A Man in the Snow: Starting with a Sword Challenge to the Northern Liang Prince's Palace

Zhou Mi's hands clenched tightly.

Ye Yun crawled forward inch by inch, his fingers digging into the cracks between the bricks. The ground was covered in blood—his own, A Liang's, and the blood of the dozen or so sword cultivators. Fragments of flesh and broken bones were embedded in the cracks. His fingernails were broken, his fingers were raw and bloody, but he felt no pain. His eyes were fixed on the crystal in Zhou Mi's hand. The soul within the crystal was churning violently; white smoke gathered and dispersed, like a frightened bird fluttering in a cage.

"Zhou Mi...no..." Ye Yun's voice was so hoarse it sounded inhuman.

Zhou Mi looked down at the crystal in his hand, its reflection showing his face—pale, distorted, a faint smile playing on his lips. He glanced again at Ye Yun, who lay sprawled on the ground like a dog with a broken leg, barely able to crawl. He had originally intended to use the crystal to blackmail Ye Yun, to make him a pawn. But Ye Yun had destroyed his immortality laws, severed his millennia of cultivation, and damaged his very essence. This man could neither be kept nor used. Since he couldn't be used, then he would be destroyed. Letting him live in eternal torment was more meaningful than killing him.

Zhou Mi raised the crystal above his head, illuminating the eerie light emanating from the runes on the ceiling of the hall. The soul within the crystal fell silent for a moment, as if it knew what was about to happen. It ceased its turmoil and floated quietly in the center of the crystal. The white-clad woman's silhouette was clearer than ever before—long hair, white robes, as aloof as a plum blossom. She looked in Ye Yun's direction. Although she was only a remnant soul, without consciousness or memory, at this moment, she seemed to recognize him.

Ye Yun saw it. He saw Pu She's spirit looking at him. It wasn't a hallucination, not an illusion in his heart; it was truly looking at him. Tears welled up instantly, snot and tears mingling together, dripping onto the ground, mixing with blood. He opened his mouth, wanting to call her name, but only a muffled breath escaped his throat, like the mournful cry of a wild beast.

Zhou Mi smiled. He gripped the crystal tightly in his hand.

Click.

The crystal shattered.

The sound was soft, like stepping on a thin piece of ice. But it echoed through the hall for a long time, one after another, like countless mirrors shattering one after another. Fragments burst from between Zhou Mi's fingers, some falling to the ground, some flying into the air, and some embedding themselves in his palm. He didn't loosen his grip, but continued to clench, crushing the fragments into powder. The powder scattered from between his fingers like snowflakes, like dust, like ashes.

The soul drifted out from the shattered crystal. White, faint, like a wisp of smoke. Freed from the crystal's confinement, it slowly dissipated in the air, like a dandelion seed scattered by the wind. Starting from the edges, it disappeared little by little—first the hem of its garment, then the hem of its skirt, then its arms, then its shoulders. White specks of light peeled from the soul, drifted into the air, and then extinguished.

Ye Yun crawled forward desperately. When his fingers were torn off, he used his palms to support himself; when his palms were raw, he used his elbows. He crawled over rubble, over shards of crystal like broken glass, the shards embedding themselves in his palms and knees, leaving long trails of blood on the ground. He reached out to grab the scattered specks of light. He caught one. A tiny, warm light flickered in his palm, as small as a grain of rice. But it danced for a moment, then vanished. He grabbed again, caught another speck, and it vanished again. He kept grabbing, kept grabbing, but he couldn't grasp anything. The specks of light slipped through his fingers like sand, like water, like the wind.

"Pukshe—!" he finally shouted. His voice was hoarse, like a broken gong, like a duck being choked. The sound echoed in the hall, hitting the walls, the pillars, and the ceiling, the echoes coming one after another, like countless people shouting the same name.

The last glimmer of light from her soul dissipated. The white-clad woman's silhouette vanished completely, transforming into countless specks of light that drifted into the air of the hall. The specks of light grew dimmer and dimmer, like lamps extinguished by the wind. The last speck of light went out. The hall returned to its previous dim, runic glow, just as before, as if nothing had happened.

But Park She was gone. Utterly gone. Not even a remnant soul remained. Not even a chance for reincarnation. He vanished completely from the world, as if he had never existed.

Ye Yun knelt on the ground, his hands supporting him, head bowed. His fingers were still digging into the earth; his nails were gone, the flesh at his fingertips was worn away, revealing white bone. What was he digging at? He didn't know himself. Perhaps he was trying to dig Pu She out of the ground, or perhaps he simply didn't know what to do, his hands just wouldn't stop. His tears dripped onto the ground, into the pool of blood, mingling with it, indistinguishable from the blood.

Zhou Mi stood on the altar, looking down at his hands. His palms were covered in crystal shards, black blood seeping from the wounds. He pulled out the shards one by one, frowning with each one. When he finished, he wiped his hands with his sleeve and looked up at Ye Yun kneeling on the ground.

"Ye Yun, this is what happens when you go against me." Zhou Mi's voice was soft, but every word was like a knife, stabbing into Ye Yun's heart.

Ye Yun didn't react. He remained kneeling on the ground, head bowed, like a stone statue. The four flying swords shattered on the ground, the Sword of Law broken in two, its patterns completely gone. His aura was weak, as weak as a lamp that might go out at any moment. But he was still alive. Living was more painful than dying.

Ah Liang crawled out of the rubble. His left arm was broken, several ribs were broken, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth with every movement. He used his right hand to support himself as he slowly crawled to Ye Yun's side. He saw the crystal powder on the ground, Ye Yun's empty hands, and the traces of tears and blood mixed on Ye Yun's face—he understood everything. He reached out and placed his hand on Ye Yun's shoulder, wanting to say something, but his mouth opened and closed, and nothing came out.

Old Zhou leaned against a pillar at the entrance of the main hall, covered in blood, one leg broken, unable to stand even with the support of his sword. He had witnessed the moment the crystal shattered, the moment the soul dissipated, and the moment Ye Yun knelt on the ground. He turned his head away, unable to bear the sight. The dozen or so sword cultivators, some dead, some unconscious, and those still able to move, all gathered around, standing behind Ye Yun, no one speaking.

The hall remained silent for a long time. The light of the runes flickered on the walls, like a heartbeat. Outside the distant palace, the demon race's horns continued to sound, and the grand sacrifice continued. But the crystal on the altar was gone, the core of the grand sacrifice was destroyed, and those innocent beings captured by the demon race might not have to die. But Ye Yun didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore.

Ye Yun knelt on the ground, his mind blank. It wasn't calm, it was utter collapse. Like a building that had been blown up, bricks and rubble piled up, nothing left. He remembered Pu She's face, her smiling face, her angry face, her drunken face, babbling on his shoulder. Every image was like a knife, carving away at his heart.

He remembered Pu She's dying words. "Brother Yun, if there is an afterlife, I still want to drink the wine you brewed." He had promised her he would resurrect her. He cultivated the Cycle of Reincarnation Sword, searched for Zhou Mi, ventured into the desolate wilderness, risking his life, all for that one sentence. But now everything was gone. An afterlife? She had even lost her soul; how could there be an afterlife?

Ye Yun's body began to tremble. First his hands, then his arms, then his shoulders, then his whole body. He trembled like a leaf in the wind, his teeth chattering and making a clattering sound. Ah Liang felt the shoulder under his hand trembling violently. He pressed down hard, trying to stop him, but couldn't.

Suddenly, Ye Yun raised his head and let out a long roar to the sky. The sound didn't come from his throat, but from his chest, from his dantian, from his very soul. There were no words in the sound, only a single syllable—ah—a long, heart-wrenching roar, like a sword piercing through his body. Sword energy erupted from his body along with the roar, and the four shattered flying swords bounced on the ground. As if sensing something, the fragments began to gather together. The broken blade of the Sword of Law began to glow, its patterns illuminating again—not the original patterns, but new patterns, deeper and darker, like scars.

The hall trembled. The runes on the walls began to crumble, dust fell from the ceiling, and cracks in the pillars widened. Zhou Mi stood on the altar, his robes fluttering in the wind from the sword energy. He raised his hand to shield his face, his eyes narrowed to slits. He looked at Ye Yun, his pupils shrinking slightly—this man was more dangerous than he had imagined.

Ye Yun's howl ceased. He lowered his head, looking at his hands. The wounds on his hands were healing, new flesh growing from them, itching slightly. The four flying swords hovered beside him once more, their light not golden, not purple, not black, but blood-red. Red like blood, like fire, like his eyes.

His eyes changed. Not red, but blood-red. A dark red halo surrounded his pupils, like the sun during an eclipse. He stood up, his knees cracking, his legs trembling, but he stood. The Sword of Law flew from the ground and landed in his hand. All the patterns on the sword had changed; the patterns representing cause and effect, law, and destiny were gone, leaving only one pattern—a straight, blood-red pattern extending from the hilt to the tip.

This pattern is called "obsession".

Ye Yun gripped his sword, staring at Zhou Mi. His eyes held neither anger nor murderous intent, but something indescribable—emptiness, like a dry well. Yet, within that dry well lay wind, and within that wind lay a blade.

"Zhou Mi," Ye Yun said, her voice flat, as if reciting a textbook, "you ruined her. I'll make you pay with your life."

Zhou Mi looked into his eyes, and for the first time, a chill ran through him. Not fear, but a coldness. Like walking barefoot on ice in winter, the chill running from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He took a step back, retreating to the edge of the altar. The runes on the altar were still glowing, but their light was suppressed by Ye Yun's crimson sword light.

Ah Liang stood up from the ground and walked to Ye Yun's side. His left arm was still hanging down, but he gripped the sword hilt with his right hand. The sword was broken, only half remaining, but he held the broken sword and stood beside Ye Yun. Old Zhou dragged his broken leg over and used his sword to support himself as he stood up. The dozen or so surviving sword cultivators all gathered around and stood behind Ye Yun.

A dozen or so people faced Zhou Mi alone. Behind Zhou Mi were powerful demons and thousands of troops, but these dozen or so people did not retreat.

Ye Yun raised the Sword of Law, its tip pointing at Zhou Mi.

"Today, you must die."