The Frost Beneath Her Veil - Chapter 25.3

At that moment, Feng Qi held her spear in one hand, standing between Yin Jiuruo and Chong You. “Senior Sister Chong You, I cannot let you ruin the Venerable One’s hundred-year plan. Please, stop caring about Jiuruo.”

“What are you all doing? Wasn’t Jiuruo supposed to marry the Venerable One?”

Feng Qi and Yin Jiuruo fell into silence. Chong You looked up to see Fu Qing, jade-like and ethereal, her beautiful face cold and heartless, the sword light in her hand blazing.

“Was it from the very beginning?” Yin Jiuruo asked in a low voice, looking at Feng Qi’s back. “From the moment you couldn’t bear to see me starve and gave me that bowl of hot porridge?”

“Yes,” Feng Qi didn’t want to answer, but she knew that the pain of Yin Jiuruo knowing the full truth would strengthen the array. “That was porridge the Venerable One brewed herself and told me to bring to you.”

“I thought I at least had friends,” Yin Jiuruo muttered woodenly.

Was it that this sentiment never existed, or that humans are fickle, and loyalty is merely a matter of the moment? Now, the master-disciple bond was a lie, the friendship was a lie, and the lingering love was the greatest lie of all.

Perhaps she could endure having nothing, being alone and wandering for all eternity. But she could not endure betrayal and deception; that was sadder than giving up on herself. Yet the facts did not care if she could endure them; facts were facts, existing coldly and with majesty.

Yin Jiuruo looked up at the sky. Fu Qing was truly beautiful today—a breathtaking sight that one would remember for ten thousand years. The woman’s cloud-like hair danced in the wind; she pitied the world, she looked at nothing, and her red lips were stained with blood. Meanwhile, Yin Jiuruo was covered in blood, as if she were beyond forgiveness.

Many years later, she had once again become a lonely, abandoned pawn. In this world, she had no one to trust or cling to, because everyone had betrayed her. Friends, loyalty, mentorship, love—they were all used to deceive her, sparing no expense to use the most beautiful lies. She was too foolish, too hungry for warmth, and so she believed the lies—believed the lies repeated a thousand times. Simply because the lies were too beautiful, even knowing the truth, her heart was still full of joy.

“Senior Sister Chong You, please step back. No mistakes can be allowed today,” Feng Qi said, her tone resolute as she looked at the person she loved.

“Feng Qi, when we entered the sect, we took an oath never to harm our fellow disciples,” Chong You’s gaze was clear and steady. “Jiuruo is my junior sister; how can I stand by and watch?”

“Senior Sister, the Venerable One won’t let Jiuruo die,” Feng Qi lowered her lashes and said with certainty. “You can rest assured.”

Chong You laughed toward the sky. “Do you think there’s any difference between the way Jiuruo is now and being dead?”

As they spoke, dark clouds roiled on the horizon and sword light flashed. Chong You pointed her sword at Feng Qi, and the two were nearly locked in battle.

That wisp of pitch-black mist had grown much weaker. Taking advantage of the fact that no one was looking, it split off and came to Yin Jiuruo’s ear, whispering softly.

“She lied to you. It was all for your heart’s blood. You and I share the same root; why not break free from these bonds and take your revenge?”

“Heart’s blood?”

“Yes,  you are the finest material. Come, let me teach you how to break free…”

Seeing this, Fu Qing transformed her sword into energy and stabbed over, cutting through the black mist.

The Sect Leader of the Canglan Sect shouted: “The demonic energy is at its end! Feng Qi, fully activate the Great Array!”

“Yes, Master!” Feng Qi used a single strike to imprison Chong You within an invisible barrier.

“Junior Sister Feng Qi, I never knew your cultivation had reached such heights,” Chong You spoke with a look of utter disbelief. Her own heart was already twisting in agony from this deception; she could only imagine how soul-shattering this must be for Jiu Ruo.

Without distraction, Feng Qi fully activated the Great Array. In an instant, the wound at Yin Jiuruo’s heart tore open further, and thick, black blood filled every etched symbol of the formation.

The bright moon hung high, its light clear and cold. Yin Jiuruo could not withstand the agony; she nearly collapsed from the Dragon-Coiled Pillar, but was caught by the blood-draining hooks upon it, her blood pouring out like a river.

The jade pendant Fu Qing had given her slipped from her robes, its beautiful emerald hue stained a grisly scarlet. Jade is heartless by nature; it is only humans who insist on pouring emotion into it.

Seeing this, Chong You disregarded her injuries and tried to break through the barrier to save Yin Jiuruo. However, the Sect Leader struck her with a backhanded wave of sword energy, leaving her heavily wounded and unconscious within the barrier.

“Senior Sister!”

Yin Jiuruo’s eyes nearly split with rage. She could not believe the Sect Leader would lay a hand on Senior Sister Chong You. She roared desperately, trying to break free from her bonds, but the Dragon-Coiled Pillar nailed her firmly in place.

Because of this final peak of agony, the ancient array erupted with an unparalleled power. A golden light protected Fu Qing’s side as she moved like a blurred shadow, catching the fleeing demonic energy with the grace of a startled swan.

The Chishuang Sword, having drunk its fill of heart’s blood, merged with the stable Daoist heart and universal compassion of Daoist Sovereign Changfan. Man and sword became one, and with a single strike, evil was shattered.

In an instant, the demonic energy vanished. The crushing pressure upon the disciples of the immortal sects lifted. They gazed up at the woman in the air—celestial in appearance and unfathomable in power—their hearts overflowing with adoration as if they had survived a Great Tribulation.

Yin Jiuruo looked around. Everyone was cheering for the elimination of the demonic energy. Seeing that she was no longer of use, the Dragon-Coiled Pillar retracted its hooks, letting her slump limply onto the blood-stained earth.

It turned out the spiritual milk porridge really could protect the heart meridians; it kept her alive even when her blood had almost run dry.

Shen Cangli hurriedly flew toward Fu Qing on her sword. The sky was clear and the breeze was gentle; it seemed as if the two were destined for a happy ending.

Feng Qi stood to the side, whispered a soft “I’m sorry” to Yin Jiuruo, then ran to pick up Chong You and gradually walked away.

It turned out that not only was her love with Fu Qing a lie, but even her friendship with Feng Qi was a performance orchestrated by Fu Qing. Over a decade of vanity—in the end, everything was false, without a single shred of sincerity.

Yin Jiuruo did not understand. She had not asked for much; she only wanted to hold onto a single moment of truth. Why was it all fake? All of it.

She had not sought immortality, nor eternal devotion, nor life everlasting. It was all a deception. In the past, she had feared this was a dream. Now, she didn’t have to fear—it truly wasn’t a dream. It was a scam, and she was the pawn played in circles.

The deepest nightmare was Fu Qing’s kindness. Being good to her was only to ensure that when she learned the truth, her despair and grief would be more profound. All that kindness was a poison. Simply because she was what they called a “natural-born wretch,” she was destined for this calamity.

She lay in the filth, her pupils flooded with blood like thorns blooming in a massacre.

Fu Qing, longsword sheathed, walked toward Yin Jiuruo step by step. Her snowy robes fluttered, sacred and pure as always.

“Xiao Jiu, this Sovereign will take you home,” Fu Qing transformed the Chishuang Sword into a green jade paper umbrella, shielding Yin Jiuruo from the snow that was turning cold again.

“Fu Qing, it turns out you were so good to me,” Yin Jiuruo shook her head, trying to stand, but she could only be held in the woman’s arms. Even now, Fu Qing did not understand that a heart of desolate, tragic resolve had already been born.

The woman’s brow furrowed slightly. “Xiao Jiu, it is all over now.”

She heard Yin Jiuruo say with a laugh, “Fu Qing, so you were only after my heart. Why bother lying? If you wanted it, I would have cut it out and given it to you.”

Fu Qing’s face remained calm, offering no comment. The activation of the array required the ultimate pain of the heart and body. Even if she had to do it again, she would not regret it.

“Xiao Jiu, I will take you home. You will get better soon.”

“Home? Where do I have a home?”

“Hexue Peak is your home,” the woman spoke with beauty and solemnity—the Sovereign who pitied all beings, yet also the cold-blooded autocrat. “Afterward, I will erase your memories, and everything will be fine.”

“Erase my memories, just like every time before?”

“Indeed. Forget these things, and we can marry anew.” Fu Qing’s voice was ethereal, cold, and merciful.

The last spark of light in Yin Jiuruo’s eyes was completely extinguished. Because memories could be erased every time—the slate wiped clean—Fu Qing could be unscrupulous and without fear. She was merely a puppet sparrow being toyed with in the palm of a hand.

Yin Jiuruo’s blood turned to ice. She thought she could no longer feel heartache, but she discovered a pain called “the death of the heart is greater than physical death.”

“Fu Qing, you… you are truly cruel. You are a coward, afraid to face what you’ve done?”

The woman frowned slightly, seemingly unable to face the resentment in Yin Jiuruo’s eyes.

The Sect Leader roared, “Wretch! You are a creature of sin, filthy and stained. How dare you be disrespectful to the Venerable One!”

“In your eyes, I am such a filthy thing,” Yin Jiuruo gritted her teeth, her body covered in blood. “Holding a filthy thing like me, aren’t you afraid of staining your hands? Daoist Sovereign Changfan has made such a sacrifice; how could I dare stain your hands further?”

“What are you doing?” Fu Qing seemed to sense Yin Jiuruo’s intent. The woman’s phoenix eyes, which held the eternal snows, were now wavering and turbulent.

“Filthy things have their own places to go,” Yin Jiuruo attempted to destroy herself starting from her spiritual sea, finding that Fu Qing had only bound her body, not her soul. “Even filthy things have their own dignity.”

Yin Jiuruo’s pure black, “evil” eyes suddenly brightened, her gaze vivid and spirited. She seemed to see lanterns made of snow—lanterns trailing like a thread of light, seemingly guiding a drifting ghost home, the flames swaying freely and endlessly.

She gave Fu Qing one last look—a long, final look. For Fu Qing, heartlessness had become an instinct; no amount of emotion spilled upon her could dampen her even slightly. Yet in this moment, she seemed to see a flash of panic and anxiety in the woman’s brow.

But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

The woman forced herself to remain calm, her tender gaze filled with pity, yet it held a heartless, mocking sense of superiority. “Xiao Jiu, everything will be fine. I will clear your memory, and we can return to how we were before.”

At this moment, Yin Jiuruo laughed manically, coughing up blood as she did. “You think… you think by erasing memories, the scars will disappear? They won’t,” she looked at Fu Qing with blood-soaked eyes. “Your cultivation can move heaven and earth and reverse Yin and Yang, but you cannot reverse… the human heart.”

“Xiao Jiu, what are you doing?” Fu Qing held Yin Jiuruo tightly, seeing the despair and finality in her eyes. It was as if she were alive, yet her heart was dead—welcoming and accepting death step by step, with both lament and joy.

How could she be joyful? How was she allowed to be joyful? Fu Qing only needed to erase Yin Jiuruo’s memory, and they would still be the deeply affectionate master and disciple, the newlywed Dao companions. Why was this person so unwilling?

She would never allow Yin Jiuruo to die.

No one answered the Daoist Sovereign’s frantic question. Yin Jiuruo smiled in Fu Qing’s arms, her bloodied body cracking inch by inch into dust.

“Do you remember? That day I asked you, if the best days are over, will there be no more,” a look of pure mockery filled Yin Jiuruo’s hollow eyes. “You said there wouldn’t be, but you were wrong.”

Good fortune is a finite thing; once it is used up, it is gone. From now on, there would be no more joy.

For the first time, Fu Qing was consumed by rage. She tried to control herself, but the loss of control was like water about to overflow. She gripped Yin Jiuruo’s wrist and said sharply, “Xiao Jiu, I do not permit you to die.”

“So what?” Yin Jiuruo laughed again, her smile radiant and beautiful, her voice light like a wind that no one could catch. Even in death, she refused to remain a puppet.

Fu Qing’s blood surged with anger, her voice high and hoarse, “How dare you!”

“I dare.”

Yin Jiuruo self-detonated her primordial spirit, her soul scattering to the winds.

Fresh blood surged from the gruesome wounds, staining Fu Qing’s snowy robes like blooming crimson petals, flowing from the high white marble platform down toward the frozen snowfields.

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