Rekindled

"Don't come over! Don't come over--"

"Help!!"

The rain poured down in torrents, thunder crashed, and the wind chimes hanging from the eaves swayed violently. A woman's terrified, agonizing screams and the sound of tearing fabric were swallowed by the curtain of the storm.

These sharp cries, along with the shattered sound of the wind chimes, drifted into the gloomy mourning hall at the back of the estate.

Once they reached Xie Xuanyi's ears, they were reduced to nothing more than vague, muffled echoes.

"Ugh..."

He let out a low groan of pain.

Xie Xuanyi slowly opened his eyes.

Pitch black.

The entire world was pitch black, and his mind was equally shrouded in darkness.

That was likely how it felt for anyone who had slept for a long time.

Immediately following... came a violent, stabbing pain.

Xie Xuanyi furrowed his brows, silently enduring the knife-like agony in his mind. He instinctively tried to sit up, his hands bracing against the "bed," but the next instant his forehead struck something hard. After falling back with stars dancing before his eyes, the world before him gradually regained its color.

It was still black.

But this "black" was different from the "black" before.

The previous "black" was void, chaos, and death.

But the current "black" was merely darkness, devoid of light.

Only then did Xie Xuanyi notice that what he was lying on was not a "bed" at all; the space was so cramped and narrow that it didn't even allow him to turn over...

He was lying in a coffin.

Perhaps due to the impact, the pain in Xie Xuanyi's mind gradually receded, and wisps of memory surged into his heart.

"I... am I actually still alive?"

Hunted by enemies and buried in the Northern Sea, his world had been just as cold and pitch-black when his consciousness had faded.

This coffin, meant for the dead.

It was fitting, in a way, that it should hold him.

Taking a deep breath, Xie Xuanyi reached out a hand and pushed hard against the lid. With a dull thud, the lid slid to the floor. Xie Xuanyi slowly sat up from the long coffin. In the dim mourning hall, the candlelight flickered; outside, a cold wind blew, causing the candle flames to dip low, nearly extinguishing.

It also caused the bronze mirror hanging from the red ropes in front of the hall to sway precariously.

"..."

Xie Xuanyi stared silently at the swaying bronze mirror.

Although the mourning hall was dim, he could still clearly see the reflection in the mirror.

It reflected a young, unfamiliar, and pale face, at least ten years younger than he remembered himself to be... This was likely only a boy of fifteen or sixteen. The youth in the mirror seemed even more handsome than he had been at that age, with sword-like brows and phoenix eyes that held a sharp edge, yet he looked far more haggard.

Even though the mirror surface was rusted and the image blurred and mottled, Xie Xuanyi could still feel that he was currently radiating an aura of desolate, twilight death.

Was this truly him?

Xie Xuanyi looked down at his palms; they were free of calluses, smooth as jade, looking more like the hands of a woman who had never held a sword.

Although the mourning hall was dim, it was hung with many bright red lanterns, giving it a lively, "festive" air... only now, the wicks of the lanterns were all extinguished, making the scene appear exceptionally desolate and gloomy.

Xie Xuanyi looked around, braced his hands on the edge of the coffin, and stepped onto the floor, his bare feet landing on a thick layer of paper money.

Rustle.

The snow-white "banknotes," their ink still fresh, were swept up by the wind and slapped against Xie Xuanyi.

He peeled one off to examine it, and black lines appeared on his forehead.

On the left and right sides of these "banknotes," neat seal script read "Forever Bound in Harmony," "Together Until Our Hair Turns White," and other such wedding blessings... Was this mourning hall actually a wedding hall?

Not far away stood another coffin. Judging by the decorations and carvings, it was clearly a pair with his own.

Could it be that he was... being married in a ghost wedding?

What kind of madness was this?

Before Xie Xuanyi could make sense of the situation, a sudden gust of wind surged into the mourning hall. This time, he heard it clearly.

Amidst the curtain of rain came the sound of stumbling footsteps and the wailing, sobbing cries drawing ever closer.

"Is anyone there? Save me... please save me..."

Followed by a voice of contemptuous disdain.

"Scream all you want! Even if you scream until your throat tears, no one will come!"

The gale poured in, and the rain fell in torrents.

The Deng family estate was exceptionally desolate today, the entire grounds permeated by a chilling, murderous silence. A young woman, her expression deathly pale and her clothes in tatters, clutched her chest with one hand and stumbled toward the back courtyard.

Behind her, a hulking figure as massive as a mountain followed with a sneer. He said nothing, strolling along with casual ease, occasionally quickening his pace to reach out with sharp claws and shred a piece of her clothing, as if playing a game of cat and mouse.

Moments later, only rags remained of the woman's garments, leaving her mostly exposed.

Finally, the woman collapsed heavily before the threshold of the mourning hall. Tears streaked her beautiful, made-up face as she cried out in a shrill, desperate voice, "Tu Fei! I am already married! Why can't you just let me go!"

"Married?"

The hulking figure stopped in the darkness.

"This is a mourning hall, and the person you married is a corpse."

He enunciated each word, his voice icy cold. "Marrying a dead man... you call that being married?"

The woman looked up at the towering figure, two lines of clear tears falling as she laughed bitterly and retorted, "If a dead man is not a person, then are you?"

With that, the hulking figure slowly stepped out of the darkness, revealing a hideous face covered in coarse bristles.

This was no human.

It was a Demon Cultivator who had taken human form!

"While I have yet to start a massacre, everything can still be undone. If you have a change of heart, these people of the Deng family, including your father, can still be saved."

Tu Fei glanced toward the direction he had come from.

The reason the main hall was so silent was that he had bound and gagged every servant in the Deng household.

Large and small, there were about twenty of them.

Twenty lives.

Tu Fei spoke softly, "Deng Baiyi, do you know that my interest in you is your good fortune? Your father has truly grown more muddled with age; he would rather believe the broken prophecy of a Taoist, spend a fortune on a coffin, and arrange a ghost marriage for you than accept this heaven-sent blessing!"

"..."

The woman did not speak again, merely lowering her head in a posture of resignation, as if to say he could kill or butcher her as he pleased.

The atmosphere in the estate grew increasingly frigid.

Tu Fei's patience began to wane; disappointment and anger flickered in his eyes.

A moment later, the woman still did not look up.

Tu Fei said coldly, "So... you would rather marry a dead man than marry me?"

The woman hugged her knees tightly, neither looking up nor speaking.

In reality, this was her answer.

"Fine!"

Having received his answer, Tu Fei's expression remained blank as he let out a cold laugh and reached out to grip a pillar beside him.

Boom!

A spiderweb of cracks instantly bloomed across the surface of the pillar, which was thick enough for a grown man to wrap his arms around. The next moment, the Demon Cultivator ripped it from the ground, transforming it into a giant spear that he swung down toward the woman's head—

The momentum of this strike was terrifying; if it connected, even someone with three lives would have their soul scattered to the winds.

But just as the pillar came crashing down, Deng Baiyi seemed to hear a faint, airy voice drift out from the mourning hall. She even doubted if she had misheard.

The voice was young and pleasant, yet also very weak.

The voice said.

"Wait—"

As if possessed of magic, the massive pillar actually "waited."

Deng Baiyi raised her head, staring blankly at the wooden pillar suspended inches before her and the debris raining down. Once she regained her senses, she realized this was no coincidence: a hand, thin and paler than her own skin, was pressing lightly against the end of the broken pillar.

"???"

Tu Fei's pupils constricted, his fur standing on end. He stared in disbelief toward the depths of the mourning hall. The rain was heavy tonight, the wind even stronger, and the candles in the hall had long since been extinguished. He had glanced inside earlier and even swept the area with his soul power, sensing no "living" presence whatsoever.

But now... what was going on?

A haunting!

The instinct of the Demon Cultivator transmitted into Tu Fei's Heart Lake. He gazed into the dark depths, but could only see a thin, pale hand... a silent terror began to spread in his heart.

Wait, terror?

Was the thing opposite him really a ghost?

What a joke; he was a demon, how could he be afraid of a ghost?!

He shook his head violently, casting these chaotic thoughts to the back of his mind, and roared, "Who are you?!"

Inside the mourning hall, there was only a soft sigh.

The thin figure in the darkness did not speak, as if the question just asked was a difficult one that required a long time to ponder...

Lost in thought, he reached out to gently press against a broken pillar, subconsciously taking a step forward.

"Snap!"

Tu Fei felt his hair stand on end; he felt as if he were facing a primordial beast!

In a single encounter, the ground beneath Tu Fei's feet suddenly collapsed!

"Thud, thud, thud!"

He threw almost his entire weight into it, yet he still couldn't stop himself from retreating. Within a few breaths, this great demon was uncontrollably forced back several yards, his heels carving a long trench into the earth.

"Are you a man or a ghost?"

This roar, seven parts anger and three parts fear, echoed throughout the mansion.

At the same time, a bolt of lightning crashed down, instantly illuminating the inside and outside of the mansion as bright as day. The thin figure in the shadows took the final step out of the mourning hall, landing in a sunken puddle, his fragmented silhouette reflecting a handsome, bloodless face.

"I suppose... I am human?"

The youth awoke from the clouds of memory, offered an apologetic smile, and explained, "Well, I am exactly the 'dead man' you were just talking about."

This kid heard everything from the conversation just now?

Tu Fei stared fixedly at the youth, who barely reached his chest, his expression shifting between light and shadow.

Is this thing even human?

He looked to be only fifteen or sixteen, yet his strength was like that of a wild bull... Even the genius disciples of those great sects might not possess such powerful sinews and bones at this age.

What Tu Fei couldn't fathom most was what kind of eccentric deity would be bored enough to lie in a coffin and play dead?

Taking a deep breath, Tu Fei decided to avoid the sharp edge of his blade.

He reined in his previous arrogance, his voice raspy and polite as he said, "I am Tu Fei, a disciple of Yin Mountain Heavy Mist. I do not know what sacred personage you are, or if you have a name?"

The youth shook his head.

Tu Fei froze for a second.

Shaking his head... what did that mean? No name? Or something else?

The youth let out a long, wistful sigh: "Yin Mountain, that is quite a great sect..."

The smile that had just appeared on Tu Fei's face instantly froze.

The next moment.

The youth's voice turned bone-chillingly cold: "I hate Yin Mountain the most."

"???"

Tu Fei stood stunned, a tickle in the center of his brow bringing a sudden sense of unease. Subconsciously, he turned to flee.

But it was too late.

In the next instant, something seemed to fly out from the dim mourning hall. He didn't have time to see it clearly, nor did he have the ability to do so.

Rip!

A sound, sharper and crisper than the tearing of silk from before, rang out in the courtyard!

Tu Fei's head was pierced through in an instant!

A blood-hole the size of an infant's fist appeared right between his eyebrows.

"Where did... a flying sword come from?"

The great demon's expression was vacant, his remaining consciousness driving him to turn around slowly.

He managed only one step before crashing to the ground.

Ten yards in front of him, a three-foot peachwood sword was embedded deep into a banyan tree, vibrating with a metallic hum, leaving only the hilt exposed.

After a cultivator enters the inner sanctum of their craft, they must expend immense mental effort and endure great hardship to refine and subdue a life-bound artifact of their own.

For a sword cultivator, that life-bound object is a flying sword.

But this peachwood sword... it looked very ordinary, with nothing special about it.

"I just picked it up in the mourning hall."

The youth in plain clothes walked calmly to the banyan tree, pulled the peachwood sword—which had pierced three inches into the wood—out with a casual flick, and crouched before the great demon, whispering, "But to kill you, it was enough."