Chapter 103: A Melody of Parting Sorrow Ends on a Strange Path

“Junior Brother Lin, not seeing you for so many days—your elegance remains untouched.” The warm voice came all at once, and Lin Hao’s momentary calm collapsed into a sharp knot of alarm. When he looked up, the newcomer strode toward him in flowing white robes, handsome and serene, his every movement gentle. A faint radiance of transcendence hovered around him like a breeze off a distant mountain. It was Chen Ping, the man Lin Hao had slain months before.

“Ch—Chen…” Lin Hao’s face darkened, his voice weak, dry, and hoarse. He had truly shattered Chen Ping’s foundation and killed him before, yet now the man stood before him alive. Such an impossible thing now stood before his eyes.

“I know your heart must be full of doubts,” Chen Ping said, still soft and clear as carved jade. “In Chuling there has long been a secret method that lets one cultivate a second foundation within. By chance, my master was an heir to that art. And by my master’s grace, I learned it as well.”

“The last time I faked death and withdrew from the world, it was only to ask you to bear my karma. I never imagined this man would mark you as his prey. Still, it matters little. With Zhongming crippled now, I will claim your demon-bone as my second source. There is no better path.”

Chen Ping spoke in a soft, gentle tone, yet the cruelty in his words made Lin Hao shiver. Then, as if he had suddenly noticed something, Chen Ping gave a slight shake of his head and smiled lightly. “There remains such a strange thing in your body. I imagine our master could acquire it by the secret method too.”

Lin Hao stared at Chen Ping as if trying to burn the scene into his soul. In his blood-red eyes there was an endless cold; deep within, a fiercer ache of resentment swelled. After so long a road of cultivation, was he truly about to stand at a dead end?

“That thing is not for you to possess.”

An ancient-sounding voice spoke, and an elderly woman in an odd black robe appeared before them, leaning on a cane. A black seed-mark burned on her brow. The strange aura around her brought with it an involuntary, nameless dread.

“Master.” Chen Ping hurried to bow respectfully. Though his heart held questions, he asked none.

The old woman inclined her head, then knelt toward the overcast sky and called out in a respectful, crackling tone, “Young Xuanyin pays respect to the elder. This man is a body of treasure; I will offer all of it to you. Please show yourself and witness.”

“Not bad—you still know some forms,” came a lazy, old voice. A white-haired elder in a brown robe emerged into view, and a deep-eyed young man followed at his back.

“Your kindness in remaking me, elder, I do not forget. Yet this disciple and this man have tangled deeply with one another; I beg you for your aid in finishing it.” Xuanyin bowed again, sincere, and asked leave.

The elder nodded once. “This boy’s thunder-bone—take it later, and it is yours.”

“My gratitude, elder.” The old woman’s eyes brightened; Chen Ping bowed deeply as well.

No one among the three spared even a glance for Lin Hao. To them, he was already a fish on a chopping block. Lin Hao understood as well: escape was impossible. Yet some last shard of unwillingness remained in him.

“What say you, boy? Do you have any final wish?” The elder looked at him with what seemed like approval. Since Lin’s arrival in the secret realm, his progress had been astonishing. If fate had not been so cruel, a mind so disciplined would never have sunk so low. Even Yin Tiannan, who stood behind the elder, seemed a little lesser beside him. Elders of the old houses, especially of the ancestral halls, admire sturdy minds. Had it not been that the Tianxuan Sect serves as a vassal branch of the Yin family, the elder might truly have taken Lin Hao as a disciple.

Yet positions differ; the elder could only make a lesser bargain and fashion a peerless prodigy for the Yin house from Lin’s thunder-bone.

“If it is the will of you, elder... if you might grant my friend a path back to life... I, Lin, am willing to give my thunder-bone…” Lin Hao’s breath faltered. Even speaking was hard. Just Chen Ping’s return had brought him to near-death’s edge. With Xuanyin and this elder, he had no chance of running, let alone resisting. As for his close companion Bai Chou, by the elder’s standards his strength was ordinary; with Yin Tinnan’s present power alone he could be crushed, especially once he forged the foundation in the thunder-bone. As this was the only one whose life might yet be spared, Lin gave up all pride.

“This can be arranged.” The elder nodded once, tone flat. The Yin family’s hidden method could wrench out a person’s thunder-bone by force, but if the owner refused, the quality would often suffer. If the donor offered it willingly, the work was cleaner and the bone preserved. As for Bai Chou, there was little danger to this one either.

Lin Hao released a small breath of relief. Bai Chou had come to aid him without regard for his own life; to drag him into ruin would be a shame he could never atone for. If he could let him go, that alone would be worth something.

“Steady your heart.” The elder said quietly.

A sinister force surged from him and flowed at once into Lin Hao’s body, covering the hidden thunder-bone in a heartbeat.

A pain like a heart being torn from a rib tore through him. Lin Hao’s eyes widened, blood filling them, fresh blood spilling from his mouth.

The Yin house was famed for brutal arts; methods to peel flesh from bone were many. The elder’s technique was strange, yes—but to strip a marrow’s essence is agony of its own, akin to the torments of soul-searching, perhaps worse.
The pain came in waves, yet no cry escaped him. His eyes fixed wide in a terrible light; blood shone in their edges, and blood streamed from the seven apertures of his face in a scene fit for nightmares.

Soon, a dense globe of thunder-lightning condensed in the elder’s hand, fierce and pulsing. As the elder and Yintian Nan, with Bai Chou at their side, turned away, Lin Hao’s gaze slowly calmed. His red pupils shifted toward Chen Ping.

In a rough, heavy whisper he said, “Brother Chen… the other day Lin killed you. Today I fall into your hands… perhaps I have finally repaid a wish I could never name.”

The rule that the killer one day is killed had already settled in him long ago, when he struck down that gaunt man at the outer peak of Tianxuan. The world was never constant; what made it wicked was always people’s hearts. If this was the end, then it was because he had been weak.

“Travel in peace.” Chen Ping smiled faintly. His voice was almost tender. At that instant, a wet tearing sound ripped through the air, and a great cavity opened in Lin Hao’s dantian.

“Am I dying? At last, it ends…” As his life-will drained away, light in his pupils dimmed, his breath thinned and thinned.

“Come.” Xuanyin glanced at the blood-hued thing in Chen Ping’s palm and nodded once. With a gesture she gathered Zhongming’s corpse and turned away toward the distant sky.

Chen Ping shook his head slowly, regret flickering in his eyes. After veiling Lin Hao with a burial spell, he sighed. “You were a young lord of demons in the making, but the world is merciless. What I owe you, once this is all settled, I will settle with blood.”

After the sigh, the regret slowly faded from his face. Soon he resumed his usual gentle manner, and in one shifting motion he followed the old woman into the distance.

At the same time, in the Endless Windwoods within Qinghu’s secret domain, a seated red-clad woman with a faint golden glow in her body suddenly opened her eyes. Uneasy agitation surged in her chest; a deep ache of pain and longing rose and two clear tears slipped down her face.

“Brother…” Her eyes flashed with panic. She did not wipe them. With a single sweep of her hand, the raging hurricane of the Endless Windwoods scattered apart. A formidable surge, far beyond ordinary foundation-building, rippled outward. She took a step and leapt into the sky.

Not long after, a towering wave of darkness rose over Qing Lake. A red-clad woman with a knife at her waist appeared there, while black thunderclouds gathered in an instant above the land and signs of scorched ruin lingered on every side; the sky sank low and oppressive. Ignoring the danger pressing down from above, she chose a place where disciples of another sect had gathered and flew straight there.

Back in that hidden place beneath the ground, Lin Hao’s buried corpse quivered with a force from the soul, as if something within strove to break through. His ghostly core seemed wound with a fierce will of its own. A violent, strange pressure rolled over him, and in that moment his corpse burst apart, dissolving into blood mist.

From that undying red haze there poured a stubborn will, then surged into his spirit. Under that powerful strange guidance, it drifted slowly toward the very depths below.

Elsewhere, beside a pool in a valley, a white-haired man in white robes, covered in fresh blood, lay motionless like a dying old hermit. Yet within him a stubborn spark of life continued to ebb and flow, silently sinking into his flesh, mending what was torn.

Suddenly, a violent flash flared beside him. A force of transport cracked into place, and a ragged figure in torn Dao robes fell to the ground. Blood sprayed from his mouth. His eyes were dark with fury, his voice raw with hatred.

“Wudao, you’re still a clever schemer. Had Ji not been on guard at every turn, I might have walked into your snare too. I’ll need time to recover… The Tianxuan Formation Diagram is unharmed, but my own force is hard to call forth…”

Feeling the weakness inside, the youth exhaled once, then folded his legs and sat, regulating his inner qi to mend himself.

“Who is this…” he murmured. Suddenly his eyes flashed. He turned toward a white-clad figure at the edge of the pool and narrowed his brow.

…

Months passed. The weather turned cool and uncertain.

A cold wind came from the frostbound northern wastes, crossed the dry western deserts, skimmed the sharp southern ridges and deep forests, swept over the prosperous lands of the Eastern Realm, and at last wandered into the impoverished lands of Chuling.

The wind seemed to carry some secret intent, and in Chuling—where no snow had fallen for centuries—it brought back long-absent frost. Chuling was poor in more than just resources; it was poor in heavenly grace and celestial treasures. Even its air was mournful, as if eternal autumn had settled there.

…

“Once, Chuling was not as glorious as the Eastern Realm, nor as rich as the South, yet it was still known as holy, storied land. Long ago, Chuling changed overnight: the ambient qi dried away almost at once. After that, rain and snow barely came, and the land grew strange indeed. Perhaps this first blessed snow of heaven means Chuling may awaken to former splendor once more…”

In the center of a long caravan, a richly ornamented carriage rolled forward. In it sat a girl in elegant blue brocade, watching the world beyond the window with eager curiosity. She turned her bright smile to the elder outside and asked with playful confidence, “Uncle Gong, why did you never tell me?”

The elderly man beside the horse, dressed in plain clothes, had a weathered face that still held a royal brilliance. His spirit was keen and vigorous. A plain long sword hung from his back; his horse beneath him was strong and proud. Though his hair was white, he gave an impression both steady and sharp.

“In earlier years,” he said, letting the drifting snow settle on his cheek, “while wandering the Boundless Mountains and Rivers, I was fortunate to be summoned by an immortal. After long debate with him, I understood how vast this world is. I followed him and trained, but came away with nothing and had to return. Yet in that time I saw such magnificent lands and waters that I learned there is mountain beyond mountain, sky beyond sky. I didn’t mention this because I’ve always kept my own measure, not because I meant to hide anything from you, little lady.”

“The reason is you are deceiving me, isn’t it? Are there truly immortals in this world?” The girl narrowed her eyes in feigned suspicion, pouted once, and asked in a clear voice.

“You need not doubt it, young lady.” He laughed softly, shook his head, and continued, “Know this: even though the Tang household is mighty, it is still mortal-born. Tianxuan, Xianluo, and Xuanyin are true transcendental Dao houses. Their domains are beyond anything we can imagine. Even Qingyun Sect must judge aptitude before choosing disciples. The path of immortality is no easy gate.”

“Uncle Gong, Miss Tang Yun will certainly be chosen.” The girl gave a little laugh and spoke with proud certainty.

“Of course. With your talent there is nothing to debate.” He laughed with genuine warmth. Tang Yun had entered his care when she was five, and since then she had clung to him, learning swordwork at every turn. He had watched her grow. From her earliest years she had been bright and composed, never spoiled like the girls of other noble homes. Years had taught him she was worthy as his own heir in spirit, and he had never held back in guiding her.

Suddenly his pupils narrowed. A sleek arrow hissed across his cheek. At that instant, dozens of masked figures in black surged from all around, hundreds at last, hemming in the entire caravan.