Chapter 70: Heart Demon

Heart Demon

The graceful figure reflected beneath her feet was like willow fluff in the wind—charming, elegant, her flowing skirt rising and falling with her movements, stirring a beauty that bewilders heart and mind.

Fu Guang sat cross-legged on the water, as she always did when cultivating—solemn yet relaxed, spine straight, palms, soles, and heart facing upward.

She merely lowered her eyelids, eyes not closed, as if gazing yet not gazing at the "Fu Guang" in the reflection.

As if sensing Fu Guang's gaze, that water‑like illusory figure seemed to solidify a bit; she flicked her sleeve, kicked her leg, bent her waist.

Each movement, she turned her head to look at Fu Guang once, as if drawing strength from her gaze, yet each time she gained nothing.

Fu Guang's gaze was vague and empty, as if she were looking at her, yet also as if lost in thought.

The reflection grew somewhat annoyed, its movements becoming more violent, with continual "gudong gudong" splashing sounds and the rustle of sleeves tearing through the air.

Her long sleeves overlapped and separated, the soft fabric rubbing together, producing a delicate sound.

It made Fu Guang's mind waver for an instant.

The dancing figure never ceased; she tapped her toes to the ground like the most agile swallow, before the water could react she had already spun away, her sleeves tracing red circles in the air, her robes fluttering.

Suddenly she stopped, stood upright, one hand behind her back, and turned her head to stare directly at Fu Guang.

Her golden hair lost its bright luster, turning deep and dim; her black eyes fixed on the seated Fu Guang on the ground.

Fu Guang gazed at those black eyes. Once they changed color, they became like an abyss that devours people—profound and perilous.

So, is this how she appears in others' eyes?

That person stood not far from Fu Guang, wearing the sect disciple robes Fu Guang knew best.

The robe was mainly black, with red‑stitched auspicious patterns on the cuffs and collar, black bound sleeves inside, and outer long sleeves of bright red, softening her aloof demeanor so it was not so harsh.

She furrowed her brows, glanced down at her own attire, then at Fu Guang's clothes, and in a light voice, as if gritting her teeth, unwillingly said to Fu Guang, "Not bad, you."

Suddenly, that unapproachable face broke into a faint smile, dimples appearing, her brows slightly lifted, corners of her mouth turning up, and she instantly came alive.

"Long time no see, Fu Guang." she said.

The water beneath was cool, seeping through her thin clothes onto her skin, and Fu Guang also smiled a little.

She shook her head and walked toward Fu Guang, sighing, "Why be so cautious? You know full well I can no longer replace you."

Fu Guang heard this, yet showed no reaction.

The person who shared Fu Guang's face rolled up her sleeves, sat cross-legged beside Fu Guang in the same posture, gazing forward, as if trying to sense Fu Guang's current state of mind.

Soon after, she gave up, immediately shifting to a more comfortable sitting pose with legs stacked and one hand pressing on Fu Guang's shoulder.

She examined inch by inch; the upright, youthful girl's gaze swept over Fu Guang like a searchlight, then she disparagingly pursed her lips.

She felt a bit unwilling, patted Fu Guang's shoulder, as if thinking of something fun, and suddenly burst into gleeful laughter.

Her silver‑bell laughter rang on for a while, then she drew a long sigh and said regretfully, "If it were you now, I'd be ten percent sure to beat you—too bad..."

Her icy hand touched Fu Guang's cheek, but Fu Guang remained utterly still, never responding or moving.

This apparition was drawn forth by Yummengze, a kind of heart demon; Fu Guang had once penetrated heart demons, so to her it was an old acquaintance, not a big deal.

If she hears nothing, sees nothing, and her heart does not stir, this trial will pass easily.

She follows like a shadow, impossible to eradicate; a single thought summons her, and whether she becomes a heart demon depends on one's fate.

Perhaps she will, perhaps she won't—it all hinges on each of one's own choices.

"Boring." the Fu Guang in red‑black robes said after a moment.

This time she overlapped her hands, placed them on Fu Guang's shoulders, rested her head on the overlapped hands, and used Fu Guang as a support.

She closed her eyes; her cicada‑wing lashes cast a tiny shadow beneath, as if she had fallen asleep.

Fu Guang raised her gaze to the sky; the clear blue heavens mirrored her silhouette, while nearby the silver‑haired Sentinel projected two shadows.

One had golden wings, the other black wings, and they fought without cease.

Both wielded long swords, each strike aimed at the other's vital points; golden and black feathers intertwined, light feathers drifting down like a black rain.

She turned her head; not far off, the silver‑haired Sentinel still gripped his long sword, standing solemn, yet cast no shadow at his feet.

She took a golden feather pen from her tail ring, right hand pinching the tip, left hand stroking from base to tip along the feather.

"Will you help him?" a lazy voice from beside said, eyebrows lazily raised as she watched the Sentinel locked in fierce combat with herself.

"Why can't you give me a little pity?" she said with a mocking laugh, even though there was not the slightest chance, she still tried to disturb Fu Guang's peace of mind.

"Cease, still thoughts." a cold voice suddenly sounded, causing Xiguang's sword‑hand to halt, her six wings flapping, the blade sweeping sideways to block the thrust aimed at her chest.

The black‑winged man with the same face, expressionless, swept downward, then thrust his sword repeatedly, giving him no room to breathe or think.

That voice uttered only those four words and then fell silent, like an auditory hallucination.

Clang clang clang.

Sparks flew from the blades, sword light surging; the two faced off, and in an instant they had exchanged dozens of blows.

Both figures shifted position simultaneously, keeping a short distance, waiting for the next chance to strike.

Xiguang gripped her sword hilt tightly; the opposite fighter knew his attack patterns intimately, striking at the nodes of his offense.

Moreover, they shared the same face and the same spiritual form.

He held a black feather in one hand; overall it was slender and tightly arranged, feeling smooth like a thin sheet of metal, its edges flashing with a sharp gleam.

He raised his hand; the light feather shot forth like an arrow, cleaving the air with a sharp, brief "whoosh".

The opposite combatant merely lifted his sword slightly and easily deflected the feather; the bright blade revealed Xiguang's strained expression.

No two leaves in the world are identical, so naturally no two spiritual forms are alike; yet the opposite's wings, aside from color, matched in size, shape, length, density, texture, and so on.

How could that be?

"Cease, still thoughts"? What should I tell him? Should I ask him to stop fighting?

"Do you think he will or won't cease? To stake his life on such illusory words?" the Fu Guang with red‑black sleeves crossed, chin propped, asked the cold‑hearted golden‑haired girl with composure.

"If I say just one sentence, can he believe you?"