The Light of the Righteous Path Has Gone Offline - Chapter 7

“All right.”

Murong Chi laughed softly. Propping herself up, she rested her head against Ming Jing’s collarbone and leaned back into her embrace. Her fingertip stroked Ming Jing’s cheek as she spoke gently.

“Then fall into the demonic path.”

Ming Jing lowered her eyes, watching several strands of snow-white hair brush against her arm.

Her voice was coated in an icy chill.

“I will fall into the demonic path.”

“I will cultivate the Ancient Asura Art.”

From this moment onward, she would no longer cultivate the sword path.

She smiled coldly and crushed the jade slip.

In an instant, dark crimson shadows spread across her body like spilled ink, enveloping the small white-jade couch.

Ancient, profound characters suddenly appeared within her mind.

The aura of the demonic path was vast and majestic, naturally repelling the righteous energy of a sword cultivator.

The two forces crashed violently against one another.

The agony made Ming Jing want to roll across the ground, but mindful of Murong Chi in her arms, she gritted her teeth and endured it by force.

Her red robes were quickly soaked through with cold sweat. Droplets followed the hanging folds of the fabric and fell onto the floor, leaving wet stains everywhere.

She looked like a dying person who had just been pulled from the water, struggling desperately to survive.

Murong Chi sat within the shadows and looked up at her, staring blankly in a daze. Her fingertips unconsciously traced the contours of Ming Jing’s face.

After thinking for a moment, she took out a clean handkerchief and wiped away the fine beads of sweat clinging to Ming Jing’s eyelashes.

Once she finished, she casually tossed it aside.

It landed squarely in the puddle of sweat below.

Ming Jing was still refining the demonic cultivation method within her mind, attempting to enter the Asura demonic path using the demonic aura surrounding her body.

Murong Chi grew irritated from watching her.

She left the warmth of Ming Jing’s embrace and leaned against the other side of the white-jade couch.

Propping up her chin with one hand, she lay half-reclined in a languid, comfortable posture and watched Ming Jing’s tightly furrowed brows.

A subtle curve appeared at the corner of her lips.

Crimson stained the front of her robe.

Almost the instant Murong Chi moved away, Ming Jing’s arms abruptly became empty.

Her tightly clenched hand tried to support her, but her body rolled from the white-jade couch and fell into the dirt below.

The hem of her robe, already covered in sweat, became caked with dust as she thrashed back and forth, growing increasingly filthy.

Her vision blurred.

Sweat filled her eyes.

Within the dark and gloomy cavern dwelling, muffled, restrained groans echoed through the air.

A filthy figure rolled across the ground below, drenched in both sweat and blood.

Meanwhile, the red-robed woman reclined leisurely upon the couch, as though watching a performance.

The faint light flickered, making the demonic cavern appear even stranger and more sinister.

After a long time, Ming Jing finally collapsed onto the ground.

Her limbs spread out, forming the shape of the character for “great.”

She lay on her back and stared at the cavern ceiling, which was as smooth as a mirror, with bloodshot eyes.

Her lips curved slightly.

Her laughter sounded like that of a demon or monster.

Hoarse and low, obscure and impossible to understand.

A cold wind swept withered leaves across the ground, covering the mottled crimson bloodstains.

Ming Jing braced herself against the floor and sat up.

Lowering her eyes, she stared at the ink-black current flowing from her palm and fell into a momentary daze.

“Very good.”

Murong Chi’s voice startled her awake.

The woman dragged her chains as she stepped barefoot down from the white-jade couch, casting a shadow over Ming Jing’s head.

“You have successfully entered the Asura demonic path.”

A single sentence, spoken softly and lightly.

Yet to Ming Jing, that single breath of time had felt as long and unbearable as ten thousand years.

Murong Chi bent down, grabbed the front of Ming Jing’s robe, and pulled her upright.

With a sweep of her right hand, she sent a beam of light toward her.

“This contains the first level of the Ancient Asura Art.”

Since ancient times, cultivators had always been required to enter the proper path before they could receive its true inheritance.

What Murong Chi was doing now was no different from the practices of the sacred strongholds and great sects Ming Jing had once known.

By controlling cultivation methods, sects could ensure that their disciples remained obedient.

Yet even if Murong Chi had not withheld the jade slips, Ming Jing still would not have possessed the freedom to disobey her commands.

Because she was far too weak.

Ming Jing held the jade slip with lowered eyes.

She stood perfectly straight, but the pure and steadfast aura she had possessed before had vanished entirely.

Only a faint trace of her pitiful, stubborn pride remained.

The Ancient Asura Art bore the name of the Asura and was prefixed with the word Ancient.

Naturally, it was anything but ordinary.

Ming Jing had emerged victorious from that life-or-death struggle, using demonic aura to overpower her sword aura and relying on the demonic energy surrounding her to enter the Asura demonic path.

As a result, Asura energy had formed within her spiritual sea.

That small current of Asura energy circulated through her meridians like a sovereign inspecting her territory.

Along the way, it repaired the meridians her own master had personally severed, freeing her from the miserable state of a cripple.

That was why she could stand here without continuing to endure heart-piercing agony.

A hint of her former calm confidence even began to return.

Murong Chi disliked it.

Her smile became slightly indifferent.

“The aura of the Dao Sect has now been removed. Next comes those unyielding sword bones of yours.”

Although Ming Jing’s sword bones had been shattered, they were still sword bones.

They remained inside her body.

Murong Chi needed those fragments of sword bone to break her seal little by little.

At the same time, she maliciously wanted to witness a disciple of the Dao Sect fall completely into the demonic path.

Her brow lifted slightly as an idea formed within her mind.

She asked Ming Jing, “Cultivating the Ancient Asura Art requires external assistance. Without such aid, with your current body, it would take you at least ten years to break through the first level.”

“Ming Jing, do you need help?”

Ming Jing stared steadily at her.

The curve of her lips seemed to see through everything. She lowered her head, mockery appearing beneath her downcast lashes.

“Of course I do.”

Ten years.

That was far too long and distant.

How could she possibly afford to wait?

How could she ever resign herself to it?

Murong Chi turned around and tossed her another jade slip.

“This contains a record of the spiritual treasures required to assist in cultivating the Ancient Asura Art. Keep it safe.”

Light flickered across the jade slip, casting a faint brightness.

Ming Jing caught it and extended the tiny thread of spiritual consciousness she had developed through the demonic cultivation method.

Once she saw its contents, she could not help curving her lips.

After putting away the jade slip, she stepped forward and embraced Murong Chi from behind.

Her voice was gentle, as though filled with lingering affection.

“But I cannot find those spiritual treasures right now. What should I do?”

Murong Chi leaned against her, her smile bewitching and unrestrained.

“It doesn’t matter. I have them.”

“Then I will have to trouble you, miss.”

Ming Jing tightened the arms wrapped around her waist and kissed the skin of her neck.

She smiled lightly as Murong Chi turned around and urged her onward with her posture.

“Shall we begin now?”

Begin cultivating the first level of the Ancient Asura Art now.

Begin destroying the final vestiges of a sword cultivator’s sharp and unyielding spirit.

Along with that last fragment of pride, already so fragile and broken that it could barely withstand a single blow.

Ming Jing nodded.

“All right.”

Murong Chi returned to the white-jade couch and seated herself gracefully.

With a leisurely glance, she motioned for Ming Jing to come over and sit beside her.

Then she raised her hands and brought her palms together.

Her fingers moved swiftly, outlining a tiny figure in the air.

She commanded in a deep voice, “Go and retrieve the piece of Purple Lightning Wood from the cold pool.”

The tiny figure was transparent and illusory.

It bowed respectfully, then turned and slipped out of the cavern dwelling.

Murong Chi raised an eyebrow and returned to her languid posture.

She leaned against the white-jade couch with her robes half open.

After glancing at Ming Jing, she looked away and continued playing with the chain that had suddenly appeared in her hand.

Ming Jing did not follow Murong Chi’s silent instruction to sit upon the white-jade couch.

Instead, she stood within the cavern’s cold, dim light, her eyes dark and profound.

As she watched the illusory figure leave, intense emotions surged within her heart.

Her breathing suddenly stopped.

She lowered her head and spat out a mouthful of blood.

“You must not develop feelings while cultivating the Ancient Asura Art.”

Murong Chi’s cool voice sounded from the white-jade couch.

“You have only just entered the path, so your emotions must not fluctuate too violently. Otherwise, it will affect your cultivation and injure your body.”

Once she had truly established her foundation, emotional fluctuations would no longer matter, provided she did not fall in love or become emotionally attached.

Ming Jing had no choice but to restrain her emotions.

She stood silently in place, staring for a long time in the direction where the transparent figure had disappeared.

When she curved her lips, she realized that she had been smiling far too often lately.

Her face was nearly becoming stiff.

She had actually seen that transparent, illusory figure before.

It was a spirit puppet.

A puppet formed from spiritual energy.

Unlike the puppets forged by artifact refiners using rare stones and precious treasures, spirit puppets were born from spiritual energy and were disposable creations.

They possessed no consciousness and could not fight.

They only knew how to obey their master’s commands and complete a single task.

Once the task was finished, they dissipated into heaven and earth, and their spiritual energy returned to their master’s spiritual sea.

It was merely a minor Dao art developed by cultivators to display their status and reduce the burden of trivial tasks.

However, only the vast spiritual energy of a Sixth-Realm cultivator was sufficient to create one.

In the past, Ming Jing had always found it troublesome to wash the blood left upon her sword after killing.

Many times, she had thought that once she broke through to the Sixth Realm, she would create a clean and pure spirit puppet and make it wash her sword for her.

Unfortunately, the affairs of the world were forever unpredictable.

Calamities caused by people were far more common than those caused by heaven.

Cultivation beneath heaven was divided into nine realms, and each realm was an entirely different world.

Before her cultivation had been destroyed, Ming Jing had stood at the peak of the Fifth Realm.

She had been only one step away from entering the Sixth.

Yet that single step separated two entire worlds.

It was distant and impossible to reach.

For Ming Jing, it had become the most hopeless chasm imaginable.

The silent cavern dwelling remained dark throughout the year.

Water dripped steadily in the distance.

Murong Chi did not speak, and the metallic clanging of her chains rang clearly through the air.

With nothing else to do, Ming Jing lifted the hem of her robe and sat upon a smooth, warm, rounded stone.

She raised her eyes and looked across the cavern dwelling, observing its full appearance for the first time.

It was vast.

It was also extremely empty.

There was an elaborately crafted white-jade couch with carved flowers and intricate patterns.

Dozens of mountain rocks stood throughout the cavern, some jagged, some smooth, and others uneven.

The walls shimmered with flowing light, resembling clear mirrors made of water.

Faint green grass swayed as it grew from cracks in the stone.

In the distance, the circular pool connected to the cold pool outside, its water chilled to the bone.

An ancient pavilion towered nearby, its upturned eaves reaching toward the clouds.

Beside the pavilion, a swing moved back and forth in the breeze.

Despite its emptiness, the place possessed a strange sense of completeness.

There were candle stands embedded within the cavern walls, extinguished glazed pearls, and hanging multicolored lamps.

A winding path had been constructed from loose stones, while smooth bluestone tiles covered the floor.

Inside the stone chamber, exquisite toys and ornaments gathered dust in the corner.

From the outside, everything appeared crude and filthy.

In reality, however, this was a carefully arranged little palace containing everything one might need.

Yet Murong Chi, the master of this little palace, remained bound by chains and could not leave the cavern dwelling.

The spirit puppet created from her spiritual energy could go outside.

Ming Jing could go outside.

But Murong Chi could not.

Murong Chi.

Ming Jing’s gaze crossed the dim haze and settled upon her.

A tiny trace of curiosity hid within her eyes.

“If you find this sovereign beautiful, you may come closer and look.”

Murong Chi reclined carelessly upon the couch, her voice both cold and enchanting.

“If you like, this sovereign will allow you to stare for as long as you wish.”

A certain distance and difference in height separated them.

Ming Jing could not clearly see Murong Chi’s expression, yet she felt certain that the woman’s lips were curved into a smile.

Allure and provocation probably flowed through her eyes, like a temptress who had wandered into a Daoist temple and deliberately set out to disturb the hearts of its occupants.

It was impossible to know how much of that bewitching, dazzling smile was genuine and how much was false.

Perhaps all of it was false.

After all, Murong Chi knew perfectly well that once Ming Jing began cultivating the Ancient Asura Art, she could never again allow herself to fall in love or become emotionally attached.

To fall in love.

To become emotionally attached.

As Ming Jing considered those words, both the mockery and radiance in her smile were genuine.

In the past, when she had enjoyed all the glory and status of the chief disciple, she had traveled across heaven and earth for five years.

She had seen countless beautiful faces, yet never once had she fallen for anyone.

Now, she had nothing.

She had fallen from the clouds into the depths of the valley.

After witnessing the ugliest face of this world and the treacherous schemes hidden within the human heart, how could she possibly continue believing in something as illusory and laughable as genuine affection?

Moreover, as long as the life-and-death contract remained intact, she could only stay beside Murong Chi.

Could she possibly fall in love with Murong Chi?

Such an unpredictable woman might possess an extraordinary and beautiful appearance, but she was impossible to understand.

She resembled the dark wind moving through the mountains at midnight—profound and mysterious, arrogant and cold.

Who could possibly love someone like that?

Ming Jing did not believe she would ever feel anything for her.

Therefore, she laughed with exceptional abandon.

She even found her own absurd assumption amusing.

Her laughter grew louder until she bent forward and backward, nearly suffocating from it.

Murong Chi’s gaze paused at the sound.

A sharp chill spread through her eyes, keen enough to slice apart the air.

In the next instant, however, it disappeared without a trace.

Her tense body relaxed as she lay back down.

Her fingers dug into her own flesh.

It hurt slightly.

She did not know what Ming Jing was laughing at.

Yet she could sense the emotions within Ming Jing’s heart.

Grief.

Desolation.

Indifference.

A favored daughter of heaven.

A young genius.

Born with extraordinary talent and a noble identity, she had once stood above the clouds.

The faith within her heart had been bright and pure.

The scenery visible through her eyes had been magnificent and boundless.

All that radiant brilliance had eventually transformed into darkness pressing down upon her, weaving an endless night from which there was no escape.

The collapse of one’s faith and the disappearance of all hope were the heaviest forms of agony.

Compared with that, having one’s cultivation destroyed, sword bones shattered, and meridians severed truly amounted to very little.

A sword cultivator who had drawn her blade and fought for the world—

abandoned by that very world.

The thought alone was fascinating.