Song Shuiqing was stunned for a moment, completely dazed.
He held the token for a while, and finally turned around to go share the good news with Xu Chaoqi.
The Centennial Grand Disciple Competition was about to begin. On the night of the first day, the sky had already turned pitch black.
Song Shuiqing checked the things in his storage pouch three times before finally going to sleep.
The next day, the moment the servant called him, Song Shuiqing immediately opened his eyes. Drowsiness and soreness surged up, as if someone had dripped mustard water into his eyes.
He struggled to climb out of bed, dark circles heavy under his eyes. As he got dressed, he asked the servant, “What time is it now?”
The servant bowed respectfully. “Reporting to the young lord, it has just reached the hour of Yin (3 a.m.).”
Song Shuiqing: …
Though he was somewhat exhausted, the moment he thought of how Brother Qi would be able to see him up on the stage, he was instantly filled with energy, his face brightening with joy and pride.
So he didn’t delay any further, yawning as he got out of bed and put on his shoes.
The Western Region Lord had cultivated all night, and had also just finished washing up, his robes and cap properly arranged.
Perhaps because he’d had something on his mind the night before, cultivating through the entire night had not replenished his spirit at all — instead it had left him even more exhausted.
Seeing that his son was also up, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.
The servants had already prepared breakfast, a spread of tea snacks laid out on the table. The Western Region Lord sat down at the table, picked up a pastry, and said flatly, “Your grandfather — my father-in-law — isn’t doing well.”
Song Shuiqing looked up, something shifting in his eyes, and paused before saying, “Wasn’t my grandfather already not doing well a long time ago, kept going only by medicine?”
The Western Region Lord: …
He set the pastry down in his bowl, raised his hand, and gave his son’s head a smack, which brought tears to Song Shuiqing’s eyes.
The Western Region Lord sighed, and at last a trace of adult worry appeared in his eyes.
“If your grandfather passes, that dog of a second uncle of yours will likely seize the position, and our relationship with the Northern Region will turn strained as well. Once that happens, the Western Region will grow unstable, and the living beings of the Western Region will suffer for it.”
Song Shuiqing also realized something, the light in his eyes gradually dimming.
“If grandfather passes, mother will be heartbroken, and I’ll be heartbroken too. Grandfather is always sneaking me good food, sneaking me spirit stones.”
The Western Region Lord said, “The old man used to drink with your father often too, saying that next time we met we’d gamble another two rounds.”
Hearing this, Song Shuiqing looked at his father, disbelieving. “So that night grandfather nearly drank himself to death was because—”
The Western Region Lord smacked his son again, releasing a wave of pressure that made his son tremble, and lowered his voice. “If you dare speak of this to anyone, I’ll throw you out to the Western Desert!”
Song Shuiqing: … He quickly shut his mouth.
With his father-in-law close to death, the Western Region Lord had lost his appetite too. He gazed up at the ceiling, murmuring to himself. “The old man really was formidable. In terms of cultivation, there’s hardly anyone in this world who could surpass him. A thousand years ago, he single-handedly held off the Demon Race to protect the living beings of the Northern Region, but was pierced through by ten thousand demonic forces himself, and his spirit meridians were destroyed by demonic qi. From then on he was worse off than a mortal, needing to consume vast quantities of spirit pills every day just to get out of bed.”
Song Shuiqing asked, “Does that mean this lifetime he can only wait for death? There’s… really no cure at all?”
The Western Region Lord glanced at his son, and seeing his innocent expression, gave a helpless, bitter smile. Once the worry passed, he returned to his usual self.
He picked up a bite of a side dish, chewing as he spoke. “There is a way. Two, actually. One is to attain the Dao and ascend as an immortal, then go beg the foremost of all immortals, the Great Sovereign of Life, Death, and Reincarnation, to add a few strokes after your grandfather’s name. The second is to find the Nine-Revolution Vital Spirit Immortal Body Pill — just one could purge the demonic qi from your grandfather, reshape his spirit body, and restore him to the Tribulation Transcendence stage.”
“Huh?” Song Shuiqing’s eyes lit up, and he was about to say something.
The Western Region Lord snorted coldly. “You think too highly of your old man for the first one — those are characters out of storybooks. Whether they exist or not is all the same, and even if they did exist, their temper isn’t good — instead of adding a few strokes for your grandfather, they’d more likely hack a few years off your father’s lifespan.”
Song Shuiqing: …
He probed cautiously. “Then the second one…?”
The Western Region Lord sneered again. “You still think too highly of your father’s face.”
Song Shuiqing: …
The Western Region Lord said, “That pill is also a legendary pill. It requires a thousand paths of hundred-year spirit materials, scattered across the Twenty-Seven Regions — without connections, you couldn’t gather even eighty percent of them. Next are a hundred pieces of thousand-year spirit materials — not meaning a thousand years old, but materials that are once-in-a-thousand-years rare. Finally, ten-thousand-year spirit materials — rarer than even your father.”
Song Shuiqing was already stunned just hearing about the materials, yet the Western Region Lord wasn’t finished.
“Finally, the one who refines this pill must be at the Tribulation Transcendence cultivation stage, with pill-refining skill honed to perfection — skill so high that even those few among the Twenty-Seven Regions revered as grandmasters of alchemy couldn’t refine so much as a scrap of dregs. Finally, it must be complemented with Heavenly Water, Earthly Fire, Primordial Earth, and Origin Metal to succeed.”
Song Shuiqing: …
He seemed to understand something, the light in his eyes dimming. After forcing down enough to fill his stomach, he finally asked his father one more question.
“If the pill really could be made well, what would it taste like?”
The Western Region Lord also set down his chopsticks, looking toward the window behind Song Shuiqing, and recalled, “Bitter. Very bitter. A cultivator skilled in pill-refining guessed at it from the recipe — bitter enough, probably, to make a person’s cheeks stream with bitter tears.”
Song Shuiqing nodded, comforting himself. “Maybe Heaven doesn’t want grandfather to suffer that bitterness. That’s a blessing too, in its way.”
But in his heart, he knew that if such a pill truly existed, even if it were ten thousand times more bitter than coptis root, he would find a way to get his grandfather to swallow it.
The two of them had eaten about as much as they were going to. Song Shuiqing had someone bring over a storage box for food. The box was already stuffed with food he’d packed, and he looked over the plates on the table, picking out pastries he thought looked tasty and clean to add in.
The Western Region Lord, though he was more or less full, had his eye on a new pastry on the table he hadn’t had enough of and wanted a couple more bites — who would have thought this unfilial son would want to pack away everything on the table!
Staring at the now-empty plate, the veins on the Western Region Lord’s forehead throbbed violently.
“Can you even finish eating all that you’re packing?”
Song Shuiqing said weakly, “It’s for Brother Qi.”
Though his words carried no force, his hands showed no mercy at all, sweeping the pastries off the table completely clean.
The Western Region Lord: …
He waved his hand impatiently. “Hurry up and go to your competition!”
Song Shuiqing hesitated. “Then Brother Qi?”
The moment this kid spoke, the Western Region Lord already knew what he meant. Either way, this Xu Qi fellow was someone with real ability, so introducing him to others wouldn’t hurt.
Having gotten a definite answer from the Western Region Lord, Song Shuiqing was completely at ease. He hurriedly gathered his things and rushed off to the Southern Competition Immortal Platform.
The Southern Competition Immortal Platform was where the Southern Region’s centennial disciple competition was held. By the time he arrived, the crowd ahead was a dark mass of people seated below the platform, stars twinkling in the sky above.
Song Shuiqing found where the Fumo Mountain disciples were gathered; everyone there was drowsy, yawning one after another.
Song Shuiqing hurried to ask, “Have the Peak Masters arrived yet?”
One disciple said wearily, “Not yet.”
“Huh?” Song Shuiqing was taken aback. “Weren’t we told to arrive by the hour of Mao (5 a.m.)?”
The disciple looked at him, expression complicated, and let out a sigh.
“Can our schedule possibly be the same as theirs?”
Song Shuiqing: …
****
The night before.
Inside a room, under warm yellow candlelight, Wen Chaoxi held a brush dipped in vermillion ink, reviewing official documents.
Though he no longer concerned himself with worldly affairs, whenever a major upheaval occurred in the Twenty-Seven Regions, it still had to pass through his hands.
In years past, it had always been Fu Xuandao who accumulated the documents that could wait, handing them all to him at once when he returned to the Immortal Palace.
Now, since he happened to be down in the mortal realm, he took the opportunity to handle the matters that had piled up over the years all at once, and issue a few new decrees as well, so that things would be more at ease in the future.
Documents infused with spiritual energy automatically flipped open, golden characters gradually appearing—
“The hundred clans of immortal beasts in the upper realm fought a great battle, casualties in the thousands, blood flowing like rivers, all to contest for the Upper Central Region. Shall the Upper Central Region be granted to the Qiongqi, the Hundun, or the Kun Clan?”
The hundred clans had been fighting for years. These three clans, being the fiercest, had ultimately overpowered dozens of other clans, lacking only this final procedure. For this, they had cleaned themselves up and played meek for decades, revising the petitioning documents they submitted dozens of times, all just to obtain Wen Chaoxi’s approval.
Wen Chaoxi lifted his brush, and in vermillion ink wrote two characters.
“Not permitted.”
All the efforts of the three clans came to nothing.
The second document opened: “The second Demon Lord of the Demon Realm is bloodthirsty by nature, having once razed cities and slaughtered a million living beings. He has now been captured by the righteous path — how shall he be dealt with?”
The brush tip slowly set down a single character: “Kill.”
He did not even lift his eyelids.
“The young lord of the lower realm is unlearned and unaccomplished, disrespectful to his teachers and elders, lacking in both talent and virtue, exceedingly lazy…” The one who had submitted this memorial was the Lord of the lower realm.
Back then, the young lord of the lower realm had been established with Wen Chaoxi’s approval, so the Lord of the lower realm did not dare act rashly.
“Abolish him.”
Wen Chaoxi closed his eyes. Even though he did not appear in the world, he knew all the affairs beneath heaven.
The moment the last character was finished, the night had already deepened.
Wen Chaoxi looked at the sky — it was already the hour of Chou (1 to 3 a.m.). He set down his brush, his lashes fluttering lightly, his gaze slowly drifting toward the distance.
Xu Chaoqi knew that the Centennial Grand Competition would begin the next day, and he was determined to go as well.
He had originally decided to sleep as soon as it got dark, but the storybook had been so engrossing that he kept thinking he’d hold off just half an hour more before sleeping — who would have known that “half an hour” stretched all the way to midnight!
Xu Chaoqi lay sprawled on his pillow, yawning, and though dark circles had risen under his eyes, the more he read, the more energized he became.
Wen Chaoxi walked slowly into the quiet courtyard, the night wind lifting his white robes, making him look all the more like an immortal sage of transcendent bearing.
Sensing the still-lit magic artifact, he frowned slightly, his fingertip twitching as if to move, then stopping.
He, who was accustomed to handling the great affairs of the world, found himself hesitant over this particular matter. If he went to knock on the door, he worried it might arouse Xiao Yao’s suspicion; but then again, should he just let him keep staying up like this? Let him wear his body down?
Wen Chaoxi’s brow furrowed a degree further.
If the person who had just submitted that memorial knew that Sect Master Wen would delay making a decision simply because his own junior brother wouldn’t go to sleep, they’d probably die of frustration.
Wen Chaoxi, at a loss, let the wind around him grow a touch stronger, actually blowing open the half-covered window of Xu Chaoqi’s room.
Hearing the noise, Xu Chaoqi threw back his blanket. Who would have known that with this motion, the glowing magic artifact in his hand got blown right under the bed.
By the time he went to retrieve it, he found the magic artifact had stopped glowing.
Puzzled, Xu Chaoqi cast a spell on the artifact, only to find that it seemed to be broken?
The moment he set the storybook aside, drowsiness gradually crept over him.
Xu Chaoqi held the book, gazing out at the night sky, and thinking that it was getting rather late, pushed the magic artifact aside, planning to have his senior brother take a look at it the next day.
He yawned, rolled himself up in his blanket, and buried his head in the pillow.
At dawn, at the hour of Chen (7 a.m.), Xu Chaoqi opened his hazy eyes, and seeing the sky outside the window, knew it was time to get up.
Yet a sharp sting shot through both his eyes, as if they’d been glued shut. He rolled over, his ink-black hair spilling like a waterfall over his face.
In the end he still crawled up as if his soul had left his body, and in a daze made his way to the hot spring in his room to bathe himself.
Xu Chaoqi shuffled dizzily through the corridor in his wooden clogs, his hair dripping wet, the lashes of his phoenix eyes very long — simply not quite open — his robes draped carelessly over him.