A max-level player in Jade Dynasty: Awakening the Innate Dao at the start.

As Lu Xueqi turned around, the hem of her skirt drew a clean arc, carrying her usual aloofness.

She didn't turn around; her footsteps tapped softly on the stone slabs.

They went into the darkness deep within that corridor, and gradually the sound faded away.

Zhang Xiaofan remained standing there, watching the direction she had disappeared in.

He twitched the corner of his mouth slightly, as if he found it somewhat amusing.

This girl is like a stone come to life—her mind is in complete turmoil, yet she stubbornly insists, "I'll find the answer myself."

Well, seeing the crack in her thousand-year-old iceberg is much more interesting than seeing any flowers or plants.

He shook his head and went back to his room.

The night was very deep.

The wooden window of the inn was half-closed, and moonlight squeezed in through the crack, forming a small pool of silvery white light on the floor in front of the bed.

Even at night, Heyang City is not quiet; from afar,

The night watchman's clapper sounded intermittently, striking twice in vain before fading back into the night.

Zhang Xiaofan lay there, his breathing even and deep.

Then, that smell wafted up.

It wasn't real blood, but the stench of memories that had festered and decayed.

When he opened his eyes, what he saw was not the roof beams, but an endless sea of ​​blood.

Red waves surged, with stark white bone fragments floating on top.

Countless hands suddenly emerged from the blood, reaching for his ankles—

It was cold and sticky, and dark red stuff was dripping from between my fingers.

A buzzing sound filled my ears, like a million people whispering in unison:

"I'm so hungry...so hungry...blood...give me blood..."

The fire poker lay quietly on the bedside table.

But in my dream, it came to life.

The jet-black stick emitted a dark red light, and the bead at the end of the stick slowly turned, looking just like a scarlet eye.

A bloodthirsty, seductive energy mixed together,

Like a venomous snake's tongue, it burrowed into his lungs and coiled around his heart along with his breath.

A layer of cold sweat appeared on Zhang Xiaofan's forehead.

He knew perfectly well that he was dreaming, but the corrosive force was truly terrifying.

It's not just trying to scare you—it's testing you, seducing you, specifically targeting the thinnest, most easily cracked part of your heart.

"roll."

He closed his eyes and whispered in his heart.

The pure energy rose from my dantian, and the Taiji Xuanqing Dao flowed along my meridians, as gentle and warm as a spring stream.

Almost simultaneously, the mental cultivation method of the Great Brahma Prajna at Tianyin Temple also began to turn.

That Buddhist, dignified and majestic power enveloped my mind like a golden bell.

The two forces, one inside and one outside, slowly twisted together the invading demonic energy.

The color of the sea of ​​blood has faded.

Those pale hands loosened and retreated beneath the waves.

The murmurs faded into the distance, like the rustling sound of the tide receding.

Zhang Xiaofan opened his eyes.

The room was still the same room, and the moonlight was still the same moonlight.

Only he knew that his back was completely soaked, clinging coldly to his skin.

He sat up and looked at the stick on the table.

It lay there quietly, dark and gloomy, and no one would even give it a second glance if it were left on the roadside.

But Zhang Xiaofan knew that the whole thing in his dream was caused by this thing.

He suddenly remembered that Dao Xuan Zhenren had summoned him to the back mountain that day, the old man's voice heavy and deep:

"This thing is dangerous; it's a double-edged sword."

You use its strength, and it uses your heart in return.

As long as the demonic nature within cannot be eradicated, it will remain a source of trouble.

At that time, he simply nodded.

Now he understands—it wasn't a joke.

Zhang Xiaofan got out of bed barefoot and walked to the window.

The night breeze blew in, brushing against his sweaty skin and sending a chill through him.

He gazed at the scattered lights of the city in the distance, but his mind was filled with darker, heavier memories of the past.

The Venerable Master Puzhi.

That always kind-faced old monk was one of the four great monks of Tianyin Temple, and his cultivation level was as high as the peak of the Shangqing Realm.

Even someone like that had his mind pierced by that bloodthirsty bead.

When he slaughtered more than two hundred people in Caomiao Village, he may not have been completely oblivious.

But that little bit of lucidity couldn't compare to the bead's thirst for blood.

What's worse, the Bloodthirsty Beads at that time had most of their magical power sealed by Buddhist restrictions.

What about the one I have now?

The Bloodthirsty Bead and the Soul-Stealing Staff were combined in a blood-refined process, and the demonic power of the two ferocious objects was multiplied rather than added.

Puzhi couldn't even handle half a bead, so why did he think he could handle the whole pair?

Zhang Xiaofan's fingers tapped unconsciously on the window frame.

Knock, knock, knock.

The voice was very soft, as if it were knocking on the door of his own heart.

He could find a whole host of reasons to throw this stick away.

The Tianya Sword is no less powerful than it; its legacy of slaying demons and gods is enough for him to use for a lifetime.

Even if he asked, his master Tian Buyi might be able to find him another divine weapon.

But he didn't throw it away.

Throwing it away is admitting defeat.

"The murderous aura of the Immortal Execution Sword is a thousand times heavier than that of this staff."

Zhang Xiaofan gazed at the night outside and whispered to himself,

"But which of the Qingyun Sect's founders ever said they wanted to destroy it?"

They kept the Immortal Execution Sword in the Illusion Moon Cave as a treasured artifact of their sect.

Even knowing that the blood drunk from that sword could form rivers and that its murderous aura would soar to the heavens,

Even knowing that using it once would shorten their lifespan, they still respected it, used it, and mastered it.

On what grounds?

Because power itself is neither right nor wrong. The wrong lies with those who cannot grasp power.

Zhang Xiaofan took a deep breath, the night wind filling his chest.

There was also the warm, lively atmosphere of the night market drifting in from afar.

His ambition was never just to be a genius disciple of the Qingyun Sect.

The path he was about to take was one that Patriarch Qingye had not yet completed, a path that no one in the world had traversed for thousands of years.

Chengxian.

Even he himself felt it was a bit of a pipe dream when he said those two words.

The Qingyun Sect has so many books, recording countless brilliant and talented individuals, yet not a single one of them truly ascended to immortality.

Even someone as powerful as Patriarch Qingye passed away peacefully in the Illusion Moon Cave.

But he insisted on giving it a try.

If you can't even subdue the demonic nature of a fire poker, how can you talk about mastering Jade Dynasty?

What's the point of talking about collecting all five volumes of the Heavenly Book and understanding the principles of heaven and earth?

"We need to make some plans." Zhang Xiaofan turned around, his gaze falling back on the fire poker.

He walked back to the table, his fingers lightly brushing against the stick.

It was icy cold to the touch, like touching a piece of cold iron.

But beneath that cold surface, he felt a pulse—slow, heavy, like the heartbeat of a sleeping beast.

"Mysterious Fire Mirror"

Zhang Xiaofan uttered these three words.

That is the treasure of Fenxiang Valley, extremely yang and strong. It is said to be a divine object passed down from ancient times, capable of burning away all evil and yin things in the world.

If I could use the pure Yang fire power of the Xuanhuo Mirror, combined with my current Shangqing cultivation, and find a secluded place where earth fire and magma converge...

Perhaps we can really reforge this stick.

It wasn't destroyed, it was reshaped.

Since the Blood Refining Technique can merge two ferocious creatures into one, it can naturally also change their appearance.

A stick is just a stick, not as good as a sword—the sword is the king of weapons, and nothing dares to stand in its way.

When Wan Jianyi was slaying ghosts and gods, he said that the ultimate swordsmanship is having no sword in hand but having a sword in one's heart.

But he hasn't reached that level yet.

He needs a real sword, a sword worthy of the title "slaying demons and gods".

"Now that the matter at Kongsang Mountain is settled, we need to go find Xiao Liu."

Zhang Xiaofan silently began to plan.

That six-tailed spirit fox would owe him a favor, and the Xuanhuo Mirror was in his hands.

As for underground magma... there must be a suitable place deep in the mountains of southern Xinjiang.

The plan in my mind gradually took shape.

Like a blurry picture, each stroke carefully outlines a clear edge.

When Zhang Xiaofan pushed open the door, it was already well past midnight.

The inn was so quiet that only his own breathing could be heard.

He walked down the wooden stairs, his footsteps echoing in the empty lobby.

The night watchman was dozing off on the counter, his head bobbing up and down like a chick pecking at rice.

He walked through the lobby and pushed open the back door.

The scent of the garden wafted up immediately.

The night-blooming jasmine is in full bloom, one flower crowding another, looking like scattered silver coins under the moonlight.

The aroma was so strong it was almost cloying, a sweet scent that lingered on the tip of my nose.

Zhang Xiaofan walked forward along the cobblestone path, his mind still pondering the details of forging the sword from blood—

How to control the heat, how to time it, how to connect the techniques—not a single step can be wrong.

Then he saw her.

The girl in the green dress squatted by the flower bushes, her body turned to the side.

The moonlight shone on her face, making her skin as white as fine porcelain.

She leaned over, her skirt clinging to her calves, outlining her slender legs.

A hand reached out and gently pinched the stem of a night-blooming jasmine flower with its fingertips.

"Click."

A very soft sound.

She picked the flower.

Biyao held the flower up to her eyes, brought it close to her nose, and smelled it.

His eyes crinkled into a smile, like a cat that had just stolen a fish.

Zhang Xiaofan stopped.

"Isn't it perfect that the flowers are blooming on the branches?"

He spoke, his voice unusually clear in the quiet garden, "Why did you have to pick it?"

Biyao paused for a moment.

She turned her head and saw a young man in blue standing under the moonlight.

He was stunned for a moment, then recognized the meddlesome Qingyun disciple from earlier that day, and a mocking smile appeared on his lips.

"The fact that I smell its fragrance is a blessing it has accumulated over three lifetimes."

Biyao stood up, her green dress rippling in the moonlight.

"But you, meddle in other people's business during the day and interfere with people picking flowers at night—are all the disciples of your Qingyun Sect so idle?"

Zhang Xiaofan wasn't angry.

He took two more steps forward, the moonlight illuminating half of his face while the other half remained hidden in shadow.

"If you pick the flower, you'll lose your life."

"If you lose your life, what good fortune can you expect?"

"You're not a flower."

Biyao raised an eyebrow, twirling the small flower between her fingers.

How do you know it doesn't want to?

"You're not me."

Zhang Xiaofan's tone remained indifferent.

How do you know I don't know it doesn't want to?

Biyao was speechless.

She stared wide-eyed at the boy in front of her who was speaking in circles.

Moonlight fell into his eyes, which remained calm and still.

It's like a deep well; you can't even hear a sound when you throw a stone in.

"You're not me."

Biyao suddenly smiled, a smile like that of a little fox.

"How do you know I don't know you don't know it's unwilling?"

The tongue-twister-like sentences, when spoken by her, carried a light and cheerful tone.

Zhang Xiaofan smiled too.

It wasn't mockery, nor was it perfunctory; it seemed like they genuinely found it interesting.

He walked up to Biyao, only three steps away from her.

The fragrance of the night-blooming jasmine grew stronger, mixed with the faint, indescribable cool scent emanating from her.

He looked down at the flowers in her hand.

Dewdrops still clung to the petals, each glistening drop shimmering in the moonlight.

"Look," Zhang Xiaofan stretched out his hand, his fingertip lightly touching the drop of dew, "this is the tear it shed in pain."

Biyao's fingers froze.

She lowered her head and looked at the flowers in her hand.

White petals, pale yellow stamens, a drop of water hanging on the edge, about to fall.

Moonlight shines through the water droplets, refracting into tiny, fragmented rays of light, just like... just like tears.

The garden suddenly became eerily quiet.

The night watchman's clapper sounded again in the distance, dong, dong, dong. It was past midnight.

Biyao raised her head and looked at Zhang Xiaofan.

Under the moonlight, the boy's face was clean and handsome, but his eyes were as deep as a pool of cold water.

He spoke in a flat tone, neither sentimental nor affected.

It's like saying something incredibly simple—

Flowers feel pain, flowers cry, and flowers shed tears when they are picked.

……absurd.

Biyao thought to herself.

Flowers are plants, but where do plants get their hearts? Where do they get their pain? Where do they get their tears?

But her fingers, which were gripping the flower stem, unconsciously loosened.

The night-blooming jasmine lay in her palm, its petals slightly curled.

The drop of dew finally rolled down, splashing a small wet patch on her palm.

The coolness seeped into my skin, reaching all the way to my heart.

"You..." Biyao opened her mouth, but the rest of the words got stuck in her throat and she couldn't say them.