Chapter Forty-Seven: Foes Always Cross Paths

Chapter Forty-Seven: Fated Enemies Always Meet

With his hands clasped behind his back, Chunyu Qian walked toward Windcourt, his expression tinged with complexity. A figure lingered in his mind—a former adversary who prided himself on righteousness and repeatedly opposed him. Yet, after falling prey to Chunyu Qian’s schemes and swallowing the Heart-Shattering Pill, that old rival had become a complete demon: wantonly slaughtering innocents, selfish and cold-hearted, ultimately hunted by countless cultivators until he vanished, most likely dead.

Such was Chunyu Qian’s revenge. He had witnessed it before. For someone like him, who had cultivated for over a thousand years, such events no longer moved him. But Song Shede had not reached that level of detachment. After gazing deeply in Fang Junmei’s direction for a moment, Song Shede swiftly followed. His realm was higher, his spiritual sense sharper; he kept his distance, confident Fang Junmei wouldn’t notice.

Thud, thud—

Fang Junmei, in a frenzy, pounded with his bare fists upon the flower leopard beneath him. In moments, the beast was utterly lifeless—bones shattered, flesh beneath the hide turned to pulp, a pitiful sight. Fang Junmei himself was splattered with blood, his face and body soaked in the thick scent of gore. Even after the leopard died, his fists did not relent, raining blows in relentless succession.

Only after dozens of breaths did he finally stop, gasping for air, his blood-stained form astride the dead beast—a scene both shocking and ghastly. After a while, Fang Junmei leapt down and strode toward the shadowy depths of the forest, his silhouette lonely and bleak, devoid of all light, like a spirit of darkness.

This savage slaughter seemed to ignite something within Fang Junmei. Wherever he went, any beast he encountered—whether they provoked him or not—he dispatched with the most brutal, bloody methods, not even sparing a wild pheasant.

Kill!

Kill!

Kill!

Blood soaked Fang Junmei ever deeper, his gaze ever fiercer. Even Song Shede, trailing behind, grew increasingly worried; clearly, he had never dealt with such a situation before. Previously, he would simply knock someone out and return them to their master, but now he had to let Fang Junmei rediscover himself, and he was utterly clueless.

When exhaustion overtook him, Fang Junmei found a secluded spot to sleep soundly, neither cultivating nor returning to Immoveable Peak.

Upon waking the next day, the killing resumed.

For three or four days, this continued, until at last the savage impulse seemed expended. Fortunately, all this took place within the bounds of Medicine King Peak, where no other cultivators crossed his path; otherwise, who knows what calamity might have ensued.

As for the unfortunate beasts, their fate was sealed.

On the fourth evening, Fang Junmei found a stream, plunged in, and scrubbed himself for half an hour. Upon emerging, he donned clean clothes—a snow-white martial robe, and his tangled black hair was tied up once more, restoring some of his former handsome countenance. The ferocity on his face had lessened, though a cold, aloof air remained, like those most withdrawn and difficult cultivators.

He scanned his surroundings, took out the Peach Blossom Source jade slip, compared his position, and headed north—still not toward Immoveable Peak, as if even those few there were no longer worthy of trust.

The Heart-Shattering Pill was truly formidable.

Fang Junmei now knew the hundred deaths he had endured were illusions, yet the upright side of his heart remained unrecovered.

“Time. I need time. I will surely find myself again,” he murmured.

He knew this was not his true self, yet his soul seemed inhabited by a stronger, evil spirit, dragging him toward the abyss of darkness, while the last thread of his original self struggled to pull him back, stretched to the breaking point.

Ahead lay mountains upon mountains.

According to the map, there was a wild plain surrounded by valleys, belonging to no peak, with sparse spiritual energy—visited only occasionally by outer disciples practicing sword techniques.

Fang Junmei did not plan to venture deep, only to find a secluded cave nearby for twenty days of meditation, hoping to recover even a shred of his true self.

Meditation—his sole solution.

Had time permitted, he might have wandered the mortal world, but he had only a month, and four days had already passed.

After another quarter-hour of searching, Fang Junmei hunted for a suitable retreat.

Suddenly, his ears pricked; he turned toward a certain direction.

Whoosh, whoosh—

Sharp sword cries echoed from that way, but no sounds of combat—likely someone practicing their swordplay.

Who could it be?

The sword cries sounded extraordinary.

Curiosity overcame him, and Fang Junmei strode toward the source.

Soon, he came upon a broad, undulating landscape dotted with hills. Atop one, a young man in white robes, with an air of gentle coldness, sat cross-legged, his fingers flying through complex seals—it was Xiao Yunyu, unseen for several years.

His cultivation had reached the ninth level of Qi Drawing, just a step above Fang Junmei. Had Fang Junmei not lacked spirit stones, he might have already caught up.

Above him, two swords gleamed darkly, weaving like black dragons through the air, stirring gusts of black wind, dimming heaven and earth, chilling the surroundings.

On the hilltop below, Xiao Yunyu’s white robe billowed, his long hair streaming, gaze sharp—embodying a grand, imposing presence.

“Snow Conceals the Sun Sword Technique…”

Fang Junmei muttered instinctively. He had not seen this sword art before, but guessed it must be a style from the Snow Conceals the Sun Sword Technique. Compared to their previous duel, its power had grown immensely, showing Xiao Yunyu’s progress.

“Who’s there?”

Though Fang Junmei’s words were but a whisper, Xiao Yunyu caught them mid-practice, barking sharply and fixing his gaze like lightning upon Fang Junmei.

Fang Junmei did not retreat, his gaze steady, devoid of fear. Days of slaughter had restored some of his resolve.

Their eyes met across dense shadows.

“Fang Junmei?”

Xiao Yunyu’s eyes widened.

How could he forget Fang Junmei? That battle was not only Fang Junmei’s first in the Peach Blossom Sword Sect, but Xiao Yunyu’s as well—he lost swiftly, a blow to his pride, and resentment toward Fang Junmei had long taken root.

But in an instant, he sensed something strange: today, Fang Junmei’s gaze was especially cold, reminiscent of his own master and second senior brother—chilling to the soul, hard to look upon.

“This kid seems… different?”

Doubt flickered in Xiao Yunyu’s eyes.

After a brief stare, Fang Junmei turned away, heading off. His eyes brimmed with suppressed violence, and meeting Xiao Yunyu had stirred that rage anew.

Among the hundred deaths, one had been bestowed by Xiao Yunyu.

Go!

He must leave!

Fang Junmei did not fear Xiao Yunyu, confident he could defeat him, but he worried he could not control this violent urge and might kill Xiao Yunyu. If that happened, trouble would truly follow.

The Peach Blossom Sword Sect was a renowned righteous school; conflicts between disciples were normal, even a duel was understandable, but to kill a fellow disciple would mean severe punishment.

Fang Junmei’s pace quickened, and in a few breaths, he employed the Sky Dance technique to escape.

Yet fate never unfolds as one wishes. He wished to avoid conflict, but Xiao Yunyu, mistaking his retreat for cowardice, dismissed his doubts and, recalling his swords, gave chase.

“Fang Junmei, where do you think you’re running?”

Xiao Yunyu pursued, shouting, “Since we’ve met, let’s have another match, and see who is truly stronger!”