Daily life of a cultivation judge Chapter 1453: Charm of the dew (2)

Yang Qing's earlier silliness and joy completely dissipated. Sitting cross-legged, he closed his eyes, regulating his breath and aligning his entire being with the profound effects of the Heart Quenching Mulberry Dew, allowing himself to be enveloped by its power.

The efficacy of the dew had been intentionally limited by the clear jade vial, which functioned not only as a vessel but also as a suppressor of its potent influence. Consequently, for the dew to truly affect him, Yang Qing had to push the boundaries of his very soul, opening himself up to its full impact.

His hair, once a deep green reminiscent of receding water, underwent a startling transformation, shifting from its natural hue to a pure, luminous white, as if sculpted from moonlight-kissed jade. His skin color also changed, transitioning from a golden bronze to a radiant, pearlescent white. A serene, tranquil, and invigorating coolness began to emanate from his body, spreading outwards like gentle ripples and filling the entire chamber.

The dormant Root Spirit Oak sapling resting upon his shoulders had its delicate leaves swaying rhythmically. Its usual iridescent glow softened, dimming to a subtle luminescence, giving the impression that it was on the verge of drifting into a profound, peaceful slumber.

Nearby, the Frost Jade Lotus, positioned beside the table and bearing a striking resemblance to the clear jade vial containing the Heart Quenching Mulberry Dew, also began to stir and change. Influenced by the potent energy radiating from Yang Qing, its crystalline quality remained, but the luster of its petals intensified. At their meeting point in the center, a deep azure hue blossomed. From this vibrant core, a white mist, mirroring the refreshing coolness radiating from Yang Qing, seeped outwards. It intertwined with his own aura, both energies expanding to envelop the entire room. Even the Spirit Pearl Peonies on the table seemed to respond, their pearls shining with enhanced brilliance under the gentle caress of the soft, translucent mist.

Simultaneously, Yang Qing progressively deepened his connection with the dew. A link, not overwhelmingly profound but sufficiently established, began to form, allowing him to perceive its subtle effects. He could sense a gentle, warm current flowing through him, gradually intensifying into a languid stream that circulated around him. This current carried with it a distinct intention, promoting a sense of release and surrender.

The comforting warmth embedded within this current instilled a sense of deep-seated trust, complementing the profound ease it inspired. This, in turn, encouraged even greater surrender, a deeper shedding of resistance.

It felt akin to an ethereal whisper weaving through his very essence, conveying a silent message:

Yang Qing's innate survival instincts urged him to resist this influence, to extinguish its hold. However, he consciously opposed these impulses, yielding instead to the dew's alluring call. The world around him seemed to dissolve and reform. He found himself adrift on a bamboo raft, gently carried by an unhurried river current. Above, he watched clouds drift lazily across a vibrant blue sky, feeling the sun's warmth upon his skin and a comforting breeze softly brushing against him.

As the raft glided along, his body and mind achieved a state of increasing relaxation. The more at peace he became, the more receptive he was to the river's subtle influence. He sensed it beneath the surface, gently stirring hidden depths, while his instincts quietly signaled a warning to cease. Yet, he disregarded them, allowing himself to drift, much like the clouds above.

The next time he opened his eyes, the scenery had dramatically shifted. The tranquil river and the gently floating raft had vanished.

Overhead, a vast expanse of starry night sky stretched out, dominated by a full moon that cast its ethereal pale light over the landscape below. Yang Qing stood in a soft, grassy meadow, where grass as tall as his knees, interspersed with wild herbs and blooming flowers, swayed gently in the night breeze.

It might have been a scene of breathtaking beauty and profound tranquility, were it not for the ominous pool of blood soaking into the vegetation less than a meter from where he stood. The source of this gruesome sight was a severed arm lying on the ground, and the gaping wound on the shoulder of the person from whom it had been brutally separated.

The man, who appeared middle-aged with a sturdy build – neither too lean nor overly muscular – had rough, dark hair. He was kneeling, clutching something in his remaining hand, from which blood was steadily dripping. Upon closer inspection, Yang Qing discerned another body concealed partially beneath the man's frame, held tightly against him.

Despite a powerful feeling urging him to turn away, Yang Qing's feet moved involuntarily, drawing him step by step towards the middle-aged man. Standing beside him, he finally gained a clear view of what, or rather who, the man was cradling.

It was a young woman, appearing to be around sixteen or seventeen years old, clad in an elegant white floral dress adorned with delicate purple blossoms. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, with a few strands falling softly across her face. Her countenance, as lovely as her attire, was serene, her eyes closed as if lost in a deep, pleasant slumber, accentuated by a faint, peaceful smile gracing her lips.

One would have truly believed she was peacefully asleep, were it not for the blood flowing freely from the gaping wound that stretched from the base of her neck all the way down to her waist. It appeared to be a single sword strike, and by its appearance, one imbued with a chilling power, for crystal deep ice blue shards had formed along the edges of the wound like jagged splinters of ice.

The man had been leaning over her, sobbing softly, his face buried at the base of her neck where it met her shoulder. Then he looked up and turned to face Yang Qing, with tired, lost eyes.

"Why didn’t you let us stay, Judge Yang Qing?" the man slowly uttered in a raspy voice that carried just as much life as the lady cradled in his arms.

"I didn’t even get to spend a week with her," the man continued as he weakly turned his head back to the young lady, moving his arm to draw her closer into his embrace. "Not even a week," he repeated, in an almost cracked mumble.

"What happened, Ma Yuan?" Yang Qing softly inquired as he crouched next to the kneeling man, his eyes falling on the lifeless body of his daughter, Ma Ling.

With his eyes still fixed on his daughter, Ma Yuan responded, "What do you think happened?" He weakly scoffed.

"The remnants of the Ice Emerald Sect found us, and..." he paused, seemingly losing strength or will as he gazed dazedly at his daughter, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. Seconds turned to minutes without him saying anything before he finally broke the silence. "She has her mother’s face," he said lovingly, using his head to move the hanging strands from Ma Ling’s face.

"She looks peaceful," he remarked, smiling.

"She does," Yang Qing softly agreed as countless emotions flashed in his eyes.

Minutes passed in silence. Ma Yuan’s gaze rested on his daughter’s face while Yang Qing’s drifted to the wound, then settled on her closed eyes, before moving to Ma Yuan’s empty shoulder and finally his face, which seemed to be growing more hollow and gaunt by the second, even more so than the first time they had met.

"They killed her and let me live so I can..." Ma Yuan softly continued, laughing bitterly. "So I can know how it feels to lose something precious, just like they did when they lost the sect and the rest," he added after a slight pause.

"As if I don’t know loss..." he followed, a hollow smile gracing his lips. "Oh Ling’er. It was both your misfortune and your mother’s, having me as a father and a husband. I couldn’t protect you..." he paused, his head lowering. "Again," he softly mumbled before finally looking up at Yang Qing, smiling with that same bitter hollowness.

"Judge Yang Qing, you really should have left me in that lake," he slowly said, tears trickling down his smiling face.

Ma Yuan’s figure slowly faded into mist, the last thing Yang Qing saw of him being that bitter smile. Ma Ling followed, still wearing that peaceful slumbering expression. Then the blood soaking the surroundings faded, then the ground, and finally the sky, and with it the heavy oppressive atmosphere that had accompanied the chilly night, giving way to the warm comforting current that was swiftly replaced by the cool refreshing one that came from Yang Qing as he allowed his body’s own defenses to kick in. The illusion and the heart-quenching mulberry dew’s effects were neutralized as Yang Qing’s sense of self returned to the room.

Slowly opening his eyes, moon-colored irises were revealed, transforming back into their original deep green as his eyelids moved upwards, his hair following suit, returning to its natural hue.

"Well, that was quite the experience," he murmured, sighing as he smiled faintly.