Jianghu Demolition Squad

The Child Returns Home (Part Eight)

Before Qing Jiu and Yu’er reached the back valley, they encountered Lingyun. He stood amidst the flower field, snowflakes falling softly around him. The field was covered in white jade蕊 flowers, creating an illusion of blooming snow even in the depths of winter.

Lingyun held Aihong Sword in his hand. “Si’er,” he called out, his voice gentle, as if there was no history of animosity between them, only warmth and familiarity.

Yu’er’s ears still throbbed, but her hearing was gradually returning. Hearing that affectionate “Si’er” and seeing Lingyun’s feigned tenderness, anger surged through her, twisting her stomach into knots.

If one didn’t know his true nature, one might think him genuinely kind and gentle. But having witnessed his greed and cruelty, Yu’er found his charade sickening. She tightened her grip on Qing Jiu’s hand, unable to contain her disgust.

Qing Jiu’s gaze was cool and indifferent as she met Lingyun’s eyes.

Six years ago, that nickname would have ignited a raging fire within her, a burning desire to tear him limb from limb. All his blood wouldn’t have been enough to quench her hatred, built up over ten years.

But now, it was as if she had transcended those feelings. Although she still hated him, she could face him calmly.

Venerable Kuyuan once said, “Life holds eight kinds of suffering, and you will endure twice as much as others. But if you can overcome them, you will achieve true liberation.”

Struggling on the brink of life and death, she relied on Yu’er, intuitively feeling that living another day was good. If she could do it over, she wanted to truly live on together with her. Suddenly, she remembered the words her aunt had once said.

It was in that moment she truly took those words to heart.

At that moment, facing both the pain of being separated from her beloved and the confrontation with her sworn enemy, unable to secure a future together, she found herself in a moment of uncertainty and helplessness. Then, unexpectedly, a sliver of hope bloomed amidst the despair. Qing Jiu had found clarity through her brush with death. She finally understood, and with that understanding came acceptance, allowing her to let go.

Lingyun’s provocations no longer held power over her. Instead, she noticed Yu’er’s simmering anger and gently patted her hand, offering comfort.

Qing Jiu unsheathed Fenghou, the blade singing softly as she drew it. She glanced at the sword, then looked at Lingyun, a mocking smile playing on her lips, “Qianqiu, this is the Fenghou Sword you wanted.”

“Are you not coming to take it?”

Lingyun’s mask finally slipped, his gaze fixated on Fenghou, his eyes gleaming with a strange, hungry light. “Si’er,” he purred, his voice deceptively soft

“If the Lin family had simply handed over the Fenghou Sword,” he continued, his eyes never leaving the blade, “none of this would have happened, wouldn’t it?”

Yu’er scoffed coldly, “So you’re blaming the Lin family?!”

Lingyun’s body trembled with laughter, a sound so manic and unsettling, so unlike his usual composure. It was genuine amusement, stemming from a place of twisted delight. “Si’er,” he chuckled, “if you hadn’t taken me in, how could I have infiltrated the Lin family? If Zhi’er hadn’t fallen for me, how could I have lowered their guard? If Lin Chou hadn’t trusted me, how could I have gained their secrets, devised my plan, and wreaked havoc at your wedding?”

“Tell me, Si’er, wasn’t it the Lin family’s fault?”

“You…! You have no shame! You bastard!” Yu’er’s eyes blazed with fury, tears welling up. She couldn’t tell if it was heartbreak or anger that consumed her, the emotions so intense they threatened to drown her. Lingyun embodied everything evil in the world.

She had witnessed the depths of human cruelty from a young age, her childhood marred by hardship, making her accustomed to malice. Even facing ruthless bandits, she had never experienced this level of rage, this burning desire for retribution. She had grown older, wiser, more resilient. She should be able to handle this with composure.

But now, faced with the sheer audacity of Lingyun’s depravity, she wanted more than just his death. She wanted him to suffer, to experience every ounce of pain the world could offer, to die consumed by regret and despair.

It was only later that she understood the source of her uncontrollable anger. It was her love for Qing Jiu, a love that surpassed even her love for herself. She could endure anything thrown her way, but she couldn’t tolerate even the slightest injustice against Qing Jiu. Her own pain was bearable, but Qing Jiu deserved none of it.

Yu’er raised her sword, Qiushui, unleashing a move called “White Rainbow Piercing the Sun,” with a momentum as fierce as the legendary archer Hou Yi shooting the sun, possessing a sky-splitting force.

Lingyun sneered, expertly maneuvering Aihong, the blade humming ominously as Yu’er approached.

Gong Shang and the others were occupied with Lingyun’s subordinates. Without the calming influence of their music, even with Qiushui’s protection, Yu’er was susceptible to her own volatile emotions.

As expected, her attack missed its mark. Aimed at Lingyun’s heart, it struck his shoulder instead. Lingyun deflected the blow, redirecting Yu’er’s force.

It was like punching cotton, her anger dissipating into futility, leaving her vulnerable.

Lingyun seized the opportunity, ready to strike, but a sudden sound froze him in his tracks. His legs trembled, fear gripping his heart, his movements faltering. Yu’er recovered, launching another attack.

Lingyun retreated, narrowly avoiding her blade. He stopped a safe distance away, turning to face the source of the sound.

In the darkness, Qing Jiu stood tall, Fenghou humming ominously in her grasp. Her stance, ‘Flowing Wind Returns Snow,’ was graceful against the backdrop of the moonlit sky. Whether due to the sword’s influence or her own innate power, even her indifferent gaze held an air of undeniable authority.

Lingyun’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes locked on the Fenghou Sword, his desire burning brighter.

His face twisted with madness, muscles twitching uncontrollably as his body involuntarily submitting to the sword’s presence, knowing it was the Fenghou Sword’s effect. He recognized the feeling, having witnessed Fenghou’s terrifying strength firsthand. His desire for power fueled his obsession with the sword.

Lingyun gathered his strength, launching himself towards Qing Jiu in a swift, low dive.

He skimmed the ground, his body pressed low like a serpent, his blade sweeping out in a wide arc, aiming to sever Qing Jiu’s ankles.

Qing Jiu planted the Fenghou Sword firmly on the ground, using it as leverage to execute a graceful mid-air flip, narrowly avoiding the attack. Aihong clashed against Fenghou with a resounding clang.

The clash of their internal energies was extraordinary. Qing Jiu had once received half the power of Venerable Kuyuan and Daoist Yiye. Now fully assimilated, her internal energy surpassed even Jie Qianchou’s. Lingyun practiced unorthodox cultivation and had rapidly ascended to great heights. Although he was only in his thirties, his hair had turned completely white, yet his strength was far beyond what ordinary people could compare.

The force of their clash sent tremors through their arms, scattering the surrounding snow and sending the white jade-like flowers swirling

Yu’er seized the opportunity, her sword dancing with graceful precision.

Her sword stirred the falling snow into a dragon-like swirl, targeting Lingyun’s back.

The whirling snowflakes were a mesmerizing sight, a beautiful yet deadly weapon.

Lingyun whirled around, his sword deflecting the attack with a high-pitched hum, like the cry of a phoenix. A crimson spark on the blade’s tip resembled the fiery eye of a blood phoenix.

As Lingyun countered Yu’er’s attack, Qing Jiu pressed her advantage, launching a swift downward strike. A single motion, yet it seemed to splinter into a thousand points of light, descending with the speed of a meteor.

Lingyun lowered his stance, practically crouching on the ground. His unorthodox swordsmanship was difficult to counter in this position, rendering most techniques ineffective against such a low center of gravity.

However, Qing Jiu and Yu’er, in perfect sync, practiced the Yin-Yang Limitless Sword Technique, embraced both complementarity and opposition, covering each other’s weaknesses and amplifying their strengths.

One of their techniques, “The Clear as Yang, the Muddy as Yin,” symbolizes that Yang is heaven and Yin is earth. Yang commands the heavens while Yin governs the earth, their swordsmanship encompassing the entirety of existence. Even if Lingyun reduced himself to dust, he remained enveloped by their encompassing swordplay.

Sensing the pressure from above, Lingyun shifted his tactics, his blade moving with blinding speed, like a phoenix soaring through the sky, deflecting their attacks with uncanny precision.

For the moment, Lingyun appeared to have the upper hand, but defeat was inevitable.

Qing Jiu and Yu’er were not mere fish in a pond to be easily caught. He had reached the pinnacle of his unorthodox cultivation, his skills honed to perfection. If they were strangers, he might have been able to defeat them individually.

But they were connected, their bond forged through shared experiences, through life and death, their bodies and souls intertwined. Their hearts beat in unison, their movements flowing together like water. Though two separate individuals, they were more formidable than three, four, or even more opponents combined.

They had rarely fought side-by-side, but their movements flowed together effortlessly, their synergy increasing with every clash, their actions becoming as instinctive as a single being.

Lingyun, a man driven by calculation and control, couldn’t comprehend the profound trust and understanding that bound them.

Their seamless teamwork baffled him, stirring a strange mix of regret and longing within him, a vague memory of a time when he too had shared such a bond with another, whether in a dream or reality, he couldn’t recall.

As their blades descended, he pushed those thoughts aside, straightening his body and leaping back to avoid the attack.

Qing Jiu and Yu’er moved as if they were shadows of each other, attacking from both sides. This strike was executed to perfection, flawless.

Lingyun was trapped, his defenses overwhelmed. Qing Jiu’s blade severed his right arm at the shoulder, while Yu’er’s blade mirrored the strike, severing his left.

Aihong flew from his grasp, spinning in the air before landing in the snow a few meters away, his severed arm still clutching the hilt.

Blood sprayed from Lingyun’s wounds as he collapsed to his knees, defeated. Qing Jiu pressed her blade against his throat.

Gong Shang and Yi Song, having subdued Lingyun’s subordinates, arrived just in time to witness the final blow.

Yi Song, awestruck by their coordinated attack, marveled at the beauty and precision of their swordsmanship. With Lingyun subdued, he couldn’t help but exclaim, “Magnificent!”

Lingyun was truly obsessed. Even with Silencing Throat pressed against his throat, his gaze remained fixated on the blade, his life seemingly secondary to his fascination with the sword.

Yu’er frowned. Killing him now felt too merciful, a punishment insufficient for his crimes.

“You’re right,” Qing Jiu said, her voice low and cold. “I shouldn’t have saved you. Bringing you back to the Lin Estate was a mistake. So now, I’m going to take back your life. It’s a little late, but it’s better than doing nothing.”

“Before coming here, I went to Hangzhou,” she continued. “I paid my respects to my parents and told them about our meeting. I promised them I’d send you down to join them. I think they’ll be happy to see you.”

Qing Jiu tilted Lingyun’s chin up with the tip of her blade. “Qianqiu,” she asked, her voice devoid of emotion, “do you have any last words?”

Lingyun looked at Yu’er, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “Si’er,” he said, his voice laced with mockery, “if the dog you raised hadn’t been so eager to bite, perhaps I…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Qing Jiu plunged Fenghou into his mouth. With a swift upward jerk, she ripped his tongue out, leaving a bloody mess clinging to the blade. She flicked her wrist, sending the gruesome remnants flying. The Fenghou Sword gleamed, clean and pristine.

Lingyun gasped, blood gurgling in his throat. He tried to speak, but his severed tongue only allowed for a strangled, guttural sound.

Qing Jiu sheathed the Fenghou Sword and crouched down in front of Lingyun, smiling at him, “I won’t kill you with the Fenghou. You once set fire to over twenty banquet boats, reducing them to ashes in West Lake. Today, I will return the favor by burning you to ash.”

Her gaze grew colder as she continued, “I’ll have a bronze statue cast in your likeness, kneeling before the 164 memorial tablets of my Lin family. Your ashes will be buried beneath it, forcing you to repent for eternity.”

The snow fell throughout the night, the sky gradually lightening as dawn approached. The endless horde of walking corpses remained unconquered, the wulin heroes exhausted but fighting on, their lives hanging in the balance. The battle raged on, a chaotic dance of death and desperation.

With Lingyun subdued, Yu’er instructed others to gather firewood. Qing Jiu stood before the pyre, torch in hand. She glanced at Lingyun, her expression unreadable, then tossed the torch onto the wood.

Flames erupted, engulfing Lingyun in a raging inferno. The agony was unbearable, his screams echoing through the valley, made even more horrific by his inability to articulate words.

Gong Shang and Yi Song stood nearby, witnessing the scene. Gong Shang, compassionate and gentle, couldn’t bear to watch and retreated to the back valley to tend to the wounded. Yi Song, righteous and unwavering, offered no words of protest, no pleas for mercy. Lingyun’s demise, though brutal, seemed a fitting punishment for his crimes.

Qing Jiu turned towards the east, where the sky was painted with soft hues of pink and orange, a promise of a new day. Yu’er reached for her hand, their fingers intertwining. Qing Jiu looked down at their joined hands, her eyes closing contentedly.