After Infusing Love Poison to the Cold Sword Sovereign - Chapter 24.3

This woman was an old friend of Luo Qingyi’s, their relationship as light and distant as water between gentlemen. Both held extraordinary positions, exchanging occasional letters and rare visits, never overly familiar with one another.

The physician urged anxiously, “Your body is of such noble stature, blessed with unparalleled talent. Forcibly extracting immortal bone and essence blood could hinder your cultivation or worse, cause your cultivation to regress, leaving you unable to recover!”

“There is no need to persuade me further,” Luo Qingyi replied. “Once the extraction is complete, your assistance will no longer be required. The promised compensation will be sent to the Xinglin Sect as agreed.”

Seeing her resolve was unshakable, the other woman could only sigh and say no more. Luo Qingyi then loosened her garments, gathering spiritual energy as a single drop of crimson blood welled up over her heart.

If she wanted Wu Ruo to rebuild her spiritual roots and dao bones, allowing her to continue cultivation, this was the only method she could think of.

Once dao bones were lost, the only path was reconstruction. Yet the process was exceedingly demanding requiring a high-level cultivator’s immortal bone as a catalyst, nourished by heart’s blood, to reform spiritual roots and dao bones, setting one back on the path of cultivation.

Naturally, there was one more condition: the two involved must share a deep mutual understanding and have once been bound in marriage.

Most high-level cultivators were unwilling to sacrifice their own progress, which was why, despite the method’s widespread knowledge, few ever employed it. No wonder the leader of the Xinglin Sect had tried to dissuade her.

“There’s one more thing, are you aware of it?”

The physician wiped sweat from her brow, watching as Luo Qingyi cradled a radiant immortal bone, then sheathed the sharp blade, pressing calmly against the wound where she had drawn blood.

Rumors in the martial world had long reached her ears, and her instincts as a healer won out. In the end, she couldn’t help but remind her: “You know the side effects this method will bring to both of you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Luo Qingyi answered. “Both parties will be affected.”

If a high-level cultivator’s immortal bone was used as a catalyst to forge spiritual roots and dao bones for their partner, the two would occasionally experience brief moments of shared external sensation. Moreover, the partner’s body would bear engraved sigils and traces of the donor’s aura.

The full consequences remained unclear, known only through fragmented records in ancient texts. But regardless, from now on, Wu Ruo’s body would carry her essence.

Like a nameplate worn at all times, unmistakably inscribed with the words: “Luo Qingyi’s Dao Companion.”

Luo Qingyi sighed, spiritual energy pooling like liquid in her palm as the bone dissolved into a drifting mist.

Had it been the Wu Ruo who once loved her, she wouldn’t have minded these side effects might even have accepted them with delight, embracing her and stealing a kiss.

But the current Wu Ruo pure, innocent, still guarded and cautious around her remembered none of their shared past. Only Luo Qingyi carried those memories now.

Would the other party refuse? Would they… be unwilling to be bound to her?

She removed the gauze, the wound where her heart had bled had healed somewhat, but the skin there was slightly paler than the surrounding area, as if…

As if it had regrown countless times before.

Luo Qingyi carefully stored away the mist formed by the spiritual energy, donned her outer robe once more, and transformed back into the ethereal, aloof, and transcendent Immortal Luo.

The remnants of the past lingered in her daily life, her dreams, even etched into the depths of her distant gaze. Memories clung like an incurable affliction, impossible to shake off.

“Are you leaving now?” the head of the medical sect asked.

“Yes,” Luo Qingyi nodded, walking out with the other. As they passed through the corridor, a group of young women in light green robes embroidered with bamboo patterns were heading toward the acupuncture hall. Upon seeing the head of the Xinglin Sect, each bowed their heads in greeting.

Standing beside the medical sect leader, Luo Qingyi paid no mind to the affairs of their sect. Yet, in the brief moment her gaze swept over them, one figure stood out as strikingly familiar.

Eighteen years ago, in the Miao village, while she was recuperating in Wu Ruo’s home, there had been a figure who constantly pestered her and Wu Ruo, chattering endlessly, calling her…

“Immortal Sister,” and also… “Shiniang.”

Her memory blurred back to over a decade ago lively, cheerful girls swirling around her and Wu Ruo. Chuncao, clutching a large bundle of wildflowers picked from who-knows-where, had wrapped them beautifully in a scarf and presented them to her with glee: “Shiniang! You and Teacher must stay happy together!”

Pushing further into the vast and aged memories, Wu Ruo had received a desperate plea for help from the Miao borderlands in crisis. But Luo Qingyi, weakened by a decline in her cultivation, had been powerless to act, confined by the sect leader within the Hall of Serenityd oors and windows sealed, cut off from the world.

Without her identity token, Wu Ruo couldn’t leave either.

Later, she finally shattered the hall with a single sword strike and left the immortal sect silently with Wu Ruo, but it was already too late. All she could do was stand despondently amid the ruins of the Miao borderlands, staring blankly at the devastation, the corpses strewn across the land, and the broken hair ribbon of a young girl.

The overwhelming sight of charred blackness still burned before her eyes. Luo Qingyi’s eyes widened in disbelief, and she whipped her head around but she had already passed the group of medical sect girls.

All she saw were their dark hair, varying in length, and the faint bamboo patterns on the backs of their robes.

“These disciples…” Her words came quickly, a rare urgency in her tone. “How long have they been here?”

The Xinglin Sect leader pondered briefly. “Five to ten years. There’s one particularly diligent girl who arrived eight years ago. Her foundation wasn’t great, and her previous cultivation methods were unorthodox, but she’s hardworking and diligent even surpassing some who’ve trained since childhood.”

“What is her name now?”

“She took Elder Du’s surname, Du Chuncao.”

Luo Qingyi didn’t know what emotions she carried as she left the Xinglin Sect. One weight had lifted from her heart, only for another to loom over a cliff’s edge and at the bottom of that cliff stood Wu Ruo.

Chuncao wasn’t dead. The flame of the Miao people hadn’t been extinguished. But when the village was in peril, Chuncao had repeatedly pleaded for the Saintess’s aid, only for each plea to vanish without a trace hope turning to prayer, then to despair, until nothing remained but scorched earth and devastation.

That girl must have seen her.

Yet the other merely cast a silent glance into the distance before blending back into her new sect and walking away, as distant as a revered master and an ordinary stranger who had never met.

If it had been the Spring Grass of old, if none of those misfortunes had occurred, the young girl would likely have rushed over joyfully, calling out “Shiniang,” and reunited with her.

With a heavy heart, she returned to Snowfall Peak. Two celestial deer were grooming each other in the warm shed. The snow fell heavily, covering footprints almost as soon as they touched the ground. The faint glow of Moonview Hall at the peak was barely visible through the flurries Wuruo was still inside, not yet departed.

Crunch.

Luo Qingyi pushed open the door and noticed the candlelight still flickering in the hall. Perhaps due to her aversion to cold, Wu Ruo disliked using luminous pearls for illumination. Instead, she always held a candle lamp, savoring the dance of flames upon its stand.

“Ah Ruo?”

Wu Ruo was nowhere to be seen in the hall. After searching the house for a long time, Luo Qingyi eventually followed the light to the side chamber, the library.

A candle lamp hung quietly from a hook. The young woman lay sprawled across the desk, her glossy black hair loosely draped over the paper, her head resting on her arm as she had already drifted into slumber.

“Ah Ruo,” she called softly once more.

The other did not stir, her posture unchanged, her breathing steady and peaceful in sleep.

Luo Qingyi decided not to disturb her further. Treading lightly, she stepped closer, gently cradling Wu Ruo’s head against her shoulder before slowly gathering her into her arms.

Still so light as if with the slightest carelessness, she might drift away with the wind.

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