Minglu
As dawn broke, Xie Linyang and Jiang Cheng left their residence, escorted by Wen Qing and Wen Ning.
Wen Qing deftly stuffed a small packet of herbs into Xie Linyang's hand and whispered, "Walk along the western valley and avoid the main road. This medicine can temporarily suppress the blood energy in your bodies. Wen Xu's spirit dog has a very keen sense of smell."
Jiang Cheng took the medicine packet, his voice hoarse: "Thank you."
“No need.” Wen Qing withdrew her hand. “I’m not doing this for you, I just don’t want A Ning to see the people who once helped him die here.”
She stepped aside, gesturing for Wen Ning to come forward.
Wen Ning held two coarse cloth robes in his hands, the most common style among hunters in Qishan. Although rough, they were clean. He carefully handed the robes over, his gaze lingering for a moment on Xie Linyang's still pale face before quickly looking down: "The road...it's cold on the road."
Xie Linyang accepted it, but some words were too heavy to say at this moment. She could only suppress this heavy gratitude and the cruel future she foresaw in her heart, and solemnly said, "I will repay this kindness."
Wenqing turned her face away, looked at the fog-shrouded mountains and forests outside the settlement, and simply waved her hand.
Without another word, Xie Linyang and Jiang Cheng changed into coarse cloth robes, carefully concealing Zhuoyao and Sandu, before turning and disappearing into the morning mist.
Wen Qing stood there until the two figures supporting each other completely disappeared before letting out a soft breath. Wen Ning leaned closer and whispered, "Sister, can they escape?"
Wen Qing didn't answer, but patted Wen Ning's head and looked towards the main peak of Qishan Mountain, towards the city of Nevernight. That was the place where the lives and deaths of countless people were truly decided.
The City That Never Sleeps, the Great Hall of Blazing Sun.
The air was so thick it seemed to solidify, the rich stench of blood mingling with the resentment of the dark iron, pressing heavily on every corner.
Wen Ruohan, seated high up, had her eyes closed, her fingertips unconsciously tapping the armrest of her chair.
Meng Yao stood with his hands at his sides in the hall, wearing a brand-new Wen clan fiery red robe. The flame patterns embroidered on the hem were dazzling with gold thread, but they made his face look even paler, a carefully maintained, just-right submissiveness and vulnerability.
He could clearly feel the scrutiny from the person in the high seat, cold, amused, and filled with undisguised suspicion, like the forked tongue of a viper licking at every inch of his disguise.
"Meng Yao." Wen Ruohan finally spoke, his voice not loud, but it resonated throughout the hall, "Your good master has run away with that Jiang family brat."
Meng Yao's body trembled almost imperceptibly, then she knelt down with a thud, her forehead hitting the cold floor tiles with a clear, dull thud. "Your subordinate is incompetent! I failed to detect Xie Lin Yang's cunning in time, nor did I manage to kill Jiang Cheng in prison. I beg the Sect Master to punish me severely!"
"Punishment?" Wen Ruohan chuckled softly, stepping down from his high seat, the sound of his boots hitting the floor tiles slow and clear.
He stopped in front of Meng Yao, his shadow completely enveloping the kneeling woman. "You deserve punishment. As Xie Lin Yang's personal disciple, she risked her life to save Jiang Cheng, and not only did you not stop her, you allowed her to save someone and escape right under your nose... Meng Yao, how can I trust you?"
Every word pierced Meng Yao's eardrums like a knife.
He bowed even lower, his shoulder blades trembling slightly beneath his red robe, his voice choked with emotion: "Sect Master, please understand! This disciple... this disciple has long severed all ties with her! All she cares about is her ridiculous world-saving theories, and people like Jiang Cheng who come from prestigious families! Has she ever truly regarded a disciple of such lowly birth as me? She taught me martial arts only because she pitied me, and she kept me by her side only to keep an eye on me, fearing that I would bring disaster to the world in the future!"
He raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, a mixture of genuine pain and twisted hatred. "In her eyes, I, Meng Yao, will always be a hidden danger that needs to be guarded against and eliminated! Such a master, this disciple... can only hate!"
The hall was deathly silent, save for his urgent voice.
Wen Ruohan looked down at him, scrutinizing every inch of his face, trying to find cracks in his pretense.
Meng Yao met his gaze without flinching, her eyes growing increasingly red, the intense hatred churning within them almost overflowing. The hatred was so real that even Wen Ruohan couldn't immediately discern how much was directed at Xie Linyang and how much at the injustices the world had inflicted upon him.
After a moment, Wen Ruohan looked away and said calmly, "Hate? It's not enough to just talk about it."
He raised his hand and casually pointed to one side of the main hall.
There, kneeling were seven or eight captured Alliance cultivators, all dressed in rags, covered in wounds, bound by thick chains, their eyes devoid of life, only numb despair remaining.
"These are rats we just caught," Wen Ruohan said calmly. "Since you hate them, and since you want me to believe you, then let me see your resolve."
He paused, then his gaze returned to Meng Yao's face, a cruel smile on his face: "Go, kill them. Right here."
The air froze instantly.
Meng Yao froze, his pupils suddenly contracting. He looked at the prisoners, some of whose faces even seemed familiar; he had brushed past them in the Alliance camp before—they were living, breathing people.
Wen Ruohan's order was for him to use the blood of his comrades to stain the Wen family's red robes on his body, cutting off all avenues of retreat.
His kneeling body trembled slightly; this time, it wasn't a complete pretense.
He felt a spasm in his stomach, and a chill spread from his fingertips to his heart. He could clearly see his future path; once stained with the blood of these innocent people, there would be no turning back, and he would slide completely into the abyss Xie Linyang had foreseen.
But if he didn't get involved... Wen Ruohan's patience had run out. In the next instant, he himself would be dragged out and splattered with blood.
Just then, a faint, almost imperceptible fluctuation came from the "Soul Binding Contract" deep within his soul.
It was Xie Linyang… She had already left Qishan, but the connection remained. This slight fluctuation, like a cold needle, instantly pierced the last bit of hesitation in his heart.
Master, look, this is the dead end you chose for me.
That's fine.
The trembling and struggle in Meng Yao's eyes subsided in a very short time, turning into a bottomless, icy pool. The color drained from his face, leaving only an almost eerie calm.
"Yes," he replied, his voice not loud, but exceptionally clear, without the slightest tremor.
He slowly stood up, staggered slightly from kneeling for so long, and then steadied himself.
Meng Yao held Qingyang firmly in his hand. He walked step by step toward the group of prisoners, his pace unhurried, the hem of his red robe dragging silently across the cold ground.
The prisoners seemed to sense something was about to happen; their numb eyes erupted with a final surge of terror. Some began to struggle, the chains rattling. Some tried to say something, their lips moving, but they couldn't utter a complete sound due to extreme fear.
Meng Yao stopped in front of the first prisoner. It was a very young cultivator, who looked even younger than him, with an unshed childish face. At this moment, tears streamed down his face as he looked at him in despair.
Meng Yao's gaze fell on his face, her eyes calm and unwavering, as if she were looking at an inanimate object. He didn't even pause; with a flick of his wrist, a sharp, precise arc of cold light flashed through the air—
"Pfft."
The muffled sound of a sharp blade slicing through a throat was amplified countless times in the deathly silent hall.
Warm blood spurted out, with a few drops even splashing onto Meng Yao's pale cheeks and the front of her brand-new red robe, spreading into several shocking blood flowers.
The young cultivator let out a hissing sound from his throat, his eyes widened, his body twitched twice, and then he collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Meng Yao didn't wipe the blood from his face. He didn't even glance at the corpse on the ground before stepping towards the second prisoner.
The second one, the third one...
His movements were swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation; each time the sword fell, it precisely ended a life.
There was no roaring, no madness, only a chilling, mechanical efficiency. Blood spread across the ground, soaking the soles of his boots.
Even the Wen clan cultivators inside the hall, who were used to bloodshed, couldn't help but feel a chill as they watched this thin young man kill one after another without any expression.
Wen Ruohan watched this scene. He stared at Meng Yao, and the suspicion in his eyes had not completely disappeared, but there was a bit more scrutiny and... a trace of almost imperceptible admiration.
Ruthless and decisive. This kind of unwavering determination to achieve one's goals by any means necessary, and to personally cut off any escape routes, is exactly what he needs.
The last prisoner fell, leaving only a corpse and an overwhelming stench of blood in the hall.
Meng Yao, still holding the blood-dripping sword, turned around, walked back to Wen Ruohan, and knelt down on one knee.
"Your subordinate has successfully completed your mission."
Wen Ruohan stared at him in silence for a long time, then suddenly burst into laughter. His laughter echoed in the empty hall, filled with joy.
"Good! Very good!" He reached out to help you up. "Get up. From today onwards, you will follow me. Do a good job, and the Wen family will not mistreat those who have made contributions."
"Thank you, Sect Master!" Meng Yao said calmly, bowing her head in gratitude.
As he stood up, his peripheral vision swept over the still-warm corpses on the ground. The heart in his chest seemed to have sunk completely to the bottom of the frozen lake along with the passing of those lives, leaving no ripples.
Yunmeng, outside Lotus Pier.
The shouts of battle shook the heavens, and the flames and various spiritual lights illuminated half the sky as if it were daytime.
Wen Xu wore a savage grin, commanding a tidal wave of Wen Clan cultivators and puppets to assault Lotus Dock's crumbling last line of defense. Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, both wounded, were still struggling to hold on, while Jiang Clan disciples fell one after another.
Just as the defensive line was about to collapse, a sound of something breaking through the air came from the horizon!
First to arrive were a warm blue light and a dazzling golden light. Lan Xichen, wielding the new moon, and Jin Zixuan, holding the year's essence, led the reinforcements straight into the flank of the Wen Clan's army, instantly disrupting the enemy's offensive.
Immediately afterwards, a purple sword light, carrying the force of wind and thunder, arrived in parallel with a blazing golden light, and fiercely rushed into the core of the battle formation!
Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan exclaimed in surprise at the same time, their eyes flashing with a mixture of joy and worry.
Jiang Cheng didn't have time to say much to his parents. He drew his Three Poisons Sword, its sword energy sharp and fierce, and went straight for Wen Xu!
Xie Linyang followed closely behind, his Blazing Staff shining brightly, its pure Yang power spreading outwards. Wherever it passed, the Yin Iron resentment on the Wen Clan puppets melted away like snow meeting the morning sun, and their movements immediately slowed down.
Wen Xu had not expected Jiang Cheng and Xie Lin Yang to escape and return, nor had he expected the reinforcements to arrive so quickly, causing him to lose his composure slightly.
But relying on his superior numbers and the Yin Iron puppets, he quickly regained his composure and sneered, "Perfect timing! Today we'll wipe out your entire Yunmeng Jiang Clan!"
He waved his hand, and more puppets shrouded in black energy, along with elite Wen clan cultivators, surrounded and attacked Jiang Cheng, Xie Lin Yang, and Lan Xi Chen and Jin Zi Xuan who had just landed.
In a corner of the battlefield, Lan Wangji, dressed in white as snow, had drawn his Bichen sword, its cold light protecting him.
But his gaze was fixed on the other side of the battlefield, on the figure that had not yet appeared, and deep in his eyes was an undisguised anxiety.
Just then, an extremely cold, violent, and soul-chilling aura suddenly spread out from the periphery of the battlefield without warning!
That wasn't the resentment of the Wen clan's Yin Iron, but a purer, more domineering aura, filled with endless deathly silence and hatred. All the sounds on the battlefield—the shouts of battle, the clash of weapons, the wails—seemed to be instantly suppressed by this aura.
Wen Xu's sinister smile froze, and he abruptly turned his head.
On a high slope at the edge of the battlefield, a black figure appeared out of nowhere.
The man was tall and slender, with long, unbound hair that danced wildly in the blood-stained night wind. He lowered his head slightly, holding in his hand a flute—Chenqing—that was entirely black with faintly dark red patterns.
It's Wei Wuxian.
But his appearance at this moment made everyone who knew him feel a sense of unfamiliar unease.
His face no longer held its usual carefree, radiant smile, nor the ruthlessness often seen in dire situations; only an almost ethereal calm remained.
Beneath that calm surface, however, churned a visible, thick, inky gloom and weariness. Deep shadows surrounded his eyes, and his face was a deathly pallor, except for his eyes, which shone with a frightening intensity.
He slowly raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the horrific battlefield below, over Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan who were struggling to hold on, over Jiang Cheng and Xie Linyang who had escaped covered in blood, and finally, his gaze met Lan Wangji's worried eyes in the distance.
Wei Wuxian twitched the corner of his mouth very slightly, almost imperceptibly.
Then, he held the flute to his lips.
The first note of the flute pierced the night sky with a sharp sound!
When the melody soars, it sounds like ten thousand ghosts wailing, mournful and piercing; when it lingers, it sounds like the sobbing of the underworld, soul-stirring and captivating.
As the eerie flute music began, the ground on the battlefield began to tremble slightly, the soil churned, and countless dark, viscous resentful energies surged wildly from the ground and from the corpses of the recently deceased cultivators, condensing and swirling in mid-air!
Wen Xu's expression changed drastically: "Stop him!"
However, it was too late.
Wei Wuxian's flute playing suddenly became more urgent. The condensed resentment seemed to be an army that had heard the highest command, letting out a silent roar and transforming into visible black torrents that rushed towards the Wen clan's cultivators and puppets!
The Wen clan cultivators, entangled by the black aura, instantly felt as if their souls had been ripped away. Their eyes rolled back, their movements stiffened, and then they turned their blades around, fearlessly lunging at their companions! The Yin Iron puppets, on the other hand, let out painful howls. The black aura on their bodies was forcibly invaded and torn apart by the even more domineering external resentment. Many of them froze in place, their internal parts emitting a teeth-grinding cracking sound.
The Yin Tiger Talisman has not yet fully manifested, but its terrifying power to command all ghosts and control resentment has already begun to show its ferocity!
"What is this?" Wen Xu exclaimed, his voice filled with fear for the first time.
He sensed that his control over the Yin Iron Puppet was being forcibly interfered with and stripped away by a more tyrannical force!
"Wen Xu!" Jiang Cheng seized the opportunity, roared, and engaged Wen Xu in battle. Xie Lin Yang's blazing golden light surged, coordinating with Jiang Cheng's offensive to relentlessly suppress Wen Xu.
The battlefield situation was suddenly reversed because of Wei Wuxian and his flute!
The cultivators under Wen Xu's command were thrown into chaos by infighting and the backlash of resentment, causing their morale to collapse. Wen Xu himself was also forced into a sorry state by the combined forces of Jiang Cheng and Xie Lin Yang, sustaining several wounds on his body.
"You bastard!" Wen Xu's eyes were bloodshot.
Just then, another clear and melodious zither tune, like a clear spring formed from melting snow in the mountains, rang out, instantly washing away some of the bloodshed and frenzy on the battlefield.
It's Lan Wangji.
He was already sitting cross-legged on a slightly elevated rooftop, his zither, Wangji, lying across his knees. His slender fingers caressed the strings, each pluck infused with pure spiritual energy.
However, unlike the usual Lan Clan's Pure Heart Sound, the clear and cold zither music at this moment contained a gentle yet powerful Yang energy. It was a wisp of Yang Sha marrow essence that Lan Xichen and he had repeatedly deduced and successfully guided and fused with through musical techniques!
The sound of the zither transformed into visible pale golden ripples, spreading out in concentric circles.
Wherever he passed, the violent resentment stirred up by Wei Wuxian's flute music seemed to be soothed, no longer completely chaotic. As for the struggling Yin Iron puppets, they were as if they had been burned by a scorching hot iron, the black aura on their bodies violently evaporated and dissipated, and their movements became even slower and more sluggish.
The power of Yang Sha is the natural nemesis of Yin Iron's resentment. Lan Wangji used the sound of his zither as a medium to precisely weaken the Yin Iron's control over the puppet, creating the best environment for Wei Wuxian's resentment to be suppressed.
Wei Wuxian paused slightly in his flute playing, as if he had sensed something.
He turned his head and looked at the white figure standing straight as a pine tree on the roof ridge. Across the chaos of the battlefield, across life and death, their eyes met once more.
Lan Wangji's gaze was calm and resolute, and the music flowing from his fingertips was without the slightest hesitation.
Wei Wuxian withdrew his gaze, and when he played the flute again, the heart-pounding madness in the music subsided slightly, replaced by an indescribable sense of control and...resoluteness.
The dark resentment became more concentrated and efficient, precisely targeting the core of every resisting Wen clan cultivator and puppet.
"No—!" Wen Xu roared in unwilling anger. His last protective Yin Iron puppet shattered under the dual impact of the pale golden zither music ripples and the black torrent of resentment!
Jiang Cheng seized the opening and unleashed the Three Poison Swords with the force of a thunderbolt, piercing through Wen Xu's chest! Xie Lin Yang's blazing golden light followed closely, shattering Wen Xu's dantian as he attempted to self-destruct.
Wen Xu's eyes widened, blood spilled from his mouth, his massive body swayed, and he collapsed, raising a cloud of dust.
With their commander executed, the already disorganized Wen army completely lost its will to fight, and either surrendered or fled.
The deafening shouts of battle gradually subsided, and Lotus Pier was finally saved.
Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan breathed a sigh of relief and immediately directed their disciples to clear the battlefield and treat the wounded. Lan Xichen and Jin Zixuan also sheathed their swords and landed, looking towards the center of the battlefield.
Jiang Cheng, leaning on Sandu, was breathing heavily, his body bearing new wounds, but his eyes were bright. Xie Linyang walked to his side, reaching out to support his swaying body, the radiant light warmly enveloping the two of them.
Everyone's gaze was involuntarily drawn to the lone black figure on the high slope.
Wei Wuxian slowly lowered the Chenqing flute from his lips.
The rampant resentment receded like a tide, returning to the earth as if it had never existed. But the chilling, deathly atmosphere that had enveloped the battlefield had not completely dissipated; a trace of it still lingered around him.
The wind ruffled his disheveled black hair and tattered robes, and his hand holding the flute was trembling slightly and uncontrollably.
Xie Lin Yang supported Jiang Cheng, watching Wei Wuxian's back, her heart clenching with pain, which made her face turn pale.
The scene before my eyes is so similar to the figure of Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, who was later condemned by everyone and ultimately perished at Nightless City, which had once flashed in the Memory Grass...
The same loneliness after turning the tide, the same gloomy aura that surrounded him, making him feel out of place with the world, the same seemingly calm eyes that concealed endless weariness and... a premonition of destruction.
The foreseen scene overlapped with reality at this moment, coldly reminding her that some trajectories seemed to be sliding irresistibly towards a predetermined abyss.
Wei Wuxian, standing there at this moment, had already embarked on that treacherous path, full of thorns and destined to be lonely, for the sake of victory and for the sake of protection.
Lan Wangji had already swooped down from the rooftop and was now walking briskly up the slope. His steps were still steady, but his speed was much faster than usual. The hem of his snow-white outer robe swept across the blood-stained ground, leaving a clear trail.
He said nothing, but walked towards that figure, towards that shadow that the sunlight could not yet dispel.
Wei Wuxian seemed to sense the movement behind him, his shoulder twitched almost imperceptibly, but he did not turn around.
Lan Wangji stopped a step behind him, remained silent for a moment, then extended his long, clean, and slender hand with distinct knuckles and gently grasped Wei Wuxian's still trembling, cold wrist.
Wei Wuxian froze.
Then, he heard Lan Wangji's voice in his ear, still as cold as ever, yet carrying an undeniable force that overwhelmed all the noise and lingering silence of the battlefield:
"Wei Ying, I'm here."
Wei Wuxian finally turned around slowly, bit by bit.
He raised his eyes and looked at Lan Wangji, who was so close to him. In those eyes that burned with dark flames, something finally cracked slightly.
He didn't break free from Lan Wangji's hand, nor did he speak. He simply closed his eyes briefly, almost imperceptibly, with extreme exhaustion.
When he looked up, he saw Xie Linyang and Jiang Cheng standing in front of him. There was no accusation as he had expected, only concerned looks in their eyes.
He saw Jiang Yanli running over and standing next to Madam Yu, smiling at him. Madam Yu didn't scold him, but said something to Uncle Jiang beside her. Jiang Fengmian nodded to him, indicating that he could rest assured.
Wei Wuxian suddenly felt that the path he had chosen wasn't so terrible after all.
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