Chapter 8: How Dare You

The room was dead silent.

Even though he knew Ning Yu couldn’t hear him, Qieyun couldn’t help holding his breath, making himself as still as a lifeless object.

Yi Xuefeng stared blankly at Ning Yu.

Ning Yu: “Speak.”

That single word seemed to carry the weight of a thousand pounds. Yi Xuefeng’s legs went weak, and he nearly couldn’t stay upright.

His head had already been splitting with pain, and pressed down by Ning Yu’s spiritual power on top of it, he all but melted into a puddle. His body staggered two steps beyond his control, his knees buckled, and he dropped straight to the ground.

The bluestone floor was brutally hard. He went down with a dull thud, the sound alone painful to hear.

Ning Yu had been pondering how to teach that audacious brat a lesson; seeing him frightened to his knees, his brow furrowed, and his displeasure only deepened.

In his youth, Lord Linfan had dared to face countless Devil creatures with a single sword. How could his son have inherited not one scrap of that backbone, scaring into this pathetic state at a mere thread of spiritual power?

Yi Xuefeng was covered in cold sweat—whether from Ning Yu’s oppressive aura or his own poor condition, he couldn’t tell. He struggled, gripping the armrest to push himself up, but several attempts failed, and his knees only ached worse.

A nameless spiritual power was rampaging wildly through his meridians, as if it would tear free of his body the next instant.

In a daze, Yi Xuefeng suddenly remembered the poisonous Spirit Flower in Lin Fuyu’s room.

From how practiced Huaichen had looked delivering the flowers, they’d likely been there for some time. Even if Qieyun had destroyed the ones from the past two days, the poison from the earlier flowers had already seeped into his meridians.

Ning Yu’s brow knitted tighter and tighter, showing no intention of pulling him up.

Yi Xuefeng lifted his head and forced a smile at Ning Yu. “Sword Venerable… could I trouble you to help me up?”

“Get up yourself.”

Meeting the coldness in Ning Yu’s eyes, Yi Xuefeng sighed inwardly. Then his voice turned soft and gentle, almost coquettish. “Sword Venerable, I really can’t stand up. My legs have gone all weak.”

From everything he knew of Ning Yu, the man was extremely cold and ruthless—autocratic, domineering, and vindictive down to the smallest slight, clearly someone difficult to deal with. But exactly this sort of overbearing man was the least able to resist a weakling showing weakness.

Anyway, when he was young, every time he provoked Ning Yu’s anger, so long as he sincerely apologized and yielded, forgiveness was guaranteed.

Yi Xuefeng was just working through his little schemes when Ning Yu’s voice turned even colder. “If you can’t stand, then kneel properly.”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

He’d miscalculated. He’d actually miscalculated.

Yi Xuefeng was a little dazed. Impossible. In the past, whenever he spoke to him gently, no matter how furious Ning Yu was, the man never held it against him.

Yi Xuefeng tried propping himself up twice more, only to sink right back down. And that bastard Ning Yu seemed to find it great fun, watching with lowered eyes as he knelt and struggled beside the chair—he’d even set the Qieyun Sword aside, letting it go free.

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

Yi Xuefeng gnashed his teeth, longing to throw himself at the man and take a bite out of him.

Qieyun, the moment he was free, scuttled a little ways off. Seeing how miserable Yi Xuefeng looked, he said quietly, “Dad, did someone put another Spirit Flower on the windowsill? It looks to me like something’s wrong with your spirit vein.”

Yi Xuefeng said, “I know. Lin Fuyu’s room probably had them long before—the poison’s already in my meridians. One or two fewer plants won’t make much difference. But tell me, I already backed down—why is he still angry? It was never like this before.”

Qieyun said, puzzled, “But Ning Yu was always this stone-hearted and hateful. Dad, are you remembering something wrong?”

Yi Xuefeng said, “But before, whenever I made him angry, a little wheedling and he wasn’t angry anymore.”

Qieyun blinked, then said flatly, “Maybe… he’s only like this with you?”

Yi Xuefeng scoffed. “Nonsense.”

How could someone as stone-hearted as Ning Yu make an exception for him alone? Turning it over and over, Yi Xuefeng could only conclude that after a hundred years, Ning Yu had simply grown colder and more heartless.

Unable to rise, Yi Xuefeng could only tilt his head back and look up at Ning Yu gazing down at him.

There seemed to be some anger still lingering in Ning Yu’s eyes. Yi Xuefeng hadn’t known where that anger came from, but with his knees pressed against the icy bluestone, Chilling Intent spreading up through his meridians, his mind was starting to clear.

Could it be… Ning Yu was still holding a grudge over that careless remark he’d made earlier?

The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. This man looked indifferent to everything, but in truth he was petty to the extreme, holding grudges over the tiniest things for years.

Yi Xuefeng gripped the armrest with difficulty and parted his lips lightly, then snapped them shut before any sound came out.

No. He couldn’t say it.

Too humiliating, Yi Xuefeng thought. I’d rather die than call him that.

Ning Yu shot him a cold glance. “Something to say?”

Yi Xuefeng felt utterly miserable. Meeting Ning Yu’s eyes, he hesitated for a long while before finally lowering his head, face full of humiliation, and forcing the words out. “A-Adoptive Father… I… I know I was wrong.”

When he finished—whether from shame or mortification—his face flushed red all the way to his ears.

Yi Xuefeng had assumed the gesture would be useless, but to his surprise, Ning Yu gave him a cold glance and, in a great act of mercy, flicked out a stream of spiritual power that hauled him up off the floor by the waist and dumped him onto the nearby soft chair.

Yi Xuefeng froze, blinking.

Ning Yu withdrew his hand. “Spout nonsense again, and I’ll break your legs.”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

So it was about that “I’m your father” remark.

Yi Xuefeng nodded, face covered in cold sweat, pale as paper—anyone could see he was suffering badly.

Ning Yu hadn’t realized the boy’s body was so fragile. Seeing that deathly pale face, his brow creased, and he rapped his fingers lightly on the table.

Yi Xuefeng was still wondering what he was up to when, moments later, a figure in black robes arrived, bowing, carrying a wooden bowl.

Ning Yu said, “Drink.”

Yi Xuefeng eyed the pitch-black medicine, hesitated, then picked it up and drained it in one go.

Bitterness flooded his mouth. He set the bowl down and only after a pause asked, “What medicine is this?”

Ning Yu waved the person away, too lazy to answer.

The medicine was probably meant to nourish his spirit vein and regulate his spiritual power. Within moments of drinking it, spiritual power began flowing through his spirit vein, exhausted to its very limit, and his strength returned with it.

Seeing his color improve, Ning Yu forcibly transformed the Qieyun Sword into a hairpin and pinned it at his waist sash, rising unhurriedly to his feet.

Yi Xuefeng looked at him, puzzled.

Ning Yu said, “What are you waiting for? Weren’t you going to take me to see the Cold Huai River?”

After all that commotion, Yi Xuefeng had nearly forgotten his purpose in coming to find Ning Yu. He scrambled down from the chair, hurried two steps, and then his legs abruptly gave out, sending him lurching straight toward Ning Yu’s waist.

Ning Yu’s reflexes were quick; he turned and caught Yi Xuefeng’s slender wrist, hauling him forcibly upright.

Yi Xuefeng smiled at him, all meek innocence. “My legs… went weak again.”

Ning Yu glanced down at Qieyun at his waist and gave him a cold, cutting look. “Did they go weak, or do you not want it anymore?”

When Yi Xuefeng had first arrived at Returning Swan Mountain, Ning Yu was already going down the mountain to slay Devils and defend the righteous path. To say they’d grown up together was nothing—Yi Xuefeng had practically been raised by Ning Yu’s own hand.

Whenever Yi Xuefeng went out and caused trouble, Ning Yu would glare icily at him and demand whether he wanted to keep his legs, threaten to break them if he dared cause trouble again, and so on. After enough rounds of this, Yi Xuefeng had long since gotten used to it.

Seeing the frost on Ning Yu’s face, Yi Xuefeng didn’t dare try any more tricks to snatch Qieyun back. He tugged at the man’s grip and said quietly, “Sword Venerable, let go of me.”

Ning Yu’s brow furrowed again. Calls me Adoptive Father when he wants something, Sword Venerable when he doesn’t. What a little ingrate.

He caught sight of the wrist he’d gripped, now pinched red, and released it with a flick. “Lead the way.”

Yi Xuefeng answered and ran ahead to lead.

But once the two of them left the courtyard, faced with unfamiliar paths in all directions, Yi Xuefeng suddenly remembered one crucial problem.

This Cold Huai River…

He was the newcomer here—he had no idea where anything was.

Ning Yu: “Hm?”

Yi Xuefeng randomly picked a path and said with feigned composure, “Sword Venerable, this way.”

Ning Yu tucked his hands into his wide sleeves and followed at a leisurely pace.

By the time Yi Xuefeng was done dawdling around Ning Yu’s residence, Cold Huai River’s disciples had finished Morning Lessons and were strolling in twos and threes along the quiet paths.

Someone seemed to spot the two of them walking together and elbowed their companion hard, then slunk off down another path, furtive as thieves—unclear whether they feared Yi Xuefeng or Ning Yu more.

Yi Xuefeng pretended not to notice, dragging Ning Yu around in a couple of aimless circles, explaining the scenery with maximum perfunctoriness.

“That’s a lake.”

“That’s a mountain.”

“Oh, that’s a pagoda. As for its name, I forget. If you’re interested, Sword Venerable, we could go read the characters on the plaque.”

“That’s a forest.”

Ning Yu: “…”

Even the best temper in the world would be set alight by such blatant brush-offs—and Ning Yu’s temper had never been good to begin with.

“Lin Fuyu.”

Yi Xuefeng was standing on tiptoe trying to read the characters on a stone tablet nearby. At the sound of that name, it took him a moment to realize he was the one being called.

He turned his head. “Your orders, Sword Venerable?”

Ning Yu said, “Is this Cold Huai River’s idea of hospitality?”

Yi Xuefeng feigned incomprehension. “Wherever have I failed, Sword Venerable?”

Ning Yu met that innocent gaze and said coldly, “Do you still want your sword?”

Yi Xuefeng answered, bright and crisp, “Adoptive Father, which historic sites would you like to hear about? That forest over there, yes? I had a look just now—it’s called Beixi. They say hundreds, even thousands of Spirit Beasts dwell within. Cold Huai River disciples may enter Beixi once they turn seventeen, to choose a Spirit Beast and bond it as their own. If you’d like to go, I can ask the Sect Master for the Jade Command Token.”

Ning Yu: “…”

Yi Xuefeng, still going: “Hm? Hm hm? Adoptive Father.”