Chapter 237: Wind-Clear Willow, Luo Wuzhe
"Master, you really need to change your habit of leaving things unsaid," Rovel said, his voice carrying a soft, lingering sigh. "There aren't exactly many normal people on Taixu Mountain. Because we've all been secluded on this peak since childhood, our worldly experience is shallow at best. If you bury your tenderness behind silence, we might never be able to understand the true weight of your words."
Red Kite fell silent. Her crimson eyes wavered as she processed his gentle reprimand. After a long moment of hesitation, she finally offered a slow, almost imperceptible nod.
"Master, if it were the old you, you would have definitely said there was no need for such things, right?" The ethereal voice of Lin Chaoyu echoed softly in Red Kite's ears, carrying a weight of melancholic nostalgia. "After all, you never wanted to leave any attachments behind. For someone like you, who possesses endless longevity, forming bonds is a form of torture. And for us, who cannot stay by your side forever, it is equally agonizing."
Red Kite turned her head. Lin Chaoyu stood right beside her, her figure cast in a faint, sorrowful illusion. Yet, as Red Kite glanced around, it became abundantly clear that Rovel and the others could not see the phantom at all.
"Perhaps the old me was wrong," Red Kite murmured into the crisp mountain air. It remained entirely unclear whether those words were meant as a response to Rovel's advice or a quiet concession to the illusory Lin Chaoyu.
"Well then, it is time to go see Junior Sister Wanru," Rovel said, shifting his attention toward the dilapidated small house nearby. His senses easily pierced through the wooden walls, detecting an incredibly weak, flickering aura clinging to life inside. "She used to be the most obedient one among us. I still cannot fathom what was going through her mind back then."
"Ahem..." Cheng Lingshuang coughed lightly, crossing her arms. Her tone carried a distinct, inexplicable edge of dissatisfaction.
Catching the subtle cue, Rovel smoothly corrected his course. "...Lingshuang is also very good. She listens to me the most."
Hearing the praise, the tension in Cheng Lingshuang's shoulders vanished. She offered a firm nod, a deeply satisfied smile gracing her features.
"Master's personality doesn't seem like someone who would be obedient at all..." Li Sushang grumbled under her breath, eyeing her teacher with a healthy dose of skepticism.
Her muttering was instantly rewarded. Cheng Lingshuang casually channeled her qi, using the [Blade Unbreakable] technique to deliver a precise, resounding whack directly onto the top of Li Sushang's head, raising a comical lump.
Once the brief moment of levity settled, a figure who had been waiting quietly in the periphery finally stepped forward.
"Red Kite Immortal, I am Otto Apocalypse," the blond man introduced himself, his voice measured and polite. He carefully lowered the heavy, ornate coffin he carried on his back, letting it rest upon the earth before addressing the ancient warrior. "We once met on the Kipchak Steppe..."
"...I am sorry, but my memories are incredibly muddled right now," Red Kite replied, slowly shaking her head. She searched her fragmented mind but found absolutely no impression of the man standing before her. "If it was merely a brief encounter, I likely do not remember you."
"It does not matter," Otto dismissed the forgotten history with a wave of his hand. His gaze locked onto her, burning with a quiet, desperate intensity. "I only wish to ask the Immortal a single question. Is there a way to resurrect the deceased? I am willing to trade absolutely everything I possess for the answer."
As he spoke, a radiant golden cube manifested in the palm of his hand, pulsing with an ancient, mechanical energy.
"This is..." Red Kite's brow furrowed. The sight of the glowing construct tugged at a buried thread of recognition within her damaged mind.
"Void Archives," Otto supplied, his tone completely flat.
The name acted as a catalyst, unearthing a few fragmented memories from the depths of Red Kite's consciousness.
"I did not expect a human to gain its recognition," Red Kite murmured, eyeing the Divine Key with a newfound wariness.
"It is not recognition. It is merely a transaction," Otto corrected, shaking his head. He knew all too well that even now, he had not secured full authority over the sentient weapon.
"I am sorry, but I possess no method to resurrect the dead," Red Kite stated plainly, shattering his fragile hope. "The only reason I could achieve a [Return from Death] is due to the unique, anomalous nature of my own body."
"Then could you allow me to peek into the secrets of your body!" Otto refused to surrender to despair, taking a step forward to press the issue. His mind raced with frantic calculations. Perhaps the elusive method to resurrect Kallen was hidden within the very cellular structure of the Immortal? If he could just decipher the mechanics of her revival, could he replicate the miracle and bring Kallen back to life?
Red Kite offered no verbal response. She simply shook her head in absolute, unyielding silence.
Otto closed his eyes. He drew in a long, shuddering breath, forcing his turbulent emotions back under a mask of cold composure. Without uttering another word, he hoisted the heavy coffin back onto his shoulders and retreated to the rear of the group, swallowed by his own silent grief.
Meanwhile, Rovel had already crossed the threshold into the small, dimly lit house. The scent of stale blood and decay hung heavy in the air. By the bedside, Jiang Wanxi knelt on the floor, her hands tightly gripping Jiang Wanru's frail fingers as large, unbroken streams of tears cascaded down her dirt-streaked face.
"Senior Brother... I am sorry..." Jiang Wanru lay motionless on the rough wooden bed. Her breathing was as thin and fragile as a spider's silk, yet she still forced her pale lips to part, offering her apology to the man standing in the doorway.
"You should not be saying those words to me. You should be saying them to Master," Rovel replied, his voice deliberately indifferent.
Yet, upon seeing Jiang Wanru in such a pathetic, broken state, the burning anger that had fueled him inexplicably dissipated by more than half. He knew the truth of her character. Jiang Wanru had always been genuinely obedient, far more so than her twin sister. Whether it came to the grueling hours of cultivation or the mundane chores of daily life, she had always been compliant and hardworking. Back during their peaceful days on Taixu Mountain, she was usually the one taking care of Jiang Wanxi, acting as the responsible anchor between the two. Though she occasionally displayed a mischievous streak, it had never been malicious—merely the fleeting innocence of a sheltered childhood.
"Tell me," Rovel began, crossing his arms as he leaned against the splintered wooden doorframe. "Why did you participate in the assassination of our Master?" He waited quietly, letting the heavy silence stretch as he demanded the truth.
"I knew that... if I did not participate, my sister might die..." Jiang Wanru painfully shifted her gaze toward the weeping Jiang Wanxi. "She is my only sister. I could not bear the thought of her dying because of me."
A wet, rattling cough interrupted her words, but she forced herself to continue. "But... I was so afraid of the pain. I did not have the courage to end my own life to stop it..."
Tears pooled in the corners of Jiang Wanru's dull eyes, overflowing with a crushing, suffocating guilt. "If I had just been a little braver back then... perhaps none of this would have ever happened..."
Twenty years ago, during that fateful betrayal, Qin Suyi was not the only disciple whose Sword Heart had completely shattered. Jiang Wanru's foundation had broken as well. That catastrophic failure of her internal cultivation was the exact reason she had been so violently eroded by her own true qi. The internal energy had turned toxic, ravaging her meridians to the point where merely standing up and walking on solid ground had become an impossible luxury.
Generally speaking, when martial cultivators succumbed to qi deviation and fell to mara, they transformed into bloodthirsty madmen. Their physical strength would increase exponentially, fueled by chaos, while their rational will was entirely overtaken by violent instincts. However, when an ordinary person—or a cultivator whose foundation had been entirely crippled—succumbed to the same demonic erosion, it did not grant them monstrous power. Instead, it manifested as strange, agonizing, and entirely incurable diseases that slowly ate away at their life force.
"Senior Brother, I know the assassination plot began because of me. Wanru's sins are too heavy to ever be forgiven," she rasped, her voice trembling with desperate pleading. "I am willing for my soul to fall into the deepest hell for eternity to atone for my crimes. I only beg... I beg Senior Brother to spare my sister. She only did those terrible things for my sake, that is why she... cough... cough, cough..."
A violent spasm wracked her frail frame, and Jiang Wanru suddenly coughed up a terrifying amount of dark, coagulated blood. It was the obvious consequence of her actions moments prior; forcibly drawing upon her shattered true qi to manifest the [Luo Wuzhe] sword had pushed her already failing body past the point of no return, accelerating the fatal erosion.
Beside the bed, Jiang Wanxi buried her face in the bloodstained blankets, sobbing uncontrollably as she watched her sister's life slip away.
Rovel watched the tragic scene unfold, a storm of mixed emotions churning within his chest. From Red Kite's perspective as the betrayed mentor, no matter what pitiful excuses were offered, the heinous crime of murdering one's own master was an absolute sin that could never be forgiven. Yet, from the perspective of these two sisters, trapped in a web of fear and shattered loyalties, all that remained in their world was a suffocating, inescapable despair.
Deep down, Rovel could genuinely empathize with their desperate state of mind. He, too, had a younger sister. If Yuki were ever infected by Honkai energy and transformed into a mindless Death Soldier, he knew with absolute certainty that he would do anything to save her. He would exhaust every possible method, cross every moral boundary, and gladly make an enemy of the entire world if it meant bringing her back.
But empathy could not rewrite history. The assassination of their master was a settled, bloody fact etched into the annals of Taixu Mountain. The sinners must ultimately face the consequences and atone for the fatal mistakes they had committed.
Seeing Rovel's stoic silence, a mournful, accepting smile slowly curled upon Jiang Wanru's bloodstained lips. She knew there would be no salvation.
"I am sorry... Sister..." Jiang Wanru shifted her fading vision back to Jiang Wanxi, her voice dropping to a hollow whisper. "In the end... I still could not protect you..."
As the final syllable left her lips, the faint light in her eyes extinguished. Her frail body went entirely limp, losing all remaining signs of life.
The ethereal projection of [Luo Wuzhe] resting beside her corpse flickered violently before reverting to the cold, metallic form of a dormant Xuanyuan Sword.
"Ahhh!!!"
A piercing, soul-shattering cry of absolute agony erupted from Jiang Wanxi's throat. The wail tore through the confines of the small house, echoing mournfully across the desolate mountain forest.
Dark blood pooled and stained the wooden floorboards of the ruined home. Amidst the tragedy, the two sisters' hands remained tightly clasped together, locked in a desperate grip. In death, at the very least, they would never be separated again.
The tumbleweed is born without roots, forever cursed to drift aimlessly with the high winds. The [Wind-Clear Willow] blows the fragile tumbleweed across the desolate plains; and when one looks into the endless distance, all that remains in sight is the solitary gleam of [Luo Wuzhe].
Stepping out of the house of death, Rovel approached his master. Without a word, he extended his hand, offering the blood-stained Xuanyuan Sword back to its rightful owner.
Red Kite stared at the golden blade, the physical manifestation of her disciples' betrayal and tragedy. She hesitated for a long, heavy moment, the weight of centuries pressing down upon her shoulders, before she finally reached out and accepted it.
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