94 - Crazy! Criticizing the Prime Minister for Being a Servant

Chapter 94: Releasing the Lanterns Ning Song Wu lay on the grass, eyes narrowing as the wind blew past. She had to admit, Lin Yu Xue's brewing skills were impressive, the aroma of the wine swirling around her nose with every gust. "Ah, well, I'm the only one on this peak, so getting drunk isn't an issue." Humming a tune, Ning Song Wu carried the wine towards her small courtyard. The courtyard had two rooms; the right one was hers, and the left belonged to Ran Fan Yin. Ran Fan Yin had been in seclusion for several days. She never developed the habit of closing her door, living alone for so long without much worry about her belongings. Passing by her door, Ning Song Wu noticed a portrait on the wall across from it—a man, who Lin Yu Xue had mentioned was Ran Fan Yin’s master, deceased for four hundred years now. The man's expression was gentle, with a faint smile that evoked instant fondness. It was puzzling how such a warm person could have taught a disciple as cold as Ran Fan Yin. After a quick glance, Ning Song Wu dismissed it and eagerly returned to her room, hastening to unseal the wine jar. The room was instantly filled with the rich scent of alcohol, making her feel slightly tipsy just breathing it in. Feeling her face flush, Ning Song Wu began to suspect Lin Yu Xue's claim was a lie—it seemed more like strong spirits than anything else. But with Ran Fan Yin not around, there was no worry about embarrassing herself. Ning Song Wu filled a small cup to the brim and downed it in one go. To her surprise, the wine was sweet with a rich fruity aroma, cool upon swallowing, quickly dispelling her fatigue and making her feel light. “Tastes like peach. Who would’ve guessed Senior Sister Lin had such skills,” she mused, smacking her lips. Unable to resist, she had a few more cups and found it hard to stop until half the wine was gone. Despite how much she drank, she felt oddly empty inside, unsure where all that alcohol went. Carefully resealing the jar, Ning Song Wu temporarily forgave Lin Yu Xue, that love-struck fool. It was now evening. Through the window, Ning Song Wu watched the orange-yellow sun, appearing within reach. She stretched lazily and lay down on her bed with her hands behind her head. For some reason, she felt increasingly hot. Touching her face, she was startled by how much warmer it felt, as sweat began to pour down, her consciousness blurring. The last thought she had before drifting off was cursing Lin Yu Xue for deceiving her with the wine's potency. A web of crimson flared in Ning Song Wu’s eyes, turning her black pupils a sinister red. A short while later, she abruptly sat up, taking in her surroundings with a slight laugh. “Seems we’re fated to meet.” A familiar, detestable aura emanated from the room next door. Ning Song Wu's eyes glowed scarlet, hiding the flames of hatred behind. To be precise, it was no longer Ning Song Wu but the Yao Huang seated there. “Didn’t expect my reincarnation to be such a waste,” she sneered, feeling the spiritual energy within the body. Yao Huang nearly wished to end herself and try reincarnating once more—seeking revenge seemed a distant dream, given how vulnerable she currently was. However, reincarnating was difficult, and regaining past life memories even more so—a risk Yao Huang dared not take. Remembering the past when mountains crumbled at her will and monsters bowed in allegiance, her emotions were conflicted. Yet, being awake in this body was a first step. Yao Huang walked to the window, where the rest of the wine Ning Song Wu had consumed sat. Yao Huang unsealed it, drained the remaining spirits, and wiped her lips with her sleeve. “This spiritual wine is lacking,” she concluded. She had awakened before but never with consciousness, only driven by the primal urge to hunt humans. This time, the wine had given her clarity. Practicing human cultivation methods, Yao Huang used the spiritual energy in the wine to rebuild her foundation. With the base established, she unearthed a dusty tome from beneath Ning Song Wu’s bed. The manual’s cover bore a thick layer of dust which she brushed off, revealing the words "Basic Heart Sutra." Skimming the pages, Yao Huang chuckled. This heart sutra was deadly to demons, implying Ran Fan Yin had her suspicions all along. Clearly, however, she had approached it wrong. In this life, Ning Song Wu was human, rendering the sutra harmless. With a touch of derision, Yao Huang commented, “How foolish.” Her thoughts turned to Ran Fan Yin, currently in seclusion. A calculating grin spread across Yao Huang's face. “Let’s see how far my dear master has progressed.” Leaving her room, Yao Huang paused by Ran Fan Yin’s, taking a moment before the portrait. “Old friend, long time no see,” she greeted. Although the painting remained indifferent, Yao Huang continued speaking to herself, “This time, the victory is mine.” Reluctant to loiter in Ran Fan Yin's space, she turned towards the mountain's rear slope, where Ran Fan Yin secluded herself. Ran Fan Yin remained unaware of the recent events. Her so-called seclusion was an excuse—five hundred years ago, a battle with Yao Huang left her victorious yet deeply scarred. Annually, the wound haunted her with unbearable pain, her most vulnerable weakness. Fortunately, within the mountainous depths lay a chilling spring left by her master, offering some reprieve. Ran Fan Yin's perpetually low body temperature was a gift of the spring. Soaking within the frigid waters, her lips pale and furrowed in pain, Ran Fan Yin emitted occasional low groans. Having endured such agony repeatedly, she developed a degree of resilience, no longer writhing through the early years, where she bit her lips until they bled. She strove to stay conscious, needing her spiritual power to uphold the barrier around the spring. Though it was fortified by formations, she remained vigilant. Yet inexplicably, her healing wounds began intensifying in pain again, as if her soul were aflame. Unable to bear it, she coughed up blood. The crimson merged with the azure waters, creating an eerie sight. Voices flooded her mind, threatening to seize her will. “You betrayed us!” “How are you different from a demon?! Why take such extreme measures!” “Ah!! The pain! I curse you!” “Spare me! I'll give you anything!” Ran Fan Yin clutched her ears, breaking down into a desolate cry: “Stop it! Don’t speak in my head!” Her eyes dimmed, tears trickling down into the spring, lending her visage a fragile look. She continued repeating, “Stop it, it wasn’t me.” Ran Fan Yin's emotions spiraled out of control, her spiritual energy shaking the ice-blue cave walls, forming tiny cracks. Simultaneously, ominous black energy seeped from her body. Clad in nothing but undergarments, her outerwear and the Yin flute lay beside the spring, the flute emitting a faint glow. Gradually, the dark energy receded, no longer emitted from her. Outside the cave, footsteps approached, growing louder. Ning Song Wu’s cautious voice called out, “Master? Are you there?” Startled, Ran Fan Yin sensed Ning Song Wu nearing the formation—a lethal trap. Within, a mortal like Ning Song Wu stood no chance. Such an intrusion infuriated her, though urgency precluded reprimand. Fighting her internal demons and regaining composure, Ran Fan Yin left the spring, making haste to reach Ning Song Wu. As Ning Song Wu wandered the cave, she found herself baffled as to how she ended up there, contemplating a retreat yet unable to locate the way out. She attempted calling for Ran Fan Yin, given this was meant to be her secluded space. Heaving a sigh, Ning Song Wu felt disaster loom; intruding upon such sanctity surely invited punishment from Ran Fan Yin. Yet oddly enough, the cave, despite its darkness, allowed her to discern faint forms—post-sleep, her vision seemed enhanced. “Master, are you there?” Tracing the wall, she ventured deeper, but only her voice echoed back. Mumbling to herself, she noted, “Strange, I could have sworn I heard Master earlier, though it was faint.” Advancing still, the stone walls turned increasingly blue and cold. She shivered but kept moving, sensing Ran Fan Yin was close by. “Stop! Don’t move!” At Ran Fan Yin’s cry, Ning Song Wu felt a surge of relief, thinking her ordeal was near its end. Glancing up, she found the cave suddenly bright as day, with golden runes weaving through the walls. Looking down, she realized she stood amidst them. A sense of danger thrilled her senses; Ning Song Wu knew trouble loomed. True to instinct, light swords formed above the stone, descending towards her in unison. Faced with imminent peril, Ning Song Wu closed her eyes, bracing for the pain to come. Unexpectedly, the anticipated pain never came. Ning Song Wu found herself enveloped in a cold embrace, accompanied by a familiar icy fragrance and a low groan from her rescuer. Opening her eyes, she saw a blood-soaked Ran Fan Yin, the person she disliked most, trembling slightly from the pain, the metallic scent of blood overwhelming Ning Song Wu's senses. Why would Ran Fan Yin risk her life to save her? Ning Song Wu couldn't fathom it, and she began to tremble as well, "Master, why?" The formation, recognizing the familiar presence, gradually abated, returning the cave to darkness. Though her sight was obscured, Ning Song Wu's sense of touch and smell were heightened. Her palm felt the slickness of blood—Ran Fan Yin's blood. Hearing Ning Song Wu’s shivering voice, Ran Fan Yin no longer felt anger. Relief washed over her for arriving in time to save Ning Song Wu. With difficulty, she lifted her hand to rest on Ning Song Wu’s head, her voice weaker than ever, "Because you are my disciple." With those words, she fainted.