Chief Qin Rides the White Tiger, Departing Westward

The night was deep.

There was no moon tonight, only stars.

At Dan Peak, beneath the ancient spirit locust tree, the dining table was strewn with dishes and cups, covered in white locust petals. No one sat there eating or drinking.

A cold night breeze swept through, lifting petals from the ground, the table, and the branches. Under the dim starlight, white petals danced in the air beneath the tree.

A faint flute melody began to play.

Li Shiyin tied up her hair, pushed open the door to the main hall, and stepped out while fastening her apron. She walked to the table, deftly gathered the leftover food, stacked the bowls that could be stacked, picked up the scattered wine cups, flasks, and chopsticks from the floor, tidied them slightly, then carried two stacks of bowls back inside.

After three or four trips, she had cleared all the dishes from the table. She then fetched a cloth and meticulously wiped the table clean.

Returning to the kitchen, she switched to a dishwashing cloth and scrubbed the bowls three times, cleaning each one thoroughly before storing them neatly in the cupboard.

Once the bowls were done, she cleaned the pots, the stove, and swept the kitchen floor—just as she always did after meals.

The flute continued to play.

She untied her apron and hung it on the hook by the kitchen door, then picked up a comb, hair ties, hairpins, and a mirror before stepping out of the small wooden house and returning to the table.

She placed the mirror steadily on the table, angled toward herself, pulled up a chair, and sat down. Undoing her hair tie, her long, cascading locks tumbled freely. She gathered them in front of her, picked up the comb, and began quietly brushing her hair in the mirror.

As if it were just another ordinary evening.

The flute played on, and the locust petals kept falling.

Following the sound of the flute, on the roof of the small wooden house, Qin Ran reclined against the ridge, eyes half-lidded with drunkenness as he played a jade flute.

The clear, melodious notes drifted out, echoing over the Dao Sword Sect.

The night wind blew, tousling his hair and robes, strands dancing in the air. The breeze carried the flute’s song toward Sword Washing Lake.

At the junction of Sword Washing Lake and Dan Peak’s small river stood a tall, rough-hewn cat tree where Chasing the Wind lay sleeping. It was his favorite spot.

He, too, had drunk much wine. He, too, was a little drunk.

The usually proud and fierce face of Dan Peak’s great king was now etched with sorrow; his tail, which normally stood high and arrogant, drooped listlessly over the cat tree.

The wind carried peach blossoms from the opposite shore, petals floating over the lake, bearing the flute’s melody with them.

In the very center of Sword Washing Lake, Li An lay on a boat woven from sword energy, gazing at the sky.

A youth knows no sorrow, a youth understands no parting—he had only stolen some wine and now felt dizzy.

The gentle night breeze stirred ripples on the lake, rocking the sword-energy boat, making his head spin.

Stars above, stars below—most of the time, he couldn’t tell whether he was drifting in the sky or floating on the lake.

Beneath the ancient spirit locust tree, Li Shiyin finished combing her hair, coiled it into an elegant style, tied it with a ribbon, adorned it with ornaments, and secured it with hairpins.

She examined herself in the mirror, made slight adjustments until satisfied, then gathered her tools and returned them to her room.

She ascended the wooden stairs behind the main hall to the second floor of the small house, passed through the exercise room, and entered their bedroom. There, she changed her clothes and packed what they would take with them—her master’s things and her own—into a Qiankun pouch.

Stepping out of the bedroom, she locked the door, stood in the hallway, and called up toward the roof:

"Master…

"Let’s go."

The flute paused briefly, then resumed. Before long, Li Shiyin sensed movement beyond the formation. Looking over, she saw one of her master’s figures flying back from outside.

This figure soared directly to the roof and merged into the one playing the flute.

Then more movement—three more clones returned…

Three, eight, over a dozen…

Once, Gu Yueming had asked Qin Ran just how many clones he had. Tonight, the disciples of Dao Sword Sect witnessed the sky above them filled with the figures of Dan Peak’s master.

When the last clone merged into Qin Ran’s body, he stood, still playing the flute.

On the cat tree, Chasing the Wind awoke, rose, and leaped forward, adjusting his size before lowering himself before Qin Ran.

Qin Ran stepped forward and mounted him sideways.

Chasing the Wind turned, a gust lifting them into the air.

Li Shiyin bent her knees and jumped up behind Qin Ran, wrapping her arms around him and resting her face against his back.

Chasing the Wind trod upon the wind, carrying them beyond Dao Sword Sect.

As they left Dan Peak, his tail flicked out, scooping up Li An from the lake’s surface and taking him along.

That night, all in Dao Sword Sect saw it—Dan Peak’s master, playing a jade flute, riding a white tiger, heading westward.

Amid the falling petals, Long Qiqi stepped out of her room, watching Chasing the Wind disappear into the darkness, tears streaming down her face.

She raised her hand, revealing a pill wreathed in spiritual mist—the Heaven-Mending Pill.

"Stay safe… stay safe…" she murmured. "You must live."

Someone had wanted to plant an entire mountain with peach blossoms—only half had been done. Now, as the petals fell, they filled Dan Peak.

One petal, caught in the night wind, spiraled to the back mountain and landed on the windowsill of a cave residence.

A flawless, jade-like hand reached out from within, picking up the petal. The pink blossom rested in the pale palm.

Tushan Youyou leaned on the windowsill, staring blankly into the darkness where Qin Ran had gone.

She gazed, desperate, unwilling to look away.

At least in that direction, his aura still lingered. Soon, she would never see him again—never even sense his presence.

How could a man be so cruel? She couldn’t understand.

She possessed peerless beauty, a perfect figure, irresistible charm—yet he remained unmoved.

She had restrained her heart, quietly studying formations on Dan Peak, planting peach blossoms for him—yet he didn’t care.

She knew his heart belonged to Li Shiyin, had even hinted she could share—yet he gave no response.

She had offered just one night of passion—yet he had left in disdain.

A mere man. With her gifts, she had humbled herself to nothing—and gained nothing in return.

Was it worth it?

No.

Did it mean anything?

No.

And yet… even after he left, she still wanted to plant the rest of the mountain with peach blossoms.

So that if he ever returned, he would see them.

She stared into the dark, listening to the flute’s fading song, feeling as if the night had swallowed a piece of her heart.

The world was vast. From now on, they would be parted—never to meet again. What kind of torture was this?

At the summit of Sword Peak, Tian Wenjin stood, gazing into the darkness where Li Shiyin had gone.

Before her yawned an abyss, icy winds howling up from below like knives, each cut carving into her heart. She remembered how they had once watched the sunrise here together. Back then, the sky had blazed with color, so radiant she had mistaken it for their future.

That day, she had invited her: "Come with me to Dan Peak!"

And she had answered: "Yes."

"Hahahaha…!" The sword on her back suddenly burst into mad laughter. "Li Shiyin! Li Shiyin! You actually fell for Li Shiyin! What a joke! Hahaha…

"No wonder you could forget me… So you like women!"

Does forgetting someone require a reason?

Yes.

A hundred, a thousand, ten thousand—if her heart hadn’t been truly shattered, how could she have forgotten him?

But does loving someone need a reason?

Tian Wenjin ignored him.

In truth, Huang Feiyu was trapped within the sword, serving a sentence without end… a life imprisonment!

At the assembly square of the main peak, Gu Yueming, the sect master of the Dao Sword Sect, stood at the edge, watching as Qin Ran truly left with Li Shiyin and Chasing the Wind. A heavy weight lifted from his chest.

Yet, after the relief came regret.

Chasing the Wind was nearing adulthood, destined to become a great demon at the Divine Transformation stage—perhaps even reaching the Dao Unity realm. If not taken away, it would have been a top-tier combat asset.

Li Shiyin’s sword talent was peerless, second only to Lu Junxing. Moreover, her ability to command cultivators in battle was unmatched, making her value no less than Lu Junxing’s.

But they had all been taken by Qin Ran.

Qin Ran, Li Shiyin, Chasing the Wind—losing any one of them would have been an immeasurable blow. Yet in a single night, he had lost all three.

Grimacing, Gu Yueming couldn’t help but ask himself: Was it worth it?

Thinking of Qin Ran, he answered: Yes.

Qin Ran was terrifying, a constant source of dread.

His cultivation talent was unremarkable—what made him fearsome were his endless schemes, stratagems, and contingencies. It was his mind.

Tian Wenjin possessed a supreme Thunder Spirit Root, Li Shiyin a supreme Metal Spirit Root, but Qin Ran? A supreme Brain Spirit Root.

Within the sect, a saying had spread far and wide: Sword Immortal Li’s marriage to Chief Qin was beneath her.

Or rather, given Sword Immortal Li’s talent, Chief Qin’s cultivation would inevitably fall behind, dooming them to tragedy. At best, he would die of old age in her arms; at worst, when the gap between them grew too vast, she would abandon him for a better match.

But Gu Yueming saw clearly: Li Shiyin marrying Qin Ran was her climbing beyond her station.

In fact, she must have exhausted several lifetimes’ worth of luck just to meet Qin Ran.

Qin Ran would never be weaker than Li Shiyin—no, he would far surpass her. Gu Yueming dared to stake his reputation on it.

To this day, Gu Yueming still didn’t know how many clones Qin Ran had. But he did know this: after tonight’s reunions, Qin Ran’s true body had already surpassed Li Shiyin in strength.

On paper, he was stronger than her—and who could say how many hidden trump cards he still held?

Simply consider this: if Li Shiyin and Qin Ran were enemies, who would be more terrifying? The answer was obvious.

"At least Qin Ran is gone now," Gu Yueming mused. "All things considered, it’s for the best."

Yet his relief was short-lived. Unconsciously, he sighed again.

Because Qin Ran had left… but not entirely.

Perhaps the future of the Land of Immortal Legacy still rested in his hands.