Chapter 26

Cen Qianshan leapt down from his perch, paying no mind to the mangled corpse. Instead, he stooped and picked up the tiny tin man lying in the rubble.
It was an unremarkable little iron doll. Nothing rare in its make, no sign of clever mechanism. At best, it was just a flexible-jointed toy for children.
Cen Qianshan ran his fingers over the seams and rivets, the familiar handiwork stirring memories from a hundred years ago.
The year his Master had finally agreed to teach him puppet-crafting arts.
His Master’s most formidable skill, and the one he’d yearned for the most.
The very first step in learning puppet arts: practice, over and over, building little tin bodies like this.
Seated at his own workbench, with Master instructing, Cen Qianshan pieced together a tin puppet just like this one.
She stood at his back, one hand braced on the chair, the other reaching to guide his, channeling a thread of spiritual power to instruct his assembly.
"Like this," she told him, "use your power to adjust, precision is everything, even the slightest miscalculation won’t do."
Cen Qianshan stole a glance. She was so close, close enough for him to see every fine hair at the edge of her flawless jaw.
Those soft black strands tucked behind snowy earlobes; the way her cheeks puffed as she spoke.
Her eyes never strayed from the delicate parts suspended midair, crystal-clear, gem-bright, deep and alive as autumn pools.
Cen Qianshan loved watching his Master at work in secret. While she focused on crafting artifacts, there was always a shimmer in her eyes, vivid, alive, making her more beautiful than ever.
Suddenly, those eyes flicked toward him, lids narrowing just so. "You're not listening, are you?"
The gentle scold came with a brush of warm breath against his skin. An electric, tingling sensation chased down every nerve, flooding his veins until it crashed into his heart, squeezing that tender spot without mercy.
Cen Qianshan's heart instantly spun out of control, thundering in his chest.
That was the first moment he realized, the way he felt about his Master had changed.
She was the only person in the world who truly loved him. And yet, he couldn't stop himself from thinking all the wrong things about her.
He wanted her affections for himself alone. Wanted her scoldings, her care, her every little thing, reserved just for him. Wanted her by his side forever…and maybe, wanted to get even closer.
Utterly, hopelessly, out of line.
The little tin puppet spun about in his distracted hands, coming together only after an age of fumbling. Its crooked shape matched, in a strangely familiar way, the one he held now.
"Where did this come from?" He looked at the junior girl cultivator from the Immortal Spirit Realm. "Sell it to me."
The young girl clearly recognized him. At first, she seemed startled, and by now, she was stunned speechless, just blankly staring his way.
Mu Xue stared right back at her "little disciple" in disbelief. Last time, with just a fleeting look at his primordial spirit, she hadn't grasped the change. Now, seeing Xiao Shan, full-grown, standing here, just an arm's reach away…
Looking up at him, it was like seeing a lost loved one return. Fear of death, loneliness of rebirth, over a hundred years of drifting, all flooded her heart in a dizzying wave of sweet, bitter, sour, and strange. She didn't even have words for the feeling.
When did Xiao Shan get so tall? Standing before her, his shadow draped over her like a mountain; he looked down, gaze sharp and icy.
Her own tiny frame didn't even come up to his thighs; if she tried to pat his head like she used to, she probably couldn't even reach.
It had been so many years, and hearing his voice now for the first time, he didn't call her "Master" with that sweet tone anymore, just cold, curt words. For no good reason, Mu Xue felt a pang in her chest.
"Uh, this is standard sect assignment," Mu Xue replied awkwardly. "It's not for sale."
The materials for the tin puppet were distributed by the Peak Master of Biyun Peak; the designs were standard, though she'd slipped in a few of her own tweaks.
Cen Qianshan’s gaze flicked to the talisman at Mu Xue's waist, Guiyuan Sect?
He still remembered the Immortal Spirit Realm's major sects, and Guiyuan did have some master artifact refiners. If Master’s signature Mingdeng Mirage Platform had made it here, her puppet techniques cropping up in these tin toys wasn’t surprising.
Cen Qianshan bent down slightly, bracing his knee, studying Mu Xue. "Little miss, you might be confused. I’m not asking. Pills? Spirit herbs? Refinement materials? Name your price."
Anything brought from the Demon Spirit Realm couldn’t go back; trade between the two realms had to be bartered with rare treasures from the Divine Domain itself.
Name your price; I'll be taking this either way. A cold, stubborn demonic cultivator giving no room for reason.
"Oh, whatever, it’s not worth much anyway," Mu Xue said. "If you want it, just take it."
For the first time, Cen Qianshan’s stoic expression flickered.
This strange little girl's face, unfamiliar and childish, for a moment overlapped perfectly with a face from his dreams, a face he’d seen a thousand times.
"Xiao Shan, come look! I just finished this new puppet."
"Wow, so cute! Can I try it?"
"Haha, if you like it, it’s yours."
The memory faded away. Standing before him was only a stranger, a little girl.
Ridiculous. Cen Qianshan straightened up, chest tight.
His Master was one of a kind; so what if another face looked similar?
Watching Cen Qianshan walk off without a single glance back, Mu Xue couldn’t help but scream inside: What the hell happened in this past century? What twisted my sweet, adorable, little white-flower disciple into someone so icy, so obsessive, that he'd even snatch a child’s toy?
Whatever, she tried to comfort herself. Maybe Xiao Shan just randomly wanted to play with a tin puppet. She’d given him so much since he was little, one more little toy wasn’t going to make a difference.
Starlike pieces of five-colored crystal paved the earth. Twilight splashed across the stones, reflecting shimmering rainbows, light flickering like waves on a wild, otherworldly sea.
Here they were, deep in the Dongyue Temple. The daylight was muddled and strange, the sea of light surged on and on, time frozen in that liminal hour between day and night.
Cen Qianshan perched atop a stone statue's shoulder, quietly fixing his gaze on the tin puppet in his hands.
He remembered that little girl from before, standing alone beside a pool of blood, her words cold as she declared her revenge on her enemies.
Someone had hurt her beloved brother, so she came seeking vengeance by herself.
Yes, if anyone ever hurt his Master, even a scratch, he’d make them suffer a hundredfold for every mark.
But he’d never been given the chance.
Far off, faint music drifted on the wind. Lights floated down the road, slowly, then in a blink, they were upon him: an enormous, elaborate sedan, no carriers in sight, hovering midair. A dozen ghostly lamps trailed around it; at its front, tassels swayed, heavy curtains layered below.
A massive, extravagant face, ludicrously out of proportion, peeked from behind a lifted curtain, filling the whole palanquin, as if there was no body beneath.
"What a handsome young man, why not join me for a bit of pleasure?" A playful, flirtatious voice echoed, with an eerie, lingering note.
Looks like he’d made it to the “Sea of Desire.” Cen Qianshan’s eyes narrowed at the bizarre sedan, fingers wrapping around the hilt of Frostbite.
The Dongyue Temple split into three layers: the Sea of Desire, Road of the Dead, and Paradise. Only by crossing all three could one reach the Temple at the end. The thing Cen Qianshan sought waited far within, at the bottomless Pool of Infinite Stillness.
"Sweetheart, sweetheart, come away with me, let's be happy together." The echoing voice of a woman rang from all directions.
Snake-bodied, woman-faced demons slithered out of the shadows, crawling through flickering firelight, encircling the man by the bonfire and chanting their brazen songs over and over.
"Sweetheart, sweetheart, am I beautiful or what?" Sinister and seductive, one lay coiled at his feet, reaching for his neck, wanting to draw him in close.
A cold flash swept the air, he split the demon cleanly in two. Its twisted form vanished, leaving half a serpent's tail still twitching on the stone floor in the shifting light.
"My, my, how cruel you are, sweetheart."
"Let me see, ah, so your heart already belongs to someone else."
"It's your Master, isn’t it? This wild thing has fallen for his own Master!"
One by one, the demon women’s faces began to shift, morphing into the one he’d dreamt of a thousand times.
Cen Qianshan took a black ribbon and blindfolded himself, blade drawn before him,
"Xiao Shan? Xiao Shan?"
"Why’d you close your eyes?"
"It’s been so many years! Open up and look at your Master, just once."
Those tender, familiar voices circled all around him.
A glint of cold frost slashed through, breaking the demons’ spell.
"So you love your Master, and your Master loves you, too."
A blade flash cut through, ruthless and indifferent.
"Insolent filth. Disgusting. I have no disciple like you."
"What a problem child, so what do you want Master to do? How about you kiss me, hold me, bring me into your bed tonight?"
"Wicked disciple. Foul creature, breaking every rule. Watch how your Master punishes you!"
"Heh, so you like it, Xiao Shan? Be good and take a hundred strokes from your Master, I might just forgive you."
Cen Qianshan cut down the last demon, tore the blindfold from his eyes. Cold sweat trickled down his cheek, dripping from a pale chin.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he caught his breath, eyes squeezed shut, trying desperately to calm his heart.
Just then, he cast his senses as far out as possible, a faint sound of battle drifted to him from up ahead.
He sheathed his blade, climbed up onto an ancient statue, and stared out over the distant battlefield from on high.
Whip shadows writhed below, black and twisting, mist billowing, clouds swirling like water churned by the sky.
Within the snaking whip, sword-light glimmered icy and sharp, a bitter plum blossom blooming proudly in frost, locked in a dance with the black serpent.
"The Plum Blossom Nine Swords, not bad, shame they're wasted on Liu Luchun," Cen Qianshan mused.
Meanwhile, down in the chaos, Liu Luchun’s frustration was peaking.
She’d wandered this cursed Sea of Desire for ages, found no answers, only to stumble upon the very young righteous cultivator who’d scarred her face the other day, all alone.
She was delighted! Alone at last, no friends to help him, she’d been certain she’d have him begging for mercy in no time, revenge hers at last for that nasty arrow.
Who knew this brat, for all his weaker cultivation, would prove tougher than steel, unyielding, stubborn, giving her hell and making a total mess of her plans. She still hadn’t managed to win!
Born the precious eldest daughter of the Liu family, she cultivated the all-powerful Joyous Yin-Yang Secret Art, showered with resources since childhood, allowed to harvest what she pleased, her Golden Core was unshakable. In Wu Wang City, who didn’t address her as Miss Liu?
And now, in the Divine Domain, she couldn’t even take down one measly Foundation-stage newbie after a long fight.
"Hmph. No matter how tough you are, you won’t last much longer," Liu Luchun sneered. Her black serpent whip surged up, finally snapping the frozen blossom that had endured for so long.
She wrapped the black whip around both wrists of the man in white, yanking him up to dangle before her.
The man’s robes were torn and bloodied, his face knotted with humiliation, he squeezed his eyes shut and twisted away, refusing to even look at her.
An icy plum in winter, the flower atop an unattainable peak, all the sweeter for being sullied.
Liu Luchun was intrigued now, thinking maybe the ordeal was worth it after all. Reaching out, she tried to touch that oh-so-proper cultivator’s face.
"Tell me. What’s your name?"
He shot her a glare like lightning, pure venom in his eyes. Instinctively, Liu Luchun jerked aside. A spinning sword of ice zipped silently right past where she’d just stood, missing its mark, vanishing into the mist.
Furious, Liu Luchun grabbed his tattered collar, hauled him close and snarled through gritted teeth, "I was going to let you have some fun, but you had to make it difficult. It's your own fault. Don’t worry, by the end you'll be begging me for mercy."
But before she'd finished, white-hot pain exploded in her chest.
Liu Luchun stared down in shock, a snowy sword had speared right through the man’s torso, all the way into her own heart, dead center.
"I've raised 'Cold Moon' inside me since childhood, man and sword, perfectly fused. Even if my spiritual power runs dry, my sword will never hurt me. It exists to slay my enemies, not me."
"You! You" Liu Luchun staggered back in disbelief, coughing up a splatter of deep red blood as she let the man go.
The man braced himself on his sword, barely upright by force of will,
"I am Fu Yun. Since the day I entered my sect, I have never lost, not once have I shamed my Master’s name." His blood-soaked white robe shivered as he burst out in wild laughter. "So what if you’re Golden Core? Here, in this Dongyue Temple, we’re on equal ground. There’s no way I’ll lose to you."
Liu Luchun clutched the wound in her chest and staggered away, bleeding wildly.
Fu Yun, heavy with wounds, finally slumped to his knees, collapsing to the cold stone.
Here on the divine road, ghosts and monsters roamed. Dragging his battered body, Fu Yun tried to crawl quietly into a shadow to mend himself.
Black boots stopped in front of him. Fu Yun looked up and saw a face, icy cold, but all too familiar. A face he’d seen often, reflected in the mirage towers over the Sea of Lanterns, the notorious demonic cultivator, Cen Qianshan.
Fu Yun let out a weary breath, closing his eyes,
Master, your disciple is useless. I probably can't get the antidote for our junior brother, I’m sorry for letting you down.
Cen Qianshan looked at the half-dead righteous cultivator sprawled before him. He’d clearly just survived a vicious fight, robe torn, barely decent, but the talisman still hung at his waist. The mark of the Guiyuan Sect, woven with a special array, never to leave its owner so long as they lived.
Technically, this had nothing to do with Cen Qianshan at all.
But for some reason, a certain little girl's voice rang out brightly in his ears,
"You hurt the senior brother who treats me best, and you really think I'll let you off the hook?"
"Hey… do you… have a little junior sister?" Cen Qianshan looked down at the person at his feet, making a gesture to show her tiny height. "Thiss tall, always wears her hair in two little buns."
Fu Yun was taken aback. His little junior sister should be at the outer camp where the righteous cultivators gathered, how did this demonic cultivator know her?
Before Fu Yun could make sense of it, Cen Qianshan stared at him for a long moment, then abruptly lunged forward, grabbing Fu Yun’s jaw and shoving a pill into his mouth before he had time to react, forcing him to swallow it.
"Cough, what did you make me take?" Fu Yun clutched his neck and coughed, but the pill melted the instant it touched his tongue, already sinking into his system. A bitter frustration rose in his chest, who knew what cruel trick this demonic cultivator wanted to play?
But he got his answer fast.
As the pill spread through him, a rush of soothing warmth bloomed in his core, and the pain from his wounds eased palpably all over his body.
It was a rare and powerful healing medicine, far more effective than any Nourishing Pill he'd tried.
"You-?" Fu Yun was utterly confused.
"Call it paying back a favor I owe your junior sister." Cen Qianshan, already turning to leave, lowered his head and idly stroked the tin puppet in his hand. "I don't like owing anyone anything."