Sang Dai picked up some food with her chopsticks and placed it in her Master’s bowl. “Master, you eat too.”
Ying Heng smiled and ruffled her hair. “Alright.”
He asked, “Dai Dai, while Master was away these past few days, did you feel bored?”
Sang Dai replied earnestly, “A little, but I’ve practiced all the sword techniques you left behind.”
“Dai Dai is very impressive.”
The meal was eaten in relative silence. Ying Heng kept adding food to her plate, and the two chatted idly about what had happened recently.
Sang Dai’s eating habits were much like Ying Heng’s—slow and deliberate. A single meal could last nearly an hour.
By the time they finished eating, the night was already deep. A cold wind swept through, scattering fallen leaves outside the house.
Sang Dai wiped her mouth, stood up, and bid Ying Heng farewell. “Master, your disciple is full and will go to rest now.”
Ying Heng suddenly called out to her, “Dai Dai.”
Sang Dai lifted her gaze to him.
Under the moonlight, the white-robed sword cultivator looked exceptionally refined, like an immortal descended from the heavens. His dark eyes were gentle, yet they seemed to carry a hint of something inexplicable.
He ruffled her hair.
“Dai Dai, no matter what you encounter in the future, remember to walk your own path. Don’t listen to others, don’t stop, and know that we’re not wrong—they are.”
Sang Dai frowned. “Why are you saying this?”
Ying Heng smiled warmly. “It’s nothing, just idle talk.”
Sang Dai nodded in understanding. “Alright, Master, I’ll remember. It’s late, so your disciple will go rest now.”
Just as she turned to leave, Ying Heng suddenly called her back.
Sang Dai glanced back and saw Ying Heng’s eyes filled with a pleading expression.
“Dai Dai, will you keep Master company a little longer?”
Sang Dai was puzzled. “Master, do you have something to say?”
Ying Heng replied, “I just want to talk with Dai Dai for a while longer.”
Sang Dai glanced at the night sky and hesitated. “Master, it’s already past midnight. Your disciple has to practice swordsmanship tomorrow.”
The cold wind swept through, tossing Ying Heng’s dark hair. His gaze on Sang Dai remained gentle, yet she could faintly discern another emotion in his eyes.
Ying Heng asked softly, “Is it really not possible?”
“Master…”
Sang Dai instinctively wanted to refuse.
It was as if she had already refused him in some way.
But just as the words of rejection were about to leave her lips, that same voice echoed within her mind.
—Don’t refuse him. Don’t refuse him.
—Stay with him a little longer. Hear him out. Listen to what he has to say.
—Stay. Don’t leave.
She felt lost and overwhelmed, unsure of what she should do.
She should have refused, but the voice in her mind kept pleading with her not to.
She didn’t know why she should refuse, nor why she couldn’t.
It felt as though refusing him would bring regret. Yet, not refusing seemed to promise something terrible.
Sang Dai stared helplessly at Ying Heng’s face. He was still smiling, his eyes gentle.
But she saw the profound sadness buried deep in his gaze.
Sang Dai slowly raised her hand and touched Ying Heng’s cheek.
“Master… why are you crying?”
Ying Heng shook his head and told her, “Dai Dai, Master isn’t crying. It’s you who’s crying.”
Sang Dai reached up to her face and felt the tears streaming down.
“I’m crying… but why am I crying…”
Ying Heng smiled softly and said, “Dai Dai, stay and keep Master company.”
The night wind dried her tears, leaving the cold wetness on her cheeks, making her feel even colder.
She looked at Ying Heng’s face—the one who taught her swordsmanship, cared for her daily needs, and was more like a father to her than her own.
She should stay with him.
She should keep him company for a while longer.
Sang Dai slowly opened her mouth. “Master…”
Ying Heng smiled and replied, “I’m here.”
In Ying Heng’s eyes, she saw her own reflection.
A small, youthful face, dressed in blue robes, with a finely crafted silver hairpin adorning her bun instead of the usual wooden one.
She gave a dazed smile and called out, “Master…”
Ying Heng answered, still pleading, “Dai Dai, stay with Master for a little longer.”
Tears streamed down Sang Dai’s face as she lowered her head.
She remained silent for a long time. Then she raised her gaze again, meeting Ying Heng’s hopeful eyes, and softly spoke:
“I’m sorry.”
With a swift motion, she drew the longsword from her waist and thrust it through the chest of the man before her.
Ying Heng’s body froze, his hands wrapping around her blade. “Dai Dai… are you going to kill Master?”
Sang Dai wept as she said, “Master…”
Ying Heng asked, “What did Master do wrong?”
“You did nothing wrong… the one at fault is your disciple…”
Sang Dai dared not let her resolve falter. Gritting her teeth, she twisted the blade, shattering Ying Heng’s heart amidst his tears.
His face crumbled before her.
The unfinished dishes they had shared dissolved into countless fragments, scattering into the air.
Sang Dai slowly opened her eyes and found herself surrounded by a sea of crimson light.
She lay on the ground, countless red threads piercing through her body, slowly draining the power of her soul. She couldn’t even muster the strength to lift her hand.
Zhiyu lay weakly beside her, barely breathing, while the longsword had fallen into a pool of blood.
Sang Dai tilted her head back, staring at the eerie red light as tears slid silently from the corners of her eyes.
Illusionary Slaughter Formation.
A formation forged from living souls, its illusions so realistic that those trapped inside would succumb to the demons in their hearts. If they failed to escape within three days, the formation would grind their souls into fragments and devour them entirely.
In reality, she had never eaten the meal Ying Heng had prepared for her.
That meal had become the heart demon of her life.
She had thrown a tantrum, and Ying Heng had sat in the dining room waiting for her for three whole hours. Sang Dai never went to eat the meal he had made.
It wasn’t until midnight that she stepped out to fetch some tea and saw Ying Heng sitting in the courtyard.
She didn’t know when he had arrived.
The white-robed sword cultivator pleaded with her, “Dai Dai, let Master say a few words to you.”
Sang Dai, her face cold, approached him reluctantly.
Ying Heng patted her head and told her, “Dai Dai, no matter what you encounter in the future, remember to walk your own path. Don’t listen to others, don’t stop. We’re not wrong—the wrong ones are them.”
At that time, Sang Dai didn’t understand what he meant. Still holding resentment in her heart, she nodded stiffly and replied coldly, “Your disciple will remember.”
She turned to leave, but Ying Heng called her back.
“Dai Dai, can you stay and talk with Master for a little longer?”
Sang Dai, still sulking, kept her face stern and responded, “Master, it’s late. Your disciple must practice swordsmanship tomorrow.”
Ying Heng was silent for a moment before softly saying, “Alright. Dai Dai, rest early.”
The next day, the destruction of the Guixu Spiritual Vein came to light—it was Sword Sect’s Immortal Lord Ying Heng.
Ying Heng left the Sword Sect.
Two years later, he was “executed” in the Beast Realm.
Sang Dai never ate the birthday meal he had made for her and would never eat his cooking again.
She never stayed to talk to him and would never have the chance to hear his voice again.
Sang Dai closed her eyes, her body weak, and her tears fell like broken beads.
She knew it was an illusion, knew that the voice in her mind urging her to stay with Ying Heng was just her heart demon. But she still followed the heart demon’s instructions and went to eat the meal.
Yet, when Ying Heng tried to keep her longer, she saw her reflection in his eyes—the nine-ring hairpin on her head, the blue robes on her body—all clearly telling her:
That was all she could do.
The dream was beautiful, but it had also been her century-long nightmare.
Yet in reality, there were people waiting for her.
She had to break free from this array and return to their side.
She had to go back.
—
At the mountaintop, Shi Yao coldly observed the distant crimson array.
Bi Fang spoke in a calm voice, “It should be soon. Once her soul is crushed by the array, the young mistress can seize her body.”
From the very beginning, they never intended to kill Sang Dai. If Sang Dai were to die, her Heaven-grade spiritual root would perish with her.
It was more effective to take over her body. Shi Yao’s current Four Sufferings physique could no longer be used.
Madam Shi said, “Yao Yao, the third day is nearly here. It won’t be long now.”
Hua Ling sat silently to the side, her face devoid of expression.
Shi Yao curved her eyes into a smile. “Thank you, Mother. It’s all because of your—”
Before she could finish her sentence, a vast thundercloud suddenly materialized above the array.
The four of them instinctively looked up.
The cloud was dark and heavy, with lightning snaking through it like massive dragons. The cold wind whipped up the gravel around them, and the overwhelming pressure almost crushed Shi Yao’s heart and lungs.
Bi Fang and Madam Shi hurriedly used their spiritual power to shield her.
Hua Ling gazed up and murmured, “That’s… a tribulation…”
Shi Yao’s expression turned vicious as she looked up. “Impossible! She was supposed to die. How could a tribulation appear?”
Hua Ling simply said, “That’s a Grand Ascension full-stage tribulation… skipping directly past the mid-stage.”
Shi Yao coughed up blood. “Impossible!”
But they saw it clearly—within the crimson array, the person who had been lying still all along had somehow risen to her feet. She swayed unsteadily, her body still entangled in countless red threads.
Shi Yao, in panic and fury, screamed, “Bi Fang! Kill her before she crosses the tribulation!”
Even if she couldn’t have Sang Dai’s Heaven-grade spiritual root, she absolutely couldn’t allow Sang Dai to survive the tribulation.
“Yes!”
Bi Fang flew down, forming a blade of false fire in one hand. The intense flames surged as he prepared to strike down at Sang Dai within the Killing Illusion Array.
“Zhiyu!”
A soft, calm voice echoed.
Within the crimson array, the Zhiyu sword suddenly shattered the restraints of the formation. The blade flew straight into the hand of someone outside the array.
A white-robed sword cultivator descended, his sword cutting through the air. The sharp sword light collided with Bi Fang’s false fire blade, and both forces dissipated into nothing.
He landed gracefully, holding the sword in one hand. His white robes were tattered, stained with blood, and his waist-length black hair was tied loosely with a single ribbon.
His gaze was hollow and unfocused, his refined features reminiscent of an exiled immortal. Though naturally gentle in appearance, his current demeanor was filled with killing intent.
On the mountaintop, Shi Yao’s voice trembled as she spoke:
“…Ying Heng.”
But Ying Heng couldn’t hear her.
Chunying had already told him what they were doing—they were surrounding and killing his disciple.
He gripped the Zhiyu sword tightly. His disciple’s sword had always listened to him.
Ying Heng spoke in a calm, detached tone, “Your Excellencies, are you planning to kill my disciple?”