He didn’t speak, and his inner voice was silent as well. Sang Dai couldn’t help but feel something unusual in his expression.
In a small voice, she asked, “What… what are you looking at?”
Su Xuan gently touched the corner of her eyes and stroked it lightly, smiling as he said, “Looking at Dai Dai’s eyes.”
“…Huh?”
“Looking at these eyes. Don’t you think they’re a bit different?”
Sang Dai suddenly felt a wave of tension, as though something was slipping out of her control. She couldn’t believe he was merely saying romantic words.
“What… what’s different? They’ve always looked like this,” Sang Dai stammered, hurriedly turning her head away, not daring to meet Su Xuan’s gaze, shrinking back into his embrace.
Impossible. Something so absurd couldn’t have been discovered by him. Even Sang Dai herself, after all this time, still found it unbelievable whenever she calmed down to think about it. Why had something like this happened?
It was mysterious, and a little eerie.
Su Xuan asked softly, “Dai Dai, are you sure you’re not hiding anything from me?”
Sang Dai’s entire body tensed, her hair standing on end.
“…I’m not.”
Su Xuan said, “Liars are little dogs.”
Sang Dai echoed weakly, “…Liars are little dogs.”
Su Xuan remained silent for a long time. Sang Dai could hear her own heartbeat growing faster and faster.
The silence stretched on until she could hardly stay still. Her long lashes fluttered rapidly as her mind raced like never before, frantically searching for ways to smooth over the situation. At last, the quiet fox broke the silence.
“It’s alright. Our Dai Dai is the most honest, never lies, and is the one I trust the most.”
Sang Dai: “…”
Her heart was uneasy.
Her conscience was guilty.
Could he please stop trusting her?
The little fox took off his outer robe and shoes. Sang Dai’s shoes had already been removed by him earlier. He climbed into bed and pulled Sang Dai into his arms.
“Dai Dai, stay with me while I sleep for a bit.”
Sang Dai raised her head from his chest. “Aren’t we going to take care of business? Since we’ve tracked down Wu Hanshu, shouldn’t we go and question him?”
Su Xuan closed his eyes, holding her tightly. “We’ll go after we wake up. Wu Hanshu got drunk last night; he probably won’t be up too early today. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Sang Dai knew he hadn’t slept much.
She stopped talking, letting him hold her. Leaning against his chest, she closed her eyes.
There was always something soothing about Su Xuan. As long as she was near him, she felt a sense of peace. Once she let her guard down, sleepiness overwhelmed her like a tidal wave. While she used to find it difficult to fall asleep, having him by her side made it much easier.
Su Xuan was also skilled at lulling her to sleep. He gently patted her back, as though soothing a child. Sang Dai caught the scent of grass and wood on him, which further calmed her heart. Although Su Xuan was the one who claimed to be tired, she ended up falling asleep even faster than him.
Once his beloved had fallen asleep, the little fox, who had kept his eyes closed all this time, opened them.
Sang Dai was very well-behaved when she slept. One hand was wrapped around his waist, the other slightly curled under her chin, and her small face was nestled against his chest—a posture of absolute dependence and trust.
A few months ago, Su Xuan could never have dreamed of a day like this.
He gently touched Sang Dai’s long lashes. Ever since coming to the Beast Realm, Sang Dai seemed to frequently meet his gaze, and he could always see all kinds of emotions reflected in her eyes.
Why had her trust in him come so quickly?
His precious sword cultivator had changed significantly after waking from that great battle. Not only could she see destiny itself, but it also seemed she had gained something more.
She appeared to know his truest thoughts—the ones he had never spoken aloud.
Although he wasn’t completely certain yet, he was close enough. He needed further confirmation, solid evidence. He couldn’t act rashly or alert her to his suspicions. He had to understand the full pattern of this strange occurrence. Once he was entirely sure, there would be no avoiding a confrontation.
Su Xuan was not someone who struggled to accept new realities. As Tan Huai had once said, the world was vast, and they were but fleeting mayflies. If Sang Dai had many special qualities, then one more unusual trait wouldn’t make any difference.
The little fox kissed the tip of her nose. Sang Dai wrinkled her nose slightly, shifted, and snuggled deeper into his embrace.
So obedient.
Su Xuan chuckled softly, holding her tightly in his arms.
—
As sunlight fully enveloped Linglong Town, the last remnants of darkness were torn away and replaced.
A well-fed vine twisted its body, brushing against the young man who stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
He glanced down at the vine and patted its sturdy head.
“You’re full, but I haven’t bought the sugar yet. We can’t go back just yet.”
The vine wriggled, its leaves shaking wildly. More flowers bloomed along its length, leaving only a few buds remaining.
“You’re saying… you want to eat Shi Yao?”
The vine nodded eagerly.
That woman’s flesh and blood were filled with the Four Sufferings—it especially loved that taste!
The man in black raised an eyebrow. “No way. That spirit crane would burn you to a crisp.”
The vine drooped its head, coiling weakly around his leg in dejection.
He kicked his leg lightly to shake it off. “Don’t be upset. How about some candy instead?”
The vine turned and disappeared into the ground. What use did a vine have for candy?
This man had even forced it to drink alcohol before, leaving it drunk for several days!
At this moment, the candy shop opened its doors. The shopkeeper, just getting out of bed, was startled by the sight of the fearsome mask staring back at him and let out a scream.
“Who—who are you?!”
The young man smiled faintly. “I’m here to buy candy. Cane sugar, please. Two spirit stones’ worth will do.”
The shopkeeper patted his chest, speaking softly. “You’ll need to wait a bit; we’ve just opened.”
“Alright.”
The shopkeeper turned to get busy, finding the man increasingly strange. He had a fine figure, and judging by the shape of his features, he must be fairly handsome, yet he wore a particularly terrifying mask. Despite being a grown man, he spoke with the innocence and simplicity of a child.
Glancing toward the store’s entrance, the shopkeeper saw the man still standing there with his hands clasped behind him, staring intently at the equipment used to make the candy, his expression brimming with curiosity.
How could a grown man act so much like a child?
Not daring to look for long, the shopkeeper lowered his head and busied himself with the apprentices, instructing them to boil the sugar. Soon, a sweet aroma wafted out from the kitchen.
As the streets grew busier, he finally got the candy he had been longing for.
Carrying a bag of candy, he ate as he walked back, attracting the attention of many passersby along the way. He didn’t find anything strange about his attire and smiled good-naturedly at everyone who looked his way.
When he reached a more secluded spot, he placed the bag of candy wrapped in oil paper into his spatial pouch. A rift appeared in the void, and he stepped into it, emerging a hundred miles away from Linglong Town in an instant.
The rain from the previous night had left the soil damp, and a cave lay hidden amidst the mountains.
A peregrine falcon perched on a branch outside the cave, guarding it. When it saw him return, it immediately spoke in a sharp tone.
“If you’d been any later, I wouldn’t have been able to hold him back.”
The man in black raised an eyebrow. “Ying Heng is awake?”
“He woke up long ago.”
He nodded and walked into the cave.
The cave was deep, growing darker and more sinister the further in he went, though he felt no temperature and thus didn’t mind.
When he reached the deepest part, a branch suddenly pressed against his throat.
The branch had been sharpened at the tip, perfectly poised at his neck. A single inch forward would pierce the vital artery of an ordinary cultivator. But he was not ordinary.
“Who are you?”
The voice was calm, without a trace of emotion.
The man in black muttered, “Even if I told you, you wouldn’t hear it.”
As expected, Ying Heng showed no reaction.
He was still dressed in plain white robes, his black hair loosely tied with a ribbon. His memory remained stuck over a hundred years ago, as if he had just taken a nap and woken up in an entirely different world.
Before him lay total darkness. He could neither hear nor see, not even his own voice.
Deprived of all five senses, his spiritual root was gone, and he couldn’t use any spiritual power. The sword techniques he had just executed relied solely on muscle memory.
“Did… did you say something?”
Ying Heng could feel the branch pressing against the man’s neck, but in his current state, he had no way of knowing if the man had responded.
The man in black lazily averted his gaze, his figure vanishing from where he stood, only to reappear elsewhere in an instant.
Ying Heng turned his head, his gaze hollow.
“Who are you?”
The man in black found a spot to sit down, pulled out a piece of cane sugar, and crunched it noisily.
He spoke in a flat tone, “You can’t hear me anyway. You’re wasting my time.”
Ying Heng was a patient man. After receiving no response, he fell silent for a moment, using his still-groggy mind to think carefully. In the quiet, he concluded that the man didn’t seem to mean him harm, though he didn’t appear interested in saving him either.
It was cold here—so cold that Ying Heng, now in a mortal body, could barely endure it.
He withdrew the branch, nodded slightly, and said, “I’m sorry. I… I don’t remember much. Did something happen to me? Were you the one who saved me?”
There was no response from the other side.
Ying Heng continued, “My hearing isn’t working well right now, but I can still hear through my sea of consciousness. You can transmit your voice to me.”
The man in black looked at him, swallowed the candy he was chewing, and let out a cold chuckle. Then, using spiritual energy, he transmitted his voice to Ying Heng.
“It was me who saved you.”
The voice echoed in Ying Heng’s sea of consciousness, cold and emotionless.
But there was no killing intent in it.
“Why… why did you save me?”
“A request.”
“…From whom?”
“Don’t want to say.”
Since the man was unwilling to elaborate, Ying Heng didn’t press further.
He felt his way to a stone nearby and sat down, his posture upright and calm. After a moment, he asked, “Daoist friend, may I trouble you with a request?”
“…If I say no, will you stop troubling me?”
“I do need your help. If there’s anything valuable left on me, you can take it all.”
This time, Ying Heng heard a cold, emotionless laugh.
He was somewhat puzzled. This man clearly didn’t want to save him and likely found it troublesome, so why had he done it? Who had commissioned him to do so?
Yet his sea of consciousness echoed with a response again: “Tell me first.”
Ying Heng realized the man was agreeing.
He smiled softly and said in a warm tone, “Can you help me find someone?”
“Who?”
“My disciple, Sang Dai.”
The man in black paused, silent for a long while, before pulling out another piece of candy and biting into it. His reply, muffled by the chewing, came: “Why are you looking for her?”
Ying Heng replied, “I need to return to celebrate her tenth birthday.”
“…”
“Daoist friend? Are you still there?”
“Tenth birthday?”
“Yes.”
Ying Heng had slept for too long, his mind still sluggish. His vague memories reminded him that his disciple’s birthday was coming up.
But why he was here, or how he had ended up in this state, he couldn’t say.
Frowning slightly, he heard another cold laugh in his sea of consciousness.
“You’ve been asleep for over a hundred years. Don’t tell me you’ve actually gone stupid. Did I really save an idiot? I haven’t even finished my own business, and you’d better not make me waste my efforts for nothing.”
What did that mean?
Ying Heng couldn’t quite understand—what did over a hundred years mean?
He couldn’t speak, and fragmented memories flashed through his mind, bringing a searing pain.
Clutching his head, he gritted his teeth, enduring the agony as he helplessly watched fleeting fragments of memories pass through his sea of consciousness.
He saw shattered limbs and broken bodies, heard desperate screams, and in a torrential downpour, he saw a figure standing in the rain like a vengeful ghost, drenched in blood.
On the ground, someone clutched his white robes, their broken voice pleading, “Immortal Lord Ying Heng… save me…”
The scene shifted again, and he saw a young, innocent face kneeling in the rain, begging him.
She cried out, “Master, don’t leave, don’t abandon Dai Dai!”
Ying Heng wanted to reach out and help her up. He couldn’t understand—how could he ever abandon Sang Dai? Why was she kneeling?
Yet in the image, he turned and walked away without looking back, leaving the severely injured Sang Dai lying in the rain, sobbing in pain.
Rain poured down on her small, battered body. His disciple, whom he had always treated as his own daughter, was covered in wounds, crying aloud as she crawled to try and catch up with him.
And then…
Then he was surrounded by thousands of people.
“Traitor Ying Heng! Destroyer of the Guixu Spiritual Vein! Slayer of the Cangwu Temple! Your sins are innumerable! The Immortal Alliance has issued a bounty for your death!”
“Kill Ying Heng! He must die!”
“Kill him! Kill the traitor!”
And then…
The memory cut off abruptly.
Ying Heng’s expression was blank, his hollow eyes devoid of light. He could hear nothing, see nothing, taste nothing, smell nothing, and feel nothing.
So many memories remained lost to him, as if he had been wandering in a fog for an eternity.
Yet one face stood out with perfect clarity in his mind.
The day Sang Dai took her sword oath, he had tied the tassel of the Zhiyu Sword to its hilt. The young girl had gripped the sword and bowed to him.
“Master, this disciple will train diligently and protect the peace of all realms.”
He had patted her on the head.
“I will teach you everything I know, Dai Dai. You will become the strongest sword cultivator in all four realms.”
But why? Why had he left her gravely injured in the rain? Sang Dai was still so young, not yet grown. How could he have abandoned her at such a time?
She had dragged her battered body, collapsed to the ground, and crawled through the rain, crying and begging him not to leave. How could he have just walked away?
Ying Heng rose to his feet, dazed.
“Dai Dai… Dai Dai…”
He had to find her, to apologize to his disciple.
It was his failing as a master. He had been wrong.