Chapter 52: Who Harbors the Heart to Kill?

The only cure for the obsession with following a story is to release more chapters!

Naturally, Xu You did not enter the room. Turning away, he said, “After lunch, I will continue the tale. If Wan Qi and the others cannot wait, they may come to the main hall to listen.”

“Hey, you’re really leaving? Can’t you at least reveal a little of what comes next? She hasn’t even eaten yet…”

Xu You, embodying the ethics of a true storyteller, refused to spoil the plot. “To know what happens next, wait for the next installment,” he declared firmly, bowing slightly before escorting Zuo Yun away.

“Such arrogance!” Bai Hua paused, then made a mocking face at Xu You’s retreating figure, pouting as she pushed open the door. “Alright, Sister, I tricked Lord Xu to come to the courtyard, but I couldn’t lure him in to tell you the story. He’s too clever for me—I admit defeat, I admit defeat!”

At the early afternoon hour, Xu You reviewed everyone’s notes. Tempted by handsome rewards, each was eager and meticulous, recording nearly every detail from the morning’s session. A few bright students, like Zhou Qiqiao, could even recite the story almost verbatim. Though Xu You had not required memorization, the quick-witted always charmed more by their ability to grasp and extend knowledge swiftly.

Once everyone settled, Xu You resumed the narration. Just as he recounted how Xu Xian died of fright and Bai Suzhen anxiously ascended Mount Kunlun to steal the immortal herb, engaging in a fierce battle with the crane guardian, a slender figure slipped silently through the slightly opened door. Without disturbing the scribes engrossed in their writing, she stood quietly in the shadowed corner—like a restless spirit without a place to belong.

Draped in crimson gauze, her form as cold as ice and snow.

Wan Qi, unable to quell her curiosity, leaned in.

Facing the doorway, Xu You saw no sign of surprise from Wan Qi. He smiled subtly and continued: “The crane guardian and Bai Suzhen clashed more than a thousand times, their skills evenly matched. But Bai Suzhen found a flaw, immobilized the guardian with a spell, then with a sweep of her water sleeves, she was about to seize the lingzhi herb and descend to save her husband...”

Zhou Qiqiao was once again captivated, but wiser this time—she placed her brush down on the ink slab to avoid smudging the paper. Just as she felt joy for Bai Suzhen’s imminent rescue of Xu Xian, Xu You’s voice dropped: “At that moment, a celestial sword shot through the air with unmatched force, aiming straight for Bai Suzhen’s back…”

“Ah?”

A few low gasps echoed through the hall, all eyes fixed on Xu You. His gaze swept the room and landed on Wan Qi, who involuntarily clenched her small hands. Xu You smiled inwardly and continued, “Bai Suzhen made a finger seal and spun swiftly, her white sword trembling as it thrust forward. The sword tips met with a thunderous clash, emitting a golden glow a yard wide, stirring the surrounding clouds into swirling waves…”

Instead, it was another guardian, the deer youth. Bai Suzhen failed to defeat him. Desperate, she pleaded sincerely with the Southern Pole Immortal, who granted her the lingzhi herb. Excited, she returned to Qiantang, only to find that Xu Xian’s soul had already been dragged to the underworld by the black and white impermanence deities. The herb was useless. All the day’s dangers and hardships were for naught.

What was to be done now?

Bai Suzhen, utterly despondent, stood by Xu Xian’s bedside, gazing at his cold corpse with a grief beyond words.

What could be done now?

The same thought echoed in Zhou Qiqiao’s mind. Not just worried, he felt as if his heart were gripped and twisted in his hand. His body shifted slightly off the mat, leaning forward, his wide eyes brimming with anxiety and urgency—desperate to hear what came next from Xu You’s lips.

Yet Xu You paused at this crucial moment, slowly swirling the floating tea leaves in his cup, sipping lightly before looking up to meet the room’s collective longing.

He smiled and said, “Take a short rest yourselves. Tea is prepared over there—help yourselves.”

Though filled with disappointment, no one dared interrupt. Some had overeaten at lunch and were parched, grateful for Xu You’s considerate gesture. Others slipped out to relieve themselves, returning refreshed and ready to absorb more of the story.

Unbeknownst to them, this was a habit from Xu You’s previous life—after several dozen minutes of instruction, a break was essential to maintain efficiency.

A faint, delicate fragrance wafted to Xu You’s nose. Setting down his cup, he looked up to find Wan Qi standing near, her face as serene and cold as ever, though a subtle, almost imperceptible ripple stirred in her starry, icy eyes.

“Husband… will he die?” After a long silence, Wan Qi bowed her head and asked softly.

Xu You smiled gently. “Is Xu Xian a good man?”

“Yes.”

“Good men don’t die.”

Wan Qi was silent again. Just as Xu You thought she would leave, she raised her head. Her skin, whiter than the snow atop Mount Kunlun, caught the faint light streaming through the window, refracting a flawless rosy glow like jade.

“Why… do good men not die?”

Xu You sighed. “Because this is a fictional story. Reality is filled with tragedy, but stories—shouldn’t they be a little more complete? A little happier?”

Wan Qi gazed at Xu You’s profile, then saluted before retreating, her pale blue skirt trailing as she vanished into the shadow behind a pillar.

The tale continued: Bai Suzhen descended to the underworld to rescue Xu Xian; the couple was reunited; the Bao’an Hall’s reputation soared as they healed the sick and helped the people. Yet Xu Xian soon became embroiled in the theft of three treasures from the prefect’s residence, was struck in the scapula by Prefect Mu Mao, and exiled a thousand miles away. Bai Suzhen abandoned everything to search across the land and seas for her husband...

As the story deepened, the listeners’ emotions were completely entwined with Xu You’s narration—joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness all stirred with every word. Their hearts rose and fell with Xu Xian and Bai Suzhen’s fate. To borrow a modern phrase, their immersion was absolute.

All successful novels share this trait: they make readers breathe and live alongside the characters, loving what they love, angered by their anger, joyful in their joy, mournful in their sorrow. The origin of the Legend of the White Snake is uncertain, but the authoritative view traces back to the Tang dynasty tale “The White Snake,” later the “Three Pagodas of West Lake,” and finally to the Ming literary master and famed wit Feng Menglong’s “Warnings to the World,” Volume 28, “The White Lady’s Eternal Imprisonment beneath Leifeng Pagoda.” By then, the story had taken its near-complete form.

However, at that time, Bai Suzhen was still somewhat villainous. Upon Xu Xian discovering her true serpent nature, she threatened him: if he obeyed and lived happily as her husband, all would be well; if not, she would drown the city in the blood of Qiantang’s people.

Truly the epitome of a domineering CEO!

Through countless artistic reinterpretations, Bai Suzhen’s character grew more vivid, touching, and heroic, transforming the Legend of the White Snake from a supernatural tale into a love drama that moved countless hearts.

Xu You wisely avoided plagiarizing Feng Menglong’s version. After all, in any era, truth, goodness, and beauty remain universal values. Portraying an evil Bai Suzhen might satisfy voyeuristic curiosity, but crafting a figure like Zhao Yazhi’s Bai Suzhen would draw far more into the story, leaving them spellbound.

“…It is said that Prefect Mu Mao, frightened nearly to death by Xiao Qing, sent for the sect leader Qingjian Daoist from Bai Lu Temple on Tianyun Mountain to exorcise the demon. Qingjian Daoist deceived Xu Xian, urging him to distinguish good from evil and sever ties with Bai Suzhen…”

Xu Xian wavered, doubts sprouting cracks in their love. Lured by Qingjian, he was trapped in Bai Lu Temple on Tianyun Mountain. Bai Suzhen knelt and wept for three days and nights at the mountain’s foot, yet failed to soften Qingjian’s iron heart. Xu Xian regretted his actions—but it was too late. In fury, Bai Suzhen stirred the waters of West Lake, flooding Tianyun Mountain and bringing devastation.

“Deserve to die!”

The quiet hall erupted suddenly with a sharp, clear rebuke. Turning, the crowd saw Wan Qi, flushed with rare embarrassment on her usually cold and indifferent face. She bowed slightly to Xu You and departed.

Xu You chuckled softly, never imagining that a girl like Wan Qi could become so overwhelmed by a romance novel. Yet on reflection, it was understandable. Most supernatural tales were crude and violent, rich in imagination but lacking sophisticated storytelling—plot development, foreshadowing, structure, and complexity far less refined than Xu You’s carefully honed script.

Of course, his choice of the Legend of the White Snake was not merely to charm the ladies. His true intent was to navigate the current crisis, and so he shamelessly adapted details.

For instance, he replaced the golden bull emerging from the water at the story’s start with a pure white deer, cleverly introducing Du Jingzhi’s discovery of the divine deer at Tianyun Mountain. He also renamed Jinshan Temple as Bai Lu Temple, transformed the monk Fahai into the Daoist Qingjian, and merged the antagonist Liang Wang’s mansion into Prefect Mu Mao’s office.

Those in the know would recognize these subtle hints: Bai Lu Temple referred to Du Jingzhi’s Linwu Mountain’s Left and Right Divine Temples, and Qingjian combined into the character “Jing.” The prefect’s office, unnamed by region, concealed a pun in Mu Mao’s name, hinting at Yangzhou Prefect Liu Quan.

Xu You, from an era of media explosions and public opinion battles, understood the power of narrative. This time, he aimed not only to create a sensation but to take the moral high ground and use public opinion to ruin these individuals’ reputations.

In ancient times, where reputation was paramount, losing it meant losing all authority in court. Without authority, what use were fame, fortune, glorious futures, ancestral honor, or even governing the realm?

That was a fate worse than death.

For a sword kills the body, but words can destroy the heart.