Chapter 30: A Demonic Embrace and a Battle of Wills

An indeterminate amount of time passed, perhaps an instant, perhaps an eternity.

The valley winds began to stir once more, scattering the pervasive dust and smoke.

Gu Chang’an leaned on her sword, her gaze fixed intently forward. Ning Jihe, relying on the mountain wall, struggled to her feet, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Within their line of sight, a colossal crater, over a hundred meters in diameter, had appeared in the center of the valley. Everything at its edges had been razed to the ground.

At the very heart of the enormous pit, Ling Shuangjue still maintained her embracing posture.

Her back was mangled beyond recognition, with bone gleaming through. Several grotesque wounds stretched from her shoulder blades down to her waist, almost tearing her entire back apart.

Blood gushed from her body, forming a small crimson pool at her feet.

Yet, her face bore no trace of pain. Instead, it held a disconcerting, almost eerie smile.

“Cough…”

She coughed softly, and more blood overflowed from the corner of her lips, dripping onto Shen Zhaoqing’s head.

Lowering her head, she gently rubbed her chin against the soft, fluffy crown nestled in her arms.

The body in her embrace was soft and warm, vibrantly alive.

A crisp, subtle fragrance, reminiscent of aged fine wine, continuously emanated from that body. It seeped through their tightly pressed skin, permeating her very being.

This scent felt like the most gentle yet potent elixir.

Her frenzied demonic heart, which had been clamoring madly, gradually quieted under its soothing influence.

The excruciating agony in her back seemed to recede, becoming almost tolerable. Even the meridians she had damaged by forcefully breaking the array were slowly, meticulously regenerating, mended by this vital essence.

‘It was worth it.’

Ling Shuangjue thought.

‘To exchange mere flesh wounds for a legitimate reason to hold her close, a privilege now rightfully hers.’

She held the soft body in her arms, reveling in the calming aura that quelled her every agitation. As a slight dizziness from blood loss washed over her, she felt this was perhaps the most tranquil and profoundly joyous moment she had experienced in centuries.

She tightened her embrace, burying her face in Shen Zhaoqing’s neck, and took a deep breath.

Then, in a husky whisper, laced with a subtle, intoxicating allure, she murmured softly into Shen Zhaoqing’s ear, her words audible only to the two of them.

“Look…”

“In this world, besides this Venerable One, who else… is worthy of protecting you?”

“It tickles.” Shen Zhaoqing instinctively flinched.

She felt trapped like a comfort doll ensnared by a python, unable to move. The body behind her grew increasingly cold from severe blood loss, yet the chest pressed against her back scorched her with astonishing heat due to the circulation of demonic arts.

Cold and heat, life and death, intertwined in a stark, contradictory dance, branding themselves onto her skin through the thin fabric of her clothes.

Even more alarmingly, the thick, cloying scent of blood mingled with Ling Shuangjue’s unique, chilling fragrance, like roses blooming in a snowdrift. It formed a bizarre yet lethal cocktail that assailed her very spirit.

A truly strange aura.

Shen Zhaoqing desperately wanted to act as if nothing had happened, to playfully deflect with some excuse like, ‘Thank you, but please don’t do that again; my heart isn’t strong,’ or, ‘Demonic Venerable sister, are you alright? Should I call a pill cultivator?’

Yet, she opened her mouth, and not a single word emerged.

For she still held someone in her own arms.

A young girl, utterly cold, her breath a mere wisp of existence.

“Release her.”

Gu Chang’an’s voice shattered the oppressive silence.

Her sword point remained aimed at Ling Shuangjue, its chilling aura causing tiny ice crystals to form in the surrounding air.

“Ling Shuangjue, you and I both know the extent of your injuries.” Gu Chang’an’s gaze fell upon Ling Shuangjue’s mangled, blood-soaked back, devoid of any apparent pity. “Now, leave Qingzhou territory. Otherwise, I won’t hesitate to inflict even greater wounds upon you.”

“Cough, cough…” Ling Shuangjue coughed twice more, and more bloody froth welled from her lips, yet she paid it no mind.

Far from releasing Shen Zhaoqing, she rested her chin on Shen Zhaoqing’s shoulder, leaning most of her weight onto her, as if boneless.

“Gu Chang’an, your words truly wound this Venerable One’s heart.” Her voice was husky, yet laced with a lazy amusement. “This Venerable One is in this state because I saved your precious junior sister. Instead of offering thanks, you wish to drive me away?”

“What, are you jealous?” She tilted her head, her crimson pupils locking with Gu Chang’an’s icy gaze, the curve of her lips growing even more mocking. “Jealous that it is I who holds her, and not you?”

“You!”

Gu Chang’an’s sword lunged forward a sharp inch!

The keen sword qi instantly sliced through a single strand of white hair near Ling Shuangjue’s cheek.

“Do you truly believe I lack the resolve to end you?”

“You dare.” Ling Shuangjue’s smile widened. She even deliberately moved her neck half an inch closer to the blade. “Of course you dare. What is there that you, Gu Chang’an, wouldn’t dare? For her sake, you would even turn your blade against a fellow disciple, let alone a demonic cultivator like me?”

She paused, tightening her arms around Shen Zhaoqing a fraction more, letting out a sigh of profound satisfaction at the stiffness of the body in her embrace.

“But if you kill me, what will become of her?” Ling Shuangjue’s gaze slowly drifted downwards, settling on the motionless Li Wuxia in Shen Zhaoqing’s arms. “This little one blocked a blow for her. And I, too, was injured for her sake.”

“Gu Chang’an, look at her.” Ling Shuangjue’s voice pierced directly into Gu Chang’an’s heart. “The debts she has accumulated are too vast. As the Chief of the Qingyun Sect, you cannot repay them.”

“You… cannot repay them.”

The final four words, light as air, nonetheless felt like four colossal mountains crushing Gu Chang’an’s spirit.

‘Yes.’

‘She cannot repay them.’

One Li Wuxia had already tarnished her sword heart. Now, with Ling Shuangjue added to the equation…

Gu Chang’an realized that her proud sword, her very symbol of strength, felt utterly powerless in this moment.

It could slay demons, eradicate evil, and protect the sect, yet it could not sever these deep-seated, life-bound entanglements.

****

Just as the atmosphere, frozen to an absolute standstill, reached its chilling peak, several streaks of light tore through the night sky in the distance, rapidly approaching Ten Thousand Beast Valley.

Leading them was Elder Liu of Danxin Pavilion, a seemingly amiable old man whose face was now etched with gravity. The moment they landed, they collectively drew a sharp, stunned breath at the devastating sight, as if the valley had been razed by a heavenly tribulation.

“What… what in the world happened here?” Elder Liu’s gaze swept over the heavily injured Ning Jihe, then landed on the standoff between Gu Chang’an and the white-haired, blood-soaked woman!

“Myriad Flower Blood Palace… Ling Shuangjue?!”

His eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.

“Junior Niece Gu! Junior Niece Ning!” Elder Liu immediately shouted, simultaneously signaling the disciples behind him to set up a defensive array. “What has transpired?”

Ning Jihe struggled to stand upright, wiping away the blood from her lips, and stated gravely, “Uncle-Master Liu, this place is no longer safe for us to linger. Black Wind Fortress has been destroyed, but the Immortal-Binding Array exploded, and the Demonic Venerable is here. Please quickly escort the injured disciples back to the sect!”

Her voice was not loud, but her words were clear and logical, instantly providing the panicked disciples with a focal point, a calming presence.

Several Danxin Pavilion disciples immediately stepped forward, intending to assist Ning Jihe and Gu Chang’an.

Gu Chang’an, however, remained still, her eyes still fiercely locked on Ling Shuangjue.

“Senior Sister, bring Junior Sister Shen over first,” she commanded, her voice cold.

Only then did Elder Liu notice that at the epicenter of the standoff between two top-tier powerhouses was a seemingly frail, pitiful, and utterly helpless outer disciple. And in that outer disciple’s arms, another outer disciple appeared to have already passed away.

His blood pressure spiked.

‘What in the heavens is going on here?!’

“Quick! Go save them!” he urgently directed.

Two Danxin Pavilion disciples bravely steeled themselves, cautiously approaching the epicenter of this oppressive tension.

However, they had barely taken two steps when Ling Shuangjue slowly lifted her eyelids.

What eyes they were.

Though glazed over, tinged with exhaustion from her severe injuries, within their fathomless crimson depths, a terrifying possessiveness and an unmistakable warning churned.

“Anyone who dares touch her will have their bones torn apart by this Venerable One.”

The voice was soft, exceedingly weak, yet it struck the two Foundation Establishment realm disciples as if they had been struck by lightning, freezing instantly in place.

It was no laughing matter; this was the Demonic Venerable, the Demonic Venerable who slaughtered without a blink! Even if she appeared on the verge of death, crushing them would be as effortless as squashing two ants.

The standoff resumed.

Shen Zhaoqing felt that if this continued, she might well become the first transmigrator in the history of the immortal cultivation world to be suffocated by the ‘love’ of powerful figures.

She took a deep breath, finally regaining her voice.

“Um…” she began, her voice, dry and strained with nerves, “Could we… save the injured first?”