Chapter 75

Song Qingshi had once glimpsed a phoenix, Yue Wuhuan, and even his own demise within the fragments of heavenly machinations, illuminated by the Golden Light of Merit.

Again and again, he perished: in the snow, under a hail of arrows, beneath carriage wheels, on the execution ground…

He had been bewildered, but as Yue Wuhuan laid bare his heart, gradually revealing his emotions and vulnerabilities, Song Qingshi grasped the true meaning of these deaths. Each was a heart-wrenching torment for Yue Wuhuan, driving him to despair, madness, and ultimately, self-destruction.

It didn’t hurt—he was not afraid of pain.

He would never allow such an end to befall them again.

Song Qingshi analyzed every death shown in the heavenly machinations, discovering that most bore the imprint of the Heavenly Dao’s meddling with fate—sudden illnesses, accidents, disasters… In one life, sensing danger, he had hidden indoors, only to be crushed by a falling meteor.

Every accident was a coincidence, and every coincidence claimed his life.

In this life, he was a Nascent Soul cultivator, his cultivation profound. He could not be easily killed by a mere poison leak or an exploding pill furnace. Judging from Yue Wuhuan’s tribulation, it seemed the Heavenly Dao could only twist rules and engineer coincidences—it could not directly kill.

So, how would he die this time?

Song Qingshi suddenly recalled he had already died once before…

Back then, he didn’t know Yue Wuhuan, so fate hadn’t targeted him. Borrowing the system’s power, he had survived—though he didn’t understand why the system had helped him.

But if An Long’s heart demons could run rampant once, they could again. He was the most powerful Nascent Soul cultivator, with half-demon blood, bloodthirsty and warlike—the perfect pawn for the Heavenly Dao to manipulate.

Song Qingshi had long kept a wary eye on An Long.

Eight hundred years of acquaintance, five hundred years of friendship, once fighting side by side…

Song Qingshi knew An Long’s temperament. He despised evasion and preferred direct confrontation. Faced with a dangerous pursuit, he would only grow fiercer, fighting until all enemies were dead. Since the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect had chosen betrayal, An Long would surely return to Western Woods to slaughter the traitors…

If news of An Long came from Western Woods, even if bloody, it would be no great concern.

But if Western Woods fell silent about An Long—that was the true danger…

An Long might have lost control of his heart demons, lost in bloodlust.

The dead send no messages.

When Immortal Lord Ye Lin’s warning letter arrived,

Song Qingshi understood—this was An Long’s challenge to him, the death fate had arranged for him, the hell it had prepared for Yue Wuhuan.

He would never surrender.

He would defy his own fate.

He would stake everything on changing Yue Wuhuan’s future.

…

Song Qingshi extended his hand, and black and red flaming lotuses materialized in the air, illuminating the surroundings.

An Long covered his blood-red eyes, unaccustomed to the light, his mind wavering between madness and lucidity before he finally burst into laughter.

He realized he had never truly witnessed Song Qingshi’s full strength. Now that they were both fighting with everything they had, this battle would do justice to their years of friendship.

While An Long still retained some clarity, Song Qingshi asked, “At Golden Phoenix Manor, did you also succumb to demonic influence?”

“Yes,” An Long replied, his body gradually mutating as he laughed bitterly. “I was controlled by my heart demons, bereft of reason… I was in agony. I begged you to lie to me—just a single word of ‘like,’ one beautiful illusion to make the demons recede and abandon their killing intent. But you refused. Did you hate me so much that you’d rather die than tell a lie to ease my suffering?”

Song Qingshi thought for a moment. “No. Like is like, and its absence is its absence. I cannot lie to you.”

An Long’s breath grew labored as his mind yielded to demonic corruption. “Qing Shi, I hate you so much…”

Where Yue Wuhuan’s Lock of Emotion suppressed love, his own suppressed nothing but hatred and bloodlust.

Half-demon blood understood no emotion—only slaughter and greed.

He had forced himself to learn, to understand, to respect.

He had truly wanted to become human, but he had failed.

Song Qingshi had once sent him to study under the Master of Compassion to learn humanity, but he saw no humanity in those children. They understood neither good nor evil, only obedience, moving like rule-bound puppets. During the Demon-Sealing War, he had watched as the Master of Compassion, mortally wounded, succumbed to demonic frenzy, transforming into a monstrous fiend before being slain as an enemy. And then, everyone believed he had fallen to demons, mourning him as a hero—how laughable.

After the Master of Compassion’s death, his remaining disciples gradually revealed their demonic natures and were exterminated.

Demons were demons—where was the humanity in them?

All he needed was slaughter…

An Long’s pupils had narrowed into terrifying slits, all human emotion gone as he fully transformed into a monster. He let out a silent whistle, and the forest rustled with the scuttling of countless insects, growing louder, drawing nearer.

Song Qingshi glanced around before snapping his fingers. The Red Lotus Mystic Fire erupted, engulfing the entire forest in an inferno. The blazing heat blocked the advance of Gu insects and venomous creatures, the air thick with the reek of charred flesh.

Standing atop the lotus, he looked down at the demon below and formed hand seals.

Countless hands burst from the ground beneath An Long—venomous puppets hidden beneath the earth, their bodies stitched together like grotesque dolls crawling from hell. They clung to their target, their toxin-laced fingers clawing at him. An Long’s body sprouted thick scales, resisting the poison, as he lashed out with a scorpion's tail, severing the pale hands before charging at Song Qingshi.

He didn’t need to know all of Song Qingshi’s tricks—he only needed to know that Song Qingshi was weak in close combat.

Protective barriers and arrays sprang up in the air, swiftly dividing the two.

An Long sneered, ripping through the barrier with his claws as he lunged at his target. But Song Qingshi vanished, replaced by a swarm of Black Death Butterflies, their venomous wings filling the air. An Long shut his eyes just in time, but some scales were still corroded by the poisonous dust, the poison seeping in.

With a snarl, he tore off the infected scales, stopping the poison’s spread as new ones regenerated over the wounds. Then, with a whip-like strike of his tail, he smashed through an invisible array beside him, forcing Song Qingshi out of hiding.

“Found you,” An Long hissed softly.

Song Qingshi wiped blood from his lips and smiled, tossing a small black lotus flame to the ground.

Suddenly, the earth erupted—hidden poison puppets detonated in a chain reaction of explosions, each blast laced with lethal toxins. The forest was obliterated, trees melting into black sludge, all life extinguished. A crater dozens of meters deep swallowed everything, the air thick with poisonous mist that seeped into every breath, every pore.

As the dust settled, An Long emerged, his body encased in armored scales that had shielded his vitals. Yet the toxins had infiltrated his system, slowing his movements, dulling his senses. His breathing grew heavier, but his excitement only mounted.

This was a joyous battle…

This was a foe worth killing…

He rose again and charged, vanishing mid-stride before reappearing in front of Song Qingshi, driving a fist into his abdomen. Song Qingshi was sent flying, his ribs cracking despite the protection of his high-grade robes, his Nascent Soul teetering on the brink of collapse.

Struggling to his feet, Song Qingshi knew An Long’s greatest strength lay not in his Gu insects but in his innate Battle Bones—his supreme physique and combat instincts allowed him to see through all weaknesses and strike where it hurt most.

Sacrificing some defense, Song Qingshi marked An Long with the Black Death Butterfly’s curse.

The black butterflies converged, attacking the marked foe.

An Long glanced at them and issued another silent whistle. A tornado of ghost-faced moths surged forth, fearless as they breached the flaming barrier, throwing themselves at the butterflies. They died by the hundreds, their corpses piling up, absorbing the toxic dust and draining the butterflies’ venom until they were rendered harmless.

Sensing danger, Song Qingshi summoned the Nether Mystic Fire, trying to incinerate the approaching swarm.

However, the scorpion tail suddenly appeared, crucifying him through the abdomen and firmly pinning him to the cliff wall.

An Long slowly emerged from the swarm of specter-faced moths: "I've got you now."

Song Qingshi tightly gripped the scorpion tail embedded in his abdomen, gasping for breath. He knew he couldn’t pull it out now—it would cause catastrophic hemorrhage. Fortunately, before the battle, he had taken a powerful analgesic elixir, keeping most of the agony within a tolerable threshold, his mind clear.

An Long approached slowly, reaching out to gently touch his face, attempting to wipe away the blood smears.

A sharp pain shot through his fingertips as if he had touched a blazing furnace, burning through his hardened scales, flesh splitting open with an acrid stench. The agonizing torment granted him a moment of clarity. Tears of blood streamed from his bloodshot eyes as he rasped, "Why?"

The moment he spoke, he could no longer continue.

Emotions were the sweetest thing in the world—and also the cruelest.

There was no reasoning with them.

"Qing Shi, I don’t want to kill you," he pleaded desperately, staring at the man before him. "Please, just one word—'like'—even if it’s a lie. Let the heart demon spare me… and spare you."

The sharp hallucinations in his mind screamed relentlessly, urging him to kill, eroding his will. Only by slaying the man before him or obtaining what he desired could he escape this monstrous form and be freed from the torment.

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

Song Qingshi raised his head and whispered, "It’s useless."

The same scene, the same plea—it finally reminded him of what had happened at the Golden Phoenix Mountain Villa.

"A lie will always be a lie; it can never become truth," Song Qingshi gasped through the pain, revealing the true answer. "I can’t deceive you. You are a Gu insect genius, someone I admire… and once my dearest friend. You were good to me, helped me so much… That’s why… I can’t insult your feelings with a lie."

An Long stared at him blankly, as if meeting him for the first time.

Tears streamed from Song Qingshi’s eyes as he smiled. "I’ve caught you too."

From the very beginning, this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. The scorpion tail connected them both—neither could escape now.

An Long finally understood. Death was his only release.

With a smile, he lowered his head and embraced the blood-drenched youth, enduring the burns that seared every inch of his skin just for a moment of clarity. He pressed a gentle kiss to Song Qingshi’s forehead, his lips blackening beyond recognition—a final farewell.

The most painful embrace, the most painful kiss—yet he embraced it willingly.

In the air, the black and red lotuses forcibly merged, transforming into a blinding golden light, radiating an aura of death.

An Long lowered his head tenderly, allowing Song Qingshi to push the death lotus into his embrace.

The lotus exploded instantly, shattering his hardened scales, blasting through his chest, obliterating his organs. Blood gushed uncontrollably, staining the sand crimson as it seeped into the earth.

So, even a half-demon’s blood was red.

The hallucinations in his mind turned into frantic alarms, his consciousness in chaos. He felt his body forcibly repairing itself, denying him the right to die—an act defying the laws of nature. His body had been altered in some uncanny metamorphosis. What had happened?

An Long grew anxious and panicked.

The scorpion tail snapped off. Song Qingshi urgently treated his wound, stopping the bleeding with golden acupuncture needles and medicinal herbs.

He crawled slowly toward An Long, examining the aberrant transformations in his body, confirming his judgment—Fate had chosen An Long as a pawn to destroy Yue Wuhuan, so it wouldn’t allow him to die by his hands.

No luck. Only a forced execution.

"Don’t be afraid," Song Qingshi comforted softly. "Death isn’t the true end—it’s a new beginning."

The scroll's Golden Light of Merit was gentle.

It wasn’t showing him the pain of repeated deaths—but the opportunities of repeated rebirths. If death, as ordained by Heaven, was inevitable, then what he needed to do was make the most of the time before it came—to leave Yue Wuhuan enough hints and promises, to prepare himself fully, and then await the new cycle.

The phoenix rises from its ashes—life born from death…

This was the true answer the scroll had given him.

An Long, seeing his calm expression, gradually soothed his own turmoil.

Song Qingshi summoned his shattered Nascent Soul with great difficulty. A Nascent Soul Cultivator’s self-destruction could annihilate all life within a hundred miles. He would destroy himself, An Long, the entire hidden realm—everything.

Every crack on the Nascent Soul was a symbol of the Emotionless Path faltering.

An Long stared at it for a long time before finally asking the question he had long wondered: "Qing Shi, do you regret it? You saved a thankless, ugly, treacherous viper from the foul swamp… harmed you again and again…"

Song Qingshi thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I’ve never regretted it."

An Long asked in disbelief, "Why?"

Song Qingshi smiled. "If I hadn’t saved you, how could the world have gained the Poison King—a genius beyond compare? The indomitable War God? Those days of adventure together… they were truly joyful…"

He fell silent, suddenly recalling the scroll’s memories—how a regal Black Dragon occasionally appeared beside the phoenix.

The Black Dragon loved taunting the phoenix, then battling it across the skies until the heavens darkened, only to reconcile afterward, flying side by side… like the closest of comrades.

Song Qingshi had envied that.

An Long’s black scales, his vertical pupils—they gradually overlapped with the Black Dragon in his memories. Stripped of his draconic scales, his sinews ripped out, turned into a grotesque abomination, he had lost his former glory, his pride—yet he still struggled, resisted, preferring death over becoming Fate’s plaything.

Song Qingshi studied him more carefully, more intently.

An Long covered his face in fear. "Don’t look at me. I’m a monster."

Song Qingshi: "Don’t be afraid. This isn’t the real you."

An Long asked, "Then what should the real me be like?"

Song Qingshi thought of the Black Dragon soaring beside the phoenix in the heavens. "Probably… very handsome."

"Nonsense," An Long couldn’t help but laugh, though the movement tore at his gaping chest wounds—agonizing, yet euphoric. He declared loudly, "Kill me. Otherwise, if I have even a breath left, I’ll kill you and Yue Wuhuan…"

The voices in his mind grew sharper, like a malfunctioning mechanism emitting dangerous hums.

An Long gazed at him, whispering farewell: "If we meet again… there won’t be a third time."

Song Qingshi nodded with a smile. "I believe you."

The Nascent Soul shattered gradually, about to tear apart Heaven's decree.

…

Suddenly, a frantic alarm blared.

An eldritch void appeared in the air, engulfing him entirely, cutting off the explosion of the Nascent Soul.

From the void came the garbled, stuttering voice of a system—like a corrupted system on the verge of collapse:

"Task executor Song Qingshi, number of failures: one."

"Agent Song Qingshi, Failures: 1,350."

"Agent Song Qingshi, Failures: 1."

"Agent Song Qingshi, Failures: 1,350."

"Agent Song Qingshi, Failures: 1."

"Agent Song Qingshi, Failures: 1,350."

"Narrative recalibration, dispatching agent."

"Narrative recalibration, dispatching agent."

"…"

Song Qingshi was swallowed by the void, barely managing to say one final sentence to An Long: "Don't kill Yue Wuhuan, you'll regret it!"

An Long fought to get up and intervene, but his injuries hindered his movements, leaving him just a heartbeat too late. He watched helplessly as the severely wounded Song Qingshi inexplicably disappeared, his mind in chaos, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

He reached out, clawing at empty air, but felt nothing.

No magical residue, no occult traces.

He sensed Song Qingshi’s presence being wiped from existence, as if he had never existed.

The demonic corruption of his body gradually receded, and he returned to his human form.

This had happened once before—when Song Qingshi had died.

An Long sat frozen in place, unable to process what had happened even as most of his severe injuries healed.

The voices in his mind had weakened considerably but still whispered relentlessly:

"He... he’s lying..."

"Don’t... don’t believe him... you won’t regret it..."

"It was... me who saved you..."

"Go... go to the Medicine King Valley... kill Yue Wuhuan."

"…"

An Long sat for a long time, lost in thought, before finally standing up.

With leaden footsteps, he began the grim march to the Medicine King Valley.