ATEG Chapter 127.2

He could see it — but he could not evade.

Before that deadly sword light even touched his body, its keen sword intent had already pierced his nerves. The protective qi-barrier around him had already been shattered; his flesh tore; crimson blood spilled out…

The sword light — grazed past him.

Feiying came back to himself in a daze. That sword light had not been aimed at him at all.

That had merely been a scattering fragment of sword intent. He had not even truly seen the sword light.

He could not help but feel the relief of one who had narrowly escaped death. Thank goodness — thank goodness it was the Puppet Master Envoy who was that person’s target; thank goodness his own weakness had made him so utterly beneath notice in the eyes of the one who had set this trap.

But could the Puppet Master Envoy survive such a killing strike? If the Envoy fell, what would become of him?

Feiying suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. He fell backward, and looking up, he saw the sword light pierce the Puppet Master Envoy through the chest; saw the grey-robed old Daoist draw the sword upward toward the Envoy’s skull; saw the Puppet Master Envoy slip free from beneath the black robes and the mask like a serpent shedding its skin, seizing the moment when the grey-robed old Daoist was occupied to break through the confining formation and flee. He saw that the Puppet Master Envoy beneath the black robes was a woman of striking beauty — and the grey-robed old Daoist paid him not the slightest attention, pursuing the fleeing Puppet Master Envoy without pause.

Only he remained here now. Feiying thought of the silk thread the Puppet Master Envoy had connected to his forehead when bestowing the earlier reward — without his knowing, he had become the other’s surrogate puppet to take the blow. He was going to die — and he refused to accept it. He wanted to live; he wanted power; he could not die like this… Feiying stared fixedly at the carved wooden strange-face mask that had fallen onto the snow. He saw it — just now, the Puppet Master Envoy had used it to entangle the grey-robed old Daoist. This mask was a puppet as well; the substitute puppet injury technique he also knew, even if not quite so refined, but perhaps he could survive…

The strange-face mask had been scored by the sword light, a crack running across it. The patterns upon it writhed and struggled as though alive, as though they too had been wounded by that sword light — but they were still alive, still enduring, still possessed of life force.

Feiying’s consciousness was already beginning to blur. He had entirely forgotten that this was the Puppet Master Envoy’s strange-face mask — that even if he obtained it, he might not be able to wield it; that in his current state, he might no longer have the strength to refine and consecrate this mask; that there were still all manner of other problems. He could only see the patterns on that mask. He could only think that he wanted to live.

He crawled across the snow toward that mask. The blood flowing from his chest melted the pure white snow beneath him, mixing with the earth below, leaving behind a dirty, defiled trail.

With hands tensed to a hideous claw-like shape through desperate effort and desperate weakness alike, he finally reached the mask, and with trembling hands pressed it against his face.

…Live on…obtain power…walk a path stretching farther ahead…never again bow and scrape before others…never again covet another’s lineage…never again be looked down upon, never again be used without a second thought as a puppet to die in another’s place…

Yes…just like that…

Feiying’s consciousness grew ever more clouded. The patterns on the strange-face mask flickered with an eerie light; the fractured lines writhed, attempting to bridge the gap of the sword scar and reconnect — yet the residual sword intent within that scar kept them at bay.

“What is happening?” A frightened consciousness asked.

The voice jolted Feiying awake. His mind snapped abruptly clear, and only then did he realize — the mask was devouring his divine soul’s power. Now that he was lucid, he quickly gathered and drew back his divine soul. The mask’s drain on his soul slowed sharply. Feiying tried to wrench himself free, but the patterns on the strange-face mask had already transformed into countless silk threads that plunged through a tiny, imperceptible fissure in his divine soul and coiled tightly around it. The more he struggled, the more soul force the mask drained away, until it was clear that if matters continued like this, he would perish right here inside this strange-face mask.

A formless, substanceless radiance suddenly lit up, shining onto Feiying’s divine soul. The eerie threads coiled around him shuddered violently under that light, recoiling as though wounded — but quickly steadied themselves against the radiance’s influence. They remained anchored in Feiying’s divine soul, yet were no longer able to drain away his soul’s power.

Feiying exhaled in relief and began searching for the source of that light which had appeared so suddenly. He recalled the voice that had jolted him awake just now. Who had unexpectedly appeared here to help him?

“You are…me?!” Feiying had just begun to ask — and then perceived that the other portion of divine soul which had appeared inside the strange-face mask was of the same origin as his own.

“Who are you? No, who am I? No — who are we?” Shitou asked in bewilderment and alarm.

He had originally been at his master’s side practicing the Lamp-Lighting Technique. After all this time of practice, he had already been able to sustain the heart-flame for a considerable duration, though the flame itself remained faint. But just now, without understanding how, a moment’s distraction had deposited him here. Once his initial panic passed, he took stock of the current situation. Shitou had always known he was only a fragment of a divine soul — he had originally assumed he was the last remaining sliver, never imagining there was still a more complete original self. Though had it not been for his timely return, that original self looked like it would soon be no more either…

Feiying had already worked out Shitou’s origins. He had once used the soul-division technique as a means of preserving his life — it seemed that during the period of his grave injury, this fragment of soul set aside as a reserve had awakened on its own. How this fragment had come to experience whatever it had experienced he could not know, but it appeared to have lost all its memories while also having learned techniques he was unaware of. He did not need to pursue the matter further — once he reintegrated this fragment, he would know everything. Had there not been this tiny, unnoticed fissure in his own divine soul, the strange-face mask might not have been able to drain him quite so easily.

Now Feiying’s divine soul was strong, while Shitou was only a small fragment — the reintegration of their souls ought to be straightforward. Feiying’s divine soul stirred, prepared to merge once more with Shitou; memories and thoughts intermingled in that instant of contact, and he saw himself as half a great boulder, then saw half a great boulder refined into a black stone the size of a thumb — and he saw the lamp-flame…

A violent wrenching sensation arose. Feiying felt the shock, revulsion, and rejection emanating from Shitou’s divine soul fragment. In the moment he perceived Shitou’s memories and thoughts, Shitou too had seen his own. Between the two soul-threads on the verge of merging, a powerful repelling force arose — their thinking had grown entirely apart; their wills ran contrary to each other. Even though they arose from the same origin, minds set in opposition could no longer merge into one.

Feiying snapped in furious anger. “What sort of rubbish is filling your head?!”

But Shitou looked as though he had been dealt a blow far greater than Feiying’s own. “I turned out to be this kind of person? I was actually this sort of… No wonder I could never light the heart-flame before…”

Feiying was both furious and anxious. He said coldly, “You seem to have completely forgotten how it was in the sect — brushing past death time and again, and what our fellow disciples and masters were truly like. What’s the matter — do you regret that you didn’t die at their hands and let them extract and refine your spiritual roots?”

“That they acted that way does not mean you can learn from them. You despise them deeply — yet how are you any different from them now?” Shitou shot back, equally enraged.

“‘You’?” Feiying gave a laugh of cold fury. “Before I divided you away, I had already done those things. Do you somehow think that because you’ve forgotten, because you were split off, you are clean and innocent? We are of the same root and origin — we were originally one!”

“Yes,” Shitou said. “I feel profound shame because of it.”

With two soul-threads of the same origin in conflict, Shitou’s heart-flame grew unstable; the strange-face mask seized the moment, its countless silk threads snapping taut as it forcibly wrested away their soul power.

Feiying fell silent at once; Shitou ceased contesting as well, concentrating wholly on steadying the heart-flame. They were originally one, and they both understood who the real enemy was right now.

But Shitou’s heart-flame was far too faint. He could only make the strange-face mask temporarily dormant — he could not drive it out from the divine soul. The moment his heart-flame wavered, the mask began to stir again with restless intent. He was only a small fragment of a divine soul; his divine consciousness tired easily, and when his mind scattered, the heart-flame would nearly extinguish, sustainable only through the soul power Feiying transferred to him.

“Teach me that technique.” Feiying said. He believed his own soul power to be far stronger than Shitou’s — if he wielded this technique, subduing the mask would be easier. Ordinarily he would have no need to learn it; he would simply reintegrate Shitou and restore his soul to wholeness. But now there was no choice but to learn it gradually.

Shitou replied coolly, “You cannot learn it.”

Feiying bristled with irritation, feeling that this divided-off piece of himself was frightfully foolish. Had he not sensed that Shitou was genuinely of the same soul origin as him, he would almost have doubted whether this was truly himself. How could he fail to grasp what mattered most at this moment?

Shitou’s soul touched his, conveying the process of his cultivation of the Lamp-Lighting Technique.

Receiving these memories, Feiying understood that he truly could not learn it. His body was now critically wounded and destroyed, leaving only his divine soul lodged within the mask, with the constant threat of being drained and consumed — he could not help but grow even more furious. He gave a cold laugh, “You forgot everything else, yet you still remember that mortal?”

“What is wrong with remembering a moment of compassion that once lived in your heart?” Shitou asked in mild indifference.

Feiying said bitterly, “What’s wrong? If not for that single lapse of judgment — giving her those qingfu coins — she would never have become that strange and eerie ghost-creature she turned into. That severe injury outside Taiwu County was entirely her doing. I may never have ended up where I am today. One moment of compassion! I clawed my way out of that demonic pit with ruthlessness and survived, attained the cultivation I have today — and because of those qingfu coins I gave her once, I have met my death today. I should never have had that single moment of compassion!”

Shitou’s thoughts churned without cease. He and Feiying were the same person; they had originally been one. Feiying’s thoughts were thoughts he too would produce; Feiying’s selfishness and viciousness were things he too possessed. He had indeed experienced that single moment of compassion — but that moment had been so small, only enough to sustain a dim and feeble glimmer of light. He had spoken loftily when arguing with Feiying, yet he knew full well how much of it he truly believed. Those had also been his own thoughts — he had merely forgotten them for a time, and in that time, had been taught to grasp the faint and nearly imperceptible moment of compassion at the bottom of his heart.

He grew restless despite himself. “Do you genuinely want to quarrel with me about this? I renounce this moment of compassion, the heart-flame goes out, and that foul thing eats us both — is that what you want?”

Feiying fell silent. He suddenly found himself absurd. He had survived the sect through ruthlessness and cruelty, walking all this way to today — and the sole moment of goodness he had ever extended had cost him a grave injury. He had despised that foolish and unnecessary moment of compassion to the core, and now he had to depend on that very thing he had already renounced, just to cling to a wretched existence. One incomplete self, one fragment that negated that self, one eerie evil object — and now none of them could overcome the others, none of them could part from the others, like three serpents swallowing one another in turn.

How had he sunk to this laughable state?

He could not comprehend it. He could not comprehend the workings of cause and effect in the unseen world, nor could he comprehend why things had developed as they had —

“Why did you suddenly appear here?” Feiying asked.

Shitou could not comprehend it either. He had no memories of what had come before, recalling only that he had awakened within half a great boulder, and that afterward the boulder was taken and put to some use, and he ended up in his master’s care, learning the Lamp-Lighting Technique from his master. Based on the memories he had received from Feiying, he had previously been placed by Feiying within a black rabbit demon to lie dormant. It was only natural that once the black rabbit demon escaped, he would have been cleared away from the demon — but why this soul fragment had not dissipated, instead finding its way in such a roundabout manner to become what it was now, was something neither of them could explain.

The process of all this could not help but invite suspicion, yet blank memory left them with no evidence to grasp. But another point was perfectly plain: the soul-division technique Feiying had cultivated had no function of summoning soul fragments back to his side. Shitou had been peacefully following his master and learning the Lamp-Lighting Technique — how had he suddenly come to be here beside Feiying? And the timing had been so perfectly opportune.

The master who had taught him the Lamp-Lighting Technique — the Marquis Wu, who had ties to Diancang Mountain — the Puppet Master Envoy who lurked in the shadows of the Xuanqing Sect — the grey-robed old Daoist who had lain in ambush in the desolate village… Who could calculate all these tangled and chaotic people and events? Who could have arranged a timing so precise that the slightest deviation would have thrown it all off?

Who had masterminded all of this from behind the scenes? And what was the purpose?

Within the desolate village, a ripple suddenly stirred in space. From within the void, a hand reached across the distance, removed the carved wooden strange-face mask from Feiying’s face, and vanished without a trace.

On the churned snow, only Feiying’s corpse remained, face twisted in a grimace, a long trail of blood and mud frozen into the snow behind it.