The Aloof Master Relies on This Cat's Kisses to Survive - Chapter 43

The West Lake Deceptive Nightmare (End)

“I just feel that you deserve to die.”

Yes, it was this sentence—this sentence spoken without a ripple, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

Grandmaster Jiwu was the light of the righteous path, the one who brandished her sword to slay her arch-nemesis Ming Xi, forcing the Spirit Mountain God-Lord to submissively meet her end. Whether it was eight years ago, or now.

The illusory realm began to collapse. This was the bridal chamber Sang Banzui had used to conclude the Underworld Covenant; it had been decorated with some semblance of propriety because the High Priestess loved rituals. Formations, sacrifices, weddings—to her, they were all rituals. Let alone a sacrifice that used a wedding as a pretext and a legal formation as its foundation.

The auspicious candles stood in pairs, lit on every table. Now, shaken by the upheaval of the collapsing illusion, they tipped over one by one, burning wildly. Tongues of fire licked straight up to the roof beams, clutching at anything they could grasp.

The atmosphere grew hot.

How strange—the atmosphere actually grew hot. After those bone-chilling words were spoken, this bridal chamber surged with heat. The large “Double Happiness” paper cutouts on the windows curled and peeled away, falling to the floor to be roasted black and charred, twisting and writhing until they contorted into two words for “Bitterness.”

Two “Bitterness” characters holding hands—how affectionate. I am scorched amidst suffering and a sea of fire, yet I still cannot let go of your hand?

Please, just let go!

Ming Xi still held Jiwu. Her face bore a half-smile as she merely murmured faintly, “Wuwu, touch me once.”

“…Ming Xi.”

“Touch me just one more time. The books say that if you pet a kitten’s head, all your worries will vanish.” Ming Xi crooned softly, lifting her eyes to look at Jiwu. “In the future, continue as you did before—don’t worry about anything, and don’t frown.”

Gazing at Jiwu were pupils of different colors—the heterochromatic eyes that Ming Xi herself liked.

Jiwu’s spirit wavered; she raised her hand and touched Ming Xi’s head.

The little cat gave a soft laugh. “In the future, there might not be a little cat anymore.”

“…You were never a little cat.” Jiwu stepped back.

The illusion continued to crumble. The flow of time outside seemed different from this space; it was already broad daylight. Another auspicious candle shattered, igniting the carpet. The wooden beams began to crack, and sparks splattered into the red curtains.

Heat waves surged, rushing outward along with the collapsing illusion. Several people shouted to stay back, and Jiwu turned her head to look. Without her realizing it, many disciples of the Xuanling Sect and members of the Dongfang Clan had gathered here. They were clearly prepared, holding their personal weapons, appearing not as simple passersby but as people in a state of standby.

Whose orders were they waiting for? What were they planning to do?

Jiwu scanned the crowd and found Sang Banzui standing far away. The High Priestess had changed her clothes; they were more grand than last night, yet still a clash of red and green, covered in flowery branches and bells. She still didn’t look flamboyant at all; instead, she was shrouded in an air of desolation.

Had she activated the formation early? Why so suddenly… the High Priestess should have waited for the day of the full moon, when the lunar phase would best restore Ming Xi’s power. The full moon was not only when the “Tidal Radiance” favored by the flood dragons was at its peak, but also the night when yin energy was heaviest for the half-ghosts.

As a member of the Ghost Race, there was no reason to move the legal formation in broad daylight unless she absolutely had to.

The Xuanling Sect and the Dongfang Clan did not seem wary of the High Priestess. Could they still be treating her as an ally?

“Grandmaster Jiwu!” A white-robed Elder of the Xuanling Sect stepped forward. She had a head of hoary hair and appeared to hold a high position; everyone made way for her with great respect.

“Elder Fan.” Jiwu nodded to her. She recognized this person—it was Immortal Fan of the Xuanling Sect’s Medicine Valley. This lady had faded from the martial world for a long time, and rumors said she was in secluded cultivation at West Lake. It seemed the rumors were true.

Elder Fan came forward to converse with Jiwu. After stripping away the polite pleasantries, what she said was actually very simple: the Xuanling Sect and the Dongfang Clan had come to assist her in slaying the demon.

What demon was here? Xiao Xiyue?

That demon flood dragon was likely in dire straits and didn’t need Jiwu or anyone else to act, given that the High Priestess’s formation had already started. Jiwu was born with extremely high talent for spiritual energy; no flow of spiritual qi could escape her perception. She could point out exactly how many legal formations were here and their orientations.

This was even in her current state of severely damaged cultivation. Jiwu knew that since these people had revealed her identity as the Grandmaster, they naturally knew she was no longer what she once was. To say they were here to help was more like saying they were here to ensure Jiwu still stood on their side.

“I appreciate the trouble,” Jiwu replied casually, neither affirming nor denying, too lazy to entangle with them.

She could not kill Ming Xi a second time. Since the High Priestess had activated the formation, Ming Xi’s cultivation and memories should be restored because of it. The spiritual dwelling of that rebellious beast was not damaged; once this was over, she likely wouldn’t need to cling to Jiwu anymore.

It would be best to part ways here.

Jiwu lowered her eyes, hiding a moment of discomfort.

“Grandmaster, please give us your orders.” Elder Fan glanced back. “Those who have come are all trusted inner-sect elites. We shall ensure that the Spirit Mountain God-Lord never returns.”

“And what about me?” Jiwu suddenly asked.

“…Grandmaster, are you concerned about that soul-binding covenant?” Elder Fan lowered her voice. “You have seen the priestess over there; she has been laying this formation for years, specifically to ensure that when you slay the Dream Beast again, you will not suffer the backlash of the covenant.”

“Oh?” Jiwu was almost moved to laughter.

When the Dream Beast was sealed by Jiwu, not a single one of them could find a way to break the bond. Now that Ming Xi was awake, they claimed to have a way to ensure Jiwu remained unharmed?

“Do you even know what kind of relationship Sang Banzui has with the Dongfang Clan?” Jiwu felt a headache coming on from these fools.

“Her true form is a eucalyptus tree. Eight years ago, we relied on her to be the eye of the formation to surround the Dream Beast, feeding her with the blood of the demon flood dragon.” Elder Fan nodded, her face showing no doubt. “Eucalyptus seeds need fire to sprout. She borrowed the Dream Fire to prolong her life. Now she is half-demon, half-ghost, with no shallow cultivation. She is reliable.”

“Mhm.” Jiwu nodded, not contradicting her.

The High Priestess had prepared a perfect plan for Ming Xi eight years ago—or even earlier, when Ji Fang set out for the Xuanling Sect trials. And now, this group of people was still trusting this individual lurking at the very center of the conspiracy.

Indeed, how could a tree planted on the southern coast have anything to do with the Spirit Mountain God-Lord of the Northern Abyss? The process by which Sang Banzui gained the trust of these people must have been arduous, yet she never mentioned a word of it. She simply built the formation in silence, performing a blood sacrifice for Ming Xi’s resurrection, sparing no effort just to restore that Dream Beast.

What Ming Xi needed was a friendship like that—not a Jiwu who did everything by the book, nor the foolish clansmen behind Jiwu who were full of intrigue.

Let her go. Let Ming Xi go; Jiwu would bear everything.

“Your orders?” Elder Fan watched the changes in Jiwu’s expression, unsure of the Grandmaster’s mood.

This lady had always been cold, her joys and sorrows never showing on her face. But whatever the Dongfang Clan requested, Jiwu usually agreed. Having lived so long, her only connection to the world was the Dongfang lineage; naturally, it was special.

“Fine.” Jiwu pressed her hand against the scabbard on her back. “Elder Fan, after this battle, how about you take me to see your Medicine Valley?”

Elder Fan froze for a moment. “Of course, certainly. It would be my honor.”

Ming Xi hated the smell of medicine. If Jiwu truly went to tinker with medicinal ingredients, she probably wouldn’t come looking for her anymore. Thinking of this, Jiwu unconsciously smiled. In the end, who would miss whom, and who would be the one thinking of finding the other? It was hard to say.

The people surrounding the sacrificial altar observed the Grandmaster’s reaction, feeling she didn’t look like someone preparing for a grim battle.

And where did the Spirit Mountain God-Lord go?

Just now, after the illusion collapsed completely, Ming Xi and Jiwu had appeared before everyone. Most people were focused on Grandmaster Jiwu because Ming Xi had used a dream technique to hide herself. Except for a few elders with extremely high cultivation who could detect a trace of spiritual fluctuation, no one could track where the Dream Beast had gone.

Ming Xi turned into a gust of wind and darted out of the crowd, finding Sang Banzui.

“Old friend, you’re not leaving yet?” She tugged at Sang Banzui’s sleeve, touching the High Priestess’s golden bells.

“These things are expensive; keep your claws off them.” Sang Banzui pulled back her formal attire, refusing to let Ming Xi play with it. “I’m watching the show for a bit.”

“What’s there to see? Just a bunch of old ladies.” Ming Xi didn’t even look back. “I’m very tired. I want to leave. Come with me; get me some wine, it must be very sweet.”

“I might not have other things, but there’s always enough wine. But surely you haven’t forgotten, Dream Beast? To get anything, you must exchange something of equal value. That was the rule you established yourself.” Sang Banzui pointed ahead with her chin. “Since you know there’s nothing much to see, why not put on a lively show for me?”

“How lively? Is ‘heart-wrenching’ enough?” Ming Xi stretched like a little cat. “I remember you’re also very good at cooking fish. Have that ready for me too.”

“Fine.” The High Priestess folded her hands and gave a bow.

Ming Xi spun around on the spot and returned to her usual appearance—the form of the half-human, half-beast Spirit Mountain God-Lord.

The clear sky suddenly darkened.

Abruptly, wild sands swirled up, picking up everything movable and hurling it toward the crowd. Rising and falling cries instantly filled the entire sacrificial altar.

How undignified.

The bright sun hung high, yet not a single ray of light could penetrate this space. Just a moment ago, the sun had been blazing and hot; now it merely watched everything quietly, as if the turmoil below had nothing to do with it—which, indeed, it didn’t. When had the mortal world ever been peaceful for a single day?

Dark clouds gathered in layers, greatly reducing visibility. Whether they wore white robes or grand attire, no one could see each other’s expressions clearly. Yet they were all still pretending to be calm.

However, before anyone could cast a spell to stabilize things, the wind and sand suddenly ceased. Like a perfunctory amateur troupe, they had sung a few lines to warm up their voices before the play officially began.

Was the main act starting? It was, wasn’t it?

Perhaps because Jiwu was present, everyone didn’t actually take the small disturbance just now to heart. But the atmosphere did not return to clarity just because the sand stopped. Instead, the pressure on the sacrificial altar grew lower and lower, as if some great figure were about to appear.

Jiwu frowned. Others might not recognize this feeling, but how could she not?

It wasn’t that someone was coming—it was that heavenly lightning was imminent.

What gathered in the sky were not dark clouds, but thunderclouds. Those clusters of wicked “black-hearted cotton” gave people no room to react; as soon as they bunched together, they began to crackle and sizzle with electricity.

“Disperse quickly!” “I didn’t bring my legal artifacts!” “Who is it? Why pick this time?” “It’s not me, I don’t have this level of cultivation! Look at those clouds, they’re so thick—how could they be meant for me!”

They panicked. The “elites” who, a moment ago, had been standing with dignified airs waiting for the Grandmaster to strike so they could follow suit, panicked instantly.

But the thunderclouds were indeed terrifying. One cloud stacked upon another with incredible speed, seemingly endless, propping up the sky with a blackness that looked capable of devouring everything—though in reality, it was about to release its pressure. Anyone could guess how violent the coming strike would be.

White light flashed through the clouds—just like that dream fire, capable of blinding someone in an instant. But it was daytime now; dream fire burning in the daylight was black.

Black?

“Not good!”

Belatedly, the Immortals realized what the darkness hidden within those dark clouds was. It wasn’t just heavenly lightning gathering; the dream fire unique to the Spirit Mountain God-Lord was also quietly burning. It was the blackness that devoured everything in broad daylight.

Rolling thunder struck the hearts of everyone present with dull blows; several who couldn’t withstand it had already collapsed unconscious.

CLANG—

The lightning crashed down. Along with it came the soaring dream fire. The blackness flooded every corner of the altar in an instant, leaving no place to hide.

The residual power left by the impact of the heavenly lightning lingered for a long time, the wind howling incessantly. Jiwu moved against the wind, searching toward the spot where the lightning had struck. She couldn’t see clearly what was still there, but Ming Xi should be there.

What was this rebellious beast doing—releasing these fires and even drawing heavenly lightning?

“Ming Xi.” She unconsciously called out the other’s name. She couldn’t hold it back, nor did she want to.

Jiwu could not suppress the dread in her heart. The place where the lightning struck was the place where Ming Xi’s spiritual pressure was strongest.

But Jiwu could no longer feel that fluctuation now. She couldn’t even trace the covenant bond between them… why? Whether it was a bristling little cat or a soot-covered young girl, as long as it wasn’t a Ming Xi lying quietly on the ground, eyes closed and motionless, it would be fine.

The dust took a step slower to settle. There was no sound in the surroundings.