Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I shouldn’t have believed Han Zhaoye.

But that scorched copper coin was so old-so old that the worn notches along its edge matched mine perfectly.

What’s more, my Master had never allowed me to investigate the old case of Floating White City.

When I was a child and asked about it, he said the Demonic Sect was cunning, and that once my cultivation reached its peak, I would naturally have the chance to kill my enemies with my own hands. Later, whenever I went down the mountain to chase leads, the witnesses would die just as I reached a critical point, and the files would always mysteriously vanish.

I used to think it was the Demonic Sect covering their tracks.

Looking back now, it was as if someone had long ago arranged exactly whom I should hate and whom I should not.

Just before midnight, a sudden disturbance broke out outside the Spirit-Locking Prison. Someone had come on Master’s orders to take Han Zhaoye for Soul-Searching.

Before I could even speak, Han Zhaoye had already been pinned down within the formation. The moment the Soul-Searching Needle pierced his brow, he let out a muffled groan. It felt as if a knife had been plunged into my own chest; my vision went black, and I nearly collapsed to my knees.

More fragmented images flooded my mind along with the pain.

Soaring flames, collapsing roof beams, and two soot-covered children huddled in a cellar. Someone thrust a bronze lamp between us, their voice urgent: “The Lamp Wick can only protect you for the duration of a single stick of incense. Remember, don’t make a sound, and don’t forget each other’s names.”

One of the children grabbed my hand, his eyes shining like starlight on a snowy night.

He said, “My name is Ah Ye. What’s yours?”

Just as I was about to see his face clearly, the image shattered.

I shattered the Soul-Searching formation with a single sword strike, sending the disciplinary disciples reeling back.

“Who gave you permission to use torture?” My voice was so cold it sounded foreign even to me.

The leading Elder said solemnly, “The Peak Master’s command.”

I looked at the dying Han Zhaoye on the ground and finally realized one thing.

If I remained on this mountain, I would have no choice but to wait for others to decide the truth for me.

And so, I severed Han Zhaoye’s chains and hauled him up.

Covered in wounds, he still didn’t forget to curl his lips at me. “Sword Lord Jing, are we eloping?”

“Shut up.” I threw my outer robe over him. “I just don’t want to die without knowing why.”

As the alarm bells of Clear Sky Peak rang out, I took Han Zhaoye and flew out of the Mountain Gate on my sword.

Behind us, thousands of sword lights pursued; ahead, the night snow was boundless.

Han Zhaoye leaned against my back. His breath was burning hot, but his voice was as light as a wisp of wind.

“Jing Guichen,” he said. “You’re finally willing to believe me for once.”

I didn’t look back, only pushing my sword to go faster.

But I knew in my heart that it wasn’t that I believed him.

It was that I had begun to doubt Shuo Xuanjin.