Song Qianji did not carry the Snow Blade tonight.
The cultivators in the cave were already sufficiently convinced of "Rogue Cultivator Song Xun," regardless of whether he held a formidable blade or was recognized as a friend by Ziye Wenshu.
Before entering the formation, he deliberately returned the blade to Ziye Wenshu: "I may have to kill someone tonight."
Ziye Wenshu looked at him strangely, as if asking why he would return the blade if he intended to kill.
Song Qianji possessed many fine treasures—the Painted Spring Mountain, the Seven Wonders Zither, the Dragon Slaying Formation—yet no one had ever heard of him wielding a lifebound magical artifact.
A truly fitting weapon, one that could decide life and death in combat.
Song Qianji said, "This matter has nothing to do with you. I don’t wish to use your blade."
Ziye Wenshu replied coldly, "Without the Snow Blade, what will you use?"
"I brought my own sword." Song Qianji, recognizing his goodwill, remained unruffled. "This sword’s lethality is no less than the Snow Blade."
A sword meant for killing should not be lightly revealed.
But to show he indeed had a suitable magical artifact and ease the other’s concern, he summoned a slender sword from his storage bag, slowly drew three inches of it, and displayed it to Ziye Wenshu.
It left its sheath without a sound. The blade was thin and narrow, with a nearly transparent crystal-like texture that reflected no image, only the icy walls around them.
The edge was sharp, exuding a chilling aura of killing intent. One could imagine that a thrust from this sword would be swift and invisible, leaving no room for retreat.
Even Ziye Wenshu, accustomed to high-grade magical artifacts, could not help but brighten his gaze and praise, "An excellent sword!"
Song Qianji smiled with satisfaction and sheathed the sword. If Xian Jianchen hadn’t amassed such treasures over the years, he would have truly wasted his time.
But then Ziye Wenshu’s tone shifted: "This isn’t your sword."
His voice was certain.
Song Qianji felt slightly indignant: "You’ve never seen me wield a sword. How do you know I’m unworthy of it?"
Ziye Wenshu shook his head: "A sword like this, meant for killing, is unworthy of you."
Song Qianji’s sword should be righteous and majestic, capable of both taking and sparing lives, wielded with control and purpose.
Song Qianji chuckled wryly and lightly tapped the scabbard: "You think too highly of me. But now, like this sword, I am merely a tool in someone else’s hands, capable of killing."
The targets waited at ease, laying traps methodically. The killer, however, had to pursue across countless mountains and rivers, unable to shrink back even knowing the dangers ahead.
Had he not encountered Ziye Wenshu and his companions, this would have been a tiresome and dull mission.
Hearing him say "someone else," Ziye Wenshu raised an eyebrow: "It’s that person."
He looked toward the cave ceiling, as if piercing through the ice to see the distant sky.
Song Qianji paused, then laughed in surprise: "You guessed it right away. So clever—I thought that cultivation method of yours would dull your mind."
Otherwise, why would he constantly place himself in peril, accumulating injuries and ailments?
Ziye Wenshu corrected him earnestly: "The 'Ice Soul Heart Method' erodes the practitioner’s seven emotions and six desires, but it does not impair intellect."
It wasn’t hard to deduce. When Song Qianji was in the Huawel Sect, he deferred to no one, avoiding both the Purple Cloud Temple and Green Cliff, because he had the strongest backing of all.
Who else in the world could commission him to kill, if not Xian Jianchen?
Song Qianji thought to himself, what a pity that this cultivation method both elevates and harms you.
For every gain, there is a price. The greater a cultivator’s power, the more perilous their weakness.Because Green Cliff needed a dignified and impartial guardian deity statue, Ziye Wenshu forged himself into a cold and ruthless blade.
He often struggled to comprehend the subtle complexities of human emotions. The more others dared not approach him, the less he interacted with people, and the harder it became for him to empathize with ordinary individuals.
It wasn't until Song Qianji began writing him letters—enthusiastically and earnestly describing trivial matters from the fields—that he was gradually pulled back into the human world.
Song Qianji laughed and said, "Then help me think about this. Sprites also understand seeking advantage and avoiding harm. They've encountered strong resistance here, suffered heavy casualties, yet they still refuse to leave. They attack every night and even summon their kin to join them. This secret realm isn't lacking other cultivators, so why are they so fixated on our group? Is it because you and I are more delicious and better suit their tastes?"
"Because they fear something, yet desire something else," Ziye Wenshu replied.
"Exactly. The sprites dare not enter the cave, perhaps because there's something deep inside that they fear, while we possess something they want. They're also afraid that we might discover what they desire and use it against them, so they have no choice but to stubbornly keep fighting."
In the previous life, on this very night, when Ziye Wenshu and Song Qianji were defending against the sprites, a sudden earthquake struck. The ice cave seemed on the verge of collapse, and the cultivators inside panicked like headless flies.
Ziye Wenshu attempted to lead a breakout, but it resulted in heavy casualties. Seeing the situation turning dire, Song Qianji gathered the survivors and urged them to run deeper into the cave instead.
The group followed a passage opened by the earthquake and broke into the Underground Palace, temporarily escaping the shadow of death.
As for why the sprites had targeted them in the first place, no one cared.
The secret realm held countless mysteries—not every secret had an answer, and not everyone had the fate to unravel them.
Song Qianji was certain that since Wuxiang's doppelganger had the patience to hide here, it must have some scheme or ambition.
Anything worth Wuxiang's ambition would surely be significant—significant enough to make every sprite in the secret realm swarm out in full force.
Song Qianji couldn't reveal his rebirth, but he couldn't be bothered to fabricate another excuse either. "I can perform divination. I calculated that tonight the earth will shake and the mountains will tremble. A passage to the Underground Palace will open deep within the cave. If you lead everyone down the cracked ice path, you can escape with your lives. Do you believe me?"
Ziye Wenshu refuted firmly, "You don't know divination."
"Aside from the first sentence, you don't believe the rest either?!" Song Qianji couldn't prove something that hadn't happened yet, but he needed the other's cooperation.
"I believe," Ziye Wenshu said. "There will be changes tonight, so the person you want to kill might appear?"
Song Qianji happily slapped his thigh. "Ziye, talking with you is truly effortless."
As it turned out, he had rejoiced too soon.
Just then, the ice surface trembled, icicles fell, and the sprites, as if stimulated, launched a frenzied attack.
Song Qianji drew his sword and shouted, "Everyone, run deeper into the cave! I'll cover the rear."
Suddenly, a black shadow flashed by, followed by a streak of white light carrying a bone-chilling cold.
A sprite less than three feet in front of Song Qianji was cleaved in two.
The Snow Blade had unsheathed first—Ziye Wenshu had arrived.
Both annoyed and helpless, Song Qianji transmitted his voice, "I thought we had an agreement. Once the earthquake hits, you lead everyone into the Underground Palace. I'll hold off these things outside the cave and catch up shortly."
"I never agreed," Ziye Wenshu said. "They will listen to you. They don't need me to lead."He glanced at Song Qianji's sword, meaning with just you alone, how could you hold off the frenzied sprites.
Song Qianji simultaneously glanced at his wound, meaning your injury hasn't healed yet, I'm still stronger than you.
After a brief panic, the cultivators habitually followed Song Qianji's arrangements, summoning their magical artifacts to clear a path as they rushed deeper into the cave.
There truly was no need for Ziye Wenshu to lead the way.
Only the Celestial Sound Sect caused unexpected complications.
"Where is Song Xun? Why is he covering the rear?" Miaoyan's face turned pale.
"That's his business." Liaohua pulled the dazed Miaoyan along, "Senior sister, hurry and go, what are you waiting for?"
The earth shook and mountains trembled, ice spikes fell like torrential rain, creating deafening buzzing echoes.
Miaoyan couldn't hear anything clearly, only thinking that if she were separated from Song Xun in this chaos, with neither having left a token with the other, in the vast sea of humanity and uncertain survival, where would she ever find him again?
Even if he wanted to search, he could never find a sound cultivator named He Yun who didn't exist.
And she might never see him again, never hear him play the flute. She still had so many questions unasked, so many unfinished melodies not yet played for him.
Swept along by the crowd, Muxia grabbed her arm, urging her to move faster.
"No!" Miaoyan shook off that hand and suddenly cried out loudly, "I've cultivated all this way because I wanted to see the real moon!"
She turned and ran against the chaotic tide of people, sprinting toward the cave entrance.
"Song Xun!" Miaoyan shouted.
Song Xun was swinging his sword, sword light falling like rain.
His ordinary features seemed bathed in moonlight, and in her eyes she could no longer see anyone else.
"Miss He, you..." Song Qianji was startled.
"I'll take you away!" Miaoyan grabbed Song Xun's left hand that wasn't holding the sword, like a drowning person desperately clutching a floating log, mistaking it for catching the moon in the water.
She pressed a jade comb into Song Xun's hand, urgently transmitting her voice: "This is the Celestial Sound Sect's supreme treasure, the Severing Comb! It can momentarily tear open a spatial passage, transporting two people a thousand miles away. It only works once and will be useless afterward!"
She wanted to say let's leave this place, never mind whether Wangshu or Jiangyun becomes sect leader, never mind whether Song Wang or Wei Wang claims the throne, never mind how the world falls into chaos—let's go to the ends of the earth, change our names, and spend our lives playing the zither and flute.
Ziye Wenshu slightly raised an eyebrow, as if puzzled.
Song Qianji quickly withdrew his hand: "Miss He, were you... were you hit on the back of the head by falling ice spikes just now?"
Otherwise why would you be talking nonsense. The Celestial Sound Sect didn't have such a treasure—he hadn't heard Miaoyan mention it in his previous life. Even if it really existed, how could it be in the hands of an ordinary disciple?
Stepping back further, we know each other but aren't close—where could we possibly go?
Meeting Song Xun's astonished gaze, Miaoyan felt as if cold water had been poured over her head, standing stunned and motionless.
If someone hadn't pulled her aside, she would have been injured by falling ice spikes.
"Senior sister!" Muxia and others caught up, their faces pale, expressions anxious.
They didn't call her He Yun, all calling her "senior sister" with familiar tones, just like when they usually called her "Senior Sister Miaoyan."
Miaoyan glanced at her sect sisters, the madness fading from her eyes as she silently retrieved the Severing Comb, her voice strained: "I lost my mind in the panic just now. My apologies for the embarrassment."
She wasn't He Yun. She was Wangshu's carefully cultivated disciple, the future successor of the Celestial Sound Sect.
Song Qianji swung his sword with one hand while gently pushing her back with the other, no time to pay attention to her peculiar behavior:
"This place is dangerous, leave quickly!"
"I'm not going." Miaoyan activated a protective magical artifact shaped like a flower umbrella to block the falling ice chunks. "I'll stay and help you."Mu Xia urgently said, "If our senior sister isn't leaving, how can we?"
The others turned at the sound, their emotions complex.
Over the past few days, they had fought side by side, helping and benefiting each other. In this critical moment, even the seemingly delicate female cultivators of the Celestial Sound Sect had the courage to stay—how could they flee in haste?
Someone was the first to turn back: "I'm not leaving either!"
It was the sect leader of Huaxi Sect, who had always been at odds with the Celestial Sound Sect.
Like a spark igniting fire oil spread across the ground, these words filled everyone's chest with valor.
Yan Bangzhu declared, "Fellow Daoist Song has instructed us daily in combat techniques and strategies within the formation. A teacher for a day is a father for life. If something happens to you here while I escape to safety, it will surely plant a demon in my heart in the future. We Rogue Cultivators may not call anyone 'master,' but today we will live or die with you, advance and retreat together!"
"Live or die together, advance and retreat together!" Countless voices echoed heavily.
The colorful lights of various Magical Artifacts intertwined as everyone's expressions grew resolute.
Song Qianji shook his head helplessly. Was this really the right time for them to suddenly unite?
But surrounded by people who had schemed against each other in his past life yet held no grudges in this one, he felt a subtle mix of emotion and gratitude.
Just as he was about to speak, he sensed something again.
Song Qianji turned, his gaze sharp as lightning, piercing through the falling ice flakes to lock onto the back of a female cultivator.
The figure was slender and swift, shrouded in a veil, inconspicuously breaking away from the group.
At this moment, the only one heading deeper into the cave was Wuxiang.
No need to search any longer.
Song Qianji swung his sword.
The sword light shot like an arrow from a bow, flashing past everyone's heads in an instant.
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