The Frost Beneath Her Veil - Chapter 25.1

The tenderness in Fu Qing’s eyes vanished, replaced by a resolve so sharp it felt like the severing of bone. She gripped Yin Jiuruo’s slender white neck with one hand, leaving a red mark before letting go.

The woman held Yin Jiuruo close as she drove the blade entirely through her heart. She could feel the heart pulsing in agony against the edge of the sword; fresh blood erupted, staining both of their wedding robes a piercing, blinding crimson.

In the bridal chamber, the red candles burned high, their flickering glow casting a beautiful, blurred haze over the scene. The bright red robes, the silver sword, the beauty’s indifference, and the crimson tide surging from Yin Jiuruo’s chest.

A hand as white as fine jade gripped the Chishuang Sword tightly, twisting the blade to pierce through and through the pulsing heart. The last trace of warm affection faded from Fu Qing’s phoenix eyes. She lowered her head and lightly pressed her lips against Yin Jiuruo’s blood-stained mouth.

When she looked up again, her skin was jade-white and her lips were as red as blood. Within her clear, warm eyes flickered a heartless indifference that treated all things as equal—and nothing as human.

The time had come; the hidden blade was revealed. Naturally, there was no longer any need to pretend.

Why? Why did it have to be now?

Yin Jiuruo’s eyes began to lose focus. She could feel the Chishuang Sword cutting through her insides; she thought it ought to have the poetic grace of falling bamboo leaves or flying flowers. Except this time, it wasn’t a petal being severed, but her own heart.

She suddenly remembered that the sword currently impaling her heart had once shielded her from the falling snow above.

“Master… did Xiao Jiu do something wrong?” Yin Jiuruo’s pure black eyes were lusterless, still desperately searching for a rational answer.

In her memory, although Fu Qing was cold, she had always been gentle. Was it because she had been too greedy? She had hoped the first person who was kind to her—someone she cared for—would stay by her side forever, never vanishing, never leaving, never betraying.

Is this betrayal?

The gentle voice of Fu Qing seemed to echo in her ears: “I will marry you.” So warm and certain, those were words of a love meant to move heaven and earth.

She lowered her head with great difficulty, looking at the hand gripping the longsword. The fingers were long and soft—it was Fu Qing’s hand. She hadn’t mistaken it. For all these years, it was these hands that had sewn new clothes for her and led her through the plum forests.

And these hands were now holding the sword that transfixed her heart.

“No, Xiao Jiu did nothing wrong.”

“Then why? Why?”

With the sword through her heart, Yin Jiuruo lost even the strength to breathe. She didn’t understand. In the past decade, there had been countless opportunities for Fu Qing to kill her. When the Demon Lord was extinguished, Fu Qing could have given her a swift end. She could have ordered her execution when she first brought her back to the Canglan Sect. During the ten years under the Gamo Heart Tower, she could have been put to death a thousand times.

But the woman hadn’t.

What had Fu Qing, the Daoist Sovereign Changfan, done? She had saved Xiao Huo, bought back the penguin and the peacock, and taken her as a disciple. There were the daily meals, the new clothes every year, the gifted artifacts, and ten years of teaching.

The bond of master and disciple, the half-true, half-false love, and the day-and-night blending of souls in the spiritual sea.

“In the future, I will surely grant you what you seek.”

Thinking of the promise Fu Qing had made to her beneath the Gamo Heart Tower, Yin Jiuruo couldn’t help but laugh, despite her shattered heart. So, was this the price of happiness? Heaven had already set a hidden price: there was no warmth intended in her fate. If she wanted to possess it, she had to pay with her life.

No wonder Fu Qing had asked what her final wish was. That was the last bit of… pity for a dying person.

She wanted to cry. She really wanted to cry. How did it come to this?

“Why,” Yin Jiuruo’s breath was short and ragged, her eyes brimming with tears as she asked with every ounce of her strength, “Why do this?”

A surge of hot blood rushed to her head. “You could have killed me anytime.”

When I didn’t know you, when you weren’t my Master, when I hadn’t fallen in love with you. Why did it have to be at this moment?

Perhaps because Yin Jiuruo’s expression was too agonizing, Fu Qing’s slender fingers brushed over the girl’s pale, bruised eyes. Her voice was flat.

“There is no ‘why’.”

“Fu Qing, do I not even have the right to know a reason? Tell me you were forced, that you had no choice,” a final spark of light rose in Yin Jiuruo’s eyes. She wanted an answer. If Fu Qing had been forced, at least she would have a shred of pathetic dignity left—rather than being a tool utilized from start to finish.

“This Sovereign was not forced,” Fu Qing said plainly, as if speaking even one more word to Yin Jiuruo was an act of immense mercy.

They locked eyes amidst the sound of dripping blood. In the past, she could never see through Fu Qing, but now she suddenly understood: there was no need for more words. Fu Qing was not acting out of necessity.

So that’s it. When you find you can never see through a person, it’s simply because that person doesn’t want to be seen. And now, with a sword in your heart, what is left to hide?

Excessive blood loss made Yin Jiuruo weary, but she was not yet at the point of release. Fu Qing had gone to such great lengths to kill her; she couldn’t understand it at all. She had been delusional—imagining that the Sovereign of the Way of Emotionless could have feelings for a single person. One who pities the world and loves all beings with a detached, universal love—how could such a person be bound by the threads of passion?

“If you don’t love me, why did you marry me?” Yin Jiuruo felt her questions were endless, much like the blood that refused to stop flowing.

Fu Qing looked at her indifferently, showing no intention of answering.

“If you wanted to kill me, why wait so long to act?”

The red candles grew cold. Fu Qing ruthlessly withdrew the Chishuang Sword, allowing the blood to splatter. She spoke to Yin Jiuruo with an air of total detachment:

“My apologies.”

A violent fit of coughing seized Yin Jiuruo. Her confusion, hatred, pain, and lingering affection intensified. What she didn’t know was that the blood flowing from her heart was darkening—turning a shade as deep as a hopeless, eternal night, almost corroding the silk quilt embroidered with mandarin ducks.

“Xiao Jiu, your blood has grown sweeter,” Fu Qing said, tasting the blood on her fingertips again, her full lips curving slightly. “But it is not enough.”

After the sword was withdrawn, Yin Jiuruo slumped against the wedding bed. The blood from her chest flowed even faster; it was the first time she realized she had so much blood, and that she could bleed for so long without dying.

The candlelight reflected off Fu Qing’s celestial face, making her look as beautiful as vermilion jade. She looked down at Yin Jiuruo, shimmering spiritual energy gathering in her palm. The familiar warm energy traveled through the wound. Yin Jiuruo was deathly pale, the dark circles under her eyes making her look as fragile as a rootless ghost.

Fu Qing was healing her to stop the bleeding. She had stabbed her, yet she would not let her die.

“Xiao Jiu, do not worry. This Sovereign will not let you die.”

“Is that so? I don’t even have the right to die,” Yin Jiuruo’s nose stung with bitterness. She was utterly lost; she didn’t know which version of Fu Qing was real.

Fu Qing looked at her silently, answering with a hint of pity, “No.”

“What exactly am I in your eyes?”

Looking at this heartless woman, Yin Jiuruo wanted to laugh but couldn’t. A person could tenderly hold you, marry you, and blend their soul with yours, only to pierce your heart with a sword the next moment. Yin Jiuruo’s life and death existed solely within Fu Qing’s whim.

At this moment, Yin Jiuruo was lost and desperate. The fire of love had burned her to ashes.

The door of the red bridal chamber was knocked upon, and the respectful voice of the Canglan Sect Leader came through.

“Venerable One, the hour approaches. Have you taken her heart’s blood according to the plan?”

“Naturally.” Fu Qing turned and sheathed her sword. In her exquisite red wedding robes, she looked as lethal as a jade-faced Shura.

A crowd of people filed into the room. Shen Cangli walked at the front, her beautiful face full of concern for Fu Qing. “Changfan, are you injured?”

“I am not. Xiao Jiu would not hurt me,” Fu Qing said, her back to Yin Jiuruo as she stood with Shen Cangli.

Hearing Fu Qing speak with such certainty—as if it were a lover’s sentiment—Yin Jiuruo wanted to laugh. But she couldn’t because of the agonizing pain. Fu Qing knew her so well. Ten years of mentorship, and a dark, unspoken adoration that had briefly come true. How could she hurt her? How could she even think of hurting her? How could she bear to?

“I was so worried about you these past few hours,” Shen Cangli glanced at Yin Jiuruo, mocking the girl’s overestimation of herself, and continued, “That you could severely wound this wretch without a scratch is truly a blessing for the immortal sects.”

At these words, the Sect Leader and elders stroked their beards and nodded. To gain the trust of this natural-born wretch, the Venerable One had indeed gone through painstaking efforts and made many sacrifices. Fortunately, her Daoist heart was stable; she would never soften toward this creature. Surely such an achievement was enough for the Venerable One to ascend to the upper realms.

Had it not been for the wedding, Yin Jiuruo would not have lowered her guard and offered her complete trust. Otherwise, the creature’s self-defense would have surely injured the Sovereign. Later, when the demonic energy from the Outer Lands attacked, they would still have to rely on the Sovereign to repel it.

“This Sovereign has said that countering the demonic energy is the priority; there is no need to care much for Xiao Jiu,” Fu Qing said, her gaze fixed on the dark, cloudy night sky. Her eyes were sharp and beautiful.

The Sect Leader bowed respectfully. “The Venerable One is correct. The demonic energy invading our Nine Provinces is a dire threat. Now everything is prepared. As long as the immortal sects are of one mind and use this creature to break the demonic energy, the Nine Provinces will return to peace.”

“Indeed.” Shen Cangli stood tall and stepped forward to drape a black cloak over Fu Qing. “Changfan, do not worry. The Ruyi Sect is at your disposal. We will guard the Nine Provinces alongside the Canglan Sect.”

Fu Qing nodded and smiled, her gaze sweeping over the crowd with a look of compassion. “My thanks to the Young Master and the Ruyi Sect. This Sovereign will surely repay you in the future.”

Shen Cangli’s heart swelled. Without it being said, she knew Fu Qing meant they would marry. After all, they had entered the path of cultivation together; their bond was deeper than any other. If it weren’t for Fu Qing’s thousand-year plan and her self-sacrifice, they would already be the most envied couple in the cultivation world.

“Changfan, you are too formal with me. Given our relationship, words are unnecessary. Eliminating this wretch and the demonic energy to bring peace to the Nine Provinces is our bounden duty.”

Fu Qing did not answer, she only turned back to stare at Yin Jiuruo. Looking through the blood and the red candles, those two truly were a match made in heaven—heroes of the righteous path who had to endure a temporary separation for the greater good.

Yin Jiuruo looked weakly at the room full of excited, happy people. She suddenly felt it was absurd beyond measure. It turned out that her being killed by Fu Qing was something that made these “righteous” people so jubilant. No wonder the world-renowned Daoist Sovereign would do this. A heartless, decisive Sovereign should naturally slay demons and sacrifice personal ties for the greater good.

Besides, Yin Jiuruo wasn’t even “kin” to her.

Better to have wandered forever, scraping barnacles in Peach Blossom Town. Life would have been hard, but at least she wouldn’t be like a puddle of stagnant water, thrown out filthily without a shred of dignity. She even had the hallucination that this wasn’t real—that it was some demonic illusion meant to drive a wedge between her and Fu Qing.

In truth, she was the “demon.”

“Venerable One, how should we handle Yin Jiuruo now?” an elder in green asked.

“Lock her in the lowest level of the Gamo Heart Tower. Wait for the demonic energy to strike. There must be no mistakes,” Fu Qing’s voice was steady and low, her expression indifferent.

The Gamo Heart Tower… that dark, cold, damp place. She was going back. Yin Jiuruo looked at Fu Qing’s slender, beautiful back. When she smiled, her mouth filled with blood, making her look ghastly. Fu Qing had promised, after learning she was afraid of the dark, that she would never leave her in the darkness.

She had promised…

Fu Qing walked slowly to Yin Jiuruo’s side and smoothed the girl’s messy hair. Her voice was still cold and clear. “Xiao Jiu, I have a gift prepared for you beneath the Gamo Heart Tower.”

“Thank you, Venerable One,” Yin Jiuruo said, spitting blood with every word. her skin was a sickly white, like an old garment washed until it was tattered. She seemed genuinely thankful. “To receive such a grand gift when I am about to die… I am truly fortunate.”

“You will not die.”

Fu Qing frowned slightly, indifferent to Yin Jiuruo’s words. Her eyes reflected the faint candlelight, yet it could not pierce the ice deep within them.

Several disciples stepped forward to hoist up the limp Yin Jiuruo. She lowered her head, her messy hair hiding her lusterless black eyes. Then, she looked up and smiled at everyone. Her blood-stained face made the smile even more hideous. But she chose to smile—to show them all that even Yin Jiuruo had a shred of dignity. Even if, in their eyes, the dignity of a “wretch” was insignificant.

The Abandoned Firmament Hall was close to the Heart Tower. In her broken state, the disciples easily carried the person in the red wedding dress to the deepest cell.

“The Venerable One has thought of everything. Hatred, despair, love, confusion… all that’s missing is a touch of fear to fully activate the power of the Demon Heart’s blood.” The Sect Leader was now full of admiration for Fu Qing.

It was not in vain that the Daoist Sovereign had traveled the Nine Provinces for a hundred years to find the way to seal the demonic energy. To find a natural-born wretch, push them to the extremes of confusion, hatred, despair, love, and fear, and then use the heart’s blood to open the Great Demon-Slaying Array. This would seal the demonic energy in one stroke and benefit all living beings, a true act of merit.

Only Shen Cangli’s eyes were dark. she had seen how deep the color of Yin Jiuruo’s blood was. The deeper the color, the more extreme the emotions within. Extreme hate, extreme confusion, extreme despair, and extreme adoration. She wasn’t worried about Fu Qing being moved by such love, but she feared it might affect Fu Qing’s Daoist heart.

She gazed at the cold, emotionless woman and advised considerately: “Changfan, there is no need to feel guilt toward that wretch. Being born as such is her destiny. Sacrificing her to save the world is her honor.”

“Naturally,” Fu Qing gazed at the dark night sky, her expression cold. “She is but a mere wretch, not worth mentioning.”

“Venerable One, are you going to let her know the story of what happened between you before?” the Sect Leader asked cautiously.

“Indeed. That is the great gift I have prepared for her,” Fu Qing’s dark eyes were empty and ethereal, as if veiled by a clear mist. “There must be no mistakes in the matter of resisting the demonic energy.”

“Yes, I will arrange it immediately.”

The Sect Leader finally felt at ease. For a moment, he had mistakenly thought the Sovereign had softened toward the wretch, but it seemed it was only his imagination. The Sovereign had severed her emotions and forgotten passion; she was never biased, never partial. In her universal, heartless love, there was no softness to be found, and therefore, no weakness.

The bottom of the Gamo Heart Tower was still flooded with deep-sea water—silent and dark, as if it could bury all light and give birth to a sentiment called darkness. It was the same cell at the very bottom, neither large nor small, and the seven Spirit-Sunder Nails remained fixed in their places.

Coming in this time, Yin Jiuruo realized that from top to bottom, the Heart Tower contained only this one cell. She was likely the only person ever imprisoned here. It was like a tower built specifically for her.

The disciples threw her into the cell, though they didn’t use the Spirit-Sunder Nails this time. Because of the wound in her shattered heart, she had no strength to move, let alone escape.

“You wretch. The Venerable One is kind; she didn’t keep you locked up before, allowing you to move freely and granting you liberty. You must never harbor thoughts of rebellion.”

Granted liberty? In the eyes of these people, Yin Jiuruo was not a human being, but the irredeemable “wretch” they spoke of.

Yin Jiuruo lay on the ground. Seeing the blatant envy in their eyes, she laughed without warning, the laughter causing a dull pain in her chest.

“What are you laughing at?” The disciples looked at each other, unable to understand what this creature found funny.

“I’m laughing at you.”

Laughing that they could actually be jealous of a “wretch” who was being toyed with. How much charm must Fu Qing have for these people to even envy her?

“Hmph. Just stay here quietly; you’ll be useful in a moment. Besides, the Venerable One said she would spare your life, so you won’t die.”

“Then please thank the Venerable One for me.”

Hearing Yin Jiuruo’s voice, which sounded more unpleasant than a ghost’s, the disciples felt a wave of bad luck. They quickly locked the cell door and hurried away.

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