After that bout of violent delirium, whether owing to Zhang Fan's naturally sturdy constitution or to the effect of Bi Yao's gentle comfort, the fever that had persisted without let-up gradually began to ease. Zhang Fan slowly recovered his senses and came back to lucidity—yet his condition remained far from mild, and he spent most of his time lying at rest.
That day, Bi Yao was wandering idly about the cave with nothing to occupy her, and eventually drifted back to the four lines Lady Jinling had left behind. She gazed at them carefully and could not help but sigh. Zhang Fan sat nearby and could not resist asking, "Why are you sighing?"
Bi Yao let out a snort. "I'm sighing for the lady — a woman of such talent and beauty, yet wronged by you wretched men, made to suffer all her life. What a waste!"
Zhang Fan was left speechless.
Biyao read those few lines over once more with great care, when all of a sudden she let out a soft exclamation—she had spotted something peculiar. The center of the impression beside the very last character of the final line was sunken deeply inward, markedly unlike all the other characters. Her eyes darted, and she grasped it almost at once. She reached down and lifted the Hehuanling from her waist to compare—and sure enough, it fit perfectly. She could not help but cry out in delight.
Zhang Fan called out in surprise from behind, "What's wrong?"
Bi Yao turned back and smiled at him: "We're saved!"
Zhang Fan was startled, then immediately perked up. "Really?" he asked, his voice bright with delight.
Biyao inserted the bell into the slot. Seeing no reaction, she tried turning it left and right. A moment later, crackling sounds suddenly arose from within the stone cave, and the stone wall began to tremble. Startled, Biyao clutched the golden bell and hurriedly stepped back. With a thunderous boom, the once-smooth stone wall collapsed inward, shedding an outer layer and revealing the surface beneath—upon which, like the writings in the inner chamber, characters had been carved.
Zhang Fan's heart leapt with joy at first, but as he scanned left and right along the stone wall, his expression gradually darkened. It seemed this mechanism had been set by Lady Jinling for no other purpose than to conceal the writing on the wall—there was no way out whatsoever. His disappointment could not have been more complete.
Bi Yao gazed intently at the characters carved into the stone wall. Whatever Lady Jinling had left behind—hidden away so deliberately—could be no ordinary thing. After a long while, the expression on her face shifted and changed, though the weight of wonder ran deepest of all. She murmured softly, "So this is the 'Lovesick Curse.'"
Zhang Fan stood to one side, growing impatient. He stepped over and skimmed the first few lines, only to find they read:
Spirits of the Nine Nethers, gods and demons all,
With my body of flesh and blood, I offer myself as sacrifice.
Three lives, seven worlds, forever fallen to Yama,
For love alone, I would die without regret.
……
He could tell at a glance that this was a vicious curse from the demonic path, yet seeing Biyao's expression—joy far outweighing all else—he could not help but let out a grunt. "Is there anything in here that points to a way out?"
Bi Yao was momentarily stunned.
Zhang Fan said coolly, "Then what good is it to you, even if you've learned it?"
Biyao fell silent, and only after a long moment did she speak: "You don't know the origin of the Lovesick Curse. This incantation has been passed down in our Holy Sect since ancient times, yet no one has ever been willing to use it."
Hearing this, Zhang Fan actually felt his curiosity stir?
Bi Yao let out a sigh. "This incantation is said to have been comprehended long ago by a gifted female ancestral master from the *Book of Heaven*. Yet it can only be cultivated by women — I have heard that it draws upon the entirety of a woman's lifeblood, forging it into a deadly curse of unparalleled might…"
She had not yet finished when Zhang Fan cut her off, his eyes full of contempt. "Just call it the 'Blood Curse' and be done with it — what's this 'Lovesick Curse' nonsense? Heresy and pure affectation!"
Bi Yao's expression changed, but she immediately froze for a moment, then said in a low voice: "You're right. Even someone like Lady Jinling herself — in the end, didn't it all come to nothing?"
Zhang Fan ignored her.
※※※
The two spent several more days there. In his idle moments, Zhang Fan would go and read the Book, while Bi Yao would often stand before the stone wall, staring blankly at the inscription she called the Lovesick Curse, lost in a silent reverie.
Within the first volume of the *Book*, there were in truth no practical cultivation methods to speak of — the text throughout was abstruse and difficult, and could be regarded as a general overview. Yet Zhang Fan, having mastered the true methods of both the Buddhist and Daoist schools, was still able to make sense of the passage, though merely understanding it was all he could manage. As for the realm of merging the two into one, Zhang Fan remained utterly at a loss no matter how long he pondered. Could it truly mean wielding the two great true methods — the Taiji Xuanqing Dao and the Brahma Prajna — in simultaneous union?
Though he knew the odds of survival were slim, certain temptations still stirred within him. Zhang Fan soon attempted to cultivate following the directions set out in the Book, yet simultaneously employing these two supreme techniques proved no easy feat—within moments his blood and qi were surging in turmoil, and he could only stop in dejection. Several days passed without the slightest progress.
But what followed was an even greater problem facing the two of them — they had run out of food.
Those who walk the path of cultivation and refine the Dao may ascend to the heavens and plunge into the seas, yet in the end they are still beings of mortal flesh. Legends speak of elders of profound cultivation practicing the art of Bigu — neither drinking nor eating — yet no one has ever truly witnessed such a thing. Ever since entering this mountain cave, Zhang Fan's rations had been lost. Fortunately, there was still fresh water to drink within, but as for food, only Bi Yao had brought any provisions — and how could that small supply ever be enough? Even with the two of them rationing as carefully as they could, it was gone in no time.
Like this, neither of them knew how long they had lingered in the cave. It had likely been no more than two days when Zhang Fan and Bi Yao found themselves staring blankly at a food pouch that was completely empty.
Yao sat upon the platform with a heap of bleached bones right beside her, yet she felt not the slightest discomfort. It seemed that women of the Demonic Sect were indeed unlike ordinary people. Even so, at this moment, a look of worry was etched across her face.
Zhang Fan recovered quickly — the fever had nearly broken, and aside from some lingering weakness, he was otherwise fine. Just then he heard Bi Yao sigh, and he turned his head to look at the demon-sect girl. What met his eyes was the water-green-robed figure sitting at the edge of the platform, feet dangling in midair, swinging idly back and forth, each sway setting the Hehuanling bell at her waist chiming in a bright cascade of *ding-ding-dang-dang*. Had it not been for their surroundings and his knowledge of who she was, Zhang Fan might almost have taken her for a girl of genuine, flawless innocence.
Yet looking at her now, Bi Yao was far more haggard than when they had first met. Being a young woman, she still made her way each day to the curtain of falling water to wash and tend to herself, so her features remained as lovely as ever, untouched by any air of squalor—yet over these past days, she had visibly grown thin. The thought gave Zhang Fan pause. From the very beginning, his master and senior brothers had drilled the same lesson into him: those who walked the demonic path were, to a man, selfish and cold-blooded, their hearts hardened by malice and their hands practiced in cruelty. Yet here, trapped in this forsaken cave with no way out, for what reason would this girl of the Demonic Sect still share half of her last scraps of food with him?
Zhang Fan was lost in thought and failed to notice Biyao glancing over. Seeing him staring at her with a dazed expression—she couldn't tell when it had started—a flush of red rose to her cheeks. "What are you looking at?" she said reproachfully.
Zhang Fan was startled and quickly turned his head away, saying sheepishly, "What."
Bi Yao stood behind him, yet did not scold him loudly as he had imagined. After a long silence, what came instead was a soft sigh: "...we are trapped in this cave with no way out, not far from death — there is no need for you to be so restrained."
Zhang Fan started slightly, then slowly turned around to face Bi Yao. Her face was somewhat gaunt yet still beautiful, wearing a faint, helpless smile. Unable to stop himself, he blurted out: "Actually, when I was gravely ill, you didn't have to give me most of the provisions. That way you might have lived a few more days, and perhaps…"
"What if something does happen?" Bi Yao suddenly cut him off.
Zhang Fan froze for a moment, then shook his head, murmuring softly, "There's no guarantee you can be saved."
Biyao shook her head slightly, a faint smile crossing her face. "I don't want to die — but even less do I want to sit in the dead silence of this cave, slowly waiting while staring at a skeleton and another corpse gradually rotting away. If it came to that, I'd likely lose my mind long before anyone came to save me."
Zhang Fan listened as she described that kind of life, and could not help but shudder himself — it was truly no way for any person to live.
Biyao glanced at him, her tone indifferent: "What's the matter — are you afraid too?"
Zhang Fan immediately straightened his back and said loudly, "No such thing!"
A smile curved at the corner of Bi Yao's lips. The gaze she fixed on him gradually softened with a tenderness barely there, and she said in a gentle voice: "Promise me one thing, will you?"
Zhang Fan frowned?"
Bi Yao gave a faint smile. "Our rations have been completely exhausted. Aside from a little clean water, there is nothing left to eat. I fear that in fewer than seven days, we shall have starved to death."
Zhang Fan said nothing.
Bi Yao's expression was serene, but the words that followed struck Zhang Fan like a specter from the dark, his face going pale with shock: "In a few days' time, if you see that I am not going to make it—just kill me first."
Zhang Fan gaped, pointing at her, momentarily at a loss for words. Yet he could never have anticipated what Bi Yao said next—her expression still utterly composed—words so inconceivable they shook the very heavens: "After I die, my body will remain. If you are truly determined to live, eating my flesh should keep you alive a while longer."
Zhang Fan nearly stumbled to the ground.
A long moment passed before he finally came back to himself from the shock. He immediately said inwardly: "These Demonic Sect people are truly monstrous—they are capable of even such things!" But when he looked at Bi Yao's expression, it was utterly serene, and his heart grew colder still. He could not help but take a step back, his finger pointing at her trembling almost uncontrollably. "You—what did you—?"
Bi Yao looked at her, the tenderness in her eyes seeming to deepen yet further—yet in Zhang Fan's eyes, it appeared more venomous than all the poisons in the world combined.
"Don't you want to return to Big Bamboo Peak on Qingyun Mountain to see your Senior Sister Ling'er? Several of your fellow disciples are also here in the Ancient Cave of Ten Thousand Bats — they will surely come looking for you. The longer you stay alive, the greater their hope of finding you, is that not so?" Biyao lowered her head slightly, yet her tone remained as placid as ever.
But at that moment, Zhang Fan had no attention to spare for her tone—he did not even notice how she had come to know about Senior Sister Ling'er. He simply pointed at her and raged: "You actually expect me to eat from you demonic heretics—this is absolutely preposterous! Shameless, revolting—you, you…"
He grew angrier and angrier, yet his tongue refused to cooperate—he stuttered "I, I, I" and "You, you, you" for a good while without managing to get a single coherent word out. But this reaction of his seemed to be precisely what Biyao had expected. She showed neither anger nor mockery, only stared at him blankly for a long moment. When Zhang Fan's ragged, heaving breaths had slowly steadied, she said softly: "Whether you eat me or not is entirely up to you—but you will have to kill me first."
"Here we go again." Zhang Fan erupted in fury: "Don't you dare imagine I would ever sink to your level and consort with demonic scum like you. Give me some rations, and I'll repay the debt with this body of mine—but pulling me into your filth? That is absolutely out of the question!"
Bi Yao slowly shook her head. "Yes, I am afraid."
Zhang Fan said out of habit, "Hu, I would never fall for your trick… What?"
As if at this life-or-death juncture, something shifted within Bi Yao in a way it never had before. She seemed to sink into some distant memory, and upon her face there surfaced a fear that Zhang Fan had never once seen in her. Then, with a heavy shake of her head, she cast it aside—as though trying to drive away some unwanted thought.
"Do you know what it feels like — waiting for death all alone?" she said in a low voice.
Zhang Fan paused for a moment, vaguely sensing that she seemed to have more to the story than she let on. Curiosity stirred within him—was that what this was?
The muscles at the corner of Bi Yao's eye seemed to twitch. Standing at the threshold of death, facing the young man who was the only one by her side in this final hour, she found herself utterly unable to rein in her emotions—even her voice, when she spoke, carried a faint quality of haziness and hollowness: "When I was six years old, my mother took me back to the Six Fox Caves of Huqi Mountain to visit my grandmother. But your righteous sects chose that very moment to attack. Among them, the vile monk Pufang of the Temple of Yin used his Artifact, the Golden Pagoda Bowl, to bring the entire Six Fox Caves crashing down, burying my mother, my grandmother, and me alive beneath the earth."
Zhang Fan's body gave a sudden shudder. A sense of foreboding—a deep, creeping chill—rose unbidden in his chest, running cold from the crown of his head all the way down to the soles of his feet.
At that moment, Biyao seemed to have sunk entirely into the depths of a painful memory. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, vacant and hollow—much like the tone of her voice, flat and empty, yet carrying the most profound anguish: "I was so frightened that I burst into wailing sobs. I was terrified beyond measure. It was a mountain cave; only because a few large boulders propped up the ceiling were we able to survive at all. But Grandma's wounds were too grievous, and she passed away not long after. Mother held me in that pitch darkness, and we wept until we could weep no more—then buried Grandma right there."
"We were buried deep underground, with nothing around us but hard, icy rock and a few drops of water seeping through the crevices. I was frightened, but Mother kept telling me: Don't be afraid, Yao — Father will surely come to save us."
Zhang Fan held his breath and sharpened his senses, listening with careful attention. A nameless strangeness crept over him, laced with a faint, gnawing dread—as though he could feel that something was about to happen.
"But it was always pitch-black there, and Father never came. Alone in that dark cave, I was terrified, my stomach aching with hunger, and I couldn't stop crying. I still remember Mother sighing beside me, holding me tightly in her arms, saying to me over and over: Don't be afraid, Yao, don't be afraid. Mother won't let anything happen to you. Your father will definitely come to save us!"
Biyao's face grew gradually ashen, yet she pressed on: "But Father still didn't come, and I had grown so hungry I could barely endure it. I kept crying to Mother, begging for something to eat. Over and over she searched the cave, but never found a thing. By the end, I was so starved I no longer had the strength even to cry—I could only lie limp in Mother's arms and whimper. Then suddenly, one day, Mother found a piece of meat!……"
Almost the instant Biyao spoke, Zhang Fan saw her body begin to tremble.
I was so hungry I could think of nothing else. I ate what was given to me, then fell into what seemed a peaceful sleep — and it seemed that in the darkness, Mother had smiled. And so it went: every so often Mother would bring me a piece of meat, and that was how I stayed alive. But her voice grew weaker with each passing day. Then at last came a day when I called out to her, and she did not answer. From that moment on, I waited alone in the darkness to die.
Bi Yao slowly turned her head and looked at Zhang Fan. Caught in her gaze, Zhang Fan felt an involuntary chill sink into his heart. "Do you know what it feels like to wait for death alone in that place? Do you know the smell of your mother's corpse rotting slowly beside you? Do you know what it is like to never be able to see what surrounds you, to live forever in fear?"
With every question she asked, Zhang Fan's body trembled once.
Bi Yao fell silent, and Zhang Fan dared not even breathe. At last, as though waking from a dream—yet not quite awake—she drifted back into that haze and went on: "Then one day, without warning, a beam of light shot down from above. Startled, I cried out and shrank into the deepest corner. The light grew brighter and brighter, the opening above wider and wider. I heard Father calling out the names of Mother and me—and then I saw him leap down, planting himself before me."
He did not look at me first—his eyes found my mother before anything else. When the light had blazed up, I had been so fixed on what lay above that I forgot to look at her. By the time I remembered, Father was already blocking the way, and I could not see Mother's body. Yet I saw clearly how Father's frame shuddered, how his whole being seemed to turn to stone. Then Uncle Qinglong, Uncle Baihu, and Uncle Xuanwu, who had leaped down after Father, each froze where they stood, not moving at all.
A sudden terror seized me—greater even than the fear of waiting to die in that darkness. Calling out in a hushed voice, I slowly turned around. My three uncles stood in a row behind him, blocking my mother's body from sight. I still could not see Mother. In a hushed voice I asked, "Where is Mother?"
Zhang Fan could see it plainly — with every word Bi Yao spoke, her body shuddered, as though the girl who had asked that question stood right there before them.
Father said nothing. But his expression was terrifying. Though I was… yet I knew. I knew—in that moment, he truly wanted to kill me. Wanted to kill his own flesh and blood. And yet, in the end, he did not raise his hand. He saved me. He held me in his arms and carried me out of that pitch-black cave. Just before we left, I stole a glance downward from Father's shoulder—Mother's body had already been buried by the three uncles, with only one hand left sticking out of the earth. But I don't know why… that hand, that hand, that hand…
Bi Yao's voice fell silent without warning. Zhang Fan started in alarm and looked toward her, only to find her face had gone deathly pale, her eyes tightly shut—her whole body toppling straight down as though she had fainted dead away. Almost on pure instinct, Zhang Fan lunged forward and caught her. The moment he touched her, a bone-deep chill met his hands, as though he were holding not a living person but something else entirely.
Still weak from his recent illness, Zhang Fan had spent every last ounce of his strength just to lay Bi Yao flat on the platform. Gazing at her pallid face, he suddenly realized that his entire body, from head to toe, was completely drenched in cold sweat.
That night, Bi Yao remained unconscious, yet from time to time she would cry out "Mother" in her dreams. In the blink of an eye, their roles were completely reversed — it was now Zhang Fan who was tending to her.
But this was clearly a wound buried deep in Biyao's heart—some memory of terrible pain. In her unconscious state she cried out several times, cold sweat streaming down her face, and Zhang Fan stood helplessly by, at a complete loss. At last, Biyao's arm flailed about without awareness and seized his shoulder; nestling into his embrace, she seemed to find something to hold onto, and gradually she calmed, drifting into quiet sleep. Yet her hands kept a fierce grip on Zhang Fan's clothes, her fingernails digging so deep they broke the skin, and the pain made him grimace and clench his teeth. But somehow, gazing at Biyao's pale face, he found he could not bring himself to leave. He forced the pain down and stayed still, letting her rest against him and sleep on in peace.