“Have you lost your mind, Yi Xiannian? He talked about Master like that, yet you aren’t even angry and even want to thank him?!”
Along a deserted path in the Renqing Sect, two youthful figures, one in cyan and one in blue, flashed past swiftly, kicking up a trail of dust and scattering sparks.
Both of their faces were set in grim expressions as they strode side by side into the doorway of the Qingya Cave. Chen Erluo was consumed by a blazing fury and cast aside all restraint, gritting his teeth as he coldly called out to Yi Xiannian, who was about to step inside.
“You just did that so you could stay for Jiang Yunting’s morning lectures, didn’t you?”
Yi Xiannian’s footsteps paused. He retracted the foot he was about to cross the threshold with, turned around with a steady expression, and looked at the gnashing-teeth Chen Erluo, his demeanor calm and unruffled.
Chen Erluo clenched his fists tightly. In his brows and eyes flickered a trace of faint disappointment, which eventually turned into something resembling grievance by the end of his sentence, as a crystal-clear teardrop slipped from the corner of his eye.
“After how well Master usually treats you, I really misjudged you. I actually thought you…”
With that, he turned his head away, leaving Yi Xiannian with only a stubborn, profile view of his face.
You’ve got to be kidding me?
Yi Xiannian raised an eyebrow, a mutter rising in his heart.
Lan Yibai’s charm is off the charts. The man isn’t even here, yet he can still drive Chen Erluo to stand up for him with such righteous indignation.
Once Master comes out of seclusion, I’ll have to stay far away from him.
To preserve my life, I must distance myself from disputes.
Yi Xiannian’s expression remained calm, looking completely undisturbed by Chen Erluo’s words. He sighed, leaned forward with a bent head to wipe away the tear at the corner of the other’s eye, only to be fiercely dodged by Chen Erluo.
His hand paused for a second, then he withdrew it as if nothing had happened.
“No wonder your imperial father refused to let you down the mountain.”
Yi Xiannian let out a light, breezy remark that completely ignited Chen Erluo’s fuse.
“What do you mean?!”
“The way you acted just now, you looked like you wanted to swallow the Uncle-Master alive. If you start a fight with him, do you want to be sent to the Hall of Discipline? If this blows up to the Sect Master, who do you think he’ll side with?”
“With Master absent, do you think I can protect you?”
“Punishment is punishment!” Chen Erluo shouted, stretching his neck out. “Even if Master were here, he would understand me!”
“Master would never allow you to make a joke out of your own life!” Yi Xiannian said sternly.
Chen Erluo froze, opened his mouth, but ultimately failed to say anything. After a long moment, he spoke up:
“Are you worried about me?”
Yi Xiannian: ?
Chen Erluo muttered softly: “I get it now.”
Yi Xiannian chuckled softly, what an absolute brute.
How to apologize to a senior martial brother tactfully? Chen Erluo had asked all the inner sect disciples. After an ordinary morning lecture concluded, he swung his sword, walked as if by chance right up against Yi Xiannian’s shoulder, nearly leaning his whole body against him, and awkwardly spat out:
“Eldest Senior Brother, you smell so good.”
Passing disciples were left in shock: What a chaotic sect.
“Your nose is quite sharp.”
Yi Xiannian silently pulled a paper parcel from his chest, revealing a soft, warm steamed bun steaming with heat.
Chen Erluo was extremely depressed as he gnawed on the big steamed bun. Clearly, Junior Sister said that body-to-body contact could heat up a relationship! And besides, wasn’t his compliment sincere?
Nothing busy happens in the mountains. With no elders around in the Qingya Cave, sect affairs didn’t fall onto their shoulders. Apart from looking after the junior disciples, Yi Xiannian poured all his energy into cultivation, occasionally heading down the mountain to hawk medicinal herbs for a commission fee to supplement the sect’s finances.
From the first stage of Qi Condensation all the way to the thirteenth stage, Yi Xiannian reached his seventeenth year once more.
“Lin Siyu, be careful not to fall!”
Time slipped away unnoticed in the cave. By the time Lan Yibai emerged from seclusion once again, the youngest disciple was already capable of climbing onto the roof and stripping the tiles.
His eldest disciple stood guard under the eaves. The seventeen-year-old youth possessed a clear and bright countenance, with the junior brother’s discarded cloak draped over the crook of his arm.
Those who practiced immortality did not fear the cold, but Yi Xiannian’s cheeks had still been whipped red by the wind.
“Master?”
Yi Xiannian happened to turn his head back to see Lan Yibai standing silently behind him, clad in white robes against black hair, blending seamlessly with the falling snow all over the sky, naturally formed, untouchable and sacrosanct.
Lan Yibai gazed deeply into Yi Xiannian’s eyes, there, one could only find respect for a master, entirely devoid of the entangling, ambiguous ardor of the past.
“You’ve grown.”
“This disciple pays respects to Master.”
Yi Xiannian turned and bowed deeply, his hair slipping past his shoulders and his expression hidden within it.
“Between you and me, there is no need for such distance.”
Lan Yibai walked leisurely toward Yi Xiannian, the hem of his robe brushing past melting slush.
“I heard from the Sect Master that you’ve been following Jiang Yunting’s morning lectures.”
Hearing this, Yi Xiannian bent his knees to kneel, but before his knees could touch the ground, his entire body was lifted up by a gentle surge of spiritual energy.
“Forgive me, Master. This disciple acted on his own accord without Master’s consent. Please punish me, Master.”
Lan Yibai let out a heavy sigh.
The boy wasn’t even willing to offer a shred of defense for himself.
Lan Yibai pressed a finger to Yi Xiannian’s forehead. A wisp of spiritual energy flowed out from his fingertips, winding and wandering around Yi Xiannian before inadvertently brushing against the youth’s cheek. Before long, Lan Yibai withdrew his hand with a calm expression.
“When I entered seclusion, you were only at the first stage of Qi Condensation. In a mere four years, you’ve already climbed to the thirteenth stage, and the Foundation Establishment stage is near. You shouldn’t be overly anxious.”
Of course Yi Xiannian was anxious. For every cultivator, if they could reach the Foundation Establishment stage before the age of eighteen, they would earn a chance to enter a secret realm. Missing this opportunity would mean waiting another twenty years.
The genius monsters Jiang Shanli and Chen Erluo had built their foundations early, brushing it off by saying they didn’t mind waiting for their senior brother, which had deeply moved Yi Xiannian, children really do grow up and learn to be considerate.
However, the original body had not possessed such good fortune.
In the original book, the original Yi Xiannian always loved clinging to his master’s side and didn’t put much thought into cultivation, only managing to establish his foundation at the ripe age of twenty. Meanwhile, his junior brothers were blessed with innate talent, establishing their foundations at the tender age of fifteen to enter the secret realm and acquire their natal magical treasures. Gossip ran rampant outside, claiming that Yi Xiannian was merely occupying the position of Eldest Senior Brother without possessing the virtue or capability for it, and that even the Immortal Lord Lan despaired of his lack of drive and completely abandoned this good-for-nothing.
The original body took it to heart and couldn’t bear the pressure, gradually starting down crooked paths, that was how he embarked on the path of becoming a major villain.
“My junior brothers are naturally gifted and built their foundations a few days ago. This disciple does not wish to hold the sect back.”
“This disciple wishes to go to the secret realm.”
That’s more like it. Why play the role of a gloomy, damp ghost? Sincere communication is the ultimate killing move. As long as I stop walking down warped paths, Master will surely understand my desire to strive upward.
Lan Yibai didn’t answer directly. He reached out to brush the falling snow off Yi Xiannian’s shoulders, snow that had just slid down from the vibrating eaves.
“Starting today, you do not need to attend Jiang Yunting’s morning lectures anymore.”
Yi Xiannian raised his head in surprise, meeting Lan Yibai’s dead, desolate peach-blossom eyes, deep and sparkling with watery light, enough to make one’s heart race.
Everyone in the cultivation world said that the number one beauty of the cultivation world, Immortal Lord Lan, possessed eyes that were his most wonderful feature: aloof and peerless, making people too afraid to look directly at them while simultaneously stirring restless desires. Yet Yi Xiannian inexplicably felt that they were merely a long-desiccated well, looking at them for too long made one feel sorrowful, as if howling winds were whistling through the heart.
“Come to my bedchamber in the future. I will guide you personally.”
The next day, Yi Xiannian put on that cyan narrow-sleeved training uniform, tied his hair up into a high ponytail with a ribbon, picked up his sword, and prepared to knock on his master’s door.
However, before he could even raise his hand, the door opened of its own accord. It was the same wooden window, Lan Yibai sat poised at a bamboo-wood table as if he had been sitting there quietly waiting for him for a long time.
“Master.”
Yi Xiannian saluted with his sword.
“The jade pendant I gave you, why aren’t you wearing it?”
That personal jade pendant of his master’s had been locked away into a chest alongside all those paintings.
Caught red-handed in his dark history, Yi Xiannian’s gaze darted away, and a wave of inexplicable shyness welled up.
Yi Xiannian mustered his courage: “This disciple was young in the past, immature in mind, and did many irrational things that caused Master needless trouble. I won’t do that anymore.”
I must cut off all possibilities of getting entangled in any love triangles at the root. I need to strongly project my straightness.
In every sense of the word, “straight.”
After a long silence, Lan Yibai spoke softly: “I brought you up with my own hands. You slept in my arms until you were eight before you lived alone. How is it that after a few years apart, you’ve become so estranged from me?”
Yi Xiannian’s alarm bells instantly rang furiously.
He couldn’t gauge the proper boundary for interacting with Lan Yibai at all, constantly remaining in a state of high tension. His brain short-circuited: he gripped his sword tightly, walked up to Lan Yibai, reached out, and grabbed the immortal’s sleeve.
I can’t let him grow suspicious.
“Master, this disciple was just… too embarrassed. A boy is grown up and can no longer act spoiled.”
Lan Yibai seemed quite satisfied with this. His palm covered the back of Yi Xiannian’s head, gathering the cascading long hair of the person before him, picking out a strand of dark silk and gently twisting it between his fingers.
Yi Xiannian felt the sword instantly slip from his grip. His plain hair ribbon was untied, his long hair cascading down in a brief moment of weightlessness before his entire body was pulled into an embrace infused with a cold fragrance.
“You’ve taken good care of your junior brothers.”
Lying in Lan Yibai’s hand was a gold-threaded crane-pattern hair ribbon. Beside him were spread tassels, silver chains, little bells, jade beads… He unhurriedly smoothed out his eldest disciple’s hair, his fingers sliding through the locks with a slightly cool texture.
“Is the allowance I left you not enough to spend? Why didn’t you know to buy yourself some new clothes and accessories?”
Warm breath drifted against the corner of his eye with murmurs whispered close by.
Yi Xiannian was already completely petrified.
“Not used to it?”
Seeming to notice Yi Xiannian’s stiffness, Lan Yibai let out a muffled laugh.
“Master always used to help you arrange your hair like this.”
Lan Yibai combed it meticulously, terrified of hurting him. In the end, he braided two small pigtails behind his ears, secured them with hollow-carved silver floral clips, and adorned them with antique bronze bells. He looked at them over and over, his peach-blossom eyes narrowing slightly as if utterly satisfied.
Yi Xiannian sat there in Lan Yibai’s arms, watching helplessly as the sun sank toward the west.
When he finally emerged from Lan Yibai’s bedchamber, Yi Xiannian was still in a state of lightning-struck shock.
I’m starting to understand the original body.A gentle trap like this, who could possibly withstand it?
From then on, Yi Xiannian arrived early at his master’s room every single day and didn’t leave until the moon rose overhead. They practiced the zither, played chess, brewed tea, and read books, he could be said to be proficient in everything.
The only thing was that his master didn’t teach him any knowledge regarding actual cultivation.
At first, Yi Xiannian thought Lan Yibai had his own pacing, but as time went on, an inexplicable, oppressive gloom began to grow within him.
Yi Xiannian began to review things.
The original book stated that Lan Yibai showed the utmost care toward his disciples and treated them all equally. Yet ever since he arrived here, all sorts of signs indicated that the preferential treatment he received was unique.
It was just that Lan Yibai doted on him and spoiled him, yet stubbornly refused to teach him cultivation.
Why?
Yi Xiannian involuntarily furrowed his brow, unable to figure it out no matter how hard he tried.
“Don’t frown.”
Lan Yibai’s fingertips tapped lightly between Yi Xiannian’s brows.
His train of thought interrupted, Yi Xiannian’s inner thoughts slipped right past his lips:
“Master, if one day this disciple walks a crooked path and does something irredeemable, what would Master do?”
Leaning against the window frame with a scroll in hand, Lan Yibai paused. His fingers tightened involuntarily, and his expression became unreadable.
“There won’t be such a day.”
“It’s just a hypothetical.”
“There won’t be.”
Yi Xiannian gripped his brush tightly. It hovered in midair for a long time without falling, ink condensing into a heavy droplet that smashed onto the stark white Xuan paper.
A microscopic arc curled at the corner of Lan Yibai’s mouth. He leaned forward and grasped Yi Xiannian’s hand, which was frozen in midair, sending a cold sweat breaking out all over Yi Xiannian for no reason.
Yi Xiannian suddenly recalled the original body’s ending, pierced through the heart by Lan Yibai’s sword at the gates of the Renqing Sect.
“Hasn’t Master been good to you? Letting your imagination run wild all day long.”
Lan Yibai’s voice could only be described as gentle.
“Xiao Nian isn’t concentrating.”
With a jolt of Yi Xiannian’s hand, the wolf-hair brush trailed ink across the thin, wing-like paper, blooming into a massive blot of ink that completely ruined the piece of calligraphy.
All sorts of atrocities from the original book flashed rapidly across his mind, finally freezing on the original body’s perspective right before death: amidst a sky of pitch black, bloody red, Lan Yibai’s sparkling, hatred-filled eyes stood out with extraordinary clarity.