The Price of Righteousness

“Huang’er, why must Brother Ye die?”

“Because if he dies, countless people across the world can live on happily.”

“But if he dies, won’t you be sad?”

“…No, I won’t. I will live on, carrying his share of happiness with me.”

“Then, Huang’er, why don’t you die in his stead?”

“…If I die, who will take my place to continue upholding justice?”

Xiao Huiqing’s fingertips suddenly trembled, unable to write another word.

She gazed at the ink-stained rice paper spread before her, murmuring softly:

“Is this true? Murong Qihuang, have you always thought this way?”

Her old heart ailment flared up again.

She curled into a ball, collapsing onto the pleasure boat, her brows furrowed tightly as she endured the sharp pain emanating from within.

“But do you know that a person is at their most cruel precisely when they claim to be righteous?”

****

Murong Qihuang walked through the ceaseless downpour.

Suddenly, a figure materialized from the shadows of the night.

“Please, Immortal, halt your steps.”

She lifted her eyelids to regard him, her gaze somewhat unfocused.

It was the burly man she had seen earlier that day.

Before, he had deliberately hidden his true skill, feigning the crude demeanor of a patient’s relative.

Now, unmasked, his formidable aura was fully revealed.

He certainly carried himself with the bearing of a true master of the martial world.

This burly man was, of course, Tan Xianglong.

He had trailed Murong Qihuang all night.

First, he watched her visit several civilian homes.

Afterward, several cloth-covered corpses were carried out from within.

She then abandoned her umbrella, stepping directly into the torrential rain.

She wandered aimlessly, like a lost spirit across a desolate plain.

Realizing that further pursuit would likely yield no more clues,

Tan Xianglong decided to reveal himself and confront her, hoping to extract some useful information directly.

Murong Qihuang’s lips twitched slightly.

She mocked herself inwardly, ‘What has become of me?’

‘To be tracked by a mere opponent in the Golden Blade realm, and remain completely oblivious for so long.’

She furrowed her brows, speaking coldly:

“What do you want with me?”

Tan Xianglong replied:

“I won’t beat around the bush; I’ll get straight to the point. You poisoned the medicine you prescribed to the people of Quzhou, didn’t you?”

Murong Qihuang froze, unable to believe the words that spilled from his mouth.

Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly, as if she were suppressing a rage she could barely contain.

“You say I poisoned them?”

Tan Xianglong felt the person before him suddenly surge with sword intent, radiating an aura that sent shivers down his spine.

He subtly pressed his hand against the scabbard at his waist, yet a bead of cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

“Indeed, you are precisely whom I suspect.”

“What evidence do you possess?”

Murong Qihuang parted her crimson lips, uttering words that felt like ancient ice.

Her oppressive aura unleashed itself without restraint.

Tan Xianglong nearly lost his composure, his knees almost buckling beneath him.

He quickly gritted his teeth, silently recited a mantra, and circulated his internal energy to resist her.

“I—I investigated numerous crime scenes… all the victims died shortly after consuming your medicine… There are no such coincidences in this world…”

“Nonsense!”

Murong Qihuang finally erupted in fury, letting out a thunderous roar.

Her sword moved with her will, and Fengwu burst from its sheath, unleashing a tumultuous wave of wild energy.

Where the sword energy reached, white light engulfed sight, and even sound seemed to vanish.

Immediately after, eaves and roof tiles disintegrated like clods of earth, and the pouring rain was horizontally severed, forming a localized vacuum.

The instant she drew her sword, Tan Xianglong swiftly leaped to evade.

The courtyard where he had been hiding collapsed in an instant.

It was a long while before he could shakily rise amidst the crumbling ruins.

A sudden metallic sweetness surged in his throat, and he “wuwa-ed” as he spat out a large mouthful of fresh blood.

Murong Qihuang had already departed.

The seemingly endless downpour swallowed her white-robed figure.

She walked along the rain-swept streets, where every household had extinguished its lights.

She wondered if the inhabitants simply slept early,

or if they would never need to light their lamps again.

A few scattered lights flickered in the curtain of rain, swaying like ghostly flames in the wind.

“You caused this, you killed my whole family…”

“Wicked woman! What kind of heart do you possess, to prescribe medicine that kills people?”

“You killed me, you killed me, you killed me, you killed me, you killed me, you killed me…”

Murong Qihuang, drenched to the bone, stumbled through the torrential rain.

Her eyes vacant, she repeatedly muttered to herself:

“It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. I meant to save people, saving people was my true intention…”

A sudden clap of thunder ripped through the sky, roaring like an accusation:

“Then who exactly did you save? Look at the corpses strewn everywhere, listen to the wails filling the city!”

Murong Qihuang desperately shook her head, her soaked long hair scattered wildly across her face.

The streaks of glistening wetness could no longer be distinguished as rain or tears.

“It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault…”

She moved her stiff steps, treading unevenly into puddles.

Splashes of water shot out like silver arrows, staining her once pristine white robe with countless specks of mud.

She lifted her head. In the distance, a child’s figure scurried “deng deng deng” through the alley.

His voice innocent and childish, he asked her with a giggle:

“Sister, why did you kill me?”

“That’s not it.”

Murong Qihuang murmured, her soaked hair clinging tightly to her forehead.

“I wanted to save you.”

Beside her, the shopkeeper, who had been tallying on his abacus, suddenly shrieked.

His sharp, thin voice sounded somewhat shaky.

“Th-this has nothing to do with this humble one… I couldn’t diagnose the illness to begin with, and I didn’t want to prescribe medicine carelessly for fear of delaying treatment. But then, but then this Immortal said she would give us a lot of silver…”

The disheveled Murong Qihuang fell silent.

She lowered her head for a moment, then suddenly let out a cold, “Hehe” laugh.

She abruptly lifted her head, her eyes wide open.

A blinding flash of lightning in the distance appeared and vanished, illuminating her trembling pupils.

“Ridiculous! Weren’t you all doing it for money? Wasn’t it because you thought the consultation fee was too little that you refused to treat them?”

The elderly couple behind her walked over, their steps faltering.

“My dear girl, seeing how cold your nature is, you probably don’t enjoy interacting with people on a daily basis. This old woman, I can tell, your gaze upon the world is perhaps too cold. Don’t think everyone is inherently bad; for most people, good and evil are often just a single thought apart. Just like when they refused to prescribe medicine earlier, that was ‘good’ driven by medical ethics. When you tempted them with money, that was ‘evil’ born of greed.”

Murong Qihuang’s voice was tinged with a sob.

“Grandma, Grandpa, telling me this now, it’s too late, it’s already too late!”

“Just because it’s late, does that mean it shouldn’t be done?”

This time, it was the burly man dressed as a constable.

“Even if the victims are gone, beyond salvation. The case still needs to be handled, and the suspects must still be apprehended. This is my duty, not only to comfort the souls of the deceased but also to give myself an account.”

“To whom must I give an account?”

Murong Qihuang suddenly spun around on the spot, roaring into the vast, white expanse of heaven and earth.

“I act for all living beings, for all matters in the world, for all of history—to whom else do I owe an explanation?”

That person suddenly appeared in the curtain of rain.

They sat down quietly, lifting their gaze to her.

Murong Qihuang’s hoarse voice ceased.

Her entire body began to tremble uncontrollably.

Her eyes widened, her pale lips quivered, and she stared at him in disbelief.

He was still clad in his azure-and-white disciple robes, a long sword slung across his back, his features gentle, exuding an aura of serene timelessness.

Just as he had been over a hundred years ago, when his name was still prefixed with “Yunxi.”

His voice was gentle and hoarse, intoxicating to hear.

“Senior Sister Murong, Qihuang Yatou, Huang’er. You need to give an account—an account to all the people you have harmed.”

Murong Qihuang gazed at him blankly.

She reached out a trembling fingertip, wanting to touch him.

Yet, she feared that the moment she made contact, the illusion would vanish like a bubble.

Her throat felt dry, her voice hoarse.

“Do you still need my explanation now?”

He smiled, shaking his head, and said:

“It’s not me who needs it. I don’t blame you. Didn’t I say before that from now on, we owe each other nothing?”

“But I would rather you still blamed me.”

Murong Qihuang’s entire body trembled, her teeth chattering.

“If you no longer blame me, then you will never remember me again.”

He chuckled.

“Huang’er, you ultimately cannot remember everyone, and you will eventually forget some people. Just as you ultimately cannot save everyone, and you will eventually harm some people.”

“Did I hurt you, Ye… Brother Ye?”

He shook his head.

“Huang’er, you already have the answer in your heart, don’t you? Compassion only holds meaning when you are aware of having harmed others.”

Murong Qihuang’s throat ached, her nasal passages stung, and tears rolled incessantly from her eyes like broken strings of pearls.

“See, everyone has things they can do, but don’t attribute boundless value to them. For good and evil often lie in a single thought.”

As he finished speaking,

Murong Qihuang suddenly realized that dawn had broken.

The faint sunlight cast a warm glow, and the sun peeked out from behind the mountains.

All illusions shattered and faded, leaving her alone once more beneath the sunlight.

In the distance, the faint cries of charging soldiers, the low howls of Corpse Puppets, and the clang of clashing weapons could already be heard.

It seemed that overnight, all the infected living corpses throughout the city had begun to mobilize.

Murong Qihuang moved her steps one by one, dragging herself forward.

The Corpse Puppets, spotting fresh living prey, let out excited growls.

In an instant, Murong Qihuang was engulfed by the overwhelming tide of corpses.

Her Fengwu left its sheath, sword light interwoven, her robes fluttering.

Wherever she went, the Corpse Puppets all bowed their heads and fell to the ground.

Blood flowed through the long streets, dark red splashes like spilled ink splattering in mid-air, as if blinding the daylight.

Murong Qihuang swung her sword tirelessly.

As she cut down yet another head, which perhaps once belonged to one of her patients,

the sword’s edge caught a dazzling string of blood drops in the sunlight.

Her white robe became like peach blossoms stained with blood.

The Corpse Puppets advanced in endless waves; as one batch fell, another roared and lunged forward.

Murong Qihuang’s eyes were bloodshot and red, her long hair spread out like a ribbon, and the blood-dripping tip of her sword hummed and quivered rapidly.

She was like an endless Asura.