Ning Feiyun fell down into the crevice in the earth, arms still bound, his body striking several times against the stones. With each blow, he could feel more of his bones cracking and breaking, the pain in his body almost unbearable and his mouth filled with the taste of blood.

He didn’t fall too far before he landed, wedged between two stones merely a few chi from tumbling over the edge into the valley below. His legs were broken and he was gasping for each breath, and with the spirit-binding thread still trapping his arms, he couldn’t pull himself back up, nor did he even dare to try moving. The crevice in the rock still seemed a little unstable, and one wrong move could dislodge him from where he’d landed and send him plummeting to his death.

Blood dripped down from where his head had struck stone as he fell, soaking into his dark hair and plastering it down to his forehead. His head was spinning, stars dancing in his vision, breath rasping against his chest and throat and his heart pounding like a drum.

He'd survived. Barely, but… he’d still survived. He wasn’t dead.

Not yet.

The heavenly tribulation continued to rain down upon Baidong Mountain. Dark clouds swirled in the sky above, turning afternoon to midnight. Somehow, in the midst of this first attack in five hundred years, someone inside the mountain array had just crossed the Jiedan boundary— and the heavenly lightning that fell from the sky had shattered the enhanced barrier array. Few even reached that level of cultivation, and Ning Feiyun didn’t know of anyone within either clan that had recently approached that boundary. The timing was impeccable, whether for good or ill— the destruction of the barrier had allowed Qiu Wei and her followers to charge in, but the ascension of a new Jiedan stage cultivator within Baidong Mountain could certainly turn the odds even more firmly in their favor.

Ning Feiyun, though, had no idea what was happening within the mountain stronghold beyond such theorizing. After the burst of energy from the collapsing barrier had dissipated, the rogue cultivators had pressed the attack, not even casting a glance into the crevice where he’d fallen, and Baidong Mountain’s cultivators would be too occupied fending off the attack to come searching for him… especially since the rest of his patrol had already been killed.

His breath caught once again, and it was a struggle to force it out through battered lungs once more. Qiu Wei had been troubled since they were young, but he’d never imagined that she would turn out to be so cruel as to order such an execution coldly and without hesitation, even disguising it as “mercy.”

A dark chill ran through Ning Feiyun’s body. How had it come to this?

With his injuries and his spiritual power restricted, there was no way for Ning Feiyun to get himself back to the surface. Though Qiu Wei had a significant force with her, he didn’t expect that she would ultimately prevail— even though the Ning clan’s fighters were scattered, there were still all manner of defensive and offensive tools and mechanisms within the mountain. Qiu Wei’s cultivation might be good, but there was certainly not a single one of her companions who could have reached Jiedan stage. Such a thing was all but unheard of for rogue cultivators. They were no match for the stronghold of one of the great clans— in the end they would surely be defeated.

Still, Ning Feiyun knew that no one would be coming for him for at least that long. Even if they did come… he wasn’t sure that he would be strong enough by then to even call out, or even that he would live to see a rescue.

One way or another, he realized that he would most likely die here— and he couldn’t help but wonder if he deserved such a fate.

Qiu Wei’s anger… so quickly had it turned on him, so quickly had his own words brought about the death of his patrol by her hand. She clearly resented him, even if she herself had shown little desire to be taken in by one of the clans when they were young. She and Mo Yuan had been alike in that way— even though, before her arrival, both Ning Feiyun and Mo Yuan had hoped for the chance to enter the cultivation world. Something changed, though— by the time Ning Jianlin visited Mengshan Temple, Mo Yuan actually went into hiding to avoid meeting with him, even though his skills were the best out of the three of them. Ning Feiyun still didn’t understand why, but he knew that back then, he’d felt quite jealous of Qiu Wei.

Even now, there a little bit of that old jealousy still remained. He couldn’t quite feel responsible for her resentment either— after all, Mo Yuan had been the one to deviate from their original plans and aspirations. Ning Feiyun had just continued on the same path.

That didn’t mean he held no responsiblity for the fall of his companions. Those foolish words of his… it was as though he’d lost his ability to reason once Qiu Wei appeared. It had been five, six years since they last met, and yet… though Ning Feiyun had tried to maintain an outward show of his current persona, his current alignment, though he had tried to insist both to her and to himself that his path was set and he had left his old life behind, he still felt like that young boy again as soon as they were face to face. He still remembered how he and Qiu Wei would practice and drill cultivation techniques over and over again amid the thickets of bamboo outside Mengshan Temple, growing more frustrated by the moment until Mo Yuan, lounging nearby with some book or painting brush, stood up and flawlessly demonstrated the technique on the first try, before going back to whatever he was doing before…

Ah, he really had been infuriating.

Ning Feiyun shut his eyes. The present was too painful and dull, and so he’d ended up with his mind entangled in the past. Of course, who could blame him? From the way he was positioned, all he could see was a narrow swatch of the valley beneath, its forest reduced to ash, and the sheer drop that would be his fate should the stones his body was resting against give way.

As he lay there in agony, he had quite a lot of time to think, to reminisce about a past that had fallen beyond his reach.

What would have happened, had he not left Mengshan Temple that day? If he had remained Luo Qian, one of many orphans with potential but no family background to stand upon?

Would he too be standing behind Qiu Wei today?

He doubted it. Something like this took not mere bravery, but bravery nearly to the point of madness. Ning Feiyun hadn’t ever thought himself particularly brave, nor did he think he had the same sharp edges that Qiu Wei did. He wasn’t even overly ambitious. More likely than not, he would have simply stayed at Mengshan Temple for his entire lifetime, teaching the children of later generations until he died peacefully in his old age.

How had all this come to pass anyway? Rogue cultivators were always a nuisance, but they’d never appeared in such numbers before. Had Qiu Wei managed to unite all of the various groups and bands and individuals throughout the jianghu for this one grand endeavor?

No… she didn’t have the temperament for that.

It had to be Mo Yuan’s doing.

Mo Yuan…

Ning Feiyun closed his eyes tightly, releasing a shaky sigh that rattled his lungs.

It was all doomed to fail from the beginning, anyway. Just like five hundred years ago, the last time factions of evil cultivators had joined together in an attempt to overthrow the ruling clans. Back then, cultivation outside their jurisdiction had not yet been entirely outlawed as it was now, so the numbers and power of Qiu Wei’s group wouldn’t nearly compare to their predecessors.

Ning Feiyun knew there would be nothing left of them by the end of this.

As time went on, his consciousness became weaker. The pain from his wounds intensified, then dulled, then intensified again, and a slow dripping of blood where broken bone had pierced the skin gradually created a shallow pool beneath him. Ning Feiyun’s vision had grown cloudy, so he didn’t bother looking anymore, and simply let his head loll to the side as he endured the pain, waiting for unlikely rescue or inevitable demise. He didn’t have the strength now to try to free himself from his bindings.

What an ignominious end… despite all he had done to strive for a future, he still ended up this way, dying in a hole, helpless to save himself much less aid his adoptive clan in their struggle.

Day turned to night, then to overcast day again. The heavenly tribulation had long since ended, the final bolt of lightning striking down not that long after Ning Feiyun had fallen, but there was still no sign of rescue. He began to wonder, with what limited ability to think clearly remained, if he’d underestimated the strength of Qiu Wei and her companions.

Shouldn’t the battle be long over by now?

An ominous feeling hung amid the faint clouds of smoke still rising from the scorched trees below. Ning Feiyun couldn’t hear any noise of battle, but he was a good distance away from Baiyu Palace and the stronghold proper. Every once in awhile, the earth around him shook from a concussive backlash of spiritual qi, a powerful cultivator meeting their end. Ning Feiyun had no idea whether these casualties were on his side or Qiu Wei’s.

No matter how long it took, he could do nothing, not even to find out what was happening further up the mountain. By the time the second night fell, his breathing had become shallow— and he began to accept that there was nothing more he could do besides wait for death.

Ning Feiyun was not a particularly stubborn person, nor was he someone with boundless confidence. Though he might strive towards a goal, he was the sort to accept when a desired outcome was beyond his reach. Though even now he would try to remain breathing for as long as he could, he also was well aware of his own weakened, damaged state.

But even as he began to relinquish himself into the embrace of an unconsciousness he would never wake from, he felt a faint rush of wind and heard fabric rustling in the breeze.

“Can you hear me, shixiong?” a voice called out, cutting clear as the ringing of a bell through muffled haze of half-consciousness that had gradually grown to envelope Ning Feiyun’s senses.

Uncertain if he were hearing something in reality or if this was simply a final hallucination before death, Ning Feiyun laboriously opened one of his eyes. Blurry vision slowly came into focus, until he saw a figure hovering near the place where he’d fallen, enveloped in golden spiritual light as though wrapped in rays of sunlight.

That light flashed toward him, and all of a sudden, Ning Feiyun felt the spirit-binding threads around him come loose, falling down about his injured body. His spiritual flow, which had been reduced to barely a trickle, suddenly surged to life, dulled meridians igniting as spiritual qi rushed through his body, instinctively moving toward the places where his injuries were most severe. After just a brief moment, he felt like he could breathe more easily, his mind and senses sharpening, the world reopening before him.

The figure before him was no longer hazy. It was a tall young man, clad in shimmering gold, standing atop a shining sword that was radiant as the dawn’s light. His dark hair was fastened atop his head in a guan made of white jade carved into the shape of a blossoming lotus, and his expression was serious, yet somehow radiated warmth at the same time.

Ning Feiyun had not personally met this person before, but there was no mistaking who it was— this was surely Song Mingzhen, the young master of neighboring Dayuan’s Song clan, a person already well-renowned within the cultivation world.

He extended a hand to pull Ning Feiyun out of the rock crevice and carried him back up to the now-fractured mountain road. Though Ning Feiyun’s spiritual flow had been restored, both of his legs were still broken, so he couldn’t easily stand on his own. Song Mingzhen held him up easily, though, and once they were on solid ground, placed him down gently propped up against a stone. The skies above were still dark, clouds tinted a faint blood-red, and far up the mountain plumes of smoke were rising from burning workshops and buildings. The feeling of death permeated the entire surrounding area— and it was clear even at this distance that the fight was still ongoing.

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With Song Mingzhen came several dozen of Ruijian Pavilion’s cultivators. As he set Ning Feiyun down, he called one of them over to treat his injuries.

“My father received an urgent distress signal from Baidong Mountain,” Song Mingzhen said afterwards. “What happened here?”

Ning Feiyun hadn’t spoken at all these past days he’d been lying in the rock crevice, so when he did speak his voice was rather hoarse. In as few words as possible, just enough to provide an adequate summary, he explained what he knew— that a large force of rogue cultivators had attacked and been repelled by Baidong Mountain’s barrier array, but that the array had been broken open by heavenly lightning, allowing the attackers to reach the mountain stronghold. Of course, he left out his personal connection to the leader of the uprising.

Song Mingzhen’s expression was grave. “It’s already been several days, and neither side has claimed victory…” he mused. “Just how powerful are these evildoers?”

“Their strength may be more in numbers than skill alone,” Ning Feiyun replied, grimacing as one of his broken legs was set back into place.

“One Jiedan stage master is worth a hundred cultivators at Ningqi,” Song Mingzhen shook his head. He seemed troubled and wary. “Baidong Mountain already has many such talents. If another has just crossed the boundary, the battle should have ended after only a single blow.”

Ning Feiyun agreed, but that didn’t change the reality before them. “Perhaps that person failed the heavenly tribulation.”

There was, of course, another possibility, though it was almost too outlandish to even entertain— that the newly-ascended Jiedan stage cultivator was on the side of the enemy. In hundreds of years, no rogue cultivator had reached that point… but it wasn’t truly impossible. Still, both Ning Jianlin and Qin-zongzhu were already at that stage, and both had well-established Jindan. They along with a few of the others had also been at the mountain that day. It was all very implausible, so much so that he hardly considered mentioning it.

At the same time, what other answer could there be?

“Perhaps,” Song Mingzhen replied, gaze turning up toward the mountain, toward the lingering red-lit clouds in the sky. Then, he turned back to Ning Feiyun. “Your injuries are severe and you lack strength. It’s no time for you to go into battle— take these medicines, wait here and recover. I’ll leave a few of my people here with you in case you meet with some danger, and go with the rest to Baiyu Palace.”

He was efficient, serious, and radiating an aura of calm confidence. Though he and Ning Feiyun were of a similar age, Song Mingzhen already seemed to be the far senior of the two, easily commanding such a large force and directing them to surround the besieged stronghold in groups. Once the strategy was set, he checked on Ning Feiyun’s condition once more, then disappeared toward the stronghold in a flash of golden light.

More time passed. Bit by bit, the various mountain patrols and city watchmen returned to Baidong Mountain to join the fight, a few stopping by to check on Ning Feiyun’s condition, but most going directly to the stronghold. Ning Feiyun’s injuries improved, and after about a shichen he was able to stand on his own feet again. At around that time, there came a sudden sound of footsteps, and looking up the mountain road he saw a group of rogue cultivators hurriedly retreating down the mountain. Qiu Wei was not among them, but they saw Ning Feiyun and the two Ruijian Pavilion youths that had been left with him and quickly tried to divert their path and escape down the more gradual slope to one side of the path.

The person leading them was holding a weapon, one which Ning Feiyun recognized— his own Shuangci spear, which he quickly used a seal to command from where he still leaned against a large stone as the others moved to strike down the escaping foes. Though Shuangci had been taken by the enemy, the spiritual weapon still recognized the commands of its master. What had once been a great prize suddenly became a curse upon the one that had taken it, loosing itself from the man’s grip and whirling around to pierce back through his chest.

Ning Feiyun’s gaze was cold as ice now, and he felt no remorse any longer, nor sympathy for these evil cultivators. He did not hesitate to strike them down, and the three of them made short work of the escaping group.

Not a moment later, though, a rush of wind could be heard. Above their heads, those rogue cultivators that wielded spiritual weapons of their own were escaping in all directions through the air. One of the Ruijian Pavilion youths commanded his sword to fly upward, but failed to strike them down. It was clear now, though, that after Song Mingzhen’s arrival, the tide of the battle had turned. The attackers who had so eagerly rushed in were now trying desperately to escape Baidong Mountain.

With his spiritual weapon back in hand, Ning Feiyun and the others made their way up the slope to the mountain stronghold. The houses and workshops were in ruins, few to none still fully intact. Dispersed spiritual energy radiated from the ground and through the air, while fires burned where furnaces had burst open. Corpses lay here and there on the ground while the survivors picked through the rubble and retrieved them. From a look around, the casualties seemed to be fairly even on both sides, even young disciples not managing to escape— though it seemed that most of the children and their mothers had been hidden away in the spirit caves before the battle reached its full force.

That, if nothing else, caused Ning Feiyun to release a long sigh of relief— though it did not lessen the grimness of the situation by much.

The two Ruijian Pavilion cultivators went to assist some of their fellows, while Ning Feiyun himself continued up through the ruined city toward Baiyu Palace. A hole had been blown into the side of the mountain, leaving half of the great hall exposed. The entire inside looked as though it had been scorched by a great fire, and many of the bodies here were badly damaged, almost unrecognizable. Amid the rubble, Song Mingzhen stood with Ning Jianlin and Qin-zongzhu’s son, Qin Wenying. All three had very solemn expressions as they surveyed the damage.

Baiyu Palace was no ordinary building, but a stronghold of the cultivation world. To see it in such a ruined state came as quite a shock.

“Qin-gongzi, Fuqin, Song-gongzi,” Ning Feiyun clasped his hands in greeting to the three of them, even as he continued to gaze about the destruction that surrounded them.

“Feiyun,” Ning Jianlin broke away from the others for a moment, his hands settling on Ning Feiyun’s shoulders. “Those stationed near the barrier reported that you had been taken by the enemy, but the citadel was already under attack, so none could be sent to aid you. When you did not come after the barrier fell, I feared for your life.”

Ning Feiyun shook his head. “I was injured, but thanks to the arrival of Song-gongzi, my life was saved.” He glanced toward the gold-clad youth standing next to Qin Wenying.

“All of Baidong Mountain owes Song-gongzi a debt of gratitude,” Ning Jianlin replied, releasing Ning Feiyun’s shoulders as he turned back toward the others. “In my case, that debt is doubled— I owe you the life of my son.”

He bowed his head, and Ning Feiyun joined him as well, falling silent. The lingering pain of his wounds still made it difficult to speak much.

Song Mingzhen inclined his head, “My father sent me in response to Qin-zongzhu’s distress call,” he replied, “I happened upon where Ning-san-gongzi had fallen, and I could not leave him to die.”

“If only you had arrived sooner, Song-gongzi,” Qin Wenying spoke up from the side. “Perhaps more of this tragedy could have been avoided.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, and Ning Feiyun glanced at Qin Wenying, a puzzled look on his pain-tightened features. He hadn’t seen the Qin clan’s young master often— Qin Wenying’s father had ruled Yinshan for over a hundred years, and his accomplishments and renown were not small. His son and heir, however, had little share in it, and was often away from the mountain, touring other regions and indulging in mortal pleasures. His father was still healthy and few in the cultivation world could match his strength, so Qin Wenying had little reason to believe that his lifestyle would need to change or that he would need to shoulder such heavy responsibility any time soon. He’d only married Ning Feiyun’s adoptive aunt and had a son few years prior, despite their long engagement. The few times Ning Feiyun had seen him, he always had a sort of carefree, idle demeanor— now, though, he appeared to be in acute distress.

“My father would surely still be living had his strength not been divided between his own fight and defending the citadel,” Qin Wenying continued, bitterness unconcealed in his voice. “We had nearly beaten them back, but then that monster appeared out of nowhere, wielding those blood-forged blades. He killed several of our strong fighters and wounded several more all within moments, even killing one of our Jiedan stage seniors. My father sent me away from the palace and sealed himself inside with that monster, but he also had to use his consciousness to maintain some of the defensive mechanisms around the citadel. How quickly those evil cultivators fled when Song-gongzi arrived! Had you come sooner, perhaps Fuqin would not have needed to sacrifice his own life to destroy that demon.”

Ning Feiyun was shocked by these words— Qin-zongzhu was dead? Even if these evil cultivators had a demon on their side, it shouldn’t have happened this way! Qiu Wei didn’t seem overly strong, perhaps Zhuji stage, but she surely wouldn’t have been able to perform this deed. Gradually, he began to feel more and more anxious, a chilly sensation stretching through his limbs. Could it be… that his earlier fears had been true?

The fact of Qin-zongzhu’s death alone shocked him enough that he almost didn’t notice Qin Wenying’s harsh words towards Song Mingzhen, nor the weight of resentment they carried. Ning Jianlin, however, frowned deeply.

“Qin-gongzi, Song-gongzi came to us in a time of vital need. Though the cost of this battle was great, we nonetheless prevailed and drove them back, and for that, we must thank him. Your father would not like to hear that you are laying the blame upon the shoulders of the one who came to help us,” he rebuked the man.

Song Mingzhen’s gaze turned toward Qin Wenying, mild and unruffled by the man’s bitterness. However, despite Ning Jianlin’s rebuke, the gold-clad youth nonetheless bowed his head. “The loss of Qin-zongzhu is a great loss for the entire world,” he replied. “I will speak to my father— surely, he will provide whatever support and assistance he can to ease Qin-gongzi’s troubles.”

He was neither angry, nor was he resentful of the implications of Qin Wenying’s words— and the Qin clan’s young master also seemed to accept this proposition. Then, Song Mingzhen turned toward Ning Feiyun once more, brow lightly creased with concern.

“Ning-san-gongzi, your injuries have yet to heal. You should go to the physicians to have them treated, and allow them to recover.”

Ning Jianlin agreed with him, and Ning Feiyun was sent to one of the few undamaged workshops, where the mountain’s physicians were treating those that had been wounded in the attack. Some of the wounds seemed a little strange, with a faint crimson spiritual light around the edges and an ominous aura surrounding the one who was wounded. When Ning Feiyun asked about these wounds, he learned that these individuals had been cut by that “demon’s” blood-forged blades. Many of the wounds weren’t too serious, though, and with the right treatment they ought to heal quickly. As for Ning Feiyun’s own injuries, they would surely heal completely within the next few days.

The battle was done, the invasion had been thwarted. Qin-zongzhu’s death was a terrible tragedy, and there was still the matter of the escaped rogue cultivators, but for now it seemed the worst had passed.

Then, three days later, all those who had been wounded by the demon’s blades died, all at once. Their wounds hadn’t shown much sign of improving, but their condition also hadn’t worsened in that time— and then, it was as though there was still a knife plunged into their body, and that said knife was twisted, the wounds opening and spilling forth blood and vital qi until the wounded died in agony, screams echoing across the mountain.

It was then that the powers of the Xuelian Twin Blades had been realized— and then, too, that they realized that the “demon” had not been killed along with Qin Wenying’s father, but had, in fact, escaped to begin a reign of terror.

After that day, the entire cultivation world was plunged into two years of bitter conflict, then five more of wariness and reconstruction… but since then, that demon— the Great General of the Nameless, Mo Yuan— had not reappeared, nor had his terrible blood-forged vital weapon struck again.

In the present day, Ning Feiyun watched Song Mingzhen round the corner and disappear, half-stumbling and in a daze. Then, he glanced once more toward Ning Zhifeng’s cell before he too turned to leave. When he neared the entrance to the mountain prison, however, he turned off to one side, following another set of corridors to the prison’s medical ward.

He had seen something during that battle in the snow-covered valley, something that had greatly disturbed him.

During the course of the war, he had met Song Mingzhen several more times, including on the battlefield. His demeanor was just the same as it had been their first meeting— confident and mature, steady in his ways, serious yet still warm, someone who embodied righteousness from the very first glance. His style of fighting, too, was that way. Precise, elegant, confident, a flawless example of Ruijian Pavilion’s famous swordsmanship.

When he fought Ning Zhifeng’s group in the mountains, though, Song Mingzhen had shown little to none of that same effortless precision. Instead, he’d fought viciously and opportunistically, the movements of blade and body lacking that harmony he had been known for before.

There was something else, too. Something even more distinctive and ominous.

Ning Feiyun arrived at the medical ward, where he was granted entry and swiftly asked to be taken to see the new prisoner, the girl from the valley.

“I’m afraid if you wish to interrogate her, she has not yet awoken,” the physician explained, but Ning Feiyun didn’t mind, only asking for the dressing to be taken away from the girl’s wound so he could have a look at it. When his gaze fell upon torn, damaged skin, his brow furrowed.

It was barely perceptible. Had he not been looking for it, had he not caught sight of that flash of light during the battle, he almost certainly wouldn’t have noticed it now— but it was still unmistakable. Glimmering faintly at the edges of the wound, barely distinguishable from mere reflection of the light, was a lingering flicker of crimson. It was so faint, so slight that one wouldn’t recognize it as the trace of the Xuelian twin blades’ power unless they already had some suspicion.

Ning Feiyun had thought that Song Mingzhen was acting a bit strange ever since they had reunited for the first time since the war. That feeling had only grown as time passed, an uneasy sense of wrongness and discomfort in the pit of his stomach, but he still hadn’t been able to place exactly what was off about it.

This Song Mingzhen was calculating, he was unsteady at times, and he wasn’t afraid to be a little bit vicious. He questioned the clans and their leaders, showed sympathy to their enemies, and willingly executed clandestine movements such as their breaking into the prison without any pushback.

The Song Mingzhen that Ning Feiyun had met during the war wouldn’t have done any of those things.

Song Mingzhen wasn’t acting like Song Mingzhen at all— but he’d still seemed familiar all this time. Now, Ning Feiyun understood. It wasn’t merely that he wasn’t behaving like himself that had him so taken aback.

It was that “Song Mingzhen” was acting more like Mo Yuan.