Chapter 46 : A Message of Spring in the Snow–Part 1

Every time Ti Ying overexerted herself with the Vast Dream Technique, draining her spiritual energy, she would inevitably dream.

And each dream grew clearer than the last.

As though something long forgotten was slowly returning, piece by piece, trying to awaken her.

This time, after the upheaval in the Yujing Sect, the phantom strike of an immortal’s sword had deterred the probing factions who doubted the sect’s claim to having produced a true immortal.

Fearful of the immortal’s power, they retreated.

In the aftermath, Shen Xingchuan, leveraging his overwhelming strength, subdued the remaining elders and ascended as the sect’s new leader.

Ti Ying had held on until then—until Jiang Xuehe carried her out of the Huangquan Peak —before collapsing into unconsciousness.

Her spiritual energy was utterly depleted, her core empty.

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She watched as the dream Ti Ying infiltrated the sect, searching for something, slaughtering every disciple who stood in her way.

Dark energy coiled around her, deepening her corruption with every spell cast.

The surviving disciples, though fearful, still tried to reason with her:

“You were once the Young Lord of the Tianque Mountain Sect. How could demonic possession have driven you to turn against your own kind? Is this what your master and sect taught you?”

Ti Ying lifted her gaze.

Her face remained youthful, her eyes still clear.

From the moment she had fallen into demonhood, all ties to her past—her age, her body—had frozen in time.

The heavier the demonic energy, the more entrenched that stagnation became.

She would never grow older.

She would wither in the prime of her youth.

Blood splattered across her cheeks as she smiled, sweet yet cruel.

“Return the bodies of my sect brothers and sisters, and I’ll spare you.”

After the Tianque Mountain Sect’s annihilation at the hands of demons, the Yujing Sect had taken their remains.

Now, the demon Ti Ying, her mind teetering between lucidity and chaos, had come to reclaim them.

The Yujing disciples scoffed.

“We won’t hand over immortal remains to a demon! Who knows what foul purpose you’d use them for?”

Ti Ying’s smile turned icy.

“Exactly my thoughts—I won’t let you keep a single bone of my sect. Who knows what you would do with them?”

In this era of the dream, the Tianque Mountain Sect had been the foremost immortal sect, the aspiration of every cultivator, the origin of all true immortals.

The Yujing Sect, though prestigious in reality, paled in comparison here.

The dream Ti Ying was terrifyingly powerful.

She carved a path of carnage through the Yujing Sect, deaf to pleas and blind to mercy.

The girl within the dream recoiled at her brutality, yet couldn’t help but admire her strength.

In the sect’s archives, the demon Ti Ying finally found what she sought—the corpses and lingering souls of her fallen sect.

The massacre had happened long ago; the remains were decaying, the souls dissipating.

As she stepped inside, the Yujing’s most formidable elders barred her way.

“The Tianque Mountain Sect fell to demons—we mourned them. But now you, a demon yourself, seek to destroy us as well?”

Ti Ying’s eyes curved with cold amusement.

“Exactly.”

“You’ve always blamed us for their demise, but you’re mistaken—”

She didn’t let them finish.

“Impudent wretch!” they roared.

Amidst the clash, a figure materialized silently in the archives—an austere, middle-aged man exuding an immortal’s aura.

This was the Yujing Sect’s current leader, Elder Qingmu, a man on the cusp of ascension.

His path to immortality was paved with demon slaying, and he sensed that Ti Ying was his final trial.

Only her death would secure his transcendence.

Seizing the moment while she was weakened, Qingmu struck—a glacial, lethal technique that froze the very air.

Ti Ying was hurled backward, crashing into a crater.

Pain ignited her fury; her demonic energy surged as she glared at him.

“I’ll kill you.”

Qingmu sneered.

“A mere demon dares to boast?”

He lunged.

But before his blow could land, emerald vines erupted from above, entangling him.

The elders of Yujing sect reminded: “Sect Master, be careful!”

A powerful force sent him flying, mirroring Ti Ying’s earlier fall.

Qingmu became more and more angry because of his embarrassment.

A figure now stood between them—tall, serene, radiating an immortal’s grace.

Ti Ying looked up at his back, recognizing him instantly.

Jiang Xuehe.

Qingmu spat, “You interfere yet again?”

The immortal’s voice was calm.

“I don’t interfere with demon slaying. But I once promised Elder Qingmu a duel. Shall we settle it today?”

He turned slightly, glancing at the battered demon girl behind him.

“Why so useless?”

The words jolted Ti Ying awake—to her purpose here.

Jiang Xuehe hailed from an obscure sect called Qianshan, a place known only for its proximity to the Tianque Mountain Sect. He had been a nobody until Ti Ying’s fall, when the world learned she called him senior brother—and that they were betrothed.

No one understood why the illustrious Tianque Mountain would pledge its prodigy to an unknown disciple.

But after Jiang Xuehe ascended to immortality, the world began scrutinizing the ties between the two sects—and the bond between an immortal and a demon.

No matter how noble his pretext, his presence here was for her.

Together, they fought their way out, stealing the remains Ti Ying sought.

The elders and Elder Qingmu within the archives employed every method at their disposal, yet they could do nothing to stop the two.

They could only watch helplessly as the pair took what they had come for and vanished into the night.

The entire Yujing sect was incensed—how could their most heavily guarded sanctuary, the archives, be breached so easily by a mere demon? It was unthinkable.

In their fury, they dispatched hunters to track down Ti Ying and reclaim the stolen remains, while simultaneously reforging the archives’ defenses, vowing that no intruder would ever leave alive again.

The moon hung bright and full, its silver light spilling across the land for miles.

Ti Ying stood amidst the desolate ruins of Tianque Mountain, weaving spells to raise grave mounds one by one, laying each of her fallen sectmates to rest.

With her spiritual sight unveiled, she could see them—the lost souls drifting aimlessly between heaven and earth, adrift in confusion.

She tilted her face upward, gazing at those wandering ghosts.

Without achieving immortality, no matter how illustrious one had been in life, death reduced them to mere wisps of spirit, doomed to fade into nothingness.

These fractured remnants of souls no longer recognized her.

The voices and faces of her former sect, once so vivid, now felt as distant as if they had never existed at all.

Jiang Xuehe watched silently.

“The demons who destroyed us were summoned by the Yujing Sect,” Ti Ying murmured.

“They coveted our position. Qingmu’s scheme began long ago.”

Jiang Xuehe’s voice remained measured, devoid of inflection:

“You’ve always held the Yujing Sect in contempt.”

Ti Ying smiled faintly.

“I know none of you believe me. It wasn’t until I became a demon myself—until I could commune with the lower demons—that I uncovered these truths in their fractured memories. Demons wreak havoc upon the world, leaving suffering in their wake. Yet even those who do nothing… their mere existence brings calamity.”

“Every orthodox sect makes demon-slaying its sacred duty. Of course you wouldn’t trust a demon’s memories. I’ve no way to prove my version is truth.”

“…And even if I could,” she continued softly, gazing down at the desolate graves bathed in moonlight, “what would it change?”

The dead cannot return.

The living descend into demonhood.

In the end, what meaning remains beyond slaughtering Yujing sect disciples whenever they cross my path?

Jiang Xuehe’s voice was soft.

“If you continue like this, the demonic energy will consume you. You’ll lose yourself entirely.”

“I renounced the Heavenly Dao long ago.”

She refused to look at him.

“Leave, senior brother. Don’t waste your breath. I won’t turn back—I’ll only drag you down with me.”

A pause.

Then, quieter: “At least… I once called you ‘senior brother.’”

She smiled faintly.

As Ti Ying gazed down at the graves, her eyes shimmered with a misty haze, beneath which unshed tears glistened.

She reached out tentatively toward the wandering spirits, then hesitated, afraid her touch might dissolve them completely. Lost in contemplation, she watched them—ashamed to face them, yet unable to tear herself away.

Jiang Xuehe’s voice, warm and steady, came from behind her: “The moment you called me ‘senior brother,’ I became your senior brother for life.”

“That day… my absence left you to face everything alone—”

“Enough!”

Ti Ying’s sharp cry cut through the night.

“I don’t want to remember! You know it was your fault—why keep saying it? Do you want me to kill you?” She turned her cold eyes on him.

“But how could I? You’re an immortal now—lofty, undying, eternal. What power do I have against you?”

Jiang Xuehe looked down at her.

He didn’t blame her words.

He remembered the Ti Ying she had once been—bright, unburdened.

Now, he saw the demonic energy coiled thick around her, how it twisted her thoughts day by day.

Her hatred for the world festered; her despair deepened with every cultivator she slaughtered.

She was killing herself.

And she no longer wished to live.

How could he save her?

Then—for a fleeting moment—clarity returned to Ti Ying’s eyes. She took a step back, staring at him blankly.

Slowly, tears welled.

Once, she had adored him.

When Tianque Mountain still stood, she had chased after this obscure disciple from a minor sect every day.

Her senior siblings had teased her, urging a match between them.

She’d declared boldly that Jiang Xuehe didn’t need to be remarkable—she would grow strong enough to protect him instead.

But now…

Just looking at him filled her with uncontrollable resentment.

Logically, she knew—he hadn’t belonged to Tianque; his absence during the massacre wasn’t strange.

Yet the thought festered:

I loved you so much. I sought you out at Qianshan every day.

Why did you never come to me?

Were you truly so aloof? Was I so insignificant?

Why weren’t you there—why did you leave me alone to witness my sect’s ruin, with no recourse but this…

…while I became a demon, and you ascended to immortality?

Ti Ying turned away.

Her hand rested calmly on a tombstone.

She drew a steadying breath, fighting the demonic impulses, refusing to engage further.

“Leave,” she said wearily, her back to him.

“Stop trying to redeem me. For the sake of our past bond, I’ll avoid you when I can. Return to your Qianshan.

Cultivate in peace—you never cared for the world before. Why wander it now?”

“My feud with the orthodox sects isn’t your concern. My path… is none of your—”

Her words faltered.

He stepped forward.

Stood behind her.

Then—his hand closed over hers, immortal energy wrapping around her like a balm, briefly suppressing the demonic corruption.

Gently, he guided her trembling fingers toward the ghosts she’d longed to touch.

Under the moon’s glow, the lost souls turned toward them, drawn by the familiar warmth of immortal power.

Silvery light pooled around their joined hands, luminous as fireflies in the mist.

Ti Ying stiffened—she didn’t want his closeness, yet his power granted her this fragile connection.

So she remained still, letting him move her hand incrementally.

She watched the flickering souls, the drifting light. In the hush, the clean scent of snow—his scent—wreathed around her.

“I can’t leave you yet,” Jiang Xuehe murmured.

“I’ll leave a sword aura at Tianque,” he continued.

“Even if you never return, it will guard this place.”

“Unnecessary,” Ti Ying scoffed.

Undeterred, his voice remained cool yet oddly soothing: “I wish to create a technique—one to guide these souls into reincarnation, so they won’t fade entirely.”

Ti Ying stilled.

His words settled over her.

She lifted her gaze to the gathering ghosts, their nearness stirring echoes of her lost sectmates.

She knew it was illusion—the dead couldn’t return.

This was only her demonic obsession.

Yet she clung to it.

Jiang Xuehe’s sleeve brushed her palm as he leaned closer, his breath at her ear: “The technique would let you commune with souls, even briefly restore fragments of the past. But my talent falls short of yours—will you help me devise it?”

Silence.

Her senior brother had always been detached—a man who walked the world untouched by dust.

Without her willfulness, he might have remained sequestered at Qianshan forever, indifferent to immortality.

Without the massacre, she would have been the radiant prodigy, and he… merely a shadow in her wake.

Talent falls short? A laughable pretense.

An immortal’s humility was just another ploy—to tether her to this world.

Ti Ying saw through him instantly.

Yet her treacherous heart still wavered.

She didn’t crave eternity.

Only this: that her sect’s souls might find peace, spared from heaven’s wrath for her sins.

Moonlight bathed them as she stared at their joined hands, at the pristine white of his robes.

A long silence stretched between them.

At last, Ti Ying whispered: “Have you named this technique?”

“You should name it,” he replied.

She lifted her face.

The night was frost-pale, time flowing like mirrored flowers on water.

Life and death stood divided by mountains, by rivers.

Here in the barren hills, beneath the hazy moon, even mortality seemed intangible—a dream within a dream.

“If one meets in dreams but never wakes… is it not sweeter to dream on?” she mused. “…Call it ‘Vast Dream.'”

Let all things be as a dream—one from which we need never rouse.

“As you wish,” Jiang Xuehe agreed, his voice like distant chimes.

He bent closer.

Ti Ying turned slightly, catching the sweep of his dark lashes, the quiet beauty of his eyes.

Once, he had been untouchable as winter’s first snow.

Now, in her damnation, he stood nearer than ever—casting shadows across her heart that would never fade.

That nearness left her dazed—until his lashes lifted, and his gaze met hers with deliberate indolence.

The look alone was devastating.

“Even if we meet nightly in dreams,” he murmured, “can it compare to one true reunion?”

“All dreams must end, Little Ying. One day, your resentment, your regrets, your corruption… all will dissolve. When that day comes—” his fingers tightened slightly around hers—”what then, for us?”

Moonlight pooled at their feet.

Pines sighed in the wind.

Ti Ying stood frozen.

Then—deliberately—she turned her face away, shutting her eyes against the longing threatening to undo her.

She willed herself into the abyss, trying to push him out.

Her fists clenched in her sleeves, nails biting into her palms.

The pain grounded her.

“You’re just biased,” she accused.

Jiang Xuehe studied her calmly.

Tears beaded on her closed lashes like morning dew.

Her dark eyes refused to love him now, yet her face—pale as jade, lips like rose-quartz—remained heartbreakingly lovely.

Even as a demon, she was surely the most endearing monster to walk the earth.

Her breath hitched, voice thick with wounded pride:

“You won’t stay forever. I’m a demon—the Dao will consume me eventually.”

“You pity me. You’re just… accustomed to being chased. When I’m gone, you’ll miss the nuisance.”

“You’re a good senior brother, nothing more. You never cared before—not a single hint of affection until after I fell.”

“You’re just… kind. Softhearted. Unable to bear suffering. Biased—”

A soft laugh interrupted her.

Jiang Xuehe stood behind her still, that infuriating snow-scent wrapping around her anew as he leaned close.

“How do you know,” he whispered, “that I won’t stay forever?”

“How do you know… bias isn’t love?”

Time blurred. Colors drained. The dream unraveled at last.