Chapter 33: A Shattered Trust Under the Moonlight

Ling Shuangjue let out a low chuckle, as if she had just heard the most absurd joke imaginable.

“Haha… hahahaha… *cough, cough*.”

Her laughter pulled at her injuries, triggering another violent fit of coughing. She curled into herself, her entire body wracked, the wine gourd in her hand nearly slipping from her grasp.

Shen Zhaoqing startled, her hand instinctively reaching out to steady her. Yet, halfway there, she abruptly froze.

‘No, I can’t touch her.’

‘If I do, things will get complicated.’

She could only watch helplessly as Ling Shuangjue coughed with earth-shattering intensity, as if she were trying to expel her very organs.

After a long while, Ling Shuangjue finally recovered. She lifted her head, physiological tears welling in the corners of her eyes from the exertion, yet her blood-red pupils shone with astonishing brilliance.

She gazed at Shen Zhaoqing, stating each word deliberately: “You fear I will die here.”

It was not a question, but a declarative statement.

Shen Zhaoqing opened her mouth. “Of course.”

‘Alright, she admitted it.’

‘She was indeed afraid of this madwoman dying in this place.’

‘It wasn’t out of any saintly compassion, but purely because she felt Ling Shuangjue shouldn’t meet such an inglorious end.’

‘This was the Demonic Venerable of the Infinite Demonic Domain, the woman who had stirred up the entire cultivation world, who had ascended to power through slaughter and reigned supreme over the demonic domain. She deserved to perish on a grander, more tragic battlefield—perhaps while clashing directly with the Heavenly Dao, or overthrown by a new challenger after unifying the world.’

‘She certainly shouldn’t die quietly and alone behind a waterfall, from her severe injuries, all because she saved an insignificant junior disciple like herself.’

‘That would be far too… too humiliating.’

‘And far too easy for her.’

‘Yes, exactly! It was far too easy for her! She still owed her compensation for emotional distress!’

Shen Zhaoqing frantically rationalized her thoughts.

“Why did you call me here?” Shen Zhaoqing quickly changed the subject. “And your injuries…”

Ling Shuangjue followed Shen Zhaoqing’s gaze to the numerous red marks, both large and small, that marred her exposed skin from the explosion. She let out an indifferent chuckle.

“I won’t die.”

“If I truly returned with these, you’d likely be visiting my grave next year.”

Her tone was utterly casual, yet her smile held a hint of amusement as she looked at Shen Zhaoqing. “Worried?”

Shen Zhaoqing zoned out, recalling the words Ling Shuangjue had whispered in her ear when shielding her: “On the back mountain, after midnight. If you don’t come, I won’t leave.”

She knew that as a Qingyun Sect disciple, it would be disastrous if anyone saw her chatting with a Demonic Venerable here today. She also understood that Ling Shuangjue might have protected her only because of the inexplicable talent within her. Nevertheless, she was still her savior.

Shen Zhaoqing silently sighed.

Seeing her silence, the curve of Ling Shuangjue’s lips only widened.

She shook the wine gourd in her hand; it was already empty.

“The wine was excellent,” she stated. “This Venerable has taken note.”

Leaning against a rock, she swayed as she rose to her feet.

Shen Zhaoqing quickly stood up as well, watching her with a wary expression. “You… what are you going to do? I’m telling you, the wine’s finished, the condolences are over, and we’re even now! Don’t even think about laying a hand on me again!”

Ling Shuangjue watched her, seeing her guarded demeanor, like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on. The amusement in her eyes deepened.

She did not approach, merely fixing Shen Zhaoqing with a profound gaze.

“Shen Zhaoqing.”

For the first time, she uttered her name completely, clearly, and with a certain solemnity.

“This Venerable said it once before: you are mine.”

“Those words will forever hold true.”

Having spoken, she turned away, a peculiar emotion flickering in her eyes.

Shen Zhaoqing sensed that Ling Shuangjue seemed different today, yet she couldn’t quite articulate how.

In that moment of profound silence, broken only by the sound of the waterfall, a voice as clear and cold as ice and snow rang out without warning from the edge of the bamboo forest nearby.

“Is that so?”

The voice carried not a hint of emotion, yet it caused the ambient temperature to plummet instantly to freezing point.

Shen Zhaoqing’s body stiffened abruptly. She felt as though her blood was on the verge of freezing in her veins.

Slowly, with the stiff, jerky movements of a wind-up robot, she turned her head.

At the edge of the bamboo forest, beneath the moonlight.

Gu Chang’an stood silently, clad in a snow-patterned sword robe, the Frostbright Sword strapped to her back.

The night wind stirred her hair, brushing across a face so beautiful it seemed otherworldly.

Her expression was serene, yet disappointment threatened to overwhelm her entire gaze, which swept past the teetering Ling Shuangjue and settled directly on Shen Zhaoqing.

It landed on her clothes, still stained with Ling Shuangjue’s blood, and on her empty hands, from which Ling Shuangjue had just drained the wine.

Finally, it rested on the ambiguous and perilous distance of less than three paces between Shen Zhaoqing and the Demonic Venerable.

Gu Chang’an said nothing at all.

Yet Shen Zhaoqing felt as though she had heard the sound of something shattering.

‘What was it?’

‘Oh, right.’

‘It was trust.’

‘That tiny, fragile sliver of trust, more delicate than a cicada’s wing, which they had painstakingly built between life and death in the Ten Thousand Beast Valley.’

‘Just moments ago, before this moonlit waterfall, it had been utterly shattered by the very wine gourd she had handed over herself.’

‘Not even a speck remained.’

The air, in an instant, was sucked into a vacuum.

****

‘It’s over.’

‘Now, she couldn’t clear her name even if she jumped into the Yellow River.’

‘Although… this really did feel like a grand-scale affair being discovered, didn’t it?!’

‘Even though they hadn’t actually *done* anything, being seen on a dark and windy night, by a small waterfall on the back mountain, sharing a gourd of wine with a Demonic Venerable on the righteous sects’ wanted list…’

‘It was just too awkward.’

Shen Zhaoqing stiffly turned around, forcing a smile that was uglier than a cry. “Senior… Senior Sister? What a coincidence, Senior Sister, are you also here to admire the moon? The moon really is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” As she spoke, she cautiously stole glances at Gu Chang’an.

Gu Chang’an paid her no mind. She simply gazed at Shen Zhaoqing in silence, as if she were looking at the most familiar stranger.

Shen Zhaoqing felt this sensation was even more agonizing than being directly struck by a drawn sword.

It felt like the sharpest ice pick, devoid of any earthly warmth, yet it pierced straight through Shen Zhaoqing’s heart, which only sought to cling to life.

It hurt, but there was no blood.

Ling Shuangjue, in contrast, raised an eyebrow with keen interest.

A sickly smile spread across her exceedingly pale face. The distance, originally less than three paces, did not diminish in the slightest due to Gu Chang’an’s appearance; instead, she took another step closer to Shen Zhaoqing.

Shen Zhaoqing could even detect the rich scent of blood emanating from her, mingled with a cold, peculiar fragrance, like roses blooming in snow.

“Gu Chang’an,” Ling Shuangjue’s voice was still hoarse, but it carried a hint of lazy provocation. “When did my words become yours to dispute?”

“Your person?”

Gu Chang’an finally spoke, her voice as clear and cold as two jade stones colliding on a glacier.

Her hand slowly moved to rest on the hilt of the Frostbright Sword strapped to her back.

Hnng—

A faint hum of the sword resonated, yet it felt as though it echoed deep within Shen Zhaoqing’s very soul.

The surrounding air instantly grew thick and sharp, countless invisible sword energies crisscrossing between her and Ling Shuangjue, tearing apart the ambiguous, mist-shrouded space between them.

Even the waterfall’s flow seemed to slow under the oppressive weight of this sword intent.

Shen Zhaoqing’s scalp prickled.

‘Please, don’t fight again, seriously! How many times has this happened now?’

“Hey! Stop! Stop, stop!” Shen Zhaoqing was so anxious she was almost in tears. Forgetting all pretense of neutrality, she spread her arms wide and positioned herself between the two women, looking exactly like a mother hen protecting her chicks. “Let’s talk this through properly! We’re all civilized cultivators; there’s no need to resort to violence at the drop of a hat!”

She turned to Gu Chang’an first, explaining frantically: “Senior Sister, listen to me! Things aren’t what you think! I… I was just sleepwalking and accidentally bumped into this… er, this Daoist friend, who was severely injured. Out of humanitarian spirit, I gave her a sip of… water! Yes, just water!”

She pointed to the Gui Niang Hu in Ling Shuangjue’s hand.

Ling Shuangjue, playing along perfectly, shook the empty gourd, then smiled at Gu Chang’an like a fox that had just stolen a fish.