Chapter 131: The Golden Feather Cage

At almost the same moment, in vastly different spaces, Gu Chang’an and Yuange made identical choices.

Gu Chang’an’s Frostbright Sword let out a clear, resonant hum. She moved with her sword, transforming into a cool, flowing streak of light, plunging fearlessly into the luminous orb.

The scene before her rippled like water. By the time she had found her footing, she was enveloped in a familiar emerald green.

It was the bamboo forest behind Qingyun Sect.

Bamboo leaves rustled softly as sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows. The air was filled with the unique fragrance of green bamboo, mingling with the scent of damp earth and morning dew.

And there, in that serene setting, was Shen Zhaoqing.

She wore the plain white robes of an outer disciple of Qingyun Sect, with faint azure cloud patterns embroidered on the cuffs and collar. Her hair was neatly tied into a Daoist topknot, secured by a simple wooden hairpin.

Holding a basic ironwood sword, she was meticulously practicing the Qingyun Sect’s introductory sword forms. Her movements were standard, yet devoid of any true spirit.

Gu Chang’an stood not far away, watching in silence.

She observed Shen Zhaoqing’s clumsy turn, the stiff and rigid arc of her sword tracing through the air. At a point where the movements should have flowed seamlessly, Shen Zhaoqing stumbled, nearly falling.

“Be careful.”

Gu Chang’an’s voice escaped before she consciously willed it. She stepped forward, her actions so natural it was as if she had done this countless times before—and indeed, she had.

Shen Zhaoqing steadied herself, looking up with a blush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“Thank you, Senior Sister,” she murmured, her voice soft and sweet, imbued with just the right measure of respect and intimacy.

Gu Chang’an’s fingers gently touched Shen Zhaoqing’s wrist, adjusting her grip on the sword. “Relax your wrist. The power should rise from the ground, pass through your waist and shoulder, then extend through your wrist to the sword tip. If you hold it so stiffly, the sword forms will lose their vitality.”

Shen Zhaoqing obediently relaxed, re-executing the sword strike as guided by Gu Chang’an. This strike was smoother than before, yet it still resembled a tracing, possessing form but lacking soul.

“Very good,” Gu Chang’an heard herself say.

Shen Zhaoqing offered a faint smile, utterly pure and untainted. In her eyes, as she gazed at Gu Chang’an, there was undisguised reliance and admiration.

“Will Senior Sister guide me all day today?” she asked, her tone carrying a cautious hope.

“Yes,” Gu Chang’an replied.

And so they remained in the bamboo forest, one teaching, one learning. As the sun gradually sank westward, lengthening their shadows, Shen Zhaoqing’s forehead glistened with fine beads of sweat. Yet, she never called for a halt, only occasionally wiping her brow with her sleeve before continuing her practice.

Everything was flawlessly perfect.

There were no burning eyes filled with desire from Demonic Venerable Bo Jiu, no greedy coveting from powerful demon cultivators, and no bloody conflicts stirred by various factions in the cultivation world over the ‘Dao Source Body.’

Shen Zhaoqing was merely an ordinary outer disciple of Qingyun Sect, with mediocre talent and cultivation. Her greatest worries might have been tomorrow’s morning lessons or the sect’s minor competition next month.

And Gu Chang’an was her only Senior Sister, the one she could wholeheartedly rely on.

Such was the essence of peaceful years.

Yet, Gu Chang’an’s heart slowly sank.

She watched Shen Zhaoqing complete another set of sword forms, sheathing her sword and standing still, breathing lightly as she looked towards her.

Gu Chang’an stepped forward, instinctively reaching out to ruffle her hair.

Shen Zhaoqing lowered her head slightly, obediently allowing Gu Chang’an’s hand to rest on her crown.

Gu Chang’an’s hand froze. Her gaze swept to Shen Zhaoqing’s waist—it was empty.

Her eyes returned to Shen Zhaoqing’s face. Those eyes were still clear, still reflecting her image, but Gu Chang’an felt that something was missing within them.

Gu Chang’an slowly retracted her hand.

“Zhaoqing,” she heard her own voice, unusually calm, “you’ve practiced enough for today. You should head back.”

Shen Zhaoqing blinked. “Isn’t Senior Sister coming back with me? Didn’t you promise to teach me the trick to Qi Induction tonight?”

“I have some matters to attend to,” Gu Chang’an said.

Shen Zhaoqing’s face flickered with disappointment, but it quickly returned to that docile smile. “Alright. Then, Senior Sister, don’t stay out too late. I’ll leave a lamp lit for you.”

She turned and departed. Her pale figure gradually vanished at the end of the bamboo forest path, each step placed precisely in the center of the flagstones, adhering to the Qingyun Sect’s ‘Disciple Conduct Regulations’ which dictated ‘no straying from the path, no overstepping boundaries.’

Gu Chang’an remained rooted to the spot, unmoving for a long time.

Dusk gathered, and the bamboo shadows deepened.

The evening breeze carried the scent of cooking from the distant mess hall, along with the faint sounds of laughter from the disciples’ quarters. This was a complete, peaceful, and orderly world.

Here, Shen Zhaoqing was safe.

Forever safe.

But—

Gu Chang’an lowered her head, looking at the Frostbright Sword in her hand. The blade reflected the last ray of twilight, cool as moonlight.

Her sword heart had been forged in a sea of blood on Mount Lu, yet it was not for slaughter.

It was for protection.

If the price of protection was for Shen Zhaoqing to become another person, stripped of all vibrant individuality, a ‘Qingyun Sect disciple’ as perfect and hollow as a meticulously carved doll,

Then for whom should her sword be drawn?

And for what purpose should her Dao exist?

Gu Chang’an slowly raised her Frostbright Sword, its tip pointing to the void, yet feeling heavy as a thousand tons.

The bamboo forest began to tremble, then shattered inch by inch.

[Protection, is it for love?]

An icy voice echoed in her divine sea, devoid of any emotion.

Gu Chang’an gripped the sword hilt, her knuckles white. She watched the collapsing illusion before her, watched the false Shen Zhaoqing dissipate like smoke, watched this ‘peaceful’ bamboo forest crumble into dust.

Her answer had already resonated within her heart.

“That is not love,” she whispered, her voice as clear as a sword’s hum.

Her blade cut through the air. “That is a cage.”

[Trial… failed.]

The void swallowed everything.

A colossal, irresistible force struck, violently yanking Gu Chang’an’s consciousness from that gentle trap, like being roughly awakened from an overly sweet dream.

****

Yuange practically laughed as she charged in, her emerald demonic light swirling around her, dazzling like a peacock displaying its plumes.

Her speed was even three points faster than Ling Shuangjue’s crimson streak of light. After all, the Demonic Venerable still relied on killing intent to clear a path, while Yuange was fueled only by boundless excitement and anticipation.

Her prey.

She knew exactly what she wanted.

The scene before her shifted in an instant. As darkness receded, the first sensation to assail her nostrils was the distinctive aroma of the Myriad Demon Kingdom’s royal hunting grounds, a blend of fragrant spirit herbs, the musky scent of demonic beasts, and a metallic, rusty tang of blood.

The sunlight was somewhat harsh, filtering through the gaps of ancient towering trees, casting shifting patches of light upon the leaf-strewn ground.

And on the high altar in the very center of this hunting ground lay her self-designed ‘masterpiece.’

The Golden Feather Cage.

This cage was crafted entirely from the Demon Realm’s most precious ‘Flowing Light Gold.’ Each bar, as fine as a strand of hair, was nonetheless indestructible. The cage body was intricately engraved with complex restraining runes, shimmering with a viscous, honey-like golden luster under the sun. Seven demonic cores of different attributes were inlaid on the cage’s roof, arranged according to the Big Dipper constellation, forming an absolute array to suppress demonic power and imprison divine souls.

And within the cage was her most coveted prey, whom she had scoured all three realms to capture.

Shen Zhaoqing wore the same damaged Qingyun Sect outer disciple robes she had on when Yuange first abducted her. However, at this moment, these plain white garments were made strikingly conspicuous by the golden chains.

Her wrists, ankles, and even her neck were bound by delicate, intricate golden rings. The other ends of the chains were firmly secured to runic nodes on the cage wall. She sat curled on the snowy white beast hide that lined the cage, her head slightly bowed, long hair scattered, obscuring most of her face.

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