After a Fake Death, the Emotionless Dao Senior Sister Became Obsessed - Chapter 29

The atmosphere on the Sword Forging Cliff paused for an instant.

“Am I dreaming?”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen Awan’s sword knocked out of her hand. Sob, sob, my spirit stones are gone…”

“Lingwei has achieved enlightenment!”

Mutterings came from all directions.

Nie Qian, who was off-stage, leaped up and cheered excitedly, “Great!”

She ran to the front of the stage, reached out to tug on Cen Lingwei’s skirt—who was within arm’s reach—wanting to say something.

But she met the eyes of the girl, who turned to look at her—a pair of charming, lively, pink-jade eyes—and Nie Qian froze, speechless.

Far away, on the spectator platform, Si Jing pursed her lips and remained silent.

The ice ring on her little finger flashed slightly; she sensed a familiar fluctuation of demonic energy.

Her hand rested on the sword hilt, ready to catch the mischievous demoness, but it was lightly pressed down.

Su Xue’s wine gourd at her waist had been uncorked at some unknown point and was nearly empty.

Her eyes were slightly intoxicated, and without looking at Si Jing, she gazed forward, opening her mouth with a smile, “Yingzhi, don’t be in a hurry. Isn’t this quite interesting?”

Si Jing was silent for a moment, “…Master?”

She quietly loosened her grip on her sword.

Although she didn’t know what her Master was thinking about this matter, doing this certainly had her reasons.

Concealing the confusion in her eyes, her gaze fell upon “Cen Lingwei” in the distance.

The girl, completely different from her usual self, gripped the sword hilt with both hands, her eyes sparkling, and waved towards the direction with the loudest cheers below the stage.

“I won!” she exclaimed in a sweet voice.

Chu Zhao didn’t know how she had won.

After possessing the body, a sword qi so weak it felt like a breeze had arrived. She ignored it and simply swept and struck wildly with the sword in her hand, and then someone cheered for her.

Xiao Wan bent down to pick up her fallen sword and spoke gently, “Thank you for the guidance.”

She didn’t care much about winning or losing. Moreover, being in the duel, she knew better than anyone that the girl in front of her had changed on the inside.

Those charming, peach-like, captivating eyes—she had seen them on a certain snowy night.

It was that spoiled, naive little fish demon.

Chu Zhao wasn’t good at dealing with people who smiled even after losing, and she was at a loss, “Y-you fought very well too.”

After saying that, she turned around and ran down the stage with her sword.

Her steps seemed a bit clumsy; she rubbed her waist and walked erratically.

“Did Lingwei perhaps strain her back?” someone nearby whispered.

“No!” Chu Zhao glared back in a playful reprimand.

Even in a different body, her waist was still delicate.

There was a hint of resentment in her eyes as she looked left and right, searching for the culprit who had caused her this state last night.

Until she saw the snow-robed woman sitting silently on the spectator platform in the distance, lowering her eyelashes and staring intently at her.

Si Jing held a brush, and when she saw Chu Zhao looking over, she indifferently shifted her gaze, lowering her eyes to write notes on the Xuan paper on the table.

The woman’s robes fluttered slightly in the mountain wind of the cliff. Her wrist bones were delicate like jade, and her fingers were long.

It was hard to imagine the defiled look of the hands that usually held a sword and wrote talismans.

But Chu Zhao had seen it.

For some reason, her cheeks felt slightly warm.

Yet, she lifted her head and looked eagerly for a long time, but the woman never looked at her again.

A faint sense of loss welled up in her heart, like she was playing in the water and was suddenly stung by a sea anemone demon—a sour, unbearable ache.

It was only last night that the woman was willing to hold her in her arms, speaking softly and sweetly, intimate and tender.

But as soon as the sky brightened, the other party’s eyes held no emotional ripples. When looking at her, there was only wariness, indifference, and distance, clearly intending to draw a line between them.

Chu Zhao was surrounded by the crowd, who noisily asked her this and that. She silently withdrew her gaze from the spectator platform, feeling lost.

She quietly escaped from Cen Lingwei’s body, returned to her original form, and hid in a nearby patch of soft, accumulated snow.

She dug a little with her head, burrowed into the snow pit, and covered her cloud-like tail with fine snow in a muffled huff.

Cen Lingwei regained control of her body, still dazed by the state of having defeated Xiao Wan. She hugged her chest and giggled foolishly, “Tee-hee, I won.”

Waking up, the cultivation realm of her fellow disciples in the Cloud Water Sect had regressed by a thousand times. She, a bottom-tier talisman cultivator, had overnight become a sword-cultivation genius!

The girl muttered to herself, unintentionally speaking her fantasies aloud. Nie Qian quickly covered her mouth, “Stop reading those crappy romance novels.”

“Who’s next?” someone chirped.

Shen Susu ascended the stage with her sword, her fox-like eyes smiling.

She already had an advantage in swordsmanship, and her luck was good today; she had drawn Nie Qian, a body cultivator. If she could defeat Cen Lingwei afterward, wouldn’t she be able to claim the top spot?

Nie Qian picked up her sword. It was her turn to go on stage, and she was a little nervous.

She shyly acted pitifully toward her opponent first, “I’m afraid of pain, Susu, go easy on me.”

Shen Susu: “…I didn’t hear you say that when you were racking your brains to get the senior sister to whip you.”

Nie Qian felt very weak, silently wishing for the help of the Koi Immortal.

She formed a sword mudra, but suddenly felt her body stiffen.

A cool sensation permeated her meridians. Her ears were clear and her eyes bright, and her body felt light as a cloud. With just one step, she instantly traveled several yards.

An unfamiliar sense of irritation and impatience arose in her chest.

The Koi Immortal possessing her seemed to be… in a fit of pique.

[Why won’t you look at me?]

[If I win, will Zhi Zhi look at me?]

[Isn’t it just that silly Susu? I can beat ten of her!]

The girl raised her sword, lowered her eyes, and walked towards the other side of the Sword Forging Cliff. Her knuckles slowly tightened, gripping the sword hilt that carried a residual warmth.

The sword hummed, seemingly sensing her current emotions, and its edge became sharp, like a surging tide.

Her toes stepped on the snow, stirring up a misty glow.

Clang—

As the swords met, a ringing sound suddenly echoed across the Sword Forging Cliff.

Shen Susu bit her lip, was knocked back a few steps, and adopted a defensive posture.

Something was wrong, very wrong. Although Nie Qian was a body cultivator, she wouldn’t fight so without any style, relying purely on brute force.

Upon closer inspection, she saw that the other person’s eyes, hidden behind the sword, were stained with a dusky pink and held a hidden stubbornness; they seemed somewhat familiar.

Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling.

The Guining Bell was rung twice in the distance, the signal to stop the match.

The girl in front of her, however, didn’t know this. She flipped her wrist, easily knocking Shen Susu back, and wanted to take a few more steps forward.

Suddenly, a snow-white figure enveloped her.

The woman’s features were aloof, and her robes billowed, like the light clouds sweeping across the cliff.

Her fingertip held the sword’s edge, and her figure didn’t retreat at all. She deflected Chu Zhao’s unrestrained attack.

“Stop,” she spoke.

Chu Zhao’s fingertips felt slightly numb from the force transmitted through the sword, which traveled all the way to her heart.

She looked up in confusion and saw that it was Si Jing. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she was momentarily at a loss, but also filled with grievance.

“Y-you finally agreed to look at me,” her voice was delicate and timid, melting into the thin wind on the Sword Forging Cliff, audible only to the two of them.

Although she said that, having just formed her demon core, she was impetuous and held a desire to let the beauty in front of her know her prowess. Water waves shimmered in Chu Zhao’s eyes; she was plotting something.

Suddenly, she smiled, her movement agile, and she gracefully retreated.

Pure demonic energy enveloped the sword, and a captivating crimson glow emerged. Taking advantage of the woman’s distraction, she suddenly swept out a fierce sword qi.

The disciples off-stage were dumbfounded.

“D-did I get poisoned by the grilled mushroom skewers I ate last night?” someone rubbed their eyes. “Why did I see Nie Qian attacking Senior Disciple Sister?”

The sword qi sheared the snow off the tip of a pine tree on the cliff several yards away, but the refined beauty, like snow, suddenly vanished.

Chu Zhao anxiously turned around, searching everywhere, when suddenly, her spine stiffened.

Si Jing silently landed behind the girl. Her slightly cool fingertip traced a line across the pulse point on the back of the girl’s neck, making her unable to move.

A talisman was affixed, and the little fish violently thrashed its tail in Nie Qian’s sea of consciousness, as if caught in an invisible net, unable to break free.

Finally, it condensed into its wet original form and slipped out from Nie Qian’s chest.

Si Jing reached out, caught it, and placed it in her robes without a change in expression.

On the spectator platform.

Su Xue’s willow-leaf eyes narrowed lazily. She raised her sleeve to pour the last drop of fine wine into her mouth, stroking A-Qing’s soft back feathers, and sighed with regret, “Alas, I wanted to see them fight.”

“…No fun to watch now.”

She seemed half-drunk and half-sober, her gaze falling upon the crimson in Si Jing’s robes. She didn’t know what she was thinking, seemingly lost in recollection.

Then she let out a light laugh, which was instantly obscured by the surrounding drunkenness.

Su Xue unfastened her robes, carelessly tucking the two bird masses, one large and one small, one blue and one yellow, into her embrace. She stepped onto her sword, “The wine is all gone. Let’s go get some more petal-fermented wine from my junior sister.”

“Jiu?” Tao Mu stuck out her head. “Master, the sword test, the sword test!”

She still needed to report the scores.

Su Xue pressed the bird’s head back down, lifted her lips, and smiled wildly and unrestrainedly, “Yingzhi can handle it alone.”

Her disciple was grown; she always needed to leave some space. She didn’t want to become the out-of-touch, spoil-sport elder.

Chu Zhao ultimately didn’t find out the final result of the sword test.

After being concealed in Si Jing’s robes, her whole body felt like her demonic energy had been drained by the talisman, and she slept soundly.

The beauty’s embrace was perfect for sleeping. Smelling the clean, cool scent similar to the pink lotuses outside the cave, she felt as if she had returned to the desolate mountain.

Demons lined the path to welcome her, looking flattering, wanting to rub off a trace of good luck from her;

The Mountain God, the old tree lady, shook her withered, sparse branches, allowing Chu Zhao to climb up and down, groaning “A-Chu my Lady”;

The women surrounded her tightly, speaking sweetly and softly, expressing their longing.

But Chu Zhao held a delicate, slightly cold hand, reluctant to let go.

Looking back, the beauty was like the clear moon in a water stream, elegant and refined, not a worldly person.

She brought Si Jing back to her cave, carefully hiding her, her heart pounding with trepidation, and went to change into her most beautiful clothes.

When she lifted the pearl-woven sheer curtain, the beauty unexpectedly had the same thought as her and had already changed into a deep red wedding dress embroidered with gold thread.

She sat upon the soft seashell couch, her appearance aloof, but when she looked at Chu Zhao, her eyes were tender and gentle.

“Zhao Zhao,” Si Jing’s voice was like the clear ringing of a mountain stream.

Chu Zhao was speechless for a moment.

She only felt a searing heat in her heart, as if presumptuous little shrimp and fish were climbing and gnawing at it.

A flickering halo appeared before her eyes. Her cheeks and neck, any place that the woman’s eyes lightly swept over, felt like they were about to melt from the warmth of the deep red wedding dress.

“T-tonight,” she, who was usually so spoiled, spoke in a much smaller, soft voice, pleading, “Can we form a marriage pact?”

Chu Zhao urgently wanted to keep Si Jing by her side, to see the beauty every day.

For this, she was willing to dismiss all the women in her cave and give away all the pearls and seashells she had accumulated over a hundred years.

As long as the beauty liked it, even if it was the moon in the water, she would try to fish it out.

Chu Zhao lightly bit her lip, her heart beating rapidly. She walked forward, wanting to steal a kiss.

But the red candle overturned, and the light flickered.

The cave suddenly plunged into darkness.

In the chaos, Chu Zhao was pressed down onto the soft couch by an unknown person.

The deep red wedding dress covered her vision, but it didn’t carry the clear, indifferent scent of lotus. Instead, it was an overwhelming smell of blood.

The woman’s cold, serpent-tongue-like fingers climbed onto Chu Zhao’s neck, like a hunt, slowly tightening.

“I’ve got you,” she leaned into Chu Zhao’s ear, her breath hot, speaking softly and sweetly.

“But why…” a cold finger rubbed against her lip, “Zhao Zhao wants to escape again, wants to form a pact with another person?”

Chu Zhao struggled helplessly, finding it hard to breathe. In her dazed confusion, she caught a glimpse of a pair of extraordinarily captivating peach blossom eyes in the dense darkness.

However, the emotion within them surged like a blood mist, sinister and perverse.

The woman laughed softly, with a hint of obsession, seemingly captivated by her tearful, helpless struggle.

Chu Zhao felt an unspeakable grievance. She struggled to gasp for breath, cupped the woman’s icy, bone-chilling, and bloodless face with her own hands, and whispered, “…Zhi, Zhi Zhi.”

She had not intended to form a pact with anyone else.

Was Si Jing angry? Was that why she was bullying her like this?

The woman froze, and the fingers clutching her loosened slightly.

Then, her shoulders trembled slightly. She seemed to be laughing at her endearment, laughing so much that her hair fell forward, yet no sound escaped her lips.

She leaned down and pressed her lips against Chu Zhao’s, gently pecking her first, with utmost tenderness.

Then, she suddenly bit down hard, breaking the skin.

Chu Zhao trembled from the pain.

She couldn’t speak and instinctively grasped the other person’s sleeve, but her hand met with a wet stickiness.

The woman was not wearing a gold-threaded, deep red wedding dress; it was clearly… a white Taoist robe soaked in blood.

In the pauses between kisses, the other person coiled around her tightly like a poisonous snake, dragging her into a chaotic, dizzying abyss.

She seemed extremely skilled in such intimacy, or perhaps familiar with Chu Zhao’s easily-conquered spots, deliberately leading her on, intending for her to remember.

The mad, sickly woman before her was not Si Jing.

Chu Zhao let out a miserable sob, bit the woman’s lip hard, and tried to escape.

She then heard a faint, shallow gasp enter her ear.

Her eyes filled with blurred, shifting moisture, and she suddenly opened them.

The light in the room had been dimmed, and a slender figure sat beside the couch.

The woman’s back was straight, her snow-white robe trailed on the floor, and she held a small bowl containing a dark medicinal broth. She was looking down at Chu Zhao.

For some reason, there was a trace of crimson on her lower lip.

“You’re awake?” Si Jing’s voice was very soft. She slightly turned her head, seemingly trying to hide something.

“After returning from the Sword Forging Cliff, you developed a high fever. I suppose you are ill.”

“I went to my Martial Uncle for a prescription. Get up and drink the medicine.”

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