Chapter 66 Part 3

Because of his mischievous nature, his close elders had always disciplined him strictly. He had never faced such a full-force gentle offensive and was instantly disoriented, nodding dazedly.

By the time Wen Liuhe came to his senses, the white-clad immortal had already flicked his sleeve and left.

In the immortal pool, golden light shimmered softly. The Immortal Cranes preened their feathers on one leg until a furious roar startled them into flapping away in all directions.

“Aaah, I’m so pissed!”

Wen Liuhe stormed toward the woodshed but suddenly realized midway—he had no obligation to make lotus seed porridge for Shen Yu, let alone boil bathwater for him. In his dreams!

Over these three months, Wen Liuhe had familiarized himself with Question Sword Peak’s layout and the patrol routes at the entrance. He had devised a complete escape plan. He wasn’t making porridge or boiling water. He planned to flee that very night.

As night deepened, the seven-or-eight-year-old boy slipped out of the woodshed, quietly shut the door, returned to the wing room, and slung his pre-packed luggage over his thin shoulders.

The luggage was too bulky—half his height—and he was too small, nearly toppling him over.

All these things had been brought from the Wen Family in storage pouches—everything Wen Liuhe liked, including that so-called divine sword. It was gray and dingy, only half a blade, dull and lusterless. No matter how you looked at it, it wasn’t a divine sword; it didn’t even compare to an ordinary one.

They had brought storage pouches on the way but hadn’t left any for Wen Liuhe, precisely to prevent him from running off on impulse because he couldn’t bear to leave his things.

Wen Liuhe wrinkled his nose and instantly dumped the luggage on the ground. This young master doesn’t want it anymore!

Unburdened, Wen Liuhe strode out of the wing room.

Going without luggage greatly reduced his suspiciousness, but Wen Liuhe was still a bit guilty. His lively eyes darted around as he furtively headed toward the cliff.

The forest at the cliff’s edge was deep and shadowy, with ancient trees towering into the pitch-black clouds. Their layered canopies formed waves of deep ink-green. The ground was slick, covered in moss, and he nearly slipped with one step.

The cold, gloomy night wind blew through the twisted ancient trees, producing rustling sounds. In the silent, deep forest, it added an eerie touch for some reason.

Thin mist suddenly surged from all directions, writhing like living things, sending chills down the spine. Wen Liuhe hugged his arms, rubbing the goosebumps, his heart pounding, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

He took a deep breath and proceeded through the forest with cautious, uneven steps.

Suddenly, a fluffy thing wriggled out of the mist and brushed its damp fur against his foot.

“Liuliu—”

“Aaah, ghost—”

Wen Liuhe shuddered in fright and bolted outward at sprint speed. He was already near the forest’s end and quickly burst out.

The crashing water sound pierced the thick mist into his ears. Judging by the noise, he had reached Long Spring Waterfall.

Wen Liuhe relaxed inwardly when his boot suddenly slipped on mossy stone by the waterfall. He lost his footing, and his body pitched forward into the falls.

“Aaah—”

His heart stuttered to a stop, intense panic surging up. His hands flailed wildly in the air, trying to grab anything to halt his fall. His fingers scraped the rock wall, leaving trails of bloody red marks.

His body plummeted rapidly, accelerating. Wen Liuhe’s mind went blank as the scenery whipped past.

He closed his eyes in despair.

Suddenly, a warm arm reached out and encircled his waist.

The man pulled him into a gentle embrace. A faint, light fragrance entered Wen Liuhe’s nose, and a soft voice sounded by his ear.

Wen Liuhe’s lashes trembled. He opened his eyes in shock.

Under the moonlight, the immortal in white with black hair held his robe hems swaying lightly in the night breeze. He flew on his sword, steadily cradling him.

Noticing his gaze, the immortal lowered his silky black lashes. The light spilling from beneath them shone brighter than the moonlight. With a smile in his eyes, he soothed him.

“Kid, don’t be afraid.”

Many years later, when he turned to the demonic path, when he was hunted to a desperate end, when myriad swords were about to pierce his heart, when he held him in the depths of the Demon Domain amid life-and-death love and hatred—Wen Liuhe would always recall this scene.

The light of the Evil-Exorcising Sword streaked over Question Sword Peak and plummeted to the ground like a meteor.

Shen Yu landed with Wen Liuhe outside the wing room and gently set him down.

Shen Yu noticed his bloody hands, reached out to ruffle the grubby little brat’s head, and smiled. “It’s fine now. I’ll get some hemostatic medicine for you. Wait here.”

The clear moonlight fell in the courtyard, stretching the silent little figure’s shadow long.

Footsteps soon sounded again.

Shen Yu held the medicine box in one hand and led the ragged kid by the hand with the other, seating him on the stone bench. With a snap of his fingers, the lantern flowers hanging on the withered tree in the courtyard lit up, illuminating this small world.

His palm chafed raw against the stone wall burned with fiery pain. Wen Liuhe rolled up his sleeve and extended his scraped palm to make it easier for Shen Yu to apply the medicine.

Shen Yu took out some ointment from the medicine box, scooped a bit onto a clean bamboo sliver, and gently applied it to the wound on Wen Liuhe’s palm. His light breath fell upon it.

“Why don’t you want to cultivate the emotionless dao?”

Shen Yu’s unexpected question made Wen Liuhe’s eyes darken. He pursed his lips and said viciously, “My mother was killed by the emotionless dao.”

Shen Yu’s movements paused, and the air stilled with it.

Shen Yu sighed. “I knew your mother.”

Wen Liuhe frowned. “You knew my mother?”

“Mm.” Shen Yu nodded. Once the ointment had spread evenly over the wound, he took out a strip of fine cloth and carefully wrapped it up.

Moonlight and the pale blue glow of the lantern flowers fell upon the immortal’s eyelashes, light as silk. He spoke slowly. “The path of cultivation is inherently unpredictable, full of life-and-death perils. That was your mother’s dao. Do you know why your father sent you to Taichu instead of some other immortal sect?”

Wen Liuhe looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Taichu is the only immortal sect in the entire cultivation world with an orthodox lineage of the emotionless dao. Cultivators of the emotionless dao face the most perilous fates, full of hardships and trials—but that’s the nature of the dao. Your mother was a loose cultivator, and the emotionless dao was the path she chose. Since you care so much about her, shouldn’t you witness this dao for yourself and see if it’s right or not?”

Wen Liuhe pursed his lips and said nothing.

The moonlight hung silent.

After treating the kid’s other hand as well, Shen Yu rose from the stone bench, patted his head, and headed toward the side room.

Wen Liuhe suddenly looked up and shouted, “Hey!”

Called so rudely by the kid, Shen Yu didn’t get angry. He stopped in his tracks and turned back in the moonlight. Yawning, he smiled helplessly. “What now?”

Wen Liuhe said, “You—”

Shen Yu pointed at himself in confusion. “Me?”

Wen Liuhe tilted his head up to look at him, his voice still carrying a childish lilt. Frowning, he asked Shen Yu, “Do you still want lotus seed porridge now?”

Shen Yu blinked slowly and smiled. “Sure.”

This lotus seed porridge, once made, would last ten years.

A hand with distinct knuckles retrieved the lotus seeds—frozen solid by the glazed ice crystal—from the cupboard and poured them swiftly into a porcelain bowl. The ice crystal melted at the touch of light.

After soaking them in clear water, the youth lost his patience and plopped down onto the wooden chair nearby.

The youth wore his ponytail tied high, clad in a pristine white robe with intricate gold embroidery. The collar parted slightly at the front, revealing his extremely handsome features: sharp and striking like a sheathed shortsword, with a clear-cut jawline that was both fierce and radiant. He had a habit of looking at people through half-lidded eyes, exuding an arrogant air that kept others at bay.

Wen Liuhe lazily crossed his legs and pinched a hand seal. The soaked lotus seeds poured into the sand pot. With a crackle, the firewood ignited, flames dancing beneath the pot as the water came to a gradual boil.

Once the lotus seeds had softened, Wen Liuhe narrowed his eyes and flicked his finger. Silver ear mushrooms flew out from the nearby vegetable basket and dropped into the boiling water, bubbling and rolling alongside the lotus seeds.

He crushed some rock sugar and stirred it in, then sprinkled in goji berries. The porridge thickened into a sticky consistency amid rising steam.

With another crackle, the firewood died out.

Wen Liuhe closed his eyes and let it stew quietly for the time it took to brew a cup of tea. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the lotus seed porridge for the day was ready.

The moon sank toward the west as Wen Liuhe carried the lotus seed porridge toward Shen Yu’s side room.

He had no idea what made this lotus seed porridge so appealing that Shen Yu requested it every few days. When he reached the door to Shen Yu’s room, he noticed the window wasn’t fully closed—a narrow slit gaped open to the outside.

Curiosity piqued, Wen Liuhe paused. He set the lotus seed porridge gently on the windowsill and peered through the gap.

The white-robed immortal had clearly just finished bathing. He stood naked with his back to the window slit, his pale skin gleaming with a fluid, lustrous sheen.

The immortal’s limbs stretched long and slender, his exposed skin steaming with moist vapor. Countless water droplets trailed down his pale contours, leaving glistening wet streaks in their wake.

His ink-black hair, damp like spilled clouds, cascaded down his smooth snow-white back. It hung very long, veiling the sinuous curves of his waist and hips. His pale-toned legs gleamed white and straight, like a pair of jade chopsticks.

Hot steam rose in billows of white mist.

He resembled a massive white fish freshly pulled from the water.

Panic flashed across Wen Liuhe’s face. Heat from the room surged up his neck in an instant, his ears burned red, and his fingers clenched the windowsill, producing a faint noise.

“Who’s there?”

Hearing the sound, Shen Yu frowned. He reached out, snatched a robe from the rack, and pulled it on swiftly, tying the sash around his waist.

He strode to the window and shoved it open.

Twilight deepened as endless clouds and night shadows spread above Question Sword Peak.

The starry moon hung sparse; a cold gust blew past, tousling Shen Yu’s still-dripping black hair. Damp strands clung to the side of his face, trailing down to his flat, deep-set collarbone, where they pooled into transparent beads on his jade-like skin.

Outside the window: nothing.

An illusion?

Shen Yu lowered his gaze thoughtfully, then lifted his eyes toward the location of Wen Liuhe’s side room.

Back when Wei Yinghong’s dao heart had been unstable, he had borrowed a millennium-old lotus fire grass—one that never bloomed—from the Medicine Venerable, owing him a favor in the process. Lately, with the Medicine Venerable asking something of him, Shen Yu had been frequenting the medicine field to test drugs on himself.

Today, upon returning from the medicine field, Shen Yu had told Wen Liuhe to prepare lotus seed porridge. Knowing his master’s habits, the boy had heated water ahead of time, so Shen Yu bathed first.

On any other day, the porridge would have arrived by now. Why was it so late today?

No matter. He could ask about it during sword practice tomorrow.