Chapter 66: I'm Just Playing

“Master!” Liang Si clutched at her robes. “Master! Words alone prove nothing!”

He was clearly agitated. “Master, why? Why is it that just because they call you a demon, you have to be one?”

“I—I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’ve hardly ever left your side. You—you’ve never harmed anyone!”

He wiped at his tears, struggling to force a smile, hoping his master would see he wasn’t crying. But the tears fell anyway, like rain from the heavens—when they come, they come. “Master, you’re gifted beyond compare, you learn everything so quickly. Whatever you’ve done, you must have your reasons—it’s not to hurt anyone, is it?”

She let out a slow sigh. She was not someone who smiled easily; the smile on her face was forced. She pushed him away. “Sisi, if you follow me, you will die again.”

“Master…”

This time, no matter how Liang Si pleaded, all he managed to grasp was a torn piece of Wen Jinge’s robe.

Her figure was gradually fading, while he slumped to the ground in despair, knowing that what was done could not be undone.

“Is she gone, then?” The speaker was Qiao Yu, who had appeared at some point. His underdeveloped body struggled even to stand. “My dear senior brother, where are you planning to go?”

He followed Liang Si’s gaze into the distance, a flash of malice in his eyes. “I told you before, someone like her—she’s heartless. Don’t waste your feelings. She’s nothing but a hypocrite in the guise of virtue!”

“Qiao Yu!” Liang Si got to his feet, still dejected, but now furious, his eyes filled with reproach born of pain. “She is your master!”

“Master?” Qiao Yu sneered, the hatred in his eyes deepening. “No master would ever torment her disciples like that.”

“Why are you here?” Liang Si’s expression shifted, as if something had just occurred to him. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Where should I be?” He laughed, his face twisted, nothing like a normal child. “Where? In that water tank, still scraping for leftovers, still having my limbs broken, still being gnawed by venomous scorpions and insects?”

Liang Si fell silent, staring at him with a peculiar expression, lips trembling as if he wanted to speak but dared not.

“I’m out! Naturally, it’s to settle my scores! I will make each and every one of you pay for what was done to me.”

“You! Retribution will find you! You shouldn’t even be alive in this world—had Master not shown mercy…” He broke off, noticing Qiao Yu’s expectant expression, and an incongruous smile appeared at the corner of his lips. “Master was right! As long as you live, there will be no peace in this world! You—”

He clearly meant to say more, but Qiao Yu had already severed his head.

Qiao Yu’s expression did not change. He stared at the head rolling on the ground as if admiring a newly acquired toy. Ignoring the blood pooling at his feet, he sat down.

“Senior brother, since you loved serving Master so much, let me help you along. You go first—Master will be along soon.”

Blood splattered all over Wen Jinge, warm and real against her skin.

Qiao Yu froze, as if only then realizing there was someone nearby. When he saw who it was, he looked blank. “Master? No, you’re the other master.”

Wen Jinge didn’t reply, but looked at Liang Si’s head, his eyes still open as though he could still see her.

“Whose head is that?”

“Senior brother’s,” Qiao Yu answered, cold and mechanical, like a lifeless automaton.

Wen Jinge stared at the head cradled in his arms—her heart bled just as the head dripped blood. She questioned him, “Did he ever harm you?”

Perhaps because ever since she awoke, Liang Si had always been gentle and kind, treating his fellow disciples with warmth, so that now, faced with this scene of fratricide, Wen Jinge’s first thought was: if Liang Si truly died before her eyes, what would she do?

“No. But Master always favored him…”

Smack.

Wen Jinge slapped him hard. “And what you’re doing now, how is it any different from what your master did to you?”

“I… Master, Master…” Qiao Yu panicked.

He knew these two masters, though they looked identical, were utterly different in temperament. He argued stubbornly, “Wasn’t it you, Master, who said to repay kindness and to avenge wrongs?”

“That was Wen Jinge’s grudge—you should take it up with her. What has it to do with others? Can you really say your senior brother never treated you well? Next, will you only be satisfied once you’ve destroyed Xuan Yun Sect? Will that finally settle your vendetta?”

Qiao Yu fell silent, as if his thoughts had been laid bare, and sat quietly to one side.

“Very good, just wonderful!” Wen Jinge was nearly livid. “You truly are something! With your ungrateful nature—”

“Master! I’m not! I wouldn’t!” His face changed, stricken with terror. “I—I didn’t think that far ahead, I just hated, and hated, and then—”

“Master, don’t go, I—”

Whether she left or not was beyond Wen Jinge’s control, nor did she wish to go—her slap had yet to leave her hand warm.

But unfortunately, she had already returned to reality.

“Is that all?” Wen Jinge sighed.

Before her squatted an old Daoist priest, coughing up mouthfuls of blood.

His robe was a dull gray, as if it hadn’t been changed in a hundred years, emanating a strange odor—not quite human, nor a proper mystic, either.

Even a mystic who disliked bathing could at least cast a dust-removal spell and appear neat and fresh.

But this man gave Wen Jinge the impression of someone saying: I don’t bathe, I don’t wash my face, I’m filthy, I have plenty of ways to make myself clean, but I simply refuse—I do it just to disgust you.

His eyes were bright, like polished mirrors, reflecting the world with the innocence of a newborn child.

But that old face—far more wrinkled than Yuan Qingling before she took her elixirs—was like the bark of an ancient tree.

Wen Jinge’s fingers itched; thinking of her pitifully few spirit stones, she resisted the urge to offer him cosmetic treatment.

Beside the old Daoist sat a water tank, much like the one she’d seen before. Qiao Yu was soaking in it.

This time, however, mystic threads had become two ropes, tightly binding him like a zongzi. One was the Immortal Binding Cord, meant for mystics, the other the Demon Binding Rope, meant for demons.

Well equipped indeed. Under the tank was a mound of earth, with firewood stacked beneath.

The scene reminded Wen Jinge of monsters cooking Tang Sanzang for his flesh—just like this. But in those stories, aside from some bathwater, the monsters never got anything.

Pondering the situation, Wen Jinge said nothing, but looked toward her eldest disciple, Liang Si.

He had entered in spirit form, so the ropes had little effect, but threads of mystic silk bound his meridians, rendering him immobile.

“Who—who are you really?”

While Wen Jinge was surveying her surroundings, the old Daoist was watching her as well. He was nervous, but not panicked, as if formulating how to deal with her next.

“Causing trouble on my doorstep—most wouldn’t dare,” Wen Jinge said, seating herself across from him, glancing at the ropes in the tank, then finding a clean spot to sit. “It seems your true master has already made an appearance.”