“You…” Lin Shijin glared at Sheng Rufei. “You knew?”
And he still stayed so calm. Lin Shijin was livid. “If it weren’t me, anyone else would have done, you…”
He trailed off, not finishing his sentence. Looking at the wooden-faced man before him, lips pressed tight, he felt his head lightly patted.
“I wasn’t completely unconscious. I was still aware.”
Sheng Rufei’s fingertips brushed the youth’s head. His gaze lowered, the emotions in his eyes clear. And he still claimed he wasn’t stupid, yet his thoughts were always so simply reasoned.
“What do you mean, still aware?” Lin Shijin was momentarily stunned. It dawned on him belatedly that Sheng Rufei had known it was him, which was why he had reacted. Did that mean he also knew…
Knew that he had made a move.
Regret hit Lin Shijin at once. A faint flush crept up his ears. So Sheng Rufei had done it deliberately. But since he had not been fully unconscious, Lin Shijin could not even blame him.
Entirely justified, and taking advantage besides.
He glared at Sheng Rufei again. Sheng Rufei did not answer, clearly aware he had already guessed, and instead brushed his fingertips meaningfully.
Sheng Rufei changed the subject. “Did he teach you the Wusheng Sword Intent?”
Faced with a serious matter, Lin Shijin hesitated, torn over whether to answer. Sheng Rufei’s gaze seemed to pass straight through him, as though he could see Fuheng behind him.
In truth, Lin Fuheng had indeed met Sheng Rufei’s gaze. The young man’s perception was sharp; it seemed he intended to hold him to account.
Seeing Lin Shijin’s hesitation, yet also his instinct to protect him, Lin Fuheng was satisfied. He tapped the youth lightly on the head.
“Just tell him.”
Lin Shijin gave an “oh”, then said to Sheng Rufei, “It was Fuheng who taught me.”
A shadow fell beneath Sheng Rufei’s lashes. After a long pause, he said, “I have a way to meet him. Ask him whether he would be willing to see me.”
“There is something I wish to ask him.”
Lin Shijin wanted to say there was no need to pass on the message, since Fuheng could hear everything anyway. He found himself curious about what Sheng Rufei wanted to discuss.
Before he could ask, Fuheng manifested. He retained that same cold, noble air, tinged with authority. Though the face was identical, he seemed entirely different from Lin Shijin.
Lin Fuheng could assume a physical form at will, and now stood before Sheng Rufei.
At the sight of that identical face, Sheng Rufei merely showed a flicker of understanding in his eyes, with little surprise.
“You have something to say to me?” Lin Fuheng spoke, casting a glance at the meddlesome little fool at the side. A barrier rose of its own accord, shutting him out.
Lin Shijin was displeased. He slapped at the barrier, dying of curiosity at what the two were saying.
“Fuheng, how can you be like this?”
Lin Fuheng’s gaze settled on the young man opposite. The latter sat upright and composed, and only after a long moment did he speak.
“Why did you teach him the Wusheng Sword Intent?”
The same question, when asked by Lin Shijin and when asked by Sheng Rufei, carried entirely different weight.
Lin Fuheng glanced at the red thread at Sheng Rufei’s wrist. That soul-bond had been placed by Feng Rugao; Feng Rugao had indeed gone to great lengths.
“Everything began because of him. If he remains unarmed, then should he fall into Shouque’s hands, he would only be at others’ mercy.”
“As for you…” Lin Fuheng’s voice was cool. “Do you believe you can protect him?”
“That is an emotional debt from a thousand years ago. He must repay it himself.”
Though Lin Fuheng had never appeared, and as a remnant soul had lost most of his memories, he could piece together the truth from fragments.
The two were bound by a soul-bond, a sacrificial one, in which one would bear all the suffering and torment of the other. Feng Rugao had foreseen that his reincarnation would be fraught with hardship, and so arranged for Sheng Rufei to bear everything in Lin Shijin’s stead.
As for why it was Sheng Rufei, whether by chance or design, Feng Rugao alone knew the answer.
“Have you heard of Shouque?” Lin Fuheng presumed Sheng Rufei had already guessed his identity. A faintly mocking smile touched his lips. “Shouque is one of the Three Immortal Lords. He is far more difficult to deal with than Feng Rugao.”
“Not to mention that your current cultivation does not even match Feng Rugao’s. You are no match for even Shouque’s three incarnations.”
Lin Fuheng lowered his gaze slightly, carrying an innate air of superiority, as though looking upon a futilely struggling insect.
“In that case… do you still think you can protect him?”
As for why Shouque had divided himself, the answer was not difficult to infer. Sheng Rufei was no fool.
“Once a person becomes entangled in love, they are easily shaken.”
“My choosing the Wusheng Sword Intent was not by my own will. It was already carved into his bones. In his previous life, he chose the same path.”
It was not a choice made for his reincarnation.
As for whom he had walked that arduous path for in his past life, that lay beyond what remained of his memory.
“It is not that he cannot take up the sword. He simply does not wish to.”
Sheng Rufei fell silent for a long while. Then he lifted his gaze from the shadows. Outside the barrier, the youth was still sulking, glancing at him with faint irritation, his eyes shifting between him and Fuheng.
“Is there any way to spare him that suffering?” Sheng Rufei asked softly. He looked at his fingertips, where black runes flickered faintly, resembling densely packed, twisted human faces.
His next words were even softer, his voice cool and clear, as though dissolving into the dim light.
“Or… is there a way for me to bear all of it in his place?”
Lin Shijin waited outside for a long time, watching Fuheng closely, worried he might make things difficult for Sheng Rufei.
After some time, the barrier was lifted. Ignoring Fuheng, he went straight to Sheng Rufei, tugging him this way and that, checking whether his wounds had reopened.
“Shixiong, are you all right?”
Fuheng was so fierce that he feared he might lash out at Sheng Rufei.
Seeing Sheng Rufei shake his head, he asked, “What were you talking about? What is it I’m not allowed to hear?”
Still uneasy, he checked him again, only relaxing once he was certain he was unharmed.
“We discussed your cultivation,” Sheng Rufei said, his gaze resting on him as his fingertip touched his forehead. “Next time you make a decision, you must discuss it with me.”
“If I told you, you definitely wouldn’t agree. Actually, I feel the same. I don’t want to see you hurt either.”
Lin Shijin was still muttering when he sensed a chilly gaze. Turning, he saw Fuheng watching him. A little guilty, he lowered his voice. “My shixiong won’t do anything to you.”
Besides, Fuheng looked exactly like him. Faced with that same face, he probably would not be able to act.
The next moment, his ear was twisted, hard this time. Lin Shijin cried out and ducked into Sheng Rufei’s arms.
Lin Fuheng’s aura was irritable. He gave a cold laugh. “You think hiding in his arms will save you?”
“Shixiong, he twisted my ear!” Lin Shijin complained, his ear already red.
Sheng Rufei pressed a talisman onto him, and at once Lin Fuheng’s presence disappeared.
Lin Fuheng: “?”
The pain in Lin Shijin’s ear faded after Sheng Rufei rubbed it. He touched the talisman, initially intending to remove it, then thought better of it.
Fuheng was still angry. If he removed it now, he might well be beaten later. Fuheng had a terrible temper. Better to wait until he calmed down.
Slowly, he said, “Fuheng, calm down first. I’ll let you out later.”
He withdrew the barrier around them. Outside, many disciples were still whispering, casting occasional glances their way, all manner of speculation circulating.
Lin Shijin had no intention of getting involved. As long as they could slip into the Blood Tower, that was enough.
The malevolent spirits had dispersed. A sliver of light appeared on the horizon, and soon dawn broke, the rising sun casting a crimson glow.
Lin Shijin and Sheng Rufei went out together, still trailing at the back of the group. Because of the previous day’s events, many disciples kept their distance, though some came over to speak.
“I didn’t recognise you from your robes. My apologies. May I ask which sect you belong to?”
Lin Shijin thought, we do not know either. The robes were prepared by Sheng Rufei on the road, modelled after some minor sect. The name had long been forgotten.
“Fengzhu,” he said offhandedly.
A disciple sidled up, flirting. “Is it true you are already betrothed, miss? Why do you always wear a veil? Yesterday you slew a demon, yet we have not seen your face.”
Lin Shijin was speechless. Too lazy to waste words, he simply lifted the veil, revealing a face covered in scars.
The disciple, who had been admiring him, froze on the spot. His expression changed instantly, and he turned away awkwardly.
As he left, he muttered, “She-devil.”
Lin Shijin’s lips twitched. He still clutched Sheng Rufei’s sleeve. With the veil lifted, many had seen. The “wooden” man beside him remained unmoving, while several disciples looked at Sheng Rufei with pity.
The incident drew little attention. Mo Yan, ahead of them, merely turned at the sound, his gaze pausing briefly on Lin Shijin at the rear.
*
Hall of Elders, Four Peaks.
The representative elders of each peak sat in the main seats, clad in robes marked with their respective insignia. The seats were separated by a barrier, carved with intricate sword-immortal motifs.
On the beams were four bold characters: “All Under Heaven”.
The hall was cold and solemn. At its centre stood a man whose form was nearly transparent. Sword patterns flowed along his sleeves. His expression was stern as he waited quietly for judgement.
“Feng Rugao, the Scourge-Slayer Envoy has confirmed that several months ago you met Bu Wen. Why did you meet him?”
“Please answer truthfully, Sword Master. The council will render its judgement.”
Feng Rugao did not lift his gaze. “Several months ago, I met him to divine a fate.”
“Whose fate?”
It was a private matter. Feng Rugao did not answer.
The council changed tack. “He bears your sword light. How do you explain this?”
Feng Rugao remained silent for a long time. His gaze settled on the figure behind the central elder. A faint crane-feather motif could be discerned.
His silence was taken as admission. “Sword Master, please—”
Before the elder could finish, a streak of blood flashed. Hot blood spurted from his throat, his face frozen in shock.
A black-robed attendant held a cold dagger. Several shadowy figures appeared within the hall. Blood sprayed through the air as the elders fell.
The central attendant withdrew the blade. Pale fingers lifted the hood, revealing a striking face. Ink-black hair, dark eyes slightly upturned, a vermilion earring adding a touch of vivid colour.
His features were as deep as heavy ink. A faint smile curved his lips, his voice warm and smooth.
“Xiao Feng, it has been a long time.”
