Chapter 15: Lu Qi of Lingshu Mountain Part 1

It was the warm heart of spring, yet Lin Zhuoyu felt cold all over.

Perhaps because everyone he had met in this life had doted on and cherished him, everything had always come easily—he had simply taken for granted that Yan Su would tolerate him unconditionally, forever.

So that was not how it was.

Face streaked with tears, Lin Zhuoyu stood frozen in place for a long while before coming back to himself, then edged sideways to hide behind the curtain of pearls.

Daoist Lord Tongxu watched the stunned Yan Su expressionlessly. His first instinct was to reprimand him, but after a moment’s thought he only said coolly to Ling Wensong, “Chief Officer Li arranged this well enough, but do not disregard another’s wishes. Go back. Zhuoyu will not be joining the Demon Suppression Bureau.”

Ling Wensong was merely the messenger and didn’t dare breathe a word of dissent. “Yes, sir!” he answered solemnly, then bowed respectfully and took his leave.

Only the two of them remained on the vast Deer Jade Terrace.

“Was what you said just now the truth?” Daoist Lord Tongxu asked.

Yan Su’s face was pale. Those heart-piercing words of refutation—he could no longer take back a single one.

But spilled water could not be gathered up. Having come this far, there was no road back.

Yan Su breathed out silently. “Yes.”

Daoist Lord Tongxu did not reproach him. “Get up.”

Forcing himself not to look at the Water Mirror, Yan Su rose slowly to his feet.

“Do you know,” Daoist Lord Tongxu said lightly, “why, back then, I took only you—a boy of thirteen—into the demon den?”

Yan Su froze. “This disciple does not know.”

“The Chaoping Marsh was wiped out to the last soul, with Zhuoyu the only survivor. That was not because the Great Demon was merciful.” Daoist Lord Tongxu rarely spoke this much to anyone. “It demanded that the three sects hand over one of two artifacts—’Boundless’ or ‘Peerless’—as ransom. If they refused, it would torture Zhuoyu to death and leave not even his bones.”

Yan Su’s head snapped up.

“Yanxing Sect, the Demon Suppression Bureau, and Floating Jade Mountain argued for three days, and none would trade an artifact for a life.” At this point, Daoist Lord Tongxu actually smiled, though his eyes were a sheet of ice.

“My friends Lin Weishan and Ying Fan slew countless Great Demons to shield the Three Realms from calamity and keep its people safe.

“Chengbi had not yet reached adulthood. He should have been the rarest prodigy of the Three Realms, his promise limitless—yet he split open his own golden core and self-detonated, spending his final breath to keep the Great Demon from entering the city. His blood soaked the ground for miles.

“And in the end, it was their own son whom everyone treated as a discarded pawn. All of them watched coldly from the sidelines; not one would come with me. Only you were willing.”

The world said that Daoist Lord Tongxu’s cultivation was boundless, that he was the Foremost Cultivator Beneath Heavenly Dao—and yet timid as a mouse. Terrified of Great Demons ever since the tragedies at Yanxing Sect and Chaoping Marsh, he had holed up in one corner, his fighting spirit gone.

But he had only wanted to protect the last thread of his old friend’s bloodline, to let Lin Zhuoyu grow up safe and without a care.

Yan Su stood rooted to the spot, glancing instinctively toward the Water Mirror.

But Lin Zhuoyu was no longer there.

“A demon den is no blessed paradise. It is nothing but a place where ‘food’ is kept,” Daoist Lord Tongxu said. “He was locked up for a month, listening every single day as the Demon Race flayed and devoured the living people around him—terrified, trembling, dreading that the next would be him.”

Yan Su’s breath trembled silently.

…And all he had said was that Lin Zhuoyu had nightmares and needed someone to coax him.

Daoist Lord Tongxu rubbed the space between his brows. “Never mind that he has only just come of age. Even if he were a hundred, a thousand years old, I still would not let him walk into danger.”

Words like “inexperienced” and “innocent” were nothing to be ashamed of.

He had never liked the characters “Zhuoyu”—carved jade—that Lin Weishan had chosen, fearing the child would die as agonizing and heroic a death as Lin Chengbi, whose remains had never even been found.

The courtesy name “Wuyou”—carefree—held all his hopes for Lin Zhuoyu.

“You were not wrong, in fact,” Daoist Lord Tongxu said. “Even if he entered the Demon Suppression Bureau under your protection, I would not rest easy. Rather than invite that kind of trouble, better that he never enter at all.”

“Shizun…” Yan Su began.

“Say no more.” Daoist Lord Tongxu rarely talked this much. He waved a weary hand. “Go attend to your duties.”

Yan Su stood frozen for a long time before finally bowing. “This disciple takes his leave.”

Deer Jade Terrace sank into dead silence.

Daoist Lord Tongxu lifted the pearl curtain and stepped into the inner chamber, where he found Lin Zhuoyu—thin-robed, propped against the window lattice, chin tilted up, staring blankly at a winter plum tree outside.

They had not spoken quietly out there; he must have heard everything.

“Little Yu…” Daoist Lord Tongxu said gently.

Tears still streaked Lin Zhuoyu’s face, but he was no longer crying. Propping his chin on one hand, he gazed out at the spring-filled courtyard. “Shizun, I want to leave the sect tomorrow.”

Daoist Lord Tongxu’s brow arched.

His little disciple rarely suffered so great a grievance—and from the very senior brother he clung to and trusted, no less. He had expected Lin Zhuoyu to cry and curse Yan Su. Instead, he was so calm.

Almost sensible, even.

“Your injuries haven’t fully healed. Rest another half month,” Daoist Lord Tongxu said.

“No.” Lin Zhuoyu said, “I refuse to stay in the same place as him.”

Daoist Lord Tongxu: “…”

So much for sensible.

Lin Zhuoyu straightened slightly. The boy had grown into a young man now, tall and upright as unbending bamboo. He wiped his tears and declared, “I’m going out to train for ten years. I’ll slay demons and evils until everyone sings of it, then found my own sect—the Demon Subduing Sect—and unite the Three Realms, and everyone will kneel when they see me, shouting, ‘All hail the mighty Immortal Lord!'”

“My disciple needn’t be quite so ambitious,” Daoist Lord Tongxu said.

Having delightedly finished his grand vision, Lin Zhuoyu abruptly, without any warning, burst into loud sobs.

He was not a weak or spineless person. But to have the man he’d depended on for fifteen years point at his face in disgust—proud as he was, a breakdown was inevitable.

He didn’t want to be that shameless “child” clinging to Yan Su for a sense of safety. But after more than a decade of days and nights together, the two characters “Yan Su” had all but grown into his own flesh and blood. To cut them out, he would first have to flay off a layer of his own skin.

Daoist Lord Tongxu could only watch him cry, helpless.

“Shi… Shizun…” Lin Zhuoyu sobbed, whole body shaking, voice choked. “Are you… are you just going to stand there and watch?”

Daoist Lord Tongxu: “…”

He sighed silently, walked over, and patted his head. “This master thought you were about to strike out on your own and conquer the Three Realms—that you’d grown into a strong, independent adult who no longer needed his Shizun.”

Lin Zhuoyu knocked his forehead against Daoist Lord Tongxu’s chest, refusing to hear what he didn’t want to. “If he despises me, why didn’t he just say so to my face?”

He was not the type to shamelessly cling. If Yan Su said one word, he would put eight thousand li between them at once.

“Your senior brother cultivates a different dao than most,” Daoist Lord Tongxu soothed. “Purity of heart and few desires benefits him—no harm in it.”

Lin Zhuoyu wiped every last tear onto his Shizun’s robes, sulking. “But I never interfered with his purity or curbed his desires! I even refined Heart-Purifying Artifacts for him!”

Daoist Lord Tongxu sighed, helpless. “Fine. If you want to go, then go.”

Having cried it all out and vented the knot in his chest, Lin Zhuoyu watched the sky darken, hastily washed his face, and prepared to return to Xuanxu Residence to pack.

But halfway across the courtyard, he belatedly remembered something and changed direction, running toward the back instead.

It might just be wishful thinking, but he had a feeling Yan Su would be waiting at the gates of Deer Jade Terrace.

Deer Jade Terrace and Xuanxu Residence were close; their rear grounds were separated by a cold lake. Lin Zhuoyu stepped forward and, with practiced ease, pressed a foot to the water’s surface—instantly, the lake froze.

He had loved taking this path since childhood, humming little tunes as he skated across the ice.

But just before reaching the far shore, Lin Zhuoyu caught a flicker of a figure in the corner of his eye. His foot slipped, and he nearly sprawled flat on the ice.

The rear gate of Xuanxu Residence.

Yan Su stood beneath a withered winter plum in snow-white robes—he did not know how long.

Lin Zhuoyu instinctively turned to go back to Deer Jade Terrace—then thought better of it. Fleeing now would only mean admitting he didn’t dare face him. He’d never spoken ill of anyone behind their back; he had nothing to feel guilty about.

Lin Zhuoyu came ashore, tapped the lake with his toe, and the frozen surface melted at once.

“Eldest Senior Brother.”

Yan Su still would not meet Lin Zhuoyu’s eyes. His gaze dropped instinctively to the bridge of that nose and below—yet he could see the young man’s pale, thin lips, and a small, barely perceptible mole at his throat.

…It unsettled him even more than meeting those eyes would have.

Yan Su looked away and, channeling his spiritual power, floated a token forward.

“This is the Demon Suppression Bureau’s Envoy Token. With it, you can pass freely through the three provinces and nine cities.”

Lin Zhuoyu eyed the token carved with the character “Yan” and did not take it. “Commander Yan found looking after me too much trouble—didn’t you refuse to let me join the Demon Suppression Bureau? Now you hand me an Envoy Token. Does that count as abusing your office? Playing favorites and twisting the law?”

“I never found it troublesome,” Yan Su said.

“If it’s not trouble, then you still refused to take me under your command.” Lin Zhuoyu smiled. “So you simply despise me?”

“That’s not—”

Lin Zhuoyu rubbed his tired brow. “In any case, whenever I ask you why, you never answer. Forget it. Keep the Envoy Token—spare my Eldest Senior Brother any further trouble.”

He brushed aside the hovering token and strode forward.

Yan Su went cold as frost. In the instant they were about to pass each other, he suddenly reached out and blocked his way.

Lin Zhuoyu’s brow furrowed. “Eldest Senior Brother, is there something else?”

Yan Su knew Lin Zhuoyu well. He knew this sentence was the polite way he dismissed people whenever he grew impatient with their company.

Lin Zhuoyu used to have endless words for Yan Su—a kicked pebble on the road could set him off into an enthusiastic, animated pantomime that lasted half a day.

Now there was nothing left to say.

Yan Su’s heart sank.

For all his silk and jade upbringing, Lin Zhuoyu was not spoiled; he could tell right from wrong.

He had heard every word spoken on the terrace. Yan Su had imagined all his possible reactions: sulking in silent anger, or lashing out with barbed, passive-aggressive words. All within expectation.

Instead, Lin Zhuoyu was calm and even-tempered—and the intimacy that had once belonged to Yan Su alone was gone entirely.

In that instant, the gulf yawned through Yan Su’s heart like a lingering executioner’s blade, and he nearly spilled everything.

But how could he tell Lin Zhuoyu—who regarded him as an elder brother—that he had conceived filthy, selfish desires for him? How to tell him that Li Buwei wanted him in the Demon Suppression Bureau only to use him as a tool, coveting, in truth, his Exquisite Bloodline?

The words would not come.