The howling cold wind blew the window wide open, and the piercing snow-laden gale poured into the room like a blade.
Song Huaiyan scrambled up from the bed, wrapped himself in an outer robe, and went over to close the window.
This Luochun Mountain seemed to be getting colder by the day.
He had been at the Cangxuan Sect for over half a year now. During this period, he went to the Mingjing Hall every single day, starting early and working late, and had gradually adapted to life here.
The only thing he could never quite get used to was the year-round snowy weather.
Back home in the south, even winter snow was a rare sight, and snowy days felt like a joyful carnival for playing in the snow and building snowmen, without feeling all that cold.
Yet the wind and snow here bit straight to the bone.
Perhaps it was due to that severe illness he had suffered earlier, which had left his constitution much weaker than before. Although he had practiced diligently over the past six months and recovered more than half of his previous cultivation, he found himself becoming increasingly sensitive to the cold.
“Cough, cough…” Feeling an uncomfortable tickle in his throat, he got up to pour some water, only to find that the water was cold as well.
The room was empty and desolate, furnished with only two beds. This room and the adjoining one shared the same layout as double rooms, serving as quarters for the sect leader’s personal disciples.
Sect Leader Mu Changfeng had a total of four disciples. Aside from Shen Yu, he originally had two senior martial brothers above him, but both had passed away successively a few years ago—the eldest disciple had been killed by members of the demonic sect, while the second disciple had suffered a deviation in his cultivation and gone mad.
Half a year ago, Song Yan had failed to pull through that severe illness either, and the one who had woken up in his place was him a traveler from another world.
When he first woke up, Sect Leader and Master had been both startled and overjoyed, rushing over in the dead of night and returning to check on him for days afterward. However, lacking Song Yan’s memories, he feared exposing flaws in front of Mu Changfeng while also being unwilling to steal the affection that rightfully belonged to the original Song Yan. Consequently, he claimed to have lost a significant portion of his memories. Fortunately, Song Yan hadn’t had many close attachments in the past, allowing him to pull it off and muddle through safely.
Now, here in the Cangxuan Sect, he was only relatively familiar with Shen Yu.
Though junior brother always looked icy cold, he was the warmest presence on this freezing snowy mountain.
The sect leader also treated him out of the ordinary. Because Shen Yu possessed extraordinary talent and entered the profound realm at a tender age, the sect leader, in order to pass down the sect’s supreme swordsmanship, Long River Falling Moon, specially permitted him to reside at the Shuntianxiao Courtyard next to the sect leader’s private residence, enabling him to practice swordsmanship on Endless Peak every single day.
As things stood, he was the only one living in this disciple courtyard.
“Yan’er,” a voice called from outside, and Mu Changfeng pushed open the door and stood there.
“Sect… Master, why are you here?” Song Huaiyan hurriedly steadied himself against the table and stood up to bow.
“Sit down quickly.” Mu Changfeng gave a gentle flick of his hand, lifting him upright. “The instructor at Mingjing Hall mentioned that you’ve been severely ill these past few days, so master came to check on you.”
“It’s just a slight cold; I’ve troubled Master’s heart.”
“These are pills formulated by your Uncle-Master Qingli; remember to take them on time.” Mu Changfeng placed two porcelain bottles on the table. “There’s no one else in your courtyard. From now on, your daily care will be tended to by the outer-disciple Danhua.”
“There’s no need, Master. My illness will clear up in a few days; I shouldn’t trouble Junior Brother Danhua…” Song Huaiyan was both startled and flustered.
“Only you and Yu’er remain of my disciples; don’t give your master cause to worry about you two.” Mu Changfeng’s tone carried a hint of emotional reflection.
Song Huaiyan parted his lips, at a loss for what else to say as a sour stinging sensation rose in the bridge of his nose.
A few days later, the Medicine Sovereign Elder Qingli personally came to diagnose Song Huaiyan’s pulse. Afterward, Mu Changfeng returned to his small courtyard.
“Yan’er, regarding this matter, master truly has no other choice, but I cannot keep it from you forever.” His words were earnest and profound, his expression grave.
“Please speak, Master.”
“Your illness is exceedingly rare; it is a cold affliction, as well as a toxic condition.” Mu Changfeng paused, continuing, “When it flares up, it brings heart palpitations, severe discomfort, all-encompassing cold, and can even freeze your blood. The only remedy is to slash your wrists and drain the blood to promote circulation while purging the toxic blood. Rest assured, however, this illness is not fatal, and your Uncle-Master Qingli will do his utmost to find a cure for you. It’s just that you will likely be dependent on medicine from now on.”
Song Huaiyan stood there, his lips tightly pressed together as his fingers dug fiercely into his palms.
Mu Changfeng spoke at length, but his words sounded muffled and unreal to Song Huaiyan, who only saw his master finally heave a long sigh and place a paper package on the table. “This is dragon-whisker crisp; it can neutralize the bitterness of the medicine. Yan’er, you are a resilient child; you never gave up despite suffering so much hardship in the past. You certainly won’t let master down.”
Following that, Song Huaiyan spent every single day drinking bitter medicine and underwent a medicinal bath every seven days. Initially, the cold affliction flared up every two or three months, but later it escalated to once a month. Each time, Mu Changfeng would personally come to cut his wrists and drain his blood, leaving behind another packet of dragon-whisker crisp.
As the eldest disciple of the Cangxuan Sect, he could not afford to expose too many weaknesses in front of others. The matter of his cold affliction was known only to Sect Leader Mu Changfeng, Medicine Sovereign Qingli, and the young disciple Danhua.
Song Huaiyan had never considered himself someone afraid of hardship, nor had he previously found herbal medicine particularly bitter, yet eventually, even the root of his tongue tasted bitter, and the mere scent of medicine made him want to vomit.
As for that dragon-whisker crisp, he had only eaten a tiny piece the very first time.
It was truly an exceptionally sweet pastry. Therefore, he carefully wrapped up the rest and brought it to his junior brother.
“Senior Brother, aren’t you going to eat?” Shen Yu had once asked him.
“No, it’s too sweet.” He had shaken his head.
He was afraid that once he tasted sweetness, he would never be able to swallow the bitter medicine again.
Perhaps because of this, throughout those years, he always brought various kinds of sweets to Shen Yu, while never eating any himself.
Yet at the time, he had no way of knowing that the bitter medicine he drank for a decade and the cold affliction he endured day and night were merely lies fabricated by Mu Changfeng to turn him into a living medicine-man.
The way Mu Changfeng feigned such deep master-disciple affection, showed meticulous concern for his health, and displayed heartache over his injuries and bleeding… all of it was simply for the medicinal blood nourished by thousands of gold that he produced.
Song Huaiyan felt as though he had dreamed a very, very long dream—dreaming of the heavy snow at the Cangxuan Sect, of those boxes of dragon-whisker crisp, and of the sunless, lightless secret chamber.
Opening his eyes, he found himself lying inside the mysterious coffin, the sound of chains clanking ringing out the moment he moved his arm.
Song Huaiyan: ?
Was he still dreaming and hadn’t woken up? Was he still locked inside that dark, sunless secret chamber?
Turning his head, he caught sight of Song Aiguo’s broad forehead with the yellow talisman still stuck to it.
It seemed he was not dreaming.
The design of the chains inside this mysterious coffin was truly ingenious! They were certainly putting everything to maximum use.
Sitting up, Song Huaiyan discovered that only his right hand was locked; the wound on his left wrist had already been bandaged. Reclining against the corner, he tried to recall what happened before he lost consciousness, but his mind remained a chaotic blur, unable to hold onto specific details. All he vaguely remembered was that he seemed to have uttered “Mu Changfeng,” whereupon Shen Yu had completely flipped out, and then…
…
He actually kissed Shen Yu?!
What kind of courting-death behavior was that??
Was his brain broken?
Song Huaiyan slammed his forehead viciously against the coffin wall in an attempt to knock himself unconscious.
It didn’t work; he was wide awake.
Fidgeting with the chains on his wrist, he realized the lock had no key and required spiritual power to control. However, once locked, one’s spiritual power was suppressed, making it impossible to open the mechanism truly a flawless design.
Just as he was lamenting this predicament, Shen Yu walked into the secret chamber.
Turning his head, Song Huaiyan saw Shen Yu dressed in an azure Hanfu, his long hair casually tied behind his back, holding an enamel mug inscribed with the bold red characters: “Serve the People”.
Opening his mouth, he found his throat dry and his face burning hot, prompting him to avert his gaze slightly.
Approaching the coffin, Shen Yu handed over the enamel mug.
Song Huaiyan’s nose twitched: brown sugar, red dates, and ginger…
“You gave this to me before. It replenishes vital energy and blood,” Shen Yu said indifferently.
Taking the mug, Song Huaiyan took a few sips to moisten his throat, unable to guess what Shen Yu was plotting. However, judging by his current calm demeanor, he presumably wasn’t in combat mode.
“Did you brew this?” Song Huaiyan asked dryly.
“Mn.”
“When… when did you recover your memories?” Song Huaiyan asked a question to which he already knew the answer.
“The last time I woke up here,” Shen Yu replied.
“Oh. This time, you’re not going to ask who I am?” Song Huaiyan gave a bitter smile.
Without answering, Shen Yu remained silent for a moment before asking, “Why are you here?”
Why are you stealing my lines? Song Huaiyan thought to himself.
“I woke up and found myself here.”
Having already discussed matters regarding the Three Thousand Worlds, he figured Shen Yu could understand why his soul had traveled here after death.
Hesitating for a moment, he debated whether to tell Shen Yu that he had transmigrated to Yunzhou. However, given the complex circumstances that were impossible to explain all at once, he could only muddle through and change the subject. “What about you? How did you end up transmigrating too?”
“I don’t know,” Shen Yu answered truthfully. “My memories of before I came here remain hazy.”
“Where were you right before you transmigrated?”
“The Realm of Life and Death.”
Though he had already guessed the answer, hearing Shen Yu state it so casually still caused Song Huaiyan’s heart to tighten.
“Why did you” He wanted to ask why he would go to such a perilous place, but pausing, he realized he had little qualification to ask and changed it to, “Did you encounter something there? Rumor has it that the Realm of Life and Death can bridge the realms of the yin and yang. Perhaps the unique environment there, combined with a spatial rift, is why you crossed over physically.”
“Mn,” Shen Yu gave a faint acknowledgment, betraying no emotion.
“Before…” Song Huaiyan wanted to ask about the events of back then, and also wanted to ask about what happened after his death. Yet he felt neither should be brought up right now.
It was genuinely bizarre: in their past lives they had fought to the death, yet now they were sitting here so peacefully, drinking tea and chatting casually.
“What are your plans now?” he asked casually, though his grip on the enamel mug tightened somewhat.
He feared Shen Yu bringing up old scores from their past life, and equally feared him opening new accounts for the present life.
After a brief, tight-lipped silence, Shen Yu stared at the chains on his wrist and said, “Watching you. Until you return to normal.”
Song Huaiyan: “…”
As expected, that muddled kiss had pissed him off again… Was pretending amnesia still going to work?
“Are you injured?” Shen Yu suddenly inquired.
He had checked on Song Huaiyan when the latter was unconscious, but lacking medical expertise, he hadn’t detected any wounds on his body.
“No…” Song Huaiyan felt a slight sting where his lips had been bitten.
He didn’t dare mention it, though.
“Well, my energy depletion in the Sahā Realm was rather severe this time, leaving me with some aftereffects where my mind gets a bit muddled for a spell… I ended up talking nonsense, and my head hurt so much at the time that I wanted to bite anything I saw…”
Song Huaiyan began improvising a half-true, half-false excuse.
“Just think of me as a dog…”
He continued leaning into self-abandonment.
Shen Yu: “…”
Silently looking away, he offered no response.
“Besides, this world is different from Yunzhou; spiritual energy is scarce, and I have to scrimp and save whatever little I manage to accumulate day-to-day. You really shouldn’t go wasting your spiritual energy like that; once it’s gone, it’s gone.” Song Huaiyan hurried to pivot the conversation elsewhere, and Shen Yu remained silent.
Thus, Song Huaiyan sat on the edge of the coffin clutching his mug of brown sugar water, while Shen Yu folded his arms and leaned against the side with downcast eyes, deep in thought.
As both fell silent, the atmosphere lapsed into an awkward quiet.
“How is it that you became a ferryman?” Shen Yu broke the silence first.
“Naturally because my master was the previous generation’s ferryman at the Bureau of All Affairs,” Song Huaiyan joked. “Clearly I could make a living on my looks alone, yet I had no choice but to inherit the family business. It’s truly distressing.”
“What happens if a soul-resolution fails?” Shen Yu asked.
“Under normal circumstances, as long as one leaves the Sahā Realm before the soul-guiding incense burns out, it’s fine. But an ‘厄’ (calamity/adversity) is different from ordinary souls. A soul that hasn’t undergone adversity resolution—like Zhaobin earlier—can have people enter its Sahā Realm multiple times. But if it’s an adversity, once a resolution fails, the Sahā Realm will collapse. If the ferryman gets trapped inside, their soul will scatter into nothingness.” Song Huaiyan paused, an apologetic look crossing his face. “Sorry, it was my lack of forethought this time, dragging you all in blindly.”
“Aside from resolving obsessions, are there other methods?” Shen Yu pursued.
“Aside from resolving adversity, there is also eliminating adversity.” Song Huaiyan’s voice remained even, though ripples seemed to stir within his eyes. “Even if the Sahā Realm collapses, the adversity itself will not vanish in reality; it will bring disaster upon the human world. A ferryman can use spirit-exorcism talismans drawn in their own blood to eradicate it.”
“Yet every action has cause and effect, karma and retribution. Successfully resolving an adversity accumulates merit for the ferryman… let’s understand it that way. But eliminating adversity is equivalent to taking a life, which diminishes merit.” Song Huaiyan added, “Therefore, unless it is an absolute last resort, elimination is never chosen.”
“Have you ever faced… such a last resort?” Shen Yu turned his head slightly to look at him.
Silently for a moment, Song Huaiyan replied, “Naturally. Not every person’s obsession has a method to resolve it.”
Glancing at Song Aiguo lying inside the coffin, a flicker of dimness crossed his eyes.
“Why do you ask?”
Falling silent, Shen Yu murmured, “How does one resolve the obsession of a living person?”
“Whether it’s the Sahā Realm or Zhaonan Ke, they only target souls. Ferrymen save the dead, not heal the living,” Song Huaiyan stated truthfully. “As for the obsessions of the living… where we come from, you usually see a psychological counselor.”
For a split second, a look of perplexity crossed Shen Yu’s face before he nodded in a dawning, half-comprehending manner.
“However, this humble self is also self-taught in some psychology and can conduct psychological counseling.” Song Huaiyan patted his chest. “Completely free of charge.”
He knew Shen Yu likely harbored some knot in his heart, but since the latter wouldn’t volunteer it, he didn’t know how to ask.
Noticing Shen Yu had gone quiet again, he rattled the chains on his wrist and asked with an utterly innocent expression, “Um, am I going to continue sharing a coffin with this kid?”
Pressing his lips together with a tight jawline, Shen Yu turned his face away and said coolly, “Are you… truly sober now?”
“Naturally, naturally! The aftereffects passed ages ago!” Pointing to the bump he had knocked on his forehead, Song Huaiyan beamed. “Look, I’ve already undergone physical sobering!”
Giving him a queer look, Shen Yu stood in silence for a brief moment before quietly reaching out to unlock the restraints.
Junior brother turned out to be unexpectedly easy to talk to?
Rubbing his wrist, Song Huaiyan tentatively probed, “You’re not angry anymore?”
Turning his profile to him with lowered eyelashes, Shen Yu murmured, “I am not angry.”
Song Huaiyan: “Oh…”
If you’re not angry, why did you lock me up?
Still, Song Huaiyan was quite adept at pushing his luck when the opportunity presented itself.
Clutching the enamel mug, he rotated the red characters “Serve the People” to face Shen Yu and narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Junior Brother, can I get a refill?”