Chapter 20: Narrow Sea Azure (Part 3): Something’s Off with This Body

“After successfully feeding them, the next step is to kill them off.”

Three days later, Mu Qian Tan once again stood behind the podium and slowly uttered those words.

As expected, all the parrots had survived. Even though they didn’t agree with the force-feeding method, everyone had done it anyway to keep them alive. After three days of interaction, some parrots were even willing to speak. The taming process had gone even better than anticipated.

The hall was livelier than the previous days, with everyone discussing what names to give the parrots once they were fully tamed. But after Mu Qian Tan said that, the entire hall fell into dead silence. Almost everyone’s faces went blank.

Shang Shan had probably already guessed that her words from that night were true, so she wasn’t too surprised. But she reached out and hugged the iron cage, her expression resolute, clearly with no intention of cooperating.

Qin He’s smile vanished abruptly, gradually turning into a near-suppressed rage. Her hands on the desk clenched into fists. The others were mostly bewildered and at a loss.

Mu Qian Tan looked at them and said nothing more. She lightly clapped her hands, and the doors and windows slammed shut with a bang. The room darkened. The meaning was clear: no finishing the lesson, no leaving.

Who used threats like this to teach a class!

None of the students moved. The initial cheerful atmosphere had completely shattered, leaving only whispers and panicked distress. Mu Qian Tan waited quietly, in no hurry.

A few days earlier, Panxiang Yin had told her the lesson content: teach these young students how to kill and practice severance and detachment.

The students present were mostly from prestigious families or sects, raised with care. Though they had entered the cultivation world early, their understanding of life still lingered at the mortal level. Facing shape-shifting demons or fiends that looked so similar to humans, they found it hard to strike. Thus, teaching them to kill was especially crucial.

Yet, though important, no one wanted to teach this lesson.

It was easy to understand—just how thankless a task it was. What could be taught in mere days? If the students refused, were you supposed to force them? If you misjudged and angered these future sect heirs, it could backfire on you. Not worth it.

Thus, Yao’e Immortal, whose reputation was already in the gutter and who cared nothing for such vanities, was the perfect teacher for the job.

It wasn’t long before the sound of a sword being drawn echoed in the room. Mu Qian Tan looked over to see Fu Li, who had been kicked out on the first day of class three days ago. Her family must have said something to her, because the girl had actually shown up today—though her face was frighteningly grim.

The one who drew the sword was one of her maids. Both were tall and sturdy, dressed in tight black combat attire that vaguely outlined sleek muscle lines beneath. They wore conical hats with black veils over their faces, making their features hard to discern. Though they usually handled daily chores, they now looked more like personal bodyguards.

The slender, thin longsword gleamed coldly as it was unsheathed. The maid turned the tip and slid it into the iron cage at a deliberate pace, piercing the parrot that still didn’t realize what was happening. The blade emerged from the other side, now stained red.

The parrot didn’t struggle at all. Even with its body run through, it stood in place, a testament to the sword’s sharpness.

Throughout the process, Fu Li’s icy gaze stayed fixed on Mu Qian Tan, as if the sword had pierced the woman on the podium instead of the parrot.

Even knowing what this little maniac was thinking, Mu Qian Tan showed no emotional fluctuation. Seeing the maid already wiping the blade clean, she said to the crowd, “Did everyone see this student’s demonstration?”

The responses were sparse. Fu Li hadn’t expected her to say that, and her brows furrowed again. Moments later, she abruptly stood, slamming her palm down. The iron cage and parrot turned into a pile of mush and debris.

Mu Qian Tan said flatly, “Giving it a quick end isn’t bad either.”

Fu Li turned her head away, but her eyes remained fixed, like the stare of a cold-blooded beast. She straightened her sleeves without a word and strode out the door with her maid.

Once the door shut again, Mu Qian Tan said, “What about the rest of you?”

Three days of interaction were enough to foster attachment—especially after the guilt from force-feeding, the sense of accomplishment in saving it from starvation, and the joy of hearing it speak. Going from savior to killer wasn’t easy.

If they kept waiting like this, who knew how long it would take. Mu Qian Tan, not one for much patience in such matters, said, “Do you know why these parrots were so hard to feed? Their previous owner liked to use human flesh as feed. Demonic beasts crave human essence blood. Once they’ve tasted the best, they won’t touch anything else.”

A chill ran through the students. No wonder the parrots’ eyes were so strange—so rotten and green. They had been tamed in an unnatural way.

The only one whose expression didn’t change was Shang Shan. At the words “human flesh,” she subconsciously licked her lips. Her mind flashed back to that rural alley, the aroma of meat and blood between her teeth when she bit into that hand.

Her gaze involuntarily drifted to the woman’s hand. The wound had fully healed, not even a trace of blood visible. Yet a familiar taste welled up in her mouth. She swallowed it with a gulp, along with the hidden craving. God, that sweet, fresh blood.

No wonder the parrots wouldn’t eat other food. She admitted it—that had been delicious.

“So, this batch of parrots was never meant to last,” Mu Qian Tan noticed the stare and shot Shang Shan a displeased glance. She lightly shook her sleeve to cover the back of her hand and continued, “But since you’re all finding it so hard, I’ll give you a few other options.”

A student asked, “What options?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “Besides killing your own parrot as the first option, the second is to kill someone else’s. That counts as passing too.”

The students exchanged glances. They had shared classes for a while now and, being around the same age, had gotten familiar and friendly. But now they had to kill each other’s spirit pets? That was even harder than killing their own.

Mu Qian Tan continued, “The third option: ask a fellow student to kill it for you.”

For the parrots, the outcome was death either way. But doing it yourself, killing someone else’s, or having someone else do it—they all meant something different, depending on personal inclinations and choices.

“The fourth, and final option,” Mu Qian Tan said slowly, “pay the appropriate price to spare its life. But you must guarantee that this parrot won’t harm anyone due to its craving for human flesh for the rest of its days. Otherwise, bear the consequences yourself.”

That sounded more acceptable. Someone asked, “What price?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “For example, a finger. Or an eye.”

The questioner fell silent at once. They had thought it might be money or treasures—none of them lacked those. But part of their own body, just for a parrot? Completely not worth it.

Not to mention, who could guarantee these human-flesh-raised demonic beasts wouldn’t crave it again someday?

The room grew restless again. They couldn’t stall forever. After prolonged struggle, most chose to have someone else do it for them. And their choices all centered on a youth in the corner.

This youth occupied three rows of seats alone, at the very back of the hall, ignored by all. If Fu Li had isolated herself because she deemed others unworthy, he was forced into it—no one wanted to approach him.

Li Biyuan chimed in at the right moment: ‘This is Jiang Min, a disciple of the Taihang Feng Clan. Their family registry is a mess; I won’t explain. Simply put, due to their ancestors’ many wicked deeds, all descendants are cursed. He’s no exception and will take his own life in a few years.’

The first person to place their parrot cage on his desk didn’t ask if he agreed. After a quick request, they fled the hall like it was the plague. The others followed suit, piling cages on his desk or at his feet, convinced he wouldn’t refuse.

Soon, only Qin He and Shang Shan remained seated. Jiang Min was surrounded by cages.

He wore black robes, his skin pale, his face gloomy, his eyes threaded with bloodshot veins. He looked like he hadn’t rested properly in ages. He neither refused nor accepted the requests, reacting flatly from start to finish.

The parrots still called out their owners’ names, unaware of their fate. Mu Qian Tan asked, “Will you do it for them?”

Only then did Jiang Min stiffly turn his neck and stand. His face was bloodless, his voice weak and soft. “I’d like the fourth option. Pay the price to spare their lives.”

Mu Qian Tan said, “What will you pay?”

Jiang Min said, “Myself.”

“…” As expected of a boy obsessed with suicide every moment.

Li Biyuan added: ‘By the way, the male protagonist Jiang Yuanqi is also from the Taihang Feng Clan. He took his mother’s surname along with his sister Jiang Zhouyao, and they’re close. But when his mother fled the Feng Clan, she didn’t take him, so he ran away to find her and his sister—that’s how the male and female protagonists met.’

‘Ah, and the male protagonist has a curse too: those he loves are destined for separation.’

Mu Qian Tan’s gaze flicked to Shang Shan. She thought: ‘Loved ones destined for separation? Did the male and female protagonists not end up together?’

‘Of course they did. The curse is just a hurdle in their romance. Love is born from overcoming obstacles together,’ Li Biyuan laughed. ‘Besides, our little female protagonist is very persistent. Once she decides she likes someone, she’ll chase them to the ends of the earth. No amount of difficulties or mere curses will stop her.’

Perhaps because she was still young, Mu Qian Tan couldn’t see any sign of the desperate emotional turmoil to come on that childish face. She said, ‘Fine.’

She had no intention of letting him die right now. To the boy, she said, “No need. You can ask me to do it for you.”

Jiang Min seemed a bit regretful. “Please help me, then.”

Mu Qian Tan said, “You can go.”

Jiang Min bowed to her, extricated himself from the pile of parrot cages, and left the hall.

Now, only two remained in the hall.

Shang Shan hugged the iron cage tightly and said firmly, “I choose none of them. I won’t let Zhengchun die unless you kill me today. Otherwise, I won’t compromise.”

Zhengchun was the name she had given the parrot. Its vibrant feathers easily evoked springtime blooms in full array.

Mu Qian Tan stepped down from the podium. “Fine. Then you’d better not move.”

Before she reached the desk, the sound of a sword being drawn rang out. She halted immediately. Looking down, she saw a sword tip pressed against her chest, trembling slightly.

Following the frost-snow-like blade, she saw two engraved characters: Yue Ge. This was Qin He’s sword.

Her gaze shifted from the blade to the girl’s face, full of defiance. Her skin flushed red like she was poisoned. At this distance, Mu Qian Tan finally noticed the two small silver bells dangling from her right earlobe, jingling only with big movements.

Shang Shan sprang up, as if to pull the sword away but unsure if she should. She hesitated. “Qin He…”

Qin He bit her lower lip, her sword hand shaking violently. As if finally unable to hold back, she demanded, “Do you think toying with people like this is fun?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “I’m teaching a class. Where’s the fun in that?”

Qin He said, “You could have used a different method! No one teaches like this!”

Mu Qian Tan said, “Everyone has their own teaching style.”

“It’s different, but yours is especially excessive!” Qin He roared. “Your class isn’t over yet, right? What will you make us kill next? And why stir up discord? Do you only feel satisfied if we end up killing each other?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “No.”

“Not a word you say is true!” Qin He’s face grew redder, her hand shaking harder. “Do you enjoy this? Seeing others frustrated because they want to deal with you but can’t—does that make you happy?”

The sword tip grazed past the woman’s chest several times. Shang Shan set down the cage and moved to pull her back. “Qin He, calm down first.”

She could feel the tension in the girl’s forearm, knew she was holding back. Shang Shan couldn’t just yank her away. Bewildered, she instinctively looked to Mu Qian Tan. The woman, still pointed at with a sword, remained cool and detached. She said, “What do you want to say?”

“What do I want to say?” Qin He’s eyes instantly reddened. “Don’t you know in your heart?”

As expected, it wasn’t just about the parrots. It was an explosion of pent-up emotions accumulated over time.

The child harbored too much resentment toward her in her heart. Coupled with the recent rescue, it made her even more pained and conflicted, at a loss for what to do. She merely used this opportunity to vent.

That was also good. It was better than bottling it up inside.

Mu Qian Tan ignored the sword tip pointed at her and walked toward her. “I don’t know.”

Qin He subconsciously retreated as well. “Don’t come any closer!”

Mu Qian Tan stopped in place. “Do you want to kill me?”

Qin He’s eyes reddened even more, tears welling up as her voice turned hoarse. “I do want to kill you, but before that, I must ask clearly—was it you who killed my sister?!”

This was a plot not mentioned in the original story. Mu Qian Tan answered honestly. “I don’t know.”

This answer was even more excessive than a perfunctory one. How could the person involved not know what had happened back then? Qin He was stunned for a moment before growing even angrier. She roared, “How could you not know!”

Mu Qian Tan stood quietly in place without speaking.

“Killing, killing—this class is too fitting for you to teach. How many lives are on your hands? Do you even remember? Heartless demon, my sister, my sister…” Tears finally fell. Qin He choked out, “My sister was so good to you. She fed you, helped you bathe and dress, took you out to hunt demons—even I was envious. And how did you repay her?”

Her eyes were bloodshot as she gnashed her teeth. “My own sister! She died without an intact corpse! Why are you still standing here perfectly fine, pretending to give lessons and acting like nothing happened while toying with others? Don’t you have even a shred of guilt? Don’t you have nightmares?!”

One shrill question after another pierced the air. Intense pain transmitted from her chest cavity throughout her body. Mu Qian Tan’s back went numb, her vision blackened, and she nearly buckled at the waist.

She clenched her teeth to endure the severe pain and urgently asked in her mind, ‘What are you doing?’

Li Biyuan sounded puzzled. ‘Huh? Asking me? I didn’t do anything. It wasn’t me holding the sword to you.’

‘My heart…’ A layer of fine sweat broke out on her back, but Mu Qian Tan maintained a stable facade. ‘Did you mess with my heart?’

‘I didn’t.’ Li Biyuan raised her voice. ‘Don’t wrongly accuse me! Sister Tan, I’m just a spectator right now.’

The black hand on her heart from earlier truly hadn’t moved, but the pain felt all too real. Mu Qian Tan frowned. As spiritual power flowed through her, she still couldn’t detect any issues with this body.

“Every time, every time I ask you, you don’t answer.” Qin He sobbed. “Why wasn’t it you who died…”

Shang Shan said, “Qin He!”

Seeing the tears rolling down her face, intense pain surged in her chest once more. This time, Mu Qian Tan discerned the source—the agony stemmed from extreme emotions building up in a short time: guilt, torment, self-destruction, struggle. And none of it came from her!

‘Not quite right.’ She endured it, her face pale and her breathing nearly halting. ‘Li Biyuan, something’s off with this body…’

‘What’s wrong with you? Is your heart hurting? What’s going on?’ Li Biyuan panicked. She suddenly thought of something and fell silent.

It was only because Qin He was questioning her that Mu Qian Tan felt this near-death heart pain. But this woman wouldn’t feel guilt over a stranger. The one truly suffering could only be one person.

Li Biyuan realized a horrifying possibility.

‘My God.’ Her voice trembled. ‘The original host’s soul… it didn’t die completely. There’s still a part of it left in you, right!’