Quick Transmigration: Only You Are the Desire of My Heart

The downpour came quickly and went quickly. When Song Qingyin emerged from the sword tomb, the rain had stopped, leaving only the water droplets on the eaves, which continued to drip tirelessly, pattering and splashing against the bluestone slabs.

The air was filled with the fresh scent of earth after the rain, but it couldn't mask the pungent, nauseating smell of blood and burnt flesh.

She looked up and saw that the sky was already showing the first hint of dawn. The faint light pierced through the thick dark clouds, casting a pale golden hue over this hell on earth.

Looking around, the entire gate of the Huanhua Sword Sect had become a ruin.

The once magnificent palaces and pavilions are now nothing but ruins and charred wooden beams. Corpses lie scattered on the ground, some from the Demonic Sect, but most are disciples dressed in the robes of the Huanhua Sword Sect. Their faces are still frozen with the shock, anger, or resentment of their deaths.

Song Qingyin's gaze swept over familiar and unfamiliar faces.

That was Junior Brother Wang, who was usually responsible for cleaning the training ground. He was only fifteen years old and always cheerful, but now his stomach had been cut open and his intestines were spilling out.

That was Elder Liu, who was in charge of guarding the library. He was old-fashioned and loved to scold his disciples, but now, his head had disappeared and his body lay in the ashes of the library.

Song Qingyin walked and looked around.

The body, shielded from pain, is like a tireless puppet, but every time it sees a corpse, vivid fragments of the original owner's memories flash through its mind, and its heart feels as if it is being tightly gripped by an invisible hand, causing a suffocating pain.

She walked to the mountain gate, the place where the fighting had been most brutal. Corpses were piled up like mountains.

She bent down and began to collect the bodies of her fellow disciples one by one.

Her movements were slow, her body extremely weak from blood loss. Yet, her movements were steady, without the slightest tremor. She closed the unseeing eyes of the dead one by one, straightened their twisted limbs, and allowed them to depart with some dignity.

The ground, washed clean by the rain, was muddy and stained with blood; every step she took left her sinking deep into it. Her white dress was so stained that its original color was unrecognizable.

As she passed a completely destroyed trap, she paused. The mechanisms were intact, yet hadn't been triggered at all. She recalled how, in the original owner's memories, her junior sister, Hua Qianqian, had naively told that man about these life-saving obstacles as if they were mere anecdotes.

Otherwise, even if the Huanhua Sword Sect was no match for them, it would never have been breached so easily, without even a ripple of resistance.

She didn't linger for long, continuing to silently move the corpses and place them one by one on the training ground.

The once vibrant lives are now shrouded in a layer of gray.

I can't feel any pain, but the excessive blood loss makes me dizzy and lightheaded, so I can only work for a short while before needing to rest.

Time passed slowly until hurried footsteps and exclamations came from the mountain path.

Crying, shouting, and arguing broke the silence...

A dozen or so disciples dressed in the Huanhua Sword Sect uniforms rushed up, but when they saw the charred ruins and corpses scattered all over the ground, they all froze in their tracks.

One of the young disciples' legs gave way, and he knelt down in the mud, his eyes wide open, his lips trembling, unable to utter a single word.

Another female disciple, after seeing the face of a corpse lying not far away, let out a shrill cry, tearing apart the silence before dawn.

"Senior Brother Zhang!!"

She rushed over, knelt beside the body, and cried her heart out.

That cry was like a switch, instantly igniting everyone's emotions. Grief-stricken wails, angry curses, and bewildered murmurs intertwined, playing a desperate lament on this desolate ruin.

"Damn that demonic cult!" A disciple with a scar on his face drew his longsword and roared, his eyes bloodshot. "I'll kill them! Avenge my fellow disciples!"

"Revenge? How? Who...who are we left?" Someone slumped to the ground, utterly dejected.

Yes, who else is left? The sect leader, elders, and hall masters have all died at the hands of the demonic sect. What can they do? They've simply wasted their lives.

The scene was chaotic.

Song Qingyin stood at the center of the chaos.

She didn't turn around, nor did she stop what she was doing. She simply bent down and, with her hands covered in mud and blood, gently closed the unseeing eyes of one of her junior brothers, then laboriously dragged his cold body toward the training ground.

Her silence stood in stark contrast to the surrounding clamor.

She was like a lonely island, unmoved no matter how the waves of sorrow crashed against her.

Finally, someone noticed her.

"Is it...is it Second Senior Sister?" a disciple asked uncertainly.

All eyes immediately turned to them.

They saw the figure covered in blood, her white clothes stained brownish-red. Her face was as pale as paper, her steps unsteady, each step seemingly exhausting all her strength, yet her back remained ramrod straight.

And there was the token at her waist, reflecting a faint light in the morning sun—the Huanhua Token, which only the sect leader could possess.

"Second Senior Sister... no, Sect Leader...?" the scarred disciple cried out in a trembling voice, the sword in his hand falling to the ground with a clang.

The word "Sect Leader" struck everyone's heart like a heavy hammer.

They looked at the elder lying in a pool of blood, at the palace razed to the ground, and then at the second senior sister who had received the sect leader's order. A cruel reality that was hard to breathe was finally clearly presented to them.

The Huanhua Sword Sect is finished.

The crying gradually subsided, leaving only suppressed sobs. Everyone looked at Song Qingyin, as if drowning people had grabbed onto the last piece of driftwood.

They all hoped she would say something, but Song Qingyin remained silent, collecting her disciple's body again and again...

Gradually, all the sounds stopped.

Then, some people followed her example, carrying the corpses lying in pools of blood on their backs and heading towards the training ground.

One person starts, then a second, then a third.

The actions, which were initially interspersed with cries, were gradually replaced by a heavy, tacit understanding. The dozen or so surviving disciples, following Song Qingyin's example, stopped speaking and silently walked through the ruins, searching for the remains of their fellow disciples.

They dragged one cold, stiff body after another from under the charred beams, carried them out of the muddy blood, and then painstakingly transported them step by step to the empty training ground.

The process was so long it seemed endless.

The sun rises and then slowly sets in the west.

The golden glow was stained with blood, turning into a chilling dark red.

The training ground was filled with corpses, laid out neatly. The place where they once shouted and practiced swordsmanship had now become their final resting place.

One thousand three hundred and seventy-seven people.

These are the numbers that Song Qingyin counted.

Apart from those who were away and had not returned, the entire Huanhua Sword Sect, from elders to servants, was wiped out.

When the last body was placed, the disciple with the scar on his face finally couldn't hold on any longer. He collapsed to his knees with a thud, his hands gripping the soil, his shoulders heaving violently, but he couldn't make a sound. Only a suppressed sob squeezed out of his throat.

His breakdown was like a fuse, instantly igniting everyone's nerves, which were stretched to the limit.

"Why...why is this happening..."

"The sect leader is dead, the elders are dead... What should we do?"

"Revenge! I must get revenge! I will tear those beasts of the Demonic Cult to pieces!" The scarred disciple suddenly raised his head, his bloodshot eyes burning with a frenzied flame.

"Revenge?" A younger disciple gave a bitter laugh, his voice filled with despair. "What can we use to avenge them? We only have a dozen or so people left. We can't even get into their mountain gate. Going there would just be suicide!"

"So what if I'm going to my death! My parents, my master, my best brother are all dead here! What's the point of me living on alone?"

"But what about the legacy of Huanhua? Is it just going to end like this?"

The sounds of arguing, crying, and questioning mingled together; everyone seemed to be going crazy, trying to vent their fear and grief through their voices.

They argued and shouted, but in the end, everyone's eyes were drawn to the figure who hadn't uttered a single word from beginning to end.