After Being Certified by the Immortal Lord on the Path of Ruthlessness - Chapter 65

The long-awaited New Year festival had finally arrived, bringing with it the night.

 

Laughter echoed across the desolate Taibai Mountain, though Rong Qi had long since cast a barrier to separate the spirits from the humans.

 

In this space, humans could neither see nor sense the spirits’ presence.

 

The human custom for celebrating the festival seemed to involve setting off fireworks at the summit of Taibai Mountain at the stroke of midnight.

 

Ye Qingge had little interest in the New Year festival, while Jiang Mianhao took it extremely seriously.

 

She had been preparing since dawn, refusing to rest even now.

 

Ye Qingge had originally planned to review official documents, but Jiang Mianhao had shooed her outside to help with the chores.

 

Pushing open the small wooden door, Ye Qingge paused, slightly dazed, and watched as people waved sparklers against the vast expanse of snow.

 

“Divine Maiden, today is the final day. Remember, you must not show any mercy.”

The voice of the Wuji Mystic Master echoed in her mind, and the Void Realm Mirror descended in response.

 

Ye Qingge caught the mirror and froze, staring at the scene within.

 

The red snakes had already emerged in massive numbers, their fiery bodies coiling across the damp earth, leaving burning trails in their wake. Underground, countless creatures stirred restlessly; if one listened closely, the sharp clatter of pincers striking together could be heard.

 

Venomous scorpions, lizards, and spiders surged from their burrows like a rising tide…

 

Deathly silence had gathered these monstrous beings, now bound by a deadly curse, driving them toward Taibai Mountain.

 

This hellish, terrifying vision stood in stark contrast to the bustling liveliness of the human world. Ye Qingge could not help but lift her gaze toward the brightly lit realm beyond.

 

Outside the barrier, children played by the windows, completely unaware of her presence. They laughed as they waved sparklers, brushing past her without a care.

 

Their small figures were illuminated by fireworks filling the sky, casting fleeting shadows on the windows of the houses. Scenes flickering past like a revolving lantern.

 

Amidst the chaos, memories of time spent with Jiang Mianhao slipped unbidden into her mind. The sharp crackle of fireworks was punctuated by delighted laughter—crisp, vibrant, and brimming with boundless vitality.

 

Perhaps the night air on Taibai Mountain was too cold, for Ye Qingge shivered, halting her dark imaginings of the human world’s descent into chaos.

 

It’s too late! Hurry!

 

Lost in thought, she slowly counted the bricks beneath her feet.

 

The reunion dinner had originally been planned indoors, but Jiang Mianhao had insisted on moving it outside.

 

As dusk fell, she had sent Ye Qingge out to clear the snow and make space.

 

That morning, snow had fallen across Taibai Mountain, blanketing the tender shoots of Good Sleep Grass beside the small wooden cabin.

 

Ye Qingge gazed down at the snow, a sudden curiosity stirring within her. How were the tiny green sprouts faring beneath the icy cover?

 

Just then, the door creaked open.

 

A pair of smiling eyes met hers. “Why are you taking so long to clear the—oh my! Why are you holding the snow with your hands? Aren’t you cold?”

Those were Jiang Mianhao’s eyes.

 

The most beautiful part of her—forever bright, sparkling with jade-green laughter, clear and pure, laying her emotions bare for all to see.

 

Her worry-filled gaze rambled on: “Look, your hands are already red from the cold. If you don’t warm them soon, they’ll get frostbite. It’ll hurt so much you won’t even be able to hold your sword!”

 

She was petite, usually indulgent and fond of lazing about, yet today she had been bustling around the kitchen all day.

 

Recreating every dish Jiang Yuanjuan had taught her, the pair of jade-green silk ribbons adorning her black hair fluttered with each movement like two little birds taking flight, dancing joyfully.

 

The door swung open, revealing Jiang Mianhao tending a vigorously burning stove inside.

 

Thick white steam obscured most of Ye Qingge’s vision, but she didn’t resist Jiang Mianhao’s warm hand, allowing herself to be led inside. That soft hand fit perfectly within her own.

 

Noticing she had smeared flour onto Ye Qingge’s hand, Jiang Mianhao sheepishly wiped it off while dumplings bubbled vigorously in the pot.

 

“They’ll be ready soon,” she said, speaking to Ye Qingge with an uncharacteristic shyness. Burdened by hidden thoughts, she nervously continued, “I made lamb filling. They say eating dumplings prevents chilblains.”

 

Ye Qingge remained silent.

 

She hadn’t eaten since attaining enlightenment.

 

This lavish feast wasn’t for her today—no, it had never been for her.

 

“Today’s the last day,” Jiang Mianhao chattered, leaving Ye Qingge by the hearth as she returned to the kitchen. “After tonight comes a new year. Spring will be here soon, isn’t that wonderful.”

 

Though neither of them feared the cold, the room still held the comforting warmth of a burning stove.

 

Jiang Mianhao had said that during human festivals, families gathered around the hearth for warmth.

 

So Ye Qingge lit the fire.

 

A mere flick of her wrist would suffice. If Jiang Mianhao wanted it, she would provide.

 

On this final day, she found herself instinctively indulging her a little more.

Ye Qingge’s grip tightened on her sword hilt.

 

Yet she hesitated as she began to draw it.

 

Perhaps the recent cold had weakened her, allowing such hesitation.

 

But goddesses don’t fall ill, they remain untouched by human suffering, enthroned far above worldly troubles.

 

Ye Qingge’s gaze fell on the flour dusting her fingertips.

 

A white streak—flour was snow without the cold.

 

This earthly warmth surrounding her didn’t belong to a goddess.

 

When she lifted her eyes again, her resolve solidified. Goddesses needed no trivial affections. The person before her existed only to bear witness to enlightenment.

 

“Oh! I have good news to share,” Jiang Mianhao said, noticing Green Wine’s unusual silence and distracted manner, afraid her secrecy had aroused suspicion. “But you must eat dumplings first.”

 

Like a nimble fish, she moved comfortably in her familiar kitchen. “They’re done! Try them, you missed them last Winter Solstice.”

The figure standing rigidly by the hearth saw nothing, heard nothing.

 

When pale hands offered steaming dumplings, Ye Qingge looked right through them.

 

Wind howled in her ears like countless birds brushing past her cheeks.

 

From the Void Realm, she saw Wuli leading countless soaring birds across Crow Python Sea toward Mount Taibai.

 

Lily had vanished, clearly captured.

 

With her powers diminished and the demon birds enhanced by immortal bones…

 

If the birds attacked now, the mortal realm, celebrating reunion, would face calamity first.

 

Ye Qingge already saw seas of fire, a living hell.

 

She parted her lips slightly, struggling to steady her breath against these horrific visions.

 

“You look pale,” Jiang Mianhao said, setting down the porcelain bowl. Noticing the cold sweat beading on Ye Qingge’s forehead, she thought the stove might be too hot and turned for a cloth, intending to tease her gently.

Now.

 

Ye Qingge tightened her grip on the sword hilt. The moment Jiang Mianhao turned to face her, she abruptly stood up.

 

Her martial arts were exceptional; drawing the sword was nearly instantaneous.

 

Time seemed to freeze at that moment.

 

The handkerchief, raised halfway, stiffened in the air, and the pale green silk cloth fell into the blazing brazier.

 

The already burning flames flared up even more intensely.

 

By the time Jiang Mianhao realized what was happening, the longsword had already pierced through her chest, and blood was just beginning to seep out.

 

A smile still lingered on Jiang Mianhao’s face. The playful remark that had been on the tip of her tongue turned into a glaring red trail, trickling down the corner of her mouth and neck, slowly dripping onto her new clothes until the collar was soaked with blood.

 

The pale green fabric turned a deep brown.

 

There was no trace of anger on Jiang Mianhao’s face only confusion. She slowly lowered her head to look at the blooming bloodstain on her chest, then followed the elegant longsword to the hand gripping it, the hand of its owner.

 

The lifelike “Good Sleep Grass” engraved on the blade, now stained with blood, appeared eerily enchanting.

 

This was the very blade she had meticulously crafted with her own hands, hammer by hammer, stroke by stroke.

 

And now, it was piercing straight through her own chest.

 

She staggered two steps, gradually losing the strength to stand, while the hand holding the sword sank slightly with her movement.

 

Without hesitation, Ye Qingge withdrew the sword. The blade remained untainted by blood.

 

A single drop of crimson splattered onto the space between Ye Qingge’s eyebrows.

 

Instinctively, she furrowed her brow.

 

The porcelain plate in her hands fell to the ground with a clatter. The dumplings Jiang Mianhao had painstakingly prepared all night would never be tasted by Lu Jiu.

 

Ye Qingge looked down at the person lying on the ground. The blood on the jade-green robe spread rapidly, whether from the excruciating pain or a desperate struggle to rise.

 

The once lively and spirited person now lay prostrate on the ground, writhing like a stray dog.

 

The floor was stained with the filthy traces of Jiang Mianhao’s struggle. The white jade “Unity Knot” pendant that had hung around her neck fell out, splattered with blood and shattered into two halves.

 

To avoid staining the tips of her shoes with blood, Ye Qingge took a step back.

 

“Lu Jiu… Good news…” Jiang Mianhao strained to lift her head, her eyes wide open.

 

As if hoping more light could flood into her eyes, though by now, Jiang Mianhao could no longer see the face of the person before her. More blood gushed from deep within her throat.

 

Her lips had turned ashen, like dying embers.

 

Suddenly, a burst of sound erupted from the sky.

 

A cluster of sparks soared into the night, and green fireworks bloomed against the deep darkness.

 

The joyful laughter of children echoed as the mortal world bathed in the warmth of reunion.

 

The fireworks, prepared in advance, ignited precisely at midnight.

 

Jiang Mianhao lay on the ground, her life rapidly draining from her chest. She could still smell the faint fragrance of plant ash from the kitchen and hear the children’s laughter outside. Everything felt so real… yet everything seemed to drift further and further away, growing heavier and heavier.

 

She longed to fall asleep, wishing this were all just a nightmare.

 

But the pain was unbearable.

 

She hadn’t even had the chance to share the good news with Lu Jiu. Had Lu Jiu mistaken her for someone else?

 

Jiang Mianhao had so many questions, but her heart and lungs had been severed by that single sword strike. The blood draining from her body sapped all her strength.

 

In the end, she could only part her lips and let out a faint, barely audible murmur.

 

Her eyelids felt as if weighed down, growing heavier and heavier. Jiang Mianhao could feel the blood spreading from her heart.

 

A dizzying double vision appeared before her eyes, and memories of the past surfaced one by one.

 

That night of transformation, amidst countless plants, she alone had been struck.

 

She had thought that day would be her last, but a celestial being descended from the heavens and saved her.

 

The monotonous watering day after day, the long and arduous healing process.

 

After successfully taking form, she ventured down the mountain to gain experience, following the immortal lord on his journeys, with Lily of the Valley by her side.

 

In a world fraught with malice, facing natural predators, a powerful deity descended from the sky, rescuing her from peril.

 

On the bustling streets of the mortal world, the fleeting panic when a candied hawthorn brushed past her lips.

 

A casually tossed pair of matching locks, the rumors they listened to together in the storytelling house.

 

The small pouch specially made to carry her, the countless long nights spent nestled close in sleep.

 

After enduring hardships, they finally ascended Mount Hua.

 

The tender intimacy after confessing their feelings, the affectionate nuzzling against her neck.

 

Jiang Mianhao refused to think further, as memories of past joys flooded her mind.

 

There was always the smiling Sister Jiang, the highly skilled Master Feng, and Lily of the Valley, who hurried back to celebrate the New Year with her.

 

Lily of the Valley, Lily of the Valley.

 

Jiang Mianhao’s eyelids grew too heavy to lift. Just as the last drop of blood drained from her body, a familiar figure finally appeared outside the door. The one she had long awaited.

 

But Jiang Mianhao could no longer raise her head to greet her. With all her strength, she lifted her eyes only to close them again.

 

As her eyes shut for the last time, the final sight she beheld was the furrowed brow of the person before her, etched with impatience.

 

Had her blood stained Lu Jiu’s shoes?

 

She ought to be angry. Lu Jiu was so fond of cleanliness, and her own filthy blood had sullied her on such a festive day.

 

Yet Jiang Mianhao was bewildered. She wanted to ask why had Lu Jiu drawn her sword against her? Why hadn’t she waited to hear the good news? Why couldn’t they have celebrated the New Year together? If she intended to kill her, why not do it on that night of transformation? Were all those days and nights of love nothing but lies?

 

But Jiang Mianhao no longer had the strength to argue or to ask.

 

The blood in her chest had run dry, leaving a gaping hollow where her heart once was.

 

Jiang Mianhao’s lips trembled silently as she comforted herself: Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid. Treat it as a nightmare. It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt.

 

Her eyelids sealed shut, and everything around her fell into silence.

 

Cluster after cluster of brilliant fireworks bloomed in the sky, illuminating the long-darkened peak of Mount Tai Bai as brightly as day.

 

Cheers and laughter filled the mountain, celebrating the New Year.

 

Ye Qingge stood where she was, watching it all, not yet leaving.

 

She brushed off the trace of flour stuck to the back of her hand, and a powdery white dust drifted down.

 

Only after every last mark had been wiped away did Ye Qingge hear a faint, choked sob from Jiang Mianhao’s throat—like a final cry of resentment or a mournful wail:

 

“It hurts…”

 

But her voice was too soft, and the words that followed were drowned out by the shrill bursts of fireworks outside.

 

Seeing the person before her lying on the ground, her head never to rise again,

 

Ye Qingge sheathed her sword with a crisp, clear click.

 

She let out a long sigh, as if a heavy stone lodged in her heart had loosened and fallen away.

 

In an instant, Jiang Mianhao’s corpse and the blood that had filled the room gradually turned to dust.

 

It was no different from the ashes of the plants burned to white cinders inside the room. The beanstalks in the stove crackled in the flames, sounding like firecrackers. “Congratulations to the Divine Maiden for overcoming her trial of love!”

 

A rift split open in the sky, and numerous high deities gathered on the clouds, bowing in reverence to the Divine Maiden on the ground.

 

“Congratulations to the Divine Maiden for breaking her tribulation! We welcome the Divine Maiden’s ascension to the divine hall!”

 

Amidst the ceaseless sounds of celebration and congratulations, Ye Qingge felt the world around her fall into an eerie silence.

 

She raised her hand and gently touched the crimson mark between her brows. In the chill night breeze, the vermilion had already cooled, leaving a smear of scarlet on her fingertip.

 

Ye Qingge lifted her head in confusion, gazing ahead. The dumplings Jiang Mianhao had cooked but not yet retrieved had now disintegrated into a pot of mushy soup.

 

A sharp pain pierced Ye Qingge’s heart as an overwhelming surge of spiritual energy battered her internal organs. The long-stagnant trial of love had been severed, and the suppressed spiritual power began to awaken, growing at an alarming rate.

 

All around her, congratulations echoed. Celebrations of earthly reunions and heavenly joys.

 

Ye Qingge’s vision darkened. Unable to restrain the rampaging spiritual energy, she coughed up a mouthful of blood.

In her daze, she sensed that she had lost something irreplaceable. But she had no strength left to ponder it further, as the surging energy overwhelmed her, plunging her into unconsciousness.

 

Just as she collapsed, Ling Lan, who had journeyed across mountains and valleys to share in the reunion, froze in place.

 

She stared at the wide-open door of the small wooden cabin, where beneath a table laden with delicacies lay a pool of blood. Above the bloodstains, Jiang Mianhao, pierced through the chest by a blade—was dissipating into the wind.

 

Meanwhile, Lu Jiu, surrounded by a host of celestial beings, faded into the distant horizon.

 

The fireworks outside had burned out. In the eternal night that followed, no light would ever rise again.

 

The tanghulu Ling Lan had carried all this way slipped from her hand, rolling into the snow.