The Serpent’s Whisper and a Prisoner’s Heart

Lin Xiaoxiao harbored a conviction that bordered on the naive: she yearned to become a “companion of justice.”

This aspiration, within the cutthroat, dog-eat-dog cultivation world, struck one as utterly incongruous, even somewhat ludicrous.

Yet, Lin Xiaoxiao was earnest in her resolve.

Having witnessed countless acts of bullying, injustice, and pervasive darkness, she longed to wield her sword and carve out a realm of clear skies and upright principles.

This unblemished sincerity served as her sole and most vital spiritual pillar, second only to the fervent, almost obsessive devotion she held for her master, Mo Tingbei.

However, fate, it seemed, had played a most absurd and cruel jest upon her.

Beneath her pristine ideal of “justice” coursed the tainted bloodline of the Nine Nether Lord, one that had once drenched the world in crimson and indirectly ushered in the great sundering of ancient and modern eras!

The Nine Nethers (TL Note: A realm or state representing the ultimate depths of yin, filth, and malevolent thoughts), was the confluence of the most extreme yin and defiled inner demons, the very mental impurities shed by countless ancient cultivators as they sought to purify their Dao hearts and return to a state of primordial innocence.

It was the ultimate resting place for all negativity and darkness in the world.

Consequently, the Nine Nether Lord, born from the concentrated essence of this very realm, possessed a bloodline that was, in itself, the deepest curse in existence.

Even inheriting a mere, insignificant trace of it was akin to burying a seed deep within one’s soul—a seed potent enough to transform the mortal realm into a living hell.

This bloodline had long been eradicated by modern cultivators; even if some remnants had escaped complete destruction, their lineage would have been so diluted as to render awakening virtually impossible.

Yet, whether by twist of fortune or cruel irony, Lin Xiaoxiao—an orphan abandoned in infancy, who had never even laid eyes on her parents—had, by sheer coincidence, just awakened this potent and terrifying bloodline.

To bear such a profoundly defiled and dark bloodline, while simultaneously pursuing a “justice” of the utmost purity and goodness with unwavering resolve… this was, in itself, an absurd contradiction brimming with irony.

Her “mother,” whom Mo Tingbei himself had beheaded with a single sword stroke years ago, had, in her dying moments, let out a sneering laugh that echoed like a curse:

“A wolf accustomed to bloodlust and slaughter, even if its fangs and claws are pulled, even if it pretends to be a loyal dog, remains a wolf to its very core! Sooner or later, your suppressed nature will shred all reason, and you will tear out the throat of the ‘master’ you desperately try to protect! This is your destiny.

The blood of the Nine Nethers will never be sated!”

Lin Xiaoxiao had never been able to forget the woman who had dedicated her entire life to resurrecting the Nine Nether Lord.

The words she uttered before her death clung to Lin Xiaoxiao like a malignant growth, transforming into her lifelong nightmare.

Now, that nightmare had once again found its way back to her.

On the deck, Lin Xiaoxiao remained kneeling, the wounds in her palms, torn by her nails, having long since congealed into dark red scabs.

These, mixed with her still-wet tear tracks, scored agonizing lines across her paper-pale face.

The image of her master, just before his disappearance, his waist encircled by Jiang Jinyue’s arm, seared her spirit repeatedly, like a red-hot brand.

What tormented her even more was the unspoken understanding between her master and that woman!

It was as if she were the interloper, presumptuously trying to snatch her master away.

Yet, she had been there first!

Never since being accepted as her master’s first disciple had Lin Xiaoxiao felt such utter devastation as she did this day.

On the precipice of this abyss of pain, her gaze inadvertently swept over Ye Jinghuang, who lay unconscious on the deck.

The young woman’s eyes were tightly shut, her long lashes casting delicate shadows in the moonlight, her exquisite face bearing a purity that bespoke an innocence of the world.

Were one to draw closer, one might even discern her murmuring the faint syllables, “Mo Shi,” in her dreams.

Stripped of her empress facade, Ye Jinghuang was, after all, merely a girl who had yet to truly grow up.

However, her soft call seemed to pierce through some unseen barrier.

A seductive, demonic whisper abruptly sounded in Lin Xiaoxiao’s ear, asserting with absolute certainty:

“It’s her! Because of her! Your master was drawn into this turmoil, and that Jiang Jinyue found a pretext to take him away!”

A twisted hatred, imbued with a destructive intent, flared like venomous fire, instantly igniting what little reason Lin Xiaoxiao had left.

‘It’s all her! All these women! They cling to Master like parasitic vines, preventing him from breaking free! If only they weren’t here… if only it were just Master and me in this world…’

An intensely dark, utterly deranged thought, like a demonic claw reaching out from the abyss, seized hold of her mind.

She struggled to her feet, stumbling towards Ye Jinghuang’s side.

In the moonlight, the sleeping girl’s face appeared utterly innocent.

Lin Xiaoxiao extended her blood-stained hand, her fingertips trembling as they hovered above Ye Jinghuang’s vulnerable neck.

‘With just a gentle stroke, with merely a wisp of spiritual energy… this “trouble,” this “bane,” could vanish forever!’

‘And Master would forever be rid of one irritating presence!’

Killing intent, cold and palpable as ice, enveloped Ye Jinghuang.

Yet, just as her fingertips were about to descend, the unconscious Ye Jinghuang seemed to sense the deadly threat, her brow furrowing almost imperceptibly, a barely audible, childlike whimper escaping her throat.

This faint sound, like a fine needle, unexpectedly pierced through Lin Xiaoxiao’s spiritual sea, which had been brimming with hatred and madness.

She flinched violently, her hovering fingers recoiling as if struck by lightning.

She gazed at her blood-stained fingertips, then at the girl on the ground, so fragile she seemed she might shatter with a touch.

A profound chill, mingled with revulsion and dread, instantly enveloped her entire being.

“What… what am I doing?”

She stumbled backward, her spine hitting the cold railings of the flying vessel with a dull thud.

Cold sweat instantly soaked her back.

The murderous intent from that fleeting moment had been so real, so overwhelming, it had almost consumed her entirely.

It was not a resolute determination to slay the wicked, but a furious lashing out at the innocent.

This was utter depravity!

“No… I can’t…” Lin Xiaoxiao gasped, her eyes reflecting a fierce internal struggle.

‘Killing Ye Jinghuang would be easy, but it wouldn’t change anything.’

‘Master wouldn’t return because of it, and she herself would be utterly transformed into a puppet of her bloodline, falling into the demonic path.’

What she truly desired was to stand proudly beside her master, not to become a demon lord with blood-stained hands, capable only of lashing out at the weak.

Just as fear gripped her, a silent storm began to rage once more in the depths of her consciousness.

The Nine Nether bloodline, like a poisonous vine dormant deep within her marrow, stirred with an icy chill that gnawed at her bones and a destructive allure, screaming at her to tear apart every obstacle in her path—including the unconscious, innocent Ye Jinghuang.

The dark whispers were terrifyingly clear: ‘Kill her… she’s a burden… a bane stealing Master’s attention…’ Demonic thoughts surged like boiling water, threatening to scorch through her remaining sanity.

Yet, the moment killing intent coalesced at her fingertips, her master’s image surfaced in her mind.

When she had, with trepidation, voiced her dream, Mo Tingbei had not mocked her as others had before.

Lin Xiaoxiao felt she would never forget the way Mo Tingbei had looked at her then.

Those eyes, usually as clear as spring water and rarely stirred even when slaying villains, had brimmed with surprise and encouragement.

He had not, as was his custom, treated her like a naive child, patting her head and lecturing her.

Instead, he had regarded her as a respected peer:

“Xiaoxiao, the blood of the Nine Nethers is a curse, but your heart is not a prisoner.

With effort, your dream will surely come true.”

Drawing strength from this memory, Lin Xiaoxiao suppressed the demonic thoughts that had once again surged within her.

At this moment, she was aghast to discover that the divine ability Mo Tingbei had left in her spiritual sea to help suppress her bloodline had completely lost its power.

Daring not to delay any longer, she rushed back to the helm at the stern of the vessel, activated the automatic navigation array, and poured all her energy into propelling the flying vessel forward, while her mind plunged entirely into her spiritual sea to battle the demonic thoughts.

‘I must return to the sect quickly.

Even if I truly succumb to depravity and die at that woman Jiang Jinyue’s hands, it would be better than harming the innocent and implicating Master!’