The candle flame danced on her pale face, casting deep shadows that seemed to hide the despair she had endured in the Qilian Mountains all those years ago. Shuang Feixue fell silent.
Zhang Yiwei held her breath, not daring to interrupt the woman’s thoughts.
She had never seen Shuang Feixue wear a bitter smile.
How could the Jade Sword Immortal—who remained untouched by worldly concerns—show such vulnerability?
After a long while, Shuang Feixue slowly raised her eyes.
The bloodshot threads had faded, leaving only exhaustion.
“Even though they saved me with their lives, I still couldn’t shake that monster.”
“Then how did you survive, Master?”
“Thanks to that woman—to Red Snake Sword. She saved me. Or rather, I wasn’t allowed to die yet.”
At this, Zhang Yiwei was already plagued by countless questions, making her even more curious.
“Then…”
Before the doubtful words could leave her mouth, the elegant woman before her signaled with her eyes to listen.
A trace of icy mockery entered Shuang Feixue’s tone.
“Do you think she came for gold, silver, jewels, or treasures?”
Zhang Yiwei shook her head.
She did not believe a monster who had lived for centuries would care about such things.
“Then venture a guess. What do you think she wants?”
What would someone who had achieved immortality desire?
Zhang Yiwei’s thoughts raced as the candlelight flickered in her eyes.
She recalled Madam Xuanji’s gaze toward Nanxi in the pavilion—not mere covetousness, but something like anticipation.
“What she seeks likely transcends mortal understanding,” Zhang Yiwei said slowly, her voice low.
“Since she already has immortality, she must pursue something beyond it. Power? A higher realm? Or…?”
Shuang Feixue nodded faintly, the motion almost imperceptible.
“You’re half right.”
She turned her gaze to the deep night beyond the window.
“What Madam Xuanji seeks is indeed beyond immortality, but more precisely, she wants to reach a place mortals can never attain.”
“The immortal realm.”
Shuang Feixue uttered the two words.
“The true treasure of the Qilian Mountains was never gold or jewels. There was a gate—a portal connecting the mortal world to the immortal realm, hidden in the deepest part of the Heavenly Lake.”
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
A chill crawled up Zhang Yiwei’s spine.
Raised on countless miscellaneous books, she had never fully dismissed tales of immortals and gods, but knowing they truly existed still made her tremble.
“That gate requires specific conditions to open. It needs a congenital realm expert with profound inner force and a virgin body as the catalyst, plus vast amounts of essence blood as sacrifice. Those jianghu wanderers drawn by the rumors—those so-called heroes and masters—were nothing but firewood to open that gate in her eyes.”
Zhang Yiwei’s fingertips grew cold.
She suddenly understood why so many jianghu figures had gathered in the Qilian Mountains that year, why the news had spread so quickly and enticingly.
“The treasure rumors…”
“Were spread by her,” Shuang Feixue finished.
“It was a scam from start to finish.Red Snake Sword spent years laying the groundwork in jianghu, carefully choosing the moment to let a ‘lucky’ survivor escape with treasures to confirm the tale.”
“And the Qiongqi? Why was it guarding that place?”
“A deal,” Shuang Feixue said.
“Madam Xuanji made some agreement with it.The beast feeds on evil and delights in slaughter. With masses of wicked people and fresh blood delivered to its maw, why would it refuse? It didn’t care what she planned—as long as the process was entertaining and there was plenty to devour, it was willing to guard the site and clear out unworthy scraps.”
Shuang Feixue paused, her gaze falling on her clasped hands.
They remained slender and fair, but Zhang Yiwei noticed her knuckles whitening slightly.
“When my five junior sisters and I arrived, many had already died around the Heavenly Lake. Corpses piled in the valley, blood forming streams that trickled down the rocks. We thought it was from fighting over treasure—until the Qiongqi emerged from the mist.”
Her voice was soft, yet each word pierced like an ice needle into the listener’s ears.
“It killed not to eat, but for amusement. It would break limbs first, listening to screams, then slowly peel away flesh with its claws, watching victims writhe in agony. Third Junior Sister charged first—her sword was swift, but speed meant nothing against it. If you couldn’t wound it, you couldn’t. It shattered her head with one swipe.”
Zhang Yiwei closed her eyes. She could picture the scene—not from having seen it, but because Shuang Feixue’s tone was too calm, chillingly so.
“Fourth Junior Sister tried to save her but was swept by its tail—spine shattered, lower body paralyzed while her upper half crawled forward. Fifth and Sixth tried to form an array, but before it took shape, Qiongqi scattered them. I watched Fifth bitten in half, Sixth crushed beneath its foot, innards spraying from her mouth.”
Shuang Feixue stopped there. The candle crackled, bursting into a lamp flower.
“I was only nineteen then.”
She said suddenly, a faint bewilderment in her voice.
“I had just claimed the title of strongest under heaven, thinking nothing in the world couldn’t be solved with one sword. But against that thing, my blade couldn’t even pierce its hide. Seventh Junior Sister pulled me to run, saying, ‘Senior Sister, go—you’re in the congenital realm; you can’t die here.'”
“She died last. Qiongqi caught up. She pushed me away and faced it. I saw her arm torn off, her belly gutted, yet she still shouted, ‘Senior Sister, run—run!'”
The room fell terrifyingly silent. The insects outside sounded piercingly loud.
“I ran.”
Shuang Feixue said, her tone devoid of emotion.
“I used every lightness skill, every bit of inner force, fleeing without looking back. Behind me were my sisters’ screams, Qiongqi’s roars, the crack of bones. I ran until I vomited, retching until the world spun, then kept running.”
Zhang Yiwei wanted to speak but found her throat too dry for words.
“Then I met her.” Shuang Feixue lifted her eyes to Zhang Yiwei.
“Red Snake Sword—that wretch stood by the Heavenly Lake in red robes, like a blood lotus. She smiled at me and said, ‘Perfect timing—we’re missing one congenital virgin.’ Only then did I realize I had been part of her plan all along.”
“She saved you?”
“She didn’t need to. Qiongqi wouldn’t kill me—I was part of the sacrifice.”
Shuang Feixue tugged at the corner of her mouth; it wasn’t a smile.
“She simply brought me to the lake’s edge and made me watch. Watch the remaining ‘sacrifices’ killed one by one, blood flowing into the water. The lake turned red, then began to glow. Something slowly rose from the depths.”
“The gate?”
Zhang Yiwei whispered.
“Yes, the gate.”
Shuang Feixue nodded.
“That wretch stood at the edge, forming seals with her hands. I felt my inner force draining—not through meridians, but yanked directly from my dantian. It hurt, like countless needles stabbing, but I couldn’t move—she had sealed me. I watched the water boil, a massive gate rising from below—jade, carved with symbols I didn’t recognize.”
She paused, as if recalling their shapes.
“The gate opened.”
Shuang Feixue said.
“Not slowly, but suddenly—like a giant maw. Behind it wasn’t mountain or water, but light—pure, blinding light. Then from that light stepped a person.”
Zhang Yiwei held her breath.
“A woman in white robes, holding an infant.” Shuang Feixue’s gaze grew distant.
“She was beautiful, but in a way unlike mortals—you felt like gazing at a mountain, an ocean, the stars. Covered in blood, her white robes stained red, yet she walked steadily, each step firm.”
“She emerged, saw the corpses, Red Snake Sword, Qiongqi, and me. Her eyes were cold—colder than Qilian snow. Then she spoke, softly but clearly heard by all.”
“What did she say?”
“‘Mere mortals dare forcibly open the heavenly gate.'”
Reciting it, Shuang Feixue unconsciously straightened, as if reliving that awe-inspiring majesty.
“Qiongqi lunged first, likely seeing fresh prey. The immortal didn’t even draw her sword. She raised her left hand, index and middle fingers together, and lightly slashed the air.”
Zhang Yiwei waited for more, but Shuang Feixue was silent long.
“Then?”
“Then Qiongqi died.”
Shuang Feixue said with near-numb calm.
“Sliced cleanly in half from head to tail.”
Zhang Yiwei couldn’t imagine it—one finger slaying an ancient beast even Shuang Feixue couldn’t harm?
“That wretch fled instantly, turning into blood mist and escaping down the mountain. The immortal glanced at it and slashed again. I heard a distant scream, but the mist vanished—she was gravely wounded but not dead.”
“The immortal didn’t pursue?”
“She couldn’t.”
Shuang Feixue shook her head.
“After killing Qiongqi, she swayed. The swaddling in her arms moved; the infant cried. She looked down, her icy demeanor softening—not just gentle, but complex, like guilt mixed with resolve.”
Shuang Feixue took a deep breath.
“She approached, released my seals. I collapsed, unable to stand. She crouched, met my eyes, and said, ‘You are not fully tainted—still pure.’ I didn’t understand, just stared. Then she handed me the child, saying, ‘Take care of him.'”
“That child was Nanxi?”
“Yes. When she placed him in my arms, he was crying, face red. But touching me, he stopped, opening dark eyes to look. The immortal removed a silver ring from her finger and placed it on his thumb—it shrank to fit perfectly.”
Zhang Yiwei instinctively glanced at the sleeping Nanxi.
His hand lay outside the quilt; in the candlelight, she faintly saw a pale silver mark on his right thumb, like a long-worn ring’s trace.
“The immortal also gave me a sword—not hers, but another from her robes: shorter, thinner, with a silver-white sheath etched in cloud patterns. She said, ‘Leave this for him—give it when he turns sixteen.’ Then she glanced at the fading gate, the light dimming.”
“She was returning?”
“She couldn’t.” Shuang Feixue’s voice lowered.
“She said the gate, forcibly opened, was damaged. Returning would bring calamity to the immortal realm. She stood at the lake’s edge as the gate vanished completely, then turned, smiled at me, said ‘Thank you,’ and fell into the Heavenly Lake.”
“She died?”
“Probably. I never saw her again.”
Silence filled the room once more.
Zhang Yiwei digested it all, finally understanding Shuang Feixue’s devotion to Nanxi—why she betrayed her sect, abandoned everything, hid for twelve years.
It wasn’t mere favor—it was a debt, bought with five sisters’ lives and an immortal’s final entrustment, too heavy to ever repay.
“So Nanxi is…”
Zhang Yiwei chose her words carefully, “the child of an immortal?”
“I don’t know,” Shuang Feixue admitted.
“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Only to care for him, that his fate was special and would one day stir great turmoil. I was dazed then—just held the child and descended the mountain.”
The rest Zhang Yiwei already knew: Shuang Feixue clashed with her sect over the “calamity child,” forsaking all to flee north with Nanxi.