Chapter 115: The Revealed Truth, Su Wan’er’s Despair

Yun Fuling. Peak Master of Chaoyun Peak.

When she smiled, she looked like a kindly elder.

When she spoke, her voice was gentle.

Even when she killed, she did it with a smile.

Behind her followed two corpse puppets, their auras especially powerful, their bodies covered in dark gold line patterns.

“Peak Master Qin, long time no see.”

Yun Fuling smiled and greeted her casually, as if she had just run into an old acquaintance on the road.

“Has it really been that long since we last parted? Your sword intent has grown even sharper.”

Chapter 115: The Revealed Truth, Su Wan’er’s Despair

Qin Shuying’s sword was fully drawn.

The temperature around them plummeted, and a thin layer of white frost formed on the ground.

She said nothing.

Her sword had already spoken for her.

Yun Fuling let out a sigh, shaking her head as if deeply disappointed.

“You’re still so devoid of charm. And you—”

She tilted her head, her gaze landing on Shen Mo, a flicker of interest shining in her eyes.

“The mark the Sect Leader left on you—I could smell it from half a city away. She really is willing to part with such a thing.”

Shen Mo instinctively raised his hand to press against his brow.

There, the mark Yun He had left was faintly burning hot.

“Yun Fuling,” Su Wan’er pushed herself up from the chair, gripping the armrest.

Her face was as pale as paper, cold sweat beading on her forehead.

Every word she spoke took tremendous effort. “If you dare lay a hand on him—”

“Peak Master Su, save your strength.”

Yun Fuling didn’t even look at her. “If you go all out and your Dao Foundation shatters, then tonight’s Flower Queen title for Young Master Shen will have been for nothing.”

She turned to Chu Yi, her tone as casual as if she were dividing up a dish. “The Spirit Soul goes to you, the body to me. How about it?”

Chu Yi nodded.

A dark jade-colored short staff had appeared in her hand at some point, its head embedded with a dark red gem.

Inside the gem, a thick liquid slowly churned.

That wasn’t a gem—it was the Inner Core of some living Monster.

“Move.”

The moment Yun Fuling’s words fell, dozens of Ghost Face Masks surged forward simultaneously.

At the same time, a figure slipped in through the side door of the Ten Thousand Flower Pavilion. Sword Light poured down like liquid silver, driving back the several Corpse Puppets lunging at Su Wan’er.

It was Han Yi, who had broken through the side door to rush in.

Qin Shuying’s sword also met them head-on.

The biting frost carved a crescent arc through the air.

Wherever the Sword Light passed, the air condensed into fine ice crystals that drifted down like scattered snow.

The three Ghost-Faced Corpses in the lead were swept by the Sword Light, their bodies severed clean in half at the waist.

No blood flowed from the severed edges—only thick black mist gushed out.

No one saw how she drew her sword.

There was just a flash of silver, and she was already behind Yun Fuling, her Longsword whistling as it tore through the air, thrusting straight for the other woman’s back.

Yun Fuling didn’t dodge or evade. She raised her hand and swept it before her, and a black barrier condensed from Yin Sha Qi materialized out of thin air.

The instant the sword tip pierced the barrier, a grating, teeth-aching screech erupted.

Silver light and Black Qi clashed fiercely within inches of each other, scattering countless fine sparks.

“Wan’er!” Qin Shuying’s voice came from the thick of the battle, short and clear. “Take Shen Mo and go!”

The small door led to the back garden of the Ten Thousand Flower Pavilion.

Shen Mo kicked the door open. The night wind rushed in, carrying a thick, cloying Blood Scent.

The flowers and plants in the garden swayed with blurred outlines in the darkness.

The rockeries and pavilions loomed like crouching beasts in the black.

He got his bearings, and the two of them headed toward the Depths of the garden.

He remembered that at the far end of the back garden there was a small door leading to the alleyways of the northern district.

In the dark alley, the lingering stench of blood and scorched flesh hung heavy in the air.

From the direction of the city gates in the distance, the sounds of battle and explosions drifted faintly, mixed with the roars of monsters and the furious shouts of cultivators.

The broken blue stone road was slick and sticky, impossible to tell whether it was water stains or blood.

Just as they were about to leave the narrow alley, with the faint glimmer of another street intersection visible ahead—

“Tap.”

A sound so soft, like a drop of water falling on blue stone, rang out from the shadows at the mouth of the alley ahead.

Su Wan’er abruptly stopped in her tracks, shielding Shen Mo behind her.

Her other hand instinctively pressed against the sword hilt at her waist.

Her pupils contracted as she stared fixedly ahead.

The mouth of the alley was blocked by a slender, petite figure.

Chao’er.

She stared at Shen Mo without blinking, too many things churning in her eyes.

There was a wild joy that crossed life and death, a craving released after being suppressed to its limit, a kind of almost pathological obsession finally satisfied, and a childish grievance that sent a chill down the spine.

Like a child left alone at home, finally waiting for the adult who came home late.

“Master’s Husband.”

She called out to him.

Her voice was soft, gentle, carrying a hint of a coquettish lilt at the end.

Exactly like that night before the Mystic Realm Trial.

Exactly like every moment she called him “Master’s Husband.”

But the moment Shen Mo heard those two words, his blood froze.

Because he saw Chao’er’s right hand.

That hand was loosely gripping the Black Short Blade, and the dried blood on her fingertips had crusted into dark brown lines within the weapon’s Line Pattern.

Chao’er tilted her head.

She had done this countless times, each time like a curious little beast, innocent and adorable enough to make one want to ruffle her hair.

But the way she tilted her head and looked at Shen Mo now reminded him of the night Yun He had come—through the crack in the door, those eyes that had shifted from clear to deep and dark.

Chao’er’s voice was still that sweet, sweet like honey laced with poison. “Where are you taking Master’s Husband?”

She took a step forward.

Shen Mo instinctively stepped back.

Chao’er stopped.

She looked down at the distance of his backward step, then raised her head. The light in her eyes dimmed for a moment.

Just a moment.

Then it brightened again, brighter than before, bright enough to sear.

“Master’s Husband is afraid of his disciple,” she said.

Not a question. A statement.

Her tone was so calm it was terrifying.

She took another step forward.

Chao’er stood before him.

So close.

Close enough that he could smell her scent.

Not the faint smell of soap that lingered on the little apprentice who used to follow behind him learning to read, but the stench of blood, dirt, and the rot and sulfur mixed together from the Depths of the Demon Abyss.

Close enough that he could see the edge of the wound on her left brow bone.

Her hand rose, her Fingertip almost touching Shen Mo’s cheek.

“Master’s Husband has grown thin.”

She said.

Her Voice suddenly became very, very soft, so soft it seemed afraid of shattering something.

Like a child who, seeing the weariness on the Face of an adult who came home late, stands on tiptoe to wipe away the dust for them.

Something was lodged in Shen Mo’s throat.

He remembered the day Chao’er was first brought back to Jiaoyue Peak by Su Wan’er.

A tiny little girl, thin as a bean sprout, hiding behind Su Wan’er, revealing only a pair of dark, glossy eyes peeking at him secretly.

He crouched down and held out a piece of candy in his palm.

She hesitated for a long time, then finally darted forward to snatch the candy, then shrank back behind Su Wan’er.

That was the first time he ever saw Chao’er.

Later, she started following him.

When he was in the study handling Peak affairs, she would drag over a small stool and sit beside him practicing calligraphy.

When he went to check the harvest at the Spirit Field, she would follow step by step, walking right in his footprints.

When he taught the disciples, she would sit in the last row, eyes shining as she watched him.

He asked her why she didn’t go cultivate with her teacher. She said, Master’s Husband’s place is warmer here.

Warmer here.

Because Su Wan’er was rarely around.

Because on Jiaoyue Peak, only he remembered that when her fingers grew stiff from practicing calligraphy, he would wrap them in his own palms to warm them.

“Chao’er,” Shen Mo’s Voice trembled. “Step aside.”

Chao’er’s finger pressed against his lips.

Very lightly, just resting there, as if touching a treasure that had been lost and found again.

Her Fingertip was ice-cold, carrying a Blood Scent that wouldn’t wash away.

“Chao’er.”

Two words.

Hoarse. Difficult. Squeezed out from his throat with every ounce of strength he had.

Chao’er’s movement stopped.

She turned her head and looked at Su Wan’er.

Her teacher.

The person who had pulled her out of a pile of corpses.

Su Wan’er’s face was as pale as paper, the pain of her cracked Dao Foundation making her Body tremble uncontrollably.

But the look in her eyes as she watched Chao’er held no fear, no anger—only a deep, complicated sorrow.

“Chao’er,” Su Wan’er’s voice came in fragments. “You… you’re back.”

Chao’er looked at her, silent for a long, long time.

Then she smiled.

That smile was completely different from the ones before.

Not the innocent sweetness, not the sick obsession—but the calm smile of one who had endured countless trials.

“Teacher,” she said, her Voice returning to its usual obedient sweetness. “Your disciple has returned. But why didn’t you protect him?”

Su Wan’er’s pupils violently contracted.

Chao’er’s smile didn’t change, but tears spilled from her eyes.

Silently, they slid down her cheeks covered in dust and blood, gathering at her chin into a single murky drop that fell onto the stone floor of the garden.

“When your disciple wasn’t here, were you even by his side? Why is there someone else’s mark on him? Why was he standing alone on the high platform of the Ten Thousand Flower Pavilion? Why did he have to play that Moonlit Epiphyllum in front of so many strange women?” Her Voice rose with each word, shattering with each word.

All color drained from Su Wan’er’s face.

Chao’er’s tears fell in big, heavy drops.

She laughed while she cried, laughed while she cried, that youthful Face holding too many emotions at once, so many they were about to spill over, so many that even she couldn’t tell which was real and which was fake.

“So,” she raised her hand and roughly wiped her tears with her sleeve, leaving streaks across her face, “your disciple doesn’t want to hand Master’s Husband to anyone else anymore.”

Her hand tightened around the Black Short Blade.

“Master’s Husband is your disciple’s. From today on, only your disciple’s.”

The night wind suddenly picked up.

The last flower lantern on the dome of the Ten Thousand Flower Pavilion finally went out completely, plunging the entire garden into thick darkness.

Only the firelight burning in the eastern Marketplace of the city dyed the edge of the night sky a dim red.

Chao’er stood in the faint glow cast by that dim red light, tears still wet on her Face, the Short Blade in her hand reflecting the distant flames like holding a sliver of setting sun. She took a step forward.

Shen Mo did not step back.

“Teacher,” she finally spoke, her tone still that sweet. “Won’t you give him back to me?”

Su Wan’er’s fingers clenched tightly, gripping Shen Mo’s collar even harder.

She raised her head and met the eyes of her most prized disciple—eyes she no longer recognized at all.

“Chao’er, snap out of it! Look at what you’ve become!”

“What have I become? Teacher, I’ve never been more clear-headed. I know what I want. I want Master’s Husband. Only Master’s Husband.”

She took a step forward, and the grass beneath her feet withered instantly.

Shen Mo stepped out from behind Su Wan’er, looking at the child he had raised with his own hands, his Voice trembling: “Chao’er, stop this. Come back with me. We’ll find a way together—”

“A way?” Chao’er suddenly burst into laughter, a shrill, piercing laugh. “What way? Go back and keep watching Yun He bully you?”

She looked at Su Wan’er. “My foolish teacher, do you know what Yun He did to him that night? I saw everything! Do you want me to tell you every detail, word for word?”