Lin Shijin’s attention was instantly caught by Sheng Rufei’s arrival. He instinctively looked towards the hall’s entrance, a flicker of worry stirring in his chest.
He had explicitly told Sheng Rufei not to come. Why was he here? Having just contradicted Feng Rugao, was Sheng Rufei here to share in the punishment?
Up until now, Lin Shijin had been busy staring at the floor, the beams, and the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart, barely noticing Feng Rugao. But the moment he heard that Sheng Rufei was coming, all his attention snapped to the doorway. His concern was plain for anyone to see.
It did not escape the notice of the other two in the hall.
“Let him in,” Feng Rugao said, and in that instant, the hall seemed to grow slightly colder.
The young man entered. Sheng Rufei’s first glance fell on Lin Shijin. Then he performed the disciple’s salute, kneeling with his silver hair falling freely, back straight, voice flat.
“Disciple greets Shizun.”
Lin Shijin studied Sheng Rufei. His expression seemed calm. Perhaps he had not yet reported to the Shenxing Hall. Or maybe Elder Song had turned a blind eye, as he often favoured Sheng Rufei.
Lin Shijin felt a twinge of nervousness, uncertain what this fool intended. He sensed the chill in the hall deepen slightly. Feng Rugao was subtly displeased again.
His fingertips felt icy. Sheng Rufei was not far from him, and Lin Shijin’s focus remained on him from the moment he stepped inside.
Feng Rugao remained silent in the main seat. Sheng Rufei did not look at him, instead addressing Feng Rugao directly.
“Disciple has troubled Shizun. I come by the Sect Leader’s order. Next month, disciples from the four peaks will be sent to Wuxiang Mountain. The Sect Leader instructed that Seventeen and I must go.”
Every three years, disciples from the four peaks are sent to Wuxiang Mountain, the origin of the Sword Ancestor. There, they can study rare scriptures and gain experience, rapidly improving their cultivation. The gathering of the four peaks also strengthens bonds between the sects.
“Originally, our peak had only five slots, but the Sect Leader, out of respect for Shizun, allowed Seventeenth Shidi to join.”
Sheng Rufei’s tone was flat; he merely relayed the instructions, as if he had come solely for this purpose.
“Wuxiang Mountain?” Lin Shijin’s chest stirred with excitement. He had no desire to remain on the peak, facing Feng Rugao every day. Sheng Rufei had brought wonderful news.
He had read about Wuxiang Mountain: a gathering place for geniuses, rich in rare scriptures and treasures. Many prominent figures had studied there. It was the dream of almost every disciple.
Lin Shijin’s excitement bubbled, but he quickly remembered that he was in Feng Rugao’s hall and suppressed it. He wanted to ask Sheng Rufei questions, but would wait until they had left.
Feng Rugao remained silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Was this instructed by the Sect Leader?”
Sheng Rufei nodded. “Yes. The Sect Leader ordered me to deliver the message.”
With that, the message was complete.
“Disciple takes his leave.”
Seeing that Feng Rugao had nothing further to say, Sheng Rufei rose and left. From the moment he entered until he departed, he had only glanced at Lin Shijin once. Only a brief pause as he passed by hinted at any awareness, then he continued out of the hall, as if nothing had happened.
To an outsider, the two might have seemed complete strangers, not senior and junior disciples.
Lin Shijin felt a pang of disappointment but reminded himself that they were in Changming Hall. Any display of closeness could risk punishment.
Now only the three of them remained. The Sect Leader had the final say on Fuguang, and given his long-standing tension with Feng Rugao, if Feng Rugao forbade Lin Shijin from going, the Sect Leader would likely insist he go anyway. After all, the Sect Leader’s logic was simple: “I’ve already given you face, and you still don’t appreciate it?”
…
On Luoyun Peak, Feng Wuping yawned, feeling slightly sleepy, glancing at the imperial seal on the table. Originally, Wuxiang Mountain had only five slots; Sheng Rufei’s visit had added one more. He didn’t mind. It was a small favour for Feng Rugao. He hoped Feng Rugao would stay quietly in his hall instead of wandering about.
Back in Changming Hall, Lin Shijin thought about going to Wuxiang Mountain next month, relieved he would not have to remain on Changgao Peak. He stayed quiet, secretly thrilled.
“You want to go?” Feng Rugao’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Lin Shijin’s good mood evaporated. He wasn’t certain yet, afraid Feng Rugao might decide to forbid it outright.
He hesitated, then answered truthfully, “I want to go.”
“Wuxiang Mountain has many scriptures and powerful disciples. If I go… perhaps my cultivation will improve.”
He glanced at Feng Rugao in the main seat, uneasy, and whispered, “Will Shizun allow me?”
The man remained silent for a while, his gaze on the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart on the table. The snow-white mass shifted slowly, mycelium-like strands visible within, circling the tray as they spoke.
“Feng Qing,” Feng Rugao finally called, not answering directly. Feng Qing understood.
He produced a dagger from his sleeve, its silver blade gleaming, and slashed at the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart on the tray.
The white mass shrank in fright, curling into a small ball. The dagger missed.
Lin Shijin watched curiously. The Snow Lotus Sacred Heart trembled on the tray, looking pitiful.
A brief silence fell, the hall awkward.
Feng Qing struck again. This time the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart could not avoid it; it split into a large and a small part, both quivering. The smaller piece was presented to Lin Shijin.
“This grows atop Cold Mountain,” Feng Qing explained. “It is extremely lazy. Though capable of movement, it can remain motionless for millennia. Only in danger will it move, slowly. If you consume it, young master, its nature may affect you… you might become very lazy.”
Lin Shijin looked at the divided, slowly moving mass, reluctant. This thing seemed alive—was he really expected to eat it?
“Do I really have to eat it?” he whispered. Couldn’t he carry it as a mascot instead?
Meeting Feng Rugao’s gaze, he immediately faltered, lips pressing together, fingertips twitching.
“Why can it still move after being split?”
Feng Qing: “It is said… the creature is lazy and forgetful. It believes itself still alive. Once it remembers it is dead, it will stop moving.”
Lin Shijin: “…Does such a thing really exist?”
Feng Rugao, watching him, spoke coldly: “Do you need me to feed you?”
Lin Shijin refused. He stared at the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart, feeling Feng Rugao’s aura shift slightly.
“Shizun, may I not eat it?”
Feng Rugao looked down, silent, answering without words.
Lin Shijin’s lips tightened. Feeling a faint threat, he picked up the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart reluctantly, as if it were a worm.
Closing his eyes, he swallowed it in under three seconds. As he did, a hallucinated voice cried, “Waaah! Why eat me? Curse you!”
Shaking off the illusion, he asked, “Is that enough?”
Feng Qing nodded. “If all is well, stay in the Sword Master’s hall. The Snow Lotus Sacred Heart takes time to take effect; you may feel some discomfort.”
Lin Shijin felt warmth in his stomach, touched it, and nodded. He remained in Changming Hall for an hour.
He was careful, sitting by the window. Feng Rugao provided two texts and paper and pen.
Initially intent on studying, Lin Shijin noticed Feng Rugao meditating with eyes closed. Assuming he was unnoticed, Lin Shijin doodled. Eventually, sleep overtook him.
Flipping to Feng Rugao’s portrait, he added an angry symbol, thinking the depiction lacked realism. The portrait now looked comical, which satisfied him. He covered it, then lay his head on the table, falling asleep.
Feng Rugao, previously meditating, heard soft snoring. He opened his eyes, noting two ink smudges on the youth’s cheek. The youth’s slender fingers still held a pen; the paper was filled with scribbles, mostly of little figures sighing.
Feng Rugao rose, observing the youth’s profile. He brushed a rough, calloused fingertip against the youth’s cheek. The youth, slightly uncomfortable, gently grasped the finger, a hint of displeasure, preventing further touching.
A cool breeze drifted in. Feng Rugao withdrew his hand, draping a robe scented with cold fragrance over the youth.
An hour hadn’t passed, and Lin Shijin awoke without feeling any particular effect. He was about to leave; the robe he wore was clearly Feng Rugao’s.
He set it aside and, glancing at Feng Rugao in the hall one last time, couldn’t resist asking:
“Shizun, when will the lock around my neck be removed?”
He touched it again, feeling a faint discomfort.
Feng Rugao lifted his eyelashes to regard him. “What did I say yesterday?”
The implication was clear: he was asking a foolish question. Lin Shijin stole another glance, anxiety rising, and asked hesitantly, “Shizun… could this lock have any side effects? Like… making me forget things, or… making me like you more and more?”
After speaking, he felt a little embarrassed. Feng Rugao didn’t answer for some time, so he glanced again. The man’s eyes, half-lidded, were indifferent.
“Where did you hear that?”
Lin Shijin, of course, couldn’t admit it was Jing Qiuhong. He pursed his lips. “I read it in a classic text.”
Feng Rugao looked at the youth’s cautious posture and, noting his tendency to believe what he read too readily, said coldly, “Try not to read so many useless texts.”
Lin Shijin was momentarily stunned, then understood what was meant. Slightly reassured, he bowed and left Changming Hall.
On the way back to his courtyard, he felt unusually fatigued. Whether from imagination or reality, he couldn’t tell. Sleepiness pressed down on him, and he longed to lie down again.
Quickening his pace, he soon reached his courtyard.
He hadn’t noticed the young man who had quietly followed him since leaving Changming Hall; the youth only departed after Lin Shijin entered his courtyard.
Lin Shijin collapsed onto his bed, falling asleep instantly. The next morning, he was roused, eyelids heavy, body limp and listless. Someone’s voice seemed to echo in his ears.
It took him some time to focus before he slowly lifted his gaze and saw a familiar face.
Sheng Rufei frowned slightly. “It’s time.”
Lin Shijin felt as if opening his eyes required all his strength. The youth’s fingertips brushed his skin while lifting the covers, causing a mild discomfort. Lazily, he pulled the covers back over himself.
“Shixiong… I have no strength.”
His voice softened. He felt himself teetering on the edge of sleep and gently grasped Sheng Rufei’s fingertips.
“Can I… sleep a little longer?”
Sheng Rufei’s fingers were held loosely. The youth’s tone carried an almost instinctive intimacy, sounding like a quiet, affectionate plea.
Whether it was imagination or reality, Lin Shijin thought Sheng Rufei’s skin looked even paler, like snow-white silk, highlighting the redness of his lips and lending his delicate features an almost fragile beauty.
His eyes were brimming, and when they met someone’s gaze, it was disarmingly endearing.
“No,” Sheng Rufei said, his voice cool. “Cultivation must not be neglected. Get up now.”
The room’s door was still open. He had called for Lin Shijin repeatedly, and when no response came, he had entered, concerned… and found him still asleep.
A chill slipped through the door crack, and Lin Shijin shivered. His fingers felt heavy; he only wanted to curl up in his corner and become a snow lotus of saintly heart.
Hearing Sheng Rufei’s voice, he muttered softly, not wanting to be scolded. “Then… Shixiong, carry me up.”
“Otherwise, I won’t get up.”
