skilled at raising snakes and scorpions, and she commands them with great mastery. Within these ten miles, almost every creature serves as her eyes and ears.”
“Where did you hear that? I’ve been in this Sand River for years and never heard such a thing.” Conversely, Sang Chencao drew the flexible sword from her waist and flicked a scorpion up from the sand, catching it right in front of her face to inspect it.
“You!” Feng Yun’ai snapped her head around.
Before she could react further, Sang Chencao tossed the scorpion back before it could sting anyone.
“Don’t panic. I’m not someone who disregards my own life.” Sang Chencao coiled the flexible sword back around her waist. “I’ve also heard that Wen Lanxin is an expert in toxicology, and that the creatures she raises are incredibly venomous. Is that true?”
Feng Yun’ai averted her gaze, her turbulent emotions settling back into place. “Since you’ve heard of it, why bother asking me?” she replied coldly.
Sang Chencao gave a soft huff. Without warning, she yanked the white silk ribbon on her wrist tight, causing the horse in front to jerk to a halt and nearly stumble.
The sudden jolt sent Feng Yun’ai leaning forward precariously.
“I know you’ve never been here and certainly don’t know the way. I’ve been to Yellow Sand Cliff; the shorter route involves crossing Black Wind Pond. It’ll cut our travel time in half.” Sang Chencao finally took up her reins, forcing her horse into a sharp turn before leisurely heading toward Black Wind Pond.
The controller had become the controlled. The roles were swapped, and now the woman in white was the one being pulled along.
Feng Yun’ai had heard vague rumors of Black Wind Pond, but the records in books were sparse—between the lines, there was only the word danger.
“Follow me,” Sang Chencao said, tightening her grip on the white ribbon. “I would never dream of harming you.”
Feng Yun’ai was already on high alert. This woman’s actions were inherently eccentric, and her words were naturally only half-believable at best.
However, she had no choice. After leaving the stables, she had gradually lost her sense of direction. With the sky dark and heavy clouds obscuring the moon and stars, she could no longer distinguish north from south.
In the distance, the sand dunes began to flatten, replaced by increasing numbers of jagged rocks. Dead trees reached out like claws in every direction, resembling a procession of a hundred ghosts.
Black Wind Pond was just ahead, but to her surprise, it held no water; it was a vast, parched basin.
Rustling sounds echoed around them, suggesting things were lurking in the shadows.
Feng Yun’ai’s expression shifted slightly. Two of her fingers were already poised over the thin blades at her waist.
Along the way, she had started with cicada-wing blades covering her person, but now only a few remained. She had used them and discarded them without a second thought.
“You led me here on purpose.” Feng Yun’ai raised an arm, and a silver light flew from her palm, pinning a mottled venomous snake firmly to a withered tree. “What exactly is your relationship with Wen Lanxin?”
Sang Chencao was also systematically slaying snakes and scorpions, appearing to treat it like a game. There was no trace of panic in her movements.
Only when the creatures in the distance stopped emerging did Sang Chencao speak. “It was daytime the last time I came here. There weren’t nearly this many poisonous things then. However, I’ve heard that if Wen Lanxin leaves Yellow Sand Cliff for three days, the surrounding vermin go as mad as dancing demons.”
This was common knowledge in the martial world. It was precisely for this reason that few dared to set foot here.
“These things are currently in a frenzy. It seems that when we reach Yellow Sand Cliff, we won’t find a trace of Wen Lanxin. This might very well be the third day since her departure.” Sang Chencao spoke absentmindedly.
Feng Yun’ai said coldly, “Perhaps this is her way of hiding. If she can command them, she can naturally find a way to make them go wild to throw people off. Are you trying to conceal her whereabouts?”
“One-track mind,” Sang Chencao scoffed, turning leisurely to continue through Black Wind Pond.
Feng Yun’ai couldn’t judge for certain if this woman was truly trying to hide Wen Lanxin’s trail. Just as she was about to follow, a flash of silver light shot straight toward her face.
A silver snake?
No, a sword!
Sang Chencao’s sword was faster than Feng Yun’ai had imagined. Her hand had just been on the reins, but in the blink of an eye, the blade at her waist had whistled through the air.
The sword light was like a rainbow, appearing capable of piercing through the thin white veil to strike at her cold eyes.
Feng Yun’ai leaned back to avoid it, her spine almost touching the horse’s back. With a sudden flex of her core, she snapped upright again.
But the flexible sword followed no set pattern. Even though Feng Yun’ai had drawn her own sword, she felt somewhat powerless to counter it.
Just as her longsword blocked one strike, the other flexible blade acted like a boneless serpent. The tip of the sword curved with a metallic ding, lunging once more for Feng Yun’ai’s veil.
Forced into a series of evasions, Feng Yun’ai released the reins and channeled a Palm Wind, striking out fiercely toward the woman in indigo.
The woman in indigo raised her palm to meet it. Two entirely different types of inner qi collided, shattering the white silk ribbon wrapped around their wrists.
One was scalding hot; the other was bone-chillingly cold.
The burning qi was a poisonous purple, while the frigid side was like profound ice.
The shockwave of energy rippled outward, forcing the surrounding dead trees to snap and bend. The carcasses of the snakes and scorpions were swept dozens of feet away.
The moment the silk ribbon snapped, the woman in indigo leaped into the air, seemingly preparing another palm strike.
Feng Yun’ai raised her arm to gather power, but her opponent didn’t use much internal power at all. Instead, she skillfully evaded, flipping in mid-air to strike from behind.
She could not allow her back to be exposed.
Before Feng Yun’ai could even turn, her sword pierced out from her side. If anyone had been approaching from behind, they would have inevitably been run through.
But Sang Chencao took an unorthodox path. Her original intention seemed to be landing behind Feng Yun’ai, but she changed course, kicking the horse’s rump. The sudden movement threw Feng Yun’ai off balance, forcing her to flip off the horse.
Sang Chencao seized the opening. She wasn’t aiming to kill; instead, she used her flexible sword to flick off Feng Yun’ai’s veiled hat, forcing that radiant face to be exposed to the night air.
The hat was swept away by the fierce wind, snagging on a withered branch nearby.
With her face unobstructed, Sang Chencao still couldn’t see everything clearly because the woman in white had closed her eyes.
Feng Yun’ai’s long hair spilled over her shoulders. She stood still with her eyes shut tight, her sword in hand, looking like someone resigned to their fate.
In her fluttering white dress, she looked like a night-blooming cereus taking human form.
Sang Chencao gave a light smirk and thrust her sword in a killing move, the sword energy turning scorching hot due to the presence of her inner qi.
At the threshold of life and death, Feng Yun’ai suddenly snapped her eyes open. Just as she was about to step aside, that burning sword energy vanished without a trace, retracted with perfect control.
A hand reached out, warm fingertips lightly brushing the corner of her eye.
“Gray.” Sang Chencao leaned in to examine her, marvelling, “What beautiful eyes. Are you a foreigner from the borderlands?”
Feng Yun’ai remained expressionless. Her gray eyes were unusual; at first glance, they seemed devoid of luster, like a ghostly entity capable of bewitching souls in the dark. Yet her gaze was sharp and piercing.
“You aren’t a descendant of the Blade Lending Sect at all. That sect cares only for the Central Plains martial world; they never pass their skills to outsiders.” Sang Chencao was absolutely certain. “No wonder you don’t know divination. You avoid the subject whenever I ask.”
Feng Yun’ai remained silent.
Sang Chencao removed her own veiled hat, revealing a pair of narrowing eyes and two particularly striking moles beneath them.
She began to spin a lie. “I see. It’s just like how I want to apprentice under Wen Lanxin—you want to join the Blade Lending Sect, don’t you? You’re quite something, claiming to be a descendant before you’ve even been admitted.”
Was this an excuse being handed to her?
After a moment of hesitation, Feng Yun’ai said coldly, “Yes.”
