Gu Ruhui said, “Little shixiong, you’ve grown thinner.”
How could he tell he’d grown thinner? When he left, he’d been so small and barely up to their shifu’s waist.
And now he’d become so tall.
Those twelve lost years ought to have left no trace, and yet every trace was written upon the young man before him. It was etched into the familiar yet unfamiliar look in his eyes.
Gu Ruhui could never forget the family he had once seen upon those long jade steps carpeted in falling blossoms. His Shifu, robes white as new-fallen snow and face as striking as a painted scroll, had smiled and said, “I take you as my disciple. My disciple bows to none but Heaven and Earth. Not even to his shifu’s kin.”
His Shimu, cold and pristine as high-mountain snow, had stood amid drifting petals, blossoms settling upon her silk-dark hair. She had frowned ever so slightly, gaze fixed upon the sword circling the heavens.
Upon that sword had stood his little shixiong: guilty and frightened beneath his mother’s look. He had hopped down from the flying sword, fish in hand, and the moment he saw Gu Ruhui, he had broken into a bright, radiant smile.
Perhaps it was simply that too many blossoms had fallen that day, making everything feel dreamlike.
A beautiful dream.
But the dream had ended.
Back in the Immortal Forest of Liuyun Peak, Gu Ruhui had found no rest.
He kept wondering.
What kind of place is the mortal world?
He knew better than anyone.
The world of men was cold-eyed. The weak were treated like filth, reeking and despised.
If you lost a fight, you were killed and your bones discarded on the outskirts or left to rot in the wilds.
A child raised on nectar, orchid dew, and immortal herbs had been thrown into such a place. No spiritual core, no cultivation to protect him.
Gu Ruhui had searched unceasingly for years, until at last, in the city beside the South Sea, he had found Xue Cuo.
But Xue Cuo no longer resembled the boy whose eyes had once curved into crescents when he smiled.
He was tall now, impossibly handsome, elegant, and inscrutable. Only that clear and gentle “shidi-gege” told Gu Ruhui that Xue Cuo still remembered him.
The young man’s gaze was quiet, yet the force behind it was unmistakable. The countless things Gu Ruhui wanted to say condensed into thin threads of concern, weighing heavily on his heart.
He had truly found him.
Not dead. Not broken. Heaven and earth had seemed to favour him, raising him in silks and delicacies for twelve long years.
Gu Ruhui felt a fierce relief. He said softly:
“Come home with me.”
The young man smiled at that, eyebrows lifting, a ripple of spring-water brightness flowing through his eyes. “Shidi-gege.”
Xue Cuo looked at him with a trace of mirth, something between longing and regret flickering in his gaze.
“I’ve grown up.”
It was as if he were reminding Gu Ruhui. His voice lowered, tinged with faint melancholy. “My home… isn’t Liuyun Peak anymore.”
I’ve grown up.
The sword cultivator froze. But he was never good with words; he was like a gourd with no mouth.
He had spent twelve years in Tianyi Sect. The disciples never needed him to speak. Him simply standing upon the platform, sword in hand, had always been enough.
Sword cultivator eldest shixiong.
He could cleave a mountain open without changing expression; he could send forth a blade that split clouds. Yet at a moment like this, he could not utter a single comforting phrase.
Gu Ruhui stayed silent. He patted Xue Cuo’s shoulder, subtly checking him over, reassuring himself that he was unhurt.
“Little shixiong, Liuyun Peak will always be your home.”
A beat, and then: “I live on Zhuozhu Peak. Little shixiong can stay with me as well.”
Seeing Xue Cuo’s continued silence, Gu Ruhui finally realised the situation. The poor, unsophisticated swordsman tried to adjust his tone and asked, as if it were the most ordinary question: “Or have you gotten married and settled down?”
Xuan Zhao could endure no more. He leapt up, shouting, “Human swordsman! If you’ve got the ability, just haul him back! He’s all on his own. The dragon, the tortoise by his side, even that talisman brush of his… they’re all male!”
Clang—
The bamboo sword rang sharply from its sheath. Xuan Zhao shed half a dozen pottery shards in fright and fled behind Xue Cuo clutching his turtle shell.
Xue Cuo’s mouth twitched. “Master Xuan, my shidi is the straightforward sort. Don’t tease him.”
Xuan Zhao hunched over, muttering to himself. He was surely praising shidi-gege’s reasonableness, Xue Cuo thought contentedly… and promptly forgot about him.
Gu Ruhui looked at Xue Cuo’s qi circulation. It was clearly not that of a cultivator. He then glanced at the sinister little three-inch clay figurine. Slowly, he slid the sword back into its sheath.
“Shimu is looking for you as well.”
“Shidi-gege,” Xue Cuo interrupted him.
Gu Ruhui should have urged him, should have explained that the Dragon Might Swordmaster had searched these twelve years through the mortal realm, through Liuyun Peak, through the Immortal Forest, where all his belongings remained untouched.
But those had been twelve mortal years. Twelve years fatherless, motherless, kinless.
Shifu and Shimu might not understand the bitterness of the human world, but Gu Ruhui did. So he swallowed all the words he had meant to say.
If his shixiong bore resentment, it was only natural.
The eagle swooped out from the corridor, circled, and returned. “Master, these are all proper temple deities.”
Gu Ruhui hadn’t killed them, but the heavy injuries were hard to avoid. Perched on the railing, he brooded. This blue-robed human was clearly no simple fellow.
“What did the young master do?”
Xue Cuo couldn’t help wondering: had he not swapped identities with Xuan Zhao today, then when he met Gu Ruhui… the outcome would have been…
As for what he had done, he was perfectly innocent, so he declared righteously: “I blew up their temple and destroyed their Golden Pool Hall.”
The eagle nearly fell off the railing. Xuan Zhao poked his head out from behind Xue Cuo and glared at him.
This brat, must he speak so bluntly?! Xuan Zhao was about to smooth things over, but the icy swordsman, though momentarily stunned, merely gave a calm “Mm,” and even patted Xue Cuo’s shoulder as if in consolation.
Who was comforting whom?
They didn’t have long to talk for fear that their pursuers would soon arrive. After all, the trouble he’d caused was immense. Xue Cuo hefted the tiny three-inch Xuan Zhao and said, “Shidi-gege, I’m leaving.”
Gu Ruhui clasped his hands behind his back and nodded slightly. “Very well.”
“I’ll go with you.”
They became streaks of light fleeing into the distance, leaving behind the temple deities wailing on the ground.
“Big brother, what are they?”
“The one who struck is clearly a sword cultivator. These human cultivators must be rebels, defying Heaven’s will! We must report this!”
The golden-armoured deity, his halberd slashed in half, scowled darkly. “We cannot report it.”
“Why not?” the others demanded.
“Yes, big brother! These cultivators collude with the incense-god path, defy the Heavenly Mandate, and openly insult our authority. We must report it, rally the Two Thousand and Eighteen Continents of the southeast, arrest these wicked cultivators, and restore order!”
The golden-armoured deity shot them a cold look and spat one word: “Fools.”
The others fell silent, exchanging looks. The golden deity picked up his shattered armour, inspected it, and promptly smashed it even further.
“Report him? Our memorial will be intercepted long before it ever reaches the South Lord.”
“That sword cultivator is young, yet his cultivation is terrifying. He must be the foremost core disciple of some great sect. Such disciples enjoy the sect’s full favour. Sooner or later they all ascend. And once he becomes an immortal official in Heaven, he’ll be our superior. And you want to denounce him?”
“Ah? This, um…” One of the temple gods blanched. “But they’re in it together. They smashed the South Lord’s Temple into paste. How are we supposed to explain that?”
“If he’s a disciple of an immortal sect, why would he be running around with the Xianghuo Evil Dao in Qianyun City?”
A cold smile tugged at the golden deity’s lips. “The great calamity has reopened. Ascension is determined by merit. Tell me. If the mortal world were peaceful, where would all that merit come from for cultivators to ascend?”
“Big Brother, you’re saying they might be colluding…”
“Silence,” the golden deity snapped. “We’re rogue cultivators with no sect, no backing. No one sticks their neck out for us. Why should we let ourselves be wedged in the middle and turned into punching bags? If we can win, we fight; if we can’t, we run. And in the shadows we help ourselves by skimming a few benefits, selling off a little merit. If we can’t get into the immortal sects, we can still be little tyrants down here. Isn’t that pleasant enough?”
“Big Brother is right!”
“Good.” The golden deity clapped his hands. “Let’s stay here a while, enjoy ourselves a few days, and then head back. We’ll say we chased them until we were out of supplies, found a sliver of hope against all odds, and collect a small hardship allowance.”
“What if they ask what kind of demon we were chasing?”
The golden deity’s mouth curled. He beckoned several confidants over. “There are plenty of resurrected minor Xianghuo Divine Dao gods around the South Sea. Go quietly spread a bit of news, collect ‘filial offerings’. Whoever offers the least is the culprit. Understand?”
“Big Brother is wise and mighty!”
…
The Mortal Realm
Fangzhou, Tiandu City
On the city battlements stood a figure draped in a black cloak, a rectangular white-feather fan in hand. Nine flawless feathers fanned out in a row… exquisite, lustrous, radiant as natural treasure.
Below, the besieging cultivators massed. Their leader, dressed in flowing immortal robes with a jade belt swaying elegantly, called up to the walls:
“Monstrous fiends, ignorant of the Great Dao, deaf to Heaven’s voice! I am Sanjue Qiushui! We are here to deliver you from your delusion. Why not open your gates and welcome the righteous army?”
Upon the tower, Tiandu Guards assembled… little demons and mortals living side by side. The demons, tall and broad-shouldered, hefted strange iron cylinders. The mortals, clad in reed mats, carried baskets packed with neatly wrapped “weapons”.
A goateed old Daoist directed the chaos: “Careful, don’t chip anything!”
Bull Demon Guards flanked him protectively while the others hauled up each iron lump and set it down gently. The Tiandu Guards bowed deeply to the cloaked man. “Your Highness need only observe. If we cannot hold, we will trouble Your Highness to intervene.”
“Very well.”
The voice was clear as struck jade, a truly beautiful, ringing voice of gold and stone.
Roused by it, the Tiandu Guards set down a great iron barrel and bellowed, their shout carrying far enough to drown out Qiushui’s speech: “You vile Daoist! You attacked our Tiandu Guards, robbed our citizens, committed murder and arson. Your crimes deserve death! Take one more step and we’ll crack open your skull!”
Qiushui’s complexion darkened. His fellow cultivators leapt forward at once to flatter him.
“Shixiong, don’t be angry! Allow me to take the lead today and slaughter these demons!”
One cultivator sprang forth, sword gleaming, and shouted, “Impudent little fiends! How dare you spew such nonsense—you’ll have your tongues torn out!”
The Bull Demon commander who had shouted earlier narrowed his eyes. “Release!”
The flagman waved his banner. Demon soldiers poured demonic qi into the iron tubes.
Bang—
A thunderous blast. Smoke billowed, and more than a dozen black iron lumps shot towards the cultivator. He jolted, sword whipping through the air like wind… yet the projectiles flew impossibly fast. They detonated at once, spraying iron shrapnel and a cloud of toxic demon-miasma that knocked him senseless on the spot.
Qiushui recoiled and pinched his nose. “What on earth is that?!”
“Hold your breath!”
“Cough-cough. What potent demon poison! Cough-cough, holding breath doesn’t help…!”
The Bull Demon commander stood beside the cloaked figure, expression deep and unreadable. It wasn’t until the man beneath the cloak gave a soft, amused laugh.
“Tiandu’s Yin Feixue. You can counter cultivators with mere mortal goods?”
Loyal to the bone, the Bull Demon immediately responded: “In the mortal realm, monsters are not like those in the demon realm. They can settle here. It was the King who secured refuge for us. But the King has always respected the demon realm. He has never uttered slander nor shown rebellion.”
The cloaked figure murmured, “These items… all of them…”
Unruffled, the Bull Demon answered, “All crafted by mortals and small demons. The King oversees the city, investing everything so humans and demons may stand together. That is how Tiandu City has become what it is.”
“This iron thing?”
“The King said that brute force triumphs over myriad techniques. This device is called ‘Conquering People with Virtue.’”
The cloaked man paused. “….”
“And this one?”
“That is ‘Virtue and Artistic Excellence.’”
“And this?”
“That is ‘The Spear of Kindness.’”
The cloaked man fell silent for a long moment.
Just then, a tiny trembling paper crane fluttered to his side and whispered something.
“…Found them.”
“You managed to get ahead of me.”
The Bull Demon blinked, bewildered. Found what? Before he could ask, the cloaked man lifted his hand and pulled back his hood.
A cascade of jade-green hair spilled like a waterfall.
Tiandu’s solemn city wall fell into stunned silence.
Demons looked upon him as one looks upon a peacock: majestic, alluring, brimming with natural grace.
Cultivators looked upon him as one looks upon a peacock: breathtakingly beautiful.
Rosy clouds shimmered in jade, mists flowed like liquid light. Fair as the bright moon in the sky, fair as immortal white jade grass.
His face was exquisitely fine, gender indistinguishable. He stepped lightly forward, flicked his white-feather fan.
Darkness swallowed their sight.
In the next instant, the cultivators were blasted apart, sent flying hundreds of miles. Only Young Master Qiushui remained alone, pitiful, barely able to withstand the blow.
Having broken the siege of Tiandu City, the man used Supreme Freedom Technique and vanished into the distance.
Kong Yun held a white paper crane, sharp intent blazing in his eyes. From the crane came a clear, unfamiliar voice: [Shidi-gege, how’s that fat bird?]
Gu Ruhui replied: [No idea.]
Kong Yun tucked the crane to his chest and flew straight toward the South Sea.
