Chapter 122: Han Xiaoyue, I Owe You

In the bone-chilling, icy water, there was only darkness—an endless void, as if submerged into the abyssal depths of eternity, devoid of light or any tangible presence.

Su Fan struggled for a long while before he could barely open his eyes. When he finally saw the jade pendant faintly glowing again beneath the water, a wave of joy welled up in his heart.

The moment he touched it, Su Fan distinctly sensed the peculiar nature of this water. It contained spiritual energy, much like the peach blossom wine, but far more potent—many times over.

At the very least, Su Fan could feel a faint stir from the jade pendant. Life or death, he pinned all his hopes on it. As long as the pendant could function again, there would be a chance to restore his cultivation.

His intuition proved correct. The jade pendant resumed its miraculous effect, its dim light enveloping Su Fan in a veil of dark gray mist.

Without this veil, Su Fan would have long since been frozen beyond recognition. Yet, even with the pendant’s protection, his teeth chattered uncontrollably.

This place was colder than the icy lake on the Great Snow Mountain. Back then, at least he still had some cultivation—Golden Core stage strength combined with the pendant’s shield allowed him to endure for a while in that saintly spring.

Driven by the cold, Su Fan forced himself to swim upwards. The temperature above was comparatively more bearable. But after a short ascent, he realized he was utterly helpless.

Though the temperature was higher above, the spiritual energy there was nearly gone, to the point where even the pendant’s glow began to fade. Reluctantly, Su Fan sank down once more.

This time he chose to sink ten feet, a depth just right to allow a faint trickle of spiritual energy to enter his body, mending his meridians and warding off the unknown chill.

With eyes gently closed, Su Fan sat cross-legged in the water, floating effortlessly without exertion. This tranquility only deepened his fondness for this place.

As he meditated, unbeknownst to him, the once peaceful Peach Blossom Creek was enduring an unfathomable calamity—perhaps a divine catastrophe.

Disasters might be resisted, but such divine calamities were decreed by heaven itself, leaving no room for defiance—only death.

Upon hearing a cry, the village chief hurried out from the peach forest. Outside stood a figure clad in black and silver. The voice belonged to this person.

The chief halted abruptly, his voice sharp and commanding: “Who are you, and why have you trespassed into Peach Blossom Creek?”

The stranger sneered coldly, replying, “To kill.”

The chief was stunned, not expecting such a blunt answer. Yet he showed no fear, as if he had long anticipated this day.

In the darkness, the figure revealed a bloodthirsty smile. With a flick of his finger, a fleeting fireball shot toward the chief. The chief closed his eyes, awaiting the calm before death.

Suddenly, he bellowed, “You will all eventually suffer the Saintess’s wrath and be slaughtered...”

The fireball struck the chief’s body, an explosion shattering the stillness of Peach Blossom Creek.

The stranger snorted coldly, “Saintess? The one who commands this massacre is beyond her reverence.”

With that, the figure vanished into the peach forest in the blink of an eye, stirring a shower of peach blossoms that scattered over the chief’s fallen form, as if mourning.

Soon after, thunderous roars echoed throughout the creek, accompanied by wails and the inferno that engulfed the land, turning the night sky over Peach Blossom Creek a fierce crimson.

The night sky seemed to rewind to an earlier dusk, like a blood-stained sunset dripping onto the peach blossoms below.

Time passed, though how long none could say. The cries persisted as heads tumbled beneath the peach trees—infants and elders alike.

Tonight, the soil of Peach Blossom Creek turned red; tonight, the waters ran with blood; tonight, some wept.

Deep within the peach forest beside the sacred spring, a woman appeared silently, concealed among the trees, watching familiar faces perish one by one.

Suddenly, she laughed—a soundless, bitter laugh. Whispering to herself, “Very well, very well...”

She wiped tears from her eyes, still smiling, though her pupils burned with an uncontrollable fury—the kind of wrath that thirsted for blood.

Though she had never killed before, knowing not even what killing meant, today she understood, having witnessed the slaughter of those closest to her.

Then, fear flickered in her eyes. Three dark shadows swiftly approached, brandishing curved blades still stained with fresh blood.

Her stubborn little face showed a moment of resolve, but quickly faltered into helplessness. She was but a child—how could she stand against such formidable cultivators?

She plucked a peach blossom and casually tossed it. Instantly, the peach trees began to rotate, seemingly forming a formation capable of repelling the three attackers.

In that brief moment of defense, the woman threw three more blossoms, which flew forth, trapping the three men within the trees, preventing them from using their powers.

Startled by the blossoms, the three men were baffled that a mere ordinary child could wield such strength.

The blossoms swept across their necks with unerring precision. Blood splattered, staining the peach trees’ pink canopy.

The woman broke down, finally unable to restrain her sobs. She cried out, “Saintess, Peach Blossom Creek has suffered such calamity—why do you not appear? Are you blaming me?”

“If you do blame me, why did you give me those peach blossoms? If you hold a grudge, why not take my life and vent your wrath? Why sacrifice an entire village to show me your power?”

“Now that all are dead, and I’ve lost everything I cared for, I shall join them in death.”

In the depths of the silent peach forest, no one answered her, as if she spoke only to herself—mourning and wiping her tears.

“Do you not wish to avenge them?” at last, a gentle, kind voice spoke.

The woman stared blankly into the void, sneering coldly, “Avenging? With my strength? Forget it. If I die, no one will know this story, and there will be no hatred.”

“You cannot die.”

“Why not?”

“If you die, more will die.”

“Who?”

No reply came, but she understood. Bitterly smiling, she whispered, “Saintess, what debt does Peach Blossom Creek owe you?”

Again, silence. The woman laughed softly, then ran to the sacred spring and leapt in, causing not even a ripple.

After a long while, the gentle voice sighed, “Han Xiaoyue, Han Xiaoyue... I owe you all. This is a trap. If you must suffer, so must I. In the end, we all must die for that person.”

Su Fan remained seated, cross-legged beneath the water. Now he could dive ten fathoms deep, the jade pendant glowing ever brighter as his meridians healed more rapidly.

He believed that if he could remain like this for half a month, his entire meridian system would be restored, and perhaps his cultivation might even recover.

With such thoughts, joy swelled in his heart. Suddenly, he sensed a shadow fall past him. Hastily reaching out, he grasped at nothing and dismissed it as a trick of his imagination after too long in meditation.

Rising, Su Fan stretched and took out the wine gourd at his waist. Earlier, in Han Xiaoyue’s small wooden hut, he had asked her to fill it with plenty of wine. She had complained it wouldn’t hold enough, which had secretly amused him.

Thinking of Han Xiaoyue, a sharp pang hit him, as if some ill fate loomed. Then he smiled softly, murmuring, “In such a secluded paradise, how could there be danger?”

Unbidden, the image of that childlike little girl surfaced in his mind. Smiling lightly, he resumed his cross-legged posture, sinking a few fathoms deeper to await the restoration of his meridians.