Chapter 8

—Half an incense stick’s worth of time later.

In the dead of night, before the Youjian Teahouse, three men, stripped bare, hung upside down by their bound limbs from the signboard.

Luo Jiao clapped her hands clean. “I found some knockout powder in the storeroom—the same stuff they used on us. Now their seven orifices… are smeared with it too. Call themselves lucky if they survive. Haha.”

Xu Liangdi didn’t laugh along. She only sighed, “These past few days… you’ve truly committed far too many sins.”

Luo Jiao found that hilarious. “You call this sin?” She tugged at the corner of her mouth, exasperated. “If people don’t offend me, I don’t offend them. If you’d understood that much, you wouldn’t have ended up the way you did.”

Xu Liangdi didn’t answer.

Night in Jinguan City was hushed. Luo Jiao walked down the empty avenue, following her memory of the direction toward Mount Sanqing.

“I’m going to Mount Sanqing.” Whether talking to herself or reporting her itinerary to Xu Liangdi, she declared aloud, “To see whether it’s really been split out of existence.”

Xu Liangdi gave a soft, absent “oh.”

Half a li further on, Xu Liangdi sneezed, then suddenly asked, “How did you die?”

Luo Jiao: “Huh?”

Xu Liangdi said, “You’re dwelling in my body, so you must be a… ghost, right? From your tone, you can’t be very old. And it doesn’t feel like you died of old age. You seem pretty strong too… Hey, do you have some kind of story?”

The moonlight was silent; night held Jinguan City in its arms.

Luo Jiao walked along unhurriedly, as if she hadn’t heard a word, and said nothing.

Thinking she’d asked something forbidden, Xu Liangdi awkwardly stopped. “Fine, forget I…”

Unexpectedly, Luo Jiao interrupted her with a laugh.

“You’re asking me?” She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her tone was strangely proud. “I died a hero’s death. For the great harmony of all under heaven, I gave my all—righteous and unflinching.”

Xu Liangdi: “…A death well spent?”

Luo Jiao drawled, “Not bad.”

Xu Liangdi pressed on, “Then why haven’t you reincarnated? Or is that just how ghosts are—no next life anymore?”

They were far from the teahouse now. Not far off, the silhouette of Mount Sanqing flickered faintly in the moonlight.

“A next life?” Luo Jiao rolled her neck and said, “Oh, there is one. I just haven’t readied myself to start over yet.”

For once, Xu Liangdi laughed heartily. “So it’s me who forced you into a fresh start?”

Luo Jiao said, “Using someone else’s body is admittedly strange. But returning to this world—old scenery, old faces—could be worse.”

Whether out of genuine curiosity or the approaching farewell, Xu Liangdi was unusually talkative tonight. “After death is complete… what kind of place do you actually go to?”

“After death, hm…”

Luo Jiao thought of her own circumstances after death. Pitch black, trapped in chaos. Imprisoned in her own Inner Demon, unable to live yet unable to die, day after day, year after year.

But she didn’t say that. She only said, “You can rest easy. The land after death differs for each of a thousand people. Some find ease; some find torment…”

Xu Liangdi asked, “Then were you the tormented kind, or the at-ease kind?”

“Neither, really. But you should be one of the at-ease ones. After all…” Luo Jiao tugged at the corner of her mouth and began to tease, “I’ll chant the Great Compassion Mantra for you.”

“Haha! Well, thank you very much, then.” Xu Liangdi suddenly laughed. “These few days with you—being dead felt almost like being alive.”

Luo Jiao gave a mock sneer: “Happy to be around me, are you? A few days ago you played the mute every chance you got.”

Xu Liangdi said sheepishly, “I’m sorry, all right?” Then she chuckled slyly, ingratiatingly. “But… I really do think you’re a fascinating person. With a personality like yours, you must have had plenty of friends when you were alive, right?”

Luo Jiao answered without a moment’s thought, “Naturally.”

Xu Liangdi: “Could you tell me more about your life?”

Luo Jiao stopped walking and looked up at the moonlight, eyes narrowing.

She didn’t know where to begin. It had all happened a hundred years ago—an ocean of time and space away from Xu Liangdi.

But then she suddenly remembered what they’d discussed in the teahouse—that ‘Grand Elder of the Fengyi Sect’ who had split Mount Sanqing apart with a single stroke.

Luo Jiao spoke slowly. “Do you remember that Ye Qingzhou they mentioned in the teahouse?”

“I remember,” Xu Liangdi said. “The mad Elder, right?”

Luo Jiao sighed. “She is not a madwoman.”

Not understanding why, Xu Liangdi nonetheless corrected herself readily. “Oh, oh—I mean, I don’t know her, but she sounds like an impressive figure.”

“She is my Junior Sister.” Luo Jiao repeated, “…My Junior Sister is not a madwoman.”

Her tone was flat as she said it, her expression untroubled, her emotions barely stirring.

Yet Xu Liangdi, inside the Sea of Consciousness, froze—then erupted with gong-clanging cheers. “That’s amazing!!” Remembering Luo Jiao’s earlier claims of a ‘hero’s death’ and ‘righteous unflinching sacrifice,’ Xu Liangdi marveled, “Good heavens, your life must have been splendid! Sweeping, magnificent!”

Sweeping and magnificent…?

At those words, Luo Jiao visibly faltered.

A hundred years ago, her dew-drop-brief life had indeed been as vast as the sky, as wide as the sea.

South along Qianli Slope, north to Mojiang City.

The Sanqing Daoist Art, one sword-stroke of frost and chill.

The Sword Immortal Unending, standing above ten thousand—how could such a life not be sweeping and magnificent?

How could it not be.

But at this thought, Luo Jiao’s eyes dimmed noticeably.

Fortunately, Xu Liangdi couldn’t see. She just kept chattering on, “I’ve really summoned quite the extraordinary figure! Hahaha! No wonder you know so many arts!…”

As she chattered, Luo Jiao quickened her pace, following the small path out of the city toward Mount Sanqing.

The mountain’s silhouette gradually emerged.

In the moonlight, the mountain showed a deep verdant color, hazy and indistinct, as though veiled in gauze.

Luo Jiao stood before it, hands on her knees, catching her breath.

She reached out and lightly tapped the space ahead with her fingertip.

Sure enough, the moment she touched the barrier, a fierce wind erupted, followed by an intense searing heat that shot from her fingertip straight into her mind.

“What’s happening?!” Xu Liangdi asked, panicked.

Luo Jiao lowered her hand.

Everything immediately went calm again, as if the wind and fire of moments before had been nothing but a shared illusion.

Luo Jiao said flatly, “Remember what those people in the teahouse said… Mount Sanqing has been split out of existence.” She waved a hand forward, watching crackling sparks burst from her fingertip.

Xu Liangdi pressed, “What does ‘split out of existence’ mean? So we can’t get up there?”

“We can get up.” Luo Jiao took a deep breath and explained carefully, “Remember the arts I’ve used? The Phantom Heart Art—the first layer is Heart Mastery, the second is People Mastery… What I used on that young master of the Zou Manor was the second layer. And back in the fishing village, I used the third layer, Emotion Mastery—drawing on the deepest fears in those people’s hearts, I conjured them a nightmare. As for this mountain… it should be the fourth layer.”

“Realm Mastery.”

“Simply put—the mountain is still there, but no one else can see it. They can’t even approach it. It’s like a Barrier, shrouding the mountain, so that anyone looking can only see a stretch of hazy mountain mist. That mist forms the outline of the entire mountain.”

“A Barrier?” Xu Liangdi marveled. “Th-this huge a Barrier? A Barrier as big as a mountain?”

“Bigger than the mountain,” Luo Jiao corrected.

Xu Liangdi: “Then what do we do?”

Luo Jiao: “Find the Array Core.”

Xu Liangdi: “How?”

Luo Jiao closed her eyes.

In her past life, her mastery of the Phantom Heart Art had been nearly equal to Ye Qingzhou’s. Though a hundred years would naturally have sharpened Ye Qingzhou’s skill considerably, clearly, this heart art laid over Mount Sanqing was not her finest work.

Besides, she only needed to find the Array Core, not unravel the whole Illusion Art. So for Luo Jiao, it wasn’t particularly difficult.

A quarter of an hour later, Luo Jiao had her bearings and opened her eyes.

Then she heard Xu Liangdi murmur softly, “The sun’s about to rise.” No telling to whom.

But Luo Jiao knew: at sunrise, Xu Liangdi’s soul would scatter for good.

Luo Jiao tilted her head back toward the summit.

The next moment, she plunged headfirst into the barrier!

Like falling into raging fire, like dropping into a valley of gales—Luo Jiao felt fierce wind and flame assailing her whole body, the pain unbearable.

In her ears, Xu Liangdi’s screams rose and fell.

In truth, with the farewell so near, Xu Liangdi could no longer feel pain. But she was still terrified. “Wh-what are you doing!!”

Before she’d even finished, Luo Jiao felt the body suddenly plunge into water.

Spring water, icy cold, striking her skin with a chill that pierced to the bone.

Yet Luo Jiao found it strangely familiar.

She remembered—a hundred years ago, young and playful, she could never wait for her days of rest before clamoring to go down the mountain. Her Martial Mother forbade it, so she would sneak down, and on her return, hide all her little purchases in the stone cave beside the spring before climbing back up empty-handed.

She also remembered how shallow and clear the water had been then—how she’d carried her shoes and stockings, waded barefoot across the stream, and sat on the bank to put them back on. It was in just such a scene that she first saw Ye Qingzhou, led home by her Martial Mother.

Luo Jiao was fourteen then—the same age as Xu Liangdi now.

And Ye Qingzhou was only seven.

A doll-like, exquisitely carved little child, clever as ice and snow.

That was Luo Jiao’s first impression of Ye Qingzhou.

Striking brows and eyes, a pair of lips red as peach blossom—yet her whole bearing was cold.

The Daoist of Sanqing patted Ye Qingzhou’s shoulder. “Go up the mountain with Ah Jiao.”

Luo Jiao slapped the water from her legs and stood, feigning nonchalance as she pressed, “And Martial Mother? Isn’t she coming back up with us?”

“Ah Jiao, oh Ah Jiao—doesn’t it strike you as odd?” the Daoist of Sanqing countered. “You carry only a few scraps of silver, yet every time you go out to play, you eat whatever you like, play however you like, never once short of money?”

Luo Jiao let out a belated “ah.”

“It’s because they were too embarrassed to charge you, so each time they only took a single coin,” the Daoist of Sanqing said with a cold snort. “And I, right now, am going to pay off your debts.”

Struck by the truth like a thunderbolt, Luo Jiao watched her Martial Mother’s receding back, then looked at Ye Qingzhou and spoke tremulously, “She means… every time I snuck out to play, she… knew?”

The little child Ye Qingzhou didn’t even look at her, only gave an “hmph” from the back of her throat.

“How much did she pay off for me? Was it a lot? I…” Fourteen-year-old Luo Jiao’s eyes grew misty with tears. “Will I never be able to repay it in this lifetime?”

This time Ye Qingzhou didn’t bother answering at all—just picked up her pace and overtook her.

“Hey, do you even know the way, walking that fast!…”

—That was their first meeting.

A few rambling questions, and one “hm.”

Luo Jiao thought the little brat looked down on her. Hmph, fine—look down all you like. Great Immortal Luo couldn’t care less!

“You scared me half to death just now!”

Even after Luo Jiao had stepped onto the mountain path, Xu Liangdi kept chattering in amazement. “I nearly thought you didn’t care about your own life either! Diving straight down like that—hey, how did you know that would get us in?”

“Don’t celebrate too early.” Luo Jiao only said, “We’ve merely entered this Illusion Realm. We’re nowhere near breaking it.”

Xu Liangdi asked, “Then what… do we do now?”

Luo Jiao looked up.

She gazed at the pitch-black night sky, at the sparse shreds of star and moon, and smiled. “Though we’re within the Illusion Realm, we share the same sun and moon. Climbing high to see the sea from in here… is quite possible.”

She added, “Don’t worry. The ground we stand on is illusion, but what we look upon is real. When we climb to the height of the illusion, the sea, the sun, the moon we behold will all truly exist.”

“I don’t mind either way,” Xu Liangdi said. “I only wanted to see scenery that beautiful, once.”

Luo Jiao: “You will.”

Before Xu Liangdi could puzzle out what that “you will” meant, she watched Luo Jiao clap her palms together twice, gather a lock of hair and the hem of her robe and fling them back, tying them off neatly, binding her sleeves at the wrists—and then plant both feet against the stone face. On so sheer a slope, she began climbing with her bare hands!

Xu Liangdi was aghast. “Why aren’t you taking the mountain path?!”

“The path winds too much. No time,” Luo Jiao replied flatly.

Xu Liangdi made an “ergh” sound. “…Fine.”

True to Luo Jiao’s word, Mount Sanqing’s path coiled around the mountain in endless switchbacks—fine for sightseeing, but agonizingly slow if one were in a hurry to reach the top.

Still… glancing up at the cliff face and the night sky that seemed to have no end, Xu Liangdi felt only fear.

But that fear evaporated the moment she looked at Luo Jiao.

Treating every obstacle as if it didn’t exist, Luo Jiao skimmed past jutting sharp rocks three moves at a time, not a single heavy breath, her movements reduced to pure efficiency.

Her eyes resolute, her motions deft—she climbed like a veteran, and yet this was nothing more than a casual exercise for her.

Xu Liangdi couldn’t help but marvel, “If not for you, I’d never have known this body of mine was so sturdy.”

Luo Jiao tossed back a breezy, “You’re welcome.”

Xu Liangdi: “…………”

In the blink of an eye, Luo Jiao had reached the mountainside.

Xu Liangdi glanced down the slope, then back at the rock face. “Foot of the mountain to halfway—isn’t that a quarter hour?”

Luo Jiao: “Should’ve been faster.”

With that, she turned her gaze toward the horizon.

At the far rim of the sky, dawn mist curled. Vapor traced along Mount Sanqing’s edges, forming a wispy sea of clouds—and behind it, dimly, a red sun was about to burst forth.

The moment her gaze touched that mist, Xu Liangdi froze, her voice falling. “After sunrise… I’ll have to go, won’t I?”

Luo Jiao said nothing.

But Xu Liangdi knew that silence was the answer.

Luo Jiao raised her head, fixed her eyes on the summit, stretched her muscles, and climbed again.

Then she heard Xu Liangdi suddenly sniffle. “When I was little, I loved to play—always came home at sunset.”

Why bring that up now? Luo Jiao was puzzled, but stayed silent and didn’t interrupt.

She only kept her eyes ahead, terrified of one misstep sending her tumbling down the mountain.

Xu Liangdi went on.

“If I stayed out too late, they would never come looking for me. And when I got home, there was always a scolding.

“Once I tumbled down a hillside. A grandmother planting rice at the village entrance carried me home. There was a long gash on my foot, seeping blood—it hurt so much. But they took one look and said, ‘Why didn’t you just die out there?’

“The grandmother told me, ‘That’s just anger talking. No parent under heaven doesn’t love their child.’ A few days later, they said it too: ‘Liangdi, we only scold you because you’re too wild.’ They said they loved me.”

Xu Liangdi rambled on. “My foot hurt. I asked Mother to get me some medicine. I said I wanted new cloth shoes. Mother said our family was poor, no spare money for that.

“And then… my little brother came.

“Father had no schooling, so he sold his fishing gear and sought out the most famous teacher for ten li around, and begged the name ‘Siwei’—’mind the danger.’ My brother’s health was poor; Mother sold her own dowry to buy his medicine.

“One day my brother and I went to play at the village entrance. He wanted the orchid grass growing in a crack in the rocks. I didn’t want to pick it for him. That evening, he snuck out of the house alone.

“So we skipped dinner and went searching for him.

“When we found him, his hand was wedged in the rock crevice, and he was crying, ‘It’s because Big Sister wouldn’t pick the orchid grass for me! Big Sister wouldn’t pick it for me!’

“Father, without a word, slapped me across the face. Hard enough to make my skull ring.

“It was as if that slap… woke me. ‘Awake’ isn’t quite the word, but at least I understood.

“When my brother threw a tantrum, there was fresh fish soup to drink. If I threw a tantrum… I likely went three days without a meal.

“Only then did I understand that grandmother’s words—’no parent under heaven doesn’t love their child.’ Yes—only Xu Siwei was their child, most likely.

“And I understood: it wasn’t that they didn’t know how to speak gently—they just wouldn’t speak gently to me. Not that they couldn’t search—they just wouldn’t search for me. Not that they had no money—they just wouldn’t spend it on me…”

“I don’t have a home.”

As if seared by those five words, Luo Jiao was silent for a long while—and only in this moment felt the world tilt and spin.

And the light gradually blooming at the sky’s edge stung her eyes.

Luo Jiao had lingered too long in one spot. The rock beneath her feet loosened, and the thin branch she gripped was slipping free of the trunk.

She wobbled—and nearly fell!

“Ah—!!” Xu Liangdi cried out.

Wind swept past, and the layered clouds lit with radiance.

Luo Jiao strained to plant her foot against the cliff face.

Her left foot tapped upward, borrowing leverage downward—and in the instant before the loose stones fell away, she steadied herself firmly on high.

Xu Liangdi: “Are you all right?!”

Luo Jiao: “I’m fine.”

Xu Liangdi: “Probably just rushing too much. Actually… we could have skipped the view.”

Dawn’s glow had long since appeared at the sky’s edge. Xu Liangdi knew her soul was slowly scattering—that was why she had babbled on so, delivering her ‘last words.’

She had no habit of complaining to anyone, and no one around to hear such trivial heart-matters anyway. She didn’t like anything in this world.

But she liked Luo Jiao very much.

“One step left.” Luo Jiao glanced at the sky. “I, Luo Jiao, have always kept my word.”

Xu Liangdi suddenly smiled. “So your name is Luo Jiao.”

They had even weathered life-and-death together, yet only in these final moments did they exchange names.

Luo Jiao gave an “mm,” gathered all her strength, and hauled herself up the final cliff face.

Before her stretched the Sea of Clouds over ten thousand mountains.

Distant ranges dark as ink-wash, the sea below a jewel-blue like chalcedony.

A perfect prospect of mountain and sea, magnificent and radiant.

—And at that very moment, the red sun burst forth.

The vast mist rolled like a sea, bathed in ten thousand spans of dawn fire, streaming with light and color.

In the morning light, Luo Jiao faced the radiance—and a single clear tear slipped down her cheek. No telling whose it was.

“Go to a good family,” Luo Jiao said. “And never, ever meet parents like yours again.”

But Xu Liangdi, by then, could no longer hear her.