After My Death, the Immortal Venerable Became a Demon for My Sake - Chapter 4

“I trust you.”

The words, clear and cold as a mountain spring, flowed into Song Wangxiao’s ears. She froze, her gaze snapping back to the woman as her fingers curled in a sudden, involuntary tremor.

Trust? Wangxiao remembered two days ago when Jiang Cishuang first woke up—her killing intent had been so sharp it felt like a blade at the throat.

Wangxiao looked up, but the woman had already averted her eyes, scanning the ruined temple as if her words had been nothing more than idle chatter.

The speaker may have been casual, but the listener was shaken.

Wangxiao suppressed the chaotic emotions swirling in her chest and stood up to explain their situation. “I’ve checked this place; it’s abandoned. I changed our direction while we were moving, so the people chasing… us shouldn’t find this spot for a while. We should rest here for a few days before moving on.”

Jiang Cishuang looked back, her eyes still clouded with a flicker of confusion.

Seeing that look, and recalling the uncharacteristic softness of her previous words, Wangxiao suddenly felt the woman seemed different than before.

“Are you planning to leave soon?” Wangxiao asked tentatively.

Jiang Cishuang thought of the invitation sent by the Guanqi Sect. She was supposed to attend a summit of the great sects, but how had the Demon Race known her route and set an ambush?

She shook her head slowly. “I do not know.”

Wangxiao’s brow furrowed. A thought struck her: Is she suffering from amnesia?

“It’s alright,” Wangxiao said gently. “Your injuries are still severe. Focus on healing before worrying about the rest.”

She began pulling blankets and clothes from her storage ring. The “original” Wangxiao had spent ten years inside the Xiyi Sect and only owned their standard uniforms, but she had been smart enough to realize that wearing sect robes while on the run was a death sentence. During a previous scouting trip, she had prepared several sets of civilian clothes.

Wangxiao compared a few outfits and selected a simple set of ash-grey and white robes, laying them out on the makeshift bed.

“The clothes you’re wearing are blood-soaked and ruined. You can’t wear them anymore. Take these—they’re new.”

Jiang Cishuang looked at the clothes. They were plain, with only a simple pattern embroidered at the cuffs, fitting Wangxiao’s current perception of her as a “fallen” beauty.

Sensing that the woman might want privacy to change, Wangxiao stood and brushed the dust off her hands. “You go ahead and change. I’ll go outside to find us some food. I heard some movement in the woods when we arrived; there should be plenty of game nearby.”

Jiang Cishuang turned her gaze toward her. The girl standing before her had eyes overflowing with a bright, steady light. Jiang Cishuang’s fingers twitched at her side before she looked down, hiding her expression as she gave a slight nod. She listened to Wangxiao’s receding footsteps, then stared at the new clothes with an inscrutable depth in her eyes.

…

Wangxiao remembered hearing wild chickens in the forest. The prospect of actual meat made her stomach growl with excitement.

In her past life in the concrete jungle, hunting a chicken would have been impossible. But now, with spiritual energy as an assist, using a few basic spells to snag some game was a breeze.

She found a small stream nearby to gather water. On her way back, she noticed some wild fruit hanging from a tree. She picked a few but hesitated, worried they might be poisonous. After a moment of deliberation, her gaze fell upon the wild chicken she had tied up.

When Jiang Cishuang finally emerged from the temple, having burned her old, bloody robes with a flick of her fingers. She saw Wangxiao holding the chicken by its neck, shoving its beak toward a green fruit.

Jiang Cishuang watched the scene. “What are you doing?”

Wangxiao, who was currently wrestling with the bird, snapped her head around. For a moment, her breath caught.

The woman had shed her tattered, blood-stained white robes for the simple civilian dress. The “battle-damaged” look was gone. The plain, unadorned fabric only served to highlight her cold, peerless beauty. With her long lashes fluttering slightly, she looked like a sickly, ethereal immortal who had never touched the grime of the mortal world.

Wangxiao quickly looked down at the woman’s waist. Seeing no fresh blood seeping through the fabric, she let out a sigh of relief.

“I picked some fruit, but I wasn’t sure if they were poisonous. I’m letting the chicken be my food taster. Animals are better at sensing poison than we are, right?” She smiled, gesturing to the bird, which was now enthusiastically pecking at the green fruit.

“Well, confirmed. These are safe to eat.”

She looked up at Jiang Cishuang and saw the woman’s usually stagnant, icy eyes curve slightly. It was like a winter flower blooming in the middle of a wasteland—a sudden burst of life that made the very air feel fresh. But as quickly as it appeared, the expression vanished, returning to its usual indifference.

Yet, in that fleeting second, the image was seared into Wangxiao’s heart. In the years to come, whenever she remembered this moment, her pulse would race uncontrollably.

So she can laugh, Wangxiao thought. She really must have amnesia.

Unaware of Wangxiao’s inner monologue, Jiang Cishuang retreated to a corner of the temple. she sat cross-legged and began to circulate her cultivation, suppressing the jagged energy inside her.

Wangxiao watched as the spiritual mist around the woman thickened, swirling slowly in the air before being drawn back into her body. A solemn, heavy atmosphere settled around her.

Not wanting to disturb her, Wangxiao took her food and water and stepped away to prepare a meal.

****

Night fell, bringing a biting chill. Wangxiao returned to the temple with the roasted game and fruit, finding Jiang Cishuang still in the same meditative trance.

The temple was riddled with holes, and the freezing wind whistled through the gaps, stealing whatever warmth remained.

Wangxiao watched her, seeing no signs of her waking up. After a moment’s thought, she dragged her quilt over. She draped half of it over the woman’s shoulders and prepared to curl up under the other half beside her.

It’s not my fault, Wangxiao reasoned. The “original” me only owned one blanket.

But just as she reached out to tuck the corner of the quilt around the woman, the air around Jiang Cishuang suddenly accelerated into a violent frenzy. A sharp wind, like invisible knives, began to lash at their clothes and faces.

Wangxiao’s heart sank. Something’s wrong. Forgetting the cold, she leaned in to check on her.

To stay safe, she had extinguished the campfire earlier. Now, only the pale moonlight filtering through the broken windows illuminated the corner. As Wangxiao leaned closer, she saw the woman’s brow knit in a painful scowl. She was shivering, trapped in a nightmare. The energy that should have been internal was hemorrhaging out, forming a small vortex in the air.

Wangxiao frowned, quickly gathering wood to restart the fire. Once the vortex settled, she kept the flame high by the woman’s side, heating water and feeding it to her drop by drop. Only when Jiang Cishuang’s expression finally smoothed out did Wangxiao relax, sitting on the dirt floor by the fire until she eventually drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Shadows shifted as the moon climbed. In the depths of her meditation, Jiang Cishuang slowly opened her eyes. They were dark and ominous.

She formed a series of hand seals, her body glowing with a soft, pulsating light. After a long silence, the light died down, leaving her eyes even deeper than before.

While she was healing, a strange aura, one that didn’t belong to her own cultivation had quietly slipped into her dantian and vanished. Even after searching her entire system, she could find no trace of it.

She knew that aura well. She had suppressed it for nearly a century, so thoroughly that even her peer, Xue Huaixiu, hadn’t detected it. Why had it suddenly broken its chains? Was it the severity of her injuries… or was it Song Wangxiao?

Her eyes narrowed. She moved to stand, but felt something slide off her shoulder. She caught it, the weight of a soft quilt.

Nearby, by the embers of the fire, Song Wangxiao was curled up on the hard ground, a mere silhouette in the darkness.

Jiang Cishuang remembered her purpose. She summoned the Fuming Sword. The razor-sharp tip caught the moonlight as it hovered over Wangxiao’s delicate, sleeping throat. Her eyes were as cold as a void.

A gust of wind rattled the temple. Wangxiao shivered in her sleep, rolling over and rubbing her arms for warmth.

The wind caught Jiang Cishuang’s hair, sending it dancing like dark silk in the shadows. She looked at the sword, then at the quilt on the floor, a flicker of something complex and unidentifiable passing through her gaze.

She retracted the sword and walked out of the temple into the night.

****

When Wangxiao woke up, the sight of the dilapidated rafters left her feeling dazed. For a moment, she wondered what would become of her in this strange, unfamiliar world.

The Xiyi Sect shouldn’t be able to find her now. If she could just survive until after the Great War, she could settle down. But her knowledge of the original plot was so sparse. She had no idea how this world would truly evolve.

But the priority was still avoiding capture. She moved to sit up, only to realize she was covered by the soft quilt.

Wait… didn’t I put this on her?

She looked toward the corner where the woman had been meditating. As expected, it was empty. But then she saw it: the campfire was still burning, crackling softly.

So, that sudden warmth she felt in her sleep wasn’t a dream.

Wangxiao scrambled to her feet and hurried out of the temple. Sure enough, she saw Jiang Cishuang sitting cross-legged in the morning light.

Wangxiao stopped, a small, unconscious smile spreading across her face. She turned to leave so she wouldn’t disturb her, but at that moment, Jiang Cishuang opened her eyes.

“You’re awake,” the woman said.

“Yeah. How are you feeling?” Wangxiao asked, remembering the chaotic energy from the night before.

“Suppressed. For now.”

“That’s good.” Wangxiao breathed a sigh of relief. Then, her eyes fell on a pile of prepared game and fruit sitting neatly by the woman’s side. She blinked in surprise.

Jiang Cishuang didn’t look at the food. Her gaze remained fixed on Wangxiao’s confused face. Her voice was as cold as ever, but her intent was clear.

“Eat something first.”

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