Chapter 43: The Price of a Stolen Night

“Alright, supper time is over.” Yuange clapped her hands, seemingly quite pleased with Shen Zhaoqing’s exasperated and helpless expression. “We’ve seen the stars, and I’ve left my mark. It’s time for me to go.”

“Wait a moment!” Shen Zhaoqing hastily called out, stopping her. “You brought me out here; you have to take me back, right? It’s dozens of miles from the military camp, and the snowstorm is raging. Are you trying to freeze me to death?”

Hearing this, Yuange turned back, a mischievous smile suddenly playing on her lips. “In my game rules, there’s no clause about ‘the hunter being responsible for taking the prey home,’ you know.”

“Whether you can walk back before dawn depends entirely on your own abilities.”

“Good luck! Consider it punishment for forgetting me.”

On the cliff edge, only Shen Zhaoqing remained, utterly disheveled by the wind.

“Yuange!”

Shen Zhaoqing screamed into the night sky, pouring all her strength into her voice: “I hope you never find a seasoning packet when you eat instant noodles for the rest of your life!”

Only the mournful howl of the cold wind answered her.

She shiveringly pulled out her Gui Niang Hu from her bosom and took a long, fierce swig of the potent liquor. The burning alcohol slid down her throat, finally bringing a much-needed warmth.

‘Calm down, Shen Zhaoqing, you must calm down.’

‘It’s only dozens of miles through the snow, isn’t it? You’re at the peak of the Qi Condensation Realm; you’re a cultivator, after all. Walking back shouldn’t be a big problem.’

It would just be a bit tiring for her legs. And a little… humiliating.

She sighed, resigned to her fate, and quickly discerned her direction. With one foot sinking deep and the other barely touching the surface, she began her trek through the snowy night.

The moonlight stretched her shadow long across the ground.

As she walked, she couldn’t help but lift her left hand, where the golden feather tattoo on her inner wrist flickered in and out of sight.

‘I’m finished.’

‘Just one moment of inattention, and how did I get marked again?!’

****

By the time the horizon turned a faint fish-belly white, Shen Zhaoqing finally dragged her legs, which felt like frozen ice pops, back to the edge of the supply camp.

Shen Zhaoqing felt utterly exhausted, as if she were about to die. Her only thought now was to crawl back into her dilapidated, drafty tent, wrap herself up like a spring roll, and sleep until the world turned upside down.

However, the moment she stepped into the camp, she keenly sensed that the atmosphere was wrong.

It was too quiet.

Normally, by this hour, the cooks would already be shouting and cursing as they stoked fires and prepared meals. The patrolling soldiers changing shifts would be loudly discussing last night’s gambling or which demoness had a curvier backside.

But now, the entire camp was shrouded in an eerie silence. Occasionally, a few soldiers hurried past, necks hunched, eyes darting, not daring to breathe loudly.

“Hey, that… Immortal Master?”

A familiar voice came from nearby. Shen Zhaoqing turned her head and saw Old Liu San, the veteran quartermaster of the supply camp.

The old rogue had lost his usual carefree demeanor; his single eye was filled with a mix of terror and sympathy. He lowered his voice, furtively pulling Shen Zhaoqing to the sheltered side of a tent.

“My dear lady, you’re finally back! Where did you go all last night?” Old Liu San wrung his hands anxiously. “You wouldn’t believe it, but before dawn, Immortal Gu went absolutely crazy, flipping open every tent! Her face was so cold it could scrape off three layers of frost! The entire camp was turned upside down, and several brothers are still wetting their pants just from her glare!”

Shen Zhaoqing gritted her teeth.

She knew this would happen.

Looking at Old Liu San’s wrinkled face, Shen Zhaoqing waved her hand weakly. “It’s nothing, Old Liu. I just went out to look at the stars and enjoy the snow scenery, and I accidentally got lost.”

Old Liu San looked at her with an expression that clearly said, ‘Keep spinning your tale,’ his single eye conveying ‘I don’t believe a word of it.’

“Alright, alright, you should go back quickly. Immortal Gu is still waiting in your tent,” Old Liu San sighed, patting her shoulder. He spoke earnestly, “Immortal Master, listen to an old soldier’s advice: the women of the Northern Reaches are as wild as the wolves here. We can’t afford to provoke them. With your delicate skin, you should… be careful.”

Shen Zhaoqing forced a smile, one uglier than a cry.

‘She wished she could be careful.’

Shen Zhaoqing dragged her heavy legs, inching her way back to her tent. From a distance, she could feel a chilling aura, strong enough to freeze the very air, seeping out from the dilapidated canvas tent.

Within ten zhang of the tent, there was not a soul.

Shen Zhaoqing took a deep breath, feeling as if she were inhaling shards of ice. She lifted the tent flap and stepped inside.

Inside the tent, Gu Chang’an stood perfectly still in the center.

Her back was to the entrance, her figure as tall and straight as a pine tree, her dark hair bound high without a single strand out of place. Yet, the sword intent emanating from her body raged like an uncontrolled winter storm within the confined space.

Shen Zhaoqing didn’t even need to see; she could ‘hear’ the sharp, mournful wails of the invisible sword qi as it cut and tore through the air.

“Senior Sister, I…”

Just as she opened her mouth, Gu Chang’an slowly turned around.

In that instant, Shen Zhaoqing felt as if her heart had been gripped by an invisible hand.

“Where did you go?”

Her voice was soft, flat, devoid of any discernible emotion.

“I… I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.” Shen Zhaoqing forced herself to repeat what she had told Old Liu San earlier, instinctively shrinking her left hand further into her sleeve.

This small movement, of course, did not escape Gu Chang’an’s eyes. Or rather, from the moment Shen Zhaoqing entered, Gu Chang’an’s entire focus had been locked onto her.

“Is that so?” A faint, utterly cold curve appeared at the corner of Gu Chang’an’s lips.

The next second, her figure vanished from its spot, and an irresistible force clamped onto Shen Zhaoqing’s left wrist.

Gu Chang’an reappeared before her, impossibly close. She lowered her gaze, her eyes fixed intently on Shen Zhaoqing’s wrist, which was desperately trying to retreat further into her sleeve.

“Hiss…” Shen Zhaoqing gasped sharply in pain.

Gu Chang’an’s hand was as cold as ten-thousand-year-old profound ice, yet its strength was astonishing. Her five slender fingers felt as if they were about to crush Shen Zhaoqing’s wrist bones.

“Senior Sister, you’re hurting me…”

Gu Chang’an seemed not to hear. She extended her other hand and, with an almost brutal force, yanked Shen Zhaoqing’s sleeve sharply upwards.

The ornate and dazzling golden feather tattoo was thus completely exposed to the air. It seemed to still carry the warmth and scent of another woman, shimmering faintly with golden light on that fair skin, silently proclaiming its presence.

Time, in this moment, seemed to stand still.

Shen Zhaoqing could even hear the frantic drumming of her own heart.

She watched, wide-eyed, as Gu Chang’an’s pupils suddenly constricted into dangerous pinpricks. All the light in those eyes, which had once held cold stars, extinguished in an instant, leaving behind only boundless, all-consuming darkness and madness.

“Boom—!!!”

A terrifying, utterly extreme sword intent erupted from Gu Chang’an’s center!

That wasn’t sword qi; it was pure, condensed sword intent, refined to its absolute peak!

Shen Zhaoqing didn’t even see what happened. She only heard a tremendous roar in her ears, and everything in the tent—the simple wooden bed, the table, the beast-hide blankets, the few bottles of liquor she had hidden under the bed—everything was instantly shredded into the finest dust by the invisible sword intent!

The violent airflow tore off the tent’s roof, and the swirling snow poured in, only to be instantly vaporized by the invisible sword domain barrier within three feet of the two women.

Shen Zhaoqing was shaken by this power, her blood churning, her throat tasting sweet as she nearly spat out blood. But what terrified her even more was the hand still clutching her wrist.