One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Two forces clashed within Nie Lingfeng's body, each clash causing the boy to convulse unconsciously. His breathing was sometimes rapid and fiery, sometimes faint and thread-like, and the dark red patterns beneath his skin flickered with each breath, like some kind of evil rune.

"Foolish child..." The old master sighed.

He sat down beside the couch and placed his hand on Nie Lingfeng's forehead. Golden light slowly shone from his palm—not the usual dazzling, majestic golden light, but a soft, gentle light, like the morning light of spring, like a mother's embrace.

The golden light traveled along the meridians, gradually calming the restless energy and smoothing out the chaotic aura. It wasn't suppression, but rather guidance—slowly separating the two forces and allowing them to return to their proper places.

Nie Lingfeng's tightly furrowed brows gradually relaxed. His breathing became even, and the lines under his skin faded.

The old master withdrew his hand, looked at the boy quietly for a moment, then got up and walked to Tian Jinzhong's bedside.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at his junior brother's peaceful face.

Outside the window, the downpour finally began.

Large raindrops pounded on the tiles, making a crackling sound that quickly turned into a rushing roar. Rain poured down from the eaves like a transparent curtain. Thunder rumbled from deep within the clouds, sometimes near, sometimes far.

"Jinzhong," the old master said in a low voice, his voice muffled by the rain, echoing only in his own ears, "wait a moment."

He reached out and tidied a stray strand of white hair at his junior brother's temple.

"I'll go down and keep you company after I've finished dealing with these matters."

"Then, let's have a good drink together, just like when we were young, stealing Master's wine and drinking under the pine trees on the back mountain until dawn."

He paused, a very faint smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"This time, your senior brother will definitely lose to you."

The next day, the old Celestial Master stood on the bluestone steps at the entrance of the Celestial Master's Mansion, the morning dew wetting the edges of his shoes. He watched the Lu family's convoy turn the ninth bend in the mountain, the red light of their taillights spreading in the morning mist before finally disappearing completely into the depths of the mountains. The rain had stopped, but water was still dripping from the eaves, one drop, two drops, hitting the small puddles on the stone steps, the sound as clear as a heartbeat.

The air carried the fresh scent of grass and trees after the rain, the embers of gunpowder, and... a faint yet lingering smell of blood. It was left over from last night, seeping into the soil, into every brick and stone of this ancient temple.

He stood quietly, his back straight as a pine tree, his wide Taoist robe fluttering slightly in the morning breeze. On his face, which had never shown any signs of aging in a hundred years, every wrinkle seemed to have deepened, reflecting the storm of last night and the chill of this morning.

Behind me came the rustling sound of fabric rubbing together, followed by soft, somewhat unsteady footsteps.

The old celestial master did not turn back.

"Young friend Nie," he spoke slowly, his voice echoing in the open space in front of the mountain gate, "you've finally woken up."

Nie Lingfeng gripped the heavy wooden door frame, his knuckles white from the force. He looked down at his hands—clean bandages wrapped around the back of his hands, wounds from last night's battle. The raging power within him, which had nearly torn his internal organs apart, had temporarily subsided, like a beach after the tide had receded, leaving behind a scene of devastation. But the Qilin tattoo on his chest still throbbed faintly, the heat spreading from his heart, flowing along his meridians, reminding him of two things—

The demonic blade is complete.

The madness remains.

He looked up at the old Celestial Master's back. In the morning light, the figure appeared somewhat frail, yet as heavy as a mountain.

"Thank you, Master," Nie Lingfeng said, his voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing against wood, "for controlling my madness. Otherwise..." He paused, the shattered images of last night flashing through his mind—the crimson vision, the excited tremor from the long sword in his hand, and that almost pleasurable urge to destroy everything, "Otherwise, I'm afraid there would have been real bloodshed."

The old master turned around.

The morning light shone on his face, and in those eyes that had weathered a century of storms, there was no anger, no blame, not even pity. There was only a deep, almost compassionate calm, like the water of an ancient well, bottomless, yet capable of reflecting the deepest parts of the human heart.

"Back then," the old master said slowly, "you were also influenced by the Twelve Labors Formation."

His tone was not a question, but a statement.

Nie Lingfeng gave a bitter smile.

Are they really affected?

Or perhaps... Gao Ning's formation merely tore away that self-deceptive veil? Deep down, had he actually longed for the power of the Demon Blade? That domineering power that could annihilate everything with a single strike, that exhilarating feeling of trampling over mountains of corpses and seas of blood, of being the only one who reigned supreme—had the seed already been planted in his heart on the very first day he received Nie Feng's inheritance?

"The Twelve Emotional Array," Nie Lingfeng said in a low voice, "only amplifies emotions. It cannot create something out of nothing."

These words were spoken lightly, yet carried immense weight.

The old celestial master stared at him for a long time. His eyes seemed to pierce through flesh and reach the depths of his soul. Nie Lingfeng did not flinch, but met his gaze frankly—since he had already embarked on this path, hiding and concealing would only make him look inferior.

After a long silence, the old master nodded slightly.

He didn't ask any further questions, but walked to the rosewood table in the center of the main hall of the Celestial Master's Mansion and took out three scrolls of scriptures from his robes. The scriptures were wrapped in dark blue cloth, which had been washed until it was white and the edges were frayed, clearly indicating that it was very old.

He unfolded the cloth layer by layer, his movements slow and solemn.

The three volumes of scriptures were revealed.

The paper is a special type of Xuan paper, with a faint beige hue. The spine is bound with hemp thread, which is now somewhat loose. The characters on the cover are handwritten in regular script, with deep ink and vigorous strokes—it is not a printed copy, but a handwritten manuscript.

"This is the 'Heart-Cleansing Mantra' passed down from Longhu Mountain." The old Celestial Master pointed to the first volume, his finger gently tracing the words on the cover as if touching an old friend. "It has been passed down since the Tang Dynasty, and Celestial Masters of all generations have annotated it. Reciting it every morning and evening can calm the mind and suppress inner demons."

He turned to the first page.

Nie Lingfeng saw that the blank spaces on the pages were indeed filled with annotations in tiny characters, the ink varying in shades, clearly from different eras and different people. Some annotations were only a few words long, while others filled half a page, the handwriting sometimes unrestrained, sometimes neat, and sometimes steady.

"This is the 'Qingjing Jing' (Classic of Purity and Tranquility)." Volume Two: "The supreme Taoist method emphasizes tranquility and non-action, which can resolve anger and cultivate righteous energy."

"This is the *Taishang Ganying Pian* (Treatise on the Response of the Supreme Being), Volume Three, which discusses self-cultivation, moral refinement, and enlightenment. It will be very helpful for your current state."

The old celestial master raised his head and looked at Nie Lingfeng: "This old Daoist is preparing to go down the mountain. In the meantime, young friend Nie, please stay on the mountain and diligently cultivate these three scriptures. Once you have controlled that little demon in your heart and can do so at will, it will not be too late to go down the mountain."

Nie Lingfeng remained silent.

He knew what the old master was going to do down the mountain.

To avenge Old Tian.

Hunt down Gong Qing and settle scores with the Quanxing gang—the ones who killed Tian Jinzhong and caused bloodshed on Longhu Mountain.

This was the beginning of the massacre that shook the entire world of supernatural beings in the original story. The Old Master descended the mountain alone, sweeping through the fourteen strongholds of the Quanxing Sect, causing rivers of blood to flow. He made everyone re-recognize the ruthless methods of this "peerless" master, but he also ended up carrying a heavy burden of karma on his own shoulders.

"Old Celestial Master," Nie Lingfeng began slowly, his voice soft, "Old Tian, ​​he..."

The old master closed his eyes.

This action lasted for a very long time. So long that Nie Lingfeng thought he wouldn't answer, so long that even the dripping water from the eaves sounded jarring.

When he opened his eyes again, the deep, ocean-like emotions within them—grief, anger, self-blame, and a sense of vicissitude—had all subsided, settling into an almost icy calm. It wasn't numbness, but rather the suppression of all the flames deep within his heart, pressing them into a piece of cold iron.

"Old Tian..." The old master's voice was very soft, as if afraid of waking something, "He suffered a lifetime of hardship. His limbs were crippled, and he dared not close his eyes for decades, guarding that secret, guarding that obsession. Now... he can be considered free."

He paused, looked out the window, and looked in the direction of Tian Jinzhong's room.

"But what was taken from him," the old master's voice suddenly turned cold, each word like an icicle, "I must take it back. The suffering he endured must be repaid. The blood shed on Longhu Mountain must be paid for."

Nie Lingfeng looked at the old man.

At the age of one hundred, he should be enjoying his retirement, spending his days with his grandchildren, watching the clouds drift by on a mountaintop, listening to the morning bells and evening drums. Instead, for the death of his junior brother, he has to pick up the butcher's knife again and step back into the blood-and-fire world he has long since left behind.

A sudden impulse welled up inside him.

An impulse that I might not have had, but couldn't suppress.

"Old Celestial Master," Nie Lingfeng said, his voice exceptionally clear in the empty main hall, "I want to ask... is Elder Tian's body still there?"

The old master suddenly turned his head.

In that instant, Nie Lingfeng felt as if he were being stared at by an ancient, ferocious beast that had suddenly awakened from its slumber. An invisible pressure surged from all directions, the air seemed to solidify, compressing every inch of his skin and every bone. Breathing became difficult, and his heart felt as if it were being gripped by an icy hand, its beating slowing down by half a beat.

A sharp, chilling glint flashed in the old master's calm eyes—not murderous intent, but something deeper, more essential, as if it had touched some absolutely inviolable bottom line.

Time seemed to stand still.

Nie Lingfeng could hear his own heartbeat, thump, thump, thump, heavy like a drum. He could feel cold sweat sliding down his back, soaking his inner shirt. But he didn't look away, just quietly watching the old Celestial Master, his eyes open and honest.

a long time.

The pressure that had enveloped his entire body receded like a tide.

The old celestial master nodded slowly, his voice devoid of emotion: "Here."

Nie Lingfeng secretly breathed a sigh of relief, only then realizing that his back was soaked through and felt icy cold against his skin. He took a deep breath and walked to the wall—where hung a decorative longsword, its scabbard carved with cloud patterns and its tassel a deep blue that had faded somewhat.

He took off his sword.

Then, from his bosom—actually from the Qiankun Bag deep within his consciousness—he pulled out a small glass bottle. The bottle was only the size of a thumb, crystal clear, and exactly the same as the one he had given Xu Si before.

Then, he did something that made the old master's pupils suddenly contract.