Chapter 23:Heartche

Deep within Jinghong Hall, the stone door of the meditation chamber, never before opened to Qing Wan, had been sealed for three days.

For three days, the ethereal, lingering zither notes had not ceased, enveloping Jinghong Peak like a gossamer veil, dividing the inside from the outside into two separate worlds.

Qing Wan stayed in her sparse, cold room at the most remote corner of Jinghong Peak, barely stepping outside.

She could hear the zither.

Even with her ears covered, the melody seemed to pierce directly into her mind.

So beautiful, so tranquil, so… perfectly matched.

She knew it was Fairy Wan Qing playing for the Elder, aiding her breakthrough.

It was something she could never do.

She was only a burden, a nuisance, an ungrateful, temperamental liability who needed the Elder to rescue her from wolves.

In the corner of her room, the food Chu Yi had brought had gone cold, untouched.

It wasn’t defiance—she simply felt no hunger.

Her body felt hollowed out, as if a gaping hole let icy winds howl through, stripping away all warmth and sensation.

Her wounds still ached faintly, especially at her chest, but the physical pain from the demon wolves’ claws was nothing compared to the torment within.

Curling her knees to her chest on the cold stone floor, she buried her face in them. The room was unlit, save for the faint, cold moonlight filtering through the window, outlining her pitifully frail silhouette.

Memories surged uncontrollably.

The breathtaking profile under the moonlight by the Cold Pool, those cool lips.

The icy sword light that shattered all in Blackwind Ravine, and the blood-stained robe she clung to.

The rare softened tone, laced with impatience, as the Elder fed her medicine.

And in the Bamboo-Listening Pavilion, the subtle resonance of spiritual energy and sword intent, and the Elder’s gaze—perhaps unnoticed even by herself—tinged with acknowledgment.

Each scene was a red-hot blade, searing her heart repeatedly.

She had once believed that with effort, with strength, she might one day draw closer, even if just to earn a fleeting glance.

But now she understood.

Some distances were uncrossable chasms.

The Elder was the solitary moon in the heavens, cold and radiant, while she was but a speck of dust on the ground.

Moonlight might briefly fall, but it would never linger for dust.

Only another radiant moon or a dazzling star, like Fairy Wan Qing, could reflect its glow.

And she, Qing Wan, was nothing.

The love she had carefully acknowledged and buried now gnawed at her like a venomous curse.

She began to loathe herself—her blasphemous feelings, her weakness, her uselessness, her existence as an unshakable burden and stain in the Elder’s eyes.

If she hadn’t been so useless, the Elder wouldn’t have needed to save her in Blackwind Ravine.

If she hadn’t been so immature, the Elder wouldn’t have needed Wan Qing’s zither to soothe her mind.

Everything was her fault.

Her tears had long dried, leaving only numbed despair.

After an unknown time, the zither notes, which had played for three days, finally faded.

Silence fell.

Qing Wan’s head snapped up, her reddened eyes fixed on the meditation chamber’s direction.

Had it worked? Had the Elder… broken through?

She should be happy for her.

But why did her heart ache so much, suffocating her?

She imagined the stone door opening, the Elder and Wan Qing emerging side by side.

One, radiant with the glow of a breakthrough; the other, smiling gently, brow glistening from her efforts.

They might share a smile, a silent understanding no outsider could breach…

The mere thought made her curl up in pain, nails digging into the floor, drawing blood unnoticed.

A dark, unfamiliar emotion sprouted—jealousy.

A raw, agonizing envy of Wan Qing’s ability to stand openly by the Elder, discuss the Dao, play for her, protect her, and earn her unique acknowledgment.

But this jealousy was quickly drowned by deeper self-loathing.

What right did she have to be jealous?

What could she compare?

All she had was this broken body and laughably meager cultivation.

At that moment, a refined, piercing sword intent rippled faintly from the chamber—a sign of a successful breakthrough!

Qing Wan’s body trembled. She stumbled to the window, staring desperately in that direction.

As expected, the stone door slowly opened moments later.

Wan Qing emerged first, her face pale from mental exertion but her smile gentle and poised, her eyes bright.

Then came Shu Yue.

Her aura was noticeably denser and deeper than three days ago—she had successfully advanced to late Golden Core!

Yet her face was paler than Wan Qing’s, her brow marked by the fatigue of surging spiritual power.

Wan Qing turned, saying something softly to Shu Yue, who nodded slightly, responding briefly.

Too far to hear, Qing Wan couldn’t make out their words.

But she saw Wan Qing’s increasingly gentle smile and the Elder’s profile… far softer than usual.

Enough!

That was more than enough!

Qing Wan tore her gaze away, sliding down against the cold wall, her body limp as if all her bones had been pulled out.

Her last, fragile, self-deceptive hope shattered completely.

The world before her lost all color and sound, leaving only a gray, lifeless silence.

She didn’t know how long she sat there until the sky darkened again.

An eerie calm—or perhaps dead stillness—enveloped her.

Slowly, stiffly, she stood.

Moving sluggishly, she walked to the center of the room and picked up the ordinary iron sword she’d tossed in the corner.

Its cold blade reflected her lifeless face.

She gripped the hilt tightly.

Then, she began to practice.

No forms, no techniques—just the simplest, most basic motions: slash, chop, thrust, lift.

With every ounce of strength, she repeated them frantically, over and over.

As if she could expel all her pain, despair, unwillingness, and jealousy through the cold iron.

Her spiritual energy long exhausted, she relied purely on physical strength.

The pain of torn muscles, the warmth of reopened wounds—she felt nothing.

Sweat mixed with blood dripped from her brow, stinging her eyes. She wiped it away carelessly and swung again.

Like a madwoman, numb to pain and emotion.

Until her strength gave out, the sword clattered to the ground, and she collapsed, curling up, gasping heavily.

In the darkness, her hollow eyes stared at the ceiling.

A single, cold tear slid from her eye, vanishing silently into her hair.

‘Elder, congratulations.’

‘And congratulations… for finding the one truly suited to stand by your side.’

‘As for me…’

She closed her eyes, burying all her churning emotions beneath that icy stillness.

Only an empty void remained.

Grow stronger.

It was the only thing left.

Not to draw closer.

But to… perhaps one day, have the strength and dignity to walk away.

Or, at least, to face another Blackwind Ravine without needing that sword light that might never come for her again.

Shu Yue’s breakthrough should have cleared her mind, but an inexplicable pang gripped her heart.

After thanking Wan Qing and sending her to rest at the guest courtyard, she stood alone outside the hall, her divine sense instinctively sweeping to that remote corner.

She “saw” the small room, the frail figure curled on the floor, soaked in sweat and blood, devoid of life.

And the iron sword, fallen to the ground.

Shu Yue’s heart twisted painfully.

‘What… happened to her?’

A surge of unease and guilt, unprecedented in its intensity, floo

ded her.

Suddenly, she felt she had made a grave mistake this time.

And it was a colossal one.