Returning to Qingyu was, at first, perhaps just an impulsive decision. Or maybe it was because she had nowhere else to go. After leaving the ghost realm, Yun Duan was overwhelmed by the vastness of the world, feeling as though the emptiness might crush her. So, she decided to do what she had avoided—return to Qingyu.
In the past, Yun Duan had set an unspoken rule for herself: she wouldn’t return to Qingyu until she found Shang Can. But now, knowing she would never find Shang Can, that rule seemed laughable.
No matter where she went, it was all the same, even in Qingyu.
As Yun Duan approached her former residence, she stopped, glancing at the house next to hers. Without much hesitation, she walked into Shang Can’s old home. It was all the same.
She sat down at the table, noticing that the room was spotless, likely the work of Wang Yue. No matter where she went, memories of Shang Can would surface. What difference did this place make?
Yun Duan understood Wang Yue’s earlier words, spoken out of concern that her fixation on Shang Can would lead her to despair—or worse. In truth, at the River of Forgetfulness, she had indeed considered giving in to such thoughts.
The ghost realm’s oppressive atmosphere, coupled with the deep sorrow in her heart, had brought Yun Duan to the brink. She had been tempted to cast herself into the river, thinking maybe she could follow Shang Can, reliving those two years even if it meant being reborn a bit younger.
Just as she was about to step forward, a searing heat at her waist snapped her out of it. She retreated, confused, and looked down to see her two swords, Wuyou and Feiwang, quietly sheathed. The scorching sensation had vanished as if it were a figment of her imagination.
Yun Duan hadn’t truly wanted to die; it was a fleeting impulse driven by her unstable emotions. She knew that death would solve nothing, leaving her trapped as a wandering ghost, unable to let go even more than she already was. She hadn’t yet found Shang Can’s soul, which meant there was still hope.
But it seemed that a sword truly believed she was about to throw herself into the river.
Yun Duan closed her eyes and sat quietly in Shang Can’s room for a long while. Then she slowly unsheathed the sword from her waist and placed it on the table.
Since then, she had repeatedly examined the two swords but found no clues. Even Yun Duan began to doubt whether it was just an illusion, yet she refused to give up easily. This return to Qing Yu was not just for a destination but also to seek answers from Wang Yue. However, Wang Yue’s concern for her made it difficult for Yun Duan to find the words.
Her gaze drifted over the two swords several times before she finally reached out her hand. After a moment of hesitation, she grasped the hilt of Feiwang’s sword as if she were burning her boats.
The bloody wound she once feared to touch had now become a life-saving straw she actively reached for.
Was it an illusion? If it wasn’t an illusion, then what was it?
Yun Duan took a deep breath and slowly pulled Feiwang from its sheath. The silver-white blade shimmered like flowing water, and a chill spread throughout the room. No warmth reached her, let alone the scorching heat she had felt that day.
A subtle heaviness settled in her heart. Staring at Feiwang for the first time in days, she uncontrollably recalled Pei Chen’s words. Back then, Shang Can had used this sword, and then—
Her hand trembled slightly as Yun Duan stared at the sharp blade, unable to imagine how that person had wielded it. The moment this thought crossed her mind, her head was soon clouded with indistinct emotions. Unconsciously, she held her breath, and her eyes darkened as she leaned closer to Feiwang.
Then, a faint sound, almost imperceptible, suddenly rang out. Yun Duan shivered, and before she could fully grasp the source of the sound, she felt the sword in her hand jerk violently.
An unexpected change occurred. Feiwang’s blade trembled fiercely, and Yun Duan watched as its silver-white surface began to turn a light gold, followed by a familiar burning aura spreading out. Feiwang felt heavier in her grasp, but she tightened her hold on the hilt, her eyes reflecting the deepening gold.
Before her eyes, long unseen scarlet gold flames burst forth from Feiwang’s blade.
At the same time, someone anxiously covered their right eye.
The already blurry scene before her instantly dimmed but did not vanish completely. She could still see the mixture of shock and disbelief on Yun Duan’s face and the sudden light igniting in her dark eyes, like a flickering flame amidst the ruins.
“What… what’s happening…”
The scorching sensation in her right eye was unbearable, a familiar experience she hadn’t felt in a long time. Breathless, Shang Can retreated to the side, still unable to make sense of the sudden change. The figure in white, who had been standing quietly, moved in front of her and gently touched the back of her hand that was covering her right eye.
A cool chill washed over her, and the heat in her right eye gradually cooled as if frozen by the touch. Gritting her teeth, Shang Can lowered her hand and forced down the tumult in her heart before daring to look up at the figure in white. Even though she knew they wouldn’t answer, she couldn’t help but ask, “Did you do something?”
The person before her looked exactly like the one she had seen moments ago on the light screen. Dressed in white, with a cool demeanor and eyes like black jade, they stared at Shang Can with unwavering focus, yet remained silent.
Seeing such eyes at this moment easily brought to mind the scene she had just witnessed. Shang Can paused and added, “…Just now, in the clouds, when my eyes suddenly burned, did you do something, Feiwang?”
“……”
Feiwang remained silent, quietly watching her, just as before.
It had been like this for the past two years. Shang Can knew she wouldn’t get any answers, so she half-heartedly shook her head and walked over to sit at a nearby table. The light screen not far away had gone dark, and she didn’t know what criteria Feiwang used to open this convenient door for her. In any case, everything she saw on that light screen had never improved her mood, yet she couldn’t help but look. It was merely drinking poison to quench thirst, willingly enduring it.
After all, she had nothing else to do.
Shang Can glanced at Feiwang, who silently followed her to the table. For the umpteenth time, she inwardly complained that an object shouldn’t resemble its master this much. Just as she shifted her gaze, Feiwang, without changing expression, moved its chair and positioned itself right in front of Shang Can again.
Today seemed even more difficult to comprehend than usual. Shang Can bit her lip in distress, letting out a silent sigh of helplessness in her heart.
In simple terms, Shang Can’s situation was that she was currently bound by Feiwang.
The events that had occurred two years ago on the mountain still made Shang Can feel a mix of amusement and exasperation.
At that time, she had indeed taken her own life using Feiwang. She had acted ruthlessly, leaving no room for mercy, and had died instantly. Yet, just as she had died, before her soul could escape, Feiwang had efficiently bound her and taken her away.
This situation seemed absurd, but Shang Can later thought it was somewhat normal. After all, Feiwang had been so obsessed with her back then that it had pulled her directly into the River of Forgetfulness. Now, as she ruthlessly resorted to self-harm, it wasn’t hard to understand that Feiwang would take her soul.
It was a classic case of oversight. Initially, she felt some annoyance and helplessness, but now she was rather numb as she turned her eyes. Although she had been unaware of many things while alive, she now knew quite a bit—such as if she had casually smashed herself with a rock, she should have already been burned back into a spiritual entity in that heavenly fire.
Or to put it another way—she would have reverted back into a phoenix egg.
A flood of memories surged forth only after her death. In the first month after being captured by Feiwang, she barely had the energy to deal with this sword spirit that watched her every day and looked exactly like the cloud figure. She had used all her mental strength just to barely manage the terrifying memories, feeling as though she had shed a layer of skin—she was furious with her half-demon identity, having suffered greatly.
Shang Can’s demonic half is a phoenix—an ancient species that has long since vanished from this world. It’s no wonder that Wan Shao couldn’t see it; the cultivation world has almost no great demons left, or else a flower demon wouldn’t have become the demon lord. Such powerful beings as phoenixes have been unrecorded for thousands of years. Now, Shang Can seems to be the last remnant—one so flawed that each time she dies and is reborn, she might not even retain her memories. She remembers when she dies, but it’s better not to remember at all.
The ancient bloodline is of no use, only causing her trouble. As fate would have it, before she could transform into a phoenix egg, her soul was captured by a sword spirit, preventing her from even reincarnating.
When she first received these memories, Shang Can felt somewhat depressed. After recalling everything, she quickly realized she wasn’t a traveler from another world; the memories in her mind were merely fragments of a life she once lived. She was simply a half-demon of the phoenix lineage, perhaps having lived for thousands or even tens of thousands of years. Every time she died, she would be reborn and forget, leading a long, muddled existence.
This life had not been lived with clarity. Upon calming down, Shang Can seriously reflected and felt that her seemingly extraordinary identity did not help her current situation or alleviate her worries in the slightest.
Feiwang, the sword spirit, merely watched her day by day. The surrounding space was unexpectedly vast, and wherever Shang Can went, Feiwang followed silently like a drifting spirit, unwilling to move a step away no matter how much Shang Can talked.
To be fair, aside from being mute and always following her, Feiwang was somewhat decent. At first, it had somehow created a house for her—its decor evidently copied from the room in the clouds. Then, one day, it suddenly devised a light screen, which startled Shang Can so much that when the real cloud figure appeared on the screen, she jumped up and her knees banged hard against the table’s edge. If she hadn’t been a spirit, that impact could have shattered her kneecap.
Thus, two years passed, and Shang Can lived with Feiwang, sometimes catching glimpses of the clouds and sometimes only seeing Feiwang, which was a perfect replica of the cloud figure, but each day was heavy with her feelings.
She had thought about finding a way to escape Feiwang’s hold, but since her death, she hadn’t been able to summon heavenly fire again. Considering it, heavenly fire was the bane of ghosts; if she truly called it forth, it would likely harm her first.
Moreover, Feiwang was always attached to the cloud figure, so Shang Can had to obediently curl up.
When being carried by the cloud figure, Shang Can usually didn’t dare to move, fearing that even the slightest noise from her sword would be noticed.
She was already dead, and even if she hadn’t been reborn yet, she was still dead. Even if she could come back to life, it would mean forgetting everything, so she shouldn’t hold anyone back anymore.
Knowing this was a fortuitous opportunity to remember this life’s memories, Shang Can was filled with conflicting emotions. On one hand, she felt she should be reborn as soon as possible, but on the other hand, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the light screen whenever it appeared.
Thus, Shang Can watched helplessly as the cloud figure fruitlessly searched for her among mountains and seas, becoming increasingly thin and fragile, weary from travel and unable to find peace. Yet, stubbornly, it refused to stop, making her heart ache as if it should have stopped beating.
This was a punishment, Shang Can thought. One she deserved.
Life in the sword was not static. Shang Can could feel her spiritual power gradually reviving, especially when close to the cloud figure. After all, it was an immaculate celestial body; even being near it was beneficial. Shang Can knew that if this continued, she would eventually be able to escape, but each time the light screen lit up, she chose to feign ignorance about her spiritual power changes, silently telling herself to wait until the cloud figure gave up on her before leaving.
She never got to wait for that day. Instead, she witnessed the lies she had carefully constructed being completely unraveled. The person deceived by the lies for two years silently shed tears by the River of Forgetfulness, the cloud figure crouching down, reduced to a small lump, sobbing with shoulders trembling.
Almost instinctively, when the cloud figure seemed to want to walk into the River of Forgetfulness, Shang Can stirred her spiritual power.
She didn’t actually know whether the cloud figure’s awakening by the river was related to her actions, but she still dared not make any rash moves. Instead, she kept her heart in suspense, fearing that the cloud figure might do something foolish again. She stayed by the light screen all day, and although Feiwang likely didn’t understand her feelings, it stayed beside her. Shang Can didn’t dare to look at it too much and instead focused intently on the darkened light screen, waiting for what just transpired.
The outburst of certain things came without warning; even though Feiwang’s light screen didn’t reveal the event itself, Shang Can could still discern from the cloud figure’s reaction that something had changed with Feiwang’s sword.
This time, she couldn’t help but think it had something to do with her own actions.
What to do? She touched her now-normal right eye, furrowing her brows as she frequently glanced at the light screen, disappointed each time it didn’t light up again. The cloud figure was always prone to making foolish decisions, and she didn’t know what it was like now—had it seen what happened with the sword? Would it momentarily abandon thoughts of self-harm due to interest in Feiwang?
Feeling both anxious and relieved, a sudden thought struck Shang Can.
If she could always intercept the cloud figure like this, then even if it meant keeping it in Feiwang forever, she wouldn’t mind.
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