Chapter 100

Chapter 100

The meal stretched out intermittently, lasting until sundown. As Chen Shu and Yun Shen cleaned up the game and the dying coals, Yun Shen urged Chen Shu to help him move their ‘little campsite’ entirely into the shallow cave beneath the cliff overhang—a shelter shorter even than Yun Shen himself.

Though its entrance was small and cramped, the cave floor was flatter than the slope outside. Heaped with dry grass and medicinal herbs, and laid with Yun Shen’s inexplicably unfrayed robes, it formed a dry, soft bed—surprisingly comfortable.

As they rearranged their things, Yun Shen spoke lightly with her, coaxing her into recounting how she found Nameless Cliff and how she had recognized Xiao Zhong’s true identity, down to every detail.

He saw nothing intrusive about asking. Accustomed to his probing, Chen Shu answered while joking around, embellishing how she had brilliantly deduced the hiding place of the treasured sword and secretly followed people there. How she had seized the moment when the battle erupted throughout the gorge to plant herself atop the Small Turret’s eaves. How she had exposed Xiao Zhong and smartly tailed ‘Guardian Guo’ straight up the mountain—spicing things up throughout her story.

Encouraged by Yun Shen’s praise, she grew increasingly animated, gesturing enthusiastically as if she could magically conjure up the whole Valley of Villains and reenact everything before his eyes.

Once her vivid gesturing ended, Yun Shen naturally pieced together the entire story. His expression remained neutral, ever more composed as he said only,

“So you haven’t had proper rest for days?”

“Not a bit!” replied Chen Shu, lying back on the makeshift bed spread with the gray robe, gazing at the sky beyond the cave as it slowly deepened into dusk.

Yun Shen also sat down, following her line of sight as he looked outward.

This small cliff cave wasn’t truly pitch-dark, but as the evening glow outside grew bright, even spilling onto the small stone steps near the cave mouth, the gloom within seemed to melt into an indistinct, deep shade. Looking out from inside the cave was like sitting at the bottom of a well, observing the sky—watching the mountain’s radiance slowly lose its color, as if shedding its paint and rouge, until the bare rocks and the untrimmed trees along the cliff exposed their essence once more in the dim twilight.

In less than half a quarter-hour, that evening glow, as if it had never touched the Nameless Cliff at all, gradually faded away. A profound silence settled over the surroundings. Even the echoing birdcalls from the valley seemed washed away, becoming distant and indistinct.

It was in that moment—as the two of them silently watched the mountain’s somber hues—that one belatedly realized the cave wasn’t nearly so dark within. The mottled marks on the walls were clearly visible. Though there were no signs of anyone ever resting here, the patterns etched into the stone seemed like natural carvings, tempting one to pause and ponder whether these marks, apparently wrought entirely by the mountain’s hand, truly concealed some hidden significance.

It was certainly strange.

Most cliffs overlook rushing rivers, which is why caves of varying sizes scatter beneath sheer precipices.

But this range in the Valley of Villains, perhaps because it lay west of the Liangyu Mountain range yet remained untouched by the flow of the Yushui River, resembled that cursed valley itself—devoid of streams, lacking even significant rivers. Ordinarily, it received little rainfall, making it almost the most forsaken depression in all of Yubei. Like the Nameless Cliff, it seemed rejected by Heaven, without even a name to call its own. Yet for all that, its greenery remained lush—though not rivaling the banks of the Yushui River, nor Mount Tianyu, it still dotted the landscape generously, visible at a glance.

Even upon the cliffs themselves grew gnarled and stunted trees, including the very crooked-necked tree whose branch reached out to catch Chen Shu. Though they appeared withered and pitiful, jutting forth awkwardly along the cliff’s edge, they were sturdy enough not only to firmly embrace Chen Shu, but also to hold fast the occasional rainwater granted by a rare, obliging sky.

Rainwater could barely seep into this valley; mountain springs flowed determinedly eastward. Yet this twisting, deep chasm harbored something else that howled past like a river.

—Wind.

As night fell, the wind gathered grit from the bluffs and swept through the long, narrow ravine, its howling sound growing sometimes near, sometimes distant. It was this wind and grit, borne relentlessly against the cliffs, colliding fiercely against the unyielding rock face day after day, year after year, gradually eroding this shallow cave into existence, stroke by stroke.

Yun Shen’s gray robe, spread out for bedding, now pressed against one section of the cave wall. As he lowered himself to sit, he tugged at it, causing one corner to shift free and rustle faintly. Instantly, Chen Shu, who had been quietly watching the outside, turned her head in response.

Their eyes met. Even in the gloom, Chen Shu’s gaze shone as brightly as small suns. Yun Shen seemed momentarily stunned for reasons unknown; his usually calm, poised expression involuntarily flickered into an awkward smile. The corners of his lips drew tight as he pressed them together, as though wary his exhaled breath might be too long, brush against Chen Shu’s skin.

But Chen Shu only beamed radiantly, drawing back slightly to gesture towards the spot she’d warmed with her own body. “Why don’t you move in here?” she said. “I’ll take watch tonight!”

“What need is there to stand guard tonight?” Yun Shen laughed, appearing somewhat relieved. Rather than moving closer to Chen Shu, he settled where he was. “The mountain is not high, but its cliffs are steep and it’s remote enough that even beasts rarely visit. What danger could there be? Even if a watch truly were needed, I could manage it. You should get a full night’s rest.”

“You’re serious about taking watch?” said Chen Shu. She straightened, leaning towards him as if instinctively preparing to rise, and added, “Your injured leg still hasn’t healed, not to mention—”

“—Not to mention I’m a frail, weak scholar?” Yun Shen echoed back, teasing.

“Those are your words, not mine!” Chen Shu merrily retorted, sitting all the way up. A small gap remained between them as she heedlessly wrinkled the newly smoothed gray robe beneath her feet—utterly in Chen Shu’s own chaotic fashion. Yet Yun Shen showed no annoyance; instead, he reached out his hand and half-raised it protectively towards her head, just as she turned back toward him.

Turning her head to the side, Chen Shu pretended to brush away small grains of sand that had tumbled onto the “bed” during her movements. She noticed nothing out of place. When she turned back only to meet Yun Shen’s smiling gaze again, she blinked, assuming he was still about to argue her point. “… You really want to take watch?” she pressed.

“What if I take the first half of the night, and you the second?” Yun Shen offered. Still maintaining his posture, his hand lowered gently. Though the cave was shadowy and details indistinct, his fingers unerringly plucked a tiny, unnoticed blade of grass from Chen Shu’s cheek.

The pad of his thumb brushed her skin, leaving behind a lingering, feather-soft tickle.

Likely, scrambling up from the “bed” and scooting towards him just now, bits of the rough bedding clinging to the robe had snagged on her face without her notice. Her lashes fluttered; all she saw now was Yun Shen’s attentive gaze fixed upon her.

“Alright,” she answered.

A fleeting urge crossed her mind to ask if he found the thin robe spread beneath him warm enough.

But thoughts came and went swiftly for her. Staring at Yun Shen’s face lost in the deepening haze, indistinguishable outlines blending into obscure gloom, a sudden question escaped her lips:

“I really do feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before… I’ve felt this way since the very first time I laid eyes on you, as though we’d met somewhere.”

Yun Shen barely registered it, merely asking casually, “Oh? Truly? Where?”

“If I knew, why would I even ask you?” argued Chen Shu, utterly justified in her mind. “I’m asking you because I need the answer!”

“You’ve seen me somewhere, you yourself don’t know, and now you want me to tell you?” This time, even if his expression remained unseen in the dimness, the soft chuckle that escaped him, rich with gentle amusement and fading with the dying light, was clear. He countered gently, “If you truly had seen me before, how come it never felt familiar before? Why only now, in this darkness where you can see little, does it suddenly seem so?”

“… Who knows!” Chen Shu retorted, widening her eyes to stare at him with fierce concentration. “It just feels familiar! Look, I can describe it—here are your eyes… here’s your nose…” As she spoke, her hand shot out and shamelessly groped his face.

Her movements were swift, and Yun Shen couldn’t dodge in time. Or perhaps, with just one lift of Chen Shu’s hand, he was rendered nearly immobile, tensing up as her warm fingers touched his chin, then playfully and casually swept upward, lightly brushing across his nose bridge and eyebrow ridge. After all, she was only using her naked eyes. This light sweep alone couldn’t accurately identify Yun Shen’s position; it was just a careless, random swipe. But because of that gentle, fleeting touch, Yun Shen held his breath.

The expelled air was no more, replaced only by the faint breeze drifting back into the cave, which mimicked Yun Shen’s Sound of Breathing as it brushed against her skin.

After a while, Yun Shen’s Sound of Breathing was heard again.

“Did I feel it right?” he seemed to still be smiling, but his words carried no amusement. Instead, they were restrained and low, as if suppressing surging emotions.

“Of course I did!” Chen Shu retorted, perhaps aware that she was being unreasonable. With that, she puffed out her cheeks and swiftly changed the subject, tilting her chin defiantly as she shooed him away. “Aren’t you supposed to be on night watch?! You go do that first!”

So quickly, the last trace of light vanished from the sky. For some reason, this night was darker than usual. The moon lay hidden within layered clouds, appearing extremely lazy. It hadn’t even risen above the horizon yet, as if it had utterly lost the path to chase after the setting sun.

In this night, deeper than the darkest hour, someone chuckled softly. Yun Shen bent slightly at the waist, stepped out of the cave, and returned to sit by the pile of firewood where faint embers still glowed faintly.

As the light fell upon him, his silhouette finally clarified. Then, loudly, perhaps aimed at the surrounding peaks or perhaps intended for Chen Shu behind him, he called out, “…On watch! Sleep peacefully!”

And so, Chen Shu blinked twice. The entire cavern seemed like a mountain’s embrace, cradling her as if nurturing her. Soon, the scene before her eyes wavered, as if about to collapse, yet receded into distance first. Even the sound of the mountain wind seemed muffled by a layer of gauze, faintly permeated by a warm haziness.

Listening to the quiet rhythm of her own heartbeat, she slowly sank into slumber.

It was only around Hai hour now. Even in the faint moonlight, the calls of nightingales and magpies were chaotic and urgent: one piercingly clear, the next returning as an echo. They set off the nocturnal scene in the valley bottom, making it appear ever more profound and tranquil. Eventually, the moon’s silvery light arrived belatedly, piercing through jagged, rocky cliffs to illuminate the chasms of the valley and fall upon the ground before Yun Shen.

The fire had finally died, transformed into a pile of charcoal-black ash. It was impossible to distinguish which pieces came from which logs. A gust of night wind scattered it all over the ground.

Yet, in this gradually brightening valley, it seemed as if some dreamlike aura had finally been bestowed. Lit by this narrow, confining ray of moonlight, the hollow embers rose and fell with ethereal lightness. Only then did the lingering trace of Chen Shu’s magic finally dissipate. Yun Shen stared at the ashes for a long moment, his thoughts unknowable.

Outside on the cliff, unlike inside the cave, it was nearly impossible to hear clearly amidst the howling mountain wind. Only the faint sound of Chen Shu seemingly rolling over reached him, yet a moment later, it simply sounded like the rustling leaves from some distant cliff. At a certain instant, Yun Shen, who had been intently staring at the ash pile for a prolonged time, finally snapped free from these chaotic, expansive noises. His eyes focused, truly seeing the sight before him.

It was still a roughly formed pile of ashes, its outline faintly sketched by the moonlight. However, there was just one difference from before —

A drop of water fell into the ashes.

In merely a blink, even in the time it took to close and open an eyelid, a dark spot appeared unsummoned amidst the moonlight-bleached, near-white ash. It spread and melted slowly across the surface of the ash, smoothing it out until the sandy grains lay flat once more. Then, right before Yun Shen’s eyes, a second drop “brazenly” fell.

Followed by a third, then a fourth.

Even on Yun Shen’s own hands, he could feel the damp touch of rainwater descending.

He abruptly raised his head. Indeed it was so. The rain quickened, intensified, pelting down onto his face, his nose bridge, his hair… drenching him entirely.

It rained at the Nameless Cliff.

No, not just at the Nameless Cliff. For miles around the Valley of Villains, within these ancient ranges where even dew was rarely seen, a pouring rain began to fall, evolving into an absolute torrent!

Yun Shen reached out a hand, feeling the icy dampness within the night wind. Without a word, he retreated two steps into the cave.

No iron weapon welcomed the rain.

Especially a weapon that had lain, submerged for a thousand years, in that stifling, utterly airless bottom of the pool.

Rust had slowly crawled all over him, imprisoning him like the tightest cage, binding him relentlessly. Though it had never truly blocked him from the light beyond the water – even submerged, he could still glimpse the shattered fragments of starlight dancing on the rippled surface – that oppressive, viscous feeling was impossible to shake off or escape. The brighter the sunlight above, the more intensely the silt, stirred up underwater, stung his senses as it rained down. Until he was buried deep, his very consciousness enveloped and suffocated by the pervasive dampness, unable to struggle.

Yun Shen took two more steps backward, sitting down by the small cave entrance where they were sheltering. He watched as increasingly furious torrents of rain gushed straight down the cliff face. Stream after stream poured through the cave opening, cascading onward towards the lower ground below.

Rain this heavy relentlessly struck the trees on the mountainside and the rocks in the valley bottom, stirring up a clamor far louder than before, thunderous and overwhelming, a full three parts more chaotic than any daytime tumult. Yet, inside the cave, she still nestled in their bedroll. One hand clutched a corner of the grey cloak, secretly wrapping it tight around herself. She slept soundly, deeply, not bothering to shift position.

Yun Shen glanced only once, smiled as if reassured, and shifted slightly deeper into the cave while continuing to gaze into the distance.

The people at the Valley of Villains lacked Chen Shu’s good fortune.

Mortals, fallen to such cliffs, lack not wild game abundant in the mountains. What they truly lacked were the raindrops now racing like beads before the cave entrance.

Chen Shu, plunging headlong, was granted assistance: the wind lifted her just as she approached the ground and might have crashed; the trees aided her, hooking her clothing securely, sparing her what might have been merely a negligible scrape.

Then, the torrential downpour began to fall.

So abruptly, so profusely. Were it not for the lingering battles nearby and Chen Shu’s ostensible inability to locate her “sword,” she might have lingered in this valley for two or three months, even up to half a year. She could have founded a small Sword Sect anew, immersing herself in sword practice and recuperation.

More rainwater pooled at the cave entrance, its dampness pressing close. At this moment alone with her, Yun Shen retreated deeper into the cave, his expression detached as he settled himself beside Chen Shu.

Further back, both space and the echoing patter outside grew muffled, unlikely to disturb her slumber. Yet the “bed” beneath her was merely haphazardly padded grass, far less comfortable than the most inferior communal bunks found in the cheapest wayside inns.

Only someone like Chen Shu, accustomed to sleeping beneath open skies, would find such rest so readily, so peacefully, right at his side.

Observing her curled tightly in the grey robe, appearing both pitiable and obedient, Yun Shen watched her for a time. Then, turning away, he carefully removed his own outer garments. In the encompassing darkness, he bent near her, gently extracting the hem of his robe she clutched and meticulously replacing it.

Chen Shu slept deeply; her hold was light. A slight adjustment and her fingers released the cloth, utterly pliant – a stark contrast to her usual resolute demeanor.

Just as Yun Shen relaxed, a faint trace of a smile touching his lips as he turned to drape his outer robe over her, a surprising resistance halted him. He realized this sudden docility had a reason.

—Chen Shu’s hand no longer held his robe, true. Instead, her fingers now gripped his forearm where it braced beside her body. They clamped down tightly, steel-like and immovable with the most minimal exertion.

His attempted movement only tugged futilely, provoking two discontented grunts from her. She curled even closer around his captured arm. Had he not tensed every muscle bracing himself, he would certainly have collapsed atop her, tumbling them together into an awkward tangle.

Their positions, as it stood, barely differed from such an embrace. The scant sliver of space Yun Shen preserved through sheer effort was paper-thin.

The warmth of her breath, expelled in soft murmurs, lingered around his nose. It felt like a Puddle condensing at the valley’s depths, seeping slowly into his very core, clinging persistently.

He couldn’t distinguish any scent, of course.

Because that unnerving agitation, the one he could scarcely suppress, surged through him once more. Like a sword struck, vibrating with a clear, resonant hum—once, then again. It honed his awareness to a razor’s edge, yet simultaneously fixed his entire consciousness upon the sleeping face mere inches away. It came as naturally as the return of some deep-seated ailment, yet his mind, sharp as a polished mirror, knew this wasn’t a primal instinct. It was the work of Chen Shu: she had plunged him into the forge, remolded him, painstakingly carved this very trace—a vivid scar branded into his marrow—onto his mind and soul.

Chen Shu cherished him, so she had caressed every inch of him. Her slightly calloused fingertips traced what she envisioned to be the perfect sword, her ideal weapon, working the metal ceaselessly. It mattered not that she was a novice blacksmith, oblivious to the hidden history written in the star-metal she held. By sheer force of will—through hammer blow upon hammer blow, friction upon friction—she had remade him anew.

And that awakening drop of blood? It violently fused into his organs, scouring every vestige of his former life from his veins.

The rust shed. The suffocating mud of submerged memories released its hold. Yet the Blood Pact, searing through his body like intangible chains, bound him as securely as ever.

But more remained.

Every night at Tianyu Mountain, be it the echoing silence of summer cicadas or the quiet drumming of rain like tonight, ever since Chen Shu forged this sword, she never parted from him. To meals, to rest. When Senior brother and Senior sister jested that she was practically married to her sword, she countered with utmost seriousness: the very day she began learning swordplay, she had pledged herself to it.

Thus, every evening, he experienced this: enveloped by Chen Shu as she slept. Her spiritual energy, like a warm cocoon, enveloped and nourished him unconsciously, untiringly, saturating him further with her essence. Finally, one night, he awoke gasping from a nightmare steeped in his past frantic plans conceived within days, he fled the Celestial Peak.

He hadn’t attained human form then. He couldn’t grasp the full weight of that decision, nor had he known the visceral sensation of proximity to Chen Shu—that sense of sensory deprivation where even a breath drew too close to her warmth.

A mere raindrop facing a wildfire capable of incinerating an entire mountain range would vainly strive not to fall. Yet the next instant, he had willingly descended into the conflagration, now unbearably near to the warmth, the very flesh and blood that was Chen Shu.

For were the marks she’d etched upon him not already within Yun Shen himself?

In the cave’s profound darkness, he could still discern her profile with impossible clarity: the fine down on her skin, the flush warming her cheek. Her robe collar obscured her neck and the stray strands that slipped beneath, shifting subtly with each breath, fanning out before sliding onto the grey cloth where Yun Shen’s fingers rested.

The rhythmic sound grew stronger, more resonant, swelling until it felt deafening. When a single bead of hot sweat finally broke free, splashing onto Chen Shu’s neck and trickling deeper into shadow, Yun Shen finally understood. That insistent drumming wasn’t her breath at all.

It was the echo of his own heart.

He truly was nothing more nor less than a sword. Hers, utterly and completely.

The Blood Pact may well have shackled his consciousness, yet this intense corporeality, those ferocious feelings, this starkly human heartbeat pulsing, expanding—this was what truly wove the fabric of a night as serene as the Celestial Peak beneath such rain.

It seemed as if he could perceive every minute droplet that soaked the vast sky outside, saturating the very essence of the night. An endless instant stretched. Yun Shen could no longer sustain the strain. He gave up. Withdrawing his bracing arm, he eased down slightly—awkwardly—beside Chen Shu. His abandoned forearm lay pinioned beneath her now slack embrace.

His discarded white robe hung draped over her shoulder yet bunched beneath him. Trapped between them, it ensnared them both.

An inch nearer—the span of a single hair’s breadth—and his lips might brush her tousled hair. Beyond that, her warm eyelid. Her slightly parted lips. The vulnerable curve of her neck revealed by her robe, faintly rising and falling… seeming to invite something sharper yet infinitely more supple to press against it, to taste, to claim.

Yun Shen involuntarily pressed even closer.

He was supposed to keep watch outside, not linger here, slowly realizing the unusual damp scent in Chen Shu’s hair carried the fragrance of soapnuts.

Unaware, Chen Shu turned over, drifting toward him. The ink-black hair that had been scattered over her robe moments ago now brushed his cheek—a tender, moist sensation gently stripping away the last layer of rust encasing him—

Being cast into the furnace to be reforged had failed to temper away his spirit and cultivation. Being stained with mortal blood couldn’t hide his nature of unyielding metal. Yet here, within the narrow valley, amid the pouring rain, this reckless leap finally subdued Yun Shen. Casting aside all past grievances, he willingly submerged himself in chains forged of her sincerity.

On Tianyu Mountain, Chen Shu had often held him. Now, even asleep, she didn’t seem to find him cold. With childlike dependence, she used her free hand to embrace his back.

Through the fabric, Yun Shen felt her fingers unconsciously tighten. They drew closer, closer still. Chen Shu’s warmth invaded his skin like wildfire, gradually consuming his senses.

It was just a kiss. At her ear, her neck. She wouldn’t notice.

His nose traced the potent scent at her neck, grazing her earlobe before halting.

It was nothing. Yet he and the blood within him screamed, trembled. A single touch, granted as he desired, seemed enough to release this long-suppressed, pent-up torment—

And he would become one with Chen Shu, like water and milk.

Just this image—himself transformed into a sword, wielded and commanded in her hand—made his gasping uncontrollable. More suffocating than any pool in Tianyu Mountain, the arm pinned beneath her shook violently.

As he breathed, his cheek brushed the skin near her ear, then slid slowly, caressingly downward. Perhaps slickened by the damp mist, he’d never known Chen Shu’s skin could feel so smooth and slippery. That mesmerizing sensation drew him down, inch by treacherous inch…

It felt like an eternity, or perhaps just the blink of an eye, until his lips—chilled by the rainy night—finally touched her neck.

Instantly, a fire ignited within Yun Shen, searing him from within.

Of course, remnants of Chen Shu’s magic resided inside him. Like dry tinder awaiting a spark, it blazed fiercely the moment he touched her. But this scorching heat, intense enough to awaken reason and sear the damp chill from his bones—

Yun Shen abruptly wrenched free from the strings of this “blood-puppet.” He reached up, pressed his palm flat against Chen Shu’s forehead, and held his breath.

Indeed. Her skin, filmed with a light sweat, wasn’t cold like her neck. It was burning hot.

After exhausting herself for three, five full days, stripped suddenly of her magic, Chen Shu wasn’t merely tired.

She was collapsing.

Cradled within the curtain of fine, relentless rain draping the Nameless Cliff, ensnared in unwilling dreams, she burned with fever.