Chapter 198 How Many Will Return by Moonlight? "I've come to kill you."...

A wisp of black mist swirling around the tip of the sword was swept away, as gentle as a spring breeze.

Regardless of the season, even in wind and rain, many of the young people who cultivate here will regularly practice their swordsmanship in the courtyard, or be summoned by their seniors to discuss the Dao together atop Ten Thousand Swords Peak. The long, sharp winds on the peak, like gusts of sword energy, are the imprints of the painstaking efforts of all those who have trained here.

Even those who live secluded lives can still sense these traces in the ever-changing winds over the years.

When Yan Xueya went to watch Qiao Yanshen spar with others that day, the first thing she noticed was not the young man in the center of everyone's attention, but the overlapping winds.

It's an indescribable feeling; if I had to be more precise, it's like a weight. Compared to the last time I came a century ago, it seems a bit heavier now.

She didn't know why she had suddenly thought of this.

It's probably because all the young swordsmen who practiced swordsmanship died.

He fell beneath her cold sword, like a wisp of wind that bypassed the blade, quickly dissipating without ever seeing the next dawn.

Only a century had passed, and war once again robbed her of what she cherished. Her dearest friends were missing, countless disciples were dead or wounded, and the splendor within the sect, which she seemed to have grown weary of yet couldn't bear to part with, was destroyed in an instant. As the sounds of battle faded, the sword pierced through her armor. She had thought the spilled blood would give her a slight sense of vengeful satisfaction, but instead, the body formed from black mist perished, leaving only a thick, inky aura that vanished lightly after being chilled. The scalding bloodstains on the ground had long since cooled, and Yan Xueya couldn't even find anything to console the dead.

The night breeze brushed against her cheek, and she thought to herself that she was indeed an incompetent elder.

The severed wings decayed at an alarming rate after leaving their master's body, leaving only the boy's blood, which gleamed crimson in the moonlight.

If a bird loses its wings, can they grow them back?

She didn't know. The excited expression on Shen Lixia's face when she first mentioned this to her was still vividly playing in her memory. Back then, Yan Xueya found these wings troublesome, yet she loved to stroke their soft feathers. They weren't fully grown or stiff yet, making it quite difficult to fly in the cold wind. However, Shen Lixia didn't give up because of these reasons. Tirelessly, she transformed into a crimson streak of light, rushing across the sky, as if determined to ascend to the highest heavens.

She was very happy with the look on her face when she showed off her wings.

Divine fire can achieve continuous rebirth. Resurrection, reshaping, again and again, endlessly. But can the pain truly be forgotten with each rebirth?

She will protect these children in the future.

after……

The frost and snow, like the overwhelming might of the winter god, descended upon him, roaring as it attacked the last soldier. Sword intent intertwined into a silver dragon, enough to sweep away any refined sentimentality—for this whiteness was not the fine, soft, snowy bloom of the Central Plains that accumulated overnight, but rather a blizzard that formed a natural chasm on the border of the Seventh Domain, separating the two realms. An ordinary person who accidentally got lost within it would not survive more than two hours.

Every snowflake contains enough power to take a life.

Deadly snow became blades, shredding the dissipating demonic energy.

"You're only at the peak of the Nascent Soul Realm—" the demon soldier's eyes widened in fury, "How could you possibly have the strength to fight seven opponents single-handedly!"

“Wrong,” Yan Xueya said, lowering her eyes, “It’s half-step into the Void Refinement Realm.”

As her life improved, she gradually emerged from her dejected state, displaying a momentum even more ferocious than the younger generation. In just a few decades, she took a step forward from the peak of the Nascent Soul stage. If it weren't for Si Changxi entrusting her with the position of sect leader, and her own worries about the younger generation, Emperor Taihui would likely have faced another terrifying tribulation.

She has always been this way; she sits in a position that inspires fear, yet she is also a cornerstone of reassurance. Powerful and composed, she doesn't hide her abilities, nor does she flaunt her brilliance.

Very powerful.

But what's the point? The cavalrymen who raised her since childhood taught her: great power is for protecting others; the stronger you are, the heavier your responsibilities become. At the time, Yan Xueya didn't understand this principle and thought it was a twisted explanation. She didn't say anything, but her eyes betrayed her disdain.

The tall woman hugged him tightly, the warm, firm touch still lingering in his memory. She smiled and ruffled the boy's dark hair, saying, "You'll understand later. It's not some grand philosophy, just because you don't dislike them. Maybe you'll see them every day, maybe you'll know they'll always be there, but if all of this disappears one day, you might feel sad."

The scenery she had grown tired of, the foliage that left little impression, were like a painting that she took for granted. She assumed that these colors would never fade, forgetting that one day fire might destroy them.

The Taihui Sect, reduced to ruins by the fierce battle, was riddled with wounds. Yan Xueya realized that even the half-step Void Refinement cultivation level—which used to shake the cultivation world and change the status of a sect—was now meaningless.

The latter, with most of the pillars of the cultivators dead, cannot change the fact that they are weak no matter what.

In an instant, the sword light pierced through the air, its cold gleam chilling.

Without much hesitation, she still remembered the memory of slaying millions of demons a hundred years ago. Her hands found the location of the demon's body before her eyes could see it, imprisoned the fleeing fog, and ruthlessly pierced it.

The snow paused briefly, then continued to swirl and fall.

Yan Xueya wiped the blood from the corner of her lips, first calming her heart. Her white hair, which had been draped over her shoulders, was now disheveled, bathed in the glow of spiritual energy—this energy flickered erratically, shimmering with a captivating icy blue, like a bewitching flame drawing people in amidst the wind and snow. The marks left by the fight were rapidly healing; in no time, the bleeding had stopped slightly, and the stains on her white clothes ceased to spread.

The mist dissipated under the silver glow of the Frost Sky Sword, and the place finally fell silent.

All that remained were broken halberds scattered on the ground, and corpses, some lying peacefully, others with their eyes still open. She had no time to close their eyes one by one, so she let the silent snow cover these boys, turning them into white tombs.

At least, before someone else comes to take them away, they won't have to stand desolate and lonely in the moonlight.

As she scanned the area with her spiritual sense, she clearly felt the life force and demonic energy on the field rapidly disappearing simultaneously. Even with the power of a Nascent Soul cultivator, it was always a step too late, only catching up with the aftershocks of the burned spiritual energy and the slowly dissipating black mist.

The snow spread as Yan Xueya moved, the icy landscape swallowing the treacherous shadows; no soldier could resist the boundless chill. The imagery formed by her sword intent reflected the scenery within her heart; her robes fluttered in the wind, making her figure appear exceptionally slender and serene.

The entire army of demon soldiers at the Nascent Soul stage was wiped out.

Seven Nascent Soul Realm cultivators were slain by her sword.

Conversely, all the cultivators who held the front lines—that is, the numerous disciples and the immortal venerables of various sects—

They have all perished.

Sect Master of Wuji Sword Sect, Palace Master of Xihe Palace, Elder of Taiyin Temple...

There are too many. When I was a child, people would say that after people die, they become stars in the sky, return to the side of the gods, and are guided slowly into the cycle of reincarnation. But tonight is a night without stars, only moonlight, a pale and absurd white.

The golden rain had stopped sometime earlier, and Yan Xueya also stopped in her tracks. In the wind and snow, her pupils trembled slightly.

The sword was drawn, and scalding blood poured onto the ground, soaking the dark robe and making it reflect light. The man lost his support and collapsed to the ground, the wooden beads he always carried on his hand scattering and rolling to within two or three feet of her.

As the belated pain filled her chest, she had already drawn her sword and charged forward. This time, the enemy was no pushover; he raised his hand and swung his longsword horizontally, forcefully withstanding the sharp blade.

Its reaction is extremely fast; even the freest and fastest wind would probably be a little slower.

Yan Xueya frowned, a torrent of anger and pain surging within her. She took a deep breath, and after their swords parted amidst the clash of their spiritual energy, she spoke in a low voice to the blood-soaked figure on the ground:

"Chi Yueying!"

This roar echoed through the wind and snow formed by the sword intent.

Chi Yueying was in a daze, on the verge of life and death. When she heard Yan Xueya shout, the moonlight falling through her hair slowly flowed down as she raised her face.

“Xueya…” she smiled weakly, “You’re still safe and sound, that’s good.”

It wasn't exactly peaceful. Seven peak Nascent Soul Realm cultivators were difficult to deal with, and Yan Xueya also suffered many injuries, but none of them were fatal, so she could still hold on.

But it's good that you're alive.

Blood was still gushing from the wound. Chi Yueying only reacted after regaining some consciousness. She hissed and gasped for breath, her eyes gleaming as if they were about to disappear. Seeing her like this, Yan Xueya wanted to reach out but stopped himself, knowing that the most important thing at this moment was to be wary of the unknown enemy in front of him.

"She's clinging to life," Yan Xueya said. "I'll lure her away; the rest is up to you."

After a long pause, he whispered again, "Yuqian is still alive... Don't let her wait in vain. That idiot Yi Xiaohan is probably still safe and sound."

Ruan Luoying will come back.

Si Changxi will also do it. The five of them... next time they meet, one of them can't be missing.

Drinking to celebrate a reunion would turn into drinking to mourn, which would spoil the mood. After a few drinks, the alcohol would kick in, and we'd end up hugging each other and crying for someone—I can't even imagine it.

From childhood classmates to now, I've never experienced anything like this. It's absurd to even think about it; at this age, how could I possibly face death with tears streaming down my face? Perhaps I could if I were a few hundred years younger.

Yan Xueya turned her gaze away, surprised that the person had met her eyes even though he hadn't drawn his sword.

Those were eyes that were so cold and lifeless.

Dark and profound, it was set in a face as soft as jade, as if everything that passed by would be swallowed up. A faint smile filled it, unhurried and gentle as it looked at Yan Xueya.

The moonlight blurred her figure, and her eyes were thus shrouded in shadow, becoming fine, shimmering water, rippling with light, but devoid of any genuine, intrinsic luster. Dead eyes—the eyes of a dead person. As if they had long since withered away, heavy with decay, becoming a walking corpse clinging to a shell.

A scar running across his left eye lay there, its pale lotus-red hue startling to the eye.

This time, she didn't wear a mask, revealing her true face. Yan Xueya suddenly remembered a pair of similar eyes from her past. They were very close, appearing as the woman spoke softly.

Yes...yes, it's the sect leader. Si Changxi's eyes.

The silence was the same, but the woman before him was like a tree that had withered in a place that had been barren for millennia, while Si Changxi was like calm, clear water in spring. One died and the other was born; one was without sorrow or joy and the other was innocent and naive.

Her skin was deathly pale, devoid of any human color.

When he was young, Si Changxi always said...

“My older sister will come to see me. She said so! She loves me very much, she wouldn’t lie to me…”

But when someone jokingly asked her about it later, her eyes dimmed slightly, and she said with a self-deprecating tone:

"My sister is a liar."

Yan Xueya gripped her sword tightly.

"True Lord Mingji?"

The bright, clear liquid flowed down like water, soaking her entire body.

“Exactly.” Yan Xueya replied calmly, “I never imagined you would join them and completely become a true demon.”

Liu Hua Sword Master.

Although demonic cultivators and demons are intricately connected, many demonic cultivators do not actually participate in the demon race. At most, they use evil methods to advance their cultivation, but deep down they still harbor some fear of other races.

"What a coincidence."

Si Liuhua smiled, her voice gentle and clear.

"I'm here to kill you."