Blackness. A world so utterly dark he could not see his own fingers.
Qian Xuelang awoke from a stupor. For a time he could recall nothing at all. His mind felt completely empty, and he could not even tell whether he had truly awakened or opened his eyes.
He moved his hands slightly, a wave of drowsy languor washing over him. When he reached up to touch his face, he could not tell whether what his fingers found was really his own. A long while passed before the sensation reached his mind.
His fingertips were already touching his eyes.
They were open.
So I can no longer see.
Qian Xuelang sighed softly. He did not know where he was lying, only that he felt wonderfully warm and comfortable. Through the haze, the sensation reminded him of his mother’s embrace.
No. It was even more pleasant and safer than that.
It felt as though he had returned to the time before birth, enveloped in the amniotic fluid of his mother’s womb. He need not think or do anything. Not a single thought troubled him; all he wanted was to sleep on, sheltered in such blissful ease.
Qian Xuelang felt himself growing very small, younger even than eight. Perhaps he was five, perhaps three. He sat upon his mother’s knees while she kissed him over and over. Her soft, warm embrace carried a faint fragrance, and he heard her call to him sweetly, “My little Xue’er. My adorable little Xue’er. Mother loves you so much. Good child, why won’t you speak? Would you smile for me?”
Even when Qian Xuelang never responded, his mother did not mind. She would always hold Qian Xuelang this way, swaying gently on the swing as she coaxed him to sleep.
His childhood seemed always full of sunshine, condensed into a single bright afternoon: a warm breeze moving a little swing, a clear pond shimmering ahead, a few fish swimming beneath the surface.
The beautifully dressed woman carried him back and forth, tenderness written across her face. “What does it matter if you don’t speak or smile? There are so many children in this world who do both. What is so rare about that? But Mother’s little Xue’er is the only one who doesn’t speak or smile. My good child, it was Mother’s fault for letting you hear those things. I won’t allow those people to come again tomorrow.”
Resting against her, Qian Xuelang suddenly longed to call out “Mother” and make her happy—
He wanted to reach up and touch her face, to smile at her. But he was so small, too small to do anything, and slowly fell asleep instead.
In his dream he heard his mother’s gentle voice. “Sleep well, my good child. Mother will always be here. I will never leave you. You needn’t think about anything or worry about a thing.”
Half dreaming, half awake, just as he hovered between life and death.
After an unknown time, Qian Xuelang vaguely heard children laughing nearby. Children… no, babies. Several seemed to be crawling over his body as though he were a toy, and one lay on his chest as if waiting to be held.
Without knowing why, Qian Xuelang instinctively curved both arms around that baby and hugged it. The little one cooed happily, smacked its lips, and blew a stream of saliva bubbles.
Where have these children come from?
Qian Xuelang was baffled. Suddenly pain shot through his body, as if something had bitten him. He immediately let go. Deprived of his warmth, the baby in his arms began wailing, but its cries set off a chorus of delighted laughter.
Of course a baby cries when it loses an embrace, but why do the other children laugh?
Can one child’s distress really make the others happy?
Before Qian Xuelang could understand, his limbs grew unbearably heavy. He sank into a deep sleep again, lying motionless.
This time, it was his master who approached through the darkness. He gazed at him with great tenderness, sighed softly, and walked past him toward a darkness deeper still.
“Master,” Qian Xuelang asked, “where are you going?”
Naturally, He Tianjun gave no answer. He simply walked away. Just as Qian Xuelang was beginning to grieve, his mother came back.
The sky was still blue, the light still dazzling. The swing creaked, and several small fish broke the surface of the water.
His mother gathered him into her arms. “My precious Xue’er, sleep well. Mother will always protect you. I will always, always be here.”
Just as Qian Xuelang was about to sink back into sleep, he suddenly remembered his master.
Then he remembered that his parents had been dead for many years and his master had left him long ago as well. Everything before him could only be a dream.
So Qian Xuelang opened his eyes in his mother’s embrace and gazed at her gently. His mother looked back as if she understood. Pain gradually filled her eyes.
Her long, beautiful fingers caressed Qian Xuelang’s cheek, their nails still vividly stained with flower-petal dye. This time she said nothing, only kissed his forehead, as she had when they parted so many years ago.
Qian Xuelang finally awoke.
Darkness still surrounded him. His hearing had recovered somewhat, although it remained far weaker than usual; his sense of touch was similarly diminished. The imbalance made him uncomfortable.
Soon he heard children babbling all around. They were not speaking, merely making the wa-wa and da-da sounds of babies. Some cries were shrill, others gentle. With his hearing impaired, he could judge neither direction nor distance. He did not know what the children wanted, much less why he was here.
Wait… why am I here?
Qian Xuelang moved slightly and was struck by terrible pain, as though knives had pierced all his internal organs. His five senses were dulled, yet his sense of pain seemed magnified many times over. He nearly fainted. The children suddenly stirred, and he heard someone approaching slowly.
The newcomer carried an overwhelming aura of demonic qi—
Demonic qi? How did I end up beside a demonic being? Wait, demonic qi… of course. This is Liuyanzhu.
Liuyanzhu. Enduring the pain, Qian Xuelang tried desperately to think. Why was I in Liuyanzhu? Did Ren Yijue escape? How strange… who is Ren Yijue?
His pain was almost unbearable. He hunched his shoulders and struggled to sit upright. At the mention of Ren Yijue, fragments of memory began returning one after another, until he recalled roughly what had happened.
The little snake was ambushed by White-Jade Skeleton. I was struck by the three Heart-Guarding Needles…
Ren Yijue…
Feeling blindly around him, Qian Xuelang found no second person. Instead, a hand suddenly clamped around his wrist and hauled him up with rough, savage force, like a wild beast.
“What are you looking for?” the person asked.
Qian Xuelang ached all over. The stranger’s body was unnaturally hot, and where his wrist was gripped felt as though it were burning. Coupled with the demonic qi pressing down on him, it became nearly impossible to bear, and he abruptly vomited blood.
Perhaps the stranger found it filthy, or perhaps there was another reason, but he suddenly released Qian Xuelang’s hand and stood to one side. “What are you looking for?” he asked again.
“Ren Yijue,” Qian Xuelang said coldly. “And a little snake.”
“Oh? That snake? Why? Do you want revenge?”
“The little snake was struck by White-Jade Skeleton’s blood curse, which reversed the flow of his yao blood. That is why the Heart-Guarding Needles wounded me. Why would I seek revenge?” Qian Xuelang endured the pain. “There is no feud between us. Besides, he is Ren Yijue’s friend. I only want to know whether he lives or dies.”
White-Jade Skeleton really is connected to the Jiufang family. If the blood curse on the little snake cannot be undone, perhaps Jiufang Ce could help.
The stranger gave a derisive laugh. “Someone carried him away to save him. Whether he lives or dies, who knows? Leave it to fate.”
Qian Xuelang asked, “And Ren Yijue?”
This time there was no reply. Qian Xuelang understood that the stranger either would not answer or did not know. He asked instead, “If you won’t answer, I’ll ask something else. Why am I here?”
The stranger laughed coldly. “Even now you’re still so arrogant. Trapped in danger, yet unwilling to soften your manner in the slightest. Qian Xuelang, do you truly not care, or can you simply not see your situation?”
Hearing the hostility in his words, Qian Xuelang grew puzzled. He could not imagine when he had made such an enemy.
But judging from Jing Pu’s story, he probably had far more enemies than he supposed. One or two demonic beings among them would hardly be surprising.
Qian Xuelang sneered. “Do you ask because you truly want to hear my answer? If you want me to submit, why dress it up in such high-minded words?”
Making an enemy when he knew nothing of his circumstances was hardly wise, but Qian Xuelang had never been one to bow his head.
His mind was perfectly clear. If you hate me so much, why rescue me? Unless you acted from kindness, there must be a bargain involved, or you want me indebted to you.
Even if the stranger had rescued him out of kindness, why should Qian Xuelang change his own will to accommodate someone else’s?
There was silence for a time. Before long the children began babbling again, and the stranger finally roared at them with violent anger. “Get away!”
At first Qian Xuelang thought he was merely throwing a tantrum, but from the sounds he made, the stranger seemed to be suffering terribly, as if afraid he might hurt the children. He felt about and tried to sit up, preparing himself in case the man attacked him.
“Don’t move!” the stranger shouted with difficulty. “You lot, go over there… stop following me!”
After a while he let out a shrill, agonized howl like a beast. Before Qian Xuelang could do anything, a crowd of little children huddled against his feet, trembling, apparently terrified.
Through the rush of air, Qian Xuelang could hear the stranger smashing and striking things wildly in his agony, sending stone fragments flying. For some reason, however, he never attacked his side of the chamber.
After another long while, the stranger seemed finally to calm down. “I advise you not to do anything,” he said.
His tone was exhausted, although he was still forcing himself to speak.
“What?” Qian Xuelang asked, confused.
The stranger laughed harshly. “You’re in the Third Veil now. Most of these demon infants died in the womb and took form from accumulated resentment. If you show even the slightest favoritism toward one, the others will immediately grow jealous. Of course, if you enjoy seeing them slaughter each other, do as you please. But your life is closely bound to theirs now. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Only then did Qian Xuelang understand why the other babies had laughed when one of them began crying.
Before he could ask anything else, the stranger ran away.