Within the fragmented glimpses of cosmic truth afforded by the golden light of virtuous deeds, Song Qingshi saw the Phoenix, saw Yue Wuhuan, and saw his own demise.
Again and again—dying in the snow, dying in a hail of arrows, dying under the wheels of a cart, dying on the execution ground...
He had been bewildered, but as Yue Wuhuan slowly opened his heart, revealing his emotions and vulnerabilities, the meaning behind these deaths became clear to Song Qingshi. Each was an excruciating torment for Yue Wuhuan, pushing him to lose hope, spiral into madness, and descend into a hell of self-inflicted despair.
Pain—he was not afraid of pain.
He would never allow such an outcome to happen again.
Song Qingshi tried to analyze each death revealed in the cosmic glimpses, discovering that most had been manipulated by the Cosmic Order. Sudden illness, accidents, disasters—even once, while he was hiding in a room, a falling meteorite killed him.
Every accident was a coincidence, and each coincidence seemed to target him specifically, claiming his life.
In this lifetime, he was a Primordial Soul cultivator, highly skilled and not easily killed by mere poison or an exploding alchemy furnace. Judging from Yue Wuhuan's tribulations, it seemed that the Cosmic Order could only distort rules and create coincidences, not directly take life.
So, how would he die this time?
Song Qingshi suddenly remembered that he had been killed once before…
Back then, he hadn't known Yue Wuhuan, so fate hadn't singled him out. He had survived using the System's powers, though he couldn't understand why the System had helped him.
But if An Long's inner demon could go berserk once, it could do so again. As the most potent Primordial Soul cultivator with a half-demonic lineage, bloodthirsty and war-loving, he was the perfect pawn for the Cosmic Order to manipulate.
His suspicions had long rested on An Long.
Eight hundred years of acquaintance, five hundred years of friendship, and numerous battles fought side by side…
Song Qingshi knew An Long's personality well: he despised subterfuge and thrived in direct confrontations. Facing lethal pursuits, he would become increasingly ferocious until all enemies were vanquished. Now that the Myriad Poison Sect had chosen betrayal, An Long would undoubtedly return to Xilin to mete out justice…
News from Xilin of An Long, even if it were of a bloody nature, would not be a significant concern.
Losing news of An Long in Xilin would be the most perilous sign…
An Long might lose control of his inner demon and go on a killing spree.
Only the dead have no news to share.
When Ye Lin Xianjun's letter arrived, it bore a warning.
Song Qing Shi understood at once—this was An Long's declaration of war, as well as the death sentence that fate had dealt him, and a hellish fate for Yue Wu Huan.
He would never admit defeat.
He intended to challenge his own destiny.
He would do everything in his power to change Yue Wu Huan's future.
...
Song Qing Shi extended his hand, and flames of black and red bloomed into lotuses in mid-air, illuminating the surroundings.
An Long covered his blood-red eyes, unaccustomed to such brightness. His thoughts muddled, wavering between madness and clarity, until he finally burst into laughter.
He realized he had never truly witnessed Song Qing Shi's full strength. Now, as they fought without holding back, it did justice to their years-long acquaintance.
Seizing a moment of An Long's lucidity, Song Qing Shi asked, "At Jin Feng Mountain Villa, have you also fallen to demonic influences?"
"Yes," An Long's body was slowly transforming, and he laughed in agony. "I was controlled by my inner demons and lost my senses... It was unbearable. Just one 'I like you' from you would have dispelled the demon, negated the urge to kill. But you refused. Do you detest me so much that you'd rather die than lie to free me from suffering?"
Song Qing Shi pondered, "I can't lie about that. To like is to like; to dislike is to dislike."
An Long's breathing became rapid, his consciousness increasingly clouded by demonic energy: "Qing Shi, I despise you..."
Yue Wu Huan was suppressed by love, whereas An Long was suppressed by hatred and the intent to kill.
Half-demon by birth, he understood neither emotions nor sentiments—only the lust for killing and greed.
He forced himself to learn, to understand, to show respect.
He truly wished to become fully human, but he had failed.
Song Qing Shi had once sent him to study humanity under the venerable Master Ci Bei. Yet he saw no humanity in those children; they knew not good from evil and were but obedient puppets. During the Great Demon-Sealing War, he witnessed Master Ci Bei, gravely injured, morph into a monstrous demon, slain as an enemy. Later, everyone assumed he was killed by a demon and venerated him as a hero—a laughable farce.
After Master Ci Bei's death, his remaining disciples gradually revealed their demonic natures and were eventually purged.
A demon is ultimately a demon—where can one find humanity in it?
All he needs is to kill...
An Long's pupils have morphed into terrifying vertical slits, devoid of any human emotion, having fully transformed into a demon. He emits an inaudible whistle, and the forest fills with the rustling sound of insects on the move—increasing in number and drawing closer.
Song Qing Shi glances around and, with a flick of his fingers, ignites crimson flames that scorch the entire forest. The extreme heat halts the insects' venomous assault, filling the air with the acrid scent of charred flesh.
He stands atop a red lotus, gazing condescendingly at the demon below him while forming a magical seal.
Numerous hands emerge from beneath An Long's feet—poison puppets stitched together and buried in the ground, like hellish dolls grabbing their target while exuding various toxins. An Long's body hardens into thick scales, repelling the poisons. He whips out his scorpion-like tail, tearing away the pale hands reaching for him before lunging at Song Qing Shi.
He doesn't need to know the extent of Song Qing Shi's capabilities; knowing that Song is not adept at close combat is enough.
Protective barriers and magical circles unfurl in the air, quickly putting distance between them.
An Long sneers as he slashes through the barrier with his claws, lunging at the figure before him. But Song Qing Shi vanishes, replaced by countless black butterflies that fly toward him, carrying potent venom. An Long closes his eyes, but not before the scale-corroding powder lands on his face.
With a vicious swipe, he tears off the contaminated scales, halting the poison's spread. New scales grow back over the wounds. He lashes out his tail toward an empty space, breaking Song Qing Shi's concealed formation and forcing him to reveal himself.
"Found you," An Long hisses softly.
Song Qing Shi wipes blood from the corner of his mouth, smiles, and drops a small black lotus flame onto the ground.
Suddenly, a series of explosions erupt from the ground. Buried poison puppets detonate in a chain reaction, engulfing the entire forest in corrosive, toxic blasts. All life is eradicated, and the ground forms a deep crater that swallows everything, leaving the air thick with poisonous fumes.
The dust settles, revealing An Long. His tough scales have protected his vitals, mitigating most of the damage, but the toxins have invaded his system, dulling his senses. His breathing is slightly heavy, but his excitement is palpable.
This is a battle worth relishing...
A foe worth killing...
He rises once more, lunging toward his target. He vanishes mid-air, reappearing in front of Song Qing Shi to land a heavy blow to his abdomen. Even with high-tier protective garments, Song Qing Shi's ribs crack, and the primordial spirit within his energy center teeters on the brink of destruction.
Struggling to his feet, Song Qing Shi realizes that An Long's true strength isn't in his venomous creatures, but in his innate battle instincts and powerful physique—able to effortlessly pinpoint weaknesses and exploit them.
He forgoes some of his defense to mark An Long with his Death's Head butterflies.
The black butterflies converge, targeting the marked enemy.
An Long glances at the butterflies and emits another soundless whistle. Legions of ghost-faced moths swarm in like a tornado, fearlessly breaching the flaming barrier and attacking the black butterflies en masse. One by one, they fall, their bodies piling up into a mountain, their poisonous powder spent and their venom depleted, leaving them defenseless.
Sensing impending danger, Song Qing Shi conjured the ethereal black flames in an attempt to incinerate the encroaching enemy.
However, a scorpion tail suddenly pierced through his abdomen, pinning him securely against the rock wall.
An Long emerged slowly from the swarm of ghost-faced moths, declaring, "Caught you."
Gripping the scorpion tail lodged in his abdomen, Song Qing Shi panted for breath. He knew that pulling out the weapon now would result in massive blood loss. Thankfully, he had ingested a potent painkiller elixir before the battle, keeping most of his pain tolerable and his mind clear.
An Long approached slowly, extending a hand to tenderly brush the blood from Song Qing Shi's face.
A searing pain surged through his fingertips as if he'd touched a blazing furnace. His hard scales were scorched, his flesh torn and emitting a nauseating stench. The intense pain momentarily sharpened his focus. Blood-colored tears fell from his bloodshot eyes as he rasped, "Why?"
His words trailed off, unfinished.
Emotion is the sweetest yet most brutal thing in the world.
There's no reasoning behind it.
"Qing Shi, I don't want to kill you," he pleaded despairingly, looking into his eyes. "Just say 'I like you.' Even if it's a lie, it will pacify the inner demon in me—and in you."
Sharp hallucinations echoed in his mind, clamoring for slaughter, eroding his will. Only by killing the man before him or obtaining what he desired could he escape his wretched form and find liberation from pain.
He didn't know how much longer he could hold on.
Song Qing Shi looked up and whispered, "It's useless."
The same scene, the same plea—it finally reminded him of what had happened at Jin Feng Mountain Villa.
"What's fake will always be fake, and can never become real," Song Qing Shi said, panting with difficulty. He gave An Long his true answer: "I can't deceive you. You're a prodigy in the art of poisonous creatures, and you were once my best friend. You're good, and you've helped me a lot. So, I could never dishonor our relationship with a lie."
An Long stared at him as if seeing him for the first time.
Tears flowed from Song Qing Shi's eyes as he smiled, "I've caught you too."
From the very beginning, he'd been waiting for an opportunity like this, with the scorpion tail connecting them, leaving no room for escape.
An Long finally understood—death was his ultimate destiny.
Smiling, he bowed his head and pulled the blood-soaked youth into his embrace. Despite the searing pain that engulfed every inch of his skin, it provided him a moment of clarity. He gently pressed a kiss onto the young man's forehead, his own lips burnt to an unrecognizable state, all for a final farewell.
It was the most painful embrace, the most painful kiss, yet he accepted it willingly.
The black and red lotuses in the air forcibly merged, transforming into a resplendent gold that emanated the aura of death.
An Long gently bowed his head, allowing Song Qing Shi to push this deadly lotus into his chest.
The lotus detonated instantaneously, shattering his tough scales, piercing through his chest cavity, and obliterating his internal organs. Blood splattered uncontrollably, staining the pebbles and seeping into the ground.
So, the blood of a half-demon is also red.
Hallucinatory noises in his mind turned into frenzied alarms, his sea of consciousness in utter chaos. He felt his body being forcibly healed, robbing him of the right to die—a violation of the laws of nature. What has made his body so aberrant?
An Long was feeling anxious and disoriented.
The scorpion tail broke off, and Song Qing Shi quickly tended to his wound with golden needles and medicinal herbs to stem the bleeding.
Slowly, he crawled towards An Long to investigate the unnatural changes in his body, confirming his suspicion: Fate had chosen An Long as a pawn to destroy Yue Wu Huan, and so it wouldn't allow him to die at his hands.
There was no chance, only the necessity of force.
"Don't be afraid," Song Qing Shi softly comforted, "Death is not the end but a new beginning."
The golden light of merit within the scroll was gentle.
Its aim was not to make him relive the agony of death, but to offer the opportunities of rebirth. If death preordained by fate was inevitable, his duty was to provide ample clues and agreements for Yue Wu Huan, prepare himself sufficiently, and await the cycle of reincarnation.
From ashes to rebirth—the Phoenix undergoes its cycle...
That was the true answer granted by the scroll.
Watching Song Qing Shi's tranquil expression, An Long gradually calmed his inner turmoil.
With great difficulty, Song Qing Shi summoned the battered primordial spirit within him. The self-detonation of a primordial spirit could annihilate all life within hundreds of miles. He would destroy himself, An Long, the entire secret realm—everything.
Each crack on the primordial spirit symbolized the consequences of emotional wavering in a merciless path.
After a long pause, An Long finally asked the question he had wanted to ask for a long time: "Qing Shi, do you regret it? You saved an ungrateful wolf from a noxious swamp—a creature that's repugnant, treacherous, and repeatedly harmful to you."
Song Qing Shi pondered for a moment, then shook his head: "I have never regretted it."
Disbelieving, An Long queried, "Why?"
Song Qing Shi smiled and said, "If I hadn't saved you, how could the world witness such an extraordinarily talented Gu King? A defiant and indomitable War God? The days we spent adventuring together… were truly joyful."
He fell silent, suddenly recalling that in the tapestry of his memories, a majestic and domineering black dragon would occasionally appear beside the phoenix.
The black dragon delighted in provoking the phoenix, only to engage in battles high among the clouds, darkening the sky and earth. Afterwards, they would reconcile and fly side by side, like the best of friends.
Song Qing Shi was infinitely envious of this.
The dark, scaled complexion and vertical pupils in An Long's eyes gradually began to overlap with the black dragon from his memories. He had been stripped of his scales, his dragon tendons extracted, transformed into a grotesque monster. He'd lost all his former brilliance, lost all his pride, but still, he struggled, resisted, preferring death over becoming a pawn manipulated by fate.
Song Qing Shi examined him more closely, his gaze becoming more focused.
An Long raised his hand to block the scrutinizing eyes and said in fear, "Don't look at me; I'm a monster."
Song Qing Shi reassured him, "Don't be afraid; this isn't the real you."
An Long asked, "What should the real me be like?"
Song Qing Shi thought of the black dragon that flew beside the phoenix high up in the sky and said, "Probably quite handsome."
"Nonsense," An Long couldn't help but laugh. The laughter strained his chest wound, causing pain yet bringing him joy. He spoke loudly, "Kill me now; otherwise, as long as I draw breath, I will kill you and Yue Wu Huan..."
The voices in his mind grew more piercing, like a malfunctioning mechanism emitting dangerous, intermittent humming sounds.
An Long looked at him and whispered his farewell, "If we meet again, there won't be a third time."
Song Qing Shi nodded with a smile, "I believe you."
The primordial spirit was gradually disintegrating, on the verge of tearing apart the fabric of fate.
...
Suddenly, a frantic alarm blared.
A bizarre black hole appeared in the air, swallowing him whole and neutralizing the explosive force of the disintegrating primordial spirit.
The sound of a system in disarray echoed in the void, stuttering as if infected by a virus, like an overtaxed instrument on the brink of collapse:
"Mission Operator Song Qing Shi, number of failures: one."
"Mission Operator Song Qing Shi, number of failures: one thousand, three hundred and fifty."
"Mission agent Song Qingshi, number of failures: one."
"Mission agent Song Qingshi, number of failures: one thousand three hundred fifty."
"Mission agent Song Qingshi, number of failures: one."
"Mission agent Song Qingshi, number of failures: one thousand three hundred fifty."
"Plot correction, deploying mission agent."
"Plot correction, deploying mission agent."
"..."
Song Qingshi disappeared into the black void, only having time to leave a final message for An Long: "Don't kill Wuhuan; you will regret it!"
An Long struggled to rise and intervene, but his injuries impeded him, leaving him a step too slow. He watched as the severely wounded Song Qingshi inexplicably vanished, his mind clouded, unable to make sense of what had transpired.
He reached out, grasping at thin air but felt nothing.
No fluctuations of magic, no traces of dark arts.
He sensed that Song Qingshi's aura had been erased from the world, as if he had never existed.
The demonic transformation receded gradually from his body, restoring him to his human form.
Something like this had happened before—when Song Qingshi had died.
An Long sat still, stunned, until most of the severe wounds on his body had been healed, yet he couldn't snap back to reality.
The hallucinatory voices in his mind had quieted somewhat, but still murmured incessantly:
"He's lying..."
"Don't believe him; you won't regret it..."
"It was I who saved you."
"Go to Medicine King Valley now; kill Yue Wu Huan."
"..."
An Long sat for a long time, deep in thought, before finally standing up.
Dragging his heavy feet, he took one step at a time towards Medicine King Valley.