Chapter 63: Only You Can Save Yourself

Wen Jinge was stunned. Words that thundered in her ears, a scene charged with overwhelming tension, and an atmosphere brimming with battle—was this really not some elaborate scheme devised by the over-the-top persona in her mind and “Nonexistent,” conspiring to jolt her into seriousness?

She was bewildered.

And as she drifted in confusion, Qiao Yu was equally lost.

Wen Jinge watched as the woman who wore her face, yet acted so unlike her, turned away once more.

“You practiced demonic cultivation! Walked among a hundred ghosts! Tempered yourself with forbidden arts! Forced your way onto the path of monsters! Mastered secret techniques! Reopened the way of aberrants! For what reason? What, exactly, do you want?”

Qiao Yu nearly shouted each word, his voice urgent and ragged, gasping for breath after he finished—making the invisible threads within him twist ever tighter, wrenching his meridians with fresh pain.

“My honorable master! One last time, I ask you! Why—what is it all for?”

“For…” Wen Jinge turned back, a cold smirk on her lips, her gaze frosty and sharp as she glared at Qiao Yu. “Naturally, it’s for you—to ensure you die without a grave!”

“Very well!” Qiao Yu burst out laughing. Wen Jinge’s ruthlessness was nothing new to him, though he’d never imagined he’d be the one wounded today. “Then, Master, why not let your disciple die quickly and cleanly? I am willing to go to my death!”

“You’re eager to die now?” Her eyes were icy as ever, that unchanging expression reserved for Qiao Yu—a look that saw him as little more than a stink bug, tinged with disdain. “Even ants cling to life. Would you truly be so eager?”

Qiao Yu fell silent, his breathing heavy.

It was as though two timelines had overlapped—the Wen Jinge from one had departed, but the Wen Jinge of this moment remained.

Those questions Qiao Yu had hurled at her truly shocked her. Once, the myriad paths of cultivation thrived in harmony; as long as a practice was useful, that was enough. But after ten thousand years, only a handful remained.

Wen Jinge, in her reckless exploits, had already experienced and mastered the prodigious talents of this body’s original owner; she could do nearly anything, and whatever she touched, she excelled at.

Otherwise, Lu Wei—the ancient demon from ten thousand years ago—would not have been so envious of her.

But now, she was the one left speechless. Orthodox cultivation was enough, but why had this woman dabbled in every aberrant practice? If she hadn’t lost her memory, hadn’t become a scapegoat…

Wait—scapegoat? Would someone this formidable be merely second-grade? Would she die by her own disciple’s hand?

Wen Jinge grew irritated and decided not to dwell on it. She steadied herself.

In the past, the world teemed with all sorts of aberrant cultivators, but most had long since faded into history. After ten thousand years, only demonic cultivation survived. Given her natural gifts, the Wen Jinge before her arrival never needed to walk such paths.

There was no certainty in anything.

With a sigh, she approached the vat. Qiao Yu’s expression was odd—he was probably feverish.

“I can’t save you if you’re like this. We’re in the same boat—brought here by others.” Wen Jinge coated her hand with mystical energy and reached into the vat. If she wasn’t mistaken, the water seemed off.

A film of green oil coated the surface—her favorite color.

She reached in and caught a scorpion.

Again—another scorpion.

A third grab—something different, a turtle.

She tossed it aside and tried again—a goldfish.

It was like playing with a box of surprises, and Wen Jinge was thoroughly entertained.

But then she realized something was wrong—she could actually grab things?

She became aware of a gaze.

It was Qiao Yu—the emaciated child Wen Jinge had raised—looking at her with a complex, incredulous expression.

“Master…” he sneered, the curve of his lips almost a mirror of Wen Jinge’s earlier.

Wen Jinge’s mind short-circuited. Leaning over the water, she tugged his mouth down, “That’s not a good look. When you smile, show eight teeth—like this. Good, see how I smile? Let’s try again.”

Qiao Yu stopped smiling. He couldn’t understand Wen Jinge.

How could this person be so different from the one before? Facing her attempt at kindness, he suddenly felt cold, even afraid, and moved further behind the vat—only for Wen Jinge to circle around him.

Qiao Yu: …

He understood now—his master would never treat him well.

Wen Jinge, brimming with curiosity, tugged on the thread of mystical energy. Unable to resist, she gave it a flick.

“Hiss—”

Qiao Yu shivered. “Master… do you think, all that I’m suffering now, you…”

“I think this place is strange.” Wen Jinge muttered, taking his hand. “I flicked you just now—want to flick me back?”

Qiao Yu looked as if he was meeting his master for the first time. He glanced from the Wen Jinge before him to the one ahead, hesitating, as if suddenly understanding. “Master, is this really you?”

“Qiao Yu! What tricks are you trying now?” The other Wen Jinge, carrying a bucket of cold leftovers, dumped it by the vat before turning to leave. “Eat by yourself!”

“Master, can’t you see?” Qiao Yu panicked.

Two masters—one treating him as a dog, as always, the other playfully curious, her hand weaving through the threads on his body like a child.

“Your senior brother is training—don’t disturb him!”

“Who is my senior brother?!”

Qiao Yu only dared reach for the vat’s edge during meals. He was clearly in pain, his face twisted, eyes brimming with tears as he glanced between the aloof master and the one gently wiping his tears.

“What are you looking at!” snapped Wen Jinge at the door, brow furrowed like a storm, flicking her sleeve as she left. “Useless!”

“Does it hurt?”

“Heh heh heh heh…” He wept quietly, his crying stifled. “Master, two masters—hahaha, I must be mad.”

“You’re not mad, not at all. Good boy!” Wen Jinge patted his shoulder, intending to help him out but unsure if this was her own hallucination or another Qiao Yu from a different time. She draped a cloak around him, then took out some snacks Wang Xi had stored, feeding them to him one by one. “It’s not poisoned, eat.”

“Ninth rank…” He calmed a little, noticing another inconsistency between the two masters. “Master…”

His eyes were filled with concern, far more open than the Qiao Yu she had raised, and he gripped her hand. “You… you’re not my master, are you?”

“I am a master, just not yours.” Wen Jinge ruffled his hair. “Is your senior brother well-loved?”

“Yes. Did you come here to save me, master?”

“You don’t need me to save you.” Wen Jinge handed him a ring and urged him to keep it safe. “If you are not a phantom, remember this: only you can truly save yourself. You will become the Sword God of the future. Your master believes in you!”