One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Nie Lingfeng settled down at Longhu Mountain.

His residence was a secluded wing room in the back mountain of the Celestial Master's Mansion, accessible only by passing through three moon gates, winding through a narrow corridor, and traversing a bamboo grove. Pushing open the carved wooden window, one was greeted by a sea of ​​surging clouds, with the distant sound of pine trees echoing like the tides, sometimes near, sometimes far. The sounds of morning bells and evening drums drifted through the mountains and forests, deep and resonant, like the pulse of time.

The room is minimalist in its furnishings: a hardwood bed, a table and a chair, a faded futon, and a bronze incense burner. Fine sandalwood burns eternally in the burner, its smoke rising straight up before dissipating, filling the room with an atmosphere of peace and tranquility, as if time itself could stand still.

For the first three days, Nie Lingfeng barely stepped out of his room.

He sat cross-legged on the prayer mat, his back straight as a pine tree. Three scrolls of scriptures were spread out in front of him, their pages glowing a warm, yellowish-brown in the morning light. From the first hour of the morning bell to the last hour of the evening drum, except for meals, toilet breaks, and necessary rests, he sat there, reading word by word.

By the evening of the third day, he could recite the 379-character Pure Heart Mantra fluently. It wasn't something he deliberately memorized; rather, it was because he had read it so many times and so deeply that the words seemed to come alive, imprinted on the depths of his consciousness. When he closed his eyes and concentrated, the scripture flowed naturally through his heart like a stream.

But its demonic nature is ever-present.

Whenever he relaxed even slightly—perhaps in a drowsy afternoon, or a sigh in the still of the night—the simmering violence within him would stir. The Qilin tattoo on his chest felt faintly hot, and fragmented images flashed through his mind: the mist of blood spurting from Shen Chong's neck fanning out in the moonlight, the final terror in Gao Ning's wide-open eyes, and his own hand gripping the knife—knuckles white from the force, veins bulging on the back of his hand like a coiled venomous snake.

That's not someone else's memory.

That was his own.

On the morning of the fourth day, just as dawn was breaking.

Nie Lingfeng decided to try circulating the Xuanwu True Scripture—he needed to recover his strength and confirm whether he could still control this power.

He sat upright on the futon, placed his hands in a mudra on his knees, and slowly closed his eyes.

"Sink your Qi to the Dantian, and focus your mind on the Xuan Guan (a point on the lower abdomen)..."

His internal energy, like newly melted spring water, rose from his dantian and slowly circulated along his meridians. The first cycle went smoothly; his meridians were unobstructed, and his internal energy was abundant, even more refined than before his injury.

But just as the internal energy was about to complete its first major cycle and return to the dantian—

The Qilin tattoo on his chest suddenly erupted with a scorching heat wave!

"roar--!"

A low, inhuman roar burst from deep within Nie Lingfeng's throat! He abruptly opened his eyes—his pupils instantly turning a scarlet crimson! His white hair danced wildly without wind, each strand standing on end, and a palpable aura of malevolence emanated from his body, causing the temperature in the room to plummet and scattering the sandalwood incense sticks in the incense burner!

In my mind, images surged forth like a burst dam:

Shen Chong's head spun in the air, his face still bearing an expression of disbelief; Gao Ning's chest was pierced, blood gushing out like a spring; a forty-foot-long crimson blade of energy tore through the earth, causing vegetation to wither and rocks to crumble wherever it passed; finally, there were his own eyes—eyes reflected in the cold light of the Snow Drinking Blade—scarlet, cold, devoid of any human emotion, only a desire to destroy everything.

"My knife...my knife..."

Nie Lingfeng instinctively reached for his waist—the Snow Drinking Blade wasn't there; he'd deliberately placed it on a sword rack at the other end of the room. This realization enraged the demonic being even more; a beast-like growl escaped his throat, and he was about to rise and pounce on the sword rack—

"The profound origin of heaven and earth, the root of all vital energy."

A voice as calm as still water from an ancient well rang out from outside the door.

It wasn't a rebuke, nor a dissuasion, but a calm recitation. The voice wasn't loud, yet it was like a pebble thrown into a boiling oil pan, instantly causing the raging evil energy to pause slightly.

The door was gently pushed open.

Master Rongshan walked in. He wore a faded gray Taoist robe, his beard and hair were white, his face was thin, and his eyes were as gentle as an autumn lake. In his left hand he held a string of dark brown prayer beads, his thumb slowly turning the beads, his right hand behind his back, and his steps were slow, as if afraid of disturbing something.

"By enduring countless calamities, I will prove my divine powers."

He walked three steps to Nie Lingfeng, sat down cross-legged, and a prayer mat appeared beneath him. He met Nie Lingfeng's gaze—not at those scarlet eyes, but at the struggling soul behind them.

The bloodlust in Nie Lingfeng's eyes receded slightly like the tide, but his breathing remained heavy and labored, his chest heaving violently. He clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms, and blood seeped from between his fingers, one drop, two drops, falling onto the blue brick floor, blooming into small, dark red flowers.

"Young friend Nie," Rong Shan's voice remained calm, "calm down. The demon in your heart is your own power, not an external evil. It was born of you, grew within you, and is a part of you—like a shadow, it follows you wherever you go. What you need to do is not to eliminate the shadow, but to understand where the light comes from and why the shadow is born. Then... learn to stand firm between light and shadow."

"I..." Nie Lingfeng began, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping against rusty iron, "I can't control it... it's coming out... it's going to kill..."

"Then let it out," Rongshan said, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "I'll be here, watching."

Nie Lingfeng was stunned.

Rong Shan smiled slightly, a smile that held the wisdom of someone who had experienced many hardships: "Don't worry, with me here, you can't hurt others, nor can you hurt yourself. Come on, try... letting go. Don't suppress it, don't resist it, just let that power flow out naturally." Although Rong Shan couldn't guarantee that he could suppress Nie Lingfeng at his peak, he was confident that he could suppress Nie Lingfeng now before he unleashed his full power.

Nie Lingfeng closed his eyes, took a deep breath—and then released the taut gate in his heart called "reason".

boom--!!!

The malevolent energy erupted like a volcano!

His white hair shot skyward, the ends dancing wildly in the invisible air currents! His eyes turned completely crimson, the whites of his eyes covered in blood vessels! Beneath his skin, dark red patterns moved like living things, the blood of the Qilin raging! Nie Lingfeng suddenly stood up and punched the wall beside him—if this punch landed, it would pierce through even a foot-thick blue brick wall!

"Certainly."

Rong Shan raised his hand and gently tapped the air with his index finger.

There was no grand display, no dazzling brilliance, only a wisp of golden light emanating from the fingertip, transforming in the air into an ancient, rounded character "定" (ding). The character was only the size of a palm, yet it seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, slowly imprinting itself onto Nie Lingfeng's forehead.

Nie Lingfeng's frenzied movements froze instantly!

It wasn't that he was bound by external forces, but rather that every cell, every meridian, and every wisp of internal energy within his body had been "pacified" by some higher-level power. He remained in his punching stance, his fist only three inches from the wall, yet he could no longer advance an inch. Even his eyeballs couldn't move; he could only stare straight ahead.

But she remained conscious.

I was acutely aware of the urge within me to destroy everything, and I was acutely aware of my own grotesque appearance.

"Look," Rong Shan stood up (secretly wiping away the cold sweat; his finger strike had gathered all his power), walked up to him, and gently touched the area below his scarlet right eye with his finger. "This is your demon. Violent, bloodthirsty, filled with destructive desire, wanting to tear everything apart—like a beast trapped in a cage."

His fingers slowly moved down to Nie Lingfeng's violently heaving chest, stopping at his heart.

"But feel this place again," Rongshan's voice lowered, as if telling a secret, "This is your heart. It's still beating—thump, thump, thump—powerful, rapid, but never stopping. What does it tell you? It tells you that you don't want to kill, don't want to destroy, you're just afraid... afraid that this power will get out of control, afraid of hurting the people you care about, afraid of becoming... a real demon."

Nie Lingfeng's pupils contracted sharply.

"The Demon Blade is a blade, a tool." Rong Shan withdrew his hand, and the golden character "定" (ding, meaning "fixed") began to slowly dissipate, turning into specks of light that disappeared into Nie Lingfeng's brow. "Like the prayer beads in my hand, they can be used to count recitations or to crack walnuts. A blade can slaughter living beings, or it can cut through shackles. The key is—is the one wielding the blade Nie Lingfeng, or the beast called 'fear' residing within you?"

He patted Nie Lingfeng on the shoulder, the force was very light, yet it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

"Keep reading the scriptures. Don't just read them for your eyes to see, read them for your heart to hear. When you can see the beast in your heart baring its teeth, yet not be frightened by its roar, and calmly say to it, 'I know you are there,' then you have passed the test."

After saying that, he turned around, walked away slowly, and gently closed the door.

Nie Lingfeng slowly withdrew his fist, slumped to the ground, and gasped for breath. Cold sweat soaked through his inner shirt, clinging to his back, icy cold. The lingering, burning sensation of the golden light on his forehead was tingling and numb, like a hand pressed against the wall of a stove in winter.

But in my heart... I don't seem so panicked anymore.

The beast was still growling in the cage, but he suddenly felt that perhaps he could really learn to look it in the eye.

The seventh day, midnight.

Nie Lingfeng had a dream.

In his dream, there was a blood-red sky, and beneath his feet lay a mountain of corpses. The bodies were still fresh, some twitching slightly, warm blood flowing like streams over his boots. He looked down—Shen Chong, Gao Ning, Dou Mei, Xia He… all members of the Quanxing sect, yet all strangers. Then, deep within the pile of corpses, he saw familiar faces: Zhang Chulan, his chest pierced, his eyes still open; Feng Baobao lying in a pool of blood, the kitchen knife broken in two; Xu San and Xu Si sitting back to back, already lifeless.

All are dead.

He died by his blade.

He looked down at his hands—he held the Snow Drinking Blade, its blade soaked in blood, a sinister dark red, from which drops of blood trickled down. His face was reflected in the blade: disheveled white hair, bloodshot eyes like a demon's, a maniacal grin on his lips, and his face splattered with blood.

He is laughing.

He laughed heartily, laughed maniacally, laughed... like a real demon.

"No--!!!"

Nie Lingfeng suddenly woke up with a start and sat up abruptly in bed!

My heart pounded wildly in my chest, almost shattering my ribs. I was drenched in cold sweat, my pajamas clinging to my body, damp and sticky. The Qilin tattoo on my chest felt like a red-hot branding iron, and a murderous intent surged in my mind, crashing against the dam of reason like a tsunami.

No... I can't stay here...

He stumbled out of bed, his bare feet touching the cold floor, rushed to the knife rack, and grabbed the Snow Drinking Blade. The blade gleamed with a cold, eerie light in the darkness, and the moment he held it in his hand, a familiar, chilling excitement crept up his palm.

No...no...

He gripped the knife and rushed out of the room.