27 The Final Movement (2)

When Jiang Xiaoman woke up, her body felt weak and limp, though she was not in pain. Her head was heavy and clouded, as if she had just emerged from a long, surreal, and bizarre dream. When she tried to recall it, her mind buzzed, leaving her unable to grasp a single detail.

She struggled to piece together her most recent memories: the night, the courtyard, the rampaging demon, and herself playing the flute to dispel the illusion. Then, in an instant, that terrifying demon had charged at her and seized her by the throat, abducting her. She instinctively touched her own neck. The terror of the memory remained, and her breathing grew ragged as she recalled it.

Lowering her eyes, she watched the sunlight pour through the paper window, casting dappled shadows upon the quilt. She scanned the room with a blank stare. She recognized it—this was the west wing. Outside, she heard the intermittent chirping of birds and the sounds of busy servants. The great battle had ended; it seemed everything had returned to a state of calm.

She exhaled slowly.

Just then, the door was pushed open gently.

A maid walked in. At a quick glance, she looked like Bichun. But as soon as the maid stepped inside and saw Jiang Xiaoman sitting up, she immediately turned and ran out in a panic, calling out, "Young Master! The young lady is awake! The young lady is awake!"

Before long, that familiar figure hurried in and rushed to the bedside.

"Don't move around. Residual demonic energy is prone to pooling in the organs—lie back down immediately—"

"What about Guiyin!?" she interrupted, leaning forward to grasp his sleeve, her tone urgent and agitated.

The person before her did not answer. He took hold of her shoulder to press her back into the bedding. "That has nothing to do with you. Just lie still."

As Jiang Xiaoman struggled against him, she caught a glimpse of his extremely pale complexion. Her heart sank. She thought to herself: If Guiyin were dead, he certainly wouldn't look like this.

"Did it run away!?" she asked in shock, her voice raspy. "You—how could you let it escape? It’s so evil and so terrifying. What if… what if it hurts someone else?"

Before she could finish, Jiang Xiaoman broke into a fit of coughing. Her throat was still sore, and she could not bear to speak so much at once.

"Lie down," the youth in white commanded.

Jiang Xiaoman was bewildered by his attitude and felt deeply aggrieved. "You were the one who said that no matter what, we couldn't let it get away… *cough, cough*."

Ling Sichen remained silent for a moment before saying, "It was severely wounded; it won't get far. Reinforcements will arrive soon; we will intercept it at the foot of the mountain then."

"Reinforcements?" Jiang Xiaoman frowned. "What reinforcements?"

Ling Sichen offered no further answer. His hand, resting on her shoulder, applied a bit of pressure. Though gentle, it was firm. Despite her reluctance, Jiang Xiaoman saw that he would not reply, so she stopped being stubborn and tucked herself back under the covers.

The youth's expression finally softened, a touch of tenderness in his eyes. "Don't you worry about it. I'll have Bichun bring you some medicine later; you just need to focus on recovering here."

Having said this, he tucked the quilt tighter around her. Then, he touched his fingertips to her neck. Jiang Xiaoman felt a wave of warm spiritual energy seep into her, as if she were bathing in a warm spring, soothing her body and mind.

She closed her eyes, content to enjoy the sensation.

After a long while, Ling Sichen slowly withdrew his hand. He gazed at her intently for a moment, then picked up his sword and left in silence.

*

Jiang Xiaoman coughed as she watched him leave, feeling stifled and aggrieved. He was still the same—unwilling to tell her anything.

Shortly after he left, the maid Bichun walked in carrying a lacquer tray. Through the gap in the door, Jiang Xiaoman caught sight of the servants in the courtyard, who were busy repairing the walls and tending to the flower beds.

Bichun came to the bedside, pulled a small table over, and set the tray upon it. She carefully helped Jiang Xiaoman sit up, then picked up a white porcelain bowl from the tray, stirring it with a spoon to blow away the steam.

"You've slept for twelve hours, Miss. You finally woke up. When the Young Master first rescued you, your condition was extremely critical. We were all so worried."

Jiang Xiaoman froze. "Rescued me?"

In her hazy memories, there did seem to be such a moment. Ling Sichen had burst through the door, pulled her into his arms, while facing the roaring demon… wait, what were the circumstances before that? No, her head hurt too much—every time she tried to think about that part, the pain was unbearable.

Could it be that because of her, he had failed to kill Guiyin? How could that be? Was this even the same "stiff" Second Young Master Ling she knew?

Perhaps out of self-reproach, or perhaps still in shock, her breathing quickened.

Bichun nodded, stirring the medicine. "Indeed. The Young Master guided us in brewing the medicine, and he never left your side to care for you… The Second Miss was also terribly worried. Now that you're awake, I must tell her right away."

Jiang Xiaoman’s head buzzed as she tried to digest these words, attempting to reconcile them with the rigid Second Young Master Ling. It felt completely unbelievable, and she couldn't utter a word for a long time.

Hearing Bichun mention Cen Lan, she couldn't help but recall the terrifying moments of the previous night. The image of Cen Lan’s eyes rolling back and foaming at the mouth while possessed by the demon resurfaced like a nightmare, leaving her feeling deeply unsettled.

She calmed her breathing and asked softly, "Is Lan alright?"

Bichun smiled gently. "The Second Miss is fine. She is currently busy with the reconstruction of the Cuiwei Pavilion, so you need not worry." With that, she scooped up a spoonful of medicine and held it to Jiang Xiaoman’s lips. "Miss, here."

Jiang Xiaoman tasted it tentatively and immediately spat it out. It was bitter.

Bichun set the bowl down and used a silk handkerchief to wipe the liquid from her lips. "As they say, good medicine is bitter. The Young Master specifically instructed that you must finish it."

Bichun went to feed her again, but Jiang Xiaoman waved her hands, signaling that she would do it herself. Bichun did not insist. Before leaving, she pointed to a small bottle beside the bowl. "Oh, there is this as well. The Young Master said you must take this."

Jiang Xiaoman picked up the tiny bottle and examined it closely.

Bichun said, "This is an elixir the Young Master specially refined for you."

Jiang Xiaoman suspiciously pulled out the stopper and sniffed. A pungent odor hit her, and she couldn't help but frown, her face twisting. *Oh my god, isn't this scent that of the Green Bamboo Jade Dew Cream? Can that even be refined into an elixir for consumption?*

She then realized something else. *An elixir? But the alchemy furnace wasn't working, was it? How did he refine it?*

Bichun, always sharp, knew exactly what she was wondering. She smiled, "The Old Madam searched through the entire warehouse and actually found a few remaining spirit stones. She quickly put the alchemy furnace back to work, and Uncle Ma rode at full speed to town to buy the missing medicinal catalysts and spiritual materials."

Jiang Xiaoman nodded, a sudden warmth spreading through her heart. The Old Madam had always been averse to immortals, yet she was willing to help. She wondered what Ling Sichen had said to her while she was unconscious.

Hearing the name Uncle Ma, she recalled the events of the previous night. She murmured, "Uncle Ma..."

Bichun understood. "Uncle Ma has already gone to the county office to surrender himself. However, he asked me to express his gratitude to you."

Jiang Xiaoman blushed, stunned for a long moment, her heart surging with waves of emotion. This was the first time she had ever received thanks from a mortal… perhaps this meant she had finally become a qualified disciple of the Immortal Sect.

Come to think of it, while Uncle Ma had acted with ruthless violence and committed murder, he did not feel like a wicked person to her. The reason, perhaps, was that he killed for the sake of revenge and purging the corrupt, rather than out of personal malice to slaughter the innocent.

...But what about the demon? Did demons kill because of evil intentions?

She was frightened by this wild thought. Why would she think such a thing? Demons were inherently evil—slaughtering innocent mortals and igniting the fires of chaos; there was nothing more evil in this world than a demon. This was the view the Immortal Sect had taught her since childhood, and it was a fact she had seen with her own eyes. How could she dare to question it?

Bichun’s voice pulled her from her chaotic thoughts.

"Miss, the Young Master also asked me to give you this."

She handed over a small, delicate pouch. It had a pine-green base with silver scale patterns woven into it, the texture as fine as silk—at a glance, it was clearly no ordinary object.

Bichun might not have recognized it, but Jiang Xiaoman identified it immediately: it was a Spirit Pouch! While common in the Immortal Sect, it had few uses—nine times out of ten, it was used to hold a Demonic Core!

A Demonic Core contained the condensed demonic energy of an entire monster. Even a Yellow-grade core could not be touched easily without spiritual energy to contain it, lest one be burned; a Spirit Pouch made the task much easier. The inner lining was made of thousand-year snow lotus core and softened Penglai pine needles, which could suppress demonic energy, allowing even mortals to touch it safely without draining their spiritual energy.

Jiang Xiaoman took it, her hands trembling. She squeezed the shape inside, then couldn't wait to open it and peek.

There, the yellow-jade-colored Water Demon core lay quietly, emitting a faint, eerie glow.

Jiang Xiaoman stared at the core, a lump forming in her throat. Her heart was a storm of emotions, but she forcefully suppressed the tears.

Yue'er was already gone.

Xing'er… she must save Xing'er.

*

When Ling Sichen went outside, he was stopped by a servant who had hurried over from the main gate, holding a box with a letter attached.

"Immortal Master, someone asked me to bring this to you. They said it was very important and that you must open it personally."

Full of suspicion, Ling Sichen opened the letter and glanced at it, his expression changing drastically. He then hurriedly opened the box to check its contents.

He only opened the box a tiny crack before slamming it shut. The demonic energy pouring out of it was alarmingly heavy.

His expression turned grave as he looked up and asked the servant, "Where is Baihua?"

The servant frowned, looking puzzled. "Master Baihua likely fled when the chaos broke out… Why do you ask, Immortal Master?"

Sensing something was wrong, Ling Sichen hurriedly asked, "Then who gave you this?"

The servant scratched his head. "I don't know. He looked like an ascetic monk."

"An ascetic monk?"

"He wore a string of skull prayer beads around his neck, but his head was wrapped in layers of white cloth—it was very eerie."

Before the servant could finish, the swordsman in white had already leaped away, disappearing from sight. The servant turned back, looked around, and scratched his head in confusion.

Ling Sichen moved like a shooting star, flying out the gate. But when he fixed his gaze on the open road ahead, there was not a soul to be seen. Whether a wandering monk or a wandering cultivator, there should have been some traces left behind, yet he looked up at the sky and saw nothing, then reached out to probe the surroundings—he could not find a single shred of lingering spiritual energy.

He tightened his fist, crinkling the letter in his hand.

While he was deep in thought, he saw a servant hurrying toward him from behind. Out of breath, the man said, "Young Master, I waited at the back mountain as you instructed, and many more Immortal Masters have indeed arrived!"

Ling Sichen wasn't surprised by this; he assumed these were the people he had been expecting.

Practitioners on flying swords would naturally land at the highest point, and the summit of the Meixue Manor was that back mountain.

He temporarily set aside the matter of the letter and followed the servant, meeting Steward Zeng, who was leading five people toward him.

He recognized two of them as his fellow sect members, but the other three were strangers.

The three exchanged brief pleasantries with Steward Zeng before hurrying toward the left courtyard—whether they hadn't noticed him or were simply too busy to greet him, he didn't know. However, he did notice their attire: one carried a drum, one held a sheng, and one carried a zither. It was self-evident which sect they belonged to. A weight lifted from his heart, and he couldn't help but smile faintly, without even realizing it.

Ling Sichen looked down at himself; his white outfit, previously stained with blood, had been changed for a simple physician's robe… no wonder the three had passed him without a word.

The two fellow sect members recognized him and greeted him from afar as they approached.

When they were close, Ling Sichen bowed. "Thank you both for your hard work in responding to my Wujiu letter." He scanned the surroundings, as if looking for someone. "Why didn't my elder brother come?"

"Second Young Master," one of them said as he bowed. "An Earth-grade demon suddenly appeared in the Great Desert. The Xuanyang Sect was unable to hold it, so the Eldest Young Master rushed there to provide reinforcements."

The other added, "The Eldest Young Master said that the Red Cloud Sword Formation should be led by you, and with us two assisting, it will be more than sufficient."

Hearing this, Ling Sichen was stunned for a moment, then a look of genuine joy spread across his face. He confirmed, "He really said that?"

The two nodded in unison, and he beamed, his face appearing as joyful as a child’s.

The two exchanged glances, and one continued, "The steward said earlier that the great demon has already escaped. Second Young Master, where shall we set up the formation now?"

"It is unnecessary," Ling Sichen said, opening the box in his hand to reveal the glowing demonic core. "Guiyin has been slain."

The two were filled with astonishment at the sight. The core was vastly different from ordinary ones. If a Yellow-grade core was the size of a goose egg and a Profound-grade one like a pebble, this one was only the size of a thumb. Though small, its light was ten times brighter than a Profound-grade core, and the roiling demonic energy enveloping it gave off a cold, eerie sensation that made one's blood run cold.

After all, an Earth-grade Demonic Core was a legendary object; few in the entire Immortal Sect or the Immortal Realm had ever seen one with their own eyes.

The two marveled at it, then noticed the letter in his hand—the pattern on the seal was identical to that on the box. Though curious, they knew better than to pry into others' business, so they held their tongues.

One asked, "Second Young Master, what shall we do now?"

Ling Sichen’s fingers tightened on the letter, a layer of frost settling over his brows.

He looked back toward the left courtyard one last time, his Adam's apple bobbing, but ultimately he looked away. He said solemnly, "An Earth-grade Demonic Core is no ordinary object; leaving it in the world for too long will only invite disaster. Both of you, follow me to Kunlun immediately to have it destroyed."

"Yes, Second Young Master."