Chapter Seventy: The Memories of Tian Gui (II)

The dark clouds above their heads scattered in an instant, the ice and snow melted, and the resentment haunting Tiangui vanished into nothingness, truly a scene of clouds parting to reveal the sun and moon. Everything seemed to be getting better.

In the scenes that followed, Tiangui and Shen Qingshu rode side by side, basking in sweet happiness. Yet, Tiangui was a specter; to suppress the lingering resentment within her, she needed the fresh heart’s blood of the living. If she failed to keep it in check, her hatred would erupt, possibly hurting Shen Qingshu. Not wishing for him to know, she would slip out under cover of night to kill in secret and drink the blood she required.

One day, Shen Qingshu said solemnly, “Yue Mei, you must stop killing the innocent.”

“You… you know?” Tiangui was stunned and tried to leave.

Shen Qingshu’s gentle smile never faltered. “Of course. I am not the powerless man I once was in my past life. So, leave the killing to me from now on!”

“You…”

“Promise me—no more innocent lives. From this day forward, let all the killing be my burden.” With that, Shen Qingshu pressed his finger to Tiangui’s lips.

“Mm!” Tiangui nodded vigorously.

From then on, Shen Qingshu would bring back a bucket of fresh blood every morning for her to consume.

“Qingshu, carry me on your back!”

“Qingshu, come quickly…”

“Look, look! So many butterflies!”

… The images were filled with their sweet memories, finally freezing on a field of flowers, butterflies of every color swirling in the air, dazzling and brilliant.

But fate is fickle. Just as Tiangui believed this happiness would last forever, trouble came from the Xia Dynasty. The visitor was none other than Wu Huang Xia Hao, not yet crowned emperor.

Young Xia Hao, already at the realm of Pure Yang Primordial Spirit, wielded fearsome power. “A single sword’s brilliance chills nineteen provinces; its aura pierces the heavens, shooting toward the stars!” Even now, he fought with sword alone, reciting poetry as he struck, his might unrivaled.

Together, Shen Qingshu and Tiangui were unable to defeat him. Tiangui dared not use her ghostly arts, for fear of turning into a hideous monster or losing her memory of Shen Qingshu to hatred. Xia Hao, on the other hand, fought without restraint.

Unending sword energy coalesced into a divine blade entwined with dragon imagery. His final strike came with blinding speed. Shen Qingshu managed only to shield Tiangui before being pierced through.

“Qingshu!” Blood splattered onto Tiangui’s face, her pupils instantly turning a bottomless red.

Resentment surged, black veins crawling across her once-beautiful features. Her ghostly form emerged in full.

“I’ll see you dead!” Tiangui roared, lashing out with whips formed of black-and-red veins, unpredictable and deadly. Xia Hao had expended much of his power in that last attack and quickly fell behind.

But for all that he’d lost the upper hand, Xia Hao was no ordinary martial artist—his will to defy fate was unbroken. Still, as Tiangui’s hatred burst forth, her power only grew, and Xia Hao found himself suffocating in her presence.

“Die!” Tiangui spat out, her voice freezing the air, and Xia Hao could not move.

Just then, a giant hand materialized from thin air and took Xia Hao away.

“No!” Tiangui’s hair flew wildly, thunder crackling across the sky.

She went mad, ravaging everything around her—dust flying, buildings collapsing. Only after a long while did she seem to awaken, murmuring, “No, I won’t sink into hatred. Qingshu will be reborn—he’ll return to me again!”

She buried Shen Qingshu’s body with her own hands. Alone once more, a sliver of hope remained.

Her days now were not muddled as before. Instead, she was full of spirit, devoting herself to cultivation, seemingly to avenge Shen Qingshu.

Indeed, the one who had snatched Xia Hao away possessed power equal to three completed tribulations—far beyond Tiangui’s current strength.

Her mastery of ghostly arts deepened. Within a year, she endured four heavenly lightnings. When not cultivating, she traveled the world, taking blood only from the wicked, no longer slaughtering the innocent.

Centuries more passed. By now, Tiangui no longer needed to suppress her ghostly arts—she had fully merged with her monstrous powers; they were one and the same.

After yet more centuries and nine rounds of tribulation, she stood peerless. By chance, she caught wind of a rumor: if a specter fused with a blood jade, her constitution could be transformed, and she would no longer need the hearts of others.

So, she captured eighty-one evildoers, arranged them in a formation, gathered the Yin energies, and used their blood and resentment to refine a jade.

That blood jade was originally Tiangui’s creation.

She secluded herself in the mountains for a hundred years, patiently awaiting its completion.

A century later, the blood jade, fully formed, devoured all around it, creating a fearsome blood mist outside the town. None who entered ever emerged again.

Until Xu Cheng arrived and took the blood jade.

Shortly after, Tiangui, lost in her cultivation, forgot about her creation.

Xu Cheng’s departure with the jade stirred something in her heart, reminding her of her forgotten work.

Xu Cheng had witnessed Tiangui slay a Primordial Spirit ancestor along the way and thought himself lucky to have escaped.

Then came the day she found Xu Cheng and transformed the jade into a coffin.

When she lay within, the runes of ghostly arts etched themselves automatically around her.

The rest, Xu Cheng already knew.

Still, the vision continued.

Just before her ascension, Tiangui spoke: “My time is nearly up. If I don’t ascend, I may die of old age in this world. I only hope I can meet Qingshu again in the immortal realm!”

The last image was of her ascending the heavenly steps to the immortal world.

“Her time nearly up? How could a specter’s time be nearly up? By rights, specters dwell between life and death, not truly alive nor dead. Barring outside force or their own will, they could live for tens of thousands of years!”

Xu Cheng muttered in confusion.

Could it be—

“It’s the coffin! It… brought Tiangui back to life! No, not quite—rather, it transformed her from a specter into a living being!”

That was the final conclusion.

To think it could change one’s very form of life! Xu Cheng wanted nothing more than to enter the coffin and become truly alive himself.

But… the mark of the Yellow Springs was so domineering. He did not know if his living body could withstand it.

The vision continued, up until the tear finally fell.

That teardrop carried so much—not just her longing for the mortal world, but also strands of yearning.

As the verse goes:

A single mortal tear, two threads of longing woe.
Today I shed my earthly shell, hating that I cannot remain.

Waking, Xu Cheng thought a tear had traced his cheek. He reached up, but found nothing.

As a specter, it seemed he lacked even the capacity to shed tears—only the living could. Why had he not realized sooner? He should have noticed when that tear fell! Not until now, after many confirmations, did Xu Cheng understand the coffin’s power to “revive.”