Transmigrating as the Heart Demon of the Ruthless Sword Venerable – Chapter 49

Marriage News (Part 3)

Fiancé

Ever since Tang Wenchun woke up again, things had come at her one after another, so relentless she couldn’t catch her breath.

            

She looked at Yunzhongjun sitting across from her and was hit by a bone-deep weariness. She let out a long sigh. Yunzhongjun, just like last time, had brought her own complete tea set and leaves. She was arranging those dainty little purple clay¹ cups, holding a round, adorable little teapot, and slowly pouring in spirit spring water.

They were currently in a small pavilion halfway up the mountainside north of Xunyang City. No one else was around—in the distance, only Yu Zhaoming’s figure could be seen, sword held in her arms.

Though the Sword Sect’s Eldest Senior Sister was present, Yunzhongjun had no intention of summoning her. Even the Sword Sect’s Eldest Senior Sister could only read the room and station herself far away, standing like a bodyguard with sword in arms.

            

Tang Wenchun’s gaze lingered on Yu Zhaoming’s figure. She hesitated for a long while, then turned her head. “You really don’t want to let her come over?”

Yunzhongjun was fussing with her tea. She picked up the teapot and poured into a small cup, not lifting her head. “And call her over for what? So she can learn that besides those evil cultivators and demon cultivators in the city, there are two bona fide heart demons conspiring right in front of her?”

“…What conspiracy…” Tang Wenchun grumbled, but she had to admit—around Yunzhongjun, she did feel more at ease. “Those people really are exploiting heart demons…”

            

“What they’re exploiting is the human heart.” Yunzhongjun placed the cup of tea in front of Tang Wenchun and tilted her chin slightly, gesturing for her to drink. “Try my Xiaoye Yunwu tea. You don’t get craftsmanship like this every day. It has to go with this purple clay in my hand—see this Xishi here? It fits perfectly in one hand. My shijie went all the way to Yangshuo a century ago to learn the craft, then rushed to finish this teapot in time for my birthday. She ruined over a hundred pots before getting this one—the most perfect, the most beautiful.”

Yunzhongjun spoke as she looked down at the purple clay teapot in her hand, her gaze shifting, a smile playing at her lips.

Tang Wenchun didn’t understand tea or teapots. She just looked at the pot—it had a warm, lustrous sheen, probably from however long Yunzhongjun had been handling it, the color deepened to this richness. She nodded. “It really is pretty. Your shijie treats you so well.”

            

Yunzhongjun’s smile broke into a full grin. “Naturally. My shijie treats me the best.”

“But…” Tang Wenchun said, puzzled, “your shijie being good to you—that’s being good to the original body, isn’t it?”

Yunzhongjun’s smile vanished. “Original body or heart demon, I am me. Are you saying I’m not Yunzhongjun?”

            

Tang Wenchun caught the irritation and displeasure Yunzhongjun was suppressing and quickly lowered her head to drink her tea. “No, no, you’re you, you’re you.”

Yunzhongjun clicked her tongue. “If you didn’t seem like someone I could actually talk to, I’d have crushed your divine soul with one hand.”

Tang Wenchun smiled bitterly. “What do you mean ‘someone you could talk to’…” Then she remembered the frenzied Thirteenth Young Master and frowned. “Were those things really heart demons?”

            

Yunzhongjun scoffed. “They’re nothing but obsessions. How dare they call themselves heart demons? Those things spawned from immature so-called secret manuals and forbidden arts—even if they activate the Demon Seed and boost their cultivation, they amount to nothing more than petty demons scrabbling through this world, and in the end they sever their own great Dao. But ones like us are different. If we keep cultivating, ascension isn’t out of the question.”

Hearing this, Tang Wenchun noticed Yunzhongjun looking down at her tea. The words came out breezy and light, but there was no real attachment behind them. Whether she ascended or not seemed to have nothing to do with her. Something stirred in Tang Wenchun’s heart, and she said, “Why talk about me? I don’t think you want to ascend either.”

Yunzhongjun paused, then drained her cup. “How do you know I don’t want to ascend? Maybe—” she blinked at Tang Wenchun, “the other me is wholeheartedly severing all emotion and renouncing all love, dead set on ascension.”

            

Tang Wenchun froze. She studied Yunzhongjun quietly. But Yunzhongjun, true to her rotten nature, simply didn’t want to say more—and she’d dangle a hook just to keep you dangling. Watching Yunzhongjun’s leisurely, self-satisfied expression, Tang Wenchun felt a surge of frustration. She gulped down her tea in one go, drawing continuous headshakes from Yunzhongjun: “A cow chewing peonies². What a waste, what a waste.”

Tang Wenchun didn’t answer. She turned away, cradling a cup of tea, sipping slowly, ignoring Yunzhongjun.

“So you and Yu Zhaoming are really getting married?”

            

“Pfft—” The tea sprayed out. Tang Wenchun whipped her head around.

Yunzhongjun was grinning with pure smugness. “Truly unthinkable. Even the Heavenly Demon probably never imagined it—heart demons that don’t fight their hosts to the death, but get married instead.”

Tang Wenchun covered her face. “Stop talking about it. That’s—that’s Shizun misunderstanding, thinking I was being plundered by Yu Zhaoming, so…”

            

“Can’t quite call it a misunderstanding.” Yunzhongjun smiled. “That’s also why I came to find you. I’ve never seen a fool as foolish as you. Such a perfect opportunity, and instead of using it to replace your host, you chose to die…”

“How do you know I chose to die… Maybe I just couldn’t beat Eldest Senior Sister.” Tang Wenchun kept her head down, mumbling. Being mocked by others, Tang Wenchun didn’t mind. But hearing it from a fellow heart demon, from Yunzhongjun’s blunt words, Tang Wenchun felt… as if she’d been seen through.

“I added fuel to your fire, and you still didn’t use it. Now you’re making excuses.” Yunzhongjun shook her head.

            

Tang Wenchun’s head snapped up. “That loss of control!! Was that your doing?!”

“Whether it was or wasn’t, she’s alive now. None of it matters anymore.”

Tang Wenchun fell silent for a moment before saying quietly, “In that situation, on my own, it definitely wouldn’t have worked…”

            

Her voice grew softer and softer, until it faded entirely under Yunzhongjun’s teasing gaze.

“Tang Wenchun, you can fool me, but can you fool yourself?” Yunzhongjun sipped her tea, eyes narrowing, her gaze landing on Yu Zhaoming in the distance. All this time, Yu Zhaoming’s posture hadn’t changed in the slightest, and her eyes had remained fixed on Yunzhongjun, watchful and suspicious.

Yunzhongjun smiled faintly. These two were indeed interesting.

            

“We are heart demons. Being heart demons, we are rooted in the heart. What the heart thinks, what the heart yearns for—what you can’t let go of, that is what will always answer back.”

Yunzhongjun turned the teacup in her hand, her gaze falling on the pale red tea. The liquid trembled, as though reflecting another pair of eyes. “You can fool anyone—even yourself. But heart demons? The yearning comes first. Only then does the heart demon follow.”

She raised her eyes to meet Tang Wenchun’s half-comprehending stare. This heart demon was too young. She didn’t understand things she hadn’t even figured out about herself—that was only natural.

            

“As for you, take care of yourself first. Heart demons may be born from their host’s obsessions, but the way you are—killed every time, your cultivation and spiritual energy returning to your host—it does real damage to yourself. Don’t end up in a situation where Yu Zhaoming hasn’t yet reached the great Dao, but you’re already so weakened you can’t even hold a form.”

Tang Wenchun was about to press for details. But Yunzhongjun raised a hand, her face already making clear she had no intention of saying more. She pulled out her bamboo flute. “Since you’re fine now, my business here is done. I happened to compose a piece for my shijie—listen to it for me and tell me if anything needs changing.”

“…I don’t know anything about music…” Tang Wenchun looked utterly lost.

            

But Yunzhongjun had already placed the flute to her lips. Tang Wenchun shut her mouth.

The music rose—lingering, yearning, drifting waveringly toward the distant sky. Tang Wenchun heard the sound of wings beating somewhere far off. She looked toward it and saw birds perched, tilting their heads, looking in her direction.

And in the distance, Yu Zhaoming was also watching her.

            

That gaze, deep and faintly resentful, rested on her face as though it had been watching her all along.

The drawn-out flute melody carried a slight tremolo, like a silken thread—one end wound around her, the other resting on Yu Zhaoming. Ever since her transmigration, she and Yu Zhaoming had been like this: no matter the distance, the two of them were always pulling at each other.

Success or failure, life or death—they were always entangled.

            

Tang Wenchun thought that it had been a long time since she’d looked at Yu Zhaoming like this.

The tender young girl she’d seen when she first transmigrated had grown into a mature woman, her straight spine gradually taking on the sharp edge of a sword cultivator. Like a newly forged blade, impatient to show off its keen edge.

Someone like this, Tang Wenchun had never encountered before. She was brilliant, always making the best choice no matter the time or place. So it was only natural that she’d keep drawing the eye…

            

“You can fool others, but can you fool yourself…”

Xuanjiu’s and Yunzhongjun’s words alternated in her mind.

The flute music grew softer, more sorrowful, as though someone were asking in a low voice, tugging at Tang Wenchun’s heart. She silently lowered her eyes, ultimately avoiding Yu Zhaoming’s gaze.

            

The flute music broke off abruptly. Tang Wenchun startled and turned to meet Yunzhongjun’s smiling eyes. “Well?”

“Mm…?” Tang Wenchun was in a daze. She thought for a moment before coming back to herself. “That piece—isn’t it unfinished?”

Yunzhongjun stroked the body of the flute. “It’s a piece for my shijie. Naturally I can’t let you hear the whole thing—that would defeat the purpose.”

            

“It was beautiful. I just… couldn’t fully understand it. I only felt a kind of sorrow.” Tang Wenchun paused, thinking. “Like yearning for something you can’t have. The whole piece was saturated with longing.”

Yunzhongjun looked down and murmured an “oh.” She smiled. “I see. Of course. Fragrant grass longs for the southern ford, drifting clouds dream of Chu’s sun³. I should head back. My shijie lately… I miss her a little.”

Tang Wenchun let out another “ah,” her voice full of confusion.

            

Yunzhongjun shook her head and tapped Tang Wenchun’s skull with the body of her flute. “Go read more books… Also, since you’re in this state now, build up your cultivation. Don’t let it happen again where you end up looking like you’ve been hollowed out by cultivation plundering—embarrassing.”

Tang Wenchun’s face flushed red, while Yunzhongjun had already dismissed her barrier, packed up her precious tea set, formed a hand seal, and rode the clouds away, looking exceptionally carefree.

“What was that… What cultivation plundering…”

            

Tang Wenchun muttered under her breath as Yu Zhaoming walked over. She glanced at the traces left on the stone table, then said, “The one in your room last time—that was also Yunzhongjun?”

Yu Zhaoming’s gaze fell on Tang Wenchun. “When did the two of you get so close?”

“Nothing like that!” Tang Wenchun quickly waved her hands.

            

Yu Zhaoming’s brow furrowed. “She even played the flute for you, gave you tea…”

“The piece was for her shijie—she was just asking my opinion on it… Her heart is entirely set on her shijie.” Tang Wenchun hadn’t thought it through yet, but hearing Yu Zhaoming speak like this, she instinctively started explaining on Yunzhongjun’s behalf.

Yu Zhaoming’s frown deepened. “You mean Senior Nüluo?”

            

“Yeah.” Tang Wenchun leaned closer, nudging Yu Zhaoming with her elbow, putting on a gossipy expression. “That piece was composed for Senior Nüluo—wasn’t it achingly tender, saturated with longing?”

“…Senior Nüluo has a fiancé. They’ve been engaged for over a century. Though the wedding has been delayed all this time, don’t go talking about this in front of others.” Yu Zhaoming said, and she took Tang Wenchun’s hand.

The heart demon’s palm was soft—perhaps because all her cultivation came from Yu Zhaoming, and she didn’t need to train with the sword the way Yu Zhaoming did. Her palm was warm, too, not cold like the last time she’d killed herself.

            

Yu Zhaoming let out a quiet breath of relief. She lowered her eyes, channeling spiritual energy through herself into Tang Wenchun, replenishing a body that now had the realm but not the cultivation to match. “A sect master losing herself to romance—that’s not a good thing. You should keep your distance from her from now on.”

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The author has something to say:

Mm-hmm, everyone should know by now.

            

Why was the original Yunzhongjun overwhelmed by a heart demon back then?

Why?

Why?

            

This baby is dead tired today.

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