My Shijie Seems Intent on Destroying the World – Chapter 41

Questioning the Heart

This Person Is Bullying Me! Making Me Hurt So Much!

The sun slid westward, and before Ah Yun knew it, she had trailed Xixue through nearly half of Mingyue Villa from the shadows.

This little rabbit’s nerve was really something — after everything that had happened, she still had the mind to drift about collecting dreams and delivering wine, flying at the most leisurely pace imaginable.

            

When the last dream was harvested, she hugged her bulging belly, big tail swaying, and finally rode the wind toward Lake-Heart Pavilion.

Ah Yun hurried after her.

The little rabbit trailed her tail behind her, stepped featherlight across the lotus leaves, and came to Yinsha’s side as the latter stood admiring the lotuses by the shore. She stroked her belly and said nothing.

            

Yinsha raised a brow and swept her a glance, complaining offhandedly, “Why are you so slow today? The sky’s nearly dark before you’re back.”

Xixue kept silent, her two little paws anxiously rubbing up and down her round belly.

Seeing her say nothing, Yinsha sighed. “Never mind. I’ve no heart for watching dreams today either — pour them into the Dream Furnace.”

            

Xixue: “The brewing primer… has already gone into the wine.”

Yinsha’s brow arched slightly. “That fast? Didn’t she only renew her wine at noon?”

Xixue: “…She hadn’t drunk it yet, so I added it in advance.”

            

Yinsha: “And did she drink it afterward?”

Xixue: “I don’t know.”

“What good are you?” Yinsha couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Fine. I’ll go probe it myself later.”

            

With that, she flicked her sleeve, turned, and walked into the pavilion.

Xixue stood at the shore, hugging her belly, head hanging low, and for a long time did not leave.

The evening wind was faintly cool; the sheer gauze curtains lifted gently.

            

The little rabbit stayed quiet a long while, then at last turned and flew toward the Dream Furnace.

---

Entering the dream again, Qi Zhi had barely opened her eyes before she was back in that same Sword Tomb.

The dream seemed to pick up where the last one had left off, yet for some reason Mu Qingshi was no longer at her side. She was utterly alone, with nothing around her but the desolate expanse of the Sword Tomb.

            

Perhaps the earlier dream had been forcibly interrupted, so a few errors had slipped in when it resumed.

So Qi Zhi reasoned, lowering her head to study the sword in her hand.

Spiritual light peeled the rust from the blade at her fingertip; the dust and grime of the hilt fell away with it, baring a pattern she knew better than any other. The blade was cold, trembling faintly against her fingertip.

            

This was Chunsheng. She hadn’t mistaken it after all!

She had come here to find a natal sword — how, after all that searching, had she ended up with a Chunsheng?

Qi Zhi gazed at the Chunsheng in her hand and turned the matter over for a good while, concluding that she really was rather pitiful.

            

In this dream, what she could dream of depended, by and large, on what she had once seen.

Painful as it was to admit, the fine swords she had ever seen up close in this life were, apart from Chunsheng, probably limited to Powang.

Even if you lent her a hundred guts’ worth of courage, she wouldn’t dare dream Powang into being her own natal sword!

            

Chunsheng was another matter. She and Chunsheng were very well acquainted — at the very least, they shared the bond of several centuries of osmanthus-picking together. To borrow it a little within a dream surely wasn’t excessive?

So thinking, Qi Zhi slid Chunsheng into its sheath, held it to her chest, and rose on the wind out of the Sword Tomb.

Beyond the Sword Tomb, the Sword Venerable looked at the Chunsheng in her hand and nodded, deeply satisfied, his eyes full of approval.

            

Not far off, Ling Qiansu waved to her with all her strength, her pale purple dress fluttering on the wind like a butterfly.

Qi Zhi went over to greet her and asked, almost without thinking, “Miss Ling, have you seen my Second Senior Sister?”

Ling Qiansu shook her head and reached out to drag her off for something tasty.

            

With Mu Qingshi’s absence filling her head, Qi Zhi had no heart for eating and drinking; she only wanted to get back to Mount Qiongju for a look. She politely declined Ling Qiansu’s invitation and hurried all the way back toward Mount Qiongju.

By the time she reached Suihan Hall, Mu Qingshi was in the courtyard admiring the plum blossoms.

Qi Zhi had left immortal power on these plum trees; whatever the season, they bloomed on without fading.

            

Little Ah Yun perched on a high plum branch, both eyes shut, apparently dozing.

Puzzled, Qi Zhi walked over and sat down beside Mu Qingshi, and under the gaze that turned toward her, asked quietly, “Does shijie know where I went today?”

A flicker of blankness crossed Mu Qingshi’s eyes. “Where?”

            

Qi Zhi: “I went to Mount Baopu and asked the Sword Venerable to open the Sword Tomb for me.”

Mu Qingshi: “Did that happen? Then did shimei find some fine sword?”

Qi Zhi: “…”

            

So the dream really had developed some errors.

Qi Zhi sighed. Light flickered in her palm; she conjured Chunsheng forth and laid it on the stone table.

Mu Qingshi reached out and stroked the sheath, the very picture of someone who had never seen it before. She closed her eyes, sensed it with spiritual power, and said softly, “A fine sword. Does it have a name?”

            

“Chunsheng,” Qi Zhi answered.

“Chunsheng?” Mu Qingshi’s brows curved as she smiled. “It suits shimei well.”

This ought to have been a beautiful dream, but perhaps because she had come with a purpose and stayed clear-headed through it, it felt more than a little dull.

            

However fine a dream, it was still false.

The cultivation was false. The natal sword was false. And this Mu Qingshi was false too.

Qi Zhi brushed her fingers over the Chunsheng on the stone table, sighed, drew it back into her spirit pouch, and rose to leave.

            

“Won’t shimei sit a while longer?”

“No need, shijie. I’m a bit tired — I’d like to rest.”

“All right,” Mu Qingshi said, escorting Qi Zhi all the way out of Suihan Hall and watching her figure recede into the distance.

            

Qi Zhi returned to that vista of the jade-green lake, gathered her skirt, sat down at the water’s edge, and began teasing the spirit fish below the surface.

The sky darkened by degrees. The moonlight, as though it would never set, passed through a veil of night mist and enfolded the whole lake.

Yinsha came faster than she had imagined.

            

In a daze, she sensed a strand of very particular spiritual aura, drifting toward her slow and gentle as a breeze.

Far clearer than anything she had strained to feel outside the dream.

Qi Zhi turned on instinct — and there was Mu Qingshi, arrived at her back at some unknown moment, gazing at her with a smile, her eyes brimming with tenderness soft as water.

            

“Sh-Shijie?” Qi Zhi blanked for a moment, then blinked and asked, “Why are you here?”

“The night is deep and cold, and there was no one to keep me company in Suihan Hall.” The newcomer settled down beside her and leaned gently against her shoulder.

Her body was warm and soft, yielding as though she had no bones at all.

            

Qi Zhi: “…”

Anything could happen in a dream, granted — but to play Mu Qingshi like this? Yinsha hadn’t put much care into the role, had she?

Still, if Yinsha wanted to perform, then perhaps she ought to play along; she might glean something from it.

            

After all, once they truly came to blows, if the other party’s temper ran even a little stubborn, she feared that win or lose, no more answers would be forthcoming.

So Qi Zhi thought — and with one turn of her mind, following what Ling Qiansu had told her before, she quietly unfurled a vast domain and sealed the entire dreamscape inside it.

The “Mu Qingshi” beside her noticed nothing at all, only leaned against her, arms wrapped around Qi Zhi’s, sharing the view of the water lilies slowly unfolding.

            

“Shijie didn’t come all this way to find me just for the flowers, did you?”

“Of course I came to see shimei,” the figure beside her answered tenderly.

It was precisely the same voice, yet carrying a cooing sweetness Qi Zhi had never once heard from it, and she couldn’t help clutching the edge of her skirt.

            

Of all the people in her dreams, why did Yinsha have to wear Mu Qingshi’s face, lean against her body, and say such things to her…

The feeling was entirely too strange!

She wanted to run—

            

The figure beside her seemed to realize she had overplayed it as well; she chuckled and sat up straight. “I’m teasing shimei. Look at how tense you are — as if I’d eat you.”

Qi Zhi pressed her lips together. “Shijie is never like this normally.”

“Normally is normally. Isn’t today a little different?”

            

“Is, is it?”

“Of course. Didn’t I go with you to Mount Baopu?”

“Oh. Right…”

            

The figure gave a soft laugh and regarded her earnestly. “The sword you wanted — I helped you find it. Now you’re someone with a natal sword of your own. I was simply curious to come see whether you’d be too happy to sleep tonight.”

Too happy to sleep — hardly. At most she was too nervous to sleep.

“Ah, right, shimei — I didn’t get a clear look at that sword during the day.” A thread of anticipation showed in her eyes. “It looked quite remarkable then. I wonder if it would be convenient for shimei to bring it out and let me have another look?”

            

“Shijie is very interested in this sword?”

“I am!”

Now Qi Zhi understood why Yinsha had insisted on entering her dream for a look — she’d taken a fancy to Chunsheng…

            

Seen in that light, it was fortunate she’d pestered the dream Mu Qingshi into helping her find this sword — otherwise she might not have had any means at all of dealing with this creature.

“Shimei?”

Qi Zhi came back to herself and raised a hand, conjuring Chunsheng forth.

            

She gripped the hilt tightly in her hand, wary that the person beside her would snatch it away.

Fortunately her fear didn’t come true. The “Mu Qingshi” only leaned in closer, frowning at the sword in her hand, her mind seeming to blank for a moment.

After a long silence, she abruptly asked, low and grave, “This sword of yours — where did it come from?”

            

Qi Zhi faltered, then played dumb. “I found it in the Guizhen Sect’s Sword Tomb. Didn’t shijie go there with me?”

At that, the figure gave a soft, scornful laugh. “If that’s how shimei chooses to answer, then she’s being a little dishonest.”

“…”

            

“Whether those words are true or false — does shimei not know perfectly well?”

“…” Dropping the act this quickly?

Qi Zhi was still reeling when the figure’s lips curved; a sleeve brushed across her face, and she wore another visage entirely.

            

“My honored guest, this is nothing more than a dream. Fooling the phantoms inside it is one thing…” Yinsha said, the smile deepening in her eyes as she reached out and tipped up Qi Zhi’s chin, her voice soft. “But you won’t find me so easily fooled.”

Qi Zhi instantly retreated a step, sword in hand, putting distance between them, her eyes full of wariness.

“What are you so afraid of? I only want to ask you a few questions. When I’m done, I’ll leave, and you may dream however you please. If it suits you, the Yinmeng will never run dry!”

            

Qi Zhi looked down at the Chunsheng in her hand. “What you want to ask — it concerns this?”

Yinsha: “Mm~”

Qi Zhi: “…”

            

Yinsha: “I see your cultivation is meager. This sword surely isn’t yours, is it?”

Qi Zhi: “It belongs to my shijie. Its name is Chunsheng.”

“Chunsheng?” Yinsha repeated in a low voice, momentarily lost in thought.

            

“You know this sword?”

Yinsha replied, “No.”

Qi Zhi: “Then someone at your side knows it?”

            

Yinsha: “I don’t know.”

Qi Zhi was left speechless, and only after a long moment managed, “…Then what are you asking about?”

“The spiritual power flowing through this sword — I like it very much.” Yinsha smiled as she said it, her gaze fixed on Chunsheng, and only after a long while did she ask, lightly, “I wonder — if I were to ask for it, would your shijie be willing to gift it to me?”

            

Qi Zhi frowned despite herself. “This is my shijie’s natal sword. For a sword cultivator, losing her sword is like breaking her very life — how could it be given away?”

“Is that so? What a pity, then…” Yinsha’s brows knit faintly, her face full of regret. “I’ve taken an unaccountable liking to this sword. I would truly find it hard to part with it…”

“Part with it?” Qi Zhi flared at the words, gripping the hilt with all her strength. “It isn’t even yours — where do you get ‘parting with it’?!”

            

Yinsha’s lips curved at that, and she glanced sideways at Qi Zhi. “Once I’ve set my eyes on it, it is mine.”

She laughed softly as she said it, and turned to go.

A thick fog suddenly welled up through the dreamscape, drowning the surroundings inch by inch.

            

In a daze, it was as if a single thought were being drawn out from the bottom of Qi Zhi’s heart.

It became a strand of spiritual thread, drifting in the fog, dissipating soundlessly before her eyes like thin smoke.

Then, one strand after another, they came drifting out of her chest.

            

Qi Zhi’s gaze was unfocused as she instinctively caught one of them.

A voice sounded at her ear — a sentence utterly foreign, yet spoken in her own voice: “This is my shijie’s natal sword. How could it be given to you?”

Staring at the spiritual thread about to scatter before her eyes, Qi Zhi realized with a jolt that some stretch of her memory was being erased.

            

Her will turned; spiritual light blazed up on every side, and she called every fading strand of thread back into her heart, leaving not one behind.

A wind rose and scattered the fog — and behind the fog was Yinsha’s gaze, astonished beyond measure.

“Are you leaving?” Qi Zhi drew a long, deep breath and pulled the sword from its sheath, fixing Yinsha with a solemn look. “I haven’t given you leave to go yet! I don’t care what you intend — you entered my dream today, so first you’ll pass through me!”

            

As her words fell, the domain she had secretly unfurled earlier flared gold in that instant.

As if proclaiming that Yinsha no longer had any road of escape.

“Impossible!”

            

Yinsha stared at Qi Zhi, her eyes full of disbelief.

She had entered too many dreams to count, and erased the memories of meeting her from too many dreamers to count.

Across two hundred years, the Yinmeng had been refined by her hand countless times; so long as she entered a dream through Xixue’s specially made primer, she could count herself half a god in another’s dream.

            

This was the first time anyone had defied her will inside a dream of her own bestowing.

Yinsha’s face darkened, and she said impatiently, “You don’t imagine that being the immortal of a dream means you can stand against me, do you?”

As her words fell, the night wind that had scattered the fog became a suddenly rising gale.

            

Even that soft moon at the sky’s edge seemed to warp and twist in that moment.

Qi Zhi was struck utterly dumb by the pressure that descended without warning; the gale drove her back several steps before she came to herself and raised a shield of protective spiritual power.

Yinsha’s lips hooked upward, and she mocked aloud, “You silly little girl — with a spiritual root this crippled, even with the power of an immortal, how many techniques can you actually cast?”

            

A flicker of panic crossed Qi Zhi’s eyes; every technique she had worked so hard to memorize outside the dream had, in this moment, been scared clean out of her head.

Yinsha, however, seemed to want nothing more than to play with her. One light lift of her hand, and every flowering tree around them was wrecked.

Torn petals and leaves, every color at once, were swept up into the sky on the gale, becoming a great dragon spiraling upward, its eyes twin black holes as it looked down on the earth ruined in that single instant.

            

Qi Zhi’s mind scattered. A force bordering on terror pressed down on her until she could not draw breath.

It hurt…

Even with spiritual power guarding her body, every inch of her skin hurt as if it were about to be torn open.

            

She couldn’t help thinking that, dream or no dream, she might truly lack the strength to beat someone this powerful.

If the one standing here at this moment were Mu Qingshi, she surely wouldn’t be frightened empty-headed by a technique like this…

That one instant’s thought flashed through the bottom of her heart.

            

The next second, someone suddenly took hold of her sword hand and swung a strike forward.

That single strike shattered the gale.

The sword qi of that one blow buffeted Yinsha’s chest into an aching heaviness; for a moment her eyes held shock and fury both — what was this? A mere phantom — how could it possibly be this strong?!

            

Thousands of broken blossoms drifted down like rain, unhurried, into a lake of moonlit halo.

Amid that sky-wide rain of flowers, Qi Zhi turned her head to look — and her dazed eyes lit up at once.

No way! It actually works!

            

Inside her own dream, a person really could imagine anything!

Her shijie’s cultivation had never fallen in her dream — why shouldn’t she tidy up an outside intruder for her!

At the thought, Qi Zhi couldn’t help letting out an aggrieved little whimper.

            

“Shijie!” Her eyes rimmed red, she seized Mu Qingshi’s wrist, gave it a little shake, and glared at Yinsha. “This person is bullying me! Making me hurt so much!”

“No matter. I will teach you—”

Mu Qingshi watched Yinsha retreat step by wary step, her expression ice-cold, her voice gentle: “—how to defeat her with your own hands.”

            

---