Chapter 150
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Chapter 150: Senior Brother Mu Qian
“Junior Sister Ming He,” Mu Qian’s voice flowed like a clear spring, his face adorned with a faint smile as he stood tall, leaning against the hall door. His calm demeanor was exactly as Ming He remembered him.
Yet, she couldn’t quite place which memory it was.
Was he the true disciple Mu Qian from the Floating Cloud Sect, or the human race traitor of the Black Wind Alliance?
Ming He gazed at the Young Man clad in black before her. In a fleeting moment of distraction, she recalled their first meeting at the Floating Cloud Sect’s library. Back then, he had worn a simple white ceremonial robe, radiating a purity and innocence that bordered on naivety, like a scholar lost in his thoughts.
But now…
She closed her eyes, her mind briefly unsettled.
The Young Man before her still carried the same gentle and refined aura, as clear and luminous as the mountains under a bright moon. Yet, his presence now exuded a blood-soaked ferocity, a turbulent and oppressive energy.
His cultivation at the peak of the Heaven Origin realm was unmistakable, but it was not his own.
He must have taken the Blood Fury Pill of the alien race; otherwise, how could he have earned the trust of Yóu Lìng, the Black Wind Alliance, and the alien race?
In that cave behind the waterfall in the Eastern Region, amidst the blood-colored flames and billowing smoke, it wasn’t just her eight senior brothers and sisters who had lost their path to cultivation.
Ming He clenched her fist. Fu Yao’s words echoed relentlessly in her mind: “The Pill Palace’s Death-like Pill destroys the path, leaving no hope of reaching the Human King realm.”
The eight senior brothers and sisters of the Floating Cloud Sect had taken the Cleansing Pill to erase their memories of conspiring with the Sect Master. Thus, their reactions in that cave—their anger and shock—were genuine.
Before taking the Cleansing Pill, they had already consumed the Death-like Pill.
That was how they survived, joining the Nine Heavens Pavilion, hiding in the shadows to protect the human race—to protect her.
But the agony of the blood-colored flames searing their veins and flesh was real.
Their suffering was real. But what about Mu Qian?
How did he feel when he pointed his sword at his fellow disciples? How crushing was it to be misunderstood, to be branded a traitor by those he once called comrades?
His brothers and sisters had lost their path, forever barred from the Human King realm and the battlefield of the heavens. Mu Qian was no different.
Yet, at that time, they were no longer in life danger; hiding in the shadows offered them a different kind of safety. But what about the Young Man standing before her now?
Yóu Lìng and the alien race were no fools.
Even though Ming He knew that Wei Rou, the leader of the Alien Race Hunting Hall, stood with the human race, deceiving Yóu Lìng was no easy feat.
No one knew what methods the direct descendant of the Soul Clan possessed to rise from the brink of life and death.
The Soul Clan of old could control the hearts and minds of cultivators, much like at the auction in Baiyu Building in Ding Kang City of the Eastern Region, where Bai Mengjiao had seized Ming He’s will and bid ten thousand spirit stones to claim her.
Ming He opened her eyes, her gaze trembling slightly. She thought of the solemn Young Man she had encountered at the Blood River Hall, the pain of having her tendons severed and her swordsmanship destroyed in that dark room, and the shock of uncovering the truth on Canglan Mountain. Her eyes glistened faintly.
“This scar…” Ming He’s voice was low, tinged with uncertainty.
The Young Man’s once-handsome face was now marred by an ugly, jagged scar that obliterated his former gentle appearance. Yet, when he smiled, he still shone like the moon.
A moon with a flaw.
“This was to earn the envoy’s trust,” Mu Qian replied with a light smile.
Yóu Lìng was inscrutable and cunning. Aside from the alien prince, she trusted no one—certainly not him.
Mu Qian’s eyes flickered as he suddenly recalled a distant memory, also within this grand hall, kneeling on one knee, drenched in blood, as a cold, icy voice commanded, “Lift your head.”
At that moment, he paused, lifting his gaze to meet a pair of black, ink-like eyes, which revealed understanding and clarity.
He truly believed he was on the brink of disaster.
Death itself was not terrifying; what pained him was that this grand game of celestial chess had yet to begin and was already nearing its end.
His heart trembled, and his fists instinctively wanted to clench tightly. Only through sheer willpower did Mu Qian maintain his composure, and then he heard the mocking laughter of the lofty black-clad envoy before him: “Are you interested in serving under me?”
At that time, he felt a wave of relief, thinking that Yóu Lìng hadn’t seen through him.
But now, reflecting on it, perhaps that wasn’t the case.
His eyes.
His eyes had likely betrayed him long ago.
He could never emulate Yóu Lìng’s crimson depth because he had never truly tasted despair.
When his Master’s identity as a human race traitor was exposed, his fellow disciples in the Floating Cloud Sect looked at him with scornful eyes, their hatred spilling over onto him. Yet, not all of them felt that way.
Even Junior Sister Ming He had once placed her unwavering trust in him.
So, even as he stood in darkness, his heart still yearned for the light.
Perhaps Yóu Lìng had known this from the moment he stepped into this grand hall.
She knew, yet she did not act against him. Instead, she granted him a position of supreme authority within the Black Wind Alliance—why?
Mu Qian gazed at the last trace of blood lingering in the air, a faint smile playing on his lips: “A scar in exchange for a new world—it’s worth it.”
“Besides, I have my own conditions!” He sighed as he looked at Ming He, who stood with her head bowed in silence. In the next moment, excitement flickered in his eyes:
“The Sect Master asked if I would abandon my path to cultivation and infiltrate the Black Wind Alliance. I told him my condition: the Haoran Sword Dao.”
The young man’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, his aura bright and lively, dispelling the earlier gloom. “Junior Sister knows how much I’ve always longed for the Haoran Sword Dao.”
He smiled, still the same as he had always been—radiant like the moon, standing tall like an orchid and jade tree.
Ming He blinked, feeling a chill on her face, her heart heavy with emotion.
The Haoran Sword Dao.
The sword path Mu Qian had once admired above all else.
A wisp of Haoran energy, and the wind of swift exhilaration.
“Do you doubt I can comprehend it?” Mu Qian laughed, his confidence shining through, a youthful vigor rekindled. “Even with the alien blood energy coursing through me, as long as my heart remains steadfast, why can’t I advance?”
“I’ve never believed that the path of cultivation could be bound by limitations. The elders in the Pill Palace claim that the Death-like Pill severs the path, and the Blood Fury Pill drains a cultivator’s vitality, leaving no hope for the Human King stage.”
“But I’ve always believed that my path is mine to forge.”
“Aren’t you the same, Junior Sister Ming He?”
The young man in black raised his head, gazing out of the hall, squinting in the dawn’s light. “From you, Junior Sister, I see that the path follows the heart. I severed your tendons and destroyed your swordsmanship, yet you refused to succumb to darkness. That’s why you stand before me now.”
“If you can do it, why can’t I?” Mu Qian’s smile was radiant, his gaze burning with determination as he looked at Ming He, his presence as striking as the spirited energy of the Flying Sky Ribbon.
This was why he could still wield a sword.
His sword heart endured; he was, after all, still a sword cultivator.
Sword cultivators press forward without hesitation, their sharpness unmatched. Even in the shadows, their hearts remain unyielding.
These are two entirely distinct paths of swordsmanship.
Though they diverge, they ultimately converge at the same destination.
Ming He lowered her gaze, her sword heart clear and suddenly enlightened. She smiled radiantly at Mu Qian, “Of course you can, Senior Brother Mu Qian.”
“I eagerly await the chance to witness your heroic presence once more on the battlefield of the heavens.” She steadied the Jing Ying Sword in her hand, which trembled as if sensing a worthy opponent, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.
“Perhaps by then, the human race will no longer need me,” Mu Qian murmured softly, stepping out of the grand hall under Ming He’s puzzled gaze, his eyes lingering on the white-robed Nine Heavens Guard. “Junior Sister Ming He, have you met them?”
“Them” naturally referred to the true disciples of the Floating Cloud Sect, the human prodigies who, in the eyes of the world, perished because of Mu Qian.
In truth, there were more than just those disciples, but among those Ming He had encountered or had ties to, there were only these eight individuals.
Ming He shook her head, “No.”
She had only met Senior Brother Lu Xiaoliang, but at the time, she hadn’t known his identity, so it didn’t truly count as having met him.
“I haven’t met them either,” Mu Qian said, blinking and smiling more cheerfully. “Have you ever met the Master of the Nine Heavens Pavilion?”
He thought he likely knew more than Ming He, but to his surprise, she looked at him with a profound gaze. “That is my Master. Of course, I have met her.”
Indeed, the Master of the Nine Heavens Pavilion was none other than her own Master, Qu Lingyun, who had taken the Xuan Yi Sword from the Tomb of the Divine Sword and casually handed her the Jing Ying Sword.
Mu Qian was visibly astonished. “How did you know, Junior Sister?”
She shouldn’t have known, right? Had Pavilion Master Fu informed her beforehand?
Ming He lowered her gaze, “I guessed.”
In the Tomb of the Divine Sword, she had harbored suspicions, for that silhouette had been all too familiar. Yet, at the time, her Master should have been confined within the Liu Yun Sect, so before her thoughts could fully form, she dismissed them herself.
But now, times had changed.
With her cultivation reaching the seventh stage of the Heaven Origin realm, and the Zichan Cave being so close to the Liu Yun Sect, she could easily slip in to investigate.
Her original intention had been to check on her Master’s recovery and to see if Senior Brother Qing Feng was aware of Yóu Lìng’s existence. Yet, to her surprise, neither of them was at the Liu Yun Sect—or even in the Eastern Region.
Thus, Ming He couldn’t help but turn her thoughts elsewhere.
For instance, her Master was only at an age between knowing confusion and knowing destiny, yet Senior Brother Qing Feng, being a clan relative of Qing Yue, must have been over a hundred years old. How could he have been rescued by her Master and remained hidden in the Liu Yun Sect all this time?
It wasn’t a coincidence; it could only have been deliberate.
They had stayed at the Liu Yun Sect to guard the Star Lock, to protect… the one who had yet to appear at that time—her!
Ming He looked at Mu Qian, her eyes filled with doubt. “But if Master left the Eastern Region without permission, does the Demon Race know nothing?”
Mu Qian chuckled softly, “The human race and Uncle Qu intentionally concealed it, so the Demon Race naturally couldn’t tell.
They couldn’t tell before, and now that the Demon Race has a new leader, even if Uncle Qu were to parade himself openly, no one would dare to say a word.”
Ming He frowned, her confusion deepening. “Then what about Wei Rou…?”
Does Master know? Or was the past merely part of a larger scheme?
“Uncle Qu knows,” Mu Qian nodded. “Junior Sister Ming He, there are good and bad people among the human race, and the same is true for the alien races.
Pavilion Master Wei is a member of the Tian Yan Tribe who does not wish to invade the Tianwu Continent; she is also a wronged member of the Tian Yan royal family. Like that young noble of the alien race, she was exiled to the Tianwu Continent.”
However, Mu Qian did not elaborate on how Wei Rou had encountered the young Qu Lingyun after her exile, how she had been captured by the young leader of the Demon Race, how she had been found and joined the Alien Race Hunting Hall by that young noble, or why she now sided with the human race.
Because Wei Rou had already returned to the Tian Yan Tribe.
At first, Qu Lingyun hadn’t known her identity and had sincerely regarded her as a friend, but even after learning the truth, he never regretted it.
Thus, there was only an open and honest relationship between him and Wei Rou.
Nothing more.
After that incident long ago, Qu Lingyun had chosen to go to the Liu Yun Sect—wasn’t that also a move in the grand scheme?
By secluding himself for years and roaming under the name of the Nine Heavens Pavilion’s Lord, no one in the Demon Race had known.
The Domain Lord’s mansion in the Eastern Region had covered for him, leaving no trace behind.
“What about Senior Brother Qing Feng?” Ming He paused, her tone hesitant.
Why had Senior Brother Qing Feng appeared at the Liu Yun Sect? Did the human race know his previous identity? Was he aware of Yóu Lìng’s existence?
And what about her second Senior Sister?
“You don’t need to know about these matters, Junior Sister,” Mu Qian said, reaching out to gently ruffle her hair with a tender expression. “Let us handle these things. You should focus on preparing for the grand ceremony for the young leader’s appointment.”
That was the most important matter.
After saying this, Mu Qian no longer looked at Ming He, vanishing like the wind in the flowing clouds before her, leaving her to ponder his actions.
Ming He did not stop him; she merely stood in place, head lowered in thought.
Qin Chu Yi approached and stood beside her. “What do you want to do?”
Of course, she understood Ming He.
Ming He raised her gaze, looking at the collapsing Blood River Hall behind her, and blinked. “Senior Sister, I want to meet someone.”
Perhaps, it was not a person at all.
