Suo Qingjun Chapter 8

Ill-fated relationship?

Jin Xianling suddenly let out a piercing howl. The sound tore through the winds atop Black Wind Ridge, as shrill as the wailing of ghosts from the nine netherworlds, making the surrounding black stone walls hum with vibration. The madness and despair surging in his eyes were almost overflowing. This is a heaven-sent fate! It is the bond destined for us! Master, you want to kill me? Fine! Do it today! But I want you to remember that from this day forward, your sword will forever be stained with my blood, and your heart will forever be engraved with my name! Through every life and every reincarnation, do not even think of erasing it!

Every word dripped with blood, every sentence steeped in obsession, like poisoned needles pricking the mountain winds and piercing the calm, cold pool within Qing Feng’an’s eyes.

Before his voice had even faded, Jin Xianling abruptly raised his hand. His wide black sleeves swept out sharply, and several silver needles as fine as cow hair shot forth. A silver flash streaked directly toward Qing Feng’an’s face. The tips of those needles were condensed with a faint purple mist—not a lethal weapon, but something that could instantly daze the mind. From beginning to end, he had never truly thought of harming Qing Feng’an. Even having reached this point of drawing blades against each other, even driven to madness by his obsession, the deepest thought in his heart was merely to keep him, even if it meant using such base and paranoid means.

Qing Feng’an’s eyes darkened suddenly. His ethereal aura instantly turned cold. Using the Cloud-Treading Steps, he pivoted slightly, his form moving like a passing shadow to avoid the attack. The silver needles brushed past his temple and embedded themselves into the black stone wall behind him, the mist at their tips curling outward. With a flick of his wrist, the Light Chaser sword carved out a circle of pure radiance. The sword light surged like drifting snow, shattering the scattered mist into nothingness. You refuse to wake up. His tone remained icy, devoid of any ripples, yet his feet did not advance another step. The blade, condensed with cold light, remained poised in mid-air, never truly pointing at Jin Xianling.

Seeing how Qing Feng’an deliberately held back, a sliver of obsessive joy suddenly rippled through the madness in Jin Xianling’s eyes. He then threw his head back and laughed manically, his voice hoarse and crazed as it echoed across the empty peak. He stomped his bare feet heavily onto the cold, rough bluestone floor. The sharp stone edges cut fine beads of blood from his soles, but he was completely oblivious. He turned and lunged toward the nearby Demonic Cult disciples, his eyes flashing with a crimson light. All of you, attack! Whoever can keep my Master here today, I shall grant them wealth and glory, and name them the Vice Leader of the Demonic Cult!

Acting as if possessed, he reached out and snatched a longsword from a nearby disciple. The sword was heavy, a weapon difficult to handle for someone like him who had no foundation in martial arts. Yet he disregarded everything, gripping the hilt with both hands and hacking wildly in Qing Feng’an’s direction. The sword strikes had no form to speak of, clumsy and crooked, but they carried a desperate madness of mutual destruction, as if he were throwing away his life just so Qing Feng’an’s gaze would linger on him for a moment longer.

Qing Feng’an dodged repeatedly, his movements as agile as a butterfly. The light of the Light Chaser sword always protected his body. Even when Jin Xianling’s blade was inches away, his own sword never harmed him in the slightest. He merely parried the other’s longsword with minimal force, fearing he might injure him with the recoil. Seeing this, the disciples of the Xuanqing Sword Sect also slowed their offensive. Their swords shimmered with cold light, yet they hesitated to strike, looking at one another with uncertainty. The person before them, though a leader of the Demonic Cult, was their Master’s former disciple. His current state of madness made it truly difficult to know how to proceed.

Master! Why won’t you kill me?! Jin Xianling’s strike hit empty air. The massive force sent him staggering back several steps, nearly falling. He leaned on the sword to steady himself, looking up to stare fixedly at Qing Feng’an. His eyes were filled with a frantic interrogation, red veins crawling through the corners of his eyes. Are you still thinking of our past bond as master and disciple? Do you still have me in your heart?!

He seemed to have caught onto a life-saving straw, clinging desperately to this single shred of hope, his voice trembling with urgency. As his words fell, he suddenly threw down the longsword. The blade hit the bluestone with a sharp clang. He spread his arms wide, ignoring the weapons pointed at him and the wary gazes of the Xuanqing disciples. He lunged toward Qing Feng’an, his face filled with a near-pious infatuation. The madness in his eyes faded slightly, leaving only pure longing. Master, won’t you hold me? Just like that time in the inn at Gusu City. You wiped the rain from my face and gently patted my back to comfort me. Even if it is only once, just once, I would die content!

That was one of the few moments of warmth between them. The rain of the south, the warmth of the inn, and Qing Feng’an’s rare tenderness had become the light that Jin Xianling, trapped in his obsession, revisited over and over again.

Qing Feng’an’s body stiffened. He instinctively raised his arm to push him away, but the moment his fingertips touched Jin Xianling’s robes, his gaze met the thick, inseparable despair and paranoia in the other’s eyes. That fragile, humble longing hidden behind the madness caused his movements to stop abruptly. Countless images flashed through his mind—the dark cell at Immortal-Locking Cliff where Jin Xianling was bound in chains, curled in a corner, staring at him through the bars with an unerasable obsession; the front of the miasma array at Black Wind Ridge where, disregarding his own safety, he used his thin body to block the Ghost-Masked Man’s blade from hitting Qing Feng’an, that resolute back stained with blood but never retreating.

This extreme obsession was like a poisoned dagger, stabbing deep into the hearts of others, but it had first pierced through himself, hurting others and destroying himself.

Qing Feng’an closed his eyes, hiding the flash of complexity within them. He turned to the disciples behind him and said in a low voice, Take him. There was an undetectable trace of exhaustion in his tone, as if he were weary to the bone from being entangled in this obsession.

Hearing this, the disciples immediately stepped forward to subdue Jin Xianling. But at that moment, Jin Xianling suddenly raised his hand and pulled a translucent white porcelain bottle from his robes. The bottle was engraved with eerie spider lily patterns. He pulled out the stopper and prepared to pour the black powder inside into his mouth. Master! If you do not come with me, I will drink this Bone-Eroding Powder today! I will make you remember my appearance at this moment forever, remember how you personally pushed me into hell!

Bone-Eroding Powder was a supreme poison of the Demonic Cult. Upon ingestion, one would suffer the pain of ten thousand ants gnawing at their bones, their skin would rot inch by inch until they died a gruesome death. There was no cure in the world.

Stop!

Qing Feng’an’s heart tightened. The panic he had been suppressing instantly broke through. He pushed his Cloud-Treading Steps to the limit, his form turning into a streak of light. He appeared before Jin Xianling in an instant, snatching the porcelain bottle from his hand. He capped the bottle with his palm and jammed the stopper back in, not daring to be careless for a second.

Seeing his plan fail, Jin Xianling’s strength seemed to drain away instantly. He slumped onto the cold bluestone, staring blankly at Qing Feng’an’s palm before suddenly bursting into loud sobs. The crying was no longer the shrill howling from before, but carried a child-like grievance and helplessness. He looked like a completely different person from the demonic asura he had been moments ago, a sight that made one’s heart ache. Master, what exactly must I do for you to accept me? I just love you too much, I love you to my very marrow, I love you until I’ve lost myself. I cannot be without you…

He cried as if his heart were breaking, his shoulders shaking violently. His black robes were soaked with tears, clinging to his thin frame and outlining his gaunt silhouette. Tears slid down his cheeks and splashed onto the bluestone, creating small wet marks that seemed to strike Qing Feng’an’s heart. Looking at him like this, Qing Feng’an felt a mixture of emotions—guilt, helplessness, and a trace of being moved that he was unwilling to admit even to himself.

He knew that Jin Xianling’s madness was not innate. A lonely background, a childhood with no one to rely on, the joy of meeting him, followed by long periods of cold indifference and the obsession of unrequited love—step by step, these things had pushed the once clean-eyed youth into his current state. If he hadn’t been so poor at reading people back then, if he had noticed the youth’s feelings, if he hadn’t always been so cold and intentionally kept his distance, perhaps things would not have developed to this uncontrollable point.

Qing Feng’an remained silent for a long time before slowly speaking. He sheathed the Light Chaser sword, the cold light on the blade vanishing, and the chill around him softened. The Ghost-Masked Man is dead, the Demonic Cult is leaderless, and its disciples have scattered. If you are willing to turn back and start anew, I will spare you this once.

Jin Xianling’s crying stopped abruptly. He looked up blankly, tears still clinging to his eyes.

But you must follow me back to Qihe Peak and reflect at Heart-Quieting Cliff for three years to dissolve the obsession in your heart. Qing Feng’an’s tone was flat but carried an unquestionable authority. Within these three years, if you can wake up and let go of your obsession, you may stay at the Xuanqing Sword Sect as an ordinary disciple and start over. If you remain obsessed and stubborn, I will sever all your meridians and cut off all your thoughts, ensuring you can never cause trouble again for the rest of your life.

This was the greatest tolerance he could offer.

Jin Xianling snapped his head up. The confusion and despair in his eyes were instantly replaced by hope. A near-manic smile slowly spread across his tear-streaked face, a smile filled with the joy of regaining something lost and a sliver of cautious treasure. Master, you mean… you are willing to keep me by your side? You are willing to let me follow you?

I am keeping you so you can atone for your sins, not to indulge you, and certainly not to grant your obsession. Qing Feng’an said sternly, cutting off his fantasy. You must understand that these three years are your chance, and also the final line.

I promise! I promise everything! Jin Xianling scrambled up from the bluestone, ignoring the dust on his clothes and the stinging pain in his soles. He stumbled toward Qing Feng’an and gripped his sleeve tightly. His knuckles turned white with force, nearly tearing the plain fabric. His eyes were full of infatuation and fear, terrified that if he let go for even a moment, the person before him would vanish. Master, I will change, I will definitely change! I will be good and reflect at Heart-Quieting Cliff, I will work hard to dissolve my obsession. Just please don’t leave me again, don’t discard me!

His fingers trembled slightly with uncontrollable excitement, like a child grasping at the last straw of hope. Qing Feng’an sighed inwardly, his heart softening after all. He reached out and gently brushed the fingers away, but he did not say another word of rejection.

Seeing this, the disciples of the Xuanqing Sword Sect were all surprised, but they did not dare to say much. They sheathed their weapons and stepped aside, understanding that their Master had ultimately spared him out of consideration for their past bond.

The wind atop the peak gradually grew gentler, blowing away the remaining malice and killing intent. Jin Xianling followed closely behind Qing Feng’an like a child who had done wrong, following step by step, not daring to overstep in the slightest. His bare feet were rubbed red by the stone edges, even bleeding slightly. Every step brought a stinging pain, but he was oblivious to it. He only stared intently at Qing Feng’an’s back—that back, thin but upright, was the light he had spent half his life chasing. His eyes were filled with the joy of recovery and cautious devotion, as if the person before him was the only treasure in his life.

After walking a few paces, Jin Xianling suddenly stopped. He spoke softly, his voice carrying a lingering sob and a gentle persistence. Master, I still have a line of poetry I want to say to you. I wrote it last night at the Heart-Burning Hall while facing the moonlight.

Qing Feng’an did not stop walking, only giving a faint hum of acknowledgment.

Jin Xianling looked up at that slender back and recited softly, his voice so gentle it could drip like water, yet carrying an undetectable obsession that wound through the wind and fell into Qing Feng’an’s ear. The miasma clears and clouds part to reveal your face; half a life of madness, all for the bond we share.

Master, the miasma of Black Wind Ridge has scattered, the light of heaven has fallen, and I have finally seen you again. My life, half spent in madness and half in obsession, was all for you—to hold your hand, to be able to stay by your side.

Master, this time, I will wait for you. Jin Xianling’s voice was light, yet carried an incredibly firm obsession. I will wait until you truly understand my heart, until you are willing to turn back and look at me. Even if I have to wait three years, ten years, or a lifetime, I am willing.

Qing Feng’an’s footsteps came to an abrupt halt. His back stiffened slightly as the gentle yet obsessive words echoed in his ears. The calm, cold pool in his heart finally rippled with circles of emotion. He did not look back, nor did he respond, but he quietly slowed his pace so that the stumbling figure behind him could easily keep up.

The miasma of Black Wind Ridge had long been driven away by Qing Feng’an’s sword light. The light of heaven spilled down again, piercing through the clouds and falling upon the bluestone path, illuminating the road ahead for the two of them. Seeing Qing Feng’an slow down, a satisfied and gentle smile curved Jin Xianling’s lips. The madness in his eyes faded, leaving only pure joy and persistence. He knew this was only a beginning. The path to dissolving his obsession might be long and difficult, and perhaps these three years of reflection were just an excuse he used to deceive himself. But as long as he could stay by his Master’s side and see his figure every day, even if he were locked away at Heart-Quieting Cliff, even if he had to pay a greater price, he was willing.

Qing Feng’an gazed at the mist-shrouded Cangwu Mountain ahead. His eyes were calm, yet they hid an indescribable complexity. He did not know where this companionship in the name of atonement would eventually lead. Whether Jin Xianling would truly let go of his obsession and start over, or if this paranoid love would eventually brew into an even greater catastrophe. But he knew that some fates, once begun, could never be easily severed. This mad youth, carrying a body full of obsession and love, was perhaps the most difficult yet unavoidable tribulation he had to face in his cultivation within the mortal world.

The road ahead was long, and the light of heaven was dim. One figure was thin and upright, the other followed with persistence. The two shadows gradually moved further away under the light, heading toward the depths of the mist on Cangwu Mountain, toward an unknown future.