Seeing Ling Rong staring blankly at the jade pendant, Jiang Ruansheng firmly believed that Ling Rong must like it, and remembering that Ling Rong had saved his life previously, Jiang Ruansheng decided to part with his treasured possession and gift this jade pendant to Ling Rong.
“If Brother Goudan likes it, just take it,” Jiang Ruansheng stuffed the jade pendant into Ling Rong’s palm, his laughter bright and hearty, adding, “Anyway, Master told me that he would regrind a better jade pendant to give me in the future, so leaving this old object in my hands would only gather dust.”
Ling Rong felt as though he had been struck by lightning, and the icy jade pendant pressed against his palm, yet it felt hot enough to make his eye sockets burn.
Two hundred years ago, Master had personally tied this jade pendant to his waist, saying, “To see the jade is to see your Master,” but two hundred years later, this jade pendant carrying his memories actually returned to his hands in such an absurd manner.
“No, this was gifted to you by Master, how can I take away what someone loves?” Ling Rong forcefully suppressed the metallic taste of blood rising in his throat, wanting to push it away, but his wrist was held down by Jiang Ruansheng.
The youth’s clear eyes reflected the faint light of the jade pendant, and he said seriously, “You saved my life, and if it were not for you, how would I have the chance to become a disciple of the immortal sect?”
He blinked slily, lowering his voice, adding, “Besides, I noticed Master’s gaze looked strange when he looked at this jade pendant, so it might very well hide some underlying story, and if Brother Goudan holds onto it, you might be able to find out some clues.”
“Very well,” Ling Rong replied with a hoarse voice, hiding the jade pendant close to his body.
Separated by the fabric of his clothing, the temperature of the jade was slowly seeping into his chest, burning the scars that had been buried by time.
That night.
Under a cold night and a green lamp.
Ling Rong leaned sideways on the bed, unconsciously fiddling with the warm and moist jade pendant in his hand.
Suddenly, without any warning, a ball of ghostly blue flame abruptly leapt out from the jade pendant, and the flame approached aggressively, instantly enveloping the jade pendant.
That flame was incomparably hot, like a red-hot branding iron, suddenly burning Ling Rong’s hand.
Ling Rong gasped in pain, his hand trembling instinctively, and the jade pendant dropped straight onto the ground.
Ling Rong just wanted to get up, bending down to pick up the jade pendant, but he saw a cold ray of light suddenly shoot out from the jade pendant again.
The cold ray of light was like a sharp blade, carrying a bone-chilling coldness, stabbing straight toward Ling Rong’s eyes.
Ling Rong only felt a burst of severe pain before his eyes, subconsciously closing both eyes, covering his eyes with both hands, muttering in his mouth, “What is going on?”
By the time he regained his composure, that cold ray of light had actually transformed into a patch of hazy white light.
The white light turned into a thick mass of white mist, dispersing within the bedroom.
Immediately afterward, a strange memory scene was drawn out slowly from the jade pendant, as if being gently unfolded by an invisible hand.
Ling Rong stared at that memory scene, and his entire being instantly froze in place.
He talked to himself, saying, “This is, Master’s memory, how could it appear inside this jade pendant?”
Within the memory scene.
His master, Wen Pinglan, was located in an extremely cold and gloomy place.
The surrounding walls were covered with thick layers of ice, and the ice layers emitted a ghostly cold luster within the dim light.
Not far in front of Wen Pinglan’s body, there was an ice coffin.
The ice crystals reflected the dim light, outlining the face of the person inside the coffin with increasing clarity.
Ling Rong’s breathing halted abruptly, as the person sleeping inside the ice coffin was shockingly himself.
In the scene, Ling Rong slept inside the ice coffin, his expression peaceful like frost and snow.
His long eyelashes drooped, concealing the stillness of his closed eyes.
The blood-stained black robes from the past inside the Demon Locking Tower were gone, replaced by a nearly transparent, plain white long robe, and underneath the thin clothing, his exquisite collarbones were faintly visible, making him look even more like a sleeping fallen immortal.
Wen Pinglan stood before the ice coffin, his black hair falling over his shoulders.
His gaze was like frozen amber, locking fixedly onto the sleeping face inside the coffin.
Pain surged like a tide in the depths of his eyes, condensing a century of loneliness into frost and snow, rustling down onto his plain white collar.
Wen Pinglan extended his slender, fair fingers, pressing them gently against the ice coffin, sliding down slowly until he touched Ling Rong’s pale cheek.
“Rong’er,” Wen Pinglan spoke, his gaze deep, adding, “So many years have passed, when will you be able to wake up, as this master repents every single day, feeling self-reproach at every moment.”
His voice was somewhat choked up, pausing for a moment, and then continued, saying, “This master knows he was wrong.”
“This master was truly wrong.”
“This master should not, should not have treated you that way.”
“It was this master’s self-righteousness, it was this master’s obstinacy, that pushed you into the abyss of eternal damnation.”
“Rong’er, can you hear this master’s words? If you can wake up, this master is willing to use everything to make up for the mistakes committed in the past.”
As Wen Pinglan spoke, his eye sockets gradually turned red.
A crystal tear slid down his cheek, dripping onto the ice coffin, instantly condensing into ice.
However, the person inside the coffin could never wake up again.
He could never respond to his words again.
The Ling Rong inside the ice coffin still slept, his face as pale as paper, yet he was still breathtakingly beautiful.
Wen Pinglan suddenly laughed out loud.
There was bitterness in his laughter, saying, “You once said this master hated you to the extreme, but how could you know that when this master carried your cold body out of the Demon Locking Tower, my heart had already shattered into dust?”
He slowly knelt down before the ice coffin, his black hair obscuring half of his face, saying, “Over these years, this master has searched the world for spiritual medicines, exhausting my cultivation, merely to preserve your physical body from decaying.”
“Talking every day to this body devoid of life, even I find myself ridiculous,”
“But if even this bit of obsession is gone, how should this master carry himself?”
Fine frost dust floated inside the ice chamber, and the moonlight penetrated the ice ridges of the dome, condensing into frost flowers within Wen Pinglan’s hair.
Wen Pinglan gazed at the sleeping Ling Rong inside the ice coffin, his Adam’s apple rolling violently.
“Rong’er,” the murmur broke apart within the exhaled white mist.
Looking at the scene inside the memory, Ling Rong’s heart stirred.
Only in the next second, the situation presented in the memory scene astonished him.
He saw Wen Pinglan suddenly kiss his sleeping self inside the ice coffin.
The first kiss landed on the tightly closed eyelids, as light as a snowflake falling to the ground.
Wen Pinglan’s trembling lips brushed past the long eyelashes, and the ice surface reflected the overlapping shadows of the two people, as if they were embracing across lifetimes.
A century of longing and regret turned into scalding tears, dripping onto the ice surface and instantly condensing into pearls.
The thin gauze was entirely stripped away.
The temperature of the ice chamber dropped abruptly, and frost flowers bloomed into crystal rime around the two individuals.
The white mist gradually gathered, and the memory scene began to blur.
The last thing Ling Rong saw was Wen Pinglan pressing his face against his chest, murmuring softly, “Rong’er, when you wake up, no matter what you want, this master will give it, as long as you can return.”
After watching the memory scene that emerged from the jade pendant, Ling Rong stood rooted to the spot, his mind intertwined like a tangled mess.
The scene he had just witnessed kept surging in his mind, leaving him unable to recover his senses for a long time.
He got out of bed, picked up the jade pendant from the ground, his thoughts in complete disarray.
That master who had always been cold and high above in his memory had actually fallen into such heartbreaking regret and longing after his death.
Every sentence of repentance, every single drop of tear, was like a sharp knife, cutting his heart piece by piece.
He simply could not connect that fragile, affectionate Wen Pinglan before the ice coffin with the usually majestic, cold and stern master.
Every sentence carrying hatred spoken by his master in his memory, every cold gaze, clashed violently at this moment with the scene presented in the jade pendant, causing his understanding to undergo a world-shaking destabilization.