Inside the room where they had once lived, Dān Gūdāo had sealed the door when he left the mountain. Now, the lock was so badly corroded that it was useless. Wǎnyú nudged it lightly with the tip of her short sword, and it gave way with a groan, falling heavily onto the dust-covered floor. The door hinges screeched in protest as it slowly creaked open, releasing a thick, choking wave of dust mixed with the sour, rotten smell of decaying wood.
According to the system's guidance, she had successfully found the box.
It was a wooden box, about a foot square. Its material was ordinary, and the edges of the lid were heavily worn, showing signs of its age. The box was not locked but felt heavy. She carried it to the faint window light and lifted the lid.
Wǎnyú's heart sank.
There were no intact items. A broken sword tassel, its threads tangled and spread out, stained with long-dried, blackened marks; several pages of yellowed letter paper, torn to shreds and then clumsily pieced back together, the writing blurred and illegible; a pale green jade pendant, its edges covered in dense, deeply etched carvings, making it almost impossible to discern the original auspicious cloud pattern... Each item had been destroyed in an extremely violent manner. Most glaring were the huge 'X' marks, drawn in cinnabar or some dark red pigment, covering every remnant. The crosses were applied with immense force, the strokes grotesque, piercing the paper, penetrating the jade's very soul, like unhealed cursed wounds, exuding a silent, heart-chilling malice in the dim light. This was not a treasure trove; it was a daily torment, a trampling, a wish for utter annihilation!
"Found it?" Lǐ Xiāng Yí's voice echoed from the doorway, calmly, betraying no emotion.
"Xiāng Yí..." Wǎnyú's throat tightened, making it difficult to speak. She merely shifted slightly, stepping aside from the beam of light.
Lǐ Xiāng Yí's figure loomed. He walked to Wǎnyú's side, his gaze falling upon the disarray in the box. Time seemed to freeze. The room was deathly silent.
He slowly reached out, his fingertips trembling strangely, hovering above the deeply carved jade pendant. He ultimately did not touch it, instead reaching for an inconspicuous corner at the bottom of the box. There lay a small object, wooden, only an inch long, with a broken end. Wǎnyú looked closely and recognized it as the hilt of an extremely tiny wooden sword, also violently broken. The broken end, too, bore a stark crimson 'X' mark.
Lǐ Xiāng Yí's fingertips finally landed on the rough break, gently rubbing the uneven carvings. Each deep groove felt like an old scar raked across his heart. He picked up the small hilt, his fingertip sensing the coarse texture of the wood and the malevolent energy of the red 'X' mark deeply embedded within it.
"Senior disciple brother..." he murmured, his voice dry as sandpaper on deadwood, sounding exceptionally clear yet incredibly weak in the empty stone room. It was as if these simple two words had exhausted all his strength at that moment. "So, you always hated me, hated me this much?"
There was no question in his voice, no anger, only a vast emptiness pierced by a cold truth, a belated realization that nearly tore his soul away. He now understood that the years he thought they had shared loyalty and trust, the support and faith he had assumed were mutual, had silently twisted and festered in another's heart, ultimately brewing this shocking poison in the box. How could hatred be hidden so deeply, so enduringly, so... meticulously applied to every memento he had once sincerely gifted?
Watching Lǐ Xiāng Yí's slightly lowered profile, the window light sparingly outlined his taut jawline. In the shadow, she caught a glimpse of a nearly shattered expression. Wǎnyú instinctively reached out, her fingertip lightly touching his sleeve as it hung by his side, offering silent support. Lǐ Xiāng Yí did not move, his fingers gripping the cold wooden hilt so tightly that his knuckles turned stark white.
The next morning, the Mistress's figure stood in the damp, cold mist. Her white hair, dampened by the moisture, clung to her deeply lined forehead. She said nothing, merely handing them two prepared travel packs. The bundles felt heavy, carrying the unique chill of the mountain and the faint warmth of an old woman's palm.
"Go. Xiāng Yí, clean house and avenge your Master!" the old woman's voice was hoarse and distant, as if filtered through the mist.
Lǐ Xiāng Yí lifted the front of his robe and knelt properly on the slippery, cold stone steps. He bowed his head, pressing his forehead against the icy stone, performing the most solemn farewell bow. Wǎnyú knelt beside him, bowing deeply as well. When they rose, Lǐ Xiāng Yí's hem was already soaked with the cold dew on the stone steps, hanging heavily.
The stone steps were slippery and wound downwards. The thick fog shrouded the path ahead, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The two walked in silence, their footsteps remarkably clear in the quiet mountain forest, only to be quickly absorbed and dissipated by the heavy mist. Only the mountain wind, rustling through the treetops, brought forth waves of low, mournful pine soughing, like the sighs of the silent mountains.
Lǐ Xiāng Yí sat down on a large rock by the roadside, warmed by the sun. He untied the travel pack prepared by the Mistress. Inside were hard dry rations and a leather waterskin filled with water.
Wǎnyú sat beside him and took a sip from the water pouch he handed her. The clear mountain spring water slid down her throat.
Lǐ Xiāng Yí tilted his head back and drank a large mouthful of water, his throat working. The small, broken sword hilt, which he had gripped tightly in his palm, bearing the cold 'X' marks, now lay quietly deep within his inner pocket.
While tracking Fēng Qìng, a figure suddenly appeared on the remains of a half-collapsed watchtower deep within the water fortress. He stood with his back to the murky river surface, hands behind his back. That build, that posture, even through the erosion of wind, dust, and time, Lǐ Xiāng Yí and Wǎnyú would never mistake.
"Dān Gūdāo," Lǐ Xiāng Yí's voice was not loud, but it cut through the moaning wind and the rushing water, falling clearly onto the watchtower.
The figure slowly turned around. The setting sun, like blood, spilled across his face, illuminating a familiar yet strange countenance. The blade of time had carved deeper furrows between his brows. The expression that might once have held a degree of honesty had been completely replaced by a sinister coldness. The eyes no longer held old affections but churned with ambition and resentment as deep as the murky current below. A cold arc curved his lips, filled with mockery, and even more so, with a condescending disdain.
"Xiāng Yí, long time no see." Dān Gūdāo's voice was like the grinding of sand and gravel, completely unlike his voice of the past. "And Miss Fāng? You've gone to great lengths to find this place."
"Why?" Lǐ Xiāng Yí stepped forward, his gaze like a torch, locked onto the unrecognizable face, as if trying to pierce through the facade and see the twisted soul within. "Cloud Hidden Mountain... the contents of that box, Senior disciple brother?"
Dān Gūdāo seemed to hear something incredibly amusing. A low, grating laugh rumbled in his throat, echoing in the empty, ruined water fortress, adding to the chilling atmosphere. "Why? Lǐ Xiāng Yí, you're still asking why? You were born with everything – Master's favoritism, unparalleled talent, the admiration of the martial world! And me? Always just a shadow beneath your brilliance! I, Dān Gūdāo, was I born to be mere dust beneath your feet, paving your way?" His voice suddenly rose, filled with long-suppressed frenzy. "Those broken trinkets you gave me, those cheap pity and alms! Each one reminded me of my insignificance! Tearing them up? I wished I could grind them to dust and scatter them along with that ridiculous past!"
His chest heaved violently, and his eyes flashed with a near-manic light. "As for why? Heh, it's because I am no longer the Dān Gūdāo who had to live at your whim! I am a royal bloodline remnant of Southern Yin! The noblest blood in this world flows through me! This decaying empire should rightfully be mine to claim! To restore the kingdom, to ascend the throne, and make all those who once looked down on me, who trampled on me, crawl at my feet!" He spread his arms towards the blood-red sunset and the turbid currents, like a madman demanding a crown from the void. His fervent declaration reverberated in the river wind, carrying chilling ambition and delusion.
"Southern Yin..." Wǎnyú's pupils contracted. She knew the story; that jade pendant belonged to Lǐ Xiāng Yí's brother, Lǐ Xiāngxiǎn.
"Delusional fantasy!" Lǐ Xiāng Yí's voice was decisive, filled with thunderous rage. The Shao Shi Sword hissed as it was drawn, its clear dragon's cry shattering the heavy air. A condensed sword energy, like the Milky Way pouring down from the ninth heaven, carrying irresistible determination and sorrow, struck directly at Dān Gūdāo on the remains of the watchtower! Where the sword light passed, rotten wood chips and dust were stirred up by the invisible wave of energy.
Dān Gūdāo's arrogant smile froze, a flicker of shock and anger flashing in his eyes. He clearly hadn't expected Lǐ Xiāng Yí to attack so swiftly, fiercely, and without any regard for their past. With a sharp cry, his figure retreated rapidly. Simultaneously, he drew a strangely shaped saber from his side, its blade emitting a faint, dark blue glow. The saber light flashed, carrying a sinister, vicious gust of wind, fiercely meeting the heaven-like sword energy!
"Clang——!!!"
The thunderous clash of saber and sword exploded in the air above the water fortress! A violent surge of energy exploded outwards from the two figures. The already precarious watchtower ruins groaned under the strain, and large pieces of rotten wood and rubble collapsed and fell! Sword energy and saber intent fiercely struggled and annihilated each other. The flying force cut deep gashes across the surface of the murky river, sending water splashing skyward.
Lǐ Xiāng Yí's sword momentum was continuous. The Shao Shi Sword seemed to have a life of its own in his hands. Each strike carried his profound sorrow over past betrayal and trampling. The sword light, like a net, descended layer by layer. Dān Gūdāo fought like a demon, his moves vicious and cunning, carrying a desperate aura of recklessness. Saber and sword light flashed wildly amidst the collapsing ruins and the murky water. Every collision sparked dazzling fire, and every missed pass stirred up sharp fierce winds. Wǎnyú moved like lightning at the edge of the battlefield. Her short dagger, like a viper's tongue, accurately struck at the subtle openings exposed by Dān Gūdāo's furious assault, forcing him to divide his attention and making him appear disheveled. She clearly saw the shock and rage in Dān Gūdāo's eyes being replaced by a growing, uncontrolled anxiety. His mad boasts of restoring his kingdom seemed so pale and ridiculous in the face of absolute power.
Dān Gūdāo: "Impossible! You've been cured! I took the Manjusaka! Lǐ Xiāng Yí, my junior disciple brother, you truly have good luck!!!"
"Pfft!"
A light sound. Wǎnyú's short dagger seized a fleeting opening and struck precisely into the outer left arm of Dān Gūdāo. Though not fatal, it instantly drew a splash of blood. The sharp pain caused Dān Gūdāo's movements to falter slightly.
In this split second!
Lǐ Xiāng Yí's eyes flashed fiercely. The Shao Shi Sword's blade shimmered. Its edge pointed precisely at Dān Gūdāo's vital spot, his chest, momentarily stiffened by pain! The air tore, emitting a sharp blast! This sword was unavoidable!
Dān Gūdāo's pupils suddenly contracted to needle points! The shadow of death had never been so clear, so cold, as it enveloped him! The fervent ambition on his face instantly vanished under the gaze of death, leaving only the most primal fear of annihilation! He let out a desperate roar that was not human, desperately trying to raise his saber to block, but he despairingly found his movements impossibly slow against that death-dealing sword light, like they were frozen!
However, just as the sword tip, imbued with immense power capable of piercing anything, was about to pierce Dān Gūdāo's chest clothes---
Lǐ Xiāng Yí's sword-holding hand trembled almost imperceptibly.
Not from exhaustion, not from being blocked. It was something deeper – the broken sword tassel from the box, the carved jade pendant, the wooden sword hilt with the crimson 'X' marks... countless deliberately damaged and trampled old mementos, countless past moments twisted by hatred, clawed at his consciousness at the last moment like maggots clinging to bone! The contorted face before him, twisted by fear, suddenly overlapped with the image of the honest senior disciple brother who had slept beside him, practiced martial arts with him, and been punished by the Master with him, in the blink of a life-or-death moment! That desperate roar, like an icy hook, had unexpectedly snagged a trace of... compassion? in the deepest part of his heart, a trace he himself hadn't even noticed!
The sword momentum, due to this infinitesimal tremor of consciousness, showed a minute and almost imperceptible pause and shift.
"Shred——!"
The incomparably sharp sword energy grazed past Dān Gūdāo's chest clothes, instantly tearing a large swathe of fabric and lining from his chest! A gash deep enough to see bone suddenly opened on his chest, blood gushing wildly! But, it ultimately deviated half an inch from his heart!
"Urgh——!" Dān Gūdāo let out a heart-wrenching howl of pain. His body was violently thrown backward by the immense impact, like a kite with a broken string, crashing directly into the turbid, surging river below!
"Plop!"
A huge splash of water erupted. Dān Gūdāo's figure was instantly swallowed by the murky torrent.
"Senior disciple brother!" Lǐ Xiāng Yí instinctively took a step forward, the cry escaping his lips, tinged with a surprise he himself didn't understand. This "Senior disciple brother" was no longer a question, but more like an instinctive call stirred by the momentarily overlapping old images.
On the murky river surface, only churning waves and widening circles of blood remained. A wave came, quickly dispersing and diluting the bloodstain. Dān Gūdāo vanished without a trace, as if he had never been there, leaving only the shocking bloodstains on the riverbank and the strong smell of blood in the air.
Lǐ Xiāng Yí stood rigidly by the edge of the collapsed watchtower, his sword tip still dripping ruby-red blood. One drop, then another, fell onto the decaying wooden planks beneath his feet, blooming into small, dark red spots. The afterglow of the setting sun fell upon him, stretching his tall figure, but it could not disperse the heavy, cold stillness that permeated him. He stared at the murky water that had swallowed Dān Gūdāo, his eyes vacant, as if his soul had been swept away by the icy river. Why did that sword deviate? Where did that trace of uncalled-for compassion come from? Was it lingering affection, or... had the overwhelming hatred in the box, at the last moment, indeed shaken his resolve to strike?
Wǎnyú quickly walked to his side and took his hand. "Xiāng Yí," her gaze swept across the river and then settled on his pale profile and the blood-dripping sword tip. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately just silently pressed a plain silk scarf onto the back of his hand, which was tightly gripping the sword hilt, his knuckles bone-white. She gently wiped away Dān Gūdāo's warm bloodstains from it. The blood seemed to carry a burning heat, making her fingertips tremble slightly. "Xiāng Yí, I'm here." She tightened her grip on his hand, offering support.