Chapter 75

Just then, on the other side, Ning Shiting called out once more. “Yinbing!”

Gu Tingshuang now felt that he—or rather, the little wolf’s body—was reaching the limits of its endurance.

The Snow Yao was the fastest being he had ever encountered. Even the white wolves of Spirit Mountain had to exert all their strength to have a sliver of a chance at escaping such a relentless pursuit. This level of exertion far exceeded Gu Tingshuang’s calculations. The little wolf itself was still far from adulthood; its bones were not fully developed, and its cultivation and spiritual energy had not advanced. Thus, all it could do now was endure with sheer willpower.

The little wolf, too, sensed the danger its body was in and expressed in its mind that the body was at Gu Tingshuang’s disposal. It had long been prepared to sacrifice itself for the pack. However, Gu Tingshuang firmly rejected this notion.

The situation had erupted too suddenly. He had not had the chance to command the wolf pack to prepare, and now he was forced to face this alone.

Through his spiritual consciousness, he ordered the little wolf: “In a moment, a crack will open in the ground beneath you. Jump in and hide. No matter what happens, do not come out.”

The little wolf quickly agreed.

Gu Tingshuang manoeuvred the little wolf to a stop, turned, and waited.

A raging blizzard surged toward him!

The Snow Yao had always concealed itself behind the vast layers of snow and mist, and Gu Tingshuang had never once seen its true form or what kind of creature it was. He knew from the Ninefold Spiritual Mastery that all things with a spirit must have a tangible entity to house their spiritual consciousness. If the consciousness had no vessel, it would dissipate over time, just like souls marked by the underworld.

He had already examined the Snow Yao’s snow—it did not possess the ability to house spiritual consciousness. Behind those cold layers of snow and ice, there had to be a true corporeal form.

Most importantly, he knew the Snow Yao had eyes. Once, while standing in the White Wolf Temple, he had locked eyes with the Snow Yao from across the way. He had seen that eerie, indifferent gaze.

“Come, then. Let me see what lies beneath your shell. You dare to gaze upon this world through my eyes? Then I will make sure you understand the price of your transgression.”

Gu Tingshuang’s eyes gleamed with sharp brilliance. The blizzard, overwhelming and all-consuming, roared toward him with the momentum of a collapsing mountain and a raging sea. Yet, he did not retreat.

In that instant, his spiritual consciousness leapt between countless entities—deep underground, ancient spirits were stirred from their slumber. Awakened by his command, they split open the ground beneath him in a deep, yawning chasm. The life-giving plants received his will, sprouting wildly until their dense, resilient vines firmly caught the little wolf’s body. The trees of the mountain forest stretched to their limits, and in an instant, a whole new forest burst forth behind him…

At last, Gu Tingshuang saw them—the Snow Yao’s eyes. Deep crimson, dark and murky, reflecting a chilling indifference under the moonlit night. His spiritual consciousness made contact and immediately attempted to seize control, to force the Snow Yao to halt, to compel it to leap into the abyss below.

It all happened between a flash of lightning. The storm engulfed everything. Trailing behind, Ning Shiting could only watch as the blizzard swallowed the place where Gu Tingshuang had stood. In its wake, nothing remained—nothing but a deep, unfathomable fissure.

“Yinbing—”

Ning Shiting tried to call out, but his voice failed him. His throat was raw, completely hoarse. A moment later, he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

And yet, by some inexplicable twist of fate, Gu Tingshuang heard that call. Just before entering the Snow Yao’s consciousness, his only thought was—Ning Shiting turned back?

Was he afraid Gu Tingshuang would die?

But how could a Jiaoren be so foolish? Gu Tingshuang’s real body was still in the Qing Wang’s manor—nothing happening here could harm him. And as for the little wolf, as its alpha, he would never allow it to be endangered.

That fleeting thought faded.

Then, an even greater crisis emerged—Gu Tingshuang suddenly realised he was losing control of his own spiritual consciousness. Countless visions flooded his mind. The aftereffects of his rapid host-switching struck all at once, throwing his consciousness into chaos. One moment, he was a thousand-year-old ancient tree. The next, he was an underground spirit sinking into slumber against the cold. Then, he was a little wolf, wagging its tail and nuzzling for affection.

I can control this. Stay calm. Gu Tingshuang knew the dangers of this situation. He forced himself to steady his consciousness, repeating his own name, struggling against the tide of confusion.

I am a wolf, a flower, a tree, a spirit… He clung desperately to the one identity that truly belonged to him.

My name is Gu Tingshuang.

I am here to kill the Snow Yao. I am inside the Snow Yao’s body.

His mind began to clear.

But then, an even greater shock came—

He heard another voice.

“My name is Gu Tingshuang.”

“I am Gu Tingshuang. I am not… I am not here to kill anyone. I am here…”

The voice was his. Yet, it was not his.

This voice overlapped with his own, triggering a dangerous collapse of his consciousness. He completely lost control over the body he had just possessed—the Snow Yao’s.

Just then, on the other side, Ning Shiting called out once more. “Yinbing!”

This time, the name was spoken aloud, rough and tinged with the scent of blood. Gu Tingshuang was just about to wrest back control of the Snow Yao when he felt the body tremble uncontrollably. From the moment Ning Shiting’s voice rang out, the Snow Yao entered a frenzied state. Not even the Scent of Lust could hold its attention anymore.

The Snow Yao instantly turned its direction—toward Ning Shiting!

Gu Tingshuang was trapped, unable to escape, unable to stop it. He could only watch helplessly as his consciousness, inside the Snow Yao’s body, charged straight at Ning Shiting.

Run! Run!

For the first time, he cursed Ning Shiting’s fragility as a poison-born Jiaoren. He wished desperately that Ning Shiting could transform into a Fengyu clansman or some other agile species.

Run!

Ning Shiting froze for a second as he saw the Snow Yao turn back toward him.

Sensing the imminent danger, he immediately dove beneath the snow. Gu Tingshuang sighed in relief—only to nearly choke in frustration— Ning Shiting wasn’t running the other way. He was charging straight toward the crevice!

That fool of a fish was trying to rescue him and the little wolf!

Gu Tingshuang was livid. Seeing Ning Shiting’s recklessness, he knew he could no longer stop him. The only choice left was to salvage the situation and at least ensure that Ning Shiting survived. His only hope now was to fight against the countless voices in his mind and free himself from the chaos.

The Snow Yao drew closer. In the tangled mess of memories and consciousness, Gu Tingshuang suddenly caught a whiff of Ning Shiting’s scent.

—That close already?

The Snow Yao was becoming increasingly excited, its movements hastening.

And then—he sensed something wrong.

Since entering the Snow Yao’s mind, he hadn’t detected anything else inside. The Snow Yao was neither plant nor spirit. The only extra voice in his head—was his own.

The Snow Yao… it was human.

Why? Why did it mimic him? Why did it imitate his nature, his voice? For a split second, Gu Tingshuang was stunned. And in that instant of distraction, darkness swallowed him whole. The sensation of spiritual collapse was not unfamiliar to him. Last time, he had spent four or five days trapped in darkness, using the Ninefold Spiritual Mastery to gather his scattered consciousness before finally waking.

But this time, even his sense of self was vanishing—like falling into a dream where reality blurred, and everything, familiar and unfamiliar, was forcefully poured into him.

In this dream, he saw Ning Shiting. And—he saw himself.

The scenes shifted rapidly, changing one after another so quickly that he had no time to think.

In the dream, Ning Shiting looked no different from his present self, but Gu Tingshuang seemed to have already reached the age of adulthood. What was peculiar, however, was that in the dream, he was walking with a cane. After a while, he had a servant bring over a wheelchair, into which he slowly sat.

His movements were light, making almost no sound, because Ning Shiting was asleep—leaning against the window of the study in Qing Wang Manor, one hand propping up his cheek as he dozed.

Gu Tingshuang sat there watching him for a moment before his gaze shifted to what was pressed under Ning Shiting’s elbow: a letter with a red seal, elegantly edged in gold, written in neatly composed small script.

For some reason, in this dream, Gu Tingshuang instantly knew what it was. He knew it was a marriage contract, sent from someone he deeply loathed. The names written on it belonged to that person and Ning Shiting. That person had recently suffered repeated setbacks in court and was eager to secure his subordinates as a means of seeking safety—including Ning Shiting, who had always been unwaveringly loyal to him.

So he sent over a marriage contract, like offering a starving man one last bite of food, one last sip of soup—keeping the scent ever-present, dangling it before him until the moment he finally collapsed.

Gu Tingshuang merely watched and brushed his sleeve.

Lowering his head, he discovered something tucked inside his own sleeve. He pinched it lightly—another letter.

The same red-sealed paper, the same meticulous handwriting. It was a marriage contract, but this one was written by him.

Out of fear, or perhaps for reasons unknown, where he should have written his lover’s name at the beginning, he had only written "Gu Tingshuang." The space for the other name was left blank, as if he did not know who it should belong to.

In the dream, he stuffed the letter back, feeling a sour, unfulfilled ache in his heart.

Then, the scene shifted again.

This time, Ning Shiting was gone, leaving only himself standing there.

The place was resplendent and grand, resembling both a palace and the main hall of a noble residence. He sat at the center, his posture and clothing blurred, but his face remained clear.

He could not tell how old he was in this moment, nor where he was. He could only see, in this "Gu Tingshuang's" eyes, a deep and overwhelming exhaustion.

Below the steps knelt a group of people. Standing among them was a Daoist priest, exuding an aura of otherworldly wisdom. Unlike the others, the priest did not kneel. His expression was haughty, and his voice rang like a bell with an eerie, entrancing cadence, each word striking at Gu Tingshuang’s heart:

"The person is already dead. Seeking to trade one life for another—how greedy. The underworld never makes a losing bargain. A single life is granted, but two must be offered in return. The one you wish to save has an ill-fated destiny, born with little fortune and a weak lifespan, and in death, they have no reincarnation—salvation is near impossible. I ask again, Dianxia, do you truly wish to—"

"What need is there for you to speak of difficulties?" Gu Tingshuang heard himself say.

The two scenes flickered past him like fleeting glimpses of light and shadow, vanishing before he could grasp them. He remembered nothing from them—only the ache and sorrow that filled his heart.

And then, he realised.

The emotions were not his own. Nor were these memories his. They belonged to—the Snow Yao.