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Chapter 77: Countermove
🕑 Added 2025-05-05 07:22:42 +0000 UTCQingjing Pavilion was located in the eastern courtyard of Bodhi Gate, it served as the abbot's quarters.
The room was simple and elegant, sparsely decorated. At its center stood a cinnabar stone carving, while on the north wall hung the ancestral lineage chart of the Bodhi Gate.
Kongji led Ji Rong forward, stopping at a plain white wall.
Looking up, she saw a scroll hanging there.
It was about two feet long and depicted a midwinter scene.
A silver brazier glowed in the hearth, and the lavish interior suggested a private room in an upscale restaurant. A group of people sat around an Eight Immortals table, all gazing toward a red-robed young man who had just lifted a beaded curtain.
Ji Rong stared at the painting in a daze.
Wasn’t this the same scroll she had seen in the Tianshui secret realm?
Kongji looked at the painting with a gentle smile and said slowly, “This painting was originally created by Sect Leader Meng Ruo and entrusted to the Sword Saint. The original has since been lost.”
Ji Rong asked, “So this is a copy?”
Kongji nodded. “Yes. This one was casually recreated by this old monk in his spare time. It’s been many years, and the people have changed, this old monk could no longer capture the true spirit of those portrayed.”
Ji Rong looked at the painting again. To her, it seemed nearly identical to the one she had seen in the secret realm, save for the slightly more aged appearance of the one back there.
Of course, it was also possible that the one in the secret realm had been a copy too.
After a moment, Kongji smiled and said, “But the one I actually wish to show you is another painting.”
“Oh?”
Ji Rong was surprised. She hadn’t expected that this wasn’t the main painting Kongji wanted her to see.
She watched as Kongji opened a bookcase, bent down, and pulled out a dust-covered scroll from a hidden compartment.
He undid the ties, and the scroll slowly unfurled.
Within the modest space of the painting was a single bodhi tree.
Beneath the tree stood a woman, head tilted slightly upward, quietly watching the drifting leaves fall in spirals.
She wore red, and the vivid tones of her robe seemed to bleed into the surrounding mountains, turning the landscape into a wash of crimson maple.
Her gaze dropped to a bodhi fruit that had fallen to the ground.
As if finding no joy in this vast world, she sighed softly.
And after that sigh, she lifted her head, and entered the painting.
Years ago, Yue Qianqiu had locked eyes with the artist. Now, those same eyes met Ji Rong’s.
Ji Rong looked at that unparalleled face in silence for a long time.
She raised a hand, wanting to touch the red robes in the painting. But just before her fingers met the image, she paused midair and slowly lowered her hand.
It was no wonder people said Ji Rong and Yue Qianqiu looked alike. Judging from this painting, their features were indeed about fifty percent similar.
But that cool, detached expression unique to Yue Qianqiu, so indifferent to all things, was one of a kind.
Ji Rong’s hands trembled slightly within her sleeves as she stared at the woman in the painting.
She had been just over ten years old when her sister took her away from the orphanage. Ji Rong had never known how old her sister had been then, but she must have been in her early twenties.
The first time Ji Rong met her sister, she had never once questioned whether they were actually related because they looked far too much alike. She followed her without resistance.
Thinking back now, she realized she hadn’t actually seen her sister many times. Yet in over a decade, her sister’s appearance had never changed. Always that same cold, ruthless face.
Looking at the woman in the painting now, whether it was her expression or features, it wasn’t just a resemblance. It was identical.
Kongji said gently, “In the past hundred years, I have never seen a woman who resembles the Sword Saint more than you do. That is why I wanted you to see this portrait.”
Ji Rong said nothing. She merely gazed silently at the red-robed woman in the painting.
A breeze lifted the edge of the scroll, and it fluttered gently. The slight movement of the paper curved the woman’s features just enough to resemble a smile.
But her face remained as indifferent as ever, so much so that Ji Rong could read no real emotion. Only the illusion of a faint smile brought on by the curling edge of the scroll.
Ji Rong thought back to what her sister had said in her dream. Then looked again at the faint curve of Yue Qianqiu’s lips.
Right now, what she wanted to ask was: Sis, what exactly are you trying to do?
And another question, If you're not my sister, if you really are Yue Qianqiu, then what are you after?
Kongji lowered the bamboo curtain. The wind stilled.
Without the breeze, the scroll lay flat once more.
Yue Qianqiu’s expression was as calm as still water, as if it had never rippled at all.
Ji Rong didn’t even know how she’d said her goodbyes to Kongji, or how she had stumbled out of the room in a daze.
For a moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to curse that cold-hearted woman. If you hadn’t recommended that stupid game, I never would’ve played it. I never would’ve ended up trapped in this world.
The more she thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed. Her sister had never touched a game in her life, always too busy. She must have known there was something wrong with Swordmaster and deliberately let Ji Rong get addicted and play until she collapsed from exhaustion.
Damn it, what did my death even do for you?
【Dear user, your sudden death was entirely self-induced and has no correlation with others~】
Ji Rong exploded. Damn you, shitty system! You’re still trying to gaslight me now?
【Please remain calm, Player.】
【Warning: Gu Baiyi’s rage level has reached 100%. Player’s survival rate is now below 40%. Immediate action is advised.】
Ji Rong froze.
What???
Only then did she remember, she’d been pulled away by Kongji and completely forgot the heroine was still waiting outside.
Now she was starting to wonder, hadn't they walked pretty far? And yet she hadn’t shown any signs of poisoning.
She didn’t have time to dwell on it. The heroine was still outside waiting.
Ji Rong glanced at the sky. The lamps were already lit.
At some point, it had begun to rain in the silent mountains.
The winter wind stung her face as she hurried ahead, silently praying the heroine had already left. In this kind of weather, anyone still waiting would’ve been frozen stupid by now.
She rounded the corner and stepped onto the stairs, and immediately saw a lone figure standing beneath the eaves.
The nighttime rain was cold. Droplets from the roof soaked Gu Baiyi’s shoes.
But she remained still beneath the lantern’s glow, not moving an inch.
Footsteps approached, but Gu Baiyi didn’t react.
She only kept her head down, watching the lantern’s shadow stretch long in the moonlight, slicing across the dark stone steps in sharp, jagged lines.
Despite knowing Gu Baiyi stood safely under the eaves and wasn’t in the rain, Ji Rong couldn’t shake the feeling that she was soaked through.
Her already dark clothes looked even heavier, even darker.
Ji Rong didn’t know why, but a twinge of guilt and unease coiled in her chest.
She walked down the stairs step by step, came to Gu Baiyi’s side, and said with practiced calm, “Let’s go.”
At last, Gu Baiyi lifted her head and looked at Ji Rong.
Her eyes were bright, as if washed by water, reflecting the faint snowlight at the edge of the lantern.
Then she spoke: “Senior Sister, you don’t trust me.”
She was smiling, but there wasn’t the slightest trace of warmth in her eyes.
Ji Rong stared at the girl before her and caught the strong scent of blood.
She didn’t know where it came from, but something told her Gu Baiyi, who seemed so calm, had already snapped.
Don’t ask why. Just instinct.
Right now, Ji Rong was desperately trying to figure out, what did she mean by you don’t trust me?
Gu Baiyi pressed her lips together and gave a faint smile. “Senior Sister,” she said softly, “don’t you believe I’d kill you?”
The next instant, Ji Rong’s eyes widened in disbelief as the world around her shifted.
The bright, clear moon vanished, replaced by a strange and ominous blood moon.
Layers of gauzy curtains fluttered around the Phoenix Platform, brushing against Ji Rong’s shoes like whispering silk.
Gu Baiyi now sat high upon a throne, dressed in a dark, intricate robe as cold as ice. Her legs were elegantly crossed, and her eyes gleamed with amusement as she gazed down at Ji Rong.
In a flash, Ji Rong realized that this was not the real world—it was a domain, a cultivated space of one’s own.
She was deeply shaken. A domain was something only a cultivator at the Chasing the Clouds realm could comprehend. Gu Baiyi was, at best, in the middle stage of Stepping on the Moon. How could she possibly have a domain?
Then again, she thought, Right. If Gu Baiyi’s the second female lead, then unlocking a domain early isn’t impossible.
But what nearly brought Ji Rong to tears was the memory that, in the original storyline, the previous Ji Rong had died inside Gu Baiyi’s domain, killed by a sword through the heart.
So was she about to reach her ending early?
Still, she quickly shook that off. I’m in the Stepping on the Moon realm now. I’m not going down that easily.
Just as she resolved to fight to the bitter end, Gu Baiyi raised her hand. A wave of demonic energy slipped from her sleeve, twisting into black chains that wrapped tightly around Ji Rong’s legs.
Ji Rong’s scalp prickled.
Her spiritual power had been completely locked by the domain. She couldn’t move at all. All she could do was watch as those chains, heavy with demonic aura, shackled her ankles and dragged her in front of Gu Baiyi.
Gu Baiyi gazed at her with a soft smile, her expression gentle.
Then, the Hanshui Sword slid from its sheath.
Holding the hilt, Gu Baiyi tilted the slender blade upward, lifting Ji Rong’s chin.
At this angle, Ji Rong was forced to look up at her, and she could clearly see the smile in Gu Baiyi’s eyes.
But it was a shallow smile; cold and distant.
Gu Baiyi’s touch was delicate. Though she was lifting Ji Rong’s chin with a sword, not even a scratch marred her skin.
Her voice was low and almost lover-like, as she murmured, “Did I do something wrong? Why won’t you trust me, Senior Sister?”
Ji Rong was practically seething.
Look at how pitiful the words sounded, then look at how arrogantly she acted. The irony was suffocating.
And hell, Gu Baiyi knew she couldn’t talk! Why ask?
When Ji Rong didn’t respond, Gu Baiyi simply smiled as if nothing was amiss. Then she slowly lowered the sword tip and used it to part Ji Rong’s collar.
The neckline gaped slightly, revealing skin as pale and luminous as moonlight.
But the one wearing it remained expressionless, looking at her with steady, cold eyes.
Gu Baiyi’s voice was soft. “You’re still not afraid of me, are you?”
Ji Rong stared at her. She couldn’t speak, and didn’t want to.
After all, talking to a lunatic was a waste of effort.
But Gu Baiyi just chuckled and continued, “Oh? Seems you really aren’t afraid.”
With that, she twirled her sword in a lazy flourish and lifted Ji Rong’s shoulder garment with the tip of the blade.
The sound of silk tearing was crisp like ripping the wings from a butterfly. Ji Rong’s eyelashes trembled slightly.
Gu Baiyi caught that small reaction and frowned. Her sword movements faltered.
Because she’d hesitated at the last moment, the robe now hung loosely off Ji Rong’s shoulder, partially undone, yet not fully fallen.
The torn silk revealed her delicate, slender shoulder. Above that, the taut line of her neck and her pale, unyielding lips.
Gu Baiyi should have been pleased to see her garment fall to the floor, but when she saw Ji Rong’s trembling lashes, she couldn’t bring herself to go further.
Even knowing Ji Rong had never cared for her, never trusted her, she still couldn’t give up.
As her inner demon once said, this kind of stubbornness was foolish.
On the other hand, Ji Rong’s expression was utterly calm as she met Gu Baiyi’s gaze.
Because, honestly, she was calm now.
A moment ago, when her vision blurred, she’d thought Gu Baiyi was really about to stab her to death. But she didn’t.
Ji Rong thought to herself, Well, if you’re not going to kill me with a single strike, then it’s my turn to put on a show.
A tide of silvery mist surged. The blood jade bracelet on her wrist shimmered with a faint glow. Ji Rong could feel her limbs regaining their strength.
She smirked inwardly. So what if you have a domain, Gu Baiyi? I’ve still got the divine sword—Cangming.
Just as Gu Baiyi’s eyes drifted slightly in thought, the blood jade’s light burst forth.
By the time Gu Baiyi snapped out of it, Ji Rong had already drawn the Cangming Sword, bringing it down in a powerful strike.
She watched the clear stream of sword energy flow from the blade’s tip—but Gu Baiyi didn’t move. She knew she had no time to dodge.
Or rather, she didn’t want to dodge.
After all, Ji Rong was still inside her domain. No matter how strong she was, her spiritual power was heavily suppressed. How much damage could she really do?
But to her surprise, the stream of energy flowed over her ankles, locking her legs in place.
Gu Baiyi’s brows knit slightly. That was unexpected.
She could’ve easily broken free with her domain’s power, but she didn’t. She wanted to see what Ji Rong would do next.
Ji Rong gave a cold laugh, calmly raised her hand, and lifted Gu Baiyi’s chin. “Junior Sister,” she asked, voice laced with mockery, “is tearing clothes supposed to be fun?”
Gu Baiyi looked at her, and for some reason… found the sight oddly cute.
Strangely, the malice and resentment that had consumed her earlier, when Ji Rong had stood in silence at the foot of the stairs, began to fade.
She’d been in unbearable pain before and had wanted to laugh madly. But now, watching Ji Rong’s movements, she couldn’t summon a shred of anger.
Ji Rong saw her looking down in silence and, for a moment, didn’t quite know how to scold her.
Then she thought, Fine. Since the heroine wants to tear my clothes, I’ll tear hers. Let’s see how she likes it!
And with that thought, she acted accordingly.
With a smile, Ji Rong mimicked Gu Baiyi’s earlier movements and deftly lifted her Qinghe Sword.
But she’d miscalculated.
Gu Baiyi’s robes were clearly much thicker than hers. The sword only managed to pull open the shoulder seam, it didn’t bring the whole thing down.
Naturally, the blame fell on Jinjiang.
Any more, and it would’ve gone past the “safe zone.”
