Chapter Sixty-Six

"Is that true?" Hè Míng's eyes lit up at once. The face that had been overcast with worry revealed a few traces of joy.

In recent days Qingyang Heavenly Sect had suffered setback after setback, its vital energy severely depleted. But the person he was most worried about was still Cen Yan, above all else.

Cen Yan had been taught single-handedly by him. His talent was extraordinary and his character upright and likeable. To have thirty years of cultivation stripped away in an instant must have been a tremendous blow to him.

Hè Míng was genuinely afraid that Cen Yan might be unable to bear it when he woke.

At this thought, Hè Míng's anxiety rose sharply. He grew increasingly unable to sit still. He exchanged a glance with Lian Ci and quietly slipped away to the back of the crowd, leaving the main hall at a hurried pace.

—

Hè Míng's injuries had not yet healed and he was temporarily unable to mobilise his spiritual energy. He moved almost entirely on foot, running at full speed all the way to Wusong Lodge.

Along winding, branching corridors shadowed by crossing branches, in a simply arranged room, a refined-looking young man lay with his head propped against the edge of the bed, motionless, staring at the half-open window. His eyes were vacant and his face was white as paper — nothing like the high spirits of just a few days ago.

Hè Míng's nose stung. The rims of his eyes reddened. He was almost in tears. His voice trembled involuntarily: "…Yan'er."

"Master?" Cen Yan's lashes trembled. He turned his head toward the doorway, and when he made out who it was, he gripped the edge of the bed with both hands and laboriously pushed himself upright, attempting to bow to Hè Míng as he normally would.

"You're injured — what do you think you're doing moving about like that!" Hè Míng closed the distance in three quick strides, anxious to step forward and steady him, stopping him from getting off the bed.

Cen Yan shook his head. His lips were as white as his face: "Propriety cannot be set aside."

"Between master and disciple, what need is there for these formalities." Hè Míng frowned, his heart aching terribly. He helped Cen Yan lie back down and asked gently: "How do you feel? Any better?"

Cen Yan couldn't argue with Hè Míng, and gave up.

His cultivation had been completely abolished. His body felt unbearably heavy. That tiny movement alone had beaded cold sweat on his forehead and left his face even paler than before.

"I'm fine." Cen Yan lowered his eyes, concealing the emotions within them. His slightly cool voice came out hoarse and without strength: "Master, don't worry."

To have one's cultivation forcibly stripped and fall in a single moment from the heights to the mud — how could he possibly be fine?

Hè Míng knew Cen Yan wasn't telling the truth. His heart grew even more pained. A tide of regret nearly swallowed him whole: "It's your master's fault for not protecting you well enough. But your foundation is still intact. With your talent, given time, you'll certainly return to the Golden Core stage."

Spiritual energy in the world of cultivation was scarce, and cultivation was extraordinarily difficult. To go from Qi Refinement back to Golden Core — easier said than done.

Cen Yan had absolutely no hope for it. He made a perfunctory sound of agreement and quickly changed the subject: "Master, how many days was I unconscious?"

"Seven days." Hè Míng told him truthfully.

"Seven days?" Cen Yan raised his head and looked at Hè Míng in astonishment. He had been unconscious this whole time?

Thinking of what had happened before he lost consciousness, Cen Yan's expression changed abruptly. Gripping the bed frame, he tried to sit up again.

"Lie still." Hè Míng quickly pressed him back down, not allowing Cen Yan to move: "Your master knows what you're about to ask. The conflict between the Hundred Immortal Sects and Chú Róng has already been resolved."

Hè Míng let out a sigh and told Cen Yan everything that had happened seven days ago, one detail at a time.

Cen Yan clenched both fists. His thoughts were a tangled mess. The sect master had vouched for Chú Róng? All that evidence turned to worthless paper again? The scene from four months ago — playing out a second time.

"Where is Chú Róng?" Cen Yan didn't believe it. He wanted to confront Chú Róng face to face!

Hè Míng's usually gentle expression hardened at once. He snorted coldly: "That vicious, faithless wretch — why bring him up!"

Everything that had happened seven days ago, every single incident, had originated with Chú Róng. The sect master had been forced to prove Chú Róng's innocence, and Hè Míng still didn't believe a word of it.

Chú Róng simply wasn't fit to be called a person. And yet Immortal Venerable Ning Yuan was blinded enough to guard him like the apple of his eye, making it impossible for anyone to so much as touch him.

Without that, how could Chú Róng possibly have left Qingyang Heavenly Sect without a scratch?

Hè Míng was both angry and resentful, but worried about Cen Yan who had just woken up and couldn't afford excessive emotional agitation. He suppressed his anger and said as calmly as he could: "Chú Róng is no longer in the sect."

The expression on Cen Yan's face stiffened.

Chú Róng had done all those things, thrown Qingyang Heavenly Sect into chaos, and then simply turned and walked away? The sect's disciples had been caught up in it all for no reason — did Chú Róng feel not even the slightest twinge of guilt?

And then there was — right! Senior Brother Xú!

"Where is Senior Brother Xú?" Cen Yan's face filled with a measure of alarm, and he asked anxiously: "Master, have Senior Brother Xú's injuries healed?"

The Hundred Immortal Sects didn't know the full story, but the sect master should have known that Chú Róng was far from innocent. Senior Brother Xú had very likely truly been framed by Chú Róng. Had the sect master asked the Immortal Venerable to lift the restriction seal on Senior Brother Xú so he could receive treatment?

"Zǐyáng, he…" Hè Míng's eyes darkened. He started to speak, then stopped.

Cen Yan's heart gave a sudden lurch. An ominous premonition surged straight to the top of his head. Even his voice became a little unsteady: "What happened to Senior Brother Xú? Master, don't hide it from me!"

Hè Míng opened his mouth. The words he spoke fell on Cen Yan's heart like the blows of a great iron hammer, one word at a time: "He is at Chángsēng Hall. By the time we came down from Wusong Lodge — he was already… beyond saving."

Cen Yan's four limbs went cold. The blood in his entire body seemed to freeze in this moment. His senior brother who had been both a brother and a half-father to him, who had always looked out for him so carefully — was gone?

Enormous grief swept over him like a surging tide, swallowing Cen Yan whole in an instant. His throat gave a rush of metallic sweetness, and he vomited out a mouthful of blood. His vision went black, and he nearly fainted dead away then and there.

"Yan'er!!" Hè Míng's face changed with shock, frightened out of his wits. He hurriedly took out a healing spirit pill and fed it into Cen Yan's mouth: "You're still very weak — you mustn't tax your mind, calm down quickly!"

Having lost the senior brother he shared the deepest bond with — how could he possibly calm down?

Cen Yan's breathing grew disordered, and his face took on a faint bluish tinge. Hè Míng was terrified. He shook out a few more spirit pills, wanting to feed them to Cen Yan.

"Master." Cen Yan closed his eyes, turned his head aside to avoid the pills in Hè Míng's hand. His face was utterly ashen: "I want to be alone for a while."

Understanding that Cen Yan would need time to accept what had happened, Hè Míng didn't dare provoke him further. He placed the spirit pills back in the bottle, set it beside Cen Yan's pillow, and left the room, looking back with every step.

Yunzhi stood motionless as a stake outside the door. Seeing Hè Míng come out, he bowed in greeting.

"You're the disciple Yan'er took in from the outer gate, are you?" Hè Míng knew Cen Yan had taken in someone from the outer gate but had never met him. These past few days Yunzhi had looked after Cen Yan diligently, and Hè Míng had noticed. He had developed quite a good impression of the young man.

It was rare for Hè Míng to be gentle with an outer gate disciple. He said warmly: "Keep a close watch on Yan'er. If anything happens, report to me at once."

"Yes, Elder Hè." Yunzhi lowered his head in compliance. The eyes beneath his lowered lids were blank and lifeless, as though the vitality had been drained from them.

Hè Míng left with many backward glances. The moment his silhouette disappeared from Wusong Lodge, the sound of dull, thudding blows came from inside the room.

Yunzhi looked up. He saw Cen Yan on the bed, both fists clenched tight, slamming them down over and over against the bed frame. Both eyes were crimson as blood. His gaze was fixed unblinkingly on the canopy above, and a dark, malevolent aura unlike anything from before coiled around his whole person.

"Chú — Róng!" Cen Yan ground the name out between clenched teeth. His voice was strained to the breaking point. In his mind's eye, the flecks of light blazed with a blinding radiance — and the purple mist settled there began to writhe and wriggle, madly absorbing the light. Across the surface of the light, a few more mottled, ugly fractures cracked open.

Looking closely, those fractures formed a web — and had already taken over more than half of Cen Yan's entire mental sea!

If Chú Róng hadn't framed Senior Brother, Senior Brother would never have been gravely wounded by the Immortal Venerable and died in agony!

If only, more than three years ago, he hadn't brought Chú Róng back to the sect — the sect wouldn't have suffered such terrible losses inside and out, and his own cultivation wouldn't have been abolished.

Chú Róng!

Chú Róng!!

Cen Yan ground his teeth hard together. That name was like a poison-dipped blade, stabbing savagely into his chest and then twisting with full force.

A strange, almost twisted hatred began to stir quietly in the darkest corner of Cen Yan's heart, spreading rapidly outward.

He would kill Chú Róng. He would avenge Senior Brother!

The hatred that threatened to burst out of his body churned inside Cen Yan. His eye caught the spirit pill beside his pillow. Something came to him, and Cen Yan suddenly pushed himself upright, stumbling off the bed.

Yunzhi stepped forward quickly, wanting to support him.

"Get out of the way!" Cen Yan clutched his chest, gasping for breath, and knocked Yunzhi's hand aside. His refined face was twisted into something frightening and ferocious.

"Cen — Senior Brother Cen?" The back of Yunzhi's bronze hand had gone red where he'd been struck, but he paid it no mind at all. A bone-deep chill crawled up from his back. His scalp went numb. He stood rooted to the spot in stunned disbelief.

Cen Yan paid Yunzhi no attention. He turned around and continued to stagger forward, reaching the writing desk. He extended his hand and groped around it.

He pressed somewhere — Yunzhi heard a crisp click — and from what appeared to be a hidden compartment drawer, Cen Yan withdrew a rosewood brocade box.

Inside the brocade box, a perfectly round golden pill rested undisturbed. Thick, rich strands of spiritual energy drifted from within the pill, clearing the mind and refreshing the spirit.

Cen Yan stared fixedly at the golden pill. The light coming in from behind him cast a patchwork of light and shadow on both sides of his shoulders, making the expression on his face impossible to read.

One quarter-hour passed.

Two quarter-hours passed.

Cen Yan slowly raised his hand. He took the golden pill from the brocade box, tilted his head back, and swallowed it whole in a single gulp!

Senior Brother Cen had eaten the pill… eaten it?!

Yunzhi's eyes flew wide in shock. Before he could say anything, Cen Yan threw the brocade box aside and stumbled out of the room.

By the time Yunzhi came to his senses and ran after him, Cen Yan's figure had long since vanished from Wusong Lodge.

—

Qīngxū Sect.

Wangxian Peak. In the palace. A rich orchid fragrance drifted.

Chú Róng knew nothing of what was happening at Qingyang Heavenly Sect. An intoxicating flush was blooming on his jade-white cheeks. His head swimming and his eyes unfocused, he leaned against the man's broad, solid chest. His raven-wing lashes were lowered and half-shut over his hazy eyes. His lips were parted and glistening, swollen and a vivid red, and rapid breaths continued to spill from between them, tightening the throats of all who saw.

Ning Yuan's Adam's apple bobbed. Every muscle in his body was taut, as he fought down the impulse to press the person back onto the bed again. He lifted Chú Róng into his arms and walked steadily out of the palace.

The matter of removing the Puppet Gu was urgent. It could not be delayed, and they needed to get to the mortal realm as soon as possible.

Whoosh——

A white light flew out from Ning Yuan's sleeve. The Spirit Canal unfolded again in the air, expanding — larger and larger still — until it became an enormous spirit ship.

Ning Yuan held the person in his arms and stepped onto the spirit ship with practised ease, heading in the direction of the mortal realm.

作者有話說:

久等～

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