Kong Yun stormed the Sage’s Dao ground, was seized, and pinned beneath Goddess Peak. Still unyielding, he demanded, “Aren’t you a Sage? Why didn’t you save him?”
“Why didn’t you save him?”
This time, the Sage did not ignore the little peacock, and answered: “It was his choice to save, not my choice not to.”
Kong Yun froze where he stood, eyes reddening. “That idiot!”
He started shouting again, though his voice had dropped considerably. Before he could even form another question, tears began to fall.
“Where am I supposed to find him now? He’s off being free and unburdened, but who asked him to save anyone?!”
For barging into the Sage’s Dao ground, he was punished with three days facing the wall in reflection. When the time came, the Peacock Southern Lord arrived unhurriedly to collect him.
Kong Yun insisted, “My lord… is there truly no hope left for him?”
The great lord gave a clear cry. “His fate and karma are his own. Do not cling to it. Come, we will see him off one last time.”
Kong Yun clenched his fists. He knew there was no turning this around, yet he simply could not get past that knot in his heart.
“I will not let this go.”
He flew to Tiandu City with a dark expression. Standing before Xue Cuo’s cenotaph, he ground his teeth in fury.
“How could he be lying here? Self-deception! All of you, deceiving yourselves! This wretched place, I’ll never come back!”
With that, he shot away.
Xi Tao looked on with worry and made to follow, but Gu Ruhui stopped him. “He’s not in a good place. Let him be.”
The two sighed, helpless, and could only remain where they were, gazing at the green-glowing tomb in long silence.
…
Later, Gu Ruhui returned to the mortal world.
He no longer cultivated only the sword, but walked a dual path of talismans and blade, carrying on the Dao of an old friend. He wandered the mortal realm, with Ying Xiao always by his side. He was not alone.
From time to time, he would think of old companions and send letters. Of them all, Kong Yun was the one who almost never replied. His anger ran deep and long, and he had come to resent the new heavenly gods who had stopped him, cultivating tirelessly day and night.
After the re-emergence of the Sage, the order of the new gods shifted once more. The path to immortality reopened, and a number of wandering immortals descended.
The laws of heaven and earth were no longer fixed. All paths flourished again, and countless strange and wondrous Dao arts appeared.
With the demon race’s great Dao restored, Kong Yun thrived like a fish in water. His cultivation soared, and with a single feather fan he struck fear into the new gods themselves.
…
Gu Ruhui, meanwhile, spent most of his time wandering the mortal world.
He did not deliberately seek out Jun Wuwei, yet encountered him once or twice.
His master had once been an immortal, yet was now abandoned by the Dao. Those he had once disregarded now bullied and took revenge on him, and he had no strength left to resist.
Yet no one dared to kill him. And no one recognised him any longer.
Gu Ruhui never showed himself before him. He only stopped those cultivators and said, “If I see you again, I will strike.”
They bowed and withdrew, not daring to argue.
Once, as he let them go, he heard footsteps behind him. He hesitated briefly, then turned into a streak of light and departed.
After that, more than one hundred and seventy years passed without him seeing his shifu again. He did not know where he wandered in the mortal world, nor whether he had come to understand his Dao.
…
His shiniang entrusted Liuyun Peak to him, telling him that while travelling, he must remember to rest and not lose himself to obsession.
So he carried that immortal mountain with him.
He kept company with its ancient pines, tended his ageing snow sword, practised calligraphy, and admired the flowers.
He learned to ride, served as a grain transport soldier, sold wine and fresh fruit, and on a whim concealed his identity to sit the imperial examinations, even taking the top rank.
The mortal world held many interesting things. He saw them, heard them, lived them.
Yet on nights of reunion, when families gathered, he would sit alone upon Liuyun Peak, playing the qin, and feel a trace of loneliness.
No matter how lively the world was, something always seemed to be missing.
…
More than six hundred years later, one day, he was playing chess with Ying Xiao upon the Jinan Glacier when a paper crane suddenly flew in from the horizon.
The crane shivered with cold, then with a whoosh darted straight into Ying Xiao’s robes, startling the great eagle into loud protest. Completely baffled, he dragged out the culprit.
The paper crane was surprisingly lively. Though its eyes were no more than tiny black dots, it somehow looked pitiful and aggrieved.
Ying Xiao laughed. “Who sent this? It’s rather amusing.” He passed it to Gu Ruhui.
Gu Ruhui raised a hand and fed in a thread of spiritual energy, his gaze still fixed on the chessboard as he considered his next move.
“Gu-shidi, come to Tiandu City and drink with me!”
Crash—The chessboard overturned.
Ying Xiao shot to his feet. “That voice… Xue Cuo?”
Gu Ruhui slowly set down his piece, then gathered the rest into his sleeve. A moment later, he flicked them away; black and white stones scattered across the ice, rolling far into the distance.
“To Tiandu City.”
…
He was furthest from the northern lands, so even travelling at speed, he arrived somewhat late.
Several buildings had already collapsed; only one remained intact. Inside, it was a riot of noise and flashing Dao arts, utterly lively.
Gu Ruhui descended from the clouds. He had meant to enter by the door, but thought better of it, circled to a window, and shoved it open—
Something toppled inside with a crash. Jars and vessels shattered, and a rich scent of wine burst out.
“Who’s that? Knocked me clean over!”
Fang Longxi scrambled up, then upon seeing Gu Ruhui, broke into a grin. “Ah! The little sword immortal and the big eagle have arrived! Come in, come in. Look who’s back!”
“Ruhui,” Xi Tao said warmly, “you’re finally here.”
Gu Ruhui swept his gaze across the room: Fang Longxi, Xi Tao, Ren Shu, Yin Feixue… and a tiny clay figurine no taller than three inches. The little golden dragon was soaking in a wine jar, tail curled into a cloud, thoroughly drunk.
Then he looked to the centre.
Kong Yun, teeth clenched, was gripping Xue Cuo’s hand and forcing it sideways. Xue Cuo, refusing to yield, slammed the table and pushed back the other way.
“You want to beat me?” Kong Yun scoffed. “Try next lifetime.”
Xue Cuo’s eyes flashed fiercely. “You think you can win? I’ll have Yin Feixue drinking upside down!”
Kong Yun’s eyes lit up and he suddenly exerted force. Xue Cuo faltered. Then, catching sight of Gu Ruhui, abruptly flipped Kong Yun over and leapt up. “Shidi!”
Gu Ruhui glanced at Kong Yun’s livid, unwilling expression and smiled faintly, calling him “Little Shixiong”. Six hundred years, in a single address.
…
Once seated, he learned Kong Yun had arrived first, fought Xue Cuo bare-handed, and demolished four or five buildings before stopping. Then he had hugged him fiercely and cursed him roundly.
Xue Cuo slapped the table. “You wrecked my house. Pay up.”
Kong Yun sneered at Yin Feixue. “Just a few buildings. Beat me, and I’ll pay.”
Hence the scene Gu Ruhui had walked into.
Now that Kong Yun had lost, he had no choice. He snorted, slammed a wine jar onto the table, planted a foot on a chair, and declared grandly, “Gu Ruhui, you’re late. Drink!”
Gu Ruhui said nothing. He adjusted his sleeves, lifted a jar from the neighbouring table, and drank it dry in one go.
Clear liquor ran down his jaw. His face flushed faintly; his gaze deepened. He tipped the empty jar, shook it once, and extended a hand.
“Your turn.”
“Posturing,” Kong Yun scoffed, though without malice. He cracked open his own jar, gulped it down, and smashed it aside. “Tonight—we drink till we drop.”
…
They drank deep into the night.
At last, when the revelry quieted, Kong Yun slung an arm over Xue Cuo’s shoulders.
“Don’t ever do that again. You hear me?”
Hearing something off in his tone, Xue Cuo tried to look at him, but Kong Yun turned away, leaning against the window frame with a long breath.
“Sage… I spoke out of turn before. Tonight, I’ll punish myself with a cup.”
Xue Cuo hurriedly stopped the clearly drunk peacock, coaxed him into bed, then sent the rest off to their rooms one by one.
By the time he finished, his steps were unsteady. That thousand-year brew was no ordinary drink. Even he could not quite withstand it.
“Your Majesty!”
He leapt onto Yin Feixue’s back. Yin Feixue staggered slightly, then laughed and carried him. “Xue Cuo, how old are you now?”
Xue Cuo only grinned, tugging his nose and pulling at his lips.
Helpless, Yin Feixue carried him back. Halfway, Xue Cuo complained of thirst, so they detoured to drink from an icy spring beyond the city.
The water was clear and sweet.
Drunk, Xue Cuo was far more docile than usual. When Yin Feixue bent his head, he pressed him down and kissed him lazily—not teasing, just close.
Yin Feixue touched his flushed cheek. “How drunk are you?”
Xue Cuo sighed. “If I hadn’t drunk with them tonight, I’d have had to cry with them. A grown man weeping like that—what a sight.”
Yin Feixue laughed softly, lifting his chin. “You do understand everything… Tomorrow, let them spar it out. That should settle things.”
Xue Cuo considered. “There’s no proper ground here. What if they break things?”
“Let them,” Yin Feixue said. “They’ve held it in for years. Let them vent. It will help their cultivation. A few buildings are nothing.”
Xue Cuo nodded. “Fair enough.”
He leaned into him, drowsy with drink.
Yin Feixue felt his forehead and shifted him onto his back. “Shall I fly you home?”
Xue Cuo yawned, glancing at the moon. “Let’s walk a bit.”
So they did.
Along a narrow mountain path, beneath the quiet moon, the wind seemed to soften with them. After a while, Xue Cuo murmured, “Feixue… next time, I want to carry you.”
Yin Feixue smiled faintly. “Very well. Just don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” Xue Cuo mumbled. “Tomorrow.”
Yin Feixue thought, that would be something to look forward to. Whether he was drunk or simply talking nonsense did not matter.
What mattered was that he was here.
