Chapter 47: Wind and Snow

The sword intent leaking from the envelope was pure white, yet tinged with madness.

It wrapped tightly around Ye Chen’s body.

Ye Chen took a deep breath and slowly unfolded the letter, thin as a cicada’s wing and cold to the touch.

There were no words on the letter—or rather, no words written in ink.

Every stroke was directly branded onto the paper with an incomparably condensed sword intent.

As his fingertip brushed over it, he could clearly feel the bone-chilling coldness and the raging emotions almost tearing through the paper.

[Letter Content · Ling Qingshuang]

Young Master Chen, Qingshuang has finally… found you.

After you left Qingyang City, I waited for a long time.

I thought you encountered danger and were captured.

I searched for you like a madwoman, killed many people, asked many more.

They all said they hadn’t seen you.

Hehe…

So, Young Master Chen deceived Qingshuang after all.

It was you who abandoned me.

It was you who ignored our promise of ‘never being separated’ and quietly left for the Purple Cloud Sword Sect alone.

Why?

Qingshuang doesn’t understand.

I once honored you as Master, respected you as an elder, and believed your sword path reached the heavens and earth, unmatched by anyone.

But why did you still join such a small Purple Cloud Sword Sect?

Qingshuang pondered for a long time, and finally understood.

So, Master’s strength is nothing special after all.

Qingshuang is now in the Azure Cloud Sacred Land and has mastered true power.

Master, are you afraid?

Afraid that Qingshuang’s strength will surpass you?

Afraid you’ll never be able to control your Disciple again, so you ran away, not wanting to see me?

Or…

Is it simply that you no longer want to see Qingshuang?

After all, Qingshuang is blind.

Bringing along a useless burden must have been shameful for you.

…

Before, I thought I should call you ‘Master’.

But now, I realize I was wrong.

But it doesn’t matter.

If Qingshuang wishes to call you that now, she will.

Before your cultivation surpasses mine again, you have no right to make me obey.

Master, Qingshuang already knows your location.

So, please don’t run anymore.

Before long, once matters in the Sacred Land are settled, Qingshuang will personally come and ‘bring’ Master back.

At that time, let this Disciple be the one to slowly and properly guide Master in cultivation!

Master must not—must not—think of running away again.

Otherwise…

Otherwise, even Qingshuang doesn’t know what she might do.

…

“Pa.”

The letter slipped from Ye Chen’s fingers and landed on the table with a soft sound.

If Xiao Liuli’s letter was like a hailstorm carried by a cold wind—forceful but still falling outside, leaving room to dodge—then Ling Qingshuang’s letter was a blizzard.

It seeped into every corner of the room, freezing the air itself, the chill boring into the body with nowhere to escape.

Besides, when did they ever make a promise of ‘never being separated’?

Wasn’t it just, ‘if there’s a chance, we’ll meet again’?

Now it was beyond a headache.

For the first time, a look of near bewilderment appeared on Ye Chen’s face.

He couldn’t understand.

He healed Xiao Liuli, hoping she’d break free of her shackles and embrace her own vast world.

He enlightened Ling Qingshuang, wishing that the girl shrouded in darkness would find her own ‘light’ and walk farther on the path of the sword.

His intention was ‘to give’ and ‘to let go.’

But why did the birds he set free not soar toward their own skies, but circle back as hawks intent on dragging him back to the nest?

And then there was Xiaoxiao…

He gave her new life and support, yet she only wanted to turn that support into a cage.

Why?

Ye Chen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

For the first time, he realized that the human heart was more complex than the Hongmeng Era Taboo Laws, more unfathomable than the Heaven Severing Sword.

These three heavy, obsessive emotions—nearly swallowing him whole—pressed down like mountains, making it hard to breathe.

It was a helplessness unique to mortals—a feeling only Ye Chen’s humanity could know.

At the same time, far away in the Azure Cloud Sacred Land.

In two different cultivation abodes, contrasting in scenery, similar scenes played out.

In one abode, dense spiritual energy hung like mist and grand halls stood tall.

Xiao Liuli, dressed in a luxurious personal Disciple’s gown, stood silently by the window.

She wasn’t cultivating or reading.

She only stared blankly at a map on the desk.

On the map, the mountains and rivers of the Northern Continent were clearly depicted.

Her gaze was locked on the northeast, on a circled name—[Purple Cloud Sword Sect].

In her eyes, there was none of the usual arrogance or coolness she showed her fellow disciples—only a sickly focus and longing.

As if those four words were her sole guiding star in life.

On the other side of the Sacred Land, deep within a rarely visited, icy Sword Tomb Cave.

There was no light—only endless darkness.

Ling Qingshuang sat cross-legged atop a block of millennia-old black ice, dressed in white.

Her features were exquisitely beautiful, but her eyes were empty, her face pale, like a statue of ice.

Around her, hundreds of broken swords and shattered blades stood upright.

Each radiated lingering sword intent—some strong, some weak—together forming this grave of swords.

She wasn’t ‘looking’ anywhere.

She simply extended her slender, pale fingers, gently caressing an object in her palm, over and over again.

It was a wooden hairpin, devoid of spiritual energy and simple in design.

Ye Chen had carved it for her in the courtyard of Qingyang City long ago.

She traced the familiar, plain patterns with her touch—feeling the aura of that person, already faded but etched into memory and sword intent thousands of times.

Her lips curled into a gentle yet eerie smile.

“Master…”

“Don’t rush.”

“Qingshuang… will come for you soon.”