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INE Chapter 94: Arrangement
🕑 Added 2025-05-27 02:25:42 +0000 UTCThe war in the Northern Frontier had come to an end. The enemies were defeated and driven back.
Amid the endless yellow sands, Yue Qianqiu sat atop a tent, robes fluttering, gazing down at the woman below.
The woman’s beauty was breathtaking, yet her face was deathly pale. Her expression teetered between despair and madness.
At her feet lay a man, blood oozing from all seven orifices. The venomous parasite had already devoured his flesh.
At the sight, the woman smiled, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. With grim resolve, she raised a curved blade.
The blade fell. Blood soaked the snow-white, slender neck.
Yue Qianqiu did not stop her. But her nails dug deep into her palm, drawing blood of her own.
Sometimes, it wasn’t that she refused to save. It was that she couldn't. She didn’t know what would happen if she saved Mo Yu, whether the disruption of time and space would create even worse consequences.
But she knew that a hundred years later, there would be a woman like a white peacock on the chessboard, a red string wrapped around her finger, smiling as she recounted the past to them.
Yue Qianqiu took out the Mountains and Rivers Chessboard and sealed Mo Yu’s fragmented soul within it.
Then, stepping onto the Qingshuang Sword, she flew to Chang’an and arrived at the famed Jinyu Tower, the most iconic spot in the game.
Beauty at her side, fine wine in her hand, this was a life even the gods would envy.
She raised her cup. It was filled with the famed wine, Eternal Drunkeness.
The clear and sweet liquor swirled in the cup. The courtesans laughed and chatted, their delicate fingers plucking at a pipa.
As Yue Qianqiu watched the pipa, she recalled a rainy day in Yue City. Pedestrians all carried bamboo-framed umbrellas.
Only one person stood silently beneath the eaves, dressed in mourning garb, white flowers pinned to her hair.
“Selling herself to bury her father” Yue Qianqiu had always hated this kind of clichéd story.
But as she passed by, she took a few more glances.
And by chance, she discovered that the girl’s features, when her eyes were lowered, bore a striking resemblance to Elder Gong in her youth.
A courtesan raised a hand and poured her another cup.
Yue Qianqiu, dazed, lifted the wine and drank deeply.
Her gaze wandered until she caught sight of a shopkeeper flipping through an account book downstairs. Suddenly, she remembered the sect’s ledgers still piled on her desk. Had her first and second disciples seen them? Had they taken care of them?
Jar after jar, she drank until she forgot where she was, even who she was.
Her surname might be Ji. Or perhaps not.
And what of “love”? What difference did it make, having it or not?
Since ancient times, no matter the world, the love written in books was always poison, bitter before it even reached the throat.
Right and wrong, love and entanglement, it was all the same tiresome routine.
Amid the haze, Yue Qianqiu raised her cup and laughed softly.
She found it funny, how she’d unknowingly become a character in a storybook.
When she first arrived at this checkpoint, she only wanted to build a bridge, a bridge to a better future, hoping for a smoother path with fewer hardships.
Back then, she felt no love or hate. She simply carved stone and etched words.
But halfway through building it, she realized her disciples were so endearing. Her heart softened, and she wanted to dismantle the bridge, stir up some trouble instead.
Just as she was about to do so, she discovered her disciples had already paved the road for her, waiting for her to take that step, to reach the right ending and retire with honor.
From the start of the bridge to its end, everything was slipping further from her grasp, growing more distant and unfamiliar.
When she first arrived at Bixue Peak, Yue Qianqiu had only found the children noisy and irritating.
Now, at the journey’s end, all she had was a chessboard and a soul fragment whose awakening time was uncertain. And somehow, she felt... lonely.
Thinking back, Mo Yu was wrong. She wasn’t born heartless.
It was just that people came and went, all in a hurry. The banquet ended too soon. So she had no choice but to pretend to be heartless.
But pretending long enough... she had gotten used to it.
Her vision blurred. Yue Qianqiu collapsed to the floor, drunk.
The wine cup rolled onto the rug. She hadn’t paid for the drinks, nor did she know when the moon would be full again.
She heard the courtesans calling her name, then the shopkeeper’s voice, loud and angry.
Then a cold, detached voice cut through the noise:
“How much? I’ll pay.”
As that voice sounded, the world seemed to fall silent.
Who knew how long had passed before Yue Qianqiu opened her eyes... and saw a familiar face.
The person before her lifted a hand, gently wiping the smudges of makeup from her face with a silk handkerchief.
The makeup had been applied after she passed out drunk by the teasing courtesans.
They giggled, saying, “With a face like a goddess, just a touch of rouge would make it perfect.”
But she had passed out before she could sober herself with spiritual energy. While she retched over the table, the rouge and powder had smeared across her face.
Those streaks of color, now scattered across a face that should not be desecrated, stirred dangerous thoughts.
Chu Changli looked at the marks on Yue Qianqiu’s face with no change in expression. But her hand trembled slightly as she wiped, the pressure unconsciously growing heavier.
She could easily imagine how those vulgar women had reached out to touch her master’s face.
Could imagine them laughing as they brought their lips close and kissed that powdered cheek.
Yue Qianqiu winced, frowning slightly.
She was too drunk to see clearly.
But looking at the person before her, she felt a deep sense of familiarity. Like that insincere Junior Sister of hers. Like that useless disciple.
For a moment, she couldn’t tell who was who. But she knew it was a dream.
After all, her Junior Sister now resided in her disciple’s shell. And that disgraceful disciple, now a Demon Lord who killed for amusement, would never have time to be here.
Thinking that, Yue Qianqiu smiled faintly.
But just as she did, a cool pair of lips covered her own.
She tasted blood. She didn’t know whose it was, hers, or the other’s.
The scent of wine still lingered. That person held her tightly, kissing her with no rhythm or restraint, as if trying to devour her breath entirely.
Clumsy. Awkward.
Yue Qianqiu touched the person’s face, tracing its shape. It was cold, colder than a silver goblet.
When her fingers reached the eye sockets, the liquid she felt was warm.
She thought to herself, once all this was over, she could finally leave this checkpoint.
And Gu Baiyi would return.
But to truly end everything, how could it ever be so easy?
Yue Qianqiu raised her hand and gently wiped the tears from Chu Changli's face. “You know,” she said, “teaching a disciple is such a hassle. I had one who never used to cry, but now she’s become overly sentimental.”
“That disciple of mine, she was disobedient as a child, and she’s still just as stubborn now. I told her to head east, and she insisted on going west. I wanted her to practice swordsmanship, but she clung to a compass and gazed at the stars instead. She didn’t understand a thing, yet she declared with confidence, ‘Master, I’ve been watching them for ages. All the stars look the same.’”
“I told her, all unruly disciples are the same. All annoying kids are the same.”
“I just never thought that after all these years of teaching them, not only did I fail to teach them well, but I ended up tripping over my own feet.”
“I used to wonder, why? Why did it turn out this way? Now I finally understand. Everything is like that. I wanted to change things, but I didn’t have the power. One day, I gave up. I said fine, I want nothing, I’ll fight no more. And it was then that everything came to me on its own.”
Yue Qianqiu smiled and said softly to Chu Changli, “Now, I won’t meddle in my disciple’s affairs anymore. Let her do as she pleases. Let her go.”
Chu Changli gazed quietly at her master.
She watched as Yue Qianqiu furrowed her brows and said, “My disciple is in the West Mountain. She rules the West Mountain. She leads the Demon Sect.”
“So… who are you?”
Years passed. Inside the chessboard, a wisp of soul gradually stirred to life as it absorbed the spiritual energy of the chess pieces.
When Mo Yu awoke, she touched her broken neck and frowned slightly, as if puzzled why she still lingered in this world.
She looked ahead and saw a woman in red standing beneath the bodhi tree.
The woman had a face of unrivaled beauty. She held a sword in her hand, carving into a stone stele.
She turned to look at Mo Yu sitting on the chessboard and smiled faintly. “Miss Mo, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”
After that, Mo Yu often sat atop the chessboard, watching the woman inscribe the stele.
She knew who the woman was. She knew that was the legendary Sword Saint, unmatched in all the world.
In the gentle spring rain, Mo Yu rested her chin in her hand and watched the Sword Saint at work.
As the sword continued to carve, dew soaked into her red robes, turning them a deep, heavy crimson.
Mo Yu suddenly felt a pang of sadness. She smiled and said, “Sister Yue, I want to help you carve the stele too.”
Yue Qianqiu lowered her sword and turned to look at Mo Yu.
So many years had passed. There were many things she could no longer recall.
But looking at Mo Yu now, a long-forgotten memory surfaced.
Many years ago, someone once sat in the bodhi tree.
A breeze blew, and that person’s legs swung like new branches amidst the emerald leaves.
When the wind stopped, she blinked and grinned. “Master, I want to practice swordsmanship with you.”
Back then, Yue Qianqiu had tied Chu Changli to the tree and left her hanging for two days and nights.
Now, returning to the present, Yue Qianqiu came back to herself and nodded in agreement.
She watched as Mo Yu took up the Qingshuang Sword, blending the essence of a blade into swordsmanship, and struck the stone stele with force.
On the stone, the marks left by the blade were deep and heavy. The sword’s trace was light and graceful.
Yue Qianqiu froze when she saw the stele.
She remembered the first sword stele she had seen in the Bodhi Tree, before she had ever entered the archive.
That stele had merged the will of the blade into sword technique, its surface covered with uneven, weathered marks.
And when she entered the sea of consciousness, she encountered a blurred figure who attacked her without a word. Thinking back, that must have been the will of Mo Yu, transformed into human form.
So everything had already been set in motion?
It wasn’t something her sister had arranged, it was fate. And it was also a choice she herself had made.
Perhaps the moment of that choice had already occurred, even before she entered the chessboard.
Yue Qianqiu remembered what her sister had said:
“Everything you do in the archive is real. It affects the past, present, and future. So the best course is to follow the script, to do what you believe the ‘Sword Saint’ would do.”
Which meant she only had to repeat what had already been done. To walk the path the Sword Saint had walked.
To “do what must be done.”
After Mo Yu carved her will into the stele, she looked up to the legendary Sword Saint, who squinted at the sunlight filtering through the bodhi leaves.
The light was bright, almost blinding.
Yue Qianqiu closed her eyes and laughed three times.
Then she turned to Mo Yu and said, “Miss Mo, let me teach you how to write a few words.”
Yue Qianqiu had practiced calligraphy, but her characters were messy and wild, too easily recognized.
Since they had to replicate known information and trick her future self, the one doing the writing couldn’t be her. It had to be Mo Yu.
So Yue Qianqiu picked up a twig and began writing simplified characters and English on the ground.
She wrote a line, and Mo Yu carved it into the stone with the tip of her sword.
The first line was in English:
“My name is Yue. Yue Qianqiu.”
“I have four disciples. The eldest is Mei He, the second is Gong Yu, the third is Chu Changli, and the fourth is Bai Yushuang.”
Yue Qianqiu thought, since she was destined to write this stele, she might as well play a little prank on her future self.
Smiling, she relied on her hazy memory and wrote with the twig:
“My memory is terrible. I’m writing this down so I don’t forget.”
She chuckled.
She remembered how speechless she had felt when she saw this back then.
After the English, it was time for simplified Chinese.
Yue Qianqiu considered that simplified and traditional characters were similar—if you wrote in cursive, it would be hard to recognize them.
She asked, “Miss Mo, can you write a cursive script?”
Mo Yu thought for a moment and replied, “I can manage a little.”
The second line, in simplified characters:
“I later realized I did many things wrong, and many things right.”
Yue Qianqiu had spent so many years within the chessboard that she could barely remember what the final lines on the stele were.
So now, she improvised.
She thought, I stuck to the plot, and yet it’s the plot that ended up ruining me.
She lifted the twig again and wrote:
“I was loyal to the Heavenly Dao, but the Heavenly Dao betrayed me.”
“I couldn’t defeat the Heavenly Dao, but you can.”
“You can change your fate.”
After writing that, Yue Qianqiu felt content.
Yes, she couldn’t control the heroine or her disciples, but she could influence her future self.
And then her future self could take care of the heroine and the disciples.
Perfect.
But then Yue Qianqiu remembered how stubborn she was by nature. Her future self might not believe any of this at first.
Thinking about it, she mischievously wrote a third line:
“You think I’m joking? Don’t kid yourself. I’m talking to you.”
After this, Yue Qianqiu suddenly realized she felt truly at ease.
As the Sword Saint, she had tricked her future self into a complete spin.
...But in the end, wasn’t she still the one who’d pay the price?
Yue Qianqiu sighed.
Clearly, she needed to leave a few more clues for her future self. Otherwise, it would be a disservice to herself.
So she added one last line:
“Every cause will have its effect. When you reach the end, you’ll understand how it all began.”
Yue Qianqiu smiled and set down the twig.
Now she was completely, utterly, at peace.
Several experts were puzzled as to why Meng Ruo was painting.
Yue Qianqiu sipped her tea, her mind as clear as a mirror.
"What do you understand? She's just taking a posthumous portrait for her husband."
After the meeting, Yue Qianqiu led Mei He, releasing her divine sense to search through the empty rooms one by one.
She silently prayed that the person surnamed Yan could hold on for a few more seconds, or everything would be in vain.
Luckily, when Mei He broke open the door, Meng Ruo was just raising her sword, aiming at Yan Haiyao’s chest, who had fallen into unconsciousness.
Perhaps her hand was too shaky, as the blade only sank an inch.
At this moment, Yue Qianqiu couldn't help but mutter, "Luckily, Old Yan's heart is thick; you can't pierce it with one strike."
Then she raised the Qingshuang Sword and flicked Meng Ruo's blade away.
Meng Ruo quietly looked at Yue Qianqiu and Mei He standing at the door.
She smiled bitterly and shook her head. "Sword Saint, if you knew who Yan Haiyao really is, you wouldn't stop me."
"No, I know."
No one understands Yan Haiyao better than I do.
However, at this moment, Yue Qianqiu could not reveal that she knew the plot and could only calmly say to Meng Ruo, "I know Yan Haiyao deserves to die. But I have deduced that he shouldn't die today."
"He will die a hundred years from now, under the sword of a woman with white hair."
Meng Ruo looked at Yue Qianqiu and smiled. "I don't believe it. You must think I'm trying to sabotage your great plans, so you're lying to deceive me."
Yue Qianqiu thought to herself, according to Meng Ruo's reasoning, she should now say something very convincing, and then she could successfully take Yan Haiyao away.
...So, what exactly is the convincing thing to say?
At this moment, the arrow is on the string, and it must be released.
Thus, Yue Qianqiu braced herself and said to Meng Ruo, "What would it matter if you killed him now? If he dies while unconscious, he won't feel any pain."
Meng Ruo froze for a moment, then asked with a smile, "Then what do you think should be done, Sword Saint?"
Yue Qianqiu thought for a moment before answering, "Yan Haiyao has spent his entire life wanting to defeat Chu Changli; that was his greatest wish. The most painful thing in life isn't death, but being so close to success, only for hope to shatter."
"Today, I will take Yan Haiyao away, seal his powers, and imprison him for a hundred years. A hundred years from now, when he breaks free from his shackles, he will find that his arch-enemy is already dead. And without him, the war was still won."
"At that time, that will be true despair, worse than death."
Meng Ruo thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
Before handing Yan Haiyao over to Yue Qianqiu, she asked a question, "Sword Saint, can you really defeat Chu Changli and win the Battle Against the Evil?"
Yue Qianqiu looked at Meng Ruo, silent for a moment.
Then, she nodded and said, "I can."
Afterward, Yue Qianqiu asked Meng Ruo for the painting, took Yan Haiyao, and headed for the Heavenly Water Secret Realm.
She sealed Yan Haiyao's powers and bound him to a giant rock in Yunxian Cave.
She then went to Muyu Bridge, gazing at the rolling river between the two banks.
There was no bridge, but when the secret realm opened for the second time, there would be a broken bridge.
So, Yue Qianqiu now needed to build a bridge.
Mo Yu flew out of the chessboard and said to Yue Qianqiu, "Sister Yue, if you want to do something, just use the chess pieces."
Yue Qianqiu was stunned. "Why?"
"I absorbed the power of the chess pieces to survive. So, these pieces can help you accomplish many things."
Yue Qianqiu remembered what her sister had said, the chessboard was not of this world, and had the power to transcend time.
So, she took out the chessboard and recalled the empty spaces on the Mountain River Chessboard where no pieces were placed.
At the time, there seemed to be only half of the pieces on the board.
She then poured out half of the pieces and placed them on the painting scroll.
After the scroll absorbed the pieces, a brilliant light blazed, then faded again.
When the glow disappeared, a wolf-hair brush appeared beside her.
Yue Qianqiu picked up the brush.
She drew a broken bridge between Muyu Bridge and Yunxian Cave, following the design of the Xuanyuan Flying Immortal Bridge.
Once everything was completed, Yue Qianqiu began to reflect on what else she needed to do.
Ah, she still had to write a letter to her eldest disciple.
That way, Mei He would bring Meng Ruo to Yunxian Cave after the second opening of the secret realm.
Yue Qianqiu returned to Wanjian Sect and wrote a letter.
She gave it to Mei He, asking her to only open it after the second opening of the secret realm.
If it were anyone else, she wouldn't trust them.
But if it were Mei He, she would definitely follow through.
Mei He took the letter, looked at Yue Qianqiu, her expression a little complex.
After a long moment, she asked, "Master, what exactly do you want to do?"
Yue Qianqiu looked at Mei He and smiled faintly.
Indeed, whether it was her eldest disciple or her eldest wife, both were so beautiful.
But what she was about to do might lead to Mei He being misunderstood by Bai Yushuang and Gong Yu, and bearing blame.
She felt reluctant, but she didn't want Mei He to die, so she had to do it.
Because she didn't know what would happen tomorrow. After all, everything was just a legend.
So Yue Qianqiu said seriously to Mei He, "Yizhu, no matter what happens tomorrow, whether I live or die, you must live."
"Remember, you must keep this letter and open it a hundred years from now."
After a long pause, Mei He looked at Yue Qianqiu, moved her lips, and asked, "Master, why did you come here?"
Yue Qianqiu replied, "I came for you all."
"Then, if... if one day, you leave and never return, will you come back?"
Yue Qianqiu thought for a moment and said, "I will return for you all."
Mei He smiled and softly said to Yue Qianqiu, "Then Yizhu will guard Wanjian Sect and wait for Master to return."
Over the years, Yue Qianqiu had built many houses on Feilai Peak.
One of the residences was called Wan Tang Residence.
Wan Tang Residence was located at the top of Feilai Peak, surrounded by winding paths and lush green bamboo and red plum trees.
She had some personal reasons, so this house was prepared for the future Ji Rong.
Over the years, Yue Qianqiu had written many books, so she filled the bookshelf in Wan Tang Residence with her works, hoping that future Ji Rong would read her writings.
They were all basic sword techniques, hehe.
Yue Qianqiu thought, the future can't blame me for this. After all, I paved the road, built the house, and left clues for you.
Ji Rong would definitely be stunned.
She might even angrily curse the planner.
But, Ji Rong’s thoughts had nothing to do with her.
