33. The Legend of Xue Yang

Several years ago, gossip had ripped through the jianghu so terrible in nature that it overshadowed any lingering scandal about Madam Yu: an entire minor sect had been massacred by mysterious means, possibly through demonic cultivation. Signs went up everywhere for the capture of the dangerous criminal, Xue Yang, who had claimed responsibility and then disappeared.

The drawings showed a handsome young boy with a deranged smile, and Yanli wondered who he was, and what would drive him to such an act. Even given her own rage at her former sect, she knew she could never kill everyone there in cold blood. (Maybe just one person, but she hid that thought deep, deep down.)

But then time moved on and new “wanted” posters replaced Xue Yang’s face with older, less accomplished but still dangerous criminals, and Yanli had honestly forgotten about him completely.

Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen obviously had not.

“Laoshi Song!”

“Shishu!”

A’Cheng and Ying’er started running towards them as soon as they came into view. Song Daoren raised his horsehair whisk without changing his expression or letting go of Xue Yang, and both boys immediately slowed down to a respectable trot.

“Do you know them?” Nie Mingjue asked her.

“We do. They have been teaching Ying’er and A’Cheng for nearly two years now. As well, Xiao Xingchen is Wei Ying’s martial uncle, being a disciple of the honored immortal Baoshan Sanren.”

“Oh!” Nie Zonghui nodded. “I’d heard that another of her disciples had come down the mountain a few years ago! What an honor.” He looked about ten years younger with the star-struck expression on his face. They were overheard and soon a lot more Nie were shouldering each other around the edges of the plaza, angling to get a peek at Xiao Xingchen.

Who was, currently, hugging the stuffing out of both Ying’er and A’Cheng, a broad smile on his face. They had both grown since the daoren had visited, and it surprised Yanli to realize that while they definitely were not quite adults, both of them were almost as tall as Xiao Daoren. (Where had the time gone, she wondered? Why didn’t she feel quite so grown up herself, yet?)

Then he frowned, and pulled back to inspect Ying’er. She could not hear what he said, but it was easy enough to read his lips: what did you do? Ying’er looked meek and A’Cheng launched into some kind of diatribe, pointing at Ying’er.

Song Daoren kept walking forward, pulling Xue Yang by the arm. The boy, for Yanli thought he was probably of age with A’Cheng, was bound neck to knee in spirit binding rope, his feet shuffling fast to keep up with his captor. She found it hard to believe that one so young could have committed such acts of violence, but then she remembered how much she had learned over the past few years about the depths of depravity that humans possessed. He looked dangerous, even tied up and gagged, but Yanli couldn’t help but pity him. What a horrific childhood he must have had, to be driven to such insanity.

Song Daoren bowed. “This one is Song Lan, courtesy name Zichen, of no sect or alliance.”

That caught Yanli’s attention, as it represented a complete break with Baixue Temple.

“This one is Nie Mingjue, sect leader of Qinghe Nie. We welcome you, Song Daoren, to the Unclean Realm.”

“We have brought Xue Yang for trial. May justice be served.” He pulled Xue Yang forward. He was gagged, but he leered at Nie Mingjue like the cheapest sister in a brothel, who cringed at the attention.

“By the gods,” he muttered.

By that point, Xiao Xingchen and the boys had walked up. Xiao Xingchen was frowning, with his hand on the back of Ying’er’s neck. He gave Yanli a disappointed look, which immediately made her feel one inch tall, even though she was not sure what she had done to warrant it.

“Miss Meng, what happened after we left? It’s as if resentment carved a channel right through him.” He shook Ying’er like a kitten.

“It is a very long story, Xiao Daoren,” she said with honest regret.

Whatever he was going to say next was cut short by Xue Yang bodily flinging himself out of Song Daoren’s grasp and into Ying’er. He body-slammed him as hard as he could, hurtling both of them forward. Yanli barely had time to register what was happening before A’Yao grabbed her and swung her out of the way.

Xue Yang was screaming through the gag and kicking at Ying’er, who was so shocked that he just tried his best to scramble away. Everyone lunged at them all at once, the daoren and the Nie and Lan Wangji.

Yanli thought she landed on her feet wrong when A’Yao put her down, but instead she watched in confused horror as the ground rippled under their feet like water. There was a muffled explosion and for a brief terror-filled moment, she thought a volcano had erupted beneath them as people screamed and fell down, Nie Mingjue crashing gracelessly into Lan Wangji as several other Nie collapsed onto each other like falling trees, including Nie Popo. Before she could even understand what was happening, she found herself on her back, lying on top of A’Yao who still had his arms wrapped around her.

A guttural scream rent the air as Xue Yang, completely free of the gag and the ropes, stood up. Blood was dripping from his nose and eyes, which were deep red, so dark they looked almost black. He launched himself at Ying'er, hands outstretched like claws.

"IT'S MINE! GIVE IT TO ME!"

Xue Yang's first lunge missed Ying'er by a hair's breadth, the latter twisting away at the last second. The movement was so fast it left a ghostly afterimage, confusing Yanli as she tried to watch. Ying'er countered with a swift palm strike to Xue Yang's chest, but he seemed to absorb the blow, using the momentum to spin and deliver a vicious back kick.

Yanli had trouble keeping up with the fight by that point. Both Ying'er and Xue Yang moved in ways that should have been impossible, slipping through clouds of resentful energy, appearing and disappearing like demons, moving far faster than even advanced cultivators should be able to do. It was like watching a water spout over a lake, unpredictable and deadly.

The two danced around each other, their movements a blur of strikes, blocks, and counterattacks. Ying'er's style was fluid and graceful, each motion flowing into the next like water over stones. In contrast, Xue Yang fought with raw, animalistic fury, his attacks wild and unpredictable, yet devastatingly effective.

The problem was that no one could get close enough to break them apart. Going in with swords and sabers would likely get Ying'er sliced to ribbons along with Xue Yang, and the ones who tried to leap directly into the fisticuffs—Lan Wangji, Nie Mingjue, Xiao Xingchen, Song Zichen—ended up wrapped up in resentful energy and thrown away like children's toys.

From one moment to the next, Ying'er and Xue Yang were fighting out in the open and then completely obscured by the resentful energy spinning around them. The dark miasma pulsed and writhed, occasionally revealing glimpses of the brutal fight within.

Yanli caught a flash of Ying'er's face, contorted with effort, as he narrowly dodged a crushing blow from Xue Yang. The miss left Xue Yang overextended, and Ying'er capitalized on it, driving an elbow into his opponent's ribs with a sickening crack. But Xue Yang seemed to feel no pain, retaliating with a head-butt that sent both of them reeling.

Yanli was screaming, trying to crawl towards them as the ground continued to shift disturbingly under their feet, but A'Yao was holding her back, yelling at her to stay safe and out of the maelstrom. Next to her, Song Daoren was holding A'Cheng face down, their legs locked together and his hands on her brother's back to keep him in place as he tried to claw his way towards the fight.

The swirling resentful energy was a separate force, and even Baxia was unable to completely cut through it despite Nie Mingjue's unbelievably powerful swings. Each time his blade met the dark energy, it sparked and hissed, like water on hot iron, but failed to penetrate.

Yanli kept screaming Ying'er's name, but either he didn't hear her or didn't care. Her voice was lost in the whoosh of displaced air and the thunderous impacts of blows landing.

When she could see them, they were grappling with each other more like street brawlers than martial artists, for all that their moves reflected the advanced skills they both possessed. Ying'er managed to catch Xue Yang's wrist, twisting it at an unnatural angle. But Xue Yang seemed oblivious to pain, dropping his weight and using Ying'er's grip to throw him over his shoulder.

Ying'er hit the ground hard but rolled with the impact, springing back to his feet with inhuman agility. He barely had time to raise his guard before Xue Yang was on him again, raining down a flurry of strikes and kicks. Ying'er weathered the storm, his defense an impenetrable wall, his expression focused as he waited for his moment to strike.

That moment came when Xue Yang over committed to a flying kick. Ying'er slipped inside his guard, grabbed Xue Yang's extended arm and used his own momentum to slam him into the ground. The impact shook the earth, sending tremors through the already unstable plaza. But Xue Yang did not stay down, and rolled to his feet with a grimace and snarl.

A Nie cultivator grabbed his chance and ran forward to slice down Xue Yang, but the boy shifted and flung a spear of resentful energy at him. He did not duck in time and ended up with his shoulder being sliced open to the bone. He fell with a painful shriek.

Ying’er stepped back, glaring at Xue Yang, and whistled. It was an eerie sound, less a tune than a long, plaintive note. The resentful energy hanging like a fog around them shifted, and Xue Yang looked at Ying’er contemplatively.

A large murder of crows dived straight down, shrieking in answer to the call. In an instant, they transformed into ghostly soldiers, wreathed in the dirty haze of resentment, their weapons inky black and glistening like blood, their faces shielded by helmets. Yanli gasped at the vision of Ying'er in front of them, snarling, his eyes red like the deep embers of an old fire, one hand reaching out with fingers like talons.

Xue Yang lunged, raging, screaming with the voices of a thousand angry, betrayed souls and charged at Ying'er, heedless of his strange army of ghost crow soldiers whose armor moved like feathers as they raised their swords. The entire plaza was instantly doused with a thick, toxic fog that Yanli prayed was not corpse poisoning powder.

Through the murk, Yanli could make out the silhouettes of the two combatants, locked once more in a brutal exchange, the ghost crow soldiers somehow keeping them contained to the plaza and also keeping Xue Yang from getting too much leverage. The fog amplified every sound, every impact echoing like thunder. She heard the sickening crunch of bone, followed by a howl of pain that could have come from either them.

Between one breath and the next, the crows took to the air in their true form again, lifting the fog with them.

As the mist cleared, the scene it revealed was one of carnage. The ground was littered with black feathers and dark, viscous liquid that had to be blood but in amounts that would suggest a major battle, not a one-on-one fight. Xue Yang was sprawled on the ground, strapped down as if in a spider's web with ropes of resentful miasma that pulsed flares of bright red power. He was surrounded by the bodies of dead crows, and Ying'er stood over him, his face a bloody mess. Overhead, the surviving crows circled, their unearthly cries of mourning overpowering the sounds of the panic-stricken humans below.

The fight was over, but the tension in the air remained, thick and oppressive. Yanli stared at Ying'er, barely recognizing the battered, wild-eyed figure as her beloved brother. As the moments dragged on, an eerie silence fell over the plaza, broken only by the ragged breathing of the combatants and the mournful caws of the circling crows.

“You don’t deserve it! You didn’t earn it! It’s mine! By right of blood, it’s mine!” Xue Yang screamed, his face a rictus of fury.

Ying’er made a small gesture and a tentacle of energy wrapped around Xue Yang’s face, covering his mouth and effectively shutting him up. With a sigh, Ying’er said something quiet, and Xue Yang started thrashing in the first display of genuine panic she had seen from him yet. It was so unsettling that everyone went quiet again, and Yanli held her breath.

Ying’er reached down and down and with a deep horror, Yanli realized that he was literally clawing through cloth and skin to reach into Xue Yang’s body. He rummaged around as if looking for a trinket in a qiankun bag while Xue Yang spasmed in mute agony, then withdrew his hand and held aloft a piece of metal no bigger than a small egg, dripping blood and gore.

Yin iron.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji’s shout of horror and despair broke through the haze, and Ying’er cocked his head as if he heard him from a great distance.

Without saying anything, he pulled out the warded qiankun bag holding Lan Yi’s piece of yin iron and dropped the new addition into it. He stood up, ignoring the shaking mess of Xue Yang crying on the ground, and held the bag aloft. A massive crow dived down and grabbed it, flying away with it tight in its talons. The other crows spun and followed it into the distance.

When Yanli looked back down, she saw Ying’er standing there, still bloodied but no longer red of eye or reeking resentment. All of the foul energy was simply gone. All that remained was just him standing in the middle of the blood-soaked plaza, surrounded by freaked out, fully armed Nie with a broken, whimpering Xue Yang at his feet.

He gave her a thumbs up and passed out.