Chapter 67

Dusk fell over the fields, with moonlight obscured by clouds dotting the sky and flowing across the Changliu Mountains.

The man standing outside the window in a white outer robe had a damp strand of hair hanging along the side of his face. Undried water droplets gathered at the tip, forming heavy, round transparent beads.

The water bead teetered on the edge of falling. In Wen Liuhe’s line of sight, it split like silk, then with a “plop,” it dripped onto the small patch of white skin where his shoulder met his neck, spreading a transparent water mark.

As Shen Yu leaned forward, the droplet slid smoothly down his neck and into the half-exposed hollow of his collarbone.

In the infinitely close distance, the faint soapberry scent from his recent bath mingled with the ambiguous breath from the corner of his lips.

Wen Liuhe instinctively held his breath, extremely regretting why his first reaction upon being discovered was to pinch the invisibility incantation.

He wasn’t deliberately peeking at this man bathing, after all. Even if caught, he could just set the lotus seed porridge in front of him, and all problems would resolve themselves without any real issue.

But for some reason, the moment he heard Shen Yu’s voice, his heart suddenly panicked, and he subconsciously cast the spell to hide. Now it was hopeless—even if he jumped into the Yellow River, he couldn’t wash himself clean.

Shen Yu’s eyelashes, still damp with moisture, drooped.

Their four eyes met.

The black eyes beneath those slender lashes shed their romantic smile when no one was watching.

Without the smile, they were actually cold.

Wen Liuhe stared straight into those eyes and instantly froze in place.

The back of his neck heated up as the broken sword in his sword bone set up restrictions around his sea of consciousness, resisting Shen Yu’s unconscious probe of divine sense.

Those eyes didn’t blink. Their distance drew infinitely closer again, so close that Wen Liuhe could smell the dampness of the water.

Wen Liuhe almost thought he’d been discovered.

“Liuliu—”

The White Tengu burst out from the darkness, kicked off with its hind legs, and swiftly leaped onto the windowsill. Its white fur brushed past the hidden jar as it spread its limbs and pounced into Shen Yu’s arms like a bat, rubbing its beast head and messing up the clothes he’d just straightened.

Liuliu resembled a dog or a fox, with agile limbs and advanced age. It had long dwelt on Question Sword Peak even before Shen Yu entered Taichu. Though it hadn’t awakened spiritual intelligence, it was fond of people.

Shen Yu caught it full in the chest, grasping its hind claws to hold it. He shifted his gaze, extended a finger, and tapped its nose hard, laughing and scolding, “Liuliu, so it was you making trouble.”

His lip corner lifted into a smile again, and the coldness in his eyes vanished in an instant, as if the cold and emotionless immortal from moments ago had been an illusion.

After giving the little tengu a painless lesson, Shen Yu reached out and with a “click,” pulled the open window shut.

The footsteps grew farther away.

The light from the side room filtered through the tung-oiled paper window, faintly illuminating a small patch of space outside.

Wen Liuhe’s tightly strung heart finally settled. He slowly exhaled, looked down at the jar of lotus seed porridge in his hand, and felt its warmth through the container with his fingertip.

Wen Liuhe wrinkled his nose, thinking his efforts couldn’t go to waste. He dispelled the invisibility incantation and strode to the door of the side room.

The youth’s curved fingers paused on the door for a moment. He heavily exhaled, knocked twice, and called out in his usual lazy, scattered tone.

“Master, lotus seed porridge.”

Shen Yu had been playing with Liuliu like one would a cat. He was somewhat surprised to hear Wen Liuhe’s voice. Holding Liuliu, he rose to open the door and saw the youth standing outside like a tall poplar tree.

Wen Liuhe was now seventeen, in the prime of his youth, with his height shooting up rapidly, making time feel disordered.

In his memory, just a short while ago, this sulky little brat hadn’t even reached his waist. Now he was only half a head shorter and had grown from the age of needing a stool to reach the kitchen counter to the age where he could ride a sword into the clouds.

Shen Yu’s gaze swept over the top of Wen Liuhe’s head, confirming he was still much taller, which put his mind at ease. This kid was growing fast; in a little longer, he’d probably be as tall as him.

Shen Yu’s gaze shifted downward, slowly settling on Wen Liuhe’s face.

But his age was still young, and his frame hadn’t fully matured. His brows and eyes still carried a youthful immaturity.

If he grew a bit more, those brows and eyes would look exactly like Wei Yinghong’s.

Liuliu had a chunk of flesh bitten off the first time it saw Wen Liuhe, leaving it with quite a trauma.

On all of Question Sword Peak, Liuliu was affectionate with everyone except Wen Liuhe. The moment it saw that fierce, devilish face, alarm bells rang. It shrieked, struggled out of Shen Yu’s arms, hit the ground, tucked its butt, and scampered away.

Shen Yu let it go, crossed his arms, and leaned his tall figure lazily against the doorframe. He tilted his head with a smile and asked in confusion, “Why so late today?”

Wen Liuhe’s gaze lingered on that strand of hair at the side of Shen Yu’s face—it had already been dried.

He shifted his gaze and lied without blushing, “The lotus seeds went bad. Your glazed ice crystal didn’t work, so I went to pick new ones.”

“How could it not work?” Shen Yu was suspicious for a moment but figured Wen Liuhe had no reason to deceive him, so he spoke again. “Fine. In a few days, your master will ask Senior Uncle Changqing for some other ice crystals.”

Wen Liuhe handed him the lotus seed porridge and grumbled, “You drink it every year, every day, and I’ve never seen you get tired of it.”

Shen Yu took it and laughed, scolding, “No respect for your elders, now managing your master?”

Wen Liuhe scoffed, brushed his sleeve, and then—thinking of something—spoke in a poor tone. “Who’s managing you? I’m off.”

Shen Yu smiled. “No need to see you out.”

Once the youth’s figure vanished into the night, Shen Yu withdrew his gaze, lowered his damp lashes, and closed the door.

Back in his room, Wen Liuhe sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, reached back with his palm to touch the sword bone at his spine, and felt a burst of heat.

A few days ago, after formally forming a sword pact with his broken sword in the Sword Mound, the sword bone had formed. He drew out the broken sword, held it in his hand, and slid his fingers over the sharp, icy blade, lowering his eyes to examine it.

His cheap master might look lazy and sloppy, but as the peak lord of Question Sword Peak, he was no ordinary person. Yet this shabby-looking broken sword could block a probe into his sea of consciousness?

Strange.

Unable to figure it out, he stopped thinking about it.

At least it finally had a bit of the so-called divine sword vibe.

And if it could block divine sense probes, didn’t that mean he could freely enter and exit the forbidden areas all over Taichu?

Wen Liuhe’s heart heated up, his eyes lit up, and he excitedly stored the sword back in his bone before lazily flopping onto the bed.

The room’s lights burned bright. Wen Liuhe stretched his arm toward the bedhead, closed his eyes, and grabbed a red bean from the bowl nearby, pinching it between his fingers. With a flick of his middle finger, the bean whistled through the void and struck the candle wick on the candlestick, extinguishing it in an instant.

The lights dimmed.

When he woke the next day, Wen Liuhe felt a dampness beneath him.

He instantly sobered, his face changing as he stiffly sat up and yanked off the quilt. Sure enough, there was a wet patch.

He hadn’t had any erotic spring dream, so this bodily reaction had nothing to do with dreams. Then why?

Wen Liuhe furrowed his brows, and an image flashed in his mind of Shen Yu emerging naked from the bath, vivid and alluring.

The Emotionless Dao emphasized heart realm cultivation, severing emotions and desires, keeping the heart unaffected by love, and always focused on quiet meditation and ascetic training. For so many years, Wen Liuhe had stayed on Question Sword Peak cultivating, and his body was in the developmental stage of sexual maturity. Now, just seeing something a bit stimulating caused a reaction.

“Tch.”

Cultivating this Emotionless Dao was truly frustrating. Why the hell did his mother choose this path?

Wen Liuhe sneered coldly, balled up the bedsheet, scowled, and tossed it into the water basin.

Remembering he had sword practice today, he drew the sword from his sword bone.

The Sword Field was surrounded by three clusters of green pines on the cliffside, opening toward the clouds on the outermost edge. Rolling cloud layers billowed in the distance, and far off, he saw a crowd waiting on the Sword Field, all wearing disciple robes with white cloud patterns.

Shen Yu stood tall and graceful at the front of the Sword Field in a robe of pure white, with cloud patterns and immortal cranes embroidered in gold and silver threads at the collar, cuffs, and hem, shimmering in the light. His jet-black long hair was bound with a white jade hairpin.

He cultivated the Ruthless Sword Dao, so he naturally taught sword lessons to Taichu’s inner sect disciples.

Damn, he was late.

Shen Yu might seem easygoing on normal days, but when it came to serious matters, he was utterly merciless. He could smile while delivering the harshest punishments—a true smiling tiger.

After clearly seeing the situation on the Sword Field, Wen Liuhe’s face changed instantly. He sheathed his sword upon reaching the air above, gripped it in hand, and landed with feet on the green pines. The next second, a burst of qi struck toward his knee.

His knee hit the ground, leg buckling, and he knelt publicly.

Shen Yu glanced down at him. “Wait until this incense stick burns out before rising.” His captivating voice followed, but the words were far from kind.

Wen Liuhe frowned, raised his eyes, and quickly scanned the incense in the nearby Dragon Tongue Cauldron—it had only burned a third.

Even if he was late first, he was still Shen Yu’s personal disciple. Punishing him to kneel in public like this—wasn’t that too much?

Wen Liuhe pursed his lips, inwardly cursing Shen Yu three hundred rounds in his mind. The youth’s sharp sword brows knitted, suppressing the innate ferocity he was born with.

Shen Yu glanced at him, saw through his thoughts, and sighed inwardly. It’s precisely because you’re my personal disciple that I must be especially strict with you.

Shen Yu drew the Evil-Exorcising Sword from his sword bone and began demonstrating the sword forms. Even as he deliberately slowed his movements, the sword light shimmered brilliantly, and the surrounding mists churned with the sword intent in each stroke and stance.

The long sword sheathed after the white-clothed sword immortal finished with a crisp sword flower flourish.

The disciples watched his every move intently and, at his signal, drew their swords to imitate. Shen Yu stepped down from the platform to correct their forms.

Wen Liuhe felt someone kick his butt hard—without mercy. Caught off guard, he nearly flew forward.

Wen Liuhe braced himself on the ground, scowled as he looked back, his eyes shooting murderous cold glares.

The newcomer wore Taichu disciple robes, chin lifted arrogantly, looking down his nose with haughty posture.

Due to different sects, the disciple robes varied in details. The waist sash had entwined grass patterns with a fist-sized belt buckle—precisely from the Asking Medicine Lineage, the closed-door disciple of the Medicine Venerable, Qi Feibai.

Wen Liuhe and Qi Feibai’s grudge traced back possibly to before he entered Taichu at age seven, when Wen Liuhe kicked Qi Feibai into a latrine pit.

Or perhaps even earlier—the Wen Family and Qi Family were both great cultivation clans with ties. Wei Yinghong’s failed attempt to prove her dao by killing her husband was originally only discussed among elders.

The adults had tact and didn’t delve deep, but Qi Feibai overheard by chance.

With his nasty personality, when the divine sword chose Wen Liuhe as master back then, Qi Feibai grew jealous and immediately led a gang of kids to surround him, cursing him as a motherless thing, a mongrel dog bastard.

Wen Liuhe was outnumbered and outmatched; the little tyrant rarely got beaten so badly.

How could Wen Liuhe endure it? The next day, he lured Qi Feibai out and kicked the dog brat straight into the latrine pit, fulfilling his dog fate.

The grudge deepened from there.

After Qi Feibai kicked him, Wen Liuhe’s fists clenched, ready to stand and beat the dog brat to death.

Qi Feibai saw his movement, swung his medicine pouch, lifted his chin toward the burning incense, and smirked smugly. “Hey hey, that incense is only half burned. If I remember right, didn’t your master tell you to wait until it’s done before getting up?”

Veins bulged on Wen Liuhe’s forehead. In his rage, he ignored everything—the priority was beating this idiot until even his parents wouldn’t recognize him.

As he moved to rise, a familiar voice sounded.

“Indeed, this venerable one told him to wait until this incense stick burns out before rising.”

Wen Liuhe’s rising motion paused.

Green pine shadows cast over as Shen Yu ascended from below the Sword Field, his snow-white cloud shoes stepping onto the stairs. “But Qi Feibai, my young friend, what do you mean by kicking someone out of nowhere while I punish my disciple?”

The smile that had just risen on Qi Feibai’s face stiffened, his medicine-pouch-swinging hand halting. He’d thought Shen Yu and Wen Liuhe had a poor master-disciple relationship, hence the punishment, so he’d dared to kick him.

But now, it didn’t seem that way.

Qi Feibai’s mind turned quickly. He adapted on the spot, smiling. “Uncle Master, wasn’t I just playing around with Liuhe?”

Like you can call my name. Wen Liuhe bared his teeth, wanting to punch him.

Shen Yu lifted his eyelids, gently placed a hand on Wen Liuhe’s head to quell his agitation, and smiled as he asked, “Is that so?”

Wen Liuhe caught the signal in his eyes and immediately flopped weakly to the ground, clutching his chest. “What do I do? I can’t breathe. I’m dying, I’m dying.”

His clumsy acting was painful to watch.

Shen Yu averted his eyes, unable to bear watching, and said against his conscience, “Young friend, this kick of yours almost kicked my disciple to death. This Venerable’s disciple is precious; he’s usually nurtured with an ice lotus every day. Raise him for ten years, and you can consider it compensation.”

“…”

Qi Feibai was dumbfounded, never expecting that this one kick would almost cost him his entire fortune.

Qi Feibai knew he couldn’t outmatch this master-disciple duo’s one-two punch, so he immediately called for backup.

In no time, the Medicine Venerable arrived.

When the Medicine Venerable arrived, the incense in the Dragon Tongue Cauldron hadn’t even burned out yet, so Wen Liuhe knelt and sprawled there miserably, looking truly pitiful.

The Medicine Venerable learned the whole story from Qi Feibai. He naturally knew his disciple’s mischievous nature, so the account must have included some exaggeration, but after all, he was his own disciple—he had to protect him no matter what.

His eyes turned, his gaze swept over the Sword Field, and he smiled. “It was just kids playing around, with one side taking it seriously. But since a conflict arose, it needs resolving. The Sword Field has its rules. Since this happened at Junior Brother’s place, how about settling it with the Sword Field’s rules?”

“Liuhe wins, and Feibai apologizes. Feibai wins, and the matter is written off.”

Shen Yu frowned, his eyelid twitching nonstop.

Wen Liuhe rolled on the ground, clutching his chest and performing vigorously. “Ouch ouch, I was kicked crippled. Can’t get up—how to compete?”

Shen Yu wanted to roll his eyes. He lightly kicked him with his foot and asked his opinion. “The resolution your Medicine Venerable Uncle-Master suggested—do you want to compete?”

Wen Liuhe glanced aside. The last wisp of incense in the Dragon Tongue Cauldron finally burned out. Hearing Shen Yu’s voice, he immediately jumped up full of vigor. His gaze swept over the cowering Qi Feibai, and his lips curled.

“Compete. Why not.”

Damn, how could he win? Although Qi Feibai often despised Wen Liuhe, he knew he was no match for him. His face changed at once, and he hesitantly said to the Medicine Venerable, “Master, I…”

The Medicine Venerable gave him a reassuring glance, then said to Shen Yu, “They cultivate differently. Sword users use swords, pill users use pills—how about that?”

Shen Yu’s brows furrowed deeply. The proposal seemed reasonable but was fundamentally unfair. Using pills relied on external aid—who knew what tricks were in Qi Feibai’s medicine pouch?

He was about to refuse when Wen Liuhe said, “Fine. This young master agrees.”

On the Sword Field, the disciples scattered.

Shen Yu touched his still-twitching eyelid. Remembering Wen Liuhe’s broken sword, he suddenly called out to him.

Wen Liuhe heard his voice and turned back.

Shen Yu sighed. He summoned the Evil-Exorcising Sword from his sword bone and handed it to Wen Liuhe. “Use this one. Stay alert and defend yourself. If anything feels off, signal your master.”

Wen Liuhe stared at him fixedly, snatched the sword from his hand, and laughed wildly. “Master, among peers my age, when have you ever seen me lose?”

With that, Wen Liuhe leaped down to the Sword Field.

To prevent outside interference, a protective array formed around the Sword Field.

Sword lights flashed instantly on the Sword Field. Wen Liuhe’s sword whistled through the air toward Qi Feibai. Qi Feibai’s face changed. He instantly raised his sword to block as Soft Bone Powder from his medicine pouch drifted onto the blade, clashing toward Wen Liuhe with soft energy.

The two exchanged dozens of blows in moments. Wen Liuhe wrinkled his nose, his vision blurring, his wrist nearly losing its grip on the hilt.

Wen Liuhe focused his mind and gripped the hilt tightly. Before the next sword strike arrived, he tapped the tip of Qi Feibai’s sword, deflecting his momentum with the borrowed force. The icy blade pierced straight into Qi Feibai’s heart.

His sword move was too fast, too unexpected.

With a “Pfft,” cloth tore. Blood instantly stained the fabric over his chest, dripping down the cold Evil-Exorcising Sword to the ground.

Everything happened too fast. The others couldn’t even react in time to stop him.

He won.

Wen Liuhe’s brows and eyes danced with joy. His handsome, heroic features brimmed with triumphant spirit. A grin tugged at his lips as he looked up at Shen Yu, his expression screaming, “Quick, praise me!”

Yet he met a pair of cold eyes devoid of any smile.