Qingjing Sword Temple

Blood Pill Great Medicine.

At the words, and the mysterious voice's judgment, An Jing felt his breathing grow ragged. His vision blurred, and even his normally steady steps began to stagger. His tightly clenched lips were bleeding.

Then he laughed.

"Ha, hahaha... So this is what Vice Envoy Yao wanted me to see?"

An Jing murmured to himself, then raised his head and surveyed the dozens of "medicine vats."

The numbers didn't add up. Perhaps not every one of the rejected candidates became "medicine"; a considerable number might become riders or servants. But... was there any real difference?

"Manor Master, oh, Manor Master..."

An Jing instead calmed down. "What do you think I'll do?"

"Turn a blind eye? Get angry? Hate you? Or... be afraid?"

He asked himself, then found his answer.

Of course you're afraid, An Jing. You think you aren't?

To survive, to avoid arousing suspicion, you pretended to know nothing and stayed alive. Didn't you turn a blind eye to those possibilities, pretend not to see those clues, and instinctively look away?

You comforted yourself, saying those people might not die. You weren't like them. You were a genius. Even if someone really was eaten, it definitely wouldn't be you. You were the one who could feast—you belonged to a higher class than them.

As long as you're afraid, as long as you fear death, you'll keep sinking, convincing yourself it's all right.

The Demonic Cult saw through you long ago. Whether you're loyal and devoted or cold and heartless doesn't matter. As long as you're afraid, they have nothing to fear.

"I... am not afraid to die!"

An Jing took a deep breath, intending to argue, but suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

Because just then, he suddenly understood—he might not fear his own death, but he feared something far more: the deaths of those around him.

Like a man who could face his own sacrifice without fear, yet hesitate at the thought of the elderly parents, family, and close friends waiting at home.

It wasn't that he lacked courage. He had something to lose.

At Xuanming Manor, he still had two living friends: Gu Yeqi and Cang Linzu. And beyond them, there were over a hundred children who called him Senior Brother.

He couldn't act recklessly.

If he were a heartless True Demon, already gradually reshaped by the Demonic Cult, then he wouldn't resist them over what he'd seen. He would choose to join them, become one of them, become the person who decided "who would be sacrificed."

He would become the next Manor Master Yao, or perhaps the next Northern Patrol Envoy, a rank above.

And if he were a good man, loyal and devoted, then even after discovering all this, he still wouldn't turn against them for the sake of his two living friends. Let alone that the Demonic Cult had given him the medicine that saved his mother. If he were truly a purely good person, he would shrink from taking a stand and choose to join the Demonic Cult out of "gratitude."

Until, in the end, he was assimilated.

He couldn't have everything both ways: keep his friends safe and fight back against the Demonic Cult.

He couldn't refuse to betray his benefactors, his friends, or his own convictions.

Because someone who could do that would either be the most foolish of fools or a monster beyond all reason.

He was neither.

And most sadly of all, An Jing realized something.

"My thoughts really have begun to turn toward the Demonic Cult... I really do think that those children, who would have died in natural disasters anyway, shouldn't complain about being bought by the Demonic Cult and dying after being rejected. After all, the Demonic Cult let them live longer and took good care of them for a while."

"But even so—even if someone bought your life—when you face death, aren't you allowed to fight back?"

He stared at the skull, its surface scraped clean. "I..."

What should I do?

[Kid, steady your mind.]

The mysterious voice said: [This is what the Demonic Cult wants. When great grief or fury shakes your mind, your heart will make choices it normally never could.]

"I understand."

After taking one last, deep look at the skull scraped white, An Jing reached up and wiped his face.

It felt like rain, tinged with the taste of tears.

He replaced the stone lid, then turned his now-clear gaze away from the courtyard of water vats. "I understand better than anyone."

[What are you going to do now?]

The mysterious voice asked: [Run away, or take revenge? Or...]

[Are you going to ignore these people who have nothing to do with you and keep being Senior Brother here?]

An Jing closed his eyes. He thought of the flesh being boiled in the refugee camp, of the children being eaten.

He had wanted to believe there was truly a group of people in this world willing to pay a price to teach a group of children—to teach them martial arts, train them, and then make them one of their own. That was the Martial Dao sect he'd imagined.

He had once dreamed that this world could really be so simple, so peaceful and tranquil, and that he could live at ease as their Senior Brother, slowly lowering his guard, until he could eventually fight for Xuanming Manor.

But all his fantasies had shattered.

At this moment, An Jing's heart wasn't blazing with furious flames. He felt only a bone-deep chill, a realization that made him shudder.

So no matter where you are, you'll be eaten?

If you don't want to be eaten, do you have to eat people?

This world, this realm...

I...

Will never give you what you want!

When he opened his eyes again, An Jing's gaze was bright once more.

Little sparks of fire kindled in his eyes. "I once told my mother that if the ones who bought my life were evil demons, I would find a chance to escape. I would never sink to their level."

"But now, I want more. I want it all."

"I'll escape with my friends."

"I don't want to eat people, and I don't want to be eaten! If I see it, I'll fight back!"

His words were nearly gritted through his teeth. "Even if I can't do it, I'll still try, even if it means dying."

Like a rabbit whose life has already been bought, or a crab trapped in a basket, I'll still kick them once, pinch them once!

[Good.]

The voice laughed—the clear, resonant sound of a sword, with the clang of weapons in it. [I knew I was right about you.]

[These Demonic Cult fiends think they already have you in their grasp, that you can't escape them, so they've let you act freely. They're wrong. I'm here, and they haven't seen through your true nature.]

[An Jing, you're right: someone who wants everything both ways is either the most foolish of fools or a monster beyond all reason. You may be a true genius, but you aren't a monster capable of transcending all of that.]

[But I'll give you the chance to become a monster beyond all reason. Whether you can succeed in the end will depend entirely on you.]

[For now, first suppress the demonic thoughts in your heart. I'll teach you a Cunsi Method, the foundation of all methods...]

Before the voice had finished speaking, a formula and the Cunsi Method entered An Jing's mind.

[The spirit is born of the Dao; the Dao is pure and still, so the spirit is pure and still by nature...]

[The spirit is like a mirror: when dimmed, brush it with thought and it will shine. The spirit is like water: when disturbed and muddy, settle it with the heart and it will clear. The spirit is like a sword: when rusted, hone it with purpose and it will grow keen. This is purity, stillness, clarity, and brightness...]

Qingjing Sword Temple