Chapter Sixteen: The White Before My Eyes Is Not Truly White

Sweat-soaked black hair clung in wild strands to his forehead; when the icy wind swept by, it froze into stiff clumps. Blood surged in his chest, and at last, Zhou Yu tasted iron at the back of his throat—a mouthful of bright red blood spattered forth. He opened his eyes; the world before him was a blur, the white snow dazzling to the point of dizziness. Wiping away the blood from the corner of his lips, Zhou Yu staggered to his feet. In the distance, a white streak was racing toward him.

Even on the pure white snowfield, that streak radiated an even more dazzling brilliance. It was immaculate, as pure as the girl from years ago. “My favorite color is white.” That was their first meeting—she smiled as innocently as the first snowfall, and Zhou Yu was lost from that moment on. The girl’s name had been Jie.

He laughed bitterly. “What white exists in this world? No matter how pure, time will always stain it yellow.” Zhou Yu lurched toward the massive sword embedded in the snow. He pulled it free, trembling, and pointed it at the onrushing white streak. “The color I hate most is white, for it is the most false, the easiest to taint. Show me your true colors!” With that, he raised the sword and slashed at the streak, whiter than the snow itself.

His blade missed. The white streak struck him instead. The impact forced another mouthful of blood from his lips and sent him tumbling like a kite with its string cut, trailing a crimson arc before he crashed heavily into the snowdrift.

“Damn it… it’s red after all…” Zhou Yu’s vision was veiled in blood. He lay in the crater his own body had made, staring up at a sky that had turned blood-red to his eyes.

In that moment, Zhou Yu’s mind became utterly clear. He felt nothing of the agony from his shattered ribs or the weakness from his spent strength. When the last trace of white in the sky was finally drenched in crimson, he seemed to hear a faint, delicate sound of something breaking.

That girl—pure as the first snow—had long since gone. On the day she left, she wore a flaming red coat and stepped into a bright red sports car. That scarlet image tormented Zhou Yu every night. But now, in his heart, it was fracturing, crumbling into dust, replaced by boundless darkness.

The white streak that had sent him flying came to a halt. The snow-white wolf stood in the field, its body shifting and morphing until it became a tall man dressed in black. His skin was sickly pale, yet shrouded by a faint, sacred glow.

The man in black was lean, his fingers even more so. He gazed at his right hand and spoke: “That was only a tenth of my strength. Celestial Wolf, you are indeed formidable.”

The Celestial Wolf Demon King, one of the five great demon kings of the demon race—why he had appeared atop Misty Mountain was a mystery. After sending Zhou Yu flying with a single blow, he stood amidst the swirling snow and wind, watching the old man and the giant bear locked in battle not far away.

Those uncanny, pallid eyes never once glanced at Zhou Yu, sprawled in his snowy pit. In his eyes, the youth who had slain the nine-headed demon wolf deserved a strike, but as one who could be defeated by a mere fraction of his strength, Zhou Yu was not worthy of his respect.

With his long fingers, the Celestial Wolf smoothed his wind-whipped silver hair and stepped forward, fixing his gaze on the old man as if looking at a dead man.

“I loathe white the most. Red isn’t much better,” Zhou Yu muttered as he rose unsteadily from the snow, his figure swaying as he struggled free from the pit.

The Celestial Wolf did not look back. He continued his slow, unhurried advance toward the old man. What did it matter if the youth rose again? A difference in strength might be bridged by will or courage, but when the gulf was as vast as earth and sky, could anything make up for it? Did Zhou Yu think himself a goddess, able to mend the heavens? The Celestial Wolf sneered in contempt.

“I have always preferred black,” Zhou Yu said, bending with great effort to pick up his massive sword. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and continued, “Only black cannot be tainted. Only black is truly pure.”

The Celestial Wolf halted and turned to regard the youth who could barely grip his blade. For a moment, a strange glint flickered in those pale, otherworldly eyes. “You’re not quite human, but your logic is sound.”

Propping himself up with the sword, Zhou Yu painstakingly edged toward the Celestial Wolf. “I must live—to erase all the false white from this world.”

The Celestial Wolf arched a brow, indifferent. “I can spare your life.”

“No need. I will kill you, and then live on.” Zhou Yu dragged the sword as he staggered forward, seeming at any moment about to collapse.

Only when Zhou Yu finally stood before him did the Celestial Wolf speak again. “I don’t know where your confidence comes from, but I’ll give you a chance. I’ll give you the chance to realize you’re courting death.”

Zhou Yu said nothing. He swallowed the metallic blood in his mouth, took several heavy breaths, and then, with immense effort, lifted the sword and swung at the Celestial Wolf.

The Celestial Wolf did not move, allowing the blow to land. The massive blade struck with no more force than if laid gently upon him—it didn’t even tear his black clothes.

“I told you, you’re courting death.” The Celestial Wolf reached out and pinched the blade between his fingers.

Zhou Yu looked up into those eerie, pale eyes and managed a faint, bitter smile. “Do you know Du Niang?”

“What—” The Celestial Wolf had barely begun to speak when a violent current surged from the sword, cutting him off.

In an instant, blue-green lightning coiled around his body. His black clothes burst into flames, his silver hair burned to ash, as the energy, stored up by Du Niang for so long, surged through him.

The Celestial Wolf roared, flinging aside the sword and striking at Zhou Yu with his palm. “Die!”

One of the five great demon kings, ambushed and scorched by the lightning—his face was a charred mask of fury and murderous intent. Though the strike was weakened by numbness, it still bore enough force to punch clean through Zhou Yu’s heart.

But the Celestial Wolf had miscalculated. From afar, a sword-light shot forth, piercing his right arm. The lightning had stripped away his protective aura, leaving his defenses much diminished.

The old man in the distance, hair and beard bristling, had feigned battle with the giant bear, biding his time since the Celestial Wolf’s arrival. When Du Niang’s voice whispered Zhou Yu’s plan in his ear, he had begun to gather his strength for this very moment. He had aimed at the Celestial Wolf’s head, but at the last instant, he chose to strike his right arm, saving Zhou Yu instead.

The Celestial Wolf howled in pain, clutching his pierced arm. His once-handsome face warped into a wolf’s head, black light gathering in his jaws. Only by reverting to wolf form could he unleash his demonic blast with his wounded arm.

Yet Zhou Yu advanced instead of retreating, forcing the last dregs of blood through his veins into the great sword, pouring every ounce of strength into a single blow. “How could I die?” he roared as he struck at the Celestial Wolf.

The Celestial Wolf sensed the danger in the now blood-red blade and raised his left arm to block. With a crisp crack, the blade bit into his arm, sinking a finger's width before stopping. Even a frenzied, blood-fueled attack from Zhou Yu could only barely wound a demon king of his level.

Murderous intent surged in the Celestial Wolf’s eyes. The black sphere in his mouth was not yet fully formed, but he spat it forth regardless. Even unfinished, it was overkill for one such as Zhou Yu.

After unleashing his sword, the old man had exhausted his strength and was once more entangled by the giant bear, unable to intervene.

Du Niang had spent all her power and now lay dormant, the watch on Zhou Yu’s wrist dim and lifeless.

In this moment between life and death, the demonic blast that could have killed him a dozen times over hovered an inch before Zhou Yu’s brow. He let go of the sword and, face-to-face with death, howled—not at the Celestial Wolf, but at the world itself.

“I will never die! I will live on—until every false white has vanished!”

He finished his cry, yet the demonic blast had not yet annihilated him.

At that instant, the sphere of power froze, a layer of frost forming over it.

The Celestial Wolf leapt back, transforming midair into a white wolf and landing in the snow. At the spot where he had stood, a sharp icicle now jutted from the ground, gleaming coldly in the last rays of sunset.

A youth in white stood thirty meters away, a sword on his back, cold as ice itself—so much a part of this wintry world that it was impossible to tell where he ended and the snow began.

In wolf form, the Celestial Wolf stared in disbelief, words spilling from his jaws: “The Sword Sect?”