“She was very strong.”
Ao Xian admitted frankly, her vertical pupils narrowing slightly as if recalling the other’s appearance.
“She wore plain Daoist robes, carried a long sword on her back, and was shrouded in biting cold qi. Seeing me still frolicking amid the floodwaters, treating the catastrophe as a game, she was furious. She sternly rebuked me for disregarding living beings and committing boundless slaughter. Then we clashed above that vast swampland.”
“Her swordsmanship was formidable, her inner force vast and pure—especially that cold qi cultivation, which faintly restrained my aquatic divine abilities.”
“We fought for a long time—from dawn until dusk, from the water to the clouds. In the end, perhaps she sensed I was not inherently bloodthirsty? Or perhaps she felt my origin power was not irredeemably evil? In any case, she spared my life.”
Ao Xian’s gaze turned to the unfathomably deep pool beneath her feet.
“She exhausted nearly all her inner force to cast an extremely ancient technique, sealing me here. She said this place’s water veins were special, containing a trace of innate water essence that resonated with me and could temper my ferocity. She also said that when the ‘time’ was ripe, someone would come to undo the seal and set me free.”
“Time? What time?” Nanxi pressed.
Ao Xian shook her head. “She did not specify. Only that fate would decide, and the one who tied the bell must untie it.”
Then she looked at Nanxi, firelight dancing in her eyes.
“In these two hundred years, you are the first mortal to reach this pool’s edge—not only without fleeing in terror but even able to converse with me. Before you, others either caught a glimpse of the strange phenomenon from afar and fled in panic, or simply could not enter the depths of this peach grove.”
Nanxi was stunned.
“Me? That can’t be. I haven’t even mastered inner force—I can’t even float. The person you described was a living immortal who could fly on inner force.”
“It has nothing to do with inner force. The key to the seal lies beneath this pool.”
Ao Xian raised her hand, fingertip pointing to the dark heart of the pool.
“There is a chain condensed from extreme cold spiritual force, locking a water-suppressing spirit stele.”
“The sword immortal’s words that day were: only pure Daoist cold qi could gradually melt the chain, loosen the stele, and release my bonds.”
“Though dragons can ride clouds and mist, breathe fire and lightning, our fundamental nature is water—it clashes innately with that cold qi. I cannot touch it at all. In these two centuries, all I could do was watch it year after year.”
She let out a soft breath that turned to white mist in the cold air.
“Kid, if one day your cultivation succeeds and you master cold qi—or if you know a master who possesses such spiritual force—perhaps come try it? It would settle this thread of cause and effect.”
The story seemed finished. The firewood continued burning, illuminating their silent faces.
Nanxi listened to this plausible tale.
His view of the dragon girl grew more complicated, yet something felt off—he could not pinpoint what.
He decided not to dwell on it and simply exclaimed in sudden realization,
“So that’s how it was…”
The faint fear he had felt toward her unknowingly faded further, even giving rise to a touch of sympathy.
“Yes, that’s it.”
Ao Xian replied, her voice returning to calm.
She turned her gaze back to the campfire, her profile serene in the light and shadow.
“Just a story of youthful ignorance leading to great calamity, followed by imprisonment here, awaiting a slim chance of release.”
Night fell like ink, thoroughly soaking the peach grove.
The campfire became the only warm light in the boundless dark, stretching their shadows long and short, flickering unsteadily.
The pool remained deep and still, quietly reflecting the dancing flames and a few sparse cold stars.
Yet in the place the firelight could never reach—the darkest, coldest depths of the pool.
The truth there was utterly contrary to Ao Xian’s understated narration.
There was no water-suppressing spirit stele.
Only a crystalline, jade-like female skeleton.
The skeleton sat in meditation posture, deeply embedded in the silt at the pool’s bottom—silt accumulated over who knew how many years.
Time had passed; the clothing on the bones had long become part of the pool’s mud.
Only the skeleton remained lustrous white, faintly circulating an extremely dim layer of snow-white inner force.
Looking closely, cradled in the skeleton’s arms was a sheathed long sword.
The sheath was simple and unadorned, its color dark and subdued, covered in thick water weeds.
Yet its slender, graceful outline was still visible, along with faint traces of extremely weak but incomparably pure ice-blue radiance seeping from the tiny gaps in the sheath.
This radiance formed chains that bound the wicked serpent in the pool.
This demon-suppressing dharma sword was the sole seal beneath the deep pool—and the price of that seal had been its owner’s heaven-defying life.
By the campfire, the dragon girl gazed at the warm, leaping flames.
Deep in her golden-brown vertical pupils, an indescribable gleam flashed fleetingly.
On her profile—so softened and tranquil in the firelight—the corner of her lips seemed to curve upward ever so slightly.
The arc was cold and subtle, gone in an instant, as if merely an illusion born of light and shadow.
The night grew deeper.
The peach grove was silent, the deep pool mysterious.
Only the campfire crackled, illuminating the long night.
When dawn came and the sun had climbed high, Nanxi slowly opened his eyes from yesterday’s illusions.
Beside him was the pool, and atop the water lay a horned girl.
“Not a dream…”
The boy dearly wished yesterday’s events had been mere fantasy, but reality was not as he hoped.
Nanxi looked up at the glaring sunlight. Before he could think deeper—
Growl—
His stomach rumbled.
He glanced at the dragon girl lying on the water, then at the surrounding peach trees, and made up his mind.
Food first. Everything else later.
Using his considerable inner force, he shook down a dozen old peaches from the tall trees.
They were yellowish, flesh loose, yielding only juice and mushy pulp when bitten, with a faint alcoholic tang.
These old peaches were excellent for brewing, but to someone who disliked wine, they were nothing short of torture.
Carrying the remaining peaches back to the pool’s edge, Nanxi quietly slipped away.
Though he felt some sympathy for the dragon girl’s tale, it had not reached the point of true pity.
Let alone the slaughter she had caused—even being torn to pieces would not have been unjust.
A killer like that was best kept at a distance.
After all, Nanxi—who cultivated Daoist martial secrets—could sense the source of those chains beneath the pool.
Those peaches could serve as payment for the dragon girl listening to the boy’s grievances.
He had listened to her story, after all. If he clung to debts, remember—it was she who had drenched his clothes.
A short incense stick later, relying on his decent lightness skill, Nanxi returned home.
The boy stood anxiously before the door, unable to muster the courage to knock.
As the golden sun neared the west, he finally pushed down the wall in his heart.
Knock knock knock—
Three knocks sounded, but no response came from within.
Gathering his courage, the boy opened the door—yet the person he wished to see was not inside.