My Archenemy Is Soft and Delicate - Chapter 4

The Illusory Realm of Clear Radiance opens once every nine years, and each time, it remains accessible for only nine days. Today marked the very last day of its opening.

At the entrance of the realm, the air buzzed with noise and activity. Disciples from various sects were returning one after another, their sect leaders busy counting heads.

After finishing the headcount, Yao Xi frowned and walked toward the most open space near the entrance.

The surrounding cultivators had deliberately avoided that patch of grass. Even those flying overhead gave it a wide berth, choosing to circle around rather than pass directly above.

“Master, we’re missing one person,” Yao Xi said quietly as she approached the blue-robed woman standing nearby. “Senior Sister Chunyu has not yet returned.”

“Yang Chunyu?”

Jiang Fuling, Sect Master of the Qingxiao Sword Sect, was once known across the continent as a peerless beauty. Later, when her face was scarred, she chose to withdraw from the public eye. Time had treated her kindly, however — the scar that once stretched across half her face had faded, and though age had passed, no trace of it marred her appearance.

She stood in her elegant blue robes, eyes calm yet commanding. Glancing first at the slowly closing entrance of the Illusory Realm, she then turned her gaze toward the figure seated in the distance, saying nothing for a long while.

“Then let her come out nine years later,” Jiang Fuling finally said, her tone faint, indifferent.

“Yes, Sect Master.” Yao Xi bowed her head. After turning to leave, she hesitated, then looked back toward the two figures in the grass — one seated, one standing — her eyes flickering with uncertainty.

“Yao Xi, what did the Sect Master say?” Lu Ming asked as she came over.

They had been waiting outside for quite some time, but their master still hadn’t emerged. With the entrance about to close, Lu Ming had urged Yao Xi to speak with the Sect Master, hoping she might persuade the Dao Lord to delay the closure.

“The Sect Master said not to worry. Senior Sister Chunyu may already have come out,” Yao Xi replied, deliberately softening Jiang Fuling’s blunt words.

Jiang Fuling had always been like that — cold, sharp-tongued, never one to sugarcoat. It was as if life and death meant little to her.

But as Jiang Fuling’s personal disciple, the Qingxiao Sect’s senior-most sister and its future successor, Yao Xi had learned to weigh her words carefully, speaking with tact and grace where her master would not.

“But,” Lu Ming’s brows knitted, anxiety showing in her eyes as she looked toward the closing gate of the realm.

Just then, a streak of blue light flashed across the sky. Yang Chunyu descended gracefully to the ground. Lu Ming instinctively started forward but, upon seeing the figure behind Yang Chunyu, faltered — and silently stepped aside.

“Senior Sister Chunyu,” Yao Xi greeted, quickly approaching. Her gaze shifted to the woman in blue robes standing just behind thesenior, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “And this is?”

“My new disciple,” Yang Chunyu replied calmly.

“Greetings, Senior Sister,” Dou Yingjun said politely, fingers toying with the jade bracelet on her wrist.

The magical artifact Yang Chunyu had given her concealed her true face and form. At the moment, she looked utterly ordinary — the kind of face that would vanish in a crowd, plain enough to escape notice.

As the entrance to the Illusory Realm slowly closed, a gentle white light rippled across it before the portal vanished entirely. The surrounding noise swelled even louder.

The rogue cultivators were the first to disperse, while the sect leaders of the major factions led their disciples and heirs forward to pay respects to Dao Lord Qinghui.

Dao Lord Qinghui was the only known surviving cultivator from the ancient era. Her age was a mystery, but her power was said to be unfathomable. Dou Yingjun had only heard that she was reclusive and aloof, rarely seen by outsiders, and spent most of her time within the rear mountains of the Qingxiao Sword Sect.

She was the Dao Lord of the Qingxiao Sword Sect, and the only time other sects could catch a glimpse of her was at the closing of the Illusory Realm every nine years.

Dao Lord Qinghui wore simple azure robes. Her long, silken hair was loosely bound, the rest cascading softly over her shoulders. Judging by appearance alone, she didn’t look like a formidable cultivator at all — her youthful face seemed no older than fifteen or sixteen.

She conversed kindly with a group of white-haired sect masters, her faint smile serene and gentle.

Something stirred in Dou Yingjun’s chest. She leaned slightly out of line, her eyes fixed on the Dao Lord.

It had been a long time since she last saw her.

Jiang Fuling stood behind Dao Lord Qinghui, listening as Yao Xi whispered something into her ear. Her expression hardened, and after a moment, she stepped toward the Sect Master of Yunxu Sect.

Yunxu Sect was a relatively new power — “new” only in comparison, for it had existed for over a century. Its mountain territory bordered that of the Qingxiao Sect. Back when Dou Yingjun was still around, she had often visited Yunxu Sect’s grounds.

The sect’s leader, Master Yun Xuzi, was an old man with white beard and hair, his back slightly bent but his spirit sharp.

“Sect Master Jiang, pardon the intrusion,” Yun Xuzi greeted with a genial smile.

“Does the Sect Master have business with Dao Lord Qinghui?” Jiang Fuling asked directly.

“Indeed, it is an important matter, and I would not dare disturb the Dao Lord otherwise.” Though Yun Xuzi’s expression remained composed, Dou Yingjun noticed the tension in his clenched jaw.

“It’s like this,” Yun Xuzi began, “Recently, a dense mist has suddenly appeared within the southwestern territory under our jurisdiction. At first, it seemed like ordinary fog, but after a day or two, it neither dispersed nor lightened — in fact, it appears to be spreading. We sent several elders and disciples to investigate, but all of them have gone missing. We fear a calamity may be brewing, and thus, we’ve come to seek the Dao Lord’s guidance.”

“When did this happen? And where exactly?” Jiang Fuling asked.

“The fog appeared seven days ago, near Taoyuan Village, in the southwest region.”

“Why was this not reported sooner?”

“It just so happens to coincide with the day the illusion realm opens. For the Qingxiao Sword Sect, that’s an event of the highest importance. Naturally, we wouldn’t dare intrude.”

The Sect Master of Yunxu Sect spoke politely, but his tone carried hidden meaning.

The illusion realm was rich in spirit beasts and medicinal treasures. Every time the Qingxiao Sword Sect entered, they came back laden with spoils. Among them was a rare flame source used for sword forging—monopolized entirely by the Qingxiao Sword Sect. No other sect was permitted to touch it. Many had long harbored resentment, but since Dao Lord Qinghui—the matriarch of the Qingxiao Sword Sect —was the one who presided over the realm, few dared voice their discontent aloud. Still, sharp-tongued jabs were never lacking behind their smiles.

“Yao Xi,” commanded Jiang Fuling, “you’ll go with Senior Chunyu to investigate. Find the source of the mist and rescue the civilians and cultivators trapped inside.”

“Yes, Sect Master.”

Dou Yingjun had been staring blankly while standing in formation. When she saw Yao Xi exchange a few words with Yang Chunyu, the latter suddenly turned and glanced back at her.

That look clearly meant—you’re coming too.

Dou Yingjun immediately stepped forward. Just as Yao Xi was about to continue her instructions, Yang Chunyu interrupted evenly, “I’ll take her with me this time.”

Yao Xi looked slightly puzzled but didn’t press for an explanation.

“The fog appeared near Taoyuan Village. Everyone who entered—whether by accident or in rescue attempts—has lost all contact with the outside.”

She added, “This time, Senior Chunyu, I hope you can work together with Yunxu Sect to identify the cause of the mist and rescue the people trapped within.”

Taoyuan Village?

Dou Yingjun instantly sensed danger. It sounded like Yang Chunyu intended to drag her into another risky expedition.

“Can I not go?” Dou Yingjun tried to reason.

“No,” Yang Chunyu said curtly. Then, after murmuring a few words to Lu Ming and nodding at Yao Xi, she gestured, “Lead the way.”

Yao Xi extended an arm politely. “Please.”

Dou Yingjun didn’t want to move, but Yang Chunyu caught her wrist and tugged her along. She stumbled forward, face full of misery.

The Yunxu Sect cultivators were already waiting. After a few perfunctory greetings, the group prepared to ride their swords toward the mist.

Dou Yingjun tried several times to shake free of Yang Chunyu’s grip, but the other woman’s hold was unyielding. Out of mischief, she curled her fingers and deliberately traced her fingertip along Yang Chunyu’s palm.

It worked. Yang Chunyu jolted as though shocked by lightning and instantly withdrew her hand. Her cold, dark eyes turned on Dou Yingjun in warning.

But Dou Yingjun wasn’t the least bit afraid. There were plenty of Yunxu Sect cultivators traveling with them—Yang Chunyu wouldn’t dare do anything rash in public.

Besides, she wasn’t the one being unreasonable here. She didn’t want to go, but Yang Chunyu insisted on dragging her along. In that case, Dou Yingjun might as well make things a little difficult for her.

Since she could no longer summon her spiritual sense, she had no choice but to travel with Yang Chunyu.

The sword Cunqing was long and slender. Standing behind Yang Chunyu, Dou Yingjun found that most of the wind was blocked by the senior’s figure. Yang Chunyu’s long hair streamed wildly behind her, constantly slapping Dou Yingjun in the face.

Annoyed, Dou Yingjun gathered up the stray locks by hand—but there was nothing to tie them with. Her eyes brightened as she thought, Why not just tuck it into her collar? That’ll keep it in place.

Genius, she praised herself.

She had barely touched Yang Chunyu’s collar when the senior’s neck moved slightly, as if she was about to glance back.

“Senior, your hair’s driving me crazy—it keeps blowing in my face!” Dou Yingjun shouted over the wind.

Yang Chunyu could, of course, have erected a barrier to block the wind, but she hadn’t. If she wanted to let her hair whip around, fine—but Dou Yingjun wasn’t about to be polite either. She fully intended to stuff it all down her collar.

In the next instant, a transparent barrier bloomed around them, cutting off the wind. The air fell still, and the whistling in their ears ceased completely.

Dou Yingjun released the captured strands and leaned forward to wrap her arms lightly around Yang Chunyu’s waist.

“Senior Sister treats me the best,” she murmured teasingly against her ear, breath warm as spring air.

Yang Chunyu flinched instinctively, but before she could react, Dou Yingjun’s little finger hooked onto the jade pendant hanging at her waist, swaying it back and forth in deliberate provocation.

Standing so close behind her, Dou Yingjun’s breath spilled over the back of Yang Chunyu’s neck. The senior’s body went rigid, and the sword beneath them trembled sharply.

“Senior Sister, what’s wrong?” Dou Yingjun asked, feigning innocence.

Hadn’t she vowed to be gentle and considerate—cooking, caring, and tending to her senior? Now was the perfect chance to demonstrate those skills.

The two of them flew straight into a dense bank of white fog.

Never one to miss a chance to stir trouble, Dou Yingjun pressed closer, rubbing her cheek lightly against Yang Chunyu’s ear. Her arms loosely circled the other’s waist in what was nearly an embrace.

“Senior Sister, why are you ignoring me?”

Yang Chunyu caught Dou Yingjun’s mischievous hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Dou Yingjun immediately cried out in exaggerated pain, forcing her to let go.

Of course, it hadn’t hurt at all—but at the sound of her pained gasp, Yang Chunyu released her instinctively, startled.

Did I actually squeeze too hard? she wondered.

Then came a quiet, bubbling laugh from behind her.

If they hadn’t been balancing on a flying sword, Dou Yingjun would probably have rolled on the ground from laughter.

She was astonished by the sound she’d just made—never in her life had she imagined such a pitiful whimper could come out of her mouth. She tried to suppress her giggles, but her shoulders trembled, and the laughter spilled through anyway.

Cunqing faltered midair.

In the next instant, the world dropped out from under her feet—Dou Yingjun’s stomach lurched, and she plummeted straight down.