Ten years ago, Luo Ying had voluntarily sacrificed herself, and her injuries had never recovered since then.
She felt she should have been someone destined to die. She had seemed to step onto the threshold of the underworld, yet was forcibly pulled back by a hand, hanging onto her last breath.
During these ten years, Luo Ying spent more days unconscious than awake. Her primordial spirit was extremely weak, her divine sense useless. When her spirits were better, she could barely hear movements outside the room and knew when someone came. If the visitor intended to hide, she couldn’t detect them.
For this very reason, when Su Zhuyi and Qinghe sometimes discussed matters, they weren’t worried about being caught by Luo Ying’s divine sense, because they both knew how weak Luo Ying currently was.
Also for this very reason, Luo Ying didn’t know that Qinghe had subdued the Longquan Sword—that he was the Longquan Sword.
But when she saw Qinghe, she would instinctively feel uncomfortable.
This discomfort was strange. First, she would feel that although this disciple wore a smile on his face and even had laughter in his eyes, his heart seemed cold and ice-like. His body inexplicably gave off a chill that made even Luo Ying, who usually had no particular emotions, feel a faint dislike.
Yet this dislike was contradictory—she inherently disliked him, but subconsciously very much wanted to see him.
Sometimes when she opened her eyes and saw him, she would have a very strange thought that she didn’t understand, but it was that feeling of “I should be with him.” This thought greatly surprised Luo Ying, but she had always been cold-faced, so emotions didn’t show on her face.
At this time, she still didn’t know that the reason for this feeling was that she had once voluntarily sacrificed herself to the Longquan Sword. Even though it was ultimately interrupted, her arm’s flesh, blood, primordial spirit, and cultivation were all within the Longquan Sword—that is, within Qinghe’s body.
All those previous sacrifices had died. Only she was the exception.
Qinghe held an inexplicable attraction for her.
Qinghe was someone with deep thoughts. Initially, Luo Ying could still sense the filth and resentment from his childhood. As he grew up and after he comprehended things beside the Sword Heart Stone, his thoughts became increasingly calm. At least Luo Ying no longer felt the malice toward the outside world that he had as a child. After he grew up, Luo Ying could rarely see into his thoughts.
But now, she saw them.
When she was inexplicably attracted and approached Qinghe in a dazed state, the usually composed Qinghe panicked. He was at a loss, and in that instant, the extremely weak Luo Ying sensed Qinghe’s feelings.
Wrapped in layers of ice, hidden in the depths of his heart, that flame burned Luo Ying’s consciousness clear. It was also like seaweed tangled in the deep sea—once fallen in, one would be entangled within and never able to escape.
She used to have no heart.
So she couldn’t feel it.
But later, ripples appeared in her heart, and she felt it—she sensed the deepest, most profound burning emotions hidden in the heart of this little disciple who had accompanied her for three hundred years.
He had developed rebellious thoughts toward his master.
He liked her.
After realizing this, Luo Ying didn’t ask Qinghe what he’d been doing lately, what level he’d practiced his sword techniques to, whether he’d encountered any problems in sword dao, or whether he’d been properly teaching his junior sister, as she used to. She only said: You made a mistake. Ten years ago, I wasn’t conscious and couldn’t punish you. Now, go to the Punishment Hall to receive a whipping.
She seemed unable to hear his heartbeat anymore.
She watched as the light and laughter in his eyes slightly receded, then he smiled with a face full of sunshine again. “Master, instead of a hundred lashes with the Spirit Refining Whip, could it be changed? Even stabbing me with a hundred swords would be fine. We sword cultivators, when we make mistakes, should receive sword punishment.”
“Your heart is improper, your virtue uncultivated. You should receive a whipping.”
Luo Ying’s gaze was clear. When those eyes of hers quietly gazed at someone, there was always a feeling as if the secrets hidden deep in one’s heart had been pierced through. Qinghe was originally used to this and could remain composed under such penetrating eyes, but at that moment, he panicked.
He should have refused, because he was afraid, and he was anxious.
Not afraid of pain or death, but afraid that after receiving the Spirit Refining Whip’s lashing, he wouldn’t be able to control the Longquan Sword and would thus harm Master.
In that instant, his mind was in complete chaos, and he instinctively said: “If this disciple doesn’t comply…”
“Abolish your cultivation and expel you from the sect.”
…
When Su Zhuyi arrived, Qinghe was already kneeling outside the door. He blocked the doorway without a sound, his emotions in turmoil, yet not knowing what he should say. His mouth opened hesitantly, but still not a single word came out.
Su Zhuyi couldn’t think of another solution for the moment. She could only kneel before Luo Ying as well. “Master, senior brother’s severe injuries haven’t healed—he can’t withstand a hundred lashes.”
With a turn of thought: “Isn’t there that Quicksand River spiritual spring in a few years? The sect master also said the senior brother would fight for the sect. If he receives a whipping now, he won’t be able to recover.”
Su Zhuyi didn’t know about this Quicksand River spiritual spring. She had only remembered it when people from Dong Fushang Sect mentioned it once, and now threw it out as a shield for Qinghe.
“Severe injuries haven’t healed?” Luo Ying glanced at Qinghe. “Although my primordial spirit is weak, I also know that his body is perfectly fine, and his cultivation has greatly advanced.”
“Senior brother’s injuries are to his primordial spirit,” Su Zhuyi said again.
Luo Ying stopped paying attention to Su Zhuyi and only looked at Qinghe: “Is your primordial spirit severely injured?”
Qinghe’s lips moved, and he answered almost without hesitation: “No.” Only after speaking did he feel a trace of regret in his heart.
He had never told Luo Ying a lie, and even at this moment, he forgot to lie.
Hearing the answer, Luo Ying silently glanced at Su Zhuyi.
Su Zhuyi wanted to throw in the towel. Clearly, Luo Ying had just shown signs of relenting, yet Qinghe still refused to say a soft word. Why was she crying and kneeling, worrying her heart out for what?
Making a person who committed all manner of evils worry daily about this one dying and that one dying—she wanted to just slice both of them with a sword and be done with it!
Su Zhuyi’s anger also flared up. Damn it, she didn’t want to care about this master-disciple pair—they only caused her trouble. She swished to her feet, then heard Luo Ying say: “Then let’s go.”
Qinghe stiffly and slowly stood up. He clenched his fists and followed behind Luo Ying without a word.
Su Zhuyi sneered coldly in her heart. Her mind was made up—she planned to run. After receiving the whipping, when the Longquan Sword couldn’t be suppressed and a great massacre washed the entire Gujian Sect in blood, she would escape early to avoid being implicated. As she walked, she thought that if the Gujian Sect was destroyed because of this, wouldn’t history be completely changed? Then what was she worrying about—wouldn’t the result be the same? With such a major sect as the Gujian Sect wiped out, the development and changes would be enormous, shocking the entire world.
She returned to her room, drew the Songfeng Sword, stuffed all the useful things that weren’t in her storage pouch into her small bag, and planned to pat her bottom and leave.
“Little sister, where are you going?” Little Skull followed behind Su Zhuyi’s bottom, asking with a confused expression.
“Leaving this place.”
“Where to?” Little Skull wore the butterfly pendant around his neck. Although it was worn to pieces, he still treasured it dearly. Now hearing they were leaving, he also went to collect some things to put in his small pendant—needles and thread, clothes left unfinished on the bed, fabric, and several small grass figures. He couldn’t make straw man substitutes, but having seen them often, he could weave grass dolls.