Chapter Sixty-One: Reminiscence of a Snowy Day atop the Snowy Mountain

The night was profoundly quiet, so silent that one could hear the sound of snowflakes pressing upon one another. Su Fan and his companion had stood motionless for a long while, and the pair of eerie green eyes a hundred paces away remained equally still.

With a thought, Su Fan silently summoned the Violet Moon Blade to hover before him, ready to strike at the owner of those green eyes at a mere flicker of his intent. A tense standoff had formed: should either side make a move, the other would unleash an immediate attack.

Su Fan dared not extend his spiritual sense. If that was indeed a snow wolf, then it would surely not be alone. Though Su Fan could handle a single snow wolf, or even ten at once with ease, they were deep within the Great Snowy Mountains, where packs of snow wolves roamed. If the pack was roused, they would come by the hundreds or thousands. Encountering the Snow Wolf King would mean certain death for the two of them. Ordinary snow wolves were equivalent in strength to foundation-stage cultivators, and those that had grown somewhat stronger could reach the late foundation stage. Some that had developed inner cores could attain the golden core stage. While lacking powerful techniques or the ability to wield magical weapons, their physical might was unmatched by most cultivators.

Even an ordinary snow wolf could battle a foundation-stage cultivator head-on, sometimes even gaining the upper hand. It was not uncommon for cultivators to be defeated and torn apart by these wolves. Yet with great risk came great reward—the inner cores of snow wolves were highly valuable, each one trading for a mid-grade spirit stone. Inner cores had many uses: they could be used in alchemy, weapon forging, or, if sourced from a higher-level snow wolf, the pelt could be fashioned into armor capable of withstanding attacks from golden core cultivators.

Su Fan was taut with tension, watching the snow wolf’s every move. Suddenly, Hong Ling cried out, and Su Fan’s expression changed at once. He sprang up, dragging Hong Ling back with him. He retreated for an unknown distance before realizing that Hong Ling was no longer at his side.

A jolt ran through Su Fan’s heart. He hurried back along the path, his spiritual sense sweeping desperately in all directions, no longer caring about the threat of the wolf pack. Soon, he halted—there was Hong Ling, plainly visible even without extending his senses.

Hong Ling was surrounded by five white snow wolves. Their ghostly green eyes shifted back and forth, as if signaling one another. The snow around them was scattered and trampled, a testament to the fierce fight that had already taken place between Hong Ling and the wolves.

After careful observation, Su Fan discerned that all five snow wolves were at the early golden core stage. Even with a surprise attack, he had no chance of victory; besides, the wolves had already noticed him. Su Fan nodded at Hong Ling, who gazed back at him with unwavering faith, as if certain Su Fan could save him.

Su Fan’s face turned grim. He calculated silently: even if he unleashed the Violet Moon Blade to its utmost, he could kill one instantly, and perhaps another before the pack reacted. But the remaining three would charge at him together; facing them all at once, he had no hope of resistance or escape, let alone rescuing anyone.

He began to edge backward, moving slowly. The wolves watched him with puzzled eyes, unsure of his intentions. The sword-practicing snow wolf vanished from view, and Su Fan, gripping the Violet Moon Blade tightly, crept forward again until the wolves reappeared before him. Again, those green eyes fixed on him. Once more, Su Fan retreated until they were out of sight.

This back-and-forth repeated countless times, testing the wolves’ patience. At last, one snow wolf slowly approached Hong Ling, eager for a taste of its prey. Suddenly, a violet shadow flashed—before it could react, the wolf’s head fell to the snow, blood spraying and staining the white ground crimson.

Despite the sudden attack, the remaining four wolves did not break formation. Su Fan, adhering to his plan, spun and struck again, his blade slicing into another wolf’s abdomen. It collapsed instantly. The three survivors went wild with fury, yet still maintained their formation, eyes fixed on Su Fan. Their green gaze had turned blood-red; unless they destroyed this intruder, they would not rest.

Those two lethal strikes had drained much of Su Fan’s spiritual power. Were it not for the constant flow of energy from his jade pendant, he would already have collapsed. But even the jade’s energy was limited; his current cultivation could not keep up.

Breathing heavily, Su Fan braced himself. Suddenly, one wolf lunged at him. He hurriedly retreated, but another wolf circled behind. Without hesitation, it pounced, as did the wolf in front. Their sharp claws glinted in the faint light, and their long fangs looked capable of biting off a man’s head in one snap. Su Fan was certain that even a single blow would be fatal. With enemies before and behind, panic surged within him.

At that moment, the last wolf turned and stalked toward Hong Ling. She seemed gravely wounded, unable to move or even muster the strength to use her techniques, forced to watch helplessly as the wolf drew near.

In desperation, Su Fan punched the wolf attacking him, then whirled and swung the Violet Moon Blade. Both wolves were knocked away, rolling across the snow, but quickly regained their feet and pounced again as if unscathed.

With a thought, Su Fan sent the gray mist from his shoulder toward the wolf approaching Hong Ling. The wolf slammed into the mist, which instantly seemed about to dissipate. Alarmed, Su Fan recalled the mist and hurled the Violet Moon Blade at the wolf. The wolf batted the blade aside with its paw, sending it flying.

Now enraged, the wolf lashed out with a massive claw at Hong Ling. In an instant, its sharp talons fell upon her frail body. Su Fan, still entangled by the other two wolves, flew into a fury at the sight. Hong Ling had once saved him, even at the risk of offending the Elder in Yellow; such a debt could not go unpaid.

Like a madman, Su Fan dashed before the wolf, thrusting the Violet Moon Blade into its body. Blood spattered his clothes, staining his purple robes and even his face, lending him a terrifying aspect.

Hong Ling stared in shock, speechless at the sight of the man before her. Su Fan wasted no time, sweeping three wolf carcasses into his storage pouch with a flick of his sleeve. Scooping up Hong Ling, he sped away, fleeing until the scent of blood from the remaining wolves had faded completely.

He gently set Hong Ling down and asked in a low voice, “Are you all right?”

Hong Ling gazed blankly at Su Fan. After a long pause, her cheeks suddenly flushed. Already lovely, she was even more enchanting with her face tinged red.

She stammered, “I’m all right. What about you?”

Su Fan quietly shook his head, took out some restorative pills and handed them to her, then sat down alone to meditate.

Dawn was breaking, the snow falling more lightly. Su Fan opened his eyes. Hong Ling was still meditating. Suddenly, his heart jolted, and he glanced sharply into the darkness ahead—but saw nothing.

He took out a rusted, broken sword and examined it. He remembered clearly how, in the Sword Vault, every blade had resonated with it when he drew it forth. The bloodstains on the sword defied any identification, filling him with an inexplicable dread.

Su Fan had tried to refine the sword, but to no avail. Without being able to refine it, he could only wield it as a simple weapon, unable to unlock its true power. Worse, if he was not careful, it might even backfire upon him. That was why, even in dire straits, he had not used it, despite its strength.

Resigned, Su Fan returned the sword to his storage pouch and took out a jade tube. This was the cultivation manual he had acquired in the Cold Mountain Valley. He had long suspected it contained more advanced techniques, but his former cultivation was insufficient to access them. Now, with his improved abilities, he placed the tube to his brow and probed it with his divine sense. After several attempts, he sighed.

There was nothing more within. The three divine arts mentioned by that cultivator were perhaps lost, or never fully recorded before the man perished.

With a helpless sigh, Su Fan rose and gazed at the endless falling snow, thoughts drifting once more to that fleeting touch of pink. It was the same snowy day as when they parted for good. He could not let go of Fan Ruoyu, yet fate had played its tricks. Though their paths had crossed again in such a way, Su Fan could do nothing but wait—and hope for a turning point.

But when that turning point would come, he did not know. Smiling faintly, he caught a drifting snowflake in his palm. Suddenly, his expression changed, confusion clouding his face as he stared at the snowflake in silence.