By Yunxing Lake, time seemed to freeze in that instant, only to be torn asunder by the raging energy.
Within the blinding white light, the outline of the eighth fox tail fully formed, joining the other seven behind Nongli in a wild, swirling dance, exuding a pressure far stronger and more ancient than ever before. She had succeeded in her breakthrough, becoming the rare Eight-Tailed Fox of legend.
Yet this breakthrough brought not joy, but soul-burning agony and utter despair. She could feel, with crystal clarity, that the energy surging into her, enabling her breakthrough, was the final light of life and soul of her master, Qingmu. He was dead—body and spirit both annihilated—for her…
…For her to ascend to Eight Tails?
This realization stabbed into her heart like a red-hot dagger.
“No… It’s not like that… Master… I’m not…” She collapsed to the ground, gazing at the center of the formation where the tiny, withered body—devoid of all vitality, like dead grass—lay. Her red eyes were hollow, tears bursting forth like a breached dam, yet not a sound escaped her lips. The weight of guilt dragged her, like mire, into an inescapable abyss. It was her, all her fault!
But why? She had never cared for such things, only cared for her master!
At that moment, the sword light that tore through the dense mist came crashing down!
Lin Qiyou appeared by the lakeside, her eyes immediately falling on the lifeless “corpse” at the formation’s center, and on Nongli beside it, who had just completed her breakthrough—her aura unstable, sitting slumped on the ground, her face streaked with tears.
In an instant, all the clues linked together in her mind, forming a clear, gut-wrenching line!
The healer’s disappearance, the sinister formation, Qingmu’s “corpse”, Nongli’s freshly achieved breakthrough…
It was this fox! She had conspired with those wicked healers, laid this vicious formation, and used Qingmu as the medium—refining all his life and soul, just to achieve her own Eight-Tails!
An ocean of killing intent and the madness of losing a loved one consumed all of Lin Qiyou’s reason in a heartbeat.
“Monster! I’ll kill you!!”
She let out a blood-curdling shriek, her sword bursting with a brilliance never seen before, fusing with her as she became one with the blade—a white arc tearing the heavens asunder, charging toward Nongli’s heart with the will to destroy all. This strike, born of fury, was without reservation—sworn to rend the “master-killing” demon in front of her to pieces!
The biting sword energy rushed forth, snapping Nongli from her suffocating guilt. Seeing Lin Qiyou, wild with hatred and fury, Nongli instantly understood the misunderstanding.
She wanted to explain, to shout out that it wasn’t her doing—that her master chose this, for her…
But the words stuck in her throat. Voluntary? For her? It sounded even crueler than being forced, only further confirming her guilt! Her own thirst for power had indirectly killed her master!
Explain… What was left to explain? Her master died because of her—this was fact.
Facing Lin Qiyou’s fatal, hate-filled sword, the now Eight-Tailed Nongli could have easily blocked or even countered. The power of the Eight-Tailed Fox was far beyond that of ordinary demon kings, enough to contend with Lin Qiyou at her peak.
But she did not.
Crushing guilt and soul-dead despair stripped away all will to fight. She only sat there in a daze, watching the killing sword approach, and even… closed her eyes ever so slightly.
Death would be fine… She could go below to keep her master company… to repent to him…
Just as the sword tip was about to pierce her chest, Lin Qiyou’s strike wavered by a hair’s breadth.
It wasn’t mercy—she had seen, on Nongli’s face, a pain and despair too deep to be feigned, as well as that posture of accepting death. This was not the reaction of someone who had just succeeded in a scheme and gained immense power.
But this moment of hesitation vanished, swept away by an even deeper hatred. Even if this fox felt remorse, she still had to die! Someone had to pay for Qingmu’s death!
“Ha!”
The blade scraped past Nongli’s shoulder, raising a line of blood, deep to the bone. The pain made Nongli grunt and open her eyes.
“Why didn’t you fight back?!” Lin Qiyou stood sword in hand, her gaze colder than a ten-thousand-year ice, locked on Nongli. “Did you think I would spare you for this?”
Clutching her bleeding shoulder, Nongli staggered to her feet. Her red eyes were lifeless. She shook her head, her voice hoarse and broken: “Kill me… I caused Master’s death… I deserve to die…”
Her confession-like demeanor only further enraged Lin Qiyou. To her, it seemed but another act.
“You want to die? It won’t be that easy!” Lin Qiyou flicked her wrist, sword energy rising, sharper and crueler. She would cut this fox demon to pieces, to appease Qingmu’s spirit!
Still, Nongli did not fight back. Relying on the Eight-Tailed Fox’s bizarre movement techniques and powerful demon energy, she dodged and blocked in the flurry of sword qi, but never retaliated—not even once. Like a lone leaf in a raging storm, new wounds appeared one after another, blood dyeing her white fur and dress, yet her gaze remained empty and numb.
She was atoning, punishing herself in this way.
The longer Lin Qiyou fought, the more shocked—and furious—she became. This fox demon’s strength far exceeded her estimates. She could have fought back, but only dodged and endured, making Lin Qiyou feel as if her fists were hitting cotton—none of her rage and grief could be fully unleashed.
At last, after a violent clash, Nongli used the force to retreat, taking a long look at the tiny “corpse” at the center of the formation—her eyes filled with endless longing and regret. Then, she turned suddenly, becoming a streak of white light that shot deep into the marsh at incredible speed, vanishing into the mist in an instant.
She had chosen to flee. Not out of fear of death, but because she could no longer face the lake that had taken her master’s life, nor Lin Qiyou, driven mad by grief. To live on—perhaps that was a punishment more painful than death.
Lin Qiyou did not give chase. Her target was Qingmu’s… body.
She rushed to the center of the formation, trembling as she gathered the icy, feather-light small body into her arms. The cold and lifeless touch shattered her last glimmer of hope.
He was truly… gone.
Tears slid down without a sound, falling onto Qingmu’s ashen face. She clutched him tightly, as if to meld him into her own flesh and bone, a wounded animal’s whimper rising in her throat.
“Qingmu… I’m sorry… I was too late… I’m sorry…”
An ocean of remorse and sorrow threatened to drown her. If only she hadn’t stabbed that sword before, if only she’d found him sooner, if only she were stronger… would the outcome be different?
But now, it was too late for anything.
Suddenly, she raised her head, the grief gone from her eyes, leaving only a nearly crazed determination.
So what if he’s dead? She, Lin Qiyou, did not believe in fate! Even if she had to defy the heavens, even if she must cross the Nine Netherworlds, she would find him again!
Those two healers! They must know something!
She carefully placed Qingmu’s “body” into a jade coffin that could best preserve life, then transformed into a wild beam of sword light, tracking that lingering thread of Yin Cold Qi belonging to the healers, and sped off in pursuit toward another part of the marsh!
This time, her heart held nothing but pure killing intent.
*****
A few days later, at a hidden valley on the edge of the marsh, Lin Qiyou found the healers’ lair. There were no words, no interrogations, only an outpouring of destructive sword force.
The two healers seemed to have expected this moment. They barely resisted, and just before dying, looked at the frenzied Lin Qiyou with a gaze of both pity and mockery. With her last breath, one said, haltingly, “…Life and death… are not fixed… chaos… projection… perhaps… a thread…”
Before her words could finish, the sword qi shredded her utterly—body and soul both destroyed.
Lin Qiyou stood there, breathing heavily, her rage unsoothed by the slaughter. Instead, the healer’s dying words kindled a faint, near-impossible hope in her heart.
“Chaos… Projection…”
She mouthed those two words, over and over.
*****
A hundred years flashed by like a finger snap.
The world was changed beyond recognition.
After Lin Qiyou’s long disappearance, the Youjian Sect’s internal conflicts erupted fully, and it ultimately broke apart—becoming history.
No greater war broke out between the humans and the demons. Instead, a strange, fragile peace settled between them.
As for Lin Qiyou, over the past century, she traveled to every corner of the continent, braving countless ancient ruins and forbidden lands. She scoured every text she could find about life and death, souls, reincarnation, and the origin of the world. She bargained with hidden demon shamans, begged dying mountain spirits, even risked venturing to the edge of the Nether River.
She grew ever more silent, her gaze deeper and colder. Only when holding the jade coffin did her eyes show a flicker of human emotion.
All clues eventually pointed to a single place—the [Rift of Chaos] at the far east of the world.
Legend said it was the world’s edge, where rules were chaos and time and space distorted—a border between reality and void, and the only place where “projection”, such a heaven-defying act, could possibly be achieved.
Without hesitation, Lin Qiyou, carrying the jade coffin, stepped into that land where even light was devoured and time and space lost all meaning—an absolute realm of chaos.
There was no direction here, no substance, only endless, raging currents of energy and broken shards of rules. Each step forward was a gamble—her soul torn, her mind warped.
Relying on a century’s knowledge and an unwavering resolve, Lin Qiyou searched through the chaos. Who knew how long it was—an instant, or another hundred years—before she finally found, at the center of a relatively “calm” rules vortex, a broken, faintly glowing ancient stone stele.
Inscribed on it were the long-lost divine runes of chaos, recording a forbidden secret art: the Projection of Myriad Worlds. This was not true resurrection, but used the lingering soul imprint of the deceased as a “source” and the caster’s life and soul as “fuel”, forcefully projecting a being carrying the departed’s memories, emotions, and essence into another world with similar or linked rules.
This projection was not the original; its existence was unstable and power greatly diminished, and it required constant energy from the caster to sustain. But… it was indeed the only way Qingmu could “exist” in some form.
The price: the caster would be bound to the Rift of Chaos, living and dying with the projection, unable ever to leave.
Lin Qiyou gazed at the stone stele, her eyes shining with the brightest light in a hundred years.
She did not hesitate for a moment.
Placing the jade coffin before the stele, she sat cross-legged, slashed her wrist, and used her essence blood as ink, her soul as brush, to draw the unimaginably complex projection runes in the void.
Each rune’s formation siphoned vast amounts of her life and soul.
Her complexion paled rapidly; her hair turned ashen before the eye, yet the madness and resolve in her eyes only blazed brighter.
“Qingmu… wait for me…”
She murmured, striking the final rune into the cold “body”, then guided the wild energy of the Rift of Chaos to pour inside!
Buzz—!
A faint yet tenacious light blossomed from Qingmu’s heart, piercing the chaos, shooting toward an unknown distance.
In the real world, in some hidden corner faintly connected to the simulated world’s rules, an imperceptible ripple quietly spread.
Lin Qiyou collapsed, utterly spent, her breath weak, her face aged, yet as she watched that light shooting into the distance, she revealed, for the first time in a hundred years, a smile—exhausted, yet full of hope.
She had succeeded.
The cost was steep.
But at least, in another world, he… existed, in another form.
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