Chapter 70

Taichu Main Peak was perpetually shrouded in clouds and mist, its eaves upturned and corners soaring. Majestic azure dragons coiled upward along the beams and pillars, wings spread wide to either side, as if ready to burst free from the brackets.

Within the Glazed Hall, a formation gathering heaven and earth spiritual qi rose from beneath their feet.

In the grand hall above, the elders and disciples of the Punishment Hall wore azure robes and stood to the right. Medicine Venerable stood coldly on the high platform with furrowed brows, one hand pinching a spirit beast whose limbs thrashed and struggled.

Its body resembled a fox’s, with a snow-white head. Startled, it bared its fangs wide and let out one yelping cry after another.

Medicine Venerable gripped the little beast’s fur tightly to keep it from breaking free. Hearing its cries, he knitted his brows deeply, his face darkening as he thrust the creature before the crowd. The pressure of a soul formation cultivator instantly bore down mercilessly on Wen Liuhe. “Wen Liuhe, you privately released a spirit beast that destroyed This Venerable’s medicine field. Do you admit your guilt?”

Wen Liuhe had only begun cultivating a decade ago—how could he withstand the pressure from a soul formation cultivator? He had been chasing the fleeing spirit beast and passed through the medicine field. His foot had barely touched the ground, not even warmed yet, when this man slapped him with a fabricated crime and dragged him to the trial hall.

Wen Liuhe figured this old geezer was just holding a grudge. Three months ago on the sword arena, he had made Qi Feibai lose all face. This disrespectful old coot wanted to seize the chance to help his useless disciple save some dignity.

Truly deep master-disciple bonds, with the master shielding his incompetent disciple at every turn.

Wen Liuhe lifted his eyelids and glanced at Qi Feibai standing beside Medicine Venerable. Qi Feibai raised his chin, a smug smile plastered on his face, smugness oozing from every pore.

Dogs relying on their master’s power—this jerk was lucky to have such a biased master.

Wen Liuhe’s eyes darkened, lips pressed thin, tongue biting fiercely into his teeth as he forcibly endured the pressure crushing his spine and knees.

Damn it, he could lose the fight but not his spirit. Wen Liuhe craned his neck, flashing Medicine Venerable a defiant smirk. “Tch, who’d be interested in your crappy medicine field? I, Wen Liuhe, hail from one of the top immortal sect families in the cultivation world. Spiritual herbs and treasures are endless for me—why would I eye your puny plot? Only a no-name medicine cultivator like you, crawling out from who-knows-where, would treat that wasteland like treasure.”

The entire hall fell deathly silent in an instant, a terrifying suffocation spreading.

His words were exaggerated, but every syllable stabbed straight into Medicine Venerable’s lungs.

Medicine Venerable wasn’t from a proper immortal sect, and his talent was mediocre at best. By sheer fluke, he entered the path of medicine, shortcutting to soul formation by devouring spiritual herbs, only to stagnate there for five or six hundred years.

His peers had mostly ascended by now, leaving him to wait round after futile round.

Medicine Venerable’s brows furrowed viciously, his body trembling with rage. He snatched the Dragon Chant Whip—the sect’s tool for executions—from a nearby elder’s hand, heaving heavy breaths. Ignoring the execution elder’s attempts to stop him, he lashed a brutal strike toward Wen Liuhe.

The Dragon Chant Whip was Taichu’s instrument of punishment—even an azure dragon would wail under its strike.

The whip whistled through the air toward Wen Liuhe’s back.

Skin split and flesh tore open; blood beads instantly trickled along the wound, soaking his pristine disciple robe and leaving a shocking streak of crimson on his back.

Wen Liuhe’s face drained of color in an instant, his muscles spasming. A metallic sweetness surged in his throat; he clenched his jaw and swallowed the blood, sweat beading on his forehead as veins bulged taut across his nose bridge.

“Destroying the medicine field in secret and showing no respect for your elders—This Venerable will discipline you properly in your master’s stead today. On your knees!”

Wen Liuhe gritted his teeth, his whole body rigid, rasping out a curse. “Kneel your dad.”

Medicine Venerable scowled and raised his arm for another lash.

Whistling winds rang out one after another, fresh red welts crisscrossing his back.

Pinned in place by the formation and pressure, Wen Liuhe lowered his gaze, staring fixedly at the ground. For the first time, he felt his own powerlessness with crystal clarity.

Bean-sized sweat drops slid from the youth’s damp hair to the floor. Wen Liuhe’s vision began to blur.

Wen Liuhe realized he had made a grave mistake. Back when Shen Yu had asked him to check if his mother’s path was on the right track, he never should have agreed.

He had countless ways to probe Wei Yinghong’s path—why had he chosen to join this damn immortal sect and make the worst decision possible?

To cultivate this bullshit heartless dao, he had secluded himself year-round on Sword Inquiry Peak, suppressing his nature until he could barely recognize his true self.

Another whistling lash hurtled toward him. Wen Liuhe’s fingers dug nearly into his own flesh. He kept his spine ramrod straight, refusing to bow—but the expected strike never landed.

Something was off.

Wen Liuhe sluggishly lifted his heavy eyelids. Through his hazy, dizzy vision, he spotted a familiar figure.

White robes, black hair—like the fairy of Mount Gushay.

Wen Liuhe froze, his forehead hair soaked through, astonishment flashing in his eyes as he stared.

Shen Yu descended on a flying boat. Seeing Wen Liuhe’s wretched state in the trial court, his breath caught, the smile vanishing utterly from his face.

Shen Yu flicked his sleeve and shot forward. Just as the next whip swung down, he unthinkingly seized the whip shaft in a iron grip. The man lifted his eyes coldly, a shocking chill exploding in their depths.

The entire Taichu Sect knew Sword Inquiry Peak’s lord loved to smile—even unsmiling, his eyes brimmed with intoxicating warmth. But none knew that when he reined in that smile, he turned as cold and forbidding as the snow atop Taichu Snow Peak.

Medicine Venerable halted, startled by his aura. Once he recovered, his expression twisted.

Shen Yu was young—barely over three hundred—but no ordinary junior to be bullied at will.

Medicine Venerable’s face darkened as he said coldly, “Junior Brother, perfect timing. Your wicked disciple loosed a spirit beast on the medicine field. If you can’t bring yourself to punish him, allow this brother to teach him a lesson.”

Shen Yu formed a spiritual seal and struck at Medicine Venerable’s wrist. The yelping beast, gripped by the neck, flailed its limbs in panic, fur bristling as it shot forward like an arrow. Its paws scrabbled, clinging to Shen Yu’s legs.

Shen Yu seized Wen Liuhe’s collar and hoisted him onto the flying boat.

Wen Liuhe drifted in a haze, catching the faint fragrance of Shen Yu’s hair.

Stray locks draped along the fairy’s pale cheek, his lips pressed into a flat line devoid of any smile.

Shen Yu turned to Medicine Venerable and flicked his hand sharply, flinging the whip aside. His voice was ice-cold. “Thank you for your kind intentions, Senior Brother. My disciple may be mischievous, but he’s not wicked enough for that. Without solid evidence, what do you mean by resorting to private punishment?”

“Even setting that aside, if my disciple erred, it falls to me to discipline him.”

Shen Yu swept his sleeve, his cloud boots lightly stepping aboard the cloud boat.

Gu Changqing pulled a medicine pouch from his robes and handed it to Shen Yu, somewhat unnerved by his little junior brother’s demeanor.

Gu Changqing’s gaze flicked to the gruesome wound on Wen Liuhe’s back—whip marks so deep they nearly exposed bone. His brows knitted; if this were his own disciple, he’d have lost control too.

He sighed and instructed gravely, “Take this medicine and use it on your nephew first. Mind your own hand injury too. Take him back to heal—I’ll handle things here. Senior Brother will give you a proper accounting.”

A faint smile finally touched Shen Yu’s eyes. His slender fingers clenched the green medicine pouch’s cord, knuckles whitening with the force. “Thank you, Senior Brother.”

With that, Shen Yu activated the flying boat, carrying Wen Liuhe toward the Spirit Washing Pool on Sword Inquiry Peak.

Shen Yu lowered his gaze, his eyes like snowflakes drifting down to settle quietly on Wen Liuhe’s back.

The free-spirited Sword Inquiry Immortal, who roamed unbound between heaven and earth, now didn’t dare glance at the face of the bloodied figure sprawled on the boat. He feared one look at those brows and eyes would let him hear his own heart shattering piece by piece.

Shen Yu’s fingers tightened inch by inch on the medicine pouch. The fresh whip wound on his palm chafed against the soft silk fabric, igniting a searing pain that made his hand jerk.

Twisted pale veins stood out on the back of his hand, taut beneath sweat-slicked skin—like verdant vines twining gently over cold white flesh.

Layers of clouds and mist drifted past them.

Wen Liuhe couldn’t say why, but though he had endured the fiercest lashes before, the instant he heard Shen Yu’s voice, his heart began to ache with a sour pang.

All his armor and resolve cracked open in that moment. Softness and grievance welled up, nearly bringing tears to the eyes of this fearless soul.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, willpower teetering on collapse—yet deeming it too humiliating, he missed Shen Yu’s gaze upon him, warm and familiar as an old friend’s.

Sword Inquiry Peak arrived.

The Spirit Washing Pool lay hidden amid layered green bamboo, built over the source of an underground spiritual vein with endless fresh water. It served as both healing pool and hot spring.

Cloud boots tapped lightly on verdant bamboo leaves as Shen Yu stepped down from the flying boat. He formed a seal, sinking the boat straight into the pool.

Hot spring water surged from all sides like invisible hands caressing Wen Liuhe’s back wounds.

Blood diluted into misty red wisps in the spiritual spring, drifting away as new flesh knit together. The pain made Wen Liuhe shudder, brows locked, forehead prickling with fine sweat beads.

Shen Yu itched to bite his finger, his heart a whirlwind, chest rising and falling as he fought to steady himself. The moment he sensed Wen Liuhe’s twitch, he lifted his eyes to fix on the youth’s face.

After a silent pause, Shen Yu summoned the flying boat to the pool’s edge. He squatted down, his white robe hem sliding along the stone rim into the warm waters, soaking through. Steamy mist clung to his hair, sheathing him in damp haze.

Shen Yu exhaled heavily from deep in his throat. His long fingers delved into his waist sash, drawing out a pristine handkerchief embroidered with cloud motifs and immortal cranes.

Warm spring water bubbled, mist swirling.

The immortal beyond the pool pursed his lips, thick black lashes dampened by steam as he gently dabbed the cold sweat from the youth’s pained brow.

Moist fingers brushed unwittingly over the youth’s rigidly furrowed brow.

Gurgling water, ragged breaths, and rustling fabric tangled amid the humid steam, intimate and inseparable.

Wen Liuhe’s eyes rolled, snapping open.

Shen Yu bowed his head.

Their gazes locked in an instant.