Half a month passed in the blink of an eye, and Bai Ling realized at some point that her head no longer ached.
She would unconsciously reach for her waist, as if an invisible sword hung there.
Yet soon, she would forget all of it again, simply because she felt truly happy living with her father.
No need to think about anything, no need to ponder anything.
No scheming, no dangers of the jianghu, no blood and storms, no grudges of life and death.
But whenever she immersed herself in such days, her head would begin to ache again.
It ached as if something were churning violently inside her skull, ached until she instinctively reached for her waist once more.
Only this seemed to ease that unease.
It was around this time that people in town started dying.
The deaths were bizarre, as if some massive thing had devoured the organs from within, leaving only hollow skin.
When the dead changed from livestock to humans, no one could stay uninvolved, and rumors of the songstress’s ill omen were suddenly thrust into the storm’s eye.
Merchants who had earlier praised her zither music at teahouses and wine shops now gnashed their teeth: “That witch’s music really is cursed! Should’ve been drowned in the river long ago!”
Nobles who had once thrown gold to fawn over her now covered their noses and fled: “I always said that wanton performer wasn’t clean!”
By the river, among the gathered crowd, an old woman selling tofu shrieked in abuse:
“Just days ago you all called her Fairy Liu, and now that lives are lost, everyone runs faster than anyone else! When you were fawning over her, why didn’t you say she was cursed?”
A cloth shop owner nearby immediately spat: “What do you know? That songstress was always too beautiful to be human, and sure enough, she must be tainted by evil spirits!”
“Exactly! And old man Bai, listening to zither music by the river every day, he’s probably possessed by some evil spirit too!” a butcher bellowed, waving his greasy arms,
“Break his hands, then see how he brews tea to harm people anymore!”
Those who had mocked the virtuous as fools and praised the wanton as immortals were the very same people now screaming to drown her in the river.
Because Bai Chengwan often visited the ship’s bow at night to listen to the zither, countless townsfolk had seen his suspicious movements, and so he was naturally branded an accomplice to the bringer of misfortune by the furious and terrified villagers.
In broad daylight, he was bound to a stone pillar by the river, arms tied behind his back, the ropes cutting deep into his rough wrists and rubbing raw, dark red bloody marks.
The townspeople shoved him; some spat in his face, others pelted his knees with stones.
The butcher swung a wooden club, shouting that he would break both of Bai Chengwan’s hands so he could never brew tea again.
“Hold him down! Smash the right hand first!”
“Let him taste what it’s like to be haunted by evil!”
The shouts rose wave after wave.
Bai Chengwan hung his head, graying hair stuck to his temples with sweat, lips pressed into a pale line.
He did not beg for mercy, only occasionally lifting his gaze past the crowd, as if searching for something.
Bai Ling hurried over and saw her father bound to the stone pillar.
Instinctively she wanted to rush forward, but her legs felt like lead, and she stood frozen in place, unable to move.
At that moment, the mighty power of the Cave Heaven was suppressing the Saintess Bai Yao, who was playing the role of Bai Ling, from crossing the line.
It was a protective prohibition meant to prevent those experiencing the illusion from losing their opportunity through a moment of rash impulse.
Even though Bai Yao vaguely realized all of this was fake, she still felt her heart ache deeply at this moment.
It was then that time around them seemed to freeze, and a black shadow condensed at her side.
It was a face identical to Xiao Yi’s, yet wreathed in black smoke, its pupils a ghostly blue like will-o’-the-wisps.
“Draw your sword… Bai Yao!” the Inner Demon chuckled, its voice hoarse like bones scraping against stone slabs.
“Just draw your sword and cut down these ants, and you can save your father.”
Bai Ling’s pupils contracted sharply, and she stumbled half a step back.
She stared at that face, her head splitting with pain, a deep familiarity buried in her Heart Lake surging up.
She opened her mouth, her voice hoarse: “You… who are you? A sword… I have a sword… hidden?”
“I’m the person closest to you in this world.”
The Inner Demon tilted its head, its smile unnervingly gentle.
“Have you forgotten? We once played Go for seven days, and I once blocked Ye Tingyu’s sword for you at the Southern City Altar. You… still owe me a life!”
“Xiao Yi… Young Prince…”
Bai Ling—or rather, Bai Yao—shook her head in instinctive resistance.
She did find the face familiar, familiar enough to make her chest tighten, yet at the same time she felt a powerful repulsion, a helplessness and pain from the bottom of her heart.
“No.”
She bit the tip of her tongue, the taste of blood sharpening her senses.
“You’re not him… that coward would never tempt me.”
The Inner Demon’s smile stiffened, then widened further: “Tempt? I’m just teaching you the truth of survival.
These townspeople casually lifted that songstress up, then casually screamed to beat and kill her, and today they’re about to break your father’s hands.
These spineless fence-sitters all deserve to die, don’t they?”
Bai Ling clutched her head with both hands as the Inner Demon’s voice seeped into every nerve, leaving no gap unbreached.
“Draw your sword and slaughter them all. You clearly have a sword, clearly can punish evil and uphold good—why hold back? Have you forgotten? Your favorite thing is watching these hypocritical villains reap what they sow.”
“Shut up…”
Bai Ling growled.
“Kill… kill them all, and your father won’t have to roast tea anymore, won’t have to sigh at the river, and won’t be tormented by guilt anymore. You can bring him to the Xuan Yu Sect, give him the finest pills and the best life… all you have to do is draw your sword.”
Bai Ling’s gaze blurred for an instant.
She looked at her father on the stone pillar, those rough hands, that guilt-ridden gaze.
She truly wanted to protect him, to pull him out of this mire.
In that moment, Bai Ling’s forehead veins bulged, her teeth ground together with a cracking sound, and murderous intent surged like a tide in her heart.
“Ahh!”
A cry erupted as if shattering every shackle, and Bai Ling drew her sword…
But what she ultimately drew was not a sword of slaughter, but a formless blade born of Righteous Energy.
The blade was pure white, without a trace of killing intent, only an awe-inspiring righteousness that brooked no offense!
“Inner Demon, get lost! If I killed them… I’d be following your will. Stopping murder with murder… is not my path, and it cannot let me achieve unity of knowledge and action.”
She spoke word by word, voice hoarse yet clear.
For the first time, Bai Yao obeyed the will of this Cave Heaven illusion, shielding her father with a mortal body.
She raised the formless sword high with both hands and slashed fiercely toward the ground before the charging townsfolk.
Sword Qi pierced the earth, blasting open a three-foot-wide trench, dust flying, and rubble spraying like arrows.
The leading townsfolk had their cheeks cut by the flying debris, beads of blood rolling down mixed with dust.
Some screamed and stumbled back; others’ legs gave out and they collapsed directly into the mud.
Bai Ling stood with her sword in one hand, her frail and petite frame shielding her father, her garments snapping loudly in the residual Sword Qi.
The Inner Demon stood silently at her side, its black shadow writhing, its tempting smile turned to wordless coldness.
Its ghostly blue pupils locked onto Bai Ling, and its voice was eerily calm, as if it felt no distress whatsoever at the failed temptation:
“That’s right… just like this, Bai Yao. A you who holds firm to your heart like this is the most perfect mother in my eyes…”
Before the words even faded, the black shadow scattered like smoke blown by the wind, dissolving into the world, leaving only a barely audible echo.
“Hehehe… Mother, you drew your sword, and you also drew out…”
Just then, another flash of sword light came cleaving in from behind the crowd like a white rainbow piercing the sun.
Gu Yun arrived with his sword, longsword held across his chest, and stepped in beside Bai Ling behind the sword light.
The two stood side by side, one left and one right, and successfully halted the rioting townsfolk.
Gu Yun’s face, identical to Xiao Yi’s, was painfully clear in the sunlight.
Bai Ling turned her head, her mind shaken to its core.
Her sealed memories loosened violently in that instant, but the light leaking through the cracks of the memory door flashed only briefly before being pressed back down by the mist.
Their eyes met.
Familiarity surged like a tide, then shattered into foam against the Cave Heaven’s protective prohibition, and in the end, they still did not recognize each other.
“Young lady, exquisite art of the hidden sword.”
Gu Yun spoke, his voice resonant yet tinged with a familiar coldness and solitude.
Bai Ling did not answer, only her sword hand trembling slightly as her gaze rested on Gu Yun’s face.
She still felt that this face was not the Young Prince of the Xia Manor, yet she could never recall who this person truly was.