Chapter 2: A Delicate Position

A short while later, Yi Xuefeng—wrapped in a snow-white sable cloak, his small pale face sheltered beneath an umbrella—followed Huaichen toward the front hall.

The Cold Huai River was surrounded by flat plains on all sides. Spring mountains smiled, lakes shimmered, and streams wound their way babbling beneath delicate wooden bridges, green trees and red flowers sprawling in every direction.

Yi Xuefeng crossed the long covered bridge without letting his gaze stray. Just as he was about to turn, a glimmer at the lakeside caught the corner of his eye.

Through the misty rain, several white-robed young women stood with umbrellas on the stone steps of a long pavilion, clustered together chattering. One of them, wearing a single red-jade earring, stealthily lifted her umbrella to steal a look at him—and the moment her eyes met Yi Xuefeng’s clear, limpid gaze, she startled so badly she dropped her umbrella in a flustered panic.

Those bright eyes of hers had been brimming with warm, scattered light.

Yi Xuefeng withdrew his gaze without a trace. Wasn’t that Little Immortal Lord supposed to be violent and ill-tempered, quick to hit or curse at anyone who rubbed him the wrong way? he thought. With a rotten temper like that, he still has female cultivators pining after him? Truly…

Tch. Do you righteous folk all have such heavy tastes?

As he walked on, pondering, a thought suddenly surfaced while he passed through a secluded bamboo path: when he was young, he too had once looked at someone with exactly that kind of adoring gaze.

And that person had been as cool and distant as bamboo—merely standing there was enough to keep everyone a thousand miles away.

Yi Xuefeng remembered it clearly. When he had carried his whole, sincere heart before everyone and confessed his love, all he received was a glance of utter indifference.

And those words…

“The Dao and the Devil Walk Different Paths.”

They had crushed his newly budded love to powder.

Here, Yi Xuefeng’s lips curved into a faint smile.

Well, now I’ve been reborn as a Daoist Cultivator. If I go find him again, surely I won’t be getting that cold ‘different paths’ speech this time.

At the thought of Ning Yu, Yi Xuefeng dimly recalled that in his past life, trapped in the Devil-Slaying Array at the moment of death, the last thing he seemed to have seen was Ning Yu rushing toward him, heedless of everything.

That frost-cold face had appeared to be full of panic and despair.

At this thought, Yi Xuefeng smiled helplessly. Ning Yu’s heart is made of stone. He never cared to be associated with me—how could he possibly have appeared in the Savage Wilds? How could he have worn such an expression?

As if… he were deeply, irrevocably in love with me, Yi Xuefeng.

Just a dying man’s delusion.

Besides, back then, his being trapped in that array probably had something to do with Ning Yu as well.

He was lost in these tangled thoughts when Huaichen suddenly said, “Little Immortal Lord, we’ve arrived.”

Yi Xuefeng gathered his thoughts and looked up.

Lord Linfan’s Cold Huai River estate was vast and prosperous—even the reception hall was built with refined elegance. The moment Yi Xuefeng set foot on the wooden steps, he could hear arguing from inside.

“…The Immortal Grand Assembly is at hand, and the Spirit Sword was stolen right under the eyes of all these cultivators! If word gets out, where are we supposed to put the Cold Huai River’s face?!”

The man’s voice boomed like a great bell, nearly deafening everyone nearby.

Then came Song Jingsheng’s disapproving voice: “If you shout any louder, the whole Cold Huai River will hear you.”

“Then tell me, how else do we find that sword? Before he departed, the Immortal Lord entrusted it to the two of us. Now it’s vanished without cause—our faces were long since thrown clear to the Savage Wilds. What’s a little more disgrace?”

Song Jingsheng had no choice but to shout even louder than him: “Keep your voice DOWN!”

“Let them hear! Who dares say a single word against us on Cold Huai River soil!”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

What a lively scene.

He was about to step inside when his peripheral vision caught the corridor nearby—a man sat lounging lazily on the wooden railing. Hearing the ear-splitting noise, the corner of his mouth curled into a smile.

Perhaps sensing he was being watched, the man tilted his head and met Yi Xuefeng’s probing gaze.

He was strikingly handsome, his long hair half-tied with a red Hair Ribbon, the rest draped down his back. He was tall and lean, and though his face wore a smile, those scarlet Devil Eyes sent chills down the spine.

Yi Xuefeng frowned. A Devil Cultivator?

He still didn’t understand the current state of the Three Realms. Were Devil Cultivators really able to appear openly in righteous territory now?

Seeing that the guards nearby showed no signs of raising arms against him, Yi Xuefeng began to wonder just how long he’d slept.

Have seas turned to mulberry fields? Have the Devil Cultivators shaken hands and made peace with the Daoists?

The argument in the hall carried on. Huaichen stepped forward, somewhat awkwardly, and said in a low voice, “Sect Master, the Little Immortal Lord has arrived.”

At these words, the two squabbling parties finally fell silent.

Yi Xuefeng withdrew his gaze and walked in with an expression of perfect composure.

The enormous front hall was already packed with people.

On the left cushions sat a man with storm-cloud features—broad-shouldered and burly, radiating an aura of “one punch from me and you’re dead.” He was the source of that ear-splitting voice.

Song Jingsheng sat opposite him, posture elegant, a white-jade fan held before her lips as her beautiful eyes shot the man a glance of pure disdain.

Behind the two of them stood disciples of the various sects, their expressions toward Yi Xuefeng less than friendly.

Seeing him enter, Song Jingsheng rose and shed her earlier ferocity.

“How are your wounds, Little Immortal Lord?”

Yi Xuefeng remembered her as the one Huaichen had fetched to save the original owner, so he didn’t slight her. He gave a small nod. “Much better. Thank you for your concern, Sect Master.”

For a moment, everyone looked at him as though he were some snarling vicious beast. Who could have imagined that someone who had always been so arrogant and domineering—someone who didn’t even put the Sect Master in his eyes—would one day start speaking like a civilized person?

The disciples who had watched Yi Xuefeng slit the beast’s throat with a dagger yesterday, seeing him now so docile and harmless, felt their skin prickle involuntarily.

Song Jingsheng was also somewhat taken aback. After a moment’s thought, she still counseled him, “Your status is exalted, Little Immortal Lord, but the Forbidden Ground is fraught with danger, filled with vicious beasts that have lost their minds. There is no possibility of taming them. Please don’t be so reckless again. If you want a Spirit Beast, you can wait a year and go to Beixi…”

The man nearby couldn’t stand listening anymore and snorted, “Beixi has no shortage of Spirit Beasts, but only someone with formidable cultivation could ever tame them. The Little Immortal Lord… heh. Best forget it.”

Song Jingsheng shot him a furious glare. “Nanzong, shut your mouth!”

The young man in question was proud and hot-blooded by nature—how could he tolerate being mocked for his cultivation before all these eyes? With the Immortal Grand Assembly so near, if the Little Immortal Lord flew into a rage and caused some fresh disaster, it was the Cold Huai River that would lose face.

Song Jingsheng hastened to smooth things over. “Don’t listen to his nonsense. The Little Immortal Lord is still young—reaching Foundation Establishment already counts as respectable talent for his Spirit Vein…”

Nanzong added fuel to the fire with saccharine mockery: “Right, of course. Worthy son of Immortal Lord Linfan—his Spirit Vein takes right after his father.”

Song Jingsheng truly wanted to slap him dead.

But Yi Xuefeng seemed entirely oblivious to the malice. Blinking, he said with utter sincerity, “Who my father is, everyone in the Three Realms already knows. There’s no need to trouble yourself, Sect Master, to keep bringing him up and publicizing it on my behalf.”

Song Jingsheng froze, unable to tell whether he was being serious or deliberately provoking.

Nanzong’s explosive temper detonated at once: “Who in the damn—”

Before the outburst could finish, Yi Xuefeng clutched his shoulder and coughed softly a few times.

He was still wounded and not yet recovered, and the sable cloak only made his face look whiter. Now, frowning with those soft coughs—even though everyone knew his temper was arrogant and violent, that frail appearance stirred pity in spite of themselves.

After all, in the eyes of the world: for an evildoer, doing one good deed is easy; for a beauty, crushing an ant is hard.

Song Jingsheng had always doted on Lin Fuyu for being Lord Linfan’s son, and seeing him shouted at like this by Nanzong, she couldn’t sit still a moment longer.

“Nanzong! You’re old enough to know better—what kind of skill is it to bully a child all day?”

Nanzong’s eyes went wide. “I… I’m bullying him!?”

Yi Xuefeng performed a few more theatrical coughs. Turns out a pretty face doesn’t just hold ground in the Savage Wilds—among the righteous, it can dodge trouble without lifting a finger.

The world really is…

Beyond the hall’s lattice window, the Devil Cultivator lounging on the railing tilted his head slightly. His line of sight caught exactly the corner of Yi Xuefeng’s half-smiling lips. The man paused, and his eyes curved.

This young man is rather different from the rumors.

“Let’s discuss business.” Song Jingsheng couldn’t be bothered to trade more pointless blows with Nanzong. She glared at him fiercely before speaking. “Yesterday, the Cold Huai River’s Treasure Pavilion was robbed. Lin—”

She glanced at Yi Xuefeng, and seeing his expression unchanged, continued, “…The Spirit Sword left behind by Lord Linfan has vanished without a trace. With the Immortal Grand Assembly approaching, the number of people coming and going from the Cold Huai River is beyond counting. Who the thief is remains unknown for now.”

Nanzong’s face was cold as he lightly flicked a finger. A current of Spiritual Power poured from his fingertip, circled the air overhead a few times, then abruptly burst into fragments of light that drifted slowly down.

Yi Xuefeng watched, having no idea what the man was doing. The Spirit Sword is already lost—where does this fellow find the mood to set off fireworks?

But Huaichen beside him said in astonishment, “How can this be?”

The disciples behind the Sect Masters all wore expressions as though they’d seen ghosts, exclaiming in turn, “Impossible!”

“How could this possibly happen?”

“It actually happened!?”

Yi Xuefeng: “…”

Hmm…

Which “this,” exactly?

Nanzong withdrew his finger and looked at Yi Xuefeng with a cold smirk. “Little Immortal Lord, do you have any thoughts on the matter?”

The fireworks were pretty, Yi Xuefeng thought.

He had absolutely no idea what that technique had been, so he could only hold his ground, repeating everyone’s earlier words in a flat voice without the slightest ripple: “Ah, how could this happen?”

Everyone: “…”

As if he had expected exactly this, Nanzong suppressed his fury and said through gritted teeth, “The Little Immortal Lord has never cared about anything concerning Immortal Lord Linfan. This time, the loss of the Qieyun Sword is a matter of grave import—some ill-intentioned person may well have already infiltrated the Cold Huai River, yet you remain this indifferent…”

He raised his eyes, and an overwhelming pressure crashed down upon Yi Xuefeng.

Whatever his temper, Nanzong had been chosen by Immortal Lord Linfan before his ascension—his cultivation was unquestionably among the very finest in the Three Realms. The moment that vast Spiritual Power was unleashed, Yi Xuefeng felt as if a boulder had been pressed onto his chest, squeezing the very breath from his lungs.

Seeing this, Song Jingsheng cried out in fury, “Nanzong, stop! Are you trying to murder the Little Immortal Lord?!”

Nanzong ignored her and said coldly, “Little Immortal Lord, you wouldn’t want to see the day when the Cold Huai River is reduced to a field of ruins and wasteland, would you?”

Yi Xuefeng lifted his head.

Contrary to everyone’s expectations, his eyes held none of the terror or resentment they had imagined. Though his slender frame could barely stay upright, his gaze remained perfectly calm.

“There’s no need for me to worry about this matter…”

He had barely spoken a single sentence when a thunderbolt split the sky, falling—without the slightest deviation—straight toward the crown of his head.

Everyone heard a single deafening crack, and the roof of the hall was blasted clean through.

Just as the bolt was about to strike Yi Xuefeng’s head, it abruptly dissolved into a gentle breeze that brushed softly over his hair, like a tender caress.

Nanzong’s Spiritual Power was struck straight back down by that Heavenly Lightning. He staggered several steps back, his expression turning ugly.

Perhaps guessing at something, the smile in Yi Xuefeng’s eyes deepened, and he continued airily.

“…My father watches from beyond, and he will surely keep the Cold Huai River safe from harm.”

Everyone: “…”

F-father?

Your father ascended to the heavens. He didn’t drop dead.