If there was anyone Ying Laixian cared about most in Quedu besides Master Wei Heng, it would be his senior fellow apprentice younger than him, Zhong Xiwu, the Drunken Jade and Waning Mountain, who was also the Third Prince of Yunwu.
The two of them had known each other since childhood, both receiving Wei Heng’s true teachings and earning the title of gentlemen. Yet when it came to the virtues of a gentleman, Ying Laixian felt he fell short of the other by half.
Even though Zhong Xiwu belonged to the Yunwu imperial family, Ying Laixian had never felt this was a proper place for him. The endless scheming had distorted his original virtue.
“This spring is a bit cold.” In his courtyard, Ying Laixian was brewing a pot of fine tea. The rising wisps of steam were the only warmth he could feel in this spring season.
“You’re tired, my lord,” Jiang Ni said from the side. “Go inside and rest.”
Ying Laixian brushed the remark aside with a vague gesture and asked, “Has Tan Congye gone back?”
“Yes. From Quedu to Yishui City takes less than half a month. He said he would wait for the lord there.”
Now the martial world was in turmoil once again, with rumors swirling that the Sword Sage Tan Congye had colluded with Liuyu Shouxue to monopolize the clues to the Changye Temple treasure.
Some people believed these tales, while others doubted them, but greed always took the upper hand, stripping people of their reason.
Even so, public attention remained fixed entirely on him alone.
Yet purely in terms of martial prowess, Tan Congye’s formidable reputation was enough to scare off many small fry, causing a sudden influx of strangers into Quedu.
“He’s not having an easy time of it either.” Ying Laixian smiled. He rarely showed such a relaxed expression, though whether it was because of Tan Congye or something else remained unclear.
There were four Sword Sages in the world. Aside from Tan Congye and Wei Heng, two others never showed their faces, one possessed cultivation equal to Wei Heng’s, while the other towered above everyone else as the undisputed greatest under heaven.
If Ying Laixian remembered correctly, all of them would eventually step forward because of Changye Temple.
Yet even that supreme figure under heaven could not uncover the identity of that demon.
Jiang Ni waited quietly to the side until a flower from the courtyard drifted down onto Ying Laixian’s shoulder. “My lord, since Tan Congye has already taken the bait, why not explain things to him directly? Wouldn’t it be even better to travel to Yunchen together afterward?”
With a Sword Sage accompanying them, as long as it wasn’t those two legendary figures, they stood a chance at accomplishing anything.
The rising steam blurred his cyan-tinted eyes. Ying Laixian took a sip of hot tea and said unhurriedly, “I’m still considering it.”
Or rather, he was still hesitating.
Ying Laixian had died countless times and lived through countless rebirths. This was the first time he had actively pulled Tan Congye into his scheme.
Right or wrong aside, he had never wished to drag these people into his revenge.
Yet after turning in circles for so long, having died more times than he could count, he thought perhaps taking the initiative might change something.
At the same time, he feared changing nothing at all.
“Let him go back if he wants to,” Ying Laixian said slowly. “Call our people back as well. We’ll see him again when we go to Yunchen.”
Jiang Ni nodded, then glanced toward the entrance. “Lately, a lot of passersby have been lingering outside the courtyard gate. Our scouts haven’t figured out their identities yet, and this subordinate didn’t dare act without orders.”
Ying Laixian waved a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. They’re merely here to see when I leave Quedu. Let them be.”
Jiang Ni continued, “A letter was delivered this morning.” She placed an envelope on the table. “It should be for you.”
A single glance at the envelope was enough for Ying Laixian to know who had sent it.
In Quedu, there were very few people capable of having a letter delivered directly into his hands intact.
He opened the envelope and found the familiar handwriting.
Zhong Xiwu’s handwriting mirrored his character, steady and composed. Even between the lines, one could picture how he looked while writing it.
“It seems there’s no way around it,” Ying Laixian sighed softly. “I still have to go say goodbye to him.”
Jiang Ni nodded knowingly. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
That very afternoon, Ying Laixian went straight to Zhong Xiwu’s residence, walking openly through the front gates.
Everyone in the estate recognized him, but as they were not people of the martial world, they knew nothing of the recent turmoil and simply assumed he had returned from a long journey.
Zhong Xiwu was practicing the sword. His sword qi was fierce and his blade-wind biting, though his breathing carried a slight instability.
Ying Laixian stood aside, watching him execute form after form until the swordsman finally stopped and sheathed his blade with a crisp ring.
“You called me here surely not just to show off your swordsmanship,” Ying Laixian said, leaning against a tree.
Zhong Xiwu spun his sword hilt around before finally settling it. “Did you go see Master?”
Ying Laixian looked away and said coolly, “You’re the one who invited me here.”
Zhong Xiwu fell silent for a moment. He gripped his sword tightly, yet because of his position in the imperial court, he could never truly unleash it and even more so because, caught between Wei Heng and the court, he could never choose his own stance.
“Over these past few years, your imperial father has been paying more and more attention to you,” Ying Laixian observed casually.
Zhong Xiwu managed a forced smile. He had been neglected by his imperial father since childhood, until he met Wei Heng, came to know Ying Laixian, and subsequently carved out his present standing through the other’s strategic planning. He knew very well who had plotted this current reality for him.
Yet he did not understand why Ying Laixian had gone to such lengths to help him.
Nor did he dare to ask.
A person like Ying Laixian never laid his true intentions out on the table.
“It is all thanks to your efforts,” Zhong Xiwu said.
If Ying Laixian hadn’t taught him years ago how to handle court officials and untangled the political landscape for him piece by piece, he would probably still be that neglected prince.
Still trapped in that lightless place, praying for someone to pull him out—just like the day Ying Laixian had first stepped forward to offer his help.
Yet now that he had climbed out of that dark abyss, the other person was about to leave.
“Changye Temple, twelve years is simply too long,” Zhong Xiwu said in a low voice. “Why must you meddle in this?”
He could not understand.
And Ying Laixian had no desire to explain.
Yes, it was too long, so long that the exact number of lifetimes had blurred into a haze, so long that in Ying Laixian’s mind, nothing remained except the flames of that single night.
“The treasure of Changye Temple is something the entire world desperately desires,” Ying Laixian replied, a complicated expression flashing in his eyes. “I am no exception.”
Yet Zhong Xiwu could never believe such a thing. Liuyu Shouxue had lived in Quedu for over a decade, never participating in martial arts disputes and always maintaining an air of worldly detachment. How could he possibly risk his life over a rumor of dubious authenticity?
Zhong Xiwu did not expose the lie. He had never truly seen through this person. There had been a time when he believed that, given their childhood friendship, Ying Laixian would sooner or later share his story with him.
“I will help you,” Zhong Xiwu declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Whatever you want, I will get it for you.” He paused, momentarily at a loss for how to phrase his thoughts.
Ying Laixian was somewhat taken aback. Zhong Xiwu was acting just as he always had, offering his help, yet this time it was so direct, as if it were a once-in-a-lifetime pledge.
Something was shifting imperceptibly.
“You.” Ying Laixian was momentarily at a loss for words before managing, “Why bring this up all of a sudden?”
“You want the Changye Temple treasure, and now you’ve become the target of public animosity. You should have more people by your side to assist you, just as you once helped me.”
“That may be, but I don’t need it,” Ying Laixian smiled. “You can only choose one between Master and the royal family. The imperial court and the martial world have never been truly linked. What I need is for you to gain absolute control over the entire court so that you can truly help me later.”
Zhong Xiwu was not discouraged by the rejection; he simply clung stubbornly to his own stance. “If you stay in Quedu, I can find the Changye Temple treasure for you just the same. How about that?”
Ying Laixian had to admit that Zhong Xiwu was very much like him. Even uttering such words with a completely straight face, the other didn’t realize that the Changye Temple treasure had always been nothing more than a smokescreen.
“Hearing you say that really makes me feel insecure,” Ying Laixian said, rubbing his temples in mild distress.
Zhong Xiwu blinked, then chuckled. “Then how would you feel secure?”
Ying Laixian tried to recall, realizing he had perhaps never experienced that feeling. Or perhaps he had.
“It should be asking no questions at all, walking straight in, taking my hand, and saying ‘come with me’.”
Silence hung in the air.
Ying Laixian turned his gaze to Zhong Xiwu. Their eyes met, but both remained silent.
All the words lingering unspoken were completely dismantled in that stillness. Zhong Xiwu knew that saying anything more would be futile.
They needed no words between them because they were already intimately familiar with one another, yet at the same time, they were far too estranged.
“If you’re doing this out of gratitude for what I’ve done over the years, there’s really no need,” Ying Laixian said, his expression returning to its usual calm. “I have only ever plotted for my own ends. If you say you want to help me, then claw your way to the very top. When you reach that highest place, I will come back for you.”
Zhong Xiwu’s lowered arm twitched before dropping back to his side. He looked up at the sky, its color as striking as those cyan-tinted eyes.
When he first encountered those eyes as a child, he had been too young to decipher the emotions hidden within them, thinking only that they were completely unique in this world and that this person was utterly extraordinary.
Even now, he still couldn’t see through them. Those eyes were as deep and clear as the brightest gemstone he had ever seen.
Yet Ying Laixian was not.
“I will,” Zhong Xiwu said in a low voice. “If there is ever anything you need help with, just let me know.”
Ying Laixian was left speechless. He knew that trying to persuade Zhong Xiwu was useless; the man was stubborn and unyielding to his core, precisely the same as when he had once kept him confined.
Even if everything replayed a thousand times, that inescapable reality remained.
Those fragmented, scattered memories became a pain that Ying Laixian could never erase from the remainder of his days, leaving him at a loss for how to face Zhong Xiwu whenever they met again.
“What is it?”
Noticing his silence, Zhong Xiwu asked with concern, “Are you feeling unwell?”
“No.”
Ying Laixian pressed a slender hand against his brow to massage away a sudden wave of sharp pain tracing deep along his nerves. The scenes in his mind shifted chaotically, leaving him no stable ground to anchor upon.
“Take care of yourself while you’re alone in Quedu,” Ying Laixian murmured, easing the ache slightly. “Go visit Master more often.”
Zhong Xiwu gave a quiet assent. He knew that if he did not continue climbing higher, he would never be able to stand beside Ying Laixian as a support.
“Understood. Be careful on your journey to Yunchen. I’ll wait for your return.”