The Possessive Beauty Desires Me in Vain - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Deception

When Pu Xuefeng awoke, he felt a profound dryness within his body. Only a few wisps of spiritual energy remained to maintain his basic vital functions; his Nascent Soul ($Nascent Soul$), which had once been the size of two adult fists, had shriveled into a tiny, dim orb.

But to him, this was not the most important matter.

Recalling the barrier he had sacrificed so much of his cultivation to break, he struggled to lift his upper body and looked around frantically.

“Are you looking for the sword, or are you looking for me?”

A voice drifted eerily from the doorway—cool, detached, and hauntingly familiar.

Pu Xuefeng followed the sound. Standing by the door was a familiar silhouette, backlit by the moon, appearing exceptionally thin and frail. Though they had not met for years, Pu Xuefeng recognized him instantly. Perhaps out of sheer agitation, he blurted out, “Xiao Yu.”

Qi Yu, who in the past would have smiled and called him “Master,” did not respond. His jade-green eyes gazed at Pu Xuefeng quietly, as if objectively scrutinizing everything about the man, seeing through every layer of his being.

Under that cold, clinical gaze, Pu Xuefeng’s mind went blank. Every piece of the puzzle pointed toward a conclusion he had never dared to consider.

Pale and trembling, Pu Xuefeng asked with difficulty, “You… you know everything?”

Qi Yu ignored the question. The obedience and respect of the past were gone, replaced by a calm finality. “If you want your plan to proceed smoothly, tell Chen Hexuan when he wakes that I did not die, but that my soul attached itself to the sword to become a Sword Spirit.”

Pu Xuefeng’s eyes widened. He understood completely now: Qi Yu knew everything—even the specifics of their secret agenda.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Qi Yu cut him off:

“Tell him that this time, I used a secret technique to bewitch him, and you stepped in to stop him. Under my enchantment, he was forced to strike and injure you.”

With that, Qi Yu turned to leave.

Pu Xuefeng watched the departing figure with a bitter taste in his mouth. He had a thousand questions, but they crystallized into just one: “Xiao Yu, is this worth it?”

Qi Yu gave him a dull look and added, “When the time is right, tell him that to get rid of me completely, he must take the sword to the Isle of Supreme Spirits ($Zhi Ling Dao$).”

“Yu’er,” Pu Xuefeng called out again, “Could you… call me ‘Master’ one more time?”

“Things have come to this; there is no need for regret,” Qi Yu said coldly. He spoke as if it all had nothing to do with him, as if he wasn’t the one who would be destroyed. He turned on the frost-covered ground and walked away.

Pu Xuefeng stared at the spot where Qi Yu had stood for a very long time.

…

Outside the room was the courtyard. The snow had already been swept away by the young attendant. Tall shadows from the trees draped over a stone table and stools.

“Xiao Yu, why push yourself to such a dead end?” a male voice drifted from beneath the trees.

Qi Yu didn’t even spare him a glance, focusing solely on walking toward Chen Hexuan’s quarters.

“Why so cold toward me, yet so passionate before your little lover?” the voice asked again.

“Everything is proceeding exactly as you anticipated, isn’t it?” Qi Yu stopped and looked at the speaker quietly. “Is there anything else I need to say, Divine Messenger?”

Hazy moonlight filtered through the leaves, illuminating the face of the man under the tree. Only his golden beast-like pupils were visible behind a black mask.

The Divine Messenger stared at Qi Yu’s retreating figure with interest. “Ruthless to others, and even more ruthless to yourself. The word ‘love’ truly is a poison…”

…

Qi Yu climbed onto the bed softly, lifting the covers and gently sliding next to Chen Hexuan. The warmth of the older man enveloped him once more. He stared blankly at Chen Hexuan’s face, asking himself in his heart: Will I regret this?

Everyone has something they cherish—wealth, power, or cultivation. But fate loves to play tricks, often forcing a choice between one’s most precious treasure and something else that might not yet seem important. In that moment, the hierarchy of value is revealed, and abandonment follows.

Qi Yu thought he was used to being abandoned. He knew he was clumsy, cold, and lacked the charm to win people over. He couldn’t be cheerful or warm, so naturally, he wouldn’t be loved. He would be cast aside.

He told himself he didn’t care. Yet, he felt a heavy, suffocating pressure in his chest. He realized he did care, because there had been many times he longed for his Master’s attention and recognition.

As these thoughts swirled, Qi Yu hugged Chen Hexuan’s waist tighter, curling his body into a ball to bury himself in the man’s embrace. He thought, with a touch of irony, that his Senior Brother had never technically abandoned him—because his Senior Brother had never chosen him in the first place.

In a strange way, he felt relieved that Chen Hexuan had always been cold to him. If you never possess something, you can’t be “abandoned” by it.

…

The next morning, the dawn light was faint.

Chen Hexuan opened his eyes, feeling his spiritual meridians clear and his energy flowing without obstruction. Just as he was marveling at the results of his training in the Nine Pools, he realized he wasn’t there—he was back in his own residence.

The air was thick with the scent of wood and something musky. He was alone, but the bed bore the clear signs of another person. Seeing the indentation in the mattress, he immediately thought of Qi Yu’s frame.

He rubbed his forehead, struggling to distinguish dream from reality.

If it was a dream… usually, he wouldn’t have memories of the outside world while dreaming. But now, he clearly remembered cultivating in the Nine Pools of Fortune.

If it was reality… why was Qi Yu’s scent here? His arm felt the dull ache of having been used as a pillow, and the air held that familiar, decadent smell that usually lingered after his trysts with Qi Yu.

Before he could process this, he sensed someone approaching—weak but familiar. It was his Master.

Chen Hexuan did not want his Master to encounter the strange atmosphere in the room. He threw on his robes and opened the door before Pu Xuefeng could knock.

“Master,” Chen Hexuan said, closing the door behind him. “The room is a mess; I won’t invite you in to sit.”

Pu Xuefeng, propping himself up with what little strength he had, said, “Seeing that you’ve regained your senses brings me peace.”

Chen Hexuan noticed Pu Xuefeng’s depleted state and gasped. He rushed forward to support him. “Master, who hurt you? And why are we here?”

Pu Xuefeng, face pale, said slowly, “That day in the pool, you suddenly went berserk. The elders couldn’t hold you back, so I followed you here.”

They sat at the stone stools. Chen Hexuan took a cloak from a young attendant and draped it over Pu Xuefeng.

“Then what about your injuries?” Chen Hexuan asked, confused. He had no memory of any of this.

Pu Xuefeng pulled the cloak tighter and looked into the distance. “It was Qi Yu. He bewitched you into attacking me.”

Hearing that name again made Chen Hexuan flinch. He sat up straight. “Isn’t Qi Yu dead?”

“Only his body died. His soul is attached to your sword,” Pu Xuefeng shook his head. “I was shocked as well. I didn’t expect him to control you the moment he saw me.”

Chen Hexuan only processed the first part of the sentence. He couldn’t describe his feelings; they were a chaotic tangle. Qi Yu was alive. The man he had killed with his own hands was still here. After Qi Yu’s death, Chen Hexuan had felt a lingering guilt because he had never actually intended to kill him—he only wanted to escape. Yet, he remembered the sword piercing Qi Yu’s chest with terrifying clarity.

“How can he still be alive?” Chen Hexuan asked blankly.

“I suspect that because his blood remained on the blade, his soul was able to anchor itself there, becoming a Sword Spirit ($Jian Ling$),” Pu Xuefeng said between coughs.

Chen Hexuan handed a handkerchief to his Master. Pu Xuefeng looked at the blood he coughed up and said, “Hexuan, I know you are kind. But Qi Yu is no longer the person we knew.”

He wiped his mouth and continued, “He is a demon now—a creature without kin or conscience. We must eliminate him completely.”

Chen Hexuan’s mind was a whirlwind—Pu Xuefeng was gravely injured, Qi Yu was alive, and the information was too much to handle. He thought of the “mess” in his room and found an answer: Qi Yu was so depraved that even as a soul, he had seduced him into such acts.

Part of him was angry; another part felt a strange, inexplicable urge to laugh.

“Hexuan, this is only the beginning. He will eventually hinder your path to immortality,” Pu Xuefeng urged. “You cannot be soft-hearted. For your sake, and for the sake of the cultivation world, he must be destroyed.”

Chen Hexuan looked at Pu Xuefeng’s pleading eyes and found it impossible to refuse. He rose and bowed. “This disciple will see to it that Qi Yu is eliminated.”

Pu Xuefeng lowered his eyes to hide his own pain. “When we return to the sect and you finish your duties, take your sword to the Isle of Supreme Spirits. There is a sacred flame there that can incinerate a Sword Spirit.”

“Yes. I obey your command.” Chen Hexuan bowed his head, forced to accept.

His heart was in a state of total upheaval. When he heard the word “flame,” he suddenly thought: Qi Yu was a demon, but he was also delicate. He was afraid of the dark and the cold. Would he be afraid of fire? Would it hurt?

Pu Xuefeng watched his disciple agree, but his own spirit was in tatters. As he spoke those words, he felt Qi Yu was too cruel to himself. How could someone know they were going to die and not only fail to stop it, but actively help it along?

He couldn’t understand it. Was Qi Yu… seeking death?

…

The web of lies is tightening! Qi Yu is actively orchestrating his own destruction, using Pu Xuefeng to manipulate Chen Hexuan. The “Divine Messenger” adds an even more mysterious layer to this tragedy.