Chapter 3: Meeting a Version of Myself

They were clear, remarkably light eyes.

Like mist clinging to the ends of a waterfall, or like sparks scattered across a deep winter night sky.

He glanced sideways, frowned at the rampaging walking corpse and the unconscious girl.

Then he extended a finger, somewhat uncertainly, pointing it towards the ferocious walking corpse.

The candlelight flickered out, and silence fell.

Moments later, the young man stood up, looked at the pulpy, dismembered flesh on the ground, and concluded, “So weak.”

He then looked at the dying girl, frowning. Fleeting images from before flashed through his mind, and he felt a headache, as if trying to solve an intractable problem. He then raised his index finger and placed it between her eyebrows.

The finger was still stained with blood, somewhat dirty, but perfectly steady.

A gentle autumn breeze arrived, the moon rose in the east, casting its silver light over the mountains and hills. The majestic palace buildings appeared as if covered in snow and frost.

By the time he reached the palace entrance, the people outside had long since dispersed and fled.

He looked at his hand, where the lividity was slowly fading, his brows slightly furrowed, his lips trembling, and he whispered:

“Ning… Changjiu?”

Could there truly be someone with the exact same name in this world?

Or… is this my name?

He picked up the copper coin from the threshold, gently held it, and peered through its hollow center.

Autumn leaves cast dancing shadows, and the bright moon, veiled by night mist, shimmered indistinctly.

Through the moonlight, he seemed to glimpse an ethereal Taoist temple. Many fragmented memories slowly mingled in his mind, but for the moment, he couldn't piece them together completely.

“Who… am I, exactly?”

He stood quietly, his Taoist robe stirred by the night wind, like a bird fluttering its wings, slow to return in the night breeze.

It was three days later when Ning Xiaoling awoke.

After the exorcism ritual, Ning Qinshui died suddenly. At dawn the next day, Song Ce finally dared to bring people to collect the bodies. He was shocked to find the old Taoist priest reduced to a pile of rotten flesh and bones, yet both of his disciples appeared to still be alive.

Since they had miraculously survived, he arranged for them to be sent back to the abandoned courtyard.

Now, herbal medicine was bubbling on a small stove, emitting a strong aroma along with copious amounts of white steam.

When Ning Xiaoling opened her eyes, she saw Ning Changjiu lift the lid of the stove, frowning as he stared at the boiling medicine inside.

Ning Xiaoling looked around: a vermilion lacquered wooden bed, half-drawn curtains, and glowing red floral lanterns hanging between ancient tables and shelves.

“This is…”

She tried to prop herself up but found her limbs limp and utterly strengthless. Her head felt as if a thousand ants were biting inside, and the slightest thought brought on a splitting headache.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, curling up further. As if recalling some scene, her pupils constricted, her body began to tremble, and her icy hands and feet simply wouldn't warm up.

She cautiously raised her head. The strong smell of medicine made everything feel even more unreal.

“Where’s Master?” she asked softly.

Ning Changjiu replied concisely, “Dead.”

Ning Xiaoling closed her eyes; the malevolent spirits that had flooded her body and the heart-wrenching wails still echoed in her ears. She shivered, then abruptly opened her eyes, struggling to speak calmly, “Then how did we survive?”

Ning Changjiu said, “Perhaps we were lucky.”

Ning Xiaoling naturally didn’t believe this explanation, but she didn’t press further. She just felt that her Senior Brother was… a bit odd.

Ning Changjiu set aside the cattail fan in his hand, poured the medicine into a bowl, and handed it to her. “Here, drink your medicine.”

After drinking the medicine, Ning Xiaoling’s body warmed slightly, and she finally regained some strength. Recalling how Ning Changjiu had poured the medicine just now, she felt something was off.

“What kind of medicine is this?” she asked casually.

Ning Changjiu replied, “Song Ce sent it. I checked it; it’s fine. It’s for dispelling cold, warming the body, and nourishing the Zifu.”

Ning Xiaoling murmured an “Oh,” placed the empty bowl on the wooden cabinet beside her, tucked her hands back under the blanket, and curled her small body into a ball, like a little fox.

“Senior Brother… thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank me for what?” Ning Changjiu asked.

Ning Xiaoling looked up, earnestly saying, “You stood in front of me that day, I remember. Even though I treated you that way normally, you truly… don’t hold a grudge.”

Ning Changjiu said, “Actually… I seem to have forgotten many things, and remembered many things.”

Ning Xiaoling paused, then asked, “What did you remember?”

Ning Changjiu sighed softly, his voice like the wind sinking into a valley. “I remembered that Master killed me.”

Ning Xiaoling’s brows furrowed slightly. The scene from that night still enveloped her memory like a nightmare. Ning Qinshui had clearly intended to use them as scapegoats with that so-called “protective talisman.” She didn’t know what happened afterward, but somehow, both of them had survived.

How could Senior Brother forget such a deeply etched memory? Could it be that he still held onto some vestige of master-disciple affection for Ning Qinshui, just out of sheer luck?

How could he be so foolish?

Ning Changjiu didn't elaborate. He shook his head and said, “You should rest well. I’m going out for a walk.”

Ning Xiaoling lowered her head and hummed in acknowledgment.

The room door stood wide open, a cool breeze caressing his face. Soon, an autumn rain began to fall, pattering softly onto the courtyard.

Ning Changjiu brought out a chair and sat under the eaves, watching the autumn rain. To his eyes, the raindrops were countless silvery threads descending from the sky.

He suddenly raised his hand, holding it motionless at a certain height.

Time passed, an unknown duration.

Ning Xiaoling, dressed in a white tunic, rolled up the bamboo curtain and happened to see this scene. Startled, she crouched down and silently retreated back into the room.

The next two days were remarkably peaceful. Song Ce had people deliver medicine and food daily, intending to give them a sum of money and escort them out of the imperial city once they recovered.

Ning Changjiu appeared to have no injuries, but Ning Xiaoling’s condition was far more severe than just sprains or fractures. Her meridians were swollen and nearly ruptured. If she hadn't secretly cultivated spiritual energy beforehand to protect them, she would certainly be unable to walk now. Furthermore, her Zifu, which was vital for her cultivation, had been almost completely ravaged that night and would take a long time to recover.

That night, Ning Xiaoling was, as usual, lying prone on the bed. Ning Changjiu carefully applied medicine to her shoulders and back.

Ning Changjiu sat on the edge of the bed, putting away the ointment.

Ning Xiaoling suddenly said, “Once you’ve recovered from your injuries, let’s divide Master’s hidden money. It hasn’t been easy for Senior Brother to take care of me, so you should take a larger share.”

Ning Changjiu replied, “You take it all. I don’t need it.”

Ning Xiaoling pursed her lips, then suddenly rubbed her temples. “My head hurts a bit; I can’t remember where he hid it.”

Ning Changjiu said, “One stash under the compass, one behind the stove, one on the fifth roof beam from left to right, and one in the secret compartment beneath the bed.”

The oil lamp flickered, its flame dancing. The girl lowered her head, her bangs obscuring her eyes and brows. She rubbed her arm, her expression unreadable.

Silence fell between them.

Again, it was Ning Xiaoling who broke the silence. “It’s all my fault. I knew that old geezer had ill intentions, yet I was still so careless. I should have checked that talisman.”

Ning Changjiu nodded. “The hardest thing to guard against is always a knife in the back.”

Ning Xiaoling turned her head, her eyes wide and watery, and asked, “Senior Brother, you’d never hurt me, right?”

Ning Changjiu paused, then said naturally, “Of course not.”

Ning Xiaoling nodded gently, seemingly reassuring herself. “Mm, Senior Brother would never blame me, or hurt me… But, but…”

Ning Changjiu watched her calmly, waiting for her to continue.

Ning Xiaoling suddenly lifted her head. Her originally delicate and lovely face now appeared thin and pale. Her eyes flickered, alert yet fearful. She opened her mouth and finally uttered the words that seemed to have been frozen in her throat:

“But… who are you, really?”

With a sharp crack, a splash of oil suddenly burst on the edge of a sleeve.