Please, Don’t Die - Chapter 41

Ying Qujie spoke slowly, “Why is the Imperial Preceptor so certain that after my death, you and Prince Liang will be able to escape this illusion?”

“What if the choice then is between yourself and His Highness?”

Upon hearing this, Yan Xingyi froze, stiffly sitting in place.

Prince Liang stared blankly at Ying Qujie, his eyes filled with accusation toward He Qingsheng, why was it that even though he was also a child, he could interrupt?

Of course, no one paid attention to this unlucky child.

Their focus was entirely on Yan Xingyi, whose face turned pale, then red, then pale again.

“Imperial Preceptor, with so many schemes up your sleeve, surely not all of them are empty?” He Qingsheng sneered. “Or are you still trying to claim that this illusion deceived you? And you just fell for it without any suspicion?”

Yan Xingyi silently swallowed back his excuses, stiffening his neck and refusing to speak, his expression and posture exuding an air of “too many lice to itch, too many debts to worry.”

Was he really using her made-up reason as an excuse? He Qingsheng raised an eyebrow and stopped beating around the bush. “Jimo Town isn’t large. Surely you’ve seen Lady Ling Yu by now.”

“Who is Lady Ling Yu? I don’t know her.”

“You don’t? Well, that’s fine.” He Qingsheng gave Yan Xingyi a deep look. “This illusion isn’t of a high level, it’s constructed from your memories, Physician Ying’s, and Prince Liang’s.”

“Nineteen years ago, Physician Ying had just been born. He was too young to have met Lady Ling Yu, and Prince Liang was even younger, so there’s no need to elaborate.”

“But what about you, Yan Xingyi? Did you really come to Great Su Dynasty just eight years ago?”

Yan Xingyi’s face twisted in shock, and he immediately retorted, as if afraid of being a second too late: “I don’t know why I came to Great Su Dynasty eight years ago either, but the Imperial Preceptor’s records of anomalies and Great Su Dynasty’s population archives both have entries, verified by the former Grand Preceptor and the Emperor’s personal seal. The Western-style suit I wore when I arrived is still stored in the palace. If you don’t believe me, you can-”

Yan Xingyi’s voice trailed off as he awkwardly rubbed his nose. Given his actions, He Qingsheng and Ying Qujie might not necessarily survive to verify his claims.

But by heaven’s will, Yan Xingyi was practically ready to swear an oath: “We come from the same world. Why would I lie to you?”

“Exactly, we come from the same world, precious fellow countrymen. So why would you lie to me?” He Qingsheng nodded earnestly, as if in full agreement. Just as Yan Xingyi was about to echo her, her tone suddenly shifted: “Unless there’s a bond more important than our shared homeland.”

“In the capital, someone with the power to create this illusion, ensure your and Prince Liang’s safety, and share a deep bond with you.” Her voice carried a hint of amusement. “Let me guess, could it be the former Grand Preceptor of Great Su Dynasty? Or perhaps your revered master, to whom you owe a great debt?”

He Qingsheng deliberately emphasized the words “revered master.” Yan Xingyi’s pupils constricted, and any attempt to dissemble was now too late.

In an instant, He Qingsheng’s aura surged violently as she struck at an empty space, but her opponent reacted just as swiftly.

Within the blink of an eye, the two exchanged dozens of blows, their movements like lightning, the wind howling and the heavens darkening.

A mournful hum echoed from the distant mountains as the entire illusion began to crumble. The sky tore like fragile paper, shredded and crumpled, its edges lifting.

A storm of dark red blood and gale-force winds roared through, as if intent on dragging all existence into an endless hell.

He Qingsheng arched backward to evade the sweeping sword, using a deft twist to redirect her momentum and immediately put distance between herself and her foe.

The killing aura between them erupted, splitting into countless tendrils that clawed through the air, weaving a net to ensnare the other.

“No!” Yan Xingyi’s shout was torn apart by the howling wind.

The overwhelming tide of malice was unstoppable.

Yet in the next instant, the blue-robed figure flickered and vanished from the inescapable trap He Qingsheng had woven.

Drawing on fifty years of hard-earned combat experience, He Qingsheng twisted aside without hesitation. A heartbeat later, the sharp whistle of a blade sliced through the air, had she delayed even a second, that silver-white sword would have pierced the nape of her spirit form.

But the deadliest strike always leaves the greatest opening. Now! With thunderous force, He Qingsheng shattered the encirclement, her killing aura coiling like chains around the blue-robed figure.

The silver sword slipped from its wielder’s grip, clattered to the ground, and dissolved into nothingness.

Only then did He Qingsheng get a clear look at the silver-haired woman before her. Her features were serene, her delicate face youthful yet radiating profound benevolence.

A cultivator, without a doubt.

For a spirit to linger after death, even maintaining such an elaborate illusion, she must have reached at least the Mahayana realm in life.

Mortal cultivators tread a thorny path. Few attain Mahayana without the accumulated merit of multiple lifetimes.

As the former imperial preceptor of a dynasty, this woman could have easily sought reincarnation, continued her cultivation in the underworld, or even taken an official post there.

Why then had she remained in the mortal realm, her soul now on the verge of dissipation?

He Qingsheng noted the woman’s spirit was already perilously weak, not from external wounds, but from inner decay. Her pupils had dilated, a telltale sign of fading consciousness.

Even without their accidental intrusion into this illusion, the space would have crumbled along with her within a year or two.

It was only by wrapping spiritual energy around the killing aura that He Qingsheng had slowed the erosion.

“Don’t, don’t hurt her!” Yan Xingyi pleaded desperately, shaking his head at He Qingsheng with imploring eyes.

Retreating into her wooden puppet form, He Qingsheng brought the woman down beside them.

The woman remained silent, moving only when pulled like a marionette, her expression blank.

But He Qingsheng knew the killing intent still simmered beneath the surface, releasing the restraints would only reignite their deadly dance.

The world was collapsing. Wails rose from the foot of the mountain, yet the ancient tree where they stood remained an island of eerie calm.

Yan Xingyi called out “Shifu” in distress, but the woman showed no recognition. Frantic, he turned to He Qingsheng.

She shrugged. “Are you going to tell us what you know now?”

Yan Xingyi’s lips trembled before he finally spoke, recounting the past of the former imperial preceptor.

Wei Chunfeng, the Great Su Dynasty’s former preceptor, a woman whose life was equal parts legend and tragedy.

None knew her origins. The world only remembered that at the end of the Jianzhen era, a blue-robed figure descended like a breeze into the mortal realm. Reading the stars, commanding storms, divining paths, she aided the founding emperor in carving a kingdom from the chaos of warlords, bringing stability to the land.

When the new dynasty rose, this ethereal woman showed little interest in worldly power. After being named imperial preceptor, she appeared in public only thrice, each time during the quinquennial Heaven Worship ceremony.

Her final appearance came at the consecration of the Celestial Revelation Pagoda.

Before the assembled crowd, Wei Chunfeng declared Yan Xingyi her successor, then vanished without a trace.

“Before Master disappeared, she instructed me to guard the Tianqi Tower at all costs. I thought the thousands of books stored within the tower were clues left by her, but after years of combing through countless volumes, with still tens of thousands remaining, I found nothing.”

“Until a year ago, when Prince Liang brought me the case files on the missing children. Upholding Master’s legacy to protect the people, I naturally couldn’t refuse matters involving supernatural arts. After many twists and turns, we recently used the Shang Lehe case as a breakthrough, leading His Highness and me to Tianxiang Tower.”

“Then, we unexpectedly entered this illusion. Everything that happened afterward, our information has been largely the same.”

He Qingsheng’s expression was clearly skeptical.

Yan Xingyi looked sorrowful. “His Highness, Physician Ying, and I have lived here for three years. Madame Ling Yu sets up a stall on the street every day. The moment I saw her, I began to suspect Master’s connection to this illusion.”

Yan Xingyi had never met Ling Yu, but Wei Chunfeng was an old acquaintance of hers.

One late night, after Yan Xingyi had been out carousing and climbed over the wall back into the Imperial Preceptor’s residence, he happened upon Wei Chunfeng mourning a departed friend.

One cup of clear wine was poured onto the ground, while another was sipped delicately from the lips.

It was the first time Yan Xingyi had seen his ethereal, immortal-like master display such sorrowful emotion.

Assuming it was some poignant love story, he crept closer, only to see an exquisite painting hanging in the pavilion, depicting a woman of transcendent beauty, so striking that one glance rendered all worldly cares forgotten.

A woman with such looks would never lack attention.

He easily learned that the woman in Wei Chunfeng’s painting was none other than the late wife of General Ying, Madame Ling Yu.

Recognizing her wasn’t difficult.

“Just before you and Physician Ying arrived, I saw Master.”

To be precise, it was the lingering remnant of Wei Chunfeng’s soul.

At the time, Yan Xingyi was studying how to reinforce the barrier so he could hide in the corner a little longer.

When a blue robe suddenly appeared beside him, he leapt up and scrambled three zhang away.

Upon recognizing the figure before him, Yan Xingyi nearly threw himself at their feet in embrace.

But his hands passed right through Wei Chunfeng’s form, grasping only air.

The implication was clear. Without explaining her death, Wei Chunfeng merely smiled at Yan Xingyi.

She succinctly told him that every choice made in the illusion over those three years had been a test for him.

“Between two choices, something must always be lost.” Those were Wei Chunfeng’s exact words.

Wei Chunfeng hailed from the mystic sects, raised on the teachings of sages and cultivating the path of compassion for all living beings. Later, moved by the suffering of the world, she stepped forth resolutely in times of chaos.

Every deed she undertook meant that if sacrificing one could save many, Wei Chunfeng would unhesitatingly choose this path, even if it defied human nature.

He Qingsheng recalled the golden light that lingered around Wei Chunfeng, enduring without fading.

A lifetime of accumulated virtue.

This was called great merit.

Wei Chunfeng told Yan Xingyi that regarding the missing children case, she had only uncovered the “life-exchange” stage.

Then, overpowered by the mastermind behind it, she nearly had her soul scattered.

In her final moments, unwilling to reincarnate, she used her intense will and lifelong cultivation to construct the illusion within the Tianqi Tower’s underground chamber. She herself became the formation, trapping all mortals or cultivators who came seeking the truth of the “life-exchange.”

In the dynasty rebuilt after the war, the first to access “life-exchange” were the royal family, nobles, and high-ranking officials.

Wei Chunfeng no longer had the strength to discern whether their intentions were pure or if there were hidden circumstances behind their actions.

The last thing she could do for this world was to sever all sources of information at their roots, regardless of whether they were good or evil.

Dai Xianyun, through a twist of fate, became her “ghostly accomplice,” roaming the world on her behalf.

This approach was indeed as simple as it was brutal.

Yet, He Qingsheng couldn’t help but marvel, Wei Chunfeng had truly chosen the most efficient course of action.

If the forbidden art of fate-swapping spread widely among mortals, how many innocent children would meet untimely deaths? Within a few years, the underworld envoys would likely be run ragged.

Wei Chunfeng had told Yan Xingyi that the illusion wouldn’t last much longer. Now that Yan Xingyi had passed her test, choosing the greater good over the lesser, a philosophy of minimizing losses and maximizing gains, she could send him safely out of the illusion.

But given his abilities, he wouldn’t uncover the truth about the “fate-swapping” on his own. Once out, he should keep to himself and stay out of the matter.

As mortals, Prince Liang and Ying Qujie should both have vanished here.

Wei Chunfeng’s lingering spirit could no longer distinguish complex rights and wrongs. Yan Xingyi argued his case and only managed to persuade her to release Prince Liang.

The sinister force tied to Ying Qujie was deeply entangled with him. Though Wei Chunfeng’s remaining judgment was limited, she understood that only Ying Qujie could restrain He Qingsheng.

So, no matter how Yan Xingyi pleaded, she refused to let Ying Qujie go.

Coincidentally, Ying Qujie arrived with He Qingsheng in tow, and Wei Chunfeng’s form dissipated instantly.

Left with no choice, Yan Xingyi made his decision and began plotting how to separate Ying Qujie from the situation.

Yan Xingyi’s account aligned closely with the evidence He Qingsheng had uncovered through soul-searching.

He no longer concealed anything.

He Qingsheng asked, “Did your master follow the Path of All Living Beings?”

Yan Xingyi paused, then nodded in confirmation.

The Path of All Living Beings, also known as the Path of Detachment.

The Great Dao is without sentiment; all beings are equal in its eyes. The cycles of life, death, joy, and sorrow in the mortal world are objective truths, each with its own cause and effect, neither mourned nor celebrated.

To burn one’s soul after death, using the last remnants of power to forge a barrier for all living beings.

Wei Chunfeng’s willingness to save others was something He Qingsheng could fully comprehend.

But there was one inconsistency: the Path of Detachment would never stand aloof, dividing people into halves and leaving their lives to others’ choices.

Nor would Wei Chunfeng truly have released Yan Xingyi and Prince Liang from the illusion.

He Qingsheng gazed at the faint golden light flickering within Wei Chunfeng’s serene expression.

A soul so radiant even Heaven couldn’t bear to see it fade, now reduced to a wisp of lingering spirit, thinner and more fragile than her own resentment-forged ghost. How much of her will be remained?

“Do you really believe it was your master who spoke those words to you?” He Qingsheng signaled Ying Qujie to release Yan Xingyi’s pressure points.

“What do you mean?” Yan Xingyi’s tense body suddenly slackened, his face clouded with confusion.

The choices forced upon him in the illusion had been life-or-death, his or another’s.

An illusion of free will, yet steeped in arrogance.

It didn’t resemble the Path of Detachment. More like the ways of demons and heretics.

“If I were Wei Chunfeng, this illusion would have no exit. Even if she set trials for cultivators, the final outcome would still be death.”

“Right. My master wouldn’t do such things. Once she resolved herself, she would never waver, even at the cost of her life.” Yan Xingyi suddenly understood, murmuring, “How could she have softened just because I’m her disciple and tried to let me go?”

As Yan Xingyi’s words fell, the collapsing sky curtain crashed down before their eyes, smashing into a massive crater with a thunderous impact. An eerie, inexplicable light flickered dimly from within.

In the lull between aftershocks, the silver-white longsword that had vanished earlier reappeared without warning, thrusting toward Ying Qujie with lightning speed.

In that split second, He Qingsheng moved like a gust of wind, intercepting the sword mid-air and slicing it in half.

Refracting the twilight glow of the fallen sky, the scattered crimson shards of the shattered sword gleamed brilliantly, shimmering like falling stars.

This strike seemed to have poured Wei Chunfeng’s last remaining strength, it not only cleaved half of the small wooden puppet’s body but also severed half of He Qingsheng’s arm in one sweep.

The malevolent energy instantly spiraled out of control, gnawing at the remnants of the blue-clad soul.

Wei Chunfeng’s figure flickered, and within a single breath, his lower half had already dissolved into nothingness.

“What in the world is happening?” Yan Xingyi’s voice was sharp to the extreme, desperate for He Qingsheng to provide answers.