Since leaving home to enter the immortal sect ten years ago, Mo Xian had never returned to the Mo residence.
During the disciple selection ceremony, Mo Xian had been frail and sickly, and Wen Pinglan, out of pity, had taken him as a disciple. After joining Wen Pinglan’s sect, Mo Xian practiced the sword diligently, and his health gradually began to improve. Ten years later, Mo Xian no longer looked like the sickly youth he had been when he first entered the immortal sect. His once pale complexion had become rosy, and his figure had grown increasingly tall and straight.
However, these ten years had not only rebuilt his physique but had also quietly blurred his memories of his younger brother. The image of his brother in his childhood had gradually become indistinct in his mind.
Not long after Ling Rong entered the immortal sect, a sudden, intense thought had surfaced in Mo Xian’s heart: he wanted to go home and take a look. He missed the familiar grass and trees of his home, and he missed the carefree times he had spent with his brother. Consequently, he had firmly decided to descend the mountain, rushing toward the Mo residence of his memories with high expectations.
When he finally stood in the place that had once been familiar, the scene before his eyes broke his heart. The once prosperous Mo residence had now turned into a pile of ruins. Mo Xian’s footsteps froze instantly as an ominous premonition surged in his heart. After making inquiries several times, he learned that his entire clan had been annihilated.
At that moment, his heart felt as if it were being twisted by a knife. He dazedly thought that his beloved younger brother had also died forever in these ruins. Mo Xian felt that he no longer had any relatives left in this world.
From then on, his temperament underwent a world-shaking transformation. He pinned all his emotions on his master, Wen Pinglan, persistently craving for his master to look at him more. His master’s attention became the last warmth and consolation for his existence in this world. It was precisely because of this that when he saw his master treating Ling Rong differently, the flame of jealousy in his heart burned uncontrollably.
But Mo Xian never imagined that the person he had treated as a thorn in his side, whom he wished to put to death, was actually the very younger brother he had been yearning for day and night.
No wonder Ling Rong remembered his own birthday. No wonder that a hundred years ago, in the Demon-Locking Tower, the spiritual energy Ling Rong had shot toward his master had suddenly changed its trajectory the moment he had stepped in front of his master to shield him.
And as for himself? He had personally destroyed the gift Ling Rong had given him and had tried to put him to death time and time again.
Thinking of this, Mo Xian felt a sharp pain in his chest. So, for the past hundred years, he had been hating the wrong person all along, wronging his own brother, the person closest to him in this world. If he had not proposed to his master a hundred years ago that Ling Rong be subjected to the “bone-stripping” punishment, Ling Rong would not have died. It was he who had caused his most beloved brother to lose his life and fall into the netherworld for a century. It was all because of him.
All these tragedies had been caused by his own hands. Mo Xian felt he was beyond redemption. He retracted his magic, his legs went weak, and he slumped helplessly to the ground. Looking at the unconscious Ling Rong, he held him gently in his arms with trembling hands, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed uncontrollably.
“Rong’er, I am sorry. Brother was wrong. Brother was truly wrong.”
He repeated this sentence over and over again, as if only by doing so could he slightly alleviate the pain in his heart.
A moment later, Mo Xian’s voice stopped abruptly. He reached out his hand, preparing to manipulate Ling Rong’s memories. He felt that the best way to compensate Ling Rong now was to delete those painful memories.
The next morning, Ling Rong opened his eyes in a daze. He propped himself up and felt confused upon seeing the strange environment.
“Where is this?”
“How did I end up here?”
Suddenly, the room door opened. Ling Rong looked toward the entrance. A familiar figure floated in. Mo Xian walked inside with a smile. Ling Rong froze when he saw Mo Xian.
Brother had already gone to the immortal sect, and he had not returned home for a long time, right? Ling Rong thought he was dreaming.
“Rong’er,” Mo Xian called out softly.
Ling Rong was stunned. He slapped himself hard across the face. It hurts. It really isn’t a dream!
Mo Xian froze as he watched Ling Rong slap himself. A thought flashed through his mind instantly: Could it be that my hand slipped while deleting Ling Rong’s memories last night, and I deleted too much, making Ling Rong stupid?
He was frantic with anxiety and rushed to the bedside in a few steps. Ignoring everything else, he raised his hand and channeled spiritual energy into his fingertips, carefully probing Ling Rong’s body. After a while, he secretly let out a sigh of relief. Well, it seems he isn’t stupid.
Ling Rong looked at the living Mo Xian standing before him, his eyes instantly turning red, as if the grievances he had pent up for so long had suddenly found an outlet. He pounced forward and hugged Mo Xian tightly, his voice choked with sobs as he said, “Brother! It is actually you! I thought I was dreaming!”
After saying this, he kept rubbing against Mo Xian’s chest like a child, and then he could not help but weep again, sniffling as he said, “Brother, you went to the immortal sect for over ten years without a word, and you didn’t even write a single letter to Rong’er. Rong’er thought you. I thought you had died of illness there!”
As he spoke, his tears fell drop by drop.
Mo Xian’s mouth twitched. He raised his hand and patted Ling Rong’s back gently, feigning indignation as he said, “What nonsense are you talking about? Isn’t Brother standing right in front of you, safe and sound?”
When Ling Rong heard Mo Xian’s words, he finally stopped crying. He raised his head, his face still covered with drying tear tracks, but he broke into a smile and said, “As long as Brother is alive, Rong’er is relieved.”
Afterward, as if Ling Rong had suddenly realized something, he pulled his head out of Mo Xian’s embrace and curiously looked around. The strange environment filled him with doubts. Ling Rong could not help but ask, “Brother, where am I?”
He poked the gold-thread embroidery on the bed curtains and touched the warm, smooth blue jade pillow beside the bed. “This place is even prettier than our house.”
“You are in the immortal sect,” Mo Xian said slowly.
The words that should have told him the truth turned into lies on the tip of his tongue: “Mom and Dad sent you here while you were sleeping.”
“Ah?” Ling Rong mumbled, “Why didn’t Mom and Dad tell me when they sent me here? I woke up and ended up here for no reason! It scared me to death; I thought I had been kidnapped by bad people!”
After he finished speaking, he shook his head, still feeling lingering fear.
Mo Xian couldn’t help but smile at Ling Rong’s appearance, and then he began to make things up with a straight face: “You, your temperament is quite mischievous. You only know how to play all day long. Mom and Dad sent you here just to cure your mischievous habits. They were afraid you wouldn’t be willing to come if you knew, so they sent you over while you were asleep.”
When Ling Rong heard this, he was displeased and immediately retorted: “My temperament isn’t mischievous! And I don’t just play! A few days ago, I studied very seriously, and the teacher even praised me for being smart! It’s not like what Brother says.”
As he spoke, he lifted his chin, looking proud. Mo Xian let out a sigh of relief as he watched Ling Rong believe his words, yet a sharp prick of pain bloomed in his heart when he met the boy’s innocent and ignorant eyes.