Chapter Nine

Yun Zhi had fled here as a refugee from another region, and entered the Qingyang Heavenly Sect simply hoping to get a meal to eat.

Cen Yan's reputation as a genius resounded throughout the sect, so naturally Yun Zhi had heard of him. And since Chu Rong was Cen Yan's fiancé, Yun Zhi had also heard some rumors about Chu Rong.

Chu Rong was said to be sinister in temperament, his face hidden at all times behind a fearsome mask, his moods unpredictable and erratic. In particular, the business at the front hall two days ago had caused a great uproar and spread throughout the whole sect.

Although the Sect Master had ultimately declared Chu Rong innocent, many people still believed those three disciples had been killed by Chu Rong.

What did Chu Rong want with him?

Was he going to do to him the same thing those others had been doing — beat him up?

Yun Zhi was both startled and frightened. He gripped the broom hard, feet rooted to the spot for a long time, unable to take a single step forward: "What — what do you want?"

Connecting it to what the original owner had done, Chu Rong's pale lips beneath the mask parted slightly, and a helpless sigh slipped out between them.

He didn't try to force Yun Zhi to come closer, and spoke to him instead across the distance: "Did they bully you again?"

How did Chu Rong know?

Yun Zhi instinctively tensed every muscle in his body, staring at Chu Rong with bewilderment.

Chu Rong seemed not to notice his expression. He pointed to Yun Zhi's rolled-up arm: "Do they beat you often?"

Yun Zhi looked down at his arm and only then noticed that the bruises all over it — purple and blue, the marks of repeated beatings, densely layered — looked truly alarming.

Yun Zhi hastily pulled his sleeve back down, waving his hands in denial: "No — no, they don't."

The outer-gate people did beat him regularly, but afraid of making too much of a scene, they never went so far as to actually kill him. For Yun Zhi, hunger was far more frightening than beatings. Back on the road fleeing as a refugee, he had seen people kill and set fire to things just to fight over a mouthful of food. As long as he could eat his fill, a few beatings were nothing.

Chu Rong could read the thoughts behind Yun Zhi's face, but he didn't point it out. He simply let his voice pause for a moment before saying: "Next time they bully you, you can go find Cen Yan."

Cen Shixiong?

Yun Zhi looked confused. Cen Shixiong was as different from him as clouds were from mud. Would Cen Shixiong actually help him?

Chu Rong didn't offer any further explanation. He reached into his sleeve and withdrew a small vial of hemostatic medicine. His jade-like white fingers cradled the narrow-necked bottle, the fine white porcelain made to look even coarser by the contrast of those smooth, delicate fingers. He bent down and set the bottle on the ground.

This medicine had been sent by Cen Yan the day before. The wound on his neck had already stopped bleeding, and he had no immediate use for it.

"Rinse the surface of the wounds with clean water first, then apply this medicine." The low, raspy voice came from behind the mask, each word measured and serious, pulling Yun Zhi back from his shock.

Yun Zhi felt as though he had been struck by lightning. His expression froze on his face, and he forgot even to breathe. Chu Rong was giving him medicine for his wounds?

Yun Zhi stood there stiff as a board, hesitating to go and pick it up.

Seeing this, Chu Rong added lightly: "Use it or don't — it's up to you."

With that, without waiting to see Yun Zhi's reaction, he turned and left the outer gate.

Yun Zhi looked down at the medicine vial not far away, hesitated for a moment, walked over and picked it up, tucked it into his collar, and went on sweeping the ground, one unsteady step at a time.

Yun Zhi didn't take Chu Rong's words to heart.

His body was covered in wounds and his movements were sluggish. By the time he finished his assigned tasks, he limped back to the outer gate only to find that the other disciples had already finished their meals. All that was left in the dining hall was some cold leftover food.

Yun Zhi didn't mind. He found a large bowl, scooped some up, and ate great mouthful after great mouthful. The wound on his leg, soaked through with blood that had saturated the fabric, he left entirely unattended.

Having wolfed down his fill, Yun Zhi washed his face briefly and went back to Qingfeng Lodge to rest.

Qingfeng Lodge was the dormitory for outer-gate disciples — ten to a room. The moment Yun Zhi reached the outside of his room, he found his bedding and clothing thrown out into the corridor, soaked through with moisture, damp patches spreading across them, reeking of a sharp, acrid stench.

On the other side of the door, the disciples he shared the room with were doubled over in laughter. When they saw Yun Zhi frozen outside, they beckoned to him with a wave, like calling a dog: "Come here."

This was the prelude to them wanting to torment him.

A fear rose up instinctively in Yun Zhi's gut, and the residual pain throughout his body felt like tiny insects burrowing through the cracks of his bones, making his jaw tremble and an involuntary shudder move through him.

But two fists were no match for four hands. He couldn't fight back. And if he dared resist, he would only be beaten worse.

With a blank expression, Yun Zhi mechanically moved his feet forward. Before he had even steadied himself, two people closed in from his left and right.

One grabbed his shoulder, one pushed down on his head, forcing him to look at the bedding on the ground: "Look — a special gift from us. Do you like it?"

"They say children's urine can disinfect wounds. You've got so many cuts on you — sleep wrapped in this overnight, and by tomorrow, I guarantee every ache and pain will be gone." The people surrounding him laughed and chimed in, unfolding the bedding and draping it over Yun Zhi: "See how much we care about you, how good we are to you."

The bedding still carried warmth, and pressed against Yun Zhi's body it quickly soaked his coarse clothing through, seeping against his skin.

In an instant, Yun Zhi was enveloped in a thick, rancid stench that burrowed into his nostrils, his pores, his stomach, churning everything inside him with nausea that surged straight up to the top of his head.

Yun Zhi sat there stone-faced, without a word, like a piece of wood with no life in it.

This dead, lifeless reaction was completely at odds with what the crowd had been expecting. The smiles on their faces slowly fell, and the anger rising in their chests shot straight up to the top of their heads.

"What's that supposed to mean? Dissatisfied with us?" The group surrounded Yun Zhi and, tearing off the bedding, began raining punches and kicks down on him.

Yun Zhi curled his body up, hands cupped over his head, enduring the beating without a sound.

The sound of blows landing on flesh was enough to make one's heart jump. When the crowd had finally vented their fury, they looked mockingly down at Yun Zhi, their words dripping with contempt: "What are you staring at — pick it up and put it back on. You think you're too good for it now, refugee?"

How would he dare think he was too good for it — unless he wanted another beating.

Yun Zhi endured the pain, slowly got back to his feet, picked up the bedding, and lay straight and rigid on the wooden board.

"Now, wasn't that easier for everyone?" The group laughed loudly. One by one, they spat onto the bedding Yun Zhi had pulled over himself, before scattering back to their own beds to rest.

Before long, Qingfeng Lodge fell completely silent.

Yun Zhi lay there with wide-open eyes, staring blankly into nothing. Once everyone had fallen asleep, he quietly gathered up his bedding and clothing and went to wash them in the river behind the mountain.

When he was done, he didn't go back. He spread the bedding over a large flat rock to dry and slept there leaning against it.

The following day, as the distant horizon just began to pale with the first thin thread of white, Yun Zhi blinked open his bleary eyes. The bruises had settled into a thick layer of fresh soreness all over his body, and the wound on his leg had clotted overnight, the skin around it chilled to a blue-purple, the pain worse than the day before.

Yun Zhi's face contorted with pain. Thinking of the medicine Chu Rong had given him, he hesitantly took it out from inside his collar, turning it over twice between his fingers — then put it back.

Someone like Chu Rong was worse than the people who bullied him. He had no idea whether this was actually medicine for wounds. He didn't dare use it.

Yun Zhi didn't return to Qingfeng Lodge. He went straight to the dining hall to eat something quickly, then headed to the back mountain to haul water, chop wood, and do the sweeping and cleaning he was assigned.

Late in the afternoon, Yun Zhi went to the back mountain to collect the bedding he had left out to dry the night before. The moment he got back to Qingfeng Lodge, he was blocked at the door again by those he shared the room with.

"You actually went and washed the bedding — you think you're too good for our gift?" One of them snatched the bedding, turned it over and inspected both sides, his words stirring up trouble.

The others heard this and their tempers flared straight up to their heads. One of them kicked Yun Zhi flying and drew the sword hanging on the wall: "Who do you think you are, looking down on us? You don't want the gift we gave you? Fine — I'll tear the damn thing to shreds!"

The moment the words fell, the group used their swords to slash the bedding apart, ripping it to rags.

The cotton wadding inside drifted down in fluttering tufts, like the thick snowfall Yun Zhi had walked through on the road while fleeing. Outer-gate disciples were already allotted barely any resources, and there was only one set of bedding per person — no spares.

The Guardian Formation wouldn't open for another half a year. With no bedding, how was he going to get through the next six months?

Yun Zhi's eyes went red. The will to survive drove him to scramble to his feet and lunge for the bedding — only to be met with a kick straight to his face that sent him flying again, and then a foot planted on his face, pinning him to the ground.

Yun Zhi lay there, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, eyes wide open, watching helplessly as his bedding was torn to shreds by those people.

But they still hadn't cooled down. They closed in again, and started beating him with fists and feet all over again.

The neighboring room heard the commotion, but no one came out to stop it. Only when the noise outside died down did someone crack open the door and peer out.

Yun Zhi was slumped on the ground. His head had been split open, and the wound on his leg that had just scabbed over had cracked open again, bright red blood pooling beneath him across the ground.

The person peeking out gasped in quiet alarm: "He's not going to die, is he?"

"How could he?" The person who shared the room with him waved it off carelessly: "His bones are tough. He won't die."

"Fair enough." The one peeking out nodded in agreement, very seriously, then shut the door and retreated back into the room.

Qingfeng Lodge fell quiet again. After some unknown length of time, Yun Zhi staggered and hauled himself upright. His eyes empty and hollow, he stared at the cotton wadding scattered all over the ground, and the words Chu Rong had spoken — for some reason — suddenly jumped into his mind.

【Next time they bully you, you can go find Cen Yan.】

Cen Yan.

Go find... Cen Shixiong.

The thought rose bit by bit, growing clearer and clearer, until it occupied Yun Zhi's mind entirely.

He clenched his jaw, reached out a blood-smeared hand, grabbed a fistful of cotton wadding, and charged out of Qingfeng Lodge like a man possessed.

Misty Pine Residence.

Cen Yan stood with a straight, upright posture — broad shoulders, narrow waist — dressed in a white sword-practice outfit, walking side by side with a young man dressed in cyan.

The man had clear, refined features, a tall and upright bearing. As his sleeves moved with him, they stirred a cool breeze carrying the scent of green bamboo — like walking through a forest in early spring, refined and open, elegant without being aloof.

He was about half a head taller than Cen Yan, and glanced sideways with slightly lowered lids, watching Cen Yan attentively: "Aren't you going to tell me about what happened at the front hall the other day?"

Cen Yan didn't even look at him, answering directly: "Doesn't Shixiong already know everything?"