Chapter 54 — The Demon's Passing

The white fox lifted its head, as though hesitating a moment, then said, "I am truly finished, but there is no need for you to die in vain. And you carry the Mystic Fire Mirror—when they come charging down the tunnel, you can drive up the fire dragon to meet them head-on. In their alarm, they may not be able to hold you. You—you should still..."

It suddenly broke off. The three-tailed demon fox had slowly risen before it, reached into her bosom, and drawn out a magic artifact with red silk tassels at either end—the Mystic Fire Mirror.

In this cavern of molten rock, seething with blazing heat, the Mystic Fire Mirror too was lit with a faint red glow, and the ancient fire totem at its center seemed on the verge of kindling, as though it might at any moment burst forth.

The three-tailed demon fox—that soft, bewitching woman in white whom Zhang Qingyue saw—gazed at the Mystic Fire Mirror in her hands. After a moment, a single teardrop quietly fell upon it, and an instant later turned to white smoke that curled upward.

So foxes, too, had tears?

So demons, too, could love?

Zhang Qingyue stood frozen, not moving at all.

"Three hundred years, Elder Brother," she said, low and sorrowful. "Three hundred whole years. From the day my cultivation first bore fruit, when I met you on Fox Ridge, from that day on I have followed you. To the ends of the earth, through the savage wilds, and from then on in sunless darkness, from then on in fear day and night, hunted by men.

But I have never once regretted it..."

Zhang Qingyue slowly drew a few steps closer and stood behind them. From somewhere deep in his heart came a sudden, nameless confusion. When he heard the words "Fox Ridge," something stirred in the depths of his heart, and he felt a certain familiarity—yet for the moment he could not place it.

The soft, bewitching woman's eyes were now full of glistening tears: "But today—why, why would you still send me away?"

The white fox lowered its head, and Zhang Qingyue noticed that its body had begun slowly to tremble—whether from the cold or from agitation, he could not tell.

"Elder Brother!"

The soft, bewitching woman suddenly cried out, and the sound was so shrill and anguished that the white fox jerked up its head, and Zhang Qingyue too was startled and turned to look.

The Mystic Fire Mirror, crude and ancient in shape, she had gently laid against her breast, pressed to the soft rise and fall of her bosom, and it gave off a faint halo of light.

The white fox's whole body shook. Somehow finding the strength from nowhere, it forced up its upper body and cried out hoarsely, "No—"

"Peng!"

A muffled thud, yet it struck Zhang Qingyue's heart as surely as if it had landed there. Standing behind that soft, bewitching woman, he watched helplessly as the radiance of the Mystic Fire Mirror pierced through her once-gentle back.

Bit by bit, drop by drop, they gathered into a blazing beam of light that pierced through her gentle body.

The world around her, every sound, in that instant, suddenly all became so very distant...

...

All the killing, all the obsession in the heart, slowly receded.

In the youth's eyes there was only the crimson blood, flowing from that gentle, beautiful body, dripping to the ground, turning into brilliant red flowers, then slowly seeping into the rock.

A land of blood-red, never to fade!

Powerless, she fell, collapsing before the white fox. A hoarse cry rose from the white fox's throat, but Zhang Qingyue could not understand what it was crying out; he saw only the white fox screaming, its whole body trembling, struggling to crawl forward, crawling toward that frail, dying figure not far ahead. Yet it was so terribly weak that, after struggling for the longest time, it had crawled barely half a foot.

Suddenly Zhang Qingyue rushed over.

He rushed over, and in that moment he seemed to have forgotten everything.

Carefully he gathered up the body of that gravely wounded, tender woman, laid her before the white fox, then silently stepped back and stood before them both.

And it was at that very moment that from the distant passage came once more a whistling sound, followed by a great crash, and something tumbled out of the passage, withered and black and dry—yet Zhang Qingyue recognized it plainly enough: it was a piece of the giant tentacle that had once trapped him.

He turned his head in a daze and stared at the two fox demons before him.

The white fox clutched the tender woman, its whole body shaking violently; its once beautiful fur was now withering away almost visibly fast.

"You..." His voice was hoarse, as though every word he spoke tore at his own heart.

The tender woman—that demon creature whom people called the Three-Tailed Demon Fox—her face was white as paper, without the slightest trace of blood, yet unexpectedly still as gentle as ever, as though neither the terror of death nor the rending pain in her breast could sway her in the least.

Even now, she still gazed at the white fox with tenderness.

"Elder Brother, now... surely you cannot send me away!"

The white fox choked, unable to form a sound.

She raised her hand, as if wanting to stroke him, but halfway there it fell back after all. Her blood soaked the white fox's chest red.

Even her voice slowly sank lower and lower.

"Elder Brother, I will be... together... with you..."

She closed her eyes, and did not open them again.

The whole world fell silent.