Chapter Twenty-Five
The apparition's tall form paused.
The candles in the room had been extinguished. Pale moonlight filtered through the closed window, passing through the apparition's ethereal form, casting shifting shadows on the floor.
Again.
Twice in as many days, he was injured.
Who would harm even an outer sect disciple with no cultivation?
The apparition had cultivated for centuries and knew the cultivation world was a place where the strong preyed on the weak. Bullying was common, especially in smaller sects with few rules, where it ran rampant.
He simply hadn't expected this person to suffer such mistreatment as well.
The apparition walked slowly to the bedside and sat on the edge, its gaze falling on the sleeping man's reddened wrist. The blood-red veins were like lifeblood born within white jade, stunningly beautiful, yet jarringly out of place.
A chill spread through the apparition's unseen, sharp eyes, sending a shiver down the spine.
He closed his eyes, did something, and a wisp of pale white spiritual energy appeared around him, faintly glowing like fireflies, disappearing into his mist-like body.
Then came a second wisp.
A third, a fourth... Countless threads of spiritual energy for hundreds of li seemed drawn by an invisible force, surging into Wusong Residence.
The mist-like energy swirled towards the apparition, all merging into his formless body.
The apparition's white, misty form gradually solidified. Though its features remained unclear, its shape became increasingly distinct, even visible to the naked eye.
The edge of the bed seemed to bear a heavy weight, sinking slightly.
After about half an incense stick's time, the flow of spiritual energy into Wusong Residence thinned. As the last wisp merged into the apparition's body, he lowered his gaze to his shadow-like hand.
Still too little.
Spiritual energy was scarce in the cultivation world. Many small sects didn't even have spirit-gathering arrays, allowing energy to dissipate, leaving precious little to absorb.
But there was enough to heal external injuries.
The apparition raised his large hand, hovering over the sleeping man's wrist. Wisps of spiritual energy flowed from his body, through his palm, into Chu Rong's reddened wrist.
But the energy entered Chu Rong's body like a drop of water into the sea, causing no stir. The red veins on his wrist didn't fade at all.
The apparition paused. A flicker of surprise passed through his thousand-year cold eyes.
He looked up at Chu Rong, who breathed deeply, peacefully asleep, unaware of anything around him.
The apparition withdrew his hand and held it over Chu Rong's neck. Again, the spiritual energy entering Chu Rong's body had no effect.
The apparition's form, which had been quite solid half an incense stick ago, gradually returned to its barely visible, misty white state.
After half an hour, it vanished completely.
-
At the same moment.
On Wangxian Peak in Qingxu Sect, the god-like man on the white jade couch opened his utterly cold eyes.
Remembering the two marks he had just seen, a cold light flashed in his deep, dark eyes. Instantly, an icy, powerful pressure filled the palace, making the very air heavy and hard to breathe.
That person was injured so frequently; his situation in the sect must be dire.
Ning Yuan lowered his gaze to the hands on his knees. After a moment's thought, he raised a well-defined finger to his brow, slowly extracting a wisp of spiritual consciousness from it.
A cultivator's spiritual consciousness resides in their sea of consciousness. Their cultivation level is attached to it. The higher the cultivation, the stronger the spiritual consciousness, sometimes equivalent to an avatar. Forcibly extracting spiritual consciousness was like extracting a soul, like cutting flesh from bone, causing unimaginable pain. Yet Ning Yuan's face showed no change.
A slender, pure white, strip-like form emerged from between his brows. About half a chi long, glowing white, it emanated an overwhelming, powerful pressure.
Ning Yuan turned his wrist. The spiritual consciousness floated into the air, emitting a dazzling white light. In an instant, it became a white figure with the same form as Ning Yuan.
The figure was entirely white, also featureless, but more solid than the apparition. Ning Yuan pointed, sending a wisp of spiritual energy to place a restriction on the figure, hiding its presence.
With another gesture, he sent the figure away from Wangxian Peak.
-
Wusong Residence.
A white figure appeared in the darkened room. Familiar with the surroundings, it moved easily through the dim light to the bedside and sat naturally on the edge.
The person on the bed remained deeply asleep. His mask lay face-up beside his soft pillow. Thick, long lashes rested against his eyelids, casting grey shadows. His black hair spread beneath him like ink lotuses, his skin translucent, his whole being breathtakingly beautiful.
But the two marks on his neck and wrist stood out even more, like flaws in jade, making one want to smooth them away.
The white figure looked at the marks and raised its hand again, continuously outputting spiritual energy. As before, the energy entering Chu Rong's body had no effect.
This was strange.
The white figure gazed at the person on the bed, a flicker of thought passing through its eyes. A mortal's external injuries shouldn't require this much spiritual energy.
And though Chu Rong appeared to be an ordinary mortal with no aptitude for cultivation, his body was like a bottomless pit—no matter how much spiritual energy was poured in, there was no response.
The white figure had cultivated for many years and had never seen anything like it.
The spiritual energy attached to the consciousness was limited. Once exhausted, the wisp would return to its source. The white figure had to stop channeling energy.
Outside, the night was deep. Wusong Residence was quiet, the dense branches casting fine shadows, deepening the darkness within the room.
The white figure sat motionless on the bed's edge like a statue.
-
The night passed quickly.
The next day.
The first light of dawn pierced the clouds, shining into Wusong Residence. A slight movement came from the bed.
The white figure sitting on the edge lowered its gaze. The person on the bed stirred, his long lashes trembling slightly like a butterfly's fragile wings, slowly opening his eyes.
His peach blossom eyes were veiled in a light mist, slightly unfocused from sleep. The faint red at their corners, like diluted peach juice, made his already stunning face even more intoxicating.
The white figure's gaze faltered. It looked away slightly.
The figure was hidden by a restriction, invisible to the naked eye. Chu Rong had no idea someone sat by his bed. He propped himself up with one hand, his waterfall of black hair cascading around him. The wide collar of his undergarment had loosened, revealing a glimpse of fair, flawless skin.
The orchid fragrance from his body spread silently through the air, invading the senses.
The white figure's gaze faltered again. He looked down.
Soft rustling of clothes reached his ears. A few breaths later, a pair of jade-white feet appeared at the edge of the bed. Layers of robe hem cascaded like flowing clouds. The fair insteps were half-hidden beneath the fabric, the soles tinged with pink.
The white figure's gaze halted once more. His breathing grew uneven, and he looked away again.
Still unaware, Chu Rong tied his hair back with a simple ribbon, fastened his sash, and picked up his mask from the pillow—but didn't immediately put it on.
Holding the mask by its edge with two slender fingers, he walked to the window and looked towards the back mountain. His long, thick lashes fluttered. The corners of his lips curved in a faint smile, as if starlight sparkled in his eyes. The white figure was suddenly reminded of a nine-tailed fox from ancient paintings, captivating the soul.
"It's beginning." His pale lips parted.
Without the mask, his drawn-out tone was like a hook coated with opium, seductive even when simply stating a fact.
-
Back Mountain.
Sunlight pierced the crisscrossing branches, casting pillars of light on the ground.
A man in black training robes, his hair in a high ponytail, swung his sword with such force the veins on his arms bulged.
Sweat dripped from his temples. His brows were drawn together, his teeth clenched, his face twisted with rage. His expression suggested he was out for murder, not practicing swordsmanship.
Chu Rong!
Chu Rong!!
Who did he think he was, to look down on him!
Qing Yuan's eyes bulged. His breathing was rapid, his chest heaving. He would kill Chu Rong. He had to kill him!
"Chu! Rong!" Each word was bitten off. His reason burned away by fury. His sword technique grew wild, slashing randomly through the trees.
Branches rustled under the sharp blade. Qing Yuan vented his rage, oblivious to the massive shadow creeping up behind him.
Huge, furry paws stepped on the soft ground, sharp claws emerging, sinking into the earth, gleaming white. Its movements made no sound.
In just a few steps, the shadow was behind Qing Yuan. It rose on its forelegs, pushed off with its hind legs, and lunged.
"Roar—!!"
A beast's thunderous roar sounded overhead. Qing Yuan instinctively looked up to see a massive beast bearing down on him, its jaws wide, two sharp fangs dripping with bloody flesh.
His mind went blank. His face turned deathly pale. How could there be such a huge beast in the back mountain?
Fear clutched Qing Yuan's heart like a giant hand. His body screamed to run, but his limbs were frozen, unable to move.
Only when searing pain tore through his arm and blood filled the air did he snap back. He screamed in terror, raising his sword blindly at the beast biting his arm.
But the beast was faster. As the sword came, it tightened its jaws, sinking its fangs deeper into Qing Yuan's flesh and bone. With a violent toss of its massive head, it lifted Qing Yuan off the ground.
Qing Yuan dangled in the air, cold sweat pouring down his face, his features twisted in agony. He opened his mouth to scream for help, but before he could, a sickening crack echoed. His entire arm was torn from his body!
"Ah—!!" Qing Yuan's shriek was blood-curdling. His face contorted in terror: "Help—! Someone help—!!"
Author's Note:
Revised the latter half. Sorry for the wait~