PID Chapter 111

(1/5)

(⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)

 

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The guest rooms at Yaori Sect were naturally top-notch. The table was set with high-quality utensils polished to a mirror-like shine; the screen depicted elegant mountain and river scenes; the carved window lattices were exquisite—and so was the bed.

 

As the disciple had mentioned, the bed was indeed very spacious—large enough for five or six people to roll around on without issue. Because of his earlier comment, when Xiao Mo and Chu Jinglan’s gazes fell upon it, they couldn’t help lingering there longer than on any other detail in the room.

 

Both paused simultaneously before turning their faces slightly toward each other. Their eyes met.

 

It was just a light glance—but it felt as though their gazes intertwined tangibly. Xiao Mo couldn’t help but chuckle softly, while Chu Jinglan’s eyes melted like snow under sunlight—clear skies emerging after a storm.

 

The two gradually leaned closer until their lips met.

 

When they kissed in public, it was to declare their relationship and reassure Chu Jinglan—quick and straightforward without delving too deeply. But when they were alone, their kisses became lingering and tender—warm breaths intertwining as they explored each other softly yet passionately.

 

Only when both were marked by each other’s warmth did they finally stop.

 

Chu Jinglan kissed Xiao Mo down onto the bed. Xiao Mo’s eyes shimmered like rippling water; his flushed cheeks carried a faint red at the corners of his eyes. Chu Jinglan kissed those reddened corners before pulling up the quilt to wrap Xiao Mo snugly.

 

Xiao Mo tugged down part of the quilt to reveal his chin and looked up at Chu Jinglan with bright eyes.

 

“You’re tired,” Chu Jinglan said gently as he stroked Xiao Mo’s cheek. “Sleep.”

 

Using spiritual consciousness techniques consumes a great deal of mental energy. At times like this, proper sleep might be more effective than meditative cultivation.

 

Xiao Mo gently squeezed Chu Jinglan’s hand. “Mm, I’ll sleep for a while.”

 

He was indeed exhausted and drowsy. Chu Jinglan let him hold his hand, and before long, Xiao Mo fell into a deep sleep, his breathing steady and calm.

 

Chu Jinglan held Xiao Mo’s fingers lightly, unwilling to let go for a long time. After a while, he finally released his grip, but he extended the golden chain between them, wrapping the other end around his own wrist.

 

Since they had formed the Red Luan mark, their magical artifacts were shared. Once the chain was secured around his wrist, Chu Jinglan moved to the low couch opposite the bed to meditate. It was the perfect time to complete his spiritual consciousness training for the day.

 

Xiao Mo slept deeply and comfortably. However, during his brief dreamless slumber, an image appeared before him—it was Chu Jinglan’s sea of consciousness.

 

A dream?

 

But it didn’t quite feel like one.

 

Xiao Mo found himself slowly walking from the edge of the scene toward the lake. As he took a few steps, he realized this wasn’t a dream. Instead, a strand of his spiritual consciousness had unconsciously entered Chu Jinglan’s sea of consciousness during his sleep.

 

When Xiao Mo reached the edge of the lake, he was delighted to see that compared to his last visit, the once desolate and lifeless place had undergone some changes.

 

The half-scorched red lotus had begun to unfurl fresh, tender petals. The new growth gradually spread over the scorched areas as if on its way to full recovery. And that wasn’t all—when Xiao Mo looked toward the withered cluster of night-blooming cereus flowers by the lake, he noticed one flower had slightly lifted its head. At its darkened edges, a faint silvery-blue hue had appeared.

 

Amidst the blackened decay, this single spot of color stood out vividly.

 

Overjoyed, Xiao Mo walked over to the night-blooming cereus and crouched down to examine it closely. Though faint, there was indeed a sign of life—it no longer exuded complete deathly stillness.

 

This meant that Chu Jinglan’s spiritual consciousness was truly improving—and at an impressive pace.

 

In the past, Chu Jinglan’s cultivation efforts could only suppress his instability rather than heal it. But now that they had found an effective method for repair, progress was swift and efficient—his recovery would soon accelerate exponentially.

 

Xiao Mo smiled softly and couldn’t resist reaching out carefully to touch the night-blooming cereus.

 

His heart was filled with tenderness. However, just as his fingers made contact with the flower, Xiao Mo’s vision blurred suddenly. In an instant, he was pulled away from the withered flower field and transported to an unfamiliar place.

 

The abrupt change startled Xiao Mo. His heart tightened as he immediately became alert and prepared for anything. But as he looked around cautiously, Xiao Mo froze in surprise.

 

This wasn’t an unfamiliar place at all—it was clearly the Chu family estate in the lower realm.

 

 

The plaque above the gates of the Chu family estate hung high, a symbol that had long haunted nightmares. For a time, this gate loomed like an insurmountable colossus, or the gaping maw of a monstrous abyss—an obstacle neither Xiao Mo nor Chu Jinglan could overcome.

 

Yet it was also the enemy they had to destroy.

 

Strangely, as Xiao Mo looked at it now, the Chu family gates no longer seemed so imposing.

 

Why am I at the Chu family estate?

 

As Xiao Mo pondered this, he heard the sound of chaos erupting from within the estate. A group of people rushed out in a panic. Startled, Xiao Mo instinctively tried to dodge, fearing a collision.

 

But in the next moment, no one bumped into him. The fleeing people passed right through his body as if he weren’t there. None of them even glanced in his direction.

 

Xiao Mo froze for a moment, then looked down at his palm and tentatively reached out toward one of the figures. His hand grasped nothing.

 

It reminded him of when he was a heart demon—a spiritual entity unseen and untouchable by others.

 

The people rushing out were dressed as servants of the Chu family. Their faces were pale with fear, clearly fleeing for their lives. This wasn’t something Xiao Mo remembered from his past encounters with the Chu family. Watching their expressions, a realization struck him, and his eyes widened slightly.

 

The Chu family was vast and wealthy, with many servants. The number of people trying to escape was considerable. Xiao Mo moved against the flow of the crowd, heading deeper into the estate without encountering any obstacles. Soon, he came across someone different from the other servants—a man dressed in luxurious robes who was desperately running for his life.

 

His face was both unfamiliar and familiar to Xiao Mo. Unfamiliar because his expression was so twisted with fear that it distorted his features; familiar because he was one of Chu Jinglan’s enemies—the young master of the Chu family, Chu Yusheng.

 

Xiao Mo remembered every face belonging to Chu Jinglan’s enemies.

 

Chu Yusheng, accompanied by two attendants, was just about to step out of the gates. His wide eyes gleamed with hope—but in the next instant, sword energy pierced through his chest from behind. Chu Yusheng and his two guards collapsed simultaneously, their bodies falling forward and landing outside the gates of the Chu estate.

 

Screams erupted on the street as bystanders fled in terror. No one dared to approach or investigate what had happened.

 

The sword-inflicted wound on Chu Yusheng’s body bore traces of frost and snow—a signature Xiao Mo knew all too well.

 

Hurrying into the courtyard of the Chu estate, Xiao Mo saw what happened next. After Chu Yusheng’s death, the head matriarch of the family collapsed to her knees beside his body, wailing uncontrollably: “Yusheng! My child—!”

 

The patriarch of the Chu family clutched a wound on his body as he knelt on the ground, unable to speak. The matriarch’s cries were sharp and piercing; her son’s death had stripped away her fear entirely, leaving only hatred behind. Driven by rage, she lunged at Chu Jinglan with surprising courage: “Give me back my son’s life! What did we ever do to wrong you—”

 

Before she could finish her sentence, Chu Jinglan’s sword flashed through both her neck and that of the patriarch, sending them to their deaths together.

 

Only after they were dead did Chu Jinglan raise his sword and speak coldly to their corpses: “When I was eleven years old, that bowl of poisoned porridge—I knew it was sent by you.”

 

It really was Chu Jinglan. Standing at the edge of the courtyard, Xiao Mo stared blankly at this version of him.

 

His cultivation was only at early-stage Divided Spirit and had been suppressed to Nascent Soul peak after descending to the lower realm. Yet his gaze was already lifeless. His robes were soaked in blood—all from members of the Chu family—and every step he took left a long trail of crimson behind him.

 

The courtyard was littered with corpses—members of the Chu family’s direct bloodline, their loyal death soldiers, and wicked servants alike. The only survivors were a terrified Chu Shi huddled in a corner too scared even to scream or run and an elder barely clinging to life with his final breath.

 

The tip of Chu Jinglan’s sword scraped across the ground, slicing through the river of blood beneath him. Frost spread along his path, freezing everything in his wake. Finally, he stopped in front of the Great Elder.

 

The Great Elder closed his eyes and rasped out a few words: “If only we had known… if only we had known!”

 

If only they had realized my talent for cultivation earlier, Chu Jinglan thought. If only they hadn’t treated Wan Yu so poorly. If only they had been kinder to my mother and me, maybe I would have been loyal to the Chu family. Maybe they wouldn’t have needed to use threats to keep me here—or maybe they should have just killed me outright. Would it have been better if I’d never existed?

 

But Chu Jinglan didn’t care about their answers. These people had always acted out of selfishness. Even their regrets weren’t born of guilt or remorse—they were merely lamenting their own miscalculations.

 

All Chu Jinglan knew was that his mother was gone, and these people were his enemies.

 

With one final stroke of his sword, the Great Elder fell, and all of Chu Jinglan’s enemies lay dead.

 

Chu Jinglan turned and began walking forward. Chu Shi, trembling like a leaf in the wind, was sobbing uncontrollably, mucus running down his face. As he watched Chu Jinglan approach step by step, despair overwhelmed him, and he suddenly dropped to his knees with a loud thud, kowtowing desperately.

 

“Brother Jinglan! Spare me! I’ve never done anything to wrong you—please, I beg you!”

 

His head hit the ground repeatedly with resounding thuds, yet he noticed that Chu Jinglan’s footsteps continued to draw closer. Just as he was about to give up all hope, those feet passed by him without stopping.

 

Chu Shi’s voice and movements froze abruptly in disbelief. For a long time, he didn’t dare lift his head. But eventually, unable to resist confirming his fate, he forced himself to look up.

 

All he saw was Chu Jinglan’s back as he walked away from the Chu family estate.

 

Chu Jinglan had ignored him completely and left without a word.

 

Thus ended the massacre of the Chu family—leaving Chu Shi as the sole surviving member of the direct bloodline.

 

Xiao Mo quickly followed after him. Watching Chu Jinglan’s blood-soaked figure retreating into the distance filled Xiao Mo with unbearable heartache. Chu Jinglan didn’t even bother casting a cleansing spell on himself, letting the trail of blood stretch behind him until it dried and was eventually covered by dust and dirt.

 

Xiao Mo caught up to him but hadn’t yet spoken when Chu Jinglan suddenly raised his sword and pointed it directly at Xiao Mo.

 

Xiao Mo froze in place.

 

In Chu Jinglan’s pitch-black eyes, Xiao Mo’s reflection flickered faintly. His voice was cold as ice and stained with blood: “Who are you?”

 

He can see me?

 

But for a moment, Xiao Mo didn’t know how to respond.

 

Though he had been deeply affected by witnessing Chu Jinglan’s revenge moments earlier, Xiao Mo—being well-versed in spiritual consciousness techniques—had already realized that this wasn’t just a memory of Chu Jinglan’s past. It was also a fragment of his shattered spiritual consciousness buried deep within his sea of consciousness.

 

When Xiao Mo touched the night-blooming cereus earlier, he had inadvertently entered the depths of Chu Jinglan’s sea of consciousness.

 

No wonder Chu Jinglan’s spiritual state was so poor—these fragments were buried deep within him like graves that couldn’t be unearthed or resolved. They couldn’t return to their rightful place until they were retrieved and pieced back together bit by bit.

 

Since Chu Jinglan had regained memories from his past lives in reality, he should have recognized Xiao Mo’s face immediately. Yet here in this fragment of his spiritual consciousness, something about Xiao Mo seemed unfamiliar enough for him to ask who he was.

 

Xiao Mo wasn’t sure what form he appeared in within this fragment—what about him made Chu Jinglan question his identity.

 

If Xiao Mo were to immediately say that he was himself—Xiao Mo—would it end up agitating this fragment of Chu Jinglan’s spiritual consciousness and causing even greater damage?

 

The fact that this fragment was at early-stage Divided Spirit meant that, in its perception, not much time had passed since Xiao Mo and Chu Jinglan had separated.

 

Xiao Mo opened his mouth hesitantly: “I…”

 

“They can’t see you,” Chu Jinglan said, gripping his sword tightly. “You’re a cultivator from the upper realm? But you didn’t stop me from killing them.”

 

“My situation is a bit unusual,” Xiao Mo replied, following Chu Jinglan’s lead without directly confirming or denying. “I overheard some things outside. You have a deep blood feud with them—it’s not my place to interfere.”

 

“I won’t pose a threat to you.” To prove the credibility of his words, Xiao Mo raised his hand and reached for a nearby object. His hand passed right through it without touching anything.

 

Chu Jinglan watched as Xiao Mo’s hand moved through the object. Something flickered in his lifeless eyes—a tremor that even made the hand holding his sword shake slightly.

 

After scrutinizing Xiao Mo for a moment, Chu Jinglan slowly lowered his sword without saying a word and continued walking forward.

 

Xiao Mo silently followed him.

 

Xiao Mo recognized the path they were taking—it led to Wan Yu’s grave outside the city.

 

As expected, after leaving Mucheng and traversing the road that had once been filled with youthful hatred, Chu Jinglan stopped in front of Wan Yu’s tombstone.

 

He didn’t utter any grand words about avenging his mother. Instead, he took out a fine cloth and meticulously cleaned the tombstone. He also pulled out the weeds around the grave—all by hand, without using any techniques or spells.

 

Xiao Mo wanted to help but couldn’t touch the tombstone. He tried using a spell instead and managed to wrap a strand of spiritual energy around a weed to pull it out.

 

Both Xiao Mo and Chu Jinglan froze at this unexpected development.

 

Recovering quickly from his surprise, Xiao Mo continued using spells to help. But as he worked, his movements gradually slowed until he eventually had to stop altogether.

 

It wasn’t because he was tired—it was because Chu Jinglan’s gaze was too intense, piercing through him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

 

Turning toward him, Xiao Mo met Chu Jinglan’s eyes. “…Is something wrong?”

 

“You can… pull weeds?” A trace of confusion surfaced in Chu Jinglan’s pitch-black eyes. “But aren’t you supposed to be my hallucination?”

 

How could a hallucination affect physical objects in reality?

 

Chu Jinglan’s expression suddenly turned sharp as he drew his sword again. His voice was cold and commanding: “What exactly are you?!”

 

 

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1 Kofi = 1 Extra Chapter