Suo Qingjun Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Five Years of Startling Dreams, Red Robes for a Former Captive

Five years passed like a white horse leaping over a chasm, sweeping past the beacon fires and hearth smoke of the martial world.

The spiritual mist atop Qihe Peak remained thick year-round, but the courtyard that once imprisoned Qing Feng’an was now overgrown with weeds. Cobwebs covered the windows, and only the old bamboo beneath the corridor swayed in the wind, as if recounting the obsession and confinement of years past. The martial world had long since changed—the man Jin Xianling had once imprisoned on the peak was now the Sect Leader of the Xuanqing Sword Sect. Having reorganized the sect with his transcendent Flowing Frost Sword Technique, his fame had spread far and wide, making him a revered leader of the righteous path.

During these five years, Qing Feng’an never ceased refining his True Qi and his mental state. After escaping through a faked death, he had endured countless hardships to return to the Xuanqing Sword Sect, purging traitors with thunderous methods and stabilizing the turbulent situation. He had become increasingly cold and solitary, the frost between his brows deeper than before. Only in the dead of night would a faint, imperceptible haze flicker in his eyes—the indelible mark left by five years of imprisonment.

Word spread throughout the martial world that Qing Feng’an, the Sect Leader of the Xuanqing Sword Sect, was about to be married. His bride was Su Wanning, the legitimate daughter of the Su family, the foremost clan in Jiangnan. The Su family had been merchants for generations, possessing wealth that could rival nations, and maintained good relations with various righteous factions. This marriage was undoubtedly a crucial step for the Xuanqing Sword Sect to consolidate its position and integrate the forces of the martial world. The wedding date was set for the Mid-Autumn Festival. Once the news broke, the martial world was shaken, and congratulatory invitations flew toward the Xuanqing Sword Sect like snowflakes, as everyone wished to witness the legendary Sect Leader’s wedding.

The entire Xuanqing Sword Sect was decorated with lanterns and streamers, with red silk hanging across the mountain gate in a festive display. Only Qing Feng’an’s bedroom remained as cold as ever, out of place with the bustle outside. He sat by the window, stroking a warm mutton-fat jade hairpin. Fine bamboo patterns were carved into the body of the pin; he had carved it himself years ago, but it had been lost during his imprisonment, only to be recovered by a disciple six months ago.

Sect Leader, Miss Su has sent people with the wedding robes for your inspection, a disciple’s respectful voice came from outside the door.

Qing Feng’an withdrew his thoughts and said calmly, Enter.

Two disciples entered carrying a set of bright red wedding robes. Patterns of phoenixes in harmony were embroidered upon the silk, the gold thread shimmering with luxurious light. Qing Feng’an glanced at it, his eyes devoid of any ripples, and simply commanded, Leave it there.

The disciples set down the robes and bowed as they withdrew, not daring to say more. They all knew their Sect Leader was cold by nature; though he had agreed to this marriage, he had never shown the slightest bit of joy, treating it merely as a necessary responsibility.

After the disciples left, Qing Feng’an stood up, walked to the table, and picked up the wedding attire. As his fingertips brushed the cool silk, memories of that rainy night on Qihe Peak five years ago uncontrollably flashed through his mind—Jin Xianling holding his cold body, weeping heart-wrenchingly, the despair and pain in his eyes so real it made Qing Feng’an’s heart tighten.

In these five years, he had never sought news of Jin Xianling, yet he occasionally heard fragments from martial world rumors. After his escape, Jin Xianling had searched for his tracks like a madman, not hesitating to slaughter several small sects that had ties to the Xuanqing Sword Sect. His methods were so ruthless that he became known as the Crazy Sword, a name that made everyone blanch. Later, Jin Xianling vanished without a trace, and no one knew where he had gone, leaving behind only countless terrifying legends.

Qing Feng’an closed his eyes, forcibly suppressing the strange sensation in his heart. He and Jin Xianling had long since severed their bonds. He would never forget the humiliation of those five years of imprisonment or the chilling bitterness of betrayal. Choosing to marry now was both for the future of the Xuanqing Sword Sect and to completely sever the ties of the past, returning to being the Qing Feng’an who was devoted to the Dao with a clear sword-heart.

However, what he did not know was that while he prepared for the wedding, in a dark corner of the martial world, a pair of bloodshot eyes was staring fixedly in the direction of the Xuanqing Sword Sect, with obsession, madness, and heaven-toppling hatred churning within.

Jin Xianling had never given up on finding him. For five years, he had traveled to the ends of the earth, enduring pain and loneliness unimaginable to ordinary people. His cultivation had also progressed by leaps and bounds amidst his frantic obsession, becoming increasingly unfathomable. When he heard the news of Qing Feng’an’s upcoming wedding, the longing, pain, and anger accumulated over five years exploded instantly, nearly consuming him.

Sifu… Jin Xianling sat in the darkness, his fingertips lightly stroking a black longsword. The blade was covered in fine incantations, emitting an eerie aura. His voice was low and hoarse, carrying a thick sense of morbidity and madness. You said our bonds were severed, that we had no further connection… but why are you getting married? Why are you smiling at someone else, promising a lifetime to another?

You are mine. He suddenly gripped the hilt, his knuckles turning white from the force, the madness in his eyes nearly overflowing. From beginning to end, you can only be mine. No one can take you away. Even if it is the Heavens, I would dare to defy them!

He slowly stood up, his black robes cutting a cold arc through the darkness. Five years of dormancy, five years of waiting—he was no longer the obsessed youth who only knew how to entangle himself. Now, he had enough power to bring his master back to the cage that belonged only to the two of them.

The Mid-Autumn Festival, the wedding ceremony… A twisted, bloodthirsty smile curled at the corners of Jin Xianling’s mouth. Sifu, I will prepare a grand gift for you, a congratulatory gift you will never forget for the rest of your life.

His figure flickered and vanished into the darkness, leaving only a cold whisper echoing in the air: This time, I will lock you by my side forever.

The festive atmosphere of the Xuanqing Sword Sect grew thicker as the Mid-Autumn Festival approached. Every day after handling sect affairs, Qing Feng’an would practice his sword alone. His swordplay became increasingly sharp, yet his sword-heart could never fully settle. He always felt as if a pair of eyes were staring at him from the shadows with intense possessiveness and madness, making him feel uneasy.

He knew that Jin Xianling might have never left.

Three days before the wedding, Qing Feng’an was practicing in the back mountains. As he performed the Flowing Frost Sword Technique, the sword light flew like frost and snow, the cold air biting. Suddenly, he sensed a powerful killing intent racing toward him from a distance at an unimaginable speed.

Qing Feng’an abruptly sheathed his sword and turned to look. He saw a black figure appear like a ghost on a nearby mountain peak, standing with hands behind his back, exuding a violent and crazed aura. Those eyes stared fixedly at him, as if looking at a long-lost treasure, or perhaps a traitor.

Having not met for five years, Jin Xianling had changed significantly. His stature was more upright, and his face remained handsome, yet it held a few more traces of gloom and malice. The obsession and madness in his eyes were even more intense than five years ago, nearly solidifying into substance.

Sifu. Jin Xianling’s voice traveled through the mountain wind to Qing Feng’an’s ears, low and lingering, yet carrying an unquestionable madness. Long time no see.

Qing Feng’an’s hand gripped the sword hilt tightly, his fingertips turning white. He looked at Jin Xianling atop the peak, his heart sinking—what was meant to come had finally arrived.