Chapter Sixty-Four: Who Are You, Really?

Though Cui Yue's steps were slow, each one was resolute, and suddenly, a murderous aura burst forth from him.

Such a transformation was entirely beyond Qingquan’s expectations.

Jiao Na’s expression shifted from surprise to despair, the light in her eyes gradually dimming.

At last, Cui Yue, his right hand stained with blood, lifted the small peachwood sword, holding it five inches above the crown of Jiao Na’s head.

Had the final moment of reckoning arrived?

From fox to demon, through countless cycles of cold and heat, she could no longer remember the years. She had taken human form, refined her demon core, fought against fate itself, and more than once skirted the very edge of death.

Years of cultivation, all to be scattered today!

Was this the sunset of her time in this world, the bitter sea’s end at last?

Jiao Na gazed at the young man before her, sword in hand, vision blurring. Her eyes brimmed with sorrow, her expression weary, full of unspeakable hatred and unvoiced misery.

Perhaps, perhaps this was fate; let her die at his hand today.

Ah...

She no longer felt resentment, only a heavy sigh.

The image of the youth, sword raised with deadly intent, became fixed in her mind as she gently closed her beautiful eyes. A single crystalline tear slid silently down her cheek, and her smile faded like the last petal of a jade lotus falling.

Cui Yue’s knuckles cracked as he gripped the small peachwood sword, a faint golden glow emanating from the blade. The charms and scriptures carved along its length rotated slowly. It was about to descend.

So demons, too, could shed tears.

That single tear, that resolute acceptance, left Cui Yue momentarily entranced, a hint of hesitation flickering in his eyes.

He meant to end it swiftly, but just as he was about to strike, a sudden ringing filled his mind, followed by a wave of stabbing pain that surged like the tide. The peachwood sword almost slipped from his grasp.

His memories became a blur; fragmented images pieced together and dissolved again in his mind. Shrouded in chaos and layers of mist, nothing was clear.

Mountains and rivers shattered—she stood there in robes as white as snow, willow brows drawn in sorrow, tearful eyes, flower petals falling from her hands. High above the clouds, meeting and parting both were hard to bear; with a leap by the Maha Cliff, they parted forever. Would that sorrowful tear remain in his heart? Would her voice and laughter still linger by his ear?

Promises sworn by mountain and sea, fated but not destined.

Three lifetimes recycled, a fleeting journey through the mortal world; both were but dreamers. Should they meet again in the dust of the earth, parting would be swift, and they would be strangers once more.

That silhouette, that gaze, that tear—why, why were they so familiar?

Why were such images surfacing in his mind? Why did his heart ache so painfully?

The sword in his hand never struck.

Cui Yue’s head throbbed as if it would split, his gaze crazed and wild, a ferocious impulse overtaking him. He began to swing the small sword madly, slashing off three strands of the fox demon’s blue-black hair, which floated slowly to the floor.

With another stroke, the blade landed precisely where the violet-gold energies clashed.

With a thunderous crash, Cui Yue’s unintentional blow struck the vital deadlock point, breaking the sealed energy. The golden light of the charms surged, the deadlock shattered, and the energies surged free.

Both Qingquan and Jiao Na felt their bodies tremble, the powerful shock forcing them to stagger back a few steps. Their hand-formed spells were broken, and the light surrounding them instantly vanished.

The turn of events was too abrupt for Jiao Na to react. Having already resigned herself to death, she never imagined a sudden deliverance. Elated, she disregarded her severe injuries, reversed her demon core, and transformed into a streak of white fox-shadow, darting into the darkness and vanishing from sight.

Qingquan was about to cast another spell, but the fox demon was already gone. He could only give up.

Finally, Qingquan remembered Cui Yue. Seeing him in a frenzy, clearly out of his mind, Qingquan cried out in alarm and rushed to his side, grabbing his right hand and shouting,

"Cui Yue, wake up! Wake up!"

But Cui Yue couldn’t hear a word, struggling desperately.

“Great Star of the Upper Platform, ever-adaptive. Drive out evil, bind the demon, safeguard life and protect the self. Wisdom pure, spirit serene. Three souls ever-lasting, never losing essence. By urgent decree, so let it be!”

Qingquan pressed two fingers to Cui Yue’s brow, rapidly reciting the Heart-Cleansing Spell.

Only then did Cui Yue gradually quiet down, his mind clearing as he regained his senses.

"Brother Qingquan, what... what happened to me?"

Cui Yue looked at the small peachwood sword in his hand, confusion in his eyes.

"I still underestimated that fox demon. Even with her energy suppressed, she managed to cast an illusion upon you and rob you of your senses."

An illusion?

Cui Yue rubbed his forehead, recalling the details of what had just happened. An illusion? Was that fragmented vision in his mind conjured by the fox demon? But what were those images, and who was that person? As the thought struck him, a sharp pain stabbed his head again, making him grimace.

Qingquan patted Cui Yue’s shoulder and asked,

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache. What about the fox demon?"

Only now did Cui Yue remember the detestable fox, and hurriedly asked.

"Things were chaotic just now, and she managed to escape," Qingquan replied, carefully tucking his fountain pen back into his shirt pocket as he spoke.

"But don’t worry. She escaped badly wounded, her power greatly diminished. She won’t be showing herself again anytime soon."

She escaped? She’s not dead?

Cui Yue didn’t know why, but upon hearing Qingquan’s words, a faint sense of relief arose within him—as if, deep down, he hadn’t truly wanted to see the fox demon killed. This subtle shift in his heart surprised even himself. How could he entertain such a ridiculous thought?

She was a fox demon who preyed on humans, guilty of every evil—why then did he feel a surge of pity for her?

Qingquan noticed Cui Yue standing dazed and silent, assuming he was suffering aftereffects from the fox demon’s illusion.

"Cui Yue, are you really all right?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I’m fine," Cui Yue replied hastily, doing his best to mask his unease, afraid Qingquan would notice anything amiss. Fortunately, Qingquan seemed not to have noticed.

"Oh, for heaven’s sake, Da Zhuang, you’re going to crush me!"

Not far away, Zhang Hao, who had regained consciousness at some point, struggled to push off Da Zhuang, who lay across him like a dead pig.

Seeing the two awaken, Cui Yue was overjoyed and hurried over to help them up.

Zhang Hao finally managed to stand, glancing around. Good grief, what had happened to the movie theater? It looked like a gang war zone.

Looking more closely at Cui Yue, whose clothes were torn and bloody, Zhang Hao was shocked and cried out,

"Cui Yue, what happened? Did that bastard Feng Tao bring people over for a fight?"

Zhang Hao grabbed the broken half of a bench, looking tense.

"You’re awfully vigilant now, aren’t you?" Cui Yue replied, exasperated, not bothering to explain. Half of his wounds were thanks to these two.

And that useless Da Zhuang—his bulk was no help at all, only serving to crush Cui Yue beneath him.

Qingquan, meanwhile, was untying the others on the ground, helping them recover their breath. After a while, the rest were still sleeping like the dead.

After checking them over, Qingquan’s expression was calm. They had lost much of their vital energy, so it would be a while before they woke, but their lives were not in danger. A few days’ rest at home would see them recovered.