Chapter 32: The Weight of a Debt and a Midnight Visit

Shen Zhaoqing ran a hand through her hair, a frown creasing her brow.

She loathed this feeling, this involuntary burden of owing a debt.

Li Wuxia lay inside, her fate uncertain. Shen Zhaoqing’s vigil was only right; this was the most direct debt she owed.

But what about Ling Shuangjue?

The fearsome Demonic Venerable, who could strike terror into the hearts of Nascent Soul cultivators, had simply vanished after sustaining such grievous injuries?

The sticky sensation of blood soaked into her skin resurfaced, and for some reason, Shen Zhaoqing felt a pang of sadness.

“If only I had brought more talismans and Magic Tools then, she wouldn’t have been so severely wounded.” A wave of uncontrollable guilt instantly flooded Shen Zhaoqing’s heart.

‘But she was the Demonic Venerable…’

“The explosion of the Immortal-Binding Array had to be endured with sheer physical force. Demonic cultivation paths are inherently tyrannical; a single misstep could lead to qi deviation, or even instant self-detonation, turning a hundred-li radius into a demonic wasteland.”

Shen Zhaoqing clenched her fist. “Yes, exactly.”

If Ling Shuangjue were to ‘boom’ and explode in some forgotten corner of Qingyun Sect’s back mountain, Shen Zhaoqing’s humble disciple’s room wouldn’t even have dust left.

She wasn’t concerned about that madwoman; she was merely conducting necessary risk assessment and hazard mitigation.

Having found a high-sounding excuse, the inexplicable guilt and worry in Shen Zhaoqing’s heart were finally suppressed.

She quietly stood up, brushing the dust from her rear.

Two disciples from Danxin Pavilion guarded the medicine hut, predictably dozing against the doorposts. Shen Zhaoqing crouched low, activating the Drunken Hidden Evasion technique she had long mastered.

Like a wisp of weightless smoke, she silently bypassed them, slipping into the night of the back mountain.

In her hand, she still clutched the precious, battered gourd—the Gui Niang Hu.

****

Qingyun Sect’s back mountain was rich with spiritual energy and lush with vegetation.

By day, it was a treasure trove for outer disciples gathering herbs and cultivating. By night, apart from the chirping of insects and the rustling of wind, only boundless tranquility remained.

Shen Zhaoqing knew this area intimately: where the monkey wine was strongest, where the spring water was sweetest, which tree offered the most comfortable sleep. She knew it all.

Yet, she had never known that deep within the back mountain, beyond a dense bamboo forest, lay a hidden waterfall plummeting straight down.

“Whoosh—”

The roar of the water was like thunder, exceptionally clear in the silent night.

A colossal torrent cascaded from a cliff tens of zhang high, crashing into the deep pool below and sending up a misty spray. Moonlight pierced through the mist, refracting into a hazy, dreamlike halo of seven colors.

And at the heart of this luminous halo, upon a massive bluestone beside the waterfall, a figure sat in stillness.

A cascade of frost-white hair, reaching to the ground, drifted faintly in the damp mist, like solidified moonlight.

Her blood-stained white robes were tattered beyond recognition, especially across her back, where mangled flesh and bone-deep wounds twisted grotesquely, still emitting wisps of dark red Demonic Energy.

The moment the Demonic Energy touched the surrounding pure spiritual energy, it hissed like ice meeting fire, then vanished. Yet, new tendrils of Demonic Energy swiftly surged from the wounds, a relentless cycle.

This was a painful and protracted process.

Ling Shuangjue had her back to Shen Zhaoqing.

She seemed to have sensed Shen Zhaoqing’s arrival, but she neither turned nor moved. Only her already tense posture appeared to stiffen further.

Shen Zhaoqing softened her footsteps, approaching one step at a time.

She didn’t know what to say.

So she said nothing at all.

She simply walked silently to the bluestone, stopping three steps away from Ling Shuangjue, and then gently offered the worn wine gourd she held.

Ling Shuangjue finally stirred.

She turned her head slowly, painstakingly slowly.

Beneath the moonlight, her face was as pale as paper, and even her most beautiful crimson eyes appeared somewhat dim. A trace of blood, not yet wiped away, clung to the corner of her lips.

Paired with her intensely striking face, it created a breathtaking, fragile beauty.

Ling Shuangjue’s gaze fell upon the wine gourd in Shen Zhaoqing’s hand, then slowly lifted to meet Shen Zhaoqing’s eyes.

They simply stared at each other, neither speaking.

Only the deafening roar of the waterfall filled the air, paradoxically making their small space feel even quieter.

In the end, it was Ling Shuangjue who moved first.

She raised her hand and took the wine gourd.

The gourd felt warm and smooth in her hand, carrying a faint human warmth. It was light and old, with even a few cracks from wear.

Ling Shuangjue’s fingertips traced the gourd’s smooth surface. She remained silent for a moment.

She pulled out the cork, tilted her head back, and took a deep, unrestrained gulp.

The pungent liquor slid down her throat and into her stomach, carrying with it a gentle yet immensely potent life force.

“Hoh…”

Ling Shuangjue let out a sigh that was both satisfied and pained. More cold sweat beaded on her forehead, but a flicker of light rekindled in her blood-red pupils.

‘This wine…’

‘It was more than just wine.’

She lowered her gaze to the Gui Niang Hu in her hand, her expression complex.

She took another gulp, this time much slower. She could feel an invisible force forcibly stabilizing her almost uncontrollable injuries as the liquor entered her body.

“Thump.”

Seeing that Ling Shuangjue seemed to recover somewhat after two sips, Shen Zhaoqing casually sat down beside her.

Of course, she maintained a safe distance of three steps.

She bent one leg, rested an elbow on her knee, and propped her chin in her hand, staring blankly at the waterfall before them.

She felt she had completed her “risk assessment” mission. The human nuclear warhead was temporarily stabilized and wouldn’t explode, so she could gracefully retreat and return to her post as a ‘waiting wife stone’ at the medicine hut entrance.

Yet, for some unknown reason, her feet felt rooted to the spot.

Perhaps the night was too beautiful, or the waterfall’s roar too hypnotic, or perhaps… when this madwoman beside her quieted down, she wasn’t quite so terrifying.

The quietude and relaxation were overwhelming, and Shen Zhaoqing’s consciousness began to drift. She inexplicably recalled her past life, typing code alone in a rented room, staring at a computer screen.

“Why?” A hoarse voice, heavy with exhaustion, suddenly spoke beside her.

Shen Zhaoqing paused, startled. “Huh? Why what?”

She feigned ignorance, though she understood perfectly.

Ling Shuangjue didn’t look at her, merely gazing at the wine gourd in her hand as she softly asked, “Why… did you come?”

“Oh, that.” Shen Zhaoqing scratched her cheek, launching into a serious bout of nonsense. “I was sleepwalking. I just wandered here. Look how beautiful the moon is; it’s a perfect night for a stroll.”

Ling Shuangjue: “…”

She slowly turned her head, fixing Shen Zhaoqing with a look that clearly said, ‘Do you take this Venerable for a fool?’

Shen Zhaoqing felt a prick of guilt under her gaze. She cleared her throat twice and tried a different tack. “Well… mainly, you’re so gravely injured. If something were to happen on Qingyun Sect’s territory, we wouldn’t be able to explain it to the Infinite Demonic Domain, would we? In the spirit of immortal benevolence, I, on behalf of Qingyun Sect’s Outer Sect Miscellaneous Affairs Department, express our condolences to you.”

Even she found her own words utterly unconvincing.

‘Besides, didn’t you ask me to come?’ Shen Zhaoqing secretly added to herself. ‘Just consider it me being kind and checking on you.’

‘And, well, repaying a tiny bit of that favor.’