After changing into their red robes in the fitting rooms, the two continued their stroll through the city.
Yan Mingqiu hadn’t been down the mountain in a long time, and his foodie cravings were running wild. He couldn’t pass a single street-side food stall without stopping to sample everything, quickly filling his stomach until it was round and taut.
Supporting him gently, Chenhan chuckled. “Let me walk you slowly for a bit so you can digest some of that food.”
A bright smile bloomed across Yan Mingqiu’s face, deep dimples sinking into his right cheek. “Alright, let’s go for a walk by the river.”
As they strolled side by side along the riverbank, Yan Mingqiu suddenly felt a bit awkward. “Walking like this, I feel just like an old lady.”
Chenhan let out a snort of laughter. “Why not an old grandfather?”
Yan Mingqiu countered, “Isn’t that you? You’re the one supporting me, the old lady.”
Chenhan paused for a moment, his tone turning softer. “If I never recover my memories, can I stay on Yucang Peak and keep you company forever?”
“Of course you can!” Yan Mingqiu turned his head to look at Chenhan, silently breathing a quiet prayer in his heart: I just hope I never end up transforming into a full demon myself.
They returned home with their arms full of spoils. Yan Mingqiu felt life could not possibly get any better; he wished things could stay just like this forever. Out of pure selfishness, he almost hoped Chenhan’s memories would never return.
Yet, that was impossible. Unlike himself, who was a lone wolf with no family left, Chenhan must have family members who were frantic with worry, searching everywhere for him.
Perhaps he was a disciple of another sect whose master and fellow martial brothers were scouring the world for his whereabouts.
With this thought weighing on his mind, Yan Mingqiu later made his way to the founding patriarch’s study to comb through ancient texts, hoping to find a remedy to help disperse the blood clots pressing against Chenhan’s brain.
Among the various historical records in the patriarch’s study, Yan Mingqiu chanced upon a volume detailing the lore of the Golden-Winged Roc Demons.
Driven by a sudden curiosity about his own dormant lineage, he took the book back with him to read.
When night fell, he spread the book out before him, but as he read on, exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted off to sleep right there at the desk.
Meanwhile, Chenhan had prepared a midnight snack. Carrying a wooden tray, he walked up to Yan Mingqiu’s door and called out, “Mingqiu, midnight snacks are served! I made beggar’s chicken tonight, paired with some sweet osmanthus wine it’s going to taste amazing.”
During their trip down the mountain, Chenhan had noticed Yan Mingqiu’s robust appetite, prompting him to start studying culinary recipes so he could whip up delicious treats for him.
After waiting for a long while without hearing a single sound from inside, Chenhan pushed the door open to find Yan Mingqiu slumped fast asleep across the desk.
Gently, he set the tray down on a side table, freed up his hands, and scooped Yan Mingqiu up into his arms.
In his drowsy haze, Yan Mingqiu let out a soft grunt of complaint, shifting restlessly against Chenhan’s chest until he found a cozy, comfortable position to continue his slumber.
Pressing his cheek against Chenhan’s solid, resilient chest, he looked entirely docile and endearing.
Looking down at Yan Mingqiu nestled in his arms like a sleepy kitten, Chenhan’s gaze drifted to his slightly parted lips, which seemed to carry an irresistible pull. Without overthinking it, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Yan Mingqiu’s.
A moment later, he gently laid Yan Mingqiu down on the daybed and tucked the quilt snugly around him.
Reaching up, he brushed his fingers across his own lips, as if savoring the lingering, pillowy softness of the kiss.
After daydreaming for a solid fifteen minutes, he returned to the desk to tidy up, only to catch sight of the book titled Manual of Golden-Winged Roc Demons lying open. Curious, he picked it up to browse.
“The Golden-Winged Roc clan resides along the southeastern coast. They are naturally brutal and ferocious, often slaughtering one another in ruthless contests for resources…”
Exquisitely rendered illustrations of various golden-winged rocs adorned the pages.
As Chenhan stared at the vivid imagery, a sudden, violent wave of dizziness crashed over him. The fabric of time and space seemed to twist; the painted rocs on the page abruptly sprang to life, multiplying exponentially as they beat their wings and spiraled into a chaotic dance across his field of vision.
Chenhan squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head with immense force. When he opened his eyes once more, his gaze had transformed utterly cold, chillingly detached, and edged with an unyielding, razor-sharp resolve.
He remembered everything. Everything was back.
His real name was Han Zhou.
The Han family had once been a prominent aristocratic clan, and Han Zhou was their young heir. Blessed with a gentle mother and a fiercely doting father, he had grown up swathed in the unconditional love of his family.
However, the year he turned four, everything shattered. First, his father was murdered by a golden-winged roc demon. Consumed by grief and vengeance, his mother gradually slipped into madness, scouring the world for the killer. When her frantic searches bore no fruit, she heard a rumor and in a desperate gamble, captured the wife and child of that very roc demon to lure him out. Never had she anticipated that her actions would enrage the roc demon to the point of a full-scale retaliation, culminating in the complete annihilation of his entire family.
Only he had managed to escape, shielded to the bitter end by several loyal guards who gave their lives to buy him time.
The guards used themselves as living bait, drawing away the relentless roc demon to secure his survival. Ever since that fateful day, he had walked the world entirely alone, hiding his true identity.
After wandering in isolation for six long years, relying on his innate talent as a top-grade water spiritual root, he was eventually taken in by Dijiong, the sect leader of the Heavenly Sword Sect.
The Heavenly Sword Sect was notorious throughout the cultivation realm as the most grueling, high-pressure sect in existence. The crushing physical toll of daily cultivation and the constant financial pressure of upgrading gear forced its disciples to scramble relentlessly for mission board rewards.
Yet demand vastly outstripped supply; the moment a new task appeared on the mission board, it was snatched up in seconds.
Unable to secure tasks, disciples were forced to brave dangerous secret realms entirely on their own to hunt down rare heavenly treasures and sell them for spirit stones.
On that particular day, he had stumbled upon a massive patch of earthly Ganoderma mushrooms in a secret realm, thinking he had finally struck gold only to be nearly beaten to death by the guardian mystical beast, had Yun Feng not happened to intervene and save him.
“I suppose I never properly thanked the Immortal.”
Chenhan’s gaze drifted toward the beggar’s chicken and osmanthus wine on the tray. “Mingqiu is asleep, so I might as well take these over as a token of filial respect to Immortal Yunshang.”
Carrying the food and wine, Chenhan sought out Yun Feng. Being in a remarkably good mood that evening, Yun Feng invited him to stay for a drink, even breaking out several cherished jars of aged mulberry wine.
As he poured a cup for Yun Feng, Chenhan said respectfully, “Thank you, Immortal, for saving my life that day. Your immense kindness is something Han Zhou will never forget.”
Yun Feng tilted his head in surprise. “Han Zhou? Your real name is Han Zhou? Your memory has returned?”
In a slow, measured tone, Chenhan replied, “Indeed. Everything has come back to me.”
Probing cautiously, Yun Feng asked, “So… does this mean you’ll be leaving Qiwang Mountain?”
Han Zhou lowered his head and took a heavy, brooding gulp of wine.
Taken aback, Yun Feng asked, “You don’t want to leave? If you don’t wish to leave, you’re more than welcome to stay right here on Yucang Peak. You can stay for the rest of your life, and nobody would bat an eye.”
As someone who could readily see how deeply his little disciple adored the youth, Yun Feng was more than happy to play matchmaker.
“I don’t want to leave, but… I must. I have a blood feud that remains unavenged.” With that, Han Zhou polished off an entire flask in one go, recounting his tragic past against a backdrop of tipsy sorrow.
“…So, I have no choice. I must return to the Heavenly Sword Sect to cultivate; I want to cut down my enemies with my own hands as soon as possible and avenge my family.”
Sipping his wine, Yun Feng found that the once-luscious, sweet mulberry brew tasted suddenly, bitterly astringent.
The perpetrators behind the Han family massacre years ago happened to be none other than Yan Mingqiu’s good-for-nothing biological father! Talk about a cruelly ironic twist of fate.
The following morning, when Yan Mingqiu woke up, he noticed his lips felt somewhat swollen. Staring into the bronze mirror from multiple angles, he arrived at a definitive conclusion: “I must have been bitten by a bee last night. Stupid bees!”
At that exact moment, Han Zhou walked in bearing a tray of warm porridge and light side dishes. Looking somewhat guilty, he kept his gaze lowered and spoke in a muted tone, “Mingqiu, I made some porridge. Have a bite.”
Turning around, Yan Mingqiu beamed with radiant cheer. “Chenhan! You’ve been cooking for me every single day lately, I haven’t even set foot in the Spirit Dining Hall in ages.”
“Do you enjoy the food I make?”
“I love it to pieces! Every single dish hits my preferences spot-on.”
“I’m glad. I was thinking of compiling all the recipes I’ve made lately into a cookbook for you so you can pass the time whenever you’re bored.”
Hearing those words, Yan Mingqiu’s expression froze instantly.
“Are you leaving?”