Chapter 225 What does it mean for a sect to be massacred? What does it mean for family and friends to be separated from each other?

Sunlight slowly shone onto the bamboo mat, and outside, one could hear the sounds of students gathering to practice their swordsmanship.

This is a quiet, secluded room with a table, a bed, a bookcase against the wall, and a futon placed in the sunlight. The owner lies on the bed, covered with a thin blanket, nestled warmly in her arms.

She slowly opened her eyes and sat up.

How many years have you been in the sect? Everything has gone smoothly; your swordsmanship has improved day by day, and you've quickly gained some fame. Today is a special day, a beautiful spring day with flowers in full bloom.

Qiao Yanshen rubbed her temples. For a moment, the quiet room seemed to fill with a drowsy, exotic fragrance, and she saw roots tangled on the clean floor. A moment later, the scent and roots vanished. She was probably dreaming, not fully awake yet.

Thinking this, she got out of bed and poured a glass of water. The coolness of the water went straight to her lungs, and she instantly became clear-headed.

Suddenly someone called out from outside the window: "Senior Sister! Senior Sister!"

She turned around instinctively. It was a familiar junior sister, but not the face she expected. Who was it? She flashed by again. Feeling something was off about her today, she put down her water glass and asked, "What is it?"

A young man's head popped up next to the junior sister, smiling and saying, "You really did oversleep! Everyone's waiting for you to go to Ten Thousand Swords Peak."

Qiao Yanshen remembered. In the morning, she was going to instruct her junior sisters in swordsmanship, and then in the afternoon, her mother would come to visit. Her mother had raised her and supported her unconditionally—when she sent her daughter up the mountain, she had told her not to be distracted. The bond between blood relatives was deep. Every two or three months, she would receive letters from home, and their close relationship had never changed.

She showed promise in her first year and quickly became a disciple. Her master treated her well, and she politely fulfilled her duties as a disciple. Now, thinking back, it seems something was missing. She practiced the most orthodox swordsmanship of the Mingmen sect, which, simply put, is something commonly seen everywhere. But being mediocre in swordsmanship is one thing, but mastering it to its highest level is quite another.

There's nothing special about it; it's just that she did it, so of course she could do her best.

The Daoist heart is nothing more than vanquishing evil and saving all living beings. Aren't all cultivators in the world striving in this direction?

She quickly washed up, and to her surprise, her two junior sisters had brought her a steamed bun. Biting into the bun, she realized she'd always eaten like this, yet she suddenly felt a strong urge to visit the outer town. There, they had thin-skinned, generously filled steamed buns and brown sugar porridge. And the pan-fried dumplings dripped with vibrant red oil. For the first time ever, she craved something sweet.

However, the person had already arrived at Ten Thousand Swords Peak.

The clouds parted with a whoosh. The powerful sword energy forced the dewdrops to shatter on the ground, sparkling brightly.

Sword energy surged from the high mountains, first forming wind, then clouds. Qiao Yanshen, carrying her sword, slowly walked to the top, watching the students practice below. She raised her sword, gathered her energy, and thrust it forward with chilling force. She offered a few pointers, thinking their practice wasn't good enough. It was too rigid.

After finishing their sword practice, the students left in twos and threes.

Qiao Yanshen devoted her entire life to cultivation, finding joy in solitude and having few friends. Having no friends was perhaps for the best; the stories of old friends turning against each other and parting ways, recorded in storybooks, were irrelevant to her.

At noon, her mother came to see her.

Qiao Huanzhi shared a face that resembled hers by more than eight points—a full nine points. They looked more like twin sisters than mother and daughter. They were so alike. Moreover, Qiao Huanzhi, perhaps due to her naturally youthful appearance, had not a single wrinkle. Her usually serene eyes, when they met Qiao Yanshen who had come to fetch her, suddenly softened with tenderness, and she smiled gently. Qiao Yanshen was stunned for a moment, as if something she had been accustomed to her entire life suddenly felt so unnatural. It was as if that gaze asked for nothing more than her happiness—something she had longed for for so long but had never received.

It inevitably feels somewhat incongruous.

"I brought you some things," the mother said. She put down the basket and hugged her daughter. Qiao Yanshen held her close and closed his eyes. His mother chuckled, "Ayu is so clingy today; it seems she's missed her mother dearly." Ayu was naturally her nickname. The meaning wasn't hard to understand: giving, dedicating her life to the world, like a saint.

Qiao Yanshen gave a soft "hmm" and released his hand.

She took her mother back to the small room. The small room had a kitchen, and her mother had brought her some local specialties from her hometown, as well as cooked a few dishes herself, which were sealed and preserved in a way that prevented them from spoiling. The snacks were placed on the table, and she went to help heat up the dishes. Her mother, holding a spatula, asked, "Does A-Yu often cook?" Qiao Yanshen glanced at the spotless kitchen and nodded.

She doesn't actually cook; she eats breakfast every day, but she used to dislike feeling hot in her stomach in the morning, and it's become a habit. Her mother stir-fries vegetables nearby, while she washes and cooks rice. Her cooking skills are indeed quite poor; there's a layer of burnt rice at the bottom, while the top is undercooked—the rice is truly wasted. Her mother glances at it, smiles helplessly, and tells her to go chop some firewood.

She should be a better cook by now; someone had taught her. But then she realized it was all just a dream. She sighed.

Today is very strange.

The smoky aroma of cured meats wafted through the air, dispelling the chill of the room. It was the taste of home. Roast duck was wrapped in plum sauce, and a soup was still simmering on the stove, to be drunk after the meal. Her mother asked her, "Should Ayu abstain from alcohol?" Qiao Yanshen shook her head, replying that a couple of cups wouldn't interfere. The seal was broken, and clear wine poured into the cup. Her mother then lit some mugwort by the window, saying, "Spring is here, and the mosquitoes are awake. Don't let them bite my Ayu." So gentle, so caring. Qiao Yanshen's eyes curved into a smile, her vision blurred by the wine, her mind hazy with intoxication. Suddenly, like a child, she sat down on the doorstep.

Unfortunately, this isn't the streets of Beijing, so there were no children chasing and flying kites. Only the rolling green of early spring, wave after wave, covering the mountains and fields.

The long, harsh winter is finally over, and spring is here with flowers in bloom. This winter was truly unbearable.

A little while later, the mother ladled out the soup. The two sat side by side on the doorstep, slowly sipping the warm soup. The woman sighed and said, "Ayu hasn't grown up yet."

Qiao Yanshen narrowed his eyes, leaned on her shoulder, and said in a spoiled tone. After a while, his voice floated softly, "With Mother by my side, I don't need to rush to grow up, right?"

Qiao Huanzhi smiled: "Yes."

The lingering sorrows in her heart slowly faded away. Those countless worries, of course, vanished completely on this sacred mountain...

What is meant by the bloodshed of a sect, the separation of relatives and friends, love, hate, greed, anger, and delusion, and the many past events?

Forgetting it brings happiness.

She lived a life of ease and success. It was truly astonishing; she began cultivating Qi at ten, established her foundation at fifteen, and formed her core at twenty. She broke through every five years, earning cheers from everyone.

The junior sisters said, "Our senior sister is so impressive!"

They gradually drifted away from her. What was there to say? She was, after all, too unattainable; she probably didn't need anyone by her side anymore. The breakfast she brought along became a thing of the past. Was she lonely? Perhaps loneliness was better than being hurt. She hadn't tried to please or win anyone over; all her efforts had only resulted in a hurtful remark that pierced her heart. She harbored some resentment.

Sun rises and sets, year after year passes.

Until one day...

On this day, she stood at the foot of the snow-capped mountain.

She had long heard of the Kingdom of Kalan in the snowy plains, and of the Buddhist realm within Kalan. The chanting of Sanskrit lingered in the air. She couldn't understand it, and no one explained it to her. She didn't know anyone in the Buddhist order.

She said to the people of Garan, "I want to find a snow-capped mountain."

People shook their heads and said, "There are snow-capped mountains everywhere here!"

Qiao Yanshen said, "It is a very special, very high, and very cold snow mountain."

Someone said, "Go find the cavalry. They're your people, sent to guard the snowy frontier; they'll definitely know which mountain you're looking for." This ended the absurd conversation. Just as they said, there are so many snow-capped mountains here, each one high and cold—what's so special about them?

The young man was sent away. Strangely enough, she didn't bring her sword this time.

However, this is a snow-covered mountain, and her sword is too small in the snow to melt the frost and use it for her own purposes.

The wind ruffled her hair. Her hands were so cold that even her spiritual energy couldn't protect them; they were slightly stiff. She thought of someone who would have held her hands, foolishly breathing on them to warm them. She was always like that, so much love, so much affection, saying "I like you so much" instead of just "I like you"... So silly. Really. And so incredibly caring; at least after meeting her, her cold constitution hadn't bothered her anymore.

The fingertips felt a slight warmth, like the touch of downy feathers.

Who is that person?

She trudged slowly through the snow, her steps uneven. The snow fell without a trace, the howling silver light descending silently. The wind howled, the sky was a damp black, and the stars twinkled one by one. A heavy, deathly silence pervaded the snowfield.

It was so cold. Instinct drove her to leave, but something more resolute made her take small steps. Torn between these two forces, Qiao Yanshen vaguely raised her eyes, seeing only white, an endless expanse of white. She didn't know what was sustaining her.

All she could think was: It's finally here.

The snow dragged her along, making it increasingly difficult for her. As she gasped for breath, a hand suddenly reached out, gripped her wrist tightly, and pulled her up. It was a large, warm palm, rough and calloused—the hand that had wielded a sword for many years.

Qiao Yanshen looked up. She couldn't see clearly; the wind and snow blurred her vision and also obscured the man's face. The snow had warmed, turning into water, and slid down her cheeks.

This was a tall, slender, and robust woman with snow-white hair, draped in a heavy feather cloak. She must be a cavalryman from the snowfield; she had finally found her!

But the place where the woman should have worn a sword at her waist was empty.

Qiao Yanshen said, "Please help me..." but his voice was swallowed up by the snow wind.

The cavalryman silently led her, traversing the vast snowfield. Qiao Yanshen was struggling, so the woman removed her feather cloak and draped it over her, then knelt down, gesturing for her to climb on top. How could she accept this? But the woman remained silent, stubbornly waiting, like her mother—stern, firm, and reassuring. Helpless, Qiao Yanshen took her shoulders and climbed on top. The woman's steps were steady; she was indeed a cavalryman who had traversed the snowy plains for many years. She was like a guardian deity of these snow-capped mountains, yet far warmer than the mountains themselves.

A slight sway. Slowly, I closed my eyes, as if I were being carried in a small boat, letting down all my guard.

When she opened her eyes again, she was standing in an open area. In the distance, the hazy light of dawn broke, while behind her, the winter night sky remained. The cavalryman set her down and stood beside her. Qiao Yanshen looked around blankly, realizing she had no idea what she was looking for. Why had she come to the snow-capped mountains?

But this is the place she's looking for.

The cavalryman suddenly spoke up: "You should go down the mountain."

Qiao Yanshen gazed at her. She was a woman of considerable age, her wrinkles sharp as knives, exuding an imposing aura, a unique depth characteristic of the people of the snowfields, with a high, straight nose. Her distinctive silver eyes, like the ceaseless snow winds of this place for millennia, shone with a sharp, piercing light.

“You have nothing to do,” the cavalryman said coldly, arms crossed. “It’s good to forget everything.”

Qiao Yanshen shook his head and said softly, "No, there is one thing I must accomplish."

The cavalryman asked, "What is it?"

She couldn't answer. She was silent for a moment, then suddenly bent down and began frantically digging through the snow in front of her. It must be here, it must be here… The woman beside her watched coldly. Her fingers turned red from the cold, gradually losing feeling, and began to turn purple. The snow pit deepened, becoming empty.

The cavalryman finally couldn't bear it any longer: "What you're looking for isn't here!"

She gripped her hand tighter, and gradually, the warmth melted away the cold. The cavalryman lowered his eyes, remaining silent.

Qiao Yanshen bit his lip and whispered, "I lost it. It was very important to me."

"Once something is lost on the snowfield, it will soon disappear."

Qiao Yanshen's voice trembled, "No, they won't disappear... except for these things, except for her—"

she?

She continued, following her own thoughts: "She's the only one who wouldn't. I came here for her."

"mine......"

"Didn't you want to forget your worries?" The cavalryman looked at her, the coldness in his silver eyes fading. Qiao Yanshen shook her head, firmly saying, "I don't want to."

Something welled up inside her. Her lips trembled, turning white from the cold, and she continued without pausing: "I don't want to forget my sorrows, nor do I want to live in a world without them—I accept all the pain it brings me, because before the pain, I have already felt enough happiness."

The cavalrymen helped her up. Her feather cloak slipped off and was carried away by the wind. Qiao Yanshen heard her snort coldly: "Looks like you haven't forgotten what I taught you."

Qiao Yanshen seemed to be stuck on something, and after a long while, she hesitated before speaking: "Master..." She wanted to call out.

The tree may wish to be still, but the wind will not cease.

The cavalryman said, "What you're looking for is in your hands." Qiao Yanshen paused, then lowered her head. A longsword with a silver-inlaid scabbard hummed powerfully in her hand!

Qiao Yanshen drew his sword without hesitation. A clear, sharp sound, like tearing silk, rang out. The Frost Sky Sword shone brightly, and frost surged from its blade, hurtling towards him.

She swung her sword, cleaving through the swirling snow and shattering all illusions.

The illusion slowly peeled away. Qiao Yanshen turned around, the question nagging at him: Now, do I make you proud?

The woman's figure gradually faded from her sight. She saw a smile on her face, and her eyes welled up with tears. The wind and snow gradually subsided.

She knew there was no need to ask anymore.

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Author's note: Happy New Year!

I've been too busy these past few days, I'll reply to comments tomorrow. Happy New Year to all my readers, and may the new year bring you all the best!

Is the master in this illusion a memory from my senior sister, the spirit of the Frost Sky Sword, or has the master truly returned to life (?)? You can imagine for yourselves...