Chapter Nineteen: Reunion with Liu Xiangyi

"If I had not shown mercy, she would have been reduced to ashes, vanishing from the three realms." Xuanqiong's gaze did not fall upon that person; instead, she looked at the disdain on Chu Weiyi's face, closed her eyes, and calmed her anger.

She refrained from tossing the person out and merely pushed her off the dueling platform.

"Weiyi, are you hurt?" Someone saw Chu Weiyi being pushed down, took a large stride forward, caught her just in time, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"In the future, don't plead for her if you encounter that person again, or I won't be so polite." Chu Weiyi brushed off his hand before she had even steadied herself.

"Alright," he said, glancing at his own arm and instinctively agreeing.

Chu Weiyi put away 'Remnant Demon,' stepped back twice, left only those words, and vanished.

"We will meet again."

Their conversation was in the language of spirits; only Xuanqiong understood what she said. A breeze blew two strands of hair across her forehead, and from Murong Luohua's direction, he caught sight of her slightly furrowed brow. Though it was only a fleeting moment, he noticed.

The person below stood stunned. Xuanqiong caught a glimpse of his face out of the corner of her eye, and a similar face appeared in her mind; it seemed she had handed several primal souls to the Keeper of Fate.

"What is your name?" Xuanqiong gripped his wrist, leading him away from the crowd, to a place where no one could see.

"Xie Chumo."

Xuanqiong paid little mind, having already obtained the information she wanted. There was no demon bloodline—he was a cultivator.

"What is your relationship with her?"

"What concern is it of yours?" Xie Chumo's expression changed, utterly different from when he looked at Chu Weiyi, and he struggled to break free from her grasp.

"If you refuse to tell me, I will kill her myself."

"You..."

Xuanqiong watched his breathing grow heavier; clearly, their relationship was not ordinary. She relaxed, knowing she had found her helper in the mortal realm and that he would be easier to control in the future.

She released his wrist, letting him go. As he summoned his artifact and was about to ride his sword away, Xuanqiong sent a talisman flying at his back and turned to leave.

The 'Qionglin Tournament' thus ended, revealing the disparities among the younger generation of the great families and nations. Though the youths could not represent their entire clans—after all, the elders' strength was unassailable and none would dare provoke them—it still served as a warning.

Murong Luohua waited at the door for his master, incense stick burning away as he stood there. When Xuanqiong returned, she found him staring at his wrist, oblivious even as she approached.

"Don't move." Xuanqiong brought an ice sword to his throat from behind, uttering those words in an unfamiliar voice.

Murong Luohua felt the chilling cold; his pupils trembled, but he quickly relaxed. He had let his guard down. Seeing his lack of resistance, Xuanqiong's eyes filled with tears.

"Do you truly wish to die so badly?"

"Master, I do not. It was my failure to remain vigilant."

"So you simply gave up?"

"Because at this moment, I cannot escape."

He hadn't noticed anyone approaching; when the ice sword touched his vital point, escape was impossible, especially given the vast difference in cultivation.

"No, you can always escape. If your teacher helps you, you can, so never give up—promise me."

"Yes."

Xuanqiong put away the ice sword, stepped back to keep her distance. Murong Luohua turned to ask her something, sensing sadness in her words—perhaps it was that person she had just met who had caused her sorrow, yet—

All he saw was her back.

"Master, do you know that person?"

"I just felt a bit of familiarity. It is nothing; you need not concern yourself."

"Alright."

His master refused to tell him, yet had pulled that person aside to speak. He was her disciple; his mood sank.

Murong Luohua was busy imagining what connection that person could have with his master, when a voice interrupted his musings.

"Immortal Xuanqiong, thank you for saving my life." Ling Yuqing knelt before Xuanqiong, giving the highest royal salute.

Her voice broke Xuanqiong's melancholy. She gazed at the kneeling woman, her expression returning to calm and composure.

"This is the duty of the tournament guardian; you need not show such ceremony."

"Duty or not, you saved my life and gratitude is only right." Ling Yuqing stood, her face radiant with joy.

When Xuanqiong saw her face, especially that familiar smile, she was first surprised, then her eyes softened. If she truly was the reincarnation of Xiao Qingyue, he would be delighted.

"What is your name?"

"Disciple Ling Yuqing. If you ever need me, I will brave fire and water without hesitation."

"The latter words are unnecessary; for now, I require no such sacrifice. Give me your hand."

"Yes."

Xuanqiong drew a talisman on her hand, one that could save her life in a critical moment. At first, she worried that with Ling Yuqing's talent, she might never ascend, but upon touching her, sensed a demon bloodline.

"Luohua, if Yuqing has any needs and I am not here, please help her."

"Of course." Hearing his master finally mention him, he hurried to her side and agreed.

"Immortal, this is unnecessary. The rules are clear; I cannot be too involved with him."

"If such a matter truly arises, I will handle it."

"Thank you, Immortal." Ling Yuqing thanked her again, joyfully leaving the courtyard, only to run into her royal brother at the corner.

"Brother, why are you here? I told you I could handle it alone."

"Your wounds have only just healed; I was worried." Ling Yuhan saw her energetic and cheerful, even happier than when she left.

"Let me tell you, I saw the Immortal up close. To say water for bones and jade for skin is no exaggeration." Ling Yuqing grew ever more excited, nearly dragging Ling Yuhan along to see.

"I agree," Ling Yuhan replied, though inwardly he was skeptical—her head of white hair spoke of age, and who knew if that beauty was real.

...

"Water for bones, jade for skin?" Xuanqiong laughed at the phrase—it truly was her. "Luohua, I have matters to investigate and must leave. When you reach the inner circle of Fierce Melody Forest, that will likely mark my return. I want to see your progress."

"Alright."

Murong Luohua watched her vanish, saying nothing. Every day was spent in cultivation; when would it end? She treated others well, but always spoke coldly to her disciple.

Sitting beside a tree stump, he played with his fingers, his face full of displeasure.

"Hey, why are you sulking here alone?" A figure leapt from the tree, dark red skirt swirling, hair ribbons fluttering, still wearing that mask.

"Miss Liu, what brings you here?" Murong Luohua eyed her warily—was she following him?

"I observed you all from below the dueling stage. You've improved greatly, completely different from our first meeting. My spiritual power was not wasted."

"Naturally. If my cultivation hadn't increased, my master would criticize me." Murong Luohua relaxed at her words.

"Your master really has a detached view of life and death, doesn't treat you well at all."

"Master is wonderful; you simply haven't seen her goodness." Murong Luohua glanced sideways.

"Fine, your master is the best, alright?" Liu Xiangyi pouted—what a thick filter he had.

"It’s true." Now he dared to face her directly, his gaze firm.

"Then I'll wait and see. Come on, you must be heading out for training. Let’s go together."

"Of course, but I need to inform my father first, so he won't worry."

"As you wish."

"Where are you from, where is your home?"

At the word 'home,' her gaze dimmed. Murong Luohua saw her lively eyes grow somber, realizing he had touched on something unpleasant.

"Miss Liu, would you like to come along? Knowing you, a skilled cultivator, my father would be more at ease."

"Really? I haven't felt parental warmth for so long."

"Yes."

Murong Luohua walked ahead, Liu Xiangyi followed, never taking her eyes off him, the curve of her lips visible even beyond the mask.

Murong Haoran was the only clan leader to come in person. Just done packing, he opened the door to see a figure in pink-green robes—a color rarely worn by men, yet strikingly bright. A glance revealed it was Young Master Shen.

"Murong Feng, is there something urgent?"

"I need to speak with Luohua. Is he in his room?"

"He should be with his master next door; you can check." Murong Haoran's displeasure was obvious—this father was less close than the master.

"No need," Murong Luohua said, walking straight toward them. Shen Murongfeng watched him with a plaintive look, never noticing the familiar face nearby.

"I’d like to borrow him for a few days, so..." Shen Murongfeng, after withdrawing his gaze, faced Murong Haoran and bowed, seeking permission.

"Go ahead," Murong Haoran agreed without hesitation. Murongfeng was steady; his son could learn from him. He meant to ignore Murong Luohua and leave, but upon seeing the red figure beside him, stopped immediately.

"Hey, who is this young lady?"

"My name is Liu Xiangyi, a fellow cultivator training with him."

"A fellow cultivator? Good, support each other. I’ll be off." Having learned her identity, he darted away, his attendants unable to respond.

Once most had left, Shen Murongfeng finally asked,

"With people beside you, why involve yourself with Bei Mingling?"

"What?" Murong Luohua was baffled, not knowing what he was talking about.

"If you hadn't said something to Bei Mingling, why would she insist on bringing you along for training?"

"I have no idea."

...

"Perhaps the lady was entrusted by someone?" Liu Xiangyi interjected, breaking up their quarrel.

"Entrusted by someone? Who would she listen to?" Shen Murongfeng's face was ashen.

"I met her once during training in Fierce Melody Forest," Liu Xiangyi replied without hesitation, pointing out the person.

"Immortal Xuanqiong," Shen Murongfeng uttered the name with gritted teeth.

Shen Murongfeng led them to Bei Mingling’s door, silent the whole way, stewing and cursing Immortal Xuanqiong again and again.

Had Murong Haoran not left, he would surely have gouged out his own eyes and wondered: Is this the steadiness I always believed in?

They sensed spiritual energy flying down to the door, immediately stepping aside. Shen Murongfeng pushed the door open to find Bei Mingling receiving a letter—from her sect master.

The letter stated that a murder had occurred in Wushui Town of Beiyao Kingdom. With the locals' low cultivation, they could not handle it. As the eldest princess of Beiyao, Bei Mingling was the ideal person to entrust with the task.

"Wushui Town is nearby; I'll go with you," Shen Murongfeng said, taking her hand.

"Alright."

"What about us?" Liu Xiangyi, seeing the pair occupied, looked to Murong Luohua.

"Why not go together? If the matter proves dangerous, we can help one another."

"No, I don't agree." Shen Murongfeng, once smiling, reversed his attitude completely when he looked at Murong Luohua.

"I think it's fine. The Immortal said we should go together." Bei Mingling, sensing the change but prioritizing the Immortal's words, grasped his hand with wet eyes, "Is it alright?"

"Fine... alright." As soon as he spoke, Shen Murongfeng regretted it, realizing he had been duped again.

Hearing his assent, Bei Mingling withdrew her hand and instantly resumed her noble princess demeanor.

The four flew to Wushui Town, arriving after half an hour. After searching for another half hour, they finally found a guesthouse to stay at. By then, night had fallen. Unfortunately, the innkeeper said there were only two rooms left, yet they were four.

"Sister Xiangyi, would you mind sharing with me?" Bei Mingling took her hand.

"Of course."

With that, Bei Mingling pulled her into the room, leaving the two gentlemen staring at each other. Shen Murongfeng entered the other room without hesitation.

Murong Luohua sighed—if he'd known, he wouldn’t have come. He entered the room, chose a corner, and began cultivating.

At dawn, Murong Luohua opened the door, only to find a body slumping backward on the ground.

"Ouch!"

"Miss Liu, what are you doing at the door?"

Liu Xiangyi propped herself up with her arm, bleary-eyed, her head muddled. After a moment, she answered.

"Shen Murongfeng kicked me out. I wanted to find you, but for the sake of your reputation, I didn’t enter. I never expected to fall asleep here."

She slowly stood, but failed to steady herself, dragging him down with her.

Their eyes met. Murong Luohua gazed into hers, stunned, and reached for her mask, but Liu Xiangyi quickly stood and apologized.

"Sorry, my leg’s numb."

"It’s... it’s fine." Murong Luohua stared into her eyes, lost in thought.

Bei Mingling ran up to their door, flustered and rosy-cheeked, speaking incoherently.

"Sister Xiangyi, why is he here? Or rather, why aren't you inside?"

"Shen Murongfeng came in and kicked me out. Did you know?"

Shen Murongfeng emerged, strolling leisurely, a smile on his lips.

"A Ling, it's time for business."

"You go alone." Bei Mingling cooled her cheeks, turned away, refusing to look.

"This is your responsibility, let's go." Shen Murongfeng took her hand and led her downstairs. Bei Mingling appealed to the other two, to no avail.

"We should go, too." Liu Xiangyi prepared to leave, glancing back when no one followed. "Is something wrong?"

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Murong Luohua asked, meeting her gaze.