Chapter 33: Entanglement of the Heart

The word before was enough to deny the existence of now.

Her former master had been too young; the occasional flutter of youthful feelings was nothing unusual in the eyes of the Silver Sand Sword.

Yu Xiu swept her gaze around.

The newly revealed area held no companions—only herself, standing alone in a vast expanse of snow.

Snowflakes drifted from the heavens. The ground stretched flat and endless, merging with the hazy sky. From Yu Xiu’s experience in the previous three regions, that indistinct boundary likely marked the end of this one as well.

The earlier regions had been simple—almost monotonous. But this place elevated monotony to the extreme.

Other than air and snow, there was nothing. No hills, no withered trees, no tufts of grass. Between heaven and earth, only Yu Xiu’s crimson-pink robe offered the slightest trace of color.

She stepped forward. Her boots sank into the thick snow, leaving prints that reached her ankles. Yet after merely three breaths, the imprints faded, vanishing without a trace.

Nothing else happened.

Yu Xiu’s gaze lingered on the spot where her footprints had disappeared, her expression tightening slightly.

Something about this place was wrong.

She had thought she understood the rules of this secret realm: each region tested the cultivators with an opponent. Defeat the enemy, advance forward, and eventually reach the heart of the realm where its greatest treasure lay.

But this snowfield… held nothing at all.

Her eyes shifted to the Silver Sand Sword in her hand.

The name Silver Sand itself could be read as a reference to falling snow.

The sword chuckled at her thought.

“Little girl, your imagination is wide indeed. But alas, even I can do nothing about mere snowflakes.”

Its tone turned faint, wistful.

“If my previous master were here, perhaps she might have devised some ingenious method.”

Then it fell silent, unwilling to elaborate, and Yu Xiu did not press further.

She tried several approaches—melting snow with fire, sweeping it aside with cleansing talismans—but none revealed anything unusual.

Snow melted into water, only to revert to snow within three breaths. Beneath the surface lay only more snow. No matter how quickly she cleared it, the snow always replenished itself faster.

Other than this power of restoration, the snow seemed utterly ordinary—mere crystallized vapor, bearing no hostility.

Yu Xiu lowered her lashes, expression calm.

The only clue so far was that constant: three breaths.

She held her breath and silently counted.

After exactly three breaths, a fierce wind howled from every direction, whipping snow from sky and ground alike into a raging blizzard.

Even the Silver Sand Sword couldn’t help exclaiming, “Child, what sort of brain do you have?”

Yu Xiu’s vision vanished into white. Her long black hair flew wildly, yet her body remained utterly still.

Good—there is indeed a response.

Moments later, the storm ceased. The snow dissolved into the air, and the scenery shifted.

The soft snow beneath her feet hardened into clear blue ice. No snowflakes remained.

At the edge of her vision stood an ice sculpture.

The craftsmanship was crude, but one could barely make out the figure of a man, his back turned toward her. Snow clung faintly to his shoulders, his head, the hem of his robe.

Yu Xiu wondered what meaning that residual snow held—when suddenly, without warning, the Silver Sand Sword slipped from her grasp. With reckless abandon, it hurled itself toward the sculpture.

Yu Xiu’s eyes widened.

So the Silver Sand truly is connected to this place?!

But just before it reached the statue, the blade struck an invisible barrier and jolted to a halt.

In that instant, the ice sculpture burst apart as though thrust into raging flames. Not even a breath passed before it melted away without a trace.

Bang!

The Silver Sand Sword, still held back by the unseen barrier, fell straight down, striking the ice ground.

Once, its blade and hilt had been tenuously fused together, threads of connection barely holding it whole. Now, even that fragile union snapped.

Yu Xiu was swift, but not swifter than the sword’s desperate charge. By the time she reached it, she found only a pit a foot deep in the ice, within which lay the sword—broken into two separate pieces.

When she touched it, she found the Silver Sand Sword had lost all outward spirit. Its once-lustrous presence had dulled.

As a weapon, it was still usable—a broken sword, no more, no less. But its will, its emotions, its consciousness… were gone. It could now exert no more than thirty percent of its former strength.

Yu Xiu: “….”

Everything had happened too quickly, leaving her confused and unsettled.

The figure in the ice sculpture left not a single drop of melted water. The Silver Sand Sword now lay in a slumber of injury and silence. The scene was a puzzle with missing pieces.

She stored the broken blade within her silver hairpin’s spatial space, then drew out a spirit spear.

One must always be armed. Yu Xiu was not limited to the sword—her arsenal was varied enough for defense.

Still, she sighed. Perhaps she should have accepted the spirit sword that Zuo Chi and He Xiuran had offered earlier.

After all, the sword was what she wielded most skillfully.

The ice beneath her began to crack. She quickly rose into the air, watching as the ground split open to reveal… a gate of ice.

The door’s design was the same as every stone gate she had seen before, only its material differed.

After a moment’s thought, Yu Xiu descended and pushed the icy door open.

Beyond lay another snowfield, identical in appearance—white sky, drifting snow, empty land.

Yu Xiu: “…?”

An illusion? Or a cycle of repetition?

Yet soon she realized it was not the same.

For in the center of the snowfield bloomed a small flower.

It was no larger than a fingertip. Its petals were clear as glass, pure and flawless save for faint ripples of red spreading within, like ink dispersing in water.

From it emanated a dense, peculiar spiritual energy. The instant Yu Xiu saw it, she knew: this was the heart of the secret realm. The treasure map’s final destination pointed here—to this unremarkable flower.

No companions appeared. Yu Xiu reasoned the others had not yet found their way forward. Perhaps they had not triggered their regions properly, or had failed to uncover the method.

Even she had stumbled into this place by sheer chance.

She would not hoard the prize. From her silver hairpin, she drew a jade box of the highest quality and carefully brushed away the snow around the flower, intending to lift it whole, roots and all.

Once the flower was collected, she could find the exit. Then, regardless of where her companions were, they could all escape when the realm closed.

But just as her fingers touched the petal’s edge, the flower dissolved into a stream of pale red liquid. In a flash, it flowed into her fingertip, rushing into her body.

Yu Xiu: “…?!”

A treasure that forced itself upon her?

Before she could react, the red current coursed through her meridians at incredible speed. Her mind grew heavy, consciousness blurring.

Her crimson-robed figure swayed in the snowfield, then collapsed.

She was dreaming. Yu Xiu knew this beyond doubt.

The dream’s colors were hazy, its edges unreal. She walked through the void—no beginning, no end—guided only by instinct.

She walked a long time before she heard voices.

“Master,” said a child’s voice, sweet and soft, barely older than six or seven. “The medicine’s ready. Please drink while it’s hot!”

Then came the weak coughing of an adult man.

“Master must listen,” the child coaxed earnestly. “The doctor said if you drink the medicine properly, your body will get better!”

Yu Xiu hastened toward the sound. At last, a scene emerged before her eyes.

Inside a dilapidated temple, a man lay on an old straw mat, hair disheveled. By his side knelt a small child, clutching a chipped clay bowl and feeding him medicine.

Yu Xiu frowned.

The figures’ faces were obscured, but both were gaunt to the bone, clearly mired in hardship.

Yet the word Master was a title unique to the cultivation world. Ordinary folk called their teachers Shifu.

Even if the child had not entered the Dao yet, the one called Master must at least have been a Qi-Refining cultivator. And even at that level, a cultivator was leagues above mortals—respected, sought after, never reduced to such misery.

What calamity had befallen this man, that he ended up in such a state?