Chapter Forty-Five: Still a Failure

Chapter Forty-Five: Still a Failure

An illusion.

Once again, the illusions descended.

...

In a mysterious underground temple, two figures wandered, searching.

One was a young man, the other an old man.

At last, they discovered a golden box. Upon opening it, multicolored rays of treasure light burst forth, and within that brilliance, the mighty aura of a magical artifact was felt.

The young man was filled with joy—only to have the old man pierce his heart with a single sword.

The young man was Fang Junmei; the old man—Song Shed.

The sensation of being killed by Song Shed was so real it bordered on the unbearable.

Fang Junmei turned his head, disbelief filling his eyes. This was someone he had always felt some gratitude for; the two had even ventured together through life and death, forging a deep bond. That elder brother in the sect had now attacked him.

“Junior Brother Fang, this is how I, Song Shed, deal with the world. When you are useful to me, I treat you well; when you are not, you are expendable.”

Song Shed fixed his gaze upon Fang Junmei, his voice cold and chilling.

Fang Junmei’s faith in the bonds of brotherhood began to waver.

...

The illusion shifted rapidly; in the next instant, it was a dim, rainy night amidst the darkness of wild mountains.

Again, two figures.

One lay sprawled on the ground, a hole punctured through his forehead by a sharp weapon, blood gushing forth—no trace of life remained. His eyes stared wide open, unclosing even in death.

In his hand, he still gripped a black war blade—this was none other than the Blade Wolf of Chaos.

Standing beside him was Fang Junmei, his face a picture of grief and devastation. In this illusory world, the two had forged a bond even stronger than in reality.

Now, though, the Blade Wolf of Chaos was dead.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Three piercing sounds split the air.

Three figures, riding sword-lights, swept down from the distant sky, their eyes landing simultaneously on Fang Junmei.

One woman and two men—Fan Lanzhou, Linghu Jiu, and Yang Xiaoman—their gazes toward Fang Junmei were cold and murderous, strangers now.

“Fifth Brother, the Path and the Demonic cannot coexist. You consorted with the Devil’s followers; you are a traitor to our sect. The Grandmaster has ordered us to kill you and bring back your head as proof!”

Linghu Jiu spoke icily, devoid of any former warmth.

Fang Junmei, hearing this, shook his head desperately, wanting to speak, but not a sound emerged.

Fan Lanzhou and the others had already come to kill him.

Frightened to his core, Fang Junmei scooped up the Blade Wolf’s corpse and tried to flee into the distance. But his speed was no match for the three; they closed in on him swiftly.

Thud!

A muffled sound. Once again, Fang Junmei’s heart was pierced, his body collapsing helplessly into the muddy earth.

...

The illusion transformed again.

This time, he found himself above a boundless sea.

Fang Junmei, riding a flying sword, was brimming with pride as he returned to his homeland, the Pan Kingdom.

Crossing the ocean, he soared over the land, spotting from afar the familiar mountain peaks—only to freeze in shock.

The mountaintops were nothing but ruins and rubble, reduced to a desolate wasteland.

Not just the peaks; even the mortal dwellings on the slopes and at the base of the mountain were devastated. Green hills had turned yellow with desolation, devoid of a trace of life, as if some deadly poison had swept away all vitality.

“Junior Sister?”

Descending from his sword’s light, Fang Junmei called out in anguish, searching frantically among the ruins, his heart trembling.

No one answered. It was impossible to tell how long had passed since the calamity. Not a single corpse or bone could be found among the ruins.

“Senior Brother?”

He shouted again, but no one replied.

His gaze flickered anxiously, and he flew toward a certain direction—the site of the Sword-Bearing Elder’s tomb.

When he arrived, he found the grave already blown open, leaving only a large pit in the ground.

“Who? Who did this?”

Standing amidst the ruins, Fang Junmei roared, his eyes sharp, all his former pride gone.

His voice thundered through the mountains.

“Boy, it was I who did this—what can you do about it?”

What began as a venting of anger was unexpectedly answered—a voice echoed from deep beneath the earth.

A cultivator!

Fang Junmei’s heart tightened, his spiritual sense probing underground.

Crash!

Before he could reach ten fathoms below, before he could even see who it was, a massive hand of earthen energy shot up at lightning speed, splitting the ground with thunderous force as it burst forth.

Sensing the power of this strike, Fang Junmei’s pupils contracted; he soared toward the sky, but the giant hand was too quick. No matter how he wielded his magic, no matter which way he fled, it drew ever closer.

Bang!

At last, with a dull explosion, a cloud of blood burst out.

Fang Junmei was slain once more.

...

The illusion shifted yet again, this time to the endless grasslands of Longyin Goruk.

He found Adele—but she had become the lowest of old slaves. And when he tried to rescue her, it was Adele herself who killed him.

A dagger plunged straight into his heart.

“Faithless men all deserve to die!”

The elderly Adele, her eyes fierce and cold, glared at Fang Junmei, who died once more with his eyes wide open.

...

The illusory world changed again and again.

After each transformation, Fang Junmei would forget the events of the previous vision, throwing himself wholly into the next, as if it were the real world.

But the memories of each death, like the vilest serpent, slowly devoured all the positive emotions in Fang Junmei’s heart, pushing him toward suspicion, selfishness, arrogance, and violence—toward the darkest depths, to never trust anyone again and become a true demonic cultivator.

The Heart-Shattering Pill.

It shattered all that was good in a soul.

...

Outside the great hall, Chunyu Qian had somehow procured a wooden table and a chair, which he placed beneath an ancient peach tree. Leisurely, he sipped his tea.

His expression had returned to normal. It was as if, now that he was here, he no longer cared whether Fang Junmei could pass the trial. Or perhaps, whether Fang Junmei succeeded or failed, there was nothing more he could do to help.

Song Shed waited by his side, glancing anxiously at the hall doors from time to time, concern hidden in his expression.

Another three hours passed.

At last, Chunyu Qian turned to look at the hall doors, stared for a moment, and called out, “Boy! Get out here, whatever state you’re in now!”

Within the hall, all was silent.

After waiting a while, Chunyu Qian rose and headed for the hall, Song Shed following behind.

With a sweep of his sleeves, the doors opened silently.

Song Shed, the old fox, was momentarily stunned.

Fang Junmei sat slumped against the wall, his clothes filthy, hair disheveled, blood at the corner of his mouth. There was no trace of clarity or spirit in his eyes—only gloom and murk, cruelty and violence, brimming with negative emotion—like a wild beast gone mad.

Upon seeing the two, Fang Junmei’s pupils shrank, and intense wariness flared in his gaze. He looked at them as if they were plotting against him, his hand instinctively reaching for his storage pouch, ready to draw his sword in defense—forgetting that his spiritual power had already been sealed by Chunyu Qian.

At this moment, Fang Junmei seemed a completely different person.

“I didn’t expect...still a failure. Was I asking too much?” Chunyu Qian sighed softly. He knew this look all too well—every cultivator he had ever tormented with the Heart-Shattering Pill ended up like this in the end.

“Brother Junmei, it’s me, Shed!” Song Shed suddenly spoke, his eyes full of worry and pity as he looked at Fang Junmei. “It’s me, your well-meaning elder brother!”