Suo Qingjun Chapter 7

Miasma Locks the Mad Strings, Severing the Cloud Path; The Sword Reflects the Demonic Heart, Illuminating the Bloody Road

Black Wind Ridge stood as a barrier between Jiangnan and Mobei, a treacherous place that everyone in the martial world avoided. At this moment, the miasma atop the ridge was as thick as unshakeable ink, churning as it enveloped the entire mountain range. Even the light from the sky above was completely swallowed, leaving nothing but a heavy, dismal darkness. The miasma was not naturally formed; it carried a faint, putrid sweetness of decay. As the wind blew, wisps of black gas drifted through the air. Anyone who inhaled even a sliver would feel their internal organs burning as if scorched by fire, blood welling up in their throats. Those with weak cultivation would even die on the spot, bleeding from their seven orifices.

Qing Feng’an stood at the mouth of the pass to Black Wind Ridge. Clad in simple green cloth robes, he appeared somewhat solitary against the backdrop of the miasma. His back was as straight as a pine tree, and his gaze remained calm as he watched the churning black mist. His fingertips unconsciously brushed against the scabbard of the Light Chaser sword on his back. The ancient wooden sheath had been worn smooth by his touch. As his finger pads traced the faint cloud patterns on the sheath, his eyes remained as still as a deep pool, without a single ripple.

Behind him, dozens of disciples from the Xuanqing Sword Sect held their breath, clutching their longswords with solemn expressions. Although they were the elites of the sect, they were intimidated by the great miasma formation before them. None dared to breathe heavily, their eyes fixed intently on the slender figure in front of them, waiting for their Sword-Wielding Master to find a way to break the array. The mountain wind swirled with miasma, fluttering the disciples’ robes, yet no one moved. Qing Feng’an’s silhouette was their only source of reassurance at this moment.

“This miasma is drawn from underground yin toxins and catalyzed by the Demonic Cult’s secret Heart-Eroding Powder. It is a weave of frigid cold and violent heat; to touch it is to be wounded, and to force one’s way through is a path to certain death.” Qing Feng’an’s voice was flat and emotionless, yet it seemed to possess a power that could penetrate the mist, reaching the ears of every disciple clearly. “But all things in heaven and earth have their counters. The spiritual mist of Cangwu Mountain is pure and pristine, capable of breaking all worldly evils. Our Xuanqing Sword Technique also contains the ultimate truths of heaven and earth, allowing us to channel the power of spiritual mist to shatter this miasma array.”

As his words fell, he raised his hand and flicked his wrist. The Light Chaser sword on his back leaped from its scabbard in response. The moment the green blade left its sheath, a clear sword cry pierced the silence, and the sword light soared into the sky like flowing wind and returning snow. The sword light did not carry a sharp, murderous aura; instead, it radiated a gentle, clear brilliance. Amidst the dismal miasma, it looked like a river of light breaking through the darkness.

“Seven Styles of Cloud Flow: Shattering Delusion!”

Qing Feng’an gave a soft shout. His body spun slightly as he flicked his wrist, and Light Chaser transformed into a streak of flowing light in his hand. Sword shadows overlapped like churning clouds and falling snow. The sword light suddenly surged, transforming into a bright, full moon that forcibly broke free from the shackles of the black mist, pouring its clear brilliance over the miasma array.

Strangely, the sky-spanning brilliance did not carry any killing intent. Instead, it transformed into thousands of tiny specks of light, drifting down slowly like stars and merging into the churning black mist. The miasma, which had been as thick as ink and smelled of rot, began to melt and recede at a visible speed the moment it touched the clear light, like ice meeting the warm sun. A sizzling sound echoed as the stench in the air gradually dissipated, replaced by a hint of freshness. Within moments, the churning miasma receded like a tide to both sides, carving out a three-foot-wide path at the entrance of Black Wind Ridge. The path was bathed in clear light, untouched by the miasma, leading directly to the main peak.

The Xuanqing disciples behind him were struck dumb before breaking into low gasps of shock and admiration. No one had expected that the Seven Styles of Cloud Flow could be used in such a marvelous way. To use the sword to draw light and the light to break the miasma—such exquisite swordplay could only be mastered to such a divine level by their Sword-Wielding Master! The respect in the disciples’ eyes deepened as they looked at Qing Feng’an’s back, their previous anxiety and unease completely replaced by determination.

Qing Feng’an sheathed his sword in one fluid motion, without the slightest hesitation, as if the earth-shaking feat of breaking the array was merely a trivial matter. He turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the disciples behind him as he said calmly, “Follow me into the mountain. Stay alert; the Demonic Cult disciples have laid ambushes.”

“Yes, Master!” the disciples responded in unison, their loud voices dispelling some of the gloom on the mountain.

The group moved forward along the path paved with clear light. The bluestone road beneath their feet was pitted and uneven from the miasma’s erosion, yet because of the protective light, it was untainted by evil. Many Demonic Cult sentries were hidden in the dense forests along the way, protected by the miasma array and waiting for a chance to ambush. However, as soon as they poked their heads out, they were struck by the residual sword light along the path. They immediately bled from their seven orifices and collapsed, unable to even let out a scream. They encountered no obstacles along the way, and the Xuanqing disciples followed closely, not daring to slacken for a moment.

Before long, the group reached the summit of the main peak of Black Wind Ridge. At the top, a black stone castle rose from the ground. Its walls were high and built entirely of black stone, radiating a sinister malice. Above the city gate hung a plaque with gold characters on a black background that read “Heart-Burning Hall.” The handwriting was twisted, looking as if it had been written in blood.

And atop that city gate, a figure in black stood tall.

Jin Xianling wore a voluminous black robe embroidered with dark gold spider lilies, intricate and eerie. The hem of his robe draped down, covering a large portion of the wall. He was originally a frail scholar with no martial arts, yet as he stood atop the gate now, his entire being radiated a manic malice, as if he were an asura crawled out of hell. He raised his eyes slightly, his gaze passing through the crowd to land directly on Qing Feng’an. In those eyes, obsession, greed, and ecstasy churned, along with a trace of barely perceptible grievance, like a traveler who had waited a long time for his beloved to return.

Seeing Qing Feng’an look his way, Jin Xianling suddenly burst into laughter. The laughter was shrill and crazed, echoing across the empty summit and making the surrounding black stone walls tremble slightly. “Master! You really came! I knew it—you are mine after all! No matter how far you go, no matter where you hide, you will eventually return to my side!”

Behind him, dozens of Ghost-Masked Men held weapons like maces and soul-severing blades, their bodies radiating thick killing intent. There were also hundreds of Demonic Cult disciples, each wearing a fierce expression and watching Qing Feng’an’s group like tigers eyeing their prey. At a single command from Jin Xianling, they would pounce and fight to the death.

Jin Xianling slowly stepped down the stone stairs of the gate. He was barefoot, without any socks or shoes. The cold bluestone slabs pressed against his soles, but he seemed not to feel it. He walked down step by step, his long black hair whipped by the mountain wind, dancing wildly behind his head like a madman. He stopped ten feet away from Qing Feng’an and stared at him intently, the obsession in his eyes nearly overflowing. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it carried a hint of paranoid madness. “Master, do you remember? ‘As the sword dances like flowing wind and returning snow, my heart follows Qing Feng through life and death.’ This is the poem I wrote for you, stroke by stroke, while I was in the cell at Immortal-Locking Cliff, chanting your name every day. Do you like it?”

The chains of Immortal-Locking Cliff had held him for three years. During those three years, the sunless cell and the cold chains could not grind away his obsession with Qing Feng’an. Day and night, he chanted his name and thought of his face, turning his heart full of affection into lines of paranoid poetry.

Qing Feng’an looked at the Jin Xianling before him, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. Was the person before him still the little disciple who used to follow him, timidly calling him “Master”? That youth with clean features and a gentle temperament had ultimately been swallowed by obsession, becoming this crazed version of himself. There was no ripple in his heart, only a faint sense of pity, yet he did not speak. He only tightened his grip on the Light Chaser sword.

Jin Xianling continued to laugh to himself, as if immersed in his own world. A flicker of obsessive tenderness flashed in his eyes, followed by a trace of aggrieved resentment. “I thought of you every day, until the pain reached my very marrow, until it felt like a hole was being torn into my chest. Only by thinking of your name could I find a bit of relief. The chains of Immortal-Locking Cliff could lock my body and my feet, but they could not lock my obsession with you! Master, look—’Miasma cannot lock away this madness; a blade cannot sever the river of affection.’ For you, I did not hesitate to fall into the demonic path, to refine this heart-eroding miasma, to make an enemy of the entire martial world. I would even dare to storm hell itself. Why is it that you just don’t understand my heart? Why won’t you even look at me?”

His voice grew more and more agitated until he was almost screaming the last words. His eyes churned with pain and madness, and the malice around him intensified. His love was a fire that burned the heart, a poison that eroded the bones, an obsession that reached the marrow. But to Qing Feng’an, this love was nothing more than a calamity to be avoided.

“What you call love is not true affection; it is merely a descent into madness, a demonic barrier that has trapped you.” Qing Feng’an finally spoke slowly. His voice was still flat, but it carried an unquestionable firmness. He raised his hand, and Light Chaser left its sheath once more. The green blade emerged with a cold, sharp glint, reflecting Jin Xianling’s crazed eyes. “You have fallen into the demonic path, harmed our fellow martial artists, and refined miasma to plague the land. Today, I shall act on behalf of heaven to end this ill-fated karma.”

The sword light shifted, revealing its full killing intent. He was the Sword-Wielding Master of the Xuanqing Sword Sect, burdened with the duty of eliminating demons and defending the righteous path. The Jin Xianling before him was a demon, a tribulation, and thus should be severed by his own hand.

“Ill-fated karma?” Hearing those words, Jin Xianling seemed to receive a massive shock. He suddenly began to howl, his voice as shrill as a ghost’s cry, echoing across the summit and making one’s skin crawl. “Qing Feng’an! You actually called this ill-fated karma? This is not ill-fated karma! This is a gift from heaven! This is the destiny ordained for us!”

His eyes were red as he stared deathly at Qing Feng’an, madness and despair churning within them, along with a final, desperate resolve. “‘Better to be a mad demon with imprisoned bones than a lonely soul separated from your side!’ Master, you want to kill me? Fine! I, Jin Xianling, am yours in life and your ghost in death. In this lifetime, I am destined to haunt you to the end! But I want you to remember—from now on, your sword will forever be stained with my blood, and your heart will forever be carved with my name! Even if I die, my obsession will haunt you forever, ensuring that you can never forget me in this life!”

As his words fell, he suddenly raised his hand and barked at the Demonic Cult disciples behind him, “Kill! Kill them all! Leave no one alive! I want him to watch as the martial world comrades he protects all die because of him! I want him to live in guilt forever!”

At his command, the Ghost-Masked Men and Demonic Cult disciples pounced like a tide, waving their weapons with murderous intent as they closed in on Qing Feng’an’s group. At the summit of Black Wind Ridge, sword light and blade shadows crossed, clear brilliance collided with black mist, and a life-and-death battle to eliminate demons and defend the path began.

Qing Feng’an watched the approaching demonic horde, his gaze darkening. With a flick of his wrist, Light Chaser transformed into a streak of light and met them. The sword light was like snow, the sword shadows like a web; the exquisiteness of the Seven Styles of Cloud Flow was displayed to its fullest in his hands. Every time the sword struck, a Demonic Cult disciple fell. The green blade remained untainted by dust, yet it carried lethal lethality.

His figure moved through the chaotic army like a clear breeze, solitary and unwavering. Yet, as his eyes swept past Jin Xianling’s crazed figure, a barely perceptible ripple finally flashed through them.

That black-clad figure, those paranoid words, and that bone-deep obsession had, in the end, left a shallow mark in the depths of his heart.