The Lingering Shadow of the Nine Nether

Inside the small bamboo dwelling, upon a bed of white jade, Mo Tingbei slowly opened his eyes.

His vision, initially blurred as if veiled by a thin gauze, gradually sharpened after a moment, revealing the familiar, crisscrossing bamboo lattice ceiling above him.

A profound sense of sluggishness emanated from deep within his body.

His Dantian, in particular, felt utterly hollow, as if completely emptied, with each subtle breath tugging at a fragmented, hidden pain.

Subconsciously, he attempted to move his limbs, yet he felt as though an invisible mountain range held him pinned down, rendering him immobile.

This profound sense of powerlessness fleetingly reminded him of the monkey king from a tale of his previous life, who, despite possessing immense celestial abilities, remained trapped beneath a mountain for five hundred years, unable to escape his bonds.

Precisely because of the lingering haze from just waking up, he had not, as was his custom, concealed his emotions so swiftly.

A barely perceptible flicker of vexation stole across his face, a momentary fluctuation keenly observed by Jiang Jinyue, whose entire heart was devoted to him.

“Senior Brother!”

A cry, filled with surprise and joy yet tinged with a choked sob, rang out by the bedside.

On Jiang Jinyue’s delicate face, usually so serene that even the upheaval of heaven and earth would fail to stir her, was now etched a profound mix of trepidation and lingering fear, born of rediscovery.

Her icy blue eyes were veiled with a misty sheen.

Her slender fingers clutched Mo Tingbei’s slightly cool hand, pressing it against her own warm cheek, her grip as desperate and unyielding as a drowning person clinging to their last straw of salvation.

The formidable Golden Core aura that typically radiated from her, as imposing as mountains and profound as abysses, had almost entirely receded under her deliberate suppression, leaving only the gentle Junior Sister she once was.

At this precise moment, Mo Tingbei had just emerged from the daze of waking.

His mind now fully clear, he distinctly saw the tears threatening to spill from Jiang Jinyue’s eyes, and felt the uncontrollable tremor in her fingertips and the warm dampness against his cheek.

“Yue’er…”

His voice, hoarse and low from prolonged sleep and weakness, carried a peculiar, gentle strength capable of calming raging tides.

Jiang Jinyue’s nose pricked with a sudden pang.

The last time Mo Tingbei had consciously used that nickname was in their previous life.

Perhaps it was his displeasure at her easy decision to shed her mortal coil and reincarnate; ever since she returned to the Three Unity Sword Sect in the body of Ye Jinghuang’s elder sister, Mo Tingbei had consistently kept his distance from her.

Hearing that nickname again, a name only he was permitted to utter, Jiang Jinyue felt as though an entire lifetime had passed.

Mo Tingbei remained unaware of the turmoil within Jiang Jinyue’s heart.

Regardless, he found himself incapable of being cruel to those around him, especially when he saw them weep.

He laboriously lifted his other hand, which was still capable of movement.

His movements were slow yet incredibly gentle, imbued with a comforting intent, as he very carefully, with the pad of his thumb, wiped away the tear poised at the corner of Jiang Jinyue’s eye.

“Why are you crying? Haven’t I returned?”

His gaze rested intently on her face.

His tenderness, like melting snow in early spring, silently permeated her taut heartstrings, causing her body, stiff with fear, to subtly relax, and the desperate grip on his hand instinctively loosened by a fraction.

“Master!”

Almost simultaneously, another figure burst into this rare moment of warmth: Lin Xiaoxiao.

She rushed to the bedside.

The area around her eyes looked as if a ball of rouge had been crushed there, her face streaked with un-dried tears, smeared with dust and panic.

Her entire being resembled a budding lotus withered by a sudden downpour, radiating a fragile, shaken vulnerability.

Seeing Mo Tingbei’s eyes already open, a surge of wild ecstasy threatened to burst from her chest.

She instinctively wanted to throw herself forward, but upon meeting Jiang Jinyue’s icy blue gaze, which had turned towards her, she froze abruptly.

She halted her steps sharply, her hands helplessly twisting the hem of her clothes.

Like a child who had committed an unforgivable error, she dared only to fix her gaze, brimming with reverence, anxiety, and self-reproach, unwaveringly on Mo Tingbei, her voice so choked with sobs that it was barely coherent: “Master… how… how are you feeling? It’s all my fault… I’m just too useless…”

Her words were laden with an unshakeable, heavy dread that hung ponderously in the air.

The dangerous scent of desire still clung to her, yet she carefully suppressed it deep within her heart.

Mo Tingbei cast a mildly chiding glance at Jiang Jinyue, which earned him a subtle eye-roll in return.

With a helpless smile, he shifted his gaze to Lin Xiaoxiao.

Those eyes that had nearly been extinguished not long ago now held no trace of desolation, remaining bright and gentle, as if holding a pool of spring water.

“Silly girl…”

His voice was still weak, like a flickering candle in the wind, yet carried an unmistakable indulgence.

“If you keep crying, you’ll turn into a little crybaby.

And if you hurt your eyes from crying, our Three Unity Sword Sect’s ‘Heavenly Edge Immortal’ will no longer live up to her name.”

He attempted to curve his lips into a reassuring smile, but the effort stirred his internal injuries, and a few suppressed coughs escaped his lips.

“Master!” Lin Xiaoxiao’s heart instantly leaped into her throat.

Her body instinctively wanted to lunge forward, but Mo Tingbei’s gentle yet exceptionally firm gaze pinned her to the spot.

She bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting a faint metallic sweetness.

Forcibly retracting the half-step she had taken, her fingernails dug deeply into her palms.

Mo Tingbei gasped for a moment, suppressing the surging blood qi.

His gaze settled on Lin Xiaoxiao, imbued with a clarity that saw through everything.

After enduring the chaos of a near-death experience, Mo Tingbei’s already penetrating gaze seemed to have grown even sharper, as if it could pierce through flesh and directly perceive the defilement churning in the depths of a soul.

“The Nine Nether Bloodline (TL Note: A powerful, often sinister, bloodline associated with a realm of darkness or hell in cultivation novels) within you,” His voice was low and hoarse, yet clearly tinged with concern. “How is it now?”

Lin Xiaoxiao’s body uncontrollably gave a violent shudder.

As if struck by an invisible whip, she abruptly lowered her head, her gaze darting frantically like a startled bird, only to inevitably fall upon her own arm.

That skin, once as pristine as freshly washed lotus root, secretly envied by countless female cultivators, was now… utterly disfigured!

Pitch-black patterns, like living, most defiled ink, twisted, entangled, and spread beneath her pale skin.

They were not static designs, but a living, writhing curse, exuding a chilling, spine-tingling aura.

A mere glance at their twisted, blasphemous forms was enough to make one’s soul tremble, as if another second would see one’s own mind corrupted and dragged into a bottomless abyss.

“Ugh…” A suppressed whimper, a mix of extreme fear and revulsion, squeezed from deep within Lin Xiaoxiao’s throat.

As if burned by the demonic patterns, she abruptly hid her arm behind her back, her body curling inward, attempting to retreat into a non-existent shell.

She dared not even look at her own face.

There… there too were likely crawling the same repulsive, defiling marks, proclaiming her as a creature of the Nine Nether!

The mere thought caused immense shame and despair to wash over her like a cold, engulfing tide.

Even when Mo Tingbei had rescued her from that ‘mother,’ she, who had practically grown up steeped in the products of the Nine Nether, had never before appeared so wretched.

She was once the Three Unity Sword Sect’s (TL Note: A fictional martial arts sect) most dazzling new star, the ‘Heavenly Edge Immortal,’ a symbol of chivalry and justice, and above all, Master’s proudest disciple!

And now, she was merely a monster plagued by the Nine Nether’s curse, a calamity who had almost caused Master’s death!

“Master… I…”

She tried to speak, but her teeth chattered, producing only incoherent, broken syllables.

Immense panic seized her, nearly suffocating her.

The power within her crashed wildly at the edge of control; the dormant Nine Nether’s foul energy, seemingly sensing its host’s violent emotional breakdown, stirred once more, its dark purple demonic light emanating through the fabric where her arm was hidden, flickering erratically like the desperate gasps of a dying beast.

The air within the bamboo dwelling instantly grew taut, like a fully drawn bowstring!

Jiang Jinyue’s icy blue pupils abruptly contracted into pinpricks of cold light.

Her fingers, resting on Mo Tingbei’s hand, instantly lifted and pointed towards Lin Xiaoxiao.

A vast, irresistible, bone-chilling Golden Core pressure descended like an invisible iceberg, accurately pressing down on Lin Xiaoxiao!

“Mph!” Lin Xiaoxiao grunted, as if struck by an invisible sledgehammer, her knees buckling as she heavily collapsed onto the hard bamboo floor with a dull thud.

She tried to struggle, but the power was as boundless as an abyss, carrying an undeniable will of law that rigidly suppressed the churning foul energy and restless power within her.

Her entire being was practically pinned to the spot, unable to move.

Only her body, due to the immense pressure and fear, trembled uncontrollably, like a withered leaf about to fall in the cold wind.

Cold sweat instantly drenched her back, her bangs clinging miserably to her pale cheeks.

She desperately kept her head bowed, wishing she could bury her face in the floor, daring not to let anyone—especially him—see her terrifying appearance at this moment.

“Senior Brother!” Jiang Jinyue’s voice carried a hint of tense urgency, her gaze sharp as a blade, sweeping over the ominous demonic light that could not be completely concealed, emanating through Lin Xiaoxiao’s clothes. “Her bloodline is extremely unstable!

You saw the anomaly just now; if this defilement is not removed, and those madmen attempting to revive the Nine Nether Lord truly discover her, it’s highly possible they could make significant progress.

By then…”

Here, Jiang Jinyue paused, finding it difficult to articulate, but after taking a deep breath, she voiced her concern:

“Even if I were to truly ascend to the Golden Core (TL Note: The Golden Core is a crucial stage of cultivation in many Chinese web novels, representing a condensed form of spiritual energy and power) stage with modern methods, reaching heaven in a single step, I wouldn’t be confident in protecting you from that terrifying demonic emperor who destroyed the entire ancient cultivation world.

Such a harbinger of disaster, kept by your side, is a sword hanging over your head!

It could kill you at any moment, Senior Brother!”

The words “harbinger of disaster,” like ice picks, mercilessly pierced Lin Xiaoxiao’s already tattered heart.

She abruptly lifted her head, the color drained from her face, leaving only a deathly pallor and crisscrossing tear stains.

Those eyes, once bright and full of chivalry, were now brimming with immense pain, despair, and the breakdown of being utterly rejected.

“No… that’s not it… Master! I can…” Words of protest instinctively rushed to her lips.

Yet, as her gaze fell upon Master’s face, visibly more haggard, and the few glaring strands of white that had quietly appeared at his temples, all words became stuck in her throat, impossible to utter.

That heavy burden of guilt crushed all her explanations into dust, leaving only silent sobs churning in her chest.