Chapter 769: A Sigh, a Thousand Miles of Cold Mountains
The zither sound Zhu Ye heard was certainly not an illusion.
Though the melody came from far below the snowy ridge, somewhat ethereal, it possessed an undeniable objective reality.
It was cold, clear, and subtle, like hair, like silk, like a blade—so sharp.
The wind on the snowy ridge was severed, the faint night illuminated by the distant lights of Gaoyang Town was severed, and even the most stubborn snow lotus in the ice was severed.
Several cracks appeared on Zhu Ye's boots, then deepened, cutting through skin, flesh, and white bone.
His feet were severed at the ankles, and with residual inertia, they flew toward the gap in the snowy ridge, landing somewhere unknown, leaving only two trails of blood in the night.
Zhu Ye could no longer cross the snowy ridge to reach the human world. He collapsed in the snow, gasping, his body heaving continuously.
This fall was heavy, and the severed feet were a severe injury, but he lay on the ground, motionless, not because of these reasons, but because of despair.
That zither sound drifted from over ten miles away, so faint, yet it could easily sever his legs.
The identity of that middle-aged scholar was already on the verge of being revealed.
He buried his face in the snow, letting out a muffled howl of pain, like a wounded beast, but without the courage to fight back, only endless regret.
From the distant snowy ridge came faint sounds of slaughter and screams—likely Nanke casually reaping those lives on the mountain path.
The sounds of slaughter suddenly ceased, and the screams gradually faded until silence fell.
Zhu Ye also quieted down. With some difficulty, he turned over, looked at the starry sky that was exceptionally clear because it was so close to the snowy peak, and sighed.
If not for his greed for the Zhusha Pill, with his status and position, why would he have come to such a desolate snowy ridge, and how could he have encountered such a terrifying enemy?
One word—greed—had already caused so many deaths, and how many more would it claim?
The ice and snow were crushed underfoot, like withered autumn leaves being trampled, producing a crisp, pleasant sound.
Zhu Sha's body and mind relaxed with this sound, but her eyes gradually brightened.
Nanke walked up to him, her wings gently swaying behind her, carrying the faint cold night breeze.
The Southern Cross Sword had already split apart, held in both her hands, blood still dripping continuously from the blade—likely from Ning Shiwei and those men.
Zhu Ye looked at her calmly, his hands inside his sleeves gripping the most precious artifacts of the Jueshi Sect.
Nanke struck with her sword.
Zhu Ye countered with his technique.
On the snowy peak illuminated by starlight, a dull and violent collision sounded.
More than a dozen bulges appeared on the thick snow slope, as if some monster were about to burrow out from within.
The snow was thrown up, dancing wildly, obscuring the starlight and making the surroundings exceptionally dark, with only the occasional flash of sword light illuminating a corner.
Vaguely, a faint zither melody arose.
Heaven and earth suddenly fell still, the wind and snow gradually subsided, leaving only the snow on the slope sliding down with a rustling sound.
At the highest point of the snowy ridge, Nanke's sword pierced into Zhu Ye's abdomen.
Zhu Ye did not look down, nor did he look at her, but stared at some distant place.
The sword inside his body was truly cold, but that ethereal, almost unreal zither melody was even colder.
So cold that it reminded him of the story his uncle had told him long ago.
In that story, there was a demon city north of the snowy plains, forever shrouded in darkness.
Just like the darkness that was now gradually filling his eyes.
...
...
Nanke carried Zhu Ye's corpse back to the mountain path.
The path was covered in blood and frozen frost, with hundreds of corpses scattered haphazardly on both sides.
The middle-aged scholar was not playing the zither but eating something. At his feet lay half a corpse; judging by the official boots and remaining armor style, it should have been one of Ning Shiwei's men.
Nanke handed Zhu Ye's corpse to the middle-aged scholar.
The middle-aged scholar held Zhu Ye with both hands, lowered his head, and began to feed.
The sound was like a cat eating leftovers, like gravel sinking into mud.
Blood dripped continuously from between his fingers.
It didn't take long for Zhu Ye's corpse to disappear, leaving nothing behind.
The night wind lifted the middle-aged scholar's robe, revealing a slightly bulging belly.
He closed his eyes and remained still for a long time, as if savoring or contemplating something.
"As expected of Zhu Luo's nephew. Though his cultivation level was lacking, he still carried a hint of moonlight essence—a small supplement, far better than this general."
The middle-aged scholar opened his eyes, glanced at the remains of Ning Shiwei at his feet, and revealed a disdainful expression.
He took a snow-white handkerchief from his sleeve and slowly wiped the blood from the corners of his mouth, his movements very elegant. Then he walked forward into the darkness of the mountain path.
Witnessing this bloody and terrifying scene, Nanke's expression showed no change as she followed him forward.
Accompanied by a clear zither note, they arrived at a snow valley over ten miles away.
The several demon clan experts who had surrounded Chen Changsheng were covered in sword wounds, their right hands crippled, but they had not yet died.
When they saw the middle-aged scholar and Nanke, it was as if they had seen a real ghost—their faces turned deathly pale.
Nanke glanced at them and said, "Die."
Several bursts of green blood exploded, and those towering figures crashed heavily into the snow.
Upon hearing Nanke's words, those demon clan experts did not hesitate to take their own lives!
The garden in the snow valley had been reduced to ruins, the misty spring lake had dried into a pit, the wooden bridge had broken into dozens of pieces like a snake that had been dead for centuries, and the snow pavilion had vanished without a trace. Frozen beads of ice had shattered into a sky full of flocculent matter, somewhat disgusting.
Chen Changsheng and Zhi Zhi stood on the opposite side of the lake. An Hua had rescued the general from the ruins, and the two of them nervously guarded the stretcher.
Hai Di stood in the lake, holding that broken stele-shaped weapon, as if he were the center of this world.
Yet in his eyes, whether it was this world or the vast real world, the eternal center was always the middle-aged scholar who had just arrived.
Nanke ignored him and said to Chen Changsheng, "I helped you solve many troubles. You owe me a favor."
Zhi Zhi didn't know her, but judging by her tone when speaking to Chen Changsheng, they must be acquainted. She sized her up for a moment, then suddenly came to her senses, her eyes brimming with infinite vigilance.
"Are you that peacock?"
Nanke's expression was somewhat dazed as she asked, "You know me?"
"Chen Changsheng mentioned you."
Zhi Zhi raised three fingers and placed them between her eyes, saying, "He said the gap between your eyes is too wide—clearly, you're sick."
Nanke thought for a moment, unsure whether to be angry, then shifted her gaze back to Chen Changsheng.
Chen Changsheng wasn't looking at her; his gaze was fixed on the middle-aged scholar.
This middle-aged scholar had captured all of Hai Di's attention even before appearing, filling him with boundless fear.
For someone to make Hai Di this terrified, there couldn't be more than five people in the entire world.
Coincidentally, Chen Changsheng had once met this middle-aged scholar before, so he knew who he was.
That encounter had been at Cold Mountain.
Tonight, it was still at Cold Mountain.
Though the two places were a thousand miles apart.
It was indeed a coincidence—and a very bad one.
He sighed.