Chapter Seventy

The Marquis of Anguo's estate was drenched in the smell of blood.

Ning Yuan stepped through the blood pooled across the ground and returned to the Spirit Canal. He held Chú Róng and entered the main hall, laying him down gently on the jade couch.

Ink-black hair, soft as cloud and mist, spread across the couch. Chú Róng's brow was creased in pain. His pale forehead was beaded with cold sweat. His slender ten fingers were clenched tight. His palms gripped the Recording Stone hard.

Ning Yuan took out the spirit pill Yún Sōng had given him and divided it evenly into six portions. He placed them in his mouth and ground them down, then bent over and pressed his lips to the trembling ones of the person on the couch, feeding the medicine into Chú Róng's mouth.

The spirit pill took effect quickly. Before long, Chú Róng's rapid breathing steadied, and the violent pain inside his body ebbed away like a retreating tide.

However, as Yún Sōng had said — the pill treated the symptoms, not the root cause. It could suppress the pain, but the offspring gu's episode continued. Chú Róng's four limbs remained limp and powerless. Even lifting a single finger was an effort.

"Any better?" The man's muscle-solid long arms gathered him close, holding him in an embrace. Ning Yuan lay on his side on the jade couch and curved a finger to wipe the cold sweat from the person's forehead. His usually impassive, cold voice was lowered and pressed almost to a murmur, his tone as close to coaxing as he could manage: "Bear with it a little longer. Once we get back to Qīngxū Sect, I'll have the offspring gu removed."

Chú Róng's consciousness drifted in and out. He caught half of what the man said and missed the other half. His pale, moistened lips parted slightly, trying to say something, but he truly couldn't summon the strength. His raven-wing lashes fanned twice, and his entire person sank into the swamp of unconsciousness.

Outside the Spirit Canal, the enormous spirit ship cut through layer upon layer of clouds, racing toward the cultivation world at the speed of a shooting star.

—

Inside the estate.

Cen Yan, his face deathly white, staggered out. When he reached the gate of Qingyang Heavenly Sect, he came face to face with Hè Míng coming toward him, Yunzhi following behind.

"Yan'er?" Hè Míng's eyes lit up. The worried, anxious face bloomed with surprise and delight: "Where did you go? There are dangers everywhere outside. Your injuries aren't healed yet — how could you be so reckless? You—"

Feeling the spiritual energy fluctuation on Cen Yan's person, Hè Míng's face showed astonishment. The words of concern he had been about to say jammed in his throat: "Yan'er — your cultivation?"

Cen Yan's cultivation had only just been abolished by the Immortal Venerable. How had it returned to the Golden Core stage?

Something came to Hè Míng. He drew a sharp breath and lowered his voice: "You swallowed Elder Lin's golden pill?"

Three-plus years ago, Elder Lin had been gravely and incurably wounded in the act of saving Cen Yan. On his deathbed, he had instructed that the golden pill be removed and kept for Cen Yan's healing. But then Cen Yan had ended up in the mortal realm and been saved by Chú Róng, so the golden pill had never been used — it had been kept in Cen Yan's possession ever since.

But hadn't Cen Yan once said that the golden pill was Elder Lin's keepsake, and he would never swallow it?

Cen Yan's lips turned down. His gaze was hollow, as if it had lost its focus. He paid no attention to Hè Míng's words.

A nameless premonition rose inexplicably in Hè Míng's heart. He had a persistent sense that something about Cen Yan had become not quite the same. He furrowed his brow, wanting to say something — and Cen Yan raised his hand to push past him and walked straight toward Chángsēng Hall.

Hè Míng clutched his greying beard, didn't think twice, and followed after Cen Yan. Yunzhi trailed at the very back with an expressionless face, his strong, tall body like a moving mountain.

The matter of the evil energy was still unresolved. Xú Zǐyáng's body had been placed in Chángsēng Hall with a few disciples assigned to stand guard. Catching sight of Cen Yan and the others from a distance, the guards bowed hastily: "Senior Brother Cen, Elder Hè."

In a complete reversal of his usual manner, Cen Yan didn't help the disciple up. His cold detachment was entirely unlike his normal self: "Four months ago, on the seventh day after the three disciples died — did Chú Róng come?"

Chú Róng?

Chú Róng had left Qingyang Heavenly Sect several days ago. Why was Yan'er bringing him up for no reason? Hè Míng's gaze returned to Cen Yan's face, plainly puzzled.

"In reply to Senior Brother — yes, he came." When Chú Róng had come, it had caused quite a commotion. The guard disciples remembered it clearly, and told Cen Yan everything exactly as it had happened.

Cen Yan's hand clenched suddenly. His nails were trimmed flat, yet they still dug deep into the flesh of his palm. His voice trembled, sounding very unsteady: "Did Qīngyuán truly say all of that?"

"Every word of it is true." The disciple didn't understand why Cen Yan was bringing up old matters, but answered truthfully nonetheless. His peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the blood-stained fingers, and he was frightened into a startled cry: "Senior Brother Cen — your hand!"

Cen Yan seemed not to hear. He left without a word and made his way to the next place.

Hè Míng's brow gave a twitch. The unease in his heart grew stronger. He hurried to follow after Cen Yan.

Cen Yan went directly to the inner gate disciples' quarters. Most of the inner gate disciples were in the main hall. Only two disciples had been left behind to look after Qīngyuán, who was bedridden and paralysed.

The two disciples were carrying a food box, about to bring a meal to Qīngyuán. When they encountered Cen Yan at the doorway, they immediately bent in a bow to greet him — but before they could, Cen Yan spoke first: "Four months ago — did you see Chú Róng at the practice field?"

The practice field was a place for sect disciples to train. Mortals were always strictly forbidden from approaching. In the three-plus years Chú Róng had been at the sect, he had never once set foot near the practice field.

Except for that one time — when Chú Róng had appeared at the practice field.

The two disciples exchanged a look. Not daring to conceal anything from Cen Yan: "Yes. Four months ago, Senior Brother Péi brought Chú Róng to the practice field once — and there was a conflict with Qīngyuán."

Chú Róng again.

Hè Míng's brow furrowed tight. He looked over and met the bottomless black depths of Cen Yan's eyes — the emotions churning inside them were nothing short of alarming.

It was true.

Everything Chú Róng had said was true.

Chú Róng had explained it to him — and he had refused to listen, refused to believe.

Cen Yan's complexion turned utterly ashen. It felt as though a clump of cotton was stuffed in his throat — impossible to swallow, impossible to spit out. Regret was like a sharp blade, tearing his heart to shreds.

What had he done to the person who had saved his life?

He had ignored him. Suspected him over and over. And to soothe the anger of the Hundred Immortal Sects, had handed him over — even knowing full well that falling into the hands of the assembled sects would mean Chú Róng's death without a grave to call his own.

"Ahhh——!"

"Ahhh——!!"

Cen Yan covered his face with both hands. His shoulders shook violently. A suppressed, agonised howl tore from his throat. He turned and ran back to Wusong Lodge like a man gone mad.

Wusong Lodge still looked as it had when he had left. The empty room next door felt like a silent accusation — or a mockery of his own stupidity.

In this moment, every regret and every ounce of self-blame that had been accumulating along the way erupted all at once. Cen Yan fell to his knees on the ground, fists slamming into the floor over and over. Tears fell from his eyes like rain, one after another.

In his mental sea, the brilliant light spot at the very centre blazed with a radiance unlike any before — flooding the entire mental sea with brightness. The fractures coiled over the light spot shattered like broken ice, crack, crack, crack—— splitting apart with a force that smashed everything in its path.

In the space of a single blink, the fractures covered the entire light spot. The purple-black mist closed over it completely.

"Pfft——!!" Cen Yan vomited out a great mouthful of blood and collapsed sideways to the ground.

Hè Míng, who had followed just behind, saw his pupils contract sharply. His expression changed drastically. He rushed toward Cen Yan in a panic: "Yan'er——!!"

—

Qīngxū Sect.

When the Spirit Canal flew into Wangxian Peak for a second time, the disciples within the sect already knew who was aboard. In unison they faced the spirit ship and bowed with great respect: "We welcome the Immortal Venerable's return to the sect!"

Jìn Tuò and the others heard the news and hurried to Wangxian Peak. The moment they stepped onto the peak, they saw Ning Yuan descend from the Spirit Canal holding Chú Róng in his arms. The young man's eyes were closed, leaning against the man's broad chest. His face had not a trace of colour — white as paper.

"What has happened to Young Master Chú?" Jìn Tuò's heart lurched. His expression was full of worry.

Ning Yuan didn't spare Jìn Tuò a single glance. He used spiritual energy to push open the palace doors and strode inside holding Chú Róng, calling back without looking: "Summon Yún Sōng to Wangxian Peak — quickly!"

In over three hundred years, this was the first time Jìn Tuò had ever seen Ning Yuan this urgent. Not daring to delay, he immediately sent a spiritual message to Yún Sōng.

Yún Sōng was in his study preparing medicines. Chú Róng was a mortal, so the dosages required the utmost care. When he received the message, he dropped what he was doing and rushed to Wangxian Peak at full speed, his hair coming slightly loose from its bun: "Where is the Immortal Venerable?"

Jìn Tuò pointed toward the palace interior. His face was heavy with worry: "The Immortal Venerable just came back holding Young Master Chú. The young master seems to be in some distress."

Just came back?

Yún Sōng thought for a moment and guessed what Ning Yuan had gone to do. His expression changed immediately, and he walked quickly into the palace.

Inside the hall.

Ning Yuan's imposing frame sat at the edge of the jade couch. His well-defined large hand held one jade-white hand. His fathomless eyes watched the person on the couch.

The young man on the couch lay with his long lashes lowered. The Soul-Capturing Bell had been removed from his waist and set aside. His devastatingly beautiful face was as pale as paper — like a jade sculpture on the verge of breaking.

Yún Sōng's heart leapt straight to his throat. Without pausing to bow to Ning Yuan, he went to the jade couch in three quick strides, carefully raised the wrist of the person on the couch, and took the pulse with great attention: "Did Young Master vomit blood?"

"Yes." Ning Yuan answered in a low voice.

One quarter-hour passed.

Two quarter-hours passed.

Yún Sōng let out a long breath. The heaviness between his eyes and brows dispersed entirely: "Mother gu and offspring gu are linked in heart and mind. The mother gu's death will naturally be felt by the offspring gu. Young Master vomiting blood was simply the offspring gu growing agitated for a time, causing the accumulated toxin inside his body to act up. It's not anything serious."

The tension in Ning Yuan's heart eased slightly: "Then why hasn't Róng woken yet?"

During previous episodes, Chú Róng had been unconscious for no more than a few hours. But this time, a full day had passed, and Chú Róng was still deep in unconsciousness with no sign of waking.

"Young Master's body is severely depleted. The offspring gu's episode triggered the accumulated toxin. He couldn't withstand it, so the symptoms will naturally last longer." Yún Sōng gently set down the delicate pale wrist in his hand: "As long as the offspring gu remains inside Young Master's body, it will be a persistent source of harm. The most important thing right now is to remove the offspring gu."

Without the mother gu's control, removing the offspring gu was no difficult matter for a medical cultivator of Yún Sōng's calibre.

Yún Sōng produced a spirit pill that flickered with golden light and handed it to Ning Yuan: "Young Master is of mortal constitution and cannot withstand spiritual force. It's not possible to expel the offspring gu directly using spiritual force. A gentler, mortal-world method must be used instead. This spirit pill contains the natural enemy of Puppet Gu. After Young Master takes it, in approximately half a time-unit the offspring gu will react. At that point, the Immortal Venerable needs to seal the meridians in Young Master's body and drive the offspring gu toward Young Master's forearm. Then the skin and flesh there must be cut open to let the offspring gu out."

Ning Yuan raised his hand and took the spirit pill. He reached back into his robes and produced something, which he levitated over to Yún Sōng using spiritual force: "Tell Jìn Tuò — along with the person on the Spirit Canal, hand them both over to the Hundred Immortal Sects for judgement."

An order from Ning Yuan — Yún Sōng would never dare disobey. He reached out and took the Recording Stone, bowing as he withdrew from the palace.

Ning Yuan bent and gathered Chú Róng into his arms, cradling him gently against his chest. He pinched the spirit pill and fed it into Chú Róng's mouth.

Outside the palace.

Jìn Tuò and the others had not yet left. Yún Sōng walked toward Jìn Tuò, Recording Stone in hand, relaying Ning Yuan's words without missing a single one.

There was someone still on the spirit ship?

Jìn Tuò looked up at the enormous spirit ship hovering in mid-air. Baffled, he flew up into the ship — and sure enough, in a side hall, he found a veiled, unidentifiable woman from the mortal world, sitting on the floor and unable to move, clearly frozen in place by the Immortal Venerable's immobilisation technique.

Jìn Tuò and the several elders who had followed him exchanged a look. Their gazes converged on the Recording Stone. After centuries of cultivation, they certainly knew what a Recording Stone was for.

Jìn Tuò extended a finger and directed a thread of spiritual energy into the Recording Stone. The next moment, the images recorded within were projected before everyone's eyes.

Wangxian Peak was enclosed by a Spirit-Gathering Array. The surrounding air was thick with spiritual energy. Behind the mountain, a cloud-piercing waterfall plunged straight down, crashing against the rocks, droplets flying, mist and clouds swallowing everything.

On the spirit ship, not a single person spoke.

The group stared fixedly at the projected images. Their chests heaved as they breathed in heavy, angry bursts.

Yún Sōng in particular — fury was written plainly across his handsome face. As a medical cultivator, he understood better than anyone how agonising a Puppet Gu episode could be. That this woman called Zhù Guānwēi had dared to harm someone this way!

He could barely bring himself to imagine how hard Young Master Chú's life must have been.

Yún Sōng rarely scolded anyone, let alone a woman — but Zhù Guānwēi's conduct was something he truly could not stomach. How could there be anyone this malicious in this world?

No — she didn't even deserve to be called a person!

Zhù Guānwēi was no better than a beast!

And Cen Yan was an ungrateful wretch!

Jìn Tuò's face had gone a livid iron-grey. He gave a cold laugh. He had once thought Cen Yan's talent remarkable and his character upright — a very promising young man. Who would have imagined he had treated Young Master Chú, who had saved his life, in such a way.

Hmph. He had truly been blind before!

"Take her away!" Jìn Tuò said, his face blazing with fury.

作者有話說:

Fixing a small bug.