Fang Longxi lowered his gaze upon the child within the secret realm, his eyes trembling.
Of course he knew what had happened, yet he could not utter a word. Once, for the sake of saving another, he had sworn a Great Dao vow, only to grow disheartened by the very act of saving.
He had thought his heart could never grow warm again. Yet when those two children stretched out their arms to shield that unfamiliar youth, his eyes stung hot, as though he beheld a figure from long ago.
His stone dragon, linked in spirit to its master, spread itself before the crowd.
And the crowd did not move. They were all of high standing, figures from the three great immortal sects, yet before Fang Longxi they swallowed their anger and grief.
“Fang Longxi, do not forget your Great Dao vow.”
Fang Longxi chuckled, leaning on his sword, wearing a look of “hurry up then”: “Indeed, I have not forgotten. This life, I will never draw my blade. Do as you will, do as you will.”
At his words, the company faltered, suddenly unsure, suddenly cautious.
Minggong Yao swept her gaze across the piled corpses and broke down, wailing till her knees nearly gave way: “Grandson!”
“Zizhuo!”
“Huan’er! My son!”
Zhu Xiaoyou leaned upon his sword and watched. Mortal bonds ran deep. Losing a child was like having one’s very flesh cut. Mothers wept for sons, fathers for daughters, grandfathers for grandchildren. The sound tore at the entrails. He had never known that even immortals above might shed tears of grief.
But his old friend would never return.
He swept his eyes over the blood-soaked ground, a sudden desolation rising in his heart.
To whom could he speak? Where could he pour his grief?
In that silent bleakness, a sword levelled at him. Then a second, then a third.
“Kill him.”
“Kill him slowly. Let him suffer torment till his soul is scattered, to comfort my child’s spirit in heaven.”
Fang Longxi never released them from the secret realm, yet he knew he had no standing to intervene.
The cultivators gathered like a storm about to break, their rage and killing intent near to tearing the secret realm’s sky asunder.
No one could bar so many immortals.
Zhu Xiaoyou calmly wiped his weapon and sat cross-legged. At the final moment of his life, he felt no regret, therefore, no fear of death.
His bloodstained face was tranquil, his plain features devoid of expression. He did not know that the immortals did not intend to grant him a clean death; he would pay a price more dreadful than mere annihilation of body and soul.
From the moment he raised his hand, the ending had been sealed.
And still, two fools struggled on his behalf.
Xi Tao bowed low: “Honoured shibos, what happened today had its cause. Zhu Xiaoyou is not one who slaughters wantonly. I beg you elders, hear me out!”
Another voice, a child’s clear tones, rang out: “I ask but one thing. Today in this secret realm, disciples killed for blood, devouring the flesh of fellow cultivators—uncles, elders, did you know of it?”
“Wendao Pill, what sort of pill is that?”
The words were not loud, yet they stilled the crowd, a strange look flickering in their eyes.
Did they not know?
A green-robed, bearded cultivator ground his teeth and snorted coldly. He raised a finger, about to teach the impudent child a lesson… only to be checked by his elder brother, who transmitted harshly: [Do you not value your life? Do you know whose son that is?!]
The cultivator froze, then barked angrily: [Whose?]
[The mother is Xue Zhenzhen, master of the ancient divine sword, the Dragon Might Swordmaster. The father is Jun Wuwei, East Lands’ foremost swordsman, who cleaved apart the heavens themselves, severed his realm, and remained a Sword Immortal rather than ascend.]
The green-robed cultivator shuddered, nearly tangling his own feet. [Shixiong, don’t jest with me.]
[Try, if you dare. But before you strike, leave the sect, cut your karma, and don’t bring disaster unto us!]
[This…]
Minggong Yao, roused from grief, glared at Xue Cuo. “Little child, do you understand Heaven’s law? I tell you this. Life pays for life, it is the way of Heaven and earth. Even if you are son of Da Qing, you cannot meddle with my cause and effect!”
“You two get out of the way!”
Xi Tao stood firm, neither humble nor arrogant. Once more he bowed: “Honoured shibos, this matter has its cause.”
“Do not be beguiled by that devil. Stand aside!”
Xi Tao lowered his eyes. “Honoured shishu and shibos, Xi Tao cannot step aside.”
He still believed in justice, in principle. The immortal sects were, after all, the orthodox Dao. However sordid their dealings in the shadows, when faced with matters of great right and wrong, surely the sects stood upon truth. Surely they would uphold fairness, claim the mandate of righteousness!
“Xi Tao—”
At that voice, the crowd of cultivators fell silent, parting to either side.
Xi Tao’s resolute expression wavered, his eyes flickering. “Father!”
A golden immortal cloud hovered above. At some unknown moment, a Daoist with phoenix eyes and a long beard had appeared upon it. His expression was calm, his face faintly green. Xi Tao recognised it as no true body, but merely a leaf clone.
In Xi Tao’s heart, his father had always been a man of integrity, upright, unyielding, with a knightly heart, often roaming the world.
He said: “Father, today……”
But Xi Tao suddenly stiffened. At some point, a golden rope had coiled about him. He raised his head in disbelief. The long-bearded Daoist flicked his whisk. “Return to Biyun Palace to reflect. You shall not step beyond its gates for ten years.”
The golden light on Xi Tao’s body flickered, his long brows drawn tight. He struggled against the bindings: “Father! Father!”
Xi Tao turned his head, voice urgent beyond measure: “Xue Cuo!”
Xue Cuo lunged to seize him, but grasped only air. He stumbled forwards in half-run, half-fall, watching helplessly as Xi Tao was dragged farther and farther away.
“Zhu Xiaoyou!”
The long-bearded Daoist gave no answer. He spared neither glance nor word for the cultivators within the secret realm, seizing Xi Tao, he vanished atop the clouds.
Fang Longxi, poised to act in secret, was about to strike when a crack split open behind him. Out shot two vast hands, seizing him by the shoulders and dragging him into the rift.
Within the secret realm, only one troublesome figure remained.
He was but a child. The gathered cultivators all breathed relief and, in one voice, praised Xi Tao’s father. Step by step, they let themselves sink into the secret realm.
A dozen and more mighty immortals entered, drifting silently in the skies. From on high they gazed down. Though they released no overt force, the mountains and rivers trembled, the very ground shuddered.
At some unknown hour, rain began to fall.
The immortals had already decided. Their gazes burned cold and deathly still, like ghost-fires smouldering in the dark.
Icy drops slid down Xue Cuo’s cheek.
He lifted his head, looked around him, then slowly drew back. Little arms spread wide, he once more shielded the tall youth at his back.
No one laid hand upon him. None dared.
In the trial to come, he alone was the barrier.
The immortals murmured among themselves, until Minggong Yao’s voice broke through the downpour, deafening as thunder: “Xue Cuo, stand down.”
“I will not!” Xue Cuo’s cry rang bright, raw with incomprehension. He truly did not understand.
“It was not Zhu Xiaoyou who killed, it was those disciples. I am willing to swear upon the Great Dao itself!”
“Of all who entered this secret realm today, why are we the only ones alive?!”
“They harvested human flesh, butchered their own! Why will you not check? Look once at their storage rings, everything will be plain!”
“Honoured shibos, revered elders.” Xue Cuo, imitating Xi Tao, bent in deep obeisance. “I, Xue Cuo, am willing to vouch for him.”
“Does it matter?”
Xue Cuo jerked his head up. “What?”
Minggong Yao’s voice swept coldly across the corpses, tears streaming down her aged face, yet her tone eerily calm: “They were but purging demons and defending the Way. These disciples fell to demonic taint. Should they not be slain?”
Xue Cuo could not help but cry out: “Purging demons? What demons? Where are the demons?!”
The cultivators gave no reply. Step by step they pressed closer.
He was but a mere Spirit Realm Stage child; he could not withstand the crushing might of so many. Forced back and back again, at last his small shoulders struck something hard. A warm palm rested gently there.
Turning, Xue Cuo found Zhu Xiaoyou standing with sword in hand, meeting his gaze. The boy grinned, gave his shoulder a light pat. “Shixiong, come behind me.”
Xue Cuo shook his head with all his strength. “No.”
Zhu Xiaoyou looked skyward, then back to him, and sighed in his heart: How strange the world. There are sects such as these, and yet also an immortal such as Xue Cuo.
He slipped the bloodied prayer beads from his wrist and placed them in Xue Cuo’s palm. “Give these back to Xi Tao, Shixiong. Tell him I thank him.”
Xue Cuo clutched desperately at his robe, refusing to let go. “Zhu-shidi, don’t go. I can… I’ll think of something!”
Zhu Xiaoyou raised the corner of his mouth, reached out and pinched Xue Cuo’s cheek.
“Shixiong, the Dao is lonely. This road, I’ll walk alone.”
Just then, a jade bangle fell from the heavens, snapping tight around Xue Cuo, locking him fast. He raised his eyes and saw a female cultivator roll her wrist and say coldly: “Sinner Zhu Xiaoyou, would you coerce a six-year-old child to shield you?”
Xue Cuo hammered his little fists against the treasure, but it did not budge. He shouted himself hoarse for Zhu Xiaoyou, yet could only watch as the youth’s back receded further and further away.
At last he understood: these immortals had never meant to reason. Whether they were aware of the truth or falsehood, it mattered nothing.
From the beginning, they had not come to reason.
Zhu Xiaoyou lifted his sword and walked on. Step by step, further still, until he stood at the feet of the immortals, beyond Xue Cuo’s sight.
He raised his eyes, stars burning within them. “The killings were mine alone. I do not repent.”
The heavens roared, lightning split the skies, thunder shook the clouds. The immortals’ fury blazed.
Xue Cuo could see nothing. Only the raging wind reached him, only the brilliance of spells that lit the heavens end to end.
They meant to kill Zhu Xiaoyou, but before killing, each immortal sought his own blood-vengeance.
“Kneel!”
“Kneel!”
Bolts of lightning rained down.
Xue Cuo lost all sense of time. Trapped within the jade bangle, he exhausted every charm he knew, but it would not open.
When at last the storm began to abate, a streak of light crossed the horizon.
Gu Ruhui, having heard the tidings, hastened to the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods. He had seen Xue Cuo many times before, but never as he appeared then.
He entered the unguarded secret realm. Amid thunderous ruins, he found the child.
Before Xue Cuo stood only a severed calf and the broken half of a long sword.
Around them lay Dao-marks, imprints, and the drifting smoke of thunder. Nothing else.
Xue Cuo knelt, holding the shattered blade, staring at it in daze, silent for a long, long while.
Gu Ruhui, startled, walked slowly to his side.
Tears dripped onto the sword, one by one, without sound, without motion.
Yet Gu Ruhui felt it. Something within his little Shixiong had been lost.
He tightened his grip on his bamboo sword.
“Shixiong.”
He reached out to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “What has happened to you?”
