◎From Here, Penglai Is Not Far◎
At the sight of that face, You Fusang was dazed beyond words. It had been a hundred years since she became the seventeenth City Lord of Pagoda City—a hundred years since she had last seen Zhuang Xuan. In Yan Rushi’s memories, everything had been blurred and indistinct, yet You Fusang was certain that face belonged to Zhuang Xuan.
Zhuang Xuan, whom she had been searching for all this time—she was inside Qianji Tower?
Why Zhuang Xuan was in Qianji Tower remained unclear, but You Fusang suddenly understood something else: she had always felt she had never met the Tower Master of Qianji Tower before, yet some inexplicable intuition insisted they were acquainted. That intuition… must have been the intuition of Pagoda Devil Qi.
Pagoda Death, Pagoda Life—those who cultivated the Pagoda Token would indeed sense one another.
But Lu Qiongyin and Zhuang Xuan’s ways were far too dissimilar, which made You Fusang hesitate. The options at hand were simple: first, storm Qianji Tower and demand answers; second, proceed as planned—remain in Pagoda City, examine the old records, and if the enemy did not move, she would not move either. Zhuang Xuan had once been a friend, but Lu Qiongyin was an enemy—and right now You Fusang stood in the light while Lu Qiongyin lurked in shadow. Open spears are easy to dodge, but hidden arrows are hard to guard against; caution was absolutely essential.
After long deliberation, she leaned against Yan Rushi without moving, reaching out to press a hand to Yan Rushi’s forehead, hoping to probe a little deeper into those memories—but Yan Rushi abruptly coughed up a mouthful of blood. When one’s meridians are damaged and one’s breath runs weak, the greatest danger is blood stagnating and flowing backward; this spilled mouthful actually reassured You Fusang, a sign that she was mending.
The blood had come up, but the person had not yet woken.
Yan Rushi’s brows were tightly furrowed, cold sweat beading her forehead, fingers clutching at You Fusang’s sleeve. “Can you… can you…”
“What?” You Fusang leaned close.
“Can you… please don’t drive me away?… Why must you drive me away? Why should it be me who leaves?… This place… this place is my home…”
“…”
You Fusang soothed her with gentle strokes. “You’ll go back. You will go back. Don’t grieve.”
Even as she said it, You Fusang abruptly realized her own breathing had grown unstable. The Pagoda Token fed on the emotions of the living, and at this moment Yan Rushi was a storm of grief and indignation, of sorrow and despair—all of which You Fusang could feel, vividly.
And be terribly influenced by it.
Under the Pagoda, man and beast were no different: the Taotie feasts, and all living beings are merely flesh and blood in its belly. Yan Rushi, in this moment, was to You Fusang a plate of jade-like delicacies.
It had been a long time since she encountered such a situation.
All her deliberate restraint came to nothing in this instant.
The lamps in Pagoda Palace burned lush and bright; eternal candles shrouded in gauze mist, their flames flickering, illuminating You Fusang’s suddenly constricting golden pupils.
The Pagoda Ghost’s fangs were sharp, its nails keen as thin blades, its golden eyes glittering with the light of bloodlust.
She lowered her head.
In the wavering lamplight, You Fusang saw the pale green veins at the throat of the person on the couch.
Sleeping there with knitted brows was a beauty of jade bones and clear snow, like a hibiscus or peony in bloom.
That thin pulse at her throat was inches away.
“If I peeled away a wisp of my Junior Sister’s skin, would flesh blur and bleed beneath—or would there be new-fallen snow, clean and white?” The thought surfaced in You Fusang’s mind without cause. How long ago had that been? This past year, Yan Rushi had remained at her side, only occasionally showing glimpses of her old spirit. You Fusang ought to feel grateful—if not for these hundred years that made her the Heretic Path Sovereign whom all eyes watched and whose hand could overturn clouds, she might… never have crossed paths with this fallen Young Sect Master at all.
She could help her.
That alone was enough for her to be content.
After several breaths, You Fusang steadied her breathing, the blood-red in her pupils slowly receding. She had restrained herself, just as before—but this time it was exceptionally agonizing. For one thing, the bottleneck at the ninth layer of the Pagoda Token pressed close; suppressing her desire like this was fighting against instinct itself. For another, her own emotions were in too great an upheaval—and for a Devil Cultivator, every emotion that could not be restrained yet must be was arsenic.
Yet if she indulged those emotions, she would become a monster that plundered lives at will. She still had her reason now, and so she restrained herself; still had her reason, and so understood all the more clearly that her art was a road to ruin.
Before her, Yan Rushi’s sleeping face gradually calmed. Even with the Devil Tattoo on her back, her complexion was a clean translucence that only a hundred years of the Righteous Path could nurture—not like Devil Cultivators, cold and icy-green as the dead.
All at once, watching her, You Fusang felt a sudden wretchedness; warm tears quietly streamed from her eyes. She wiped them away carefully—only to find they were the color of blood.
A Devil Cultivator’s body was cold as solid ice; the bones were cold, the blood was cold. Perhaps these tears were the only warm thing left in her.
After a long while, You Fusang composed her emotions, drew a deep breath, and began to think about what came next.
In any case, this Lu Qiongyin was undeniably entangled with Pagoda City. Every City Lord walked the road to destruction, yet “Lu Qiongyin” remained unharmed. Why? Had she broken through the final layer of Pagoda Rebirth… taking death and turning it into life?
“Pagoda Life, Pagoda Soul, Pagoda City beyond Pagoda Palace. Pagoda City, Pagoda Ghost, Pagoda Life beneath the Pagoda’s seat.”
These were the first two lines written at the very beginning of the Pagoda Token, passed down by word of mouth among the lords of Pagoda City; they were not written in the script of the Nine Provinces, but in Sanskrit from further west and south.
Qianji Tower lay in that same direction.
Lu Qiongyin…
Recalling that face—so familiar in shape, so alien in color—You Fusang grew wary.
She had to uncover the secret of the Pagoda Token, and quickly.
Zhuang Xuan or Lu Qiongyin—some people, whether she wished to see them or not, she would have to see.
At the midnight hour in Pagoda City, the full moon hung high, and the lamps in the palace never went out.
You Fusang sat at her desk, where a long scroll lay unrolled: the map of the Pagoda Underground Palace. For a hundred years she had occupied a lofty position yet rarely acted personally, for her subordinates each attended to their own duties, and those she borrowed—people, objects, strength—arranged themselves in good order. Among Devil Cultivators there were those whose Devil Qi was brutal and domineering, like herself; those whose temperament was cunning, skilled with Gu, skilled at hiding daggers behind smiles and striking when least expected, like Geng Ying; those meticulous of mind, expert at reading hearts, like Qingluan; and still others adept at formations, at leading armies, at Puppet Armor, at forging artifacts… If the righteous and the heretic were destined to war, she had to be armed to the teeth.
Pagoda Underground Palace, the Eighteen Hells beyond the Bright Moon Longing Tower…
You Fusang’s fingertip paused, her thoughts snagging on a certain word—when someone outside the door suddenly shouted, “Venerable Lord!!”
More than one person stood outside: Geng Ying and a messenger from the sleeping palace.
Geng Ying darted in first, the Spirit Bells in her hair jingling. “Venerable Lord, Venerable Lord, I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
“Sorry for what?”
“Sister Qingluan—Sister Qingluan, she… I accidentally let her learn of the connection between Lu Qiongyin and City Lord Zhuang Xuan. I’m sorry—was I wrong to let Sister Qingluan know? I knew full well she carried wounds over it…” Geng Ying was panicking, words tumbling out. “But only Sister Qingluan knows the map of the Pagoda Underground Palace’s formation and the Eighteen Hells. I—I went to investigate, and it slipped out,” tears of anxiety falling, she flopped down onto her knees. “I’m sorry, Geng Ying is sorry, Venerable Lord! Geng Ying deserves ten thousand deaths!”
You Fusang put away the map and rose. “So what if she knows? She would have learned it sooner or later.”
“But!” Geng Ying cried urgently, “But Sister Qingluan vanished from my sight at the hour of Shen. I grew suspicious, and just now I probed with Gu Insects—she, she really is headed for Qianji Tower!! Venerable Lord, what are we to do?!”
You Fusang blinked, then laughed despite herself. “Is that so? How impatient… Truly—the diligent Azure Bird flies ahead to scout.”
She pondered a moment, then lifted her gaze to the attendant behind Geng Ying. “And you? What do you have to report?”
“To answer the Venerable Lord,” the attendant said with utmost deference, “Young Sect Master Yan has also awakened.”
