One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Nie Lingfeng gripped the hilt with his left hand and slowly drew the longsword with his right. The blade was unsharpened, but it still gleamed with a cold, sharp light in the morning sun.

He pressed the blade against the inside of his left arm, where the skin was thinnest and the veins were clearly visible.

It wasn't just a light swipe.

It was a deep, slow, almost desperate effort that created a wound about an inch long.

The skin and flesh are turned outwards to both sides.

Blood gushed out—

But the blood wasn't a normal bright red.

It was a fiery orange-red, like molten lava, and in the morning light, you could even see tiny golden specks of light flowing and leaping within the blood. Even more strangely, the moment the blood dripped out, the surrounding air seemed to distort slightly, emanating a scorching aura that seemed capable of igniting everything—a life force so pure and terrifyingly vast.

a drop.

It hit the bottom of the glass bottle with a soft "thud." The blood spread out at the bottom of the bottle, like a small pool of molten gold.

Two drops.

Nie Lingfeng's face paled visibly. His already fair skin was now almost translucent, revealing the faint pulsation of the bluish veins beneath. His breathing became rapid, and fine beads of cold sweat trickled down his forehead and temples.

Three drops.

His hand holding the sword began to tremble. Not from fear, but from weakness—a deep-seated weakness, as if the essence of life had been drained from him.

The wound began to heal at a visible speed, and the newly formed granulation tissue wriggled, trying to close.

Nie Lingfeng gritted his teeth and pressed the blade down again—in the same spot, even deeper.

The skin and flesh were turned inside out again.

Blood gushed out again.

Four drops, five drops, six drops...

His lips had lost all color, like faded flower petals. He swayed precariously, barely managing to stay upright by leaning against the wall. His vision began to darken, and his ears were ringing as if a thousand bees were buzzing around him.

But he didn't stop.

Seven drops, eight drops, nine drops...

At the bottom of the glass bottle, a thin layer of orange-gold liquid had accumulated, like concentrated sunlight or molten amber.

As the tenth drop fell, Nie Lingfeng's vision went black, and he nearly collapsed. He bit his tongue hard, the sharp pain barely keeping him conscious. The sweet, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth—this time it was his own, normal blood.

enough.

He released his sword, and the longsword fell to the ground with a clang.

Nie Lingfeng leaned against the wall, panting heavily, each breath like a bellows. With trembling hands, he handed the glass bottle, still warm from his body, to the Old Master.

"Old Master," he gasped, his voice so weak it was almost inaudible, "no matter what method you use... give Elder Tian his blood, let it enter his body. Then... hide Elder Tian. Hide him in an absolutely safe, absolutely secluded place."

He looked at the old master, his gaze earnest to the point of obsession: "There might be a miracle. Elder Tian might... wake up. I can't guarantee it. This blood... I've never used it on anyone else. Even if Elder Tian really wakes up, I don't know what the specific side effects will be, or what he might become..."

He paused, then forced a pale smile: "But it's better than... completely losing hope, isn't it?"

The old master took the glass bottle.

The bottle was warm—not the temperature of blood, but the warmth of Nie Lingfeng's palm. The orange-gold liquid inside flowed slowly, occasionally rippling with tiny golden waves, like something alive. He could feel that this blood contained an astonishingly vast life force, as well as a... violent, scorching power, seemingly from the ancient primordial era.

That's Qilin blood.

The blood of a legendary auspicious beast is a divine substance capable of bringing the dead back to life and transforming them into something new.

The old master's hand holding the bottle trembled slightly—not from excitement, but from some deeper emotion. He looked up at Nie Lingfeng's pale face, at the boy's slightly sunken eye sockets from blood loss, and at his glaring white hair.

"Young friend Nie," the old Celestial Master's voice showed a hint of fluctuation for the first time, "you..."

"I'm fine." Nie Lingfeng forced a smile, a smile so weak it was heartbreaking. "I just need a few days of rest. Qilin blood heals quickly. But you, Old Celestial Master..."

He looked at the old master with concern, worry, and a pure heartache that a junior feels for an elder.

"Be careful going down the mountain," Nie Lingfeng said softly. "The Quanxing... after all, has the numbers. Although you are strong, it's easy to dodge a spear in the open, but hard to guard against a hidden arrow."

The old celestial master gave him a deep look.

That one glance seemed to etch the boy's image into his heart. Then, he nodded, the movement light yet solemn.

"I understand," he said. "Young friend Nie, take good care of yourself. You can use the pharmacy at Longhu Mountain as you please. If you need anything, just tell Rongshan."

He carefully put the glass bottle away, placing it close to his body. Then he turned and strode towards the door.

When he reached the threshold, he paused, glanced back at Nie Lingfeng, and then at the three scrolls of scriptures spread out on the table.

"The Heart-Cleansing Mantra," the old master said, his voice regaining its calmness, yet with a subtle warmth added, "recite it three times each morning, noon, and evening. Do not slacken."

"Yes."

The old Celestial Master has passed away.

Footsteps echoed on the bluestone corridor, steady and firm, gradually fading into the distance and finally disappearing into the depths of the morning mist.

Nie Lingfeng slumped into the chair, as if all his bones had been removed. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving violently, each breath accompanied by a burning pain. His vision blurred, and the ringing in his ears grew louder and louder.

Ten drops of blood.

It drained almost 30% of his energy and spirit. The life force contained in the Qilin blood was immense; every drop was a concentrated essence, a part of his very life force. This loss would likely take at least ten days to two weeks to recover.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and remained still for a long time.

Once his vision cleared and his breathing became steady, he sat up straight again and looked at the three scrolls of scriptures on the table.

The Pure Heart Mantra, the Pure and Tranquil Sutra, and the Treatise on Response and Retribution.

A dark blue cloth lay open, with three scrolls of scriptures lying side by side, like three silent mentors.

"The Heart-Cleansing Mantra..." Nie Lingfeng murmured, reaching out to pick up the first scroll.

The pages turned with a soft rustling sound. The scent of ink mixed with the unique aroma of old paper wafted over, calm and peaceful, as if capable of soothing any restlessness.

He turned to the first page and began to read silently.

"The Great Dao is formless, yet it gives birth to heaven and earth; the Great Dao is without emotion, yet it governs the sun and moon; the Great Dao is nameless, yet it nurtures all things..."

The voice was soft, but exceptionally clear in the quiet main hall. Every word seemed heavy, settling deeply in my heart.

As he recited, he felt the restlessness in his heart, agitated by blood loss—the counterattack of the demonic blade's power during its weakened state—begin to slowly subside. The temperature of the Qilin tattoo on his chest gradually decreased, from scorching to warm, then to comforting. The violence, killing intent, and madness belonging to the demonic blade in his mind, like grime washed away by a clear spring, gradually settled and ceased to churn.

After reading it once, Nie Lingfeng opened his eyes.

His eyesight has improved considerably.

"Truly a secret manual passed down through a thousand years of Longhu Mountain." He sighed softly, his fingers tracing the annotations of past Celestial Masters on the pages. "More suitable for me now than the Ice Heart Mantra."

The Ice Heart Mantra is about "suppression," using a stronger will to forcibly suppress inner demons—a clash of blades. The Heart Purification Mantra, on the other hand, is about "resolving," using a tranquil and effortless state of mind, like sunlight melting ice and snow, naturally dissolving malevolent energy.

One is domineering, the other is gentle.

For him, who has just embarked on the path of demonic cultivation, whose foundation is unstable and whose mind is still wavering, a gentle approach is the right way.

He put down the "Heart-Cleansing Mantra" and picked up the "Purification and Tranquility Sutra" to continue reading.

"A person's spirit desires tranquility, but their mind is disturbed; a person's heart desires stillness, but desires pull them away..."

The sound echoed in the spacious main hall, peaceful and soothing, like a mountain stream.

As he read, Nie Lingfeng suddenly remembered something.

He put down the scriptures, closed his eyes, and sank his consciousness into the depths.

Within his sea of ​​consciousness, two orbs of light originally floated. The first one lit up when he first received the inheritance, granting him Nie Feng's early martial arts skills—Wind God Leg, Six Secrets of Aohan, and Ice Heart Technique. The second one lit up during the Luo Tian Grand Ceremony, granting him the Xuanwu True Scripture, Ten Directions Invincible, and... the Demon Blade.

But now, the third sphere of light remains dim, suspended in the deeper darkness, waiting silently.

"I've already mastered the Demon Blade," Nie Lingfeng frowned, his consciousness circling the third sphere of light. "Why hasn't the third stage of the inheritance appeared yet?"

He tried to touch the ball of light with his consciousness.

The sphere of light trembled slightly, emitting a faint golden ripple, but there was still no sign of it activating.

"Does it mean I have to completely master the Demon Blade? Or... completely succumb to demonic possession and be entirely controlled by demonic nature?" Nie Lingfeng shook his head. "No, Senior Nie left behind a legacy, he certainly didn't want his descendants to truly fall into the demonic path and be doomed forever. So the third stage should be..."

He suddenly thought of a possibility.

It is possible that Nie Feng mastered this skill in his later years, which can be considered one of the highest realms of martial arts.

"Demon Heart Crossing?"

Use demons to subdue demons, and use hearts to guide hearts.

This is the level Nie Feng reached in the later stages of "Storm Riders"—being able to control his demonic state, even borrowing the power of the demonic blade without being harmed, achieving a state where "the demon is not a demon, and the mind is naturally clear." That is a more profound and mysterious realm than simply cultivating the demonic blade.

"If the third stage is the crossing of the demonic heart..." Nie Lingfeng's eyes lit up, "then that explains why it hasn't appeared yet. I've only mastered the demonic blade, and my body and martial arts have entered the demonic path, but my state of mind hasn't reached the level of 'crossing over.' When I can truly control my demonic nature instead of being controlled by it, and when I truly understand my true nature and cross over my demonic heart, the third stage should open."

He nodded, finding the speculation quite reasonable.

Inheritance is a gradual process. Senior Nie Feng wouldn't throw the most profound knowledge at him right away—that wouldn't help him, it would harm him. Just like teaching a child, you have to teach them to walk first, then run, and only then can you teach them to leap across rooftops.

"Forget it, I don't want to think about it anymore." Nie Lingfeng stood up and stretched his stiff body. The weakness from blood loss was still there; his limbs felt like lead, and every movement was laborious. "I'll first learn the Heart-Cleansing Mantra and the Tranquil Sutra to recover my condition. At least... I need to recover 50% of my combat strength before I can go down the mountain."

He walked to the window and opened it.

A morning breeze swept in, carrying the fresh scent of mountain grasses and trees. In the distance, the peaks of Longhu Mountain appeared and disappeared in the morning mist, like a traditional Chinese ink painting. Finally, the sunlight broke through the clouds, shining on the mountaintops and gilding everything with a golden hue.

Nie Lingfeng looked down the mountain and at the road that wound its way into the forest.

The old Celestial Master has already embarked on that path.

That path of revenge, that path of slaughter, that path... which may change the fate of many.

He himself also has a path to take.

"After all..." Nie Lingfeng murmured to himself, his voice so soft that only he could hear it, "The person I care about most in Under One Person is about to appear."

He remembered that girl.

Wearing a blue-purple Miao ethnic costume, her silver ornaments glittered in the sunlight. Her eyes were always empty, like a soulless doll. From a young age, she was raised by the Medicine Fairy Society as a vessel for poison, incapable of joy, anger, sorrow, or happiness, ignorant of human relationships, and even unaware of what "she" was.

Her name is Chen Duo.

That girl who only wanted to "choose" her own life—even if that choice meant death.

That girl who, until her death, never understood what "normal" or "happiness" meant, only knowing that "this was my own choice."

The girl who turned to ashes in the sunlight, leaving no trace of her body.

Nie Lingfeng clenched his fist.

The nails dug deep into the palm, causing a distinct pain.

"This time," he looked out the window, his eyes as resolute as tempered steel, "I won't let you be alone again."

Sunlight shone on his face, and his white hair gleamed silver in the morning light, like it was covered in frost. But his eyes were bright, and there was a flame burning within them—not the violent fire of the demonic sword, but something warmer, more resolute, and more "human."

He turned around and picked up the "Qingjing Jing" (Classic of Purity and Tranquility) from the table again.

He sat cross-legged, with the scriptures spread out on his lap.

"The Sutra of Purity and Tranquility... Continue reading."

The sound rose in the morning light, peaceful and soothing, like a mountain stream, murmuring endlessly.

Outside the window, a sparrow landed on the windowsill, tilted its head to look at the boy reciting scriptures inside, its black bean-like eyes reflecting the morning light and his white hair. It chirped twice, flapped its wings, and flew away, disappearing into the green of the distant mountains.

Longhu Mountain gradually returned to tranquility.

The morning bell finally rang, its distant and deep tones piercing through the morning mist and echoing across the mountains.

But down below, an undercurrent is surging.

Further away, in a dimly lit room filled with the smell of medicine, a girl dressed in Miao ethnic clothing sat in a corner, hugging her knees. She stared blankly at a ray of sunlight streaming through a high window, her eyes vacant, like lifeless glass beads.

The sunlight shone on her face, revealing her pale skin and the bluish-purple marks on her neck that looked like tattoos or scars.

Unbeknownst to her, thousands of miles away, someone was working hard for her.

She didn't know that her destined tragic fate might... have a tiny, slightly different possibility.

She simply gazed at that ray of sunlight.

I watched it for a very long time.

Until the sunlight moved away from her face and fell on the cold ground.

She lowered her head and buried her face in her knees.

The room fell into darkness again.