The No. 1 Hunfen King in the Entire Server [Interstellar] Chapter 93

Lin Jing’s blood, which had turned cold, slowly warmed again. His mind was completely blank.

For a moment, he felt as if Chu Feihuan were staring straight through Shangguan Wan’s body, his icy gaze scrutinizing Lin Jing’s very soul.

How did he know? How could Chu Feihuan possibly know that Beggar Old Three was also him?!

Lin Jing had only ever treated this game as mere entertainment—without rhythm, without planning, without purpose. But now, with just one sentence from Chu Feihuan, everything had collapsed.

The sickly, pale young lady stood stiffly at the edge of the lotus pond. She took another step back, her white gown nearly dipping into the water, the paper crane at her waist swaying slightly.

Lin Jing looked up, his deep brown eyes clouded with confusion and shock.

Chu Feihuan leaned in, a lingering chill still clinging to his body. His eerie cyan eyes were cold and indifferent. He smiled faintly. “You and I, madam, were never just strangers passing by.”

His icy fingers traced up Lin Jing’s face, slow and deliberate, his touch tinged with an unsettling intimacy. The sensation sent shivers through Lin Jing’s body, but the words that followed made him freeze completely.

“Madam, you are the strangest person I have ever met.”

“You saved me in that ruined temple, yet you abandoned me in that mountain cave.”

“You watched my decade of suffering with cold indifference, yet when I fell into the Abyssal Prison, you sent a message through a paper crane.”

“You watched as I nearly drowned, and you watched as I clawed my way back from the gates of h*ll. You saw me rise to fame, and you saw me plunge into darkness. You’ve witnessed every moment of my life as if it were a play… and yet, you still wish to act as a mere bystander? That’s not how this works, madam.”

“That is not how the world works.”

Lin Jing’s eyes widened abruptly. His voice squeezed through gritted teeth. “You could see me?!”

Chu Feihuan chuckled softly. Then, lowering his gaze, he said coolly, “I couldn’t see you. But I always knew you were there.”

“In the seat beside me at the academy. On the boulder behind the mountain where I practiced my swordsmanship. Among the peach branches outside the sect’s gates. In the cypress tree by the Sword Pool. And finally, in the Abyssal Prison… right beside me.”

“Madam, did you count how many stones there were on the prison wall?”

Lin Jing stood there, utterly stunned, staring blankly at him.

“Three hundred and four, Madam.” Chu Feihuan’s fingers were as cold as snow, roughened by thin calluses. His voice was calm yet edged with madness. “I counted three hundred and four, over and over. And I sketched your likeness, again and again.”

Then, he let out a mocking laugh. “And yet, I have never been able to grasp your thoughts. Despite the days and nights spent together, we remain more distant than strangers.”

“How strange, madam.”

For the first time, a trace of confusion flickered through Chu Feihuan’s cold, beautiful eyes.

“You were never part of the highs and lows of my life, yet from the moment I first saw your eyes by Wangchuan River, all my love and hate have been for you.”

The last sentence was spoken in a low voice, like a lover’s whisper.

Yet in Lin Jing’s mind, it was like a thunderclap splitting the heavens, shattering his thoughts into dust.

Chu Feihuan said, “Do you know, madam? The Silver Light Lotus actually has a subtle fragrance. It was while searching for it that I heard of a pond full of them in the Yingluo Hall. Only then did I realize where the scent on you and those paper cranes came from. That night in the temple, I knew you were there, and I knew the Lotus was just behind the remains. But I didn’t dare to take it, madam.”

Lin Jing felt dazed, his voice trembling as he called his name, “Chu Feihuan—”

Chu Feihuan’s rough, cold fingertips brushed against his lips. He smiled faintly, his eyes deep like a bottomless lake. “Since you’ve already decided to be a bystander, why did you appear before me?”

A dense, unbearable pain welled up in Lin Jing’s chest.

Just as the two were locked in a standoff, a powerful gust of wind suddenly blasted in from outside, accompanied by an enraged shout—

“Chu Feihuan! I can’t believe you actually dared to return!”

The windstorm was devastating, instantly shattering doors and windows. The serpents in the lotus pond thrashed violently, yet they were suppressed by a formation, unable to escape. A figure burst in, wielding a horsetail whisk, his hair and brows completely white, his azure Daoist robes billowing. It was none other than Shangguan Wuya.

“Ah Qing?!” Shangguan Wuya’s eyes widened when he saw Lin Jing. Seeing him pinned against the pond’s edge by Chu Feihuan, his entire body trembled in fury, his eyes turning red. “Demon! Prepare to die!”

The whisk in his hand radiated golden light, surging with the power of a cultivator at the Nascent Soul stage, illuminating the blood-stained demon palace.

The jade ornaments on Lin Jing’s gown jingled, forming a protective array that enveloped him in a faint white mist against the lethal force.

In an instant, the Spring Waters Sentimental sword unsheathed itself, transforming into a translucent blue barrier.

Chu Feihuan grabbed Lin Jing’s right hand, preparing to leave through a concealment array.

But Lin Jing suddenly snapped out of his daze and pulled away.

Chu Feihuan’s strength was far greater than his. Lin Jing had to use all his might to break free, and in the struggle, the red thread on his pinky unraveled, drifting into Chu Feihuan’s palm.

His pinky had been partially regrown, revealing a jagged, worm-like scar.

“Ah Qing!” Shangguan Wuya swiftly retracted his whisk and rushed over, positioning himself protectively in front of Lin Jing, glaring furiously at Chu Feihuan.

Chu Feihuan, however, remained silent, staring at the red thread in his palm for a second before lifting his gaze to Lin Jing—watching him intently, unblinking.

Lin Jing himself wasn’t sure how he felt. He stood at the edge of the lotus pond, his robe fluttering in the wind, looking back at Chu Feihuan.

This time, his gaze carried a hint of confusion, yet it was still as clear and sharp as ever.

Like spring water, like a blade, cutting through Chu Feihuan’s very soul.

Just like countless times before.

He stood by, watching all the love, hatred, and life-and-death struggles around Chu Feihuan, but never stepping into the scene himself.

Chu Feihuan let out a low chuckle. His black robes billowed, and the blood formation beneath his feet began to take shape. His sclera turned faintly red, and he said in a hoarse, dangerous voice, “Madam, I told you—this does not make sense.”

“You—”

He suddenly grabbed Lin Jing’s hand again.

Lin Jing only had time to feel a surge of immense spiritual energy wash over him before he was yanked forward, straight into Chu Feihuan’s embrace. A cold, powerful arm wrapped around his waist—

And together, they vanished into the swirling black mist of demonic energy.

“Ah Qing—!” Behind them, Shangguan Wuya’s enraged roar echoed in despair.

Lin Jing was both furious and speechless. What kind of trash system was this, setting the protagonist’s power level so absurdly high? How was he supposed to play the game like this?!

As the concealment array activated, the intense turbulence made his eyes sting with tears.

This was complete bullsh*t. What kind of insane development was this?

Amid the haze, he caught a faint glimpse of a blue glow flickering around Chu Feihuan. It felt eerily unnatural, yet he couldn’t quite place why.

It didn’t resemble any known spiritual energy in this world.

The concealment array transported them a thousand miles.

By the time Lin Jing came to his senses, his feet had landed on soft earth.

They were in a desolate wilderness, frost-covered grass swaying in the chilling wind, sending shivers down his arms.

At this point, since he’d already been exposed, he couldn’t be bothered to keep up the act. Looking around, he asked flatly, “Where exactly are you taking me?”

Suddenly, he felt the hand around his waist move—as if untying his belt.

Lin Jing nearly jumped.

But it turned out that Chu Feihuan was merely taking the paper crane from his sash.

Lin Jing: “Are you sick?”

Chu Feihuan: “Quite gravely so.”

Lin Jing let out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh wow, Chu Feihuan. When you were a kid, you wouldn’t say a single word all day, and now you’ve learned how to talk back?”

Chu Feihuan glanced at him but didn’t respond. Instead, he simply tugged Lin Jing forward.

Lin Jing: “Let go. I can walk by myself.”

Chu Feihuan: “Not running away anymore, madam?”

Lin Jing: “Why the h*ll would I run?!”

Why would he? He had the god-level script, not some demon lord’s little sweetheart storyline.

“And stop calling me madam.”

“Then what should I call you?”

Call me Dad.

Lin Jing muttered, “Call me by my name.”

“What is your name?”

“Shangguan Wan, obviously.”

Chu Feihuan smiled. “Ah Qing.”

Lin Jing: “…”

The path ahead was rugged and shrouded in darkness, overgrown with jagged branches and sharp weeds. Just like in the past. But for Lin Jing, it was just as difficult to walk now—he had only gone from being a toothless, crippled old beggar to a frail, sickly young noble.

Chu Feihuan could easily travel by sword flight, yet he chose to walk, likely considering Lin Jing’s weak body.

“Where are we even going?” Lin Jing rubbed his reddened wrist, unable to suppress his curiosity.

Chu Feihuan: “I don’t know.”

Lin Jing’s eyes widened. “You’re not planning on dragging me around on the run, are you? Bringing me along will only slow you down. You’re just making trouble for yourself.”

Chu Feihuan said indifferently, “Then so be it. You like watching from the sidelines, don’t you? Now, you can watch to your heart’s content.”

Lin Jing: “…”

D*mn it. He couldn’t even argue back.

What kind of karmic punishment was this?

A flock of fireflies and startled birds took flight along the path.

Lin Jing finally realized that Chu Feihuan still wasn’t much of a talker. It made sense—when he had been driven to Wangchuan River, seeking death, he hadn’t said much either.

It must have been hard for him—calling him “Madam” over and over on the bamboo raft, chatting all the way. Just how frustrated had he been?

Curious, Lin Jing asked, “How did you figure out that Beggar Old Three was mine?”

Chu Feihuan lowered his eyes, his long, dark lashes casting shadows over his face. “His soul.”

Lin Jing was shocked. “You can see people’s souls? That’s basically the Eye of God!” The so-called young master of the Astrologer Pavilion, who could only open his eyes once every few years, could take a back seat.

Wait. A chill ran down Lin Jing’s spine as he recalled the game’s setting. Everyone had five cards—five identities. He probed cautiously, “Can you see everyone’s soul?”

Chu Feihuan: “Not exactly.”

Lin Jing: “!”

Chu Feihuan had never concealed anything from him. He answered calmly, “I can only see the souls of certain people. Coincidentally, these people always appear around me in different disguises.”

Lin Jing: “…”

Feigning ignorance, he asked, “Why do you think that is?”

Chu Feihuan gazed at him, his cyan eyes reflecting the cold moonlight. “Good question. Why?”

Lin Jing swallowed. “Have you ever guessed the reason?”

“I have.” Chu Feihuan withdrew his gaze. “It’s probably because I’m a being of demonic intent. Their motives are always clear—half want to persuade me to do good, and the other half want to lure me into evil.”

Lin Jing: “…”

Is this really the intelligence level of an NPC?!

The entire world was now hunting Chu Feihuan. Initially, only the Immortal Alliance and some sects had pursued him. But now, the four great factions had been mobilized—an inescapable net, filled with deadly traps.

Though they were technically on the run, Lin Jing felt like he was on a leisure trip. He had never been more at ease.

Drink when thirsty, eat when hungry, sleep when tired. There were dangers along the way, of course. Chu Feihuan’s Springwater Sword had taken many lives, but Lin Jing had never seen any blood. His sleep was light, and every time he was startled awake, he would find Chu Feihuan returning, shrouded in the scent of blood.

Occasionally, in taverns, storytellers would recount tales of the turbulent world. Once again, Lin Jing heard about Gu Xiangsi and Chu Feihuan’s tragic love story—the ill-fated romance between an immortal and a demon.

And the protagonist was sitting right next to him.

Lin Jing munched on his vegetables.

The storyteller slammed his wooden clapper and sighed dramatically. “Alas, these two were childhood sweethearts, yet in the end, they became strangers wandering the ends of the earth. Tragic, truly tragic—sigh—!”

The entire tavern sighed along with him.

“—Sigh—!”

Lin Jing: “—Sigh—!”

He was no longer a player, and he was certain Chu Feihuan wouldn’t kill him. With a relaxed mindset, he even had the leisure to tease him. “Did you hear that? Childhood sweethearts, now separated by fate—tragic, huh?”

Chu Feihuan, pale as ever, glanced at him. “She and I were not childhood sweethearts.”

Lin Jing scoffed. “Oh, come on. I was there. You think you can fool me? If you and Gu Xiangsi weren’t childhood sweethearts, then who was?”

Chu Feihuan: “You.”

Lin Jing: “???”

But Chu Feihuan didn’t seem keen on elaborating. Instead, he lowered his eyes and began folding paper cranes. Ever since he had taken that string of cranes, he had developed a strange fondness for the craft.

Lin Jing had more to say, but watching Chu Feihuan struggle clumsily with the folds irritated him. He put down his chopsticks and reached out. “Not like that—you should fold it this way!”

Their journey led them to Duanwang Valley and its city, Duanwang City. The name “Duanwang” came from the legendary camphor tree that was said to grow there.

Coincidentally, it was the city’s Lantern Festival.

Lin Jing had no interest in lanterns or the bustling festivities—he just wanted a cool-looking thumb ring for his pinky finger. That way, he could touch it while striking a pose.

After browsing the stalls for ages, he finally chose a wooden ring that oozed an air of mystery.

“This one.” Scars were cool. Rings were even cooler. But wooden rings? They had the air of a reclusive master.

The vendor hesitated. “Miss, are you sure? Wouldn’t you like to see other options? This wood isn’t exactly fitting for someone of your elegance…” How could such a celestial beauty choose something so plain?

Lin Jing waved him off. “No, I want this one.”

A wooden ring on a severed finger—it would be even more fitting if his hands were rougher and darker.

The vendor, eager to make more money, turned to Chu Feihuan with a flattering smile. “Sir, perhaps you should advise your wife? Such a breathtaking lady should wear only the finest pearls and jade.”

Lin Jing: “…”

Chu Feihuan lowered his gaze. “If Ah Qing likes it, this one will do.”

Lin Jing took the wooden ring and tried to slip it onto his pinky finger, but his fingers were too slender—it fit loosely. Before he could return it for a better size, Chu Feihuan took the ring from him.

Startled, Lin Jing turned his head, only to see a long, thin red thread appear between Chu Feihuan’s fingertips. He looped it around the ring a few times, securing it.

“Hand.”

Lin Jing, bewildered, extended his hand.

Chu Feihuan lowered his head and carefully slid the now-threaded wooden ring onto his pinky, bit by bit.

It stopped midway, covering the scar.

His hands were ice-cold, but his movements were reverent and gentle.

Lin Jing stood in the midst of the lively lantern festival, staring at Chu Feihuan’s eyelashes, momentarily lost in thought.

Admiring voices drifted through the air.

“What a divine couple.”

“They must be deeply in love.”

Lin Jing suddenly recalled what Chu Feihuan had told him in the Underworld Palace.

—“You were never part of my life’s greatest ups and downs, but from the moment I saw your eyes by the Wangchuan River, all my love and hatred have been for you.”

He had never really thought about what that meant.

But before Lin Jing could make sense of it, trouble struck again.

This time, the ones who came were Fu Qingfeng and Gu Xiangsi.

Since the day Lin Jing met Chu Feihuan, he had been a fugitive, forever hunted.

Now was no different. Lin Jing stood beside him, yet he still couldn’t do a thing.

Chu Feihuan said softly, “Ah Qing, wait for me here.”

Outside, the wind and rain raged, and the red lanterns at the inn’s entrance seemed to be stained with blood.

Lin Jing placed his fingers against the window and could feel a barrier—it was a formation cast by Chu Feihuan using the Spring Water Sword.

The danger outside could not penetrate within, but the voices still carried through.

Gu Xiangsi still looked as she always had—fair skin, bright eyes, and pearl-white teeth. Her water-blue dress was as delicate as flowers and jade.

She gripped the Bilin Sword. Upon seeing Chu Feihuan again, she hesitated for a moment, but her eyes reddened first.

The inn’s occupants had long since fled, leaving only the three of them standing in the vast backyard.

Fu Qingfeng, now the leader of the Immortal Alliance, bore the deep marks of time on his features. His voice was hoarse. “You shouldn’t have killed Wenqing.”

Chu Feihuan said nothing.

If they had tracked him down here, then others would soon follow.

The sect master of the Sword Sect arrived next, clad in black robes, sword in hand as he flew in, his voice thundering.

“Fu Qingfeng! Why are you still wasting words with him? Last time, Chu Feihuan activated the concealment array at the Underworld Palace to escape, already injuring his heart meridian. If we don’t reduce him to ashes today, then when?!”

Behind him, members of renowned sects arrived, wielding magical artifacts.

A dense, oppressive mass of figures stood on the rooftops, dark as a gathering storm, surrounding the black-robed youth in the center.

Last time, they had been arrogant; this time, they were both fearful and resentful. After all, Chu Feihuan had surpassed the Nascent Soul stage and was a Demon Incarnate, the rightful strongest in the world.

Lin Jing touched the sword barrier, watching as faint ripples spread across it.

He murmured, “Chu Feihuan, why did you bring me out here?”

The battle between two Nascent Soul stage cultivators turned the world upside down. Blades and swords clashed, shattering everything in their wake. Gales howled, sword energy cut through the air like frost.

The sky twisted and churned, and the force of their duel forced onlookers to retreat step by step. Lin Jing simply watched as Chu Feihuan wielded the Spring Water Sword, his gaze cold and merciless, like a god of slaughter returning from the depths of h*ll.

Each of Chu Feihuan’s strikes was executed without hesitation, his sword energy forming solid arcs, freezing the very air.

No one knew how long the fight lasted.

In the end, Fu Qingfeng could no longer withstand it—his sword broke, and he fell.

The Sword Sect master was enraged. Gathering all his spiritual energy, his sword suddenly blazed with a dazzling crimson light. It slashed downward like a force that could split the heavens and earth.

But Chu Feihuan had already harmed his heart meridian at the Underworld Palace, and now he had spent nearly thirty percent of his Spring Water Sword energy protecting Lin Jing. He looked up, his emotionless cyan eyes fixed on the incoming red glow.

The clash of swords split the heavens.

Chu Feihuan staggered back, blood spilling from his lips.

The Sword Sect master was also injured, clutching his chest, his face pale.

“Master!”

“Senior Uncle!”

A loud crash—like glass shattering, like a bubble bursting. The moment Chu Feihuan was wounded, the protective sword barrier before Lin Jing shattered instantly. He stood at the eye of the storm, while wooden beams turned to dust around him. His white robe billowed, and the jingling of his ornaments was drowned in the chaos. Yet, a soft glow surrounded him, placing him in a world entirely separate from the raging battlefield.

Chu Feihuan could no longer hold his sword. He braced himself against the ground, kneeling on one knee, lifting his gaze. His black hair cascaded like a waterfall, his face was icy cold, and his pale lips were stained with blood.

The moment he saw Lin Jing, the bloodlust in his eyes dissipated, like the calm after a storm.

The Spring Water Sentimental Sword fell at Lin Jing’s feet.

Now, he was the only one who could approach Chu Feihuan.

The Sword Sect master recognized him almost instantly. His voice pierced through the rain, sharp and authoritative.

“Shangguan Wan, kill him!”

The righteous sect members, who had been too intimidated to approach, quickly reacted.

Shangguan Wan? This was Shangguan Wan?

There was no time to wonder why she was here. They took deep breaths and began shouting.

“Miss Shangguan! Kill him!”

“Miss Shangguan, he is a demon who has committed countless atrocities, slaughtered the innocent, and is beyond redemption. Kill him!”

“Miss Shangguan—”

Lin Jing listened to the voices rising and falling around him, lowering his gaze to quietly look at Chu Feihuan.

Chu Feihuan silently looked back.

The Sword Sect leader locked eyes on him with an enraged glare and roared,

“Shangguan Wan, if you don’t kill him today, you are a sinner against the entire world!”

“Shangguan Wan, do you want to bring shame upon your father?”

A normal person, faced with such commands and such a glare, would have been terrified into submission.

But Lin Jing only felt a strange sense of detachment.

Chu Feihuan, however, chuckled softly—his voice hoarse, cold, soaked in blood and madness.

“I told you, madam…. you were always destined to be a part of my life.”

Lin Jing looked at him, neither sorrowful nor joyful.

His white robe fluttered, catching the gentle light. His deep brown eyes were like those of a god beyond this mortal world.

It was all too familiar—this searing intensity of love and hate, of life and death.

Lin Jing had observed such scenes countless times from the perspective of a bystander. But this time, he had been forcibly dragged into it.

His mind was filled with memories of Chu Feihuan.

When he first joined the sect.

When he fell from the cliff.

When he shattered the dungeon’s walls.

When he leapt into Wangchuan River.

Scene after scene—clashes between people, entanglements between people, back-and-forth struggles, voices screaming hoarse with hatred and devotion alike.

As if desperate to let the heavens and earth bear witness to their bitter vengeance and their love, burning to the bone.

“Shangguan Wan!”

“Miss Shangguan!”

“Shangguan Wan!”

And now, at this very moment—

They were all screaming his name, just as Chu Feihuan had wished. Dragging him, without fail, into this chaotic, decaying world.

Lin Jing slowly crouched down until he was level with Chu Feihuan. His white robe shimmered faintly in the dim light. He remained silent for a long time before finally letting out a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Chu Feihuan… do you know why I chose to be an observer?”

Chu Feihuan lifted his gaze. His eyes churned with unfathomable darkness.

Lin Jing reached out a finger, gently wiping the blood from his eyelashes. His voice was calm.

“Look at your life. So many people have loved you, hated you, helped you, hurt you… And in the end?”

“In this world, the one thing you’ll never lack is people who love you.”

“If I had known you could see me, I would never have appeared by your side. In fact, saving you at the mountain temple was never part of the plan.”

Lin Jing paused for a moment, then mocked himself, “Like being possessed by a ghost.”

“Any obsession taken too far is never a good thing.”

At this moment, Chu Feihuan still didn’t know the final truth. But when the truth was finally revealed—

Lin Jing sighed, “You will regret it.”

Chu Feihuan only laughed, his icy blue eyes as chilling as ever. “Madam, you still don’t understand.”