In the sixty-first year of Immortal Realm, Meihuawu lay buried beneath heavy snow.
The wind howled through the mountain valleys as a procession of cargo-laden flatbed carts lumbered over the mountain ridge, their loads piled high and their wheels grinding stubbornly onward against the gale.
People sat aboard every cart, roughly a dozen to each, most of them cultivators.
The world was on the brink of chaos. The Demon Abyss had opened wide, releasing countless cunning lesser demons into the mortal realm. The hundred-odd immortal sects had classified these demons into ranks from A to G according to their strength.
The cultivators crowding onto these carts had come here because a G-rank minor demon had been causing trouble in Meihuawu.
Several days earlier, the head of the Meihuawu clan had sent tens of thousands of wooden kites flying in every direction, hoping someone would come and make the lesser demon vanish from the world.
As one of the wealthiest sects in the realm, Meihuawu offered a naturally tempting bounty. That very night, all manner of wandering heroes and eccentric experts took up the commission and hurried toward Meihuawu, each hoping to claim its one-of-a-kind reward.
“Qi Bojun… Are we almost there? My back hurts.”
The snow was falling too heavily for anyone to want to open their mouths and fill them with shards of ice. The entire convoy had been silent for more than half an hour before a voice finally broke the stillness.
It came from the very last flatbed cart.
This cart was somewhat roomier than the others, and a soft tiger pelt had been spread inside. Someone lay half-reclined upon it, drowsily tugging at the sleeve of the person beside him.
The speaker wore a pale-gold brocade robe beneath a black-feathered cloak lined with white fox fur. A pair of well-fitted sheepskin boots covered his feet. Among all the cultivators who had become disheveled and travel-stained along the way, he looked like nothing so much as a flamboyant little peacock.
A particularly beautiful peacock, at that.
There were countless beautiful people in the cultivation world, and with all the miraculous elixir pills that could refine one’s skin to perfection, appearance was hardly worth mentioning.
Yet this man’s face possessed a bewitching quality that made people want to look at it again and again.
His lips were full and rosy. His amber eyes were half-hidden beneath thick, sweeping lashes. His features flowed together in smooth, graceful lines. Even ugly expressions like resentment and hatred became exquisite when worn by that face.
A voice came from above him.
“We’ll have to wait a little longer.”
Wu Zhao pouted, displeased.
“That’s what you said before, too. My back is all stiff now. Feel it…”
He spoke indistinctly as he boldly seized the hand beside him and prepared to place it on himself.
Just then, someone on the cart ahead shouted, “I can see the Meihuawu crest! We’re almost there!”
Wu Zhao immediately let go of the hand and scrambled upright.
He rested his chin on the edge of the cart and peered outside with wide eyes. Sure enough, the imposing clan crest was visible in the sky. His earlier gloom vanished in an instant, and his eyes lit up.
Meihuawu was famed for its breathtaking scenery.
And the rumors had not exaggerated.
It really was beautiful!
As fate would have it, Wu Zhao had quite a history with Meihuawu from his childhood. He never expected that he would return to the place one day.
A river ran through Meihuawu. Upstream stood the Qiongtang Mountain Sect, one of the eight great sects.
When Wu Zhao was still a small, ignorant child, someone had wrapped him in swaddling clothes, placed him in a bamboo basket, and set him adrift with the current. He eventually floated down to a fishing village, where a simple, kindhearted couple took him in.
The couple were good people, but their lives were short.
They raised Wu Zhao until he was a little over three years old before both of them passed away.
Wu Zhao cried on the bed until he was nearly unable to breathe, yet not a single person noticed. Later, he went an entire day without a grain of rice or a drop of water.
By all rights, a small child deprived of nourishment for that long should not have survived.
Yet just as Wu Zhao was down to his final breath, he was spotted by a passing youth named Qi Bojun.
The young Qi Bojun seemed to have no parents either. He spent the first day simply keeping Wu Zhao alive with food and water, then stayed on in the house afterward, naturally taking on the responsibility of raising him.
Unfortunately, that day left Wu Zhao with a lasting weakness.
He fell ill every few days and often burst into tears for no reason at all.
At the time, Meihuawu was caught in an age of chaos. A group of fallen cultivators who practiced wicked arts had wandered into the surrounding region. Whenever they found someone with suitable spiritual roots, they would capture them and use them to refine pills.
The weather was bitterly cold, deep in the heart of winter, and Wu Zhao simply could not be left alone.
So Qi Bojun took him everywhere.
Whether he was going out to find water, buy necessities, or attend to some other matter, Wu Zhao was always carried on his back. Even when Qi Bojun had to wade into the water to catch fish, he would tie a strap around little Wu Zhao’s waist and let him sit safely on the bank, with the other end fastened around his own body, so that he could feel Wu Zhao’s weight at all times.
Apart from the hours they spent eating and sleeping, when they would be apart, the two were practically joined at the hip from morning to night.
Even when Qi Bojun stood on a stool to cook in the evenings, he had to wrap Wu Zhao in a cloth and strap him to his back.
Afraid the cooking smoke would make him cough, he would even put a specially made little mask over Wu Zhao’s face.
Wu Zhao grew up against Qi Bojun’s back.
Year after year, Qi Bojun raised him until he was well into his teens.
Then, one day, Qi Bojun suddenly announced that he had to travel far away and would have to entrust Wu Zhao to someone else for a while.
At the time, little Wu Zhao had been spoiled into doing nothing for himself. Food was placed directly into his mouth; even his socks and shoes were put on by Qi Bojun.
The greatest problem in his life was figuring out how to outwit Qi Bojun and sneak outside to play for a while.
How could he possibly have imagined that one day Qi Bojun would stop taking care of him?
To Wu Zhao, Qi Bojun’s decision was no different from the sky falling.
He knew no other way to cope. He could only cry.
He cried until his neck burned red, until he could barely catch his breath, tears streaming down his face like a broken string of pearls. He clung to Qi Bojun’s neck and refused to let go.
Qi Bojun, however, did not change his mind. He patiently repeated the same thing over and over.
He would come back for Wu Zhao in three years.
Qi Bojun rarely showed such absolute determination. His mind was made up. Wu Zhao tried every trick he knew, but there was truly nothing he could do.
In the middle of his desperation, he suddenly remembered a lesson he had overheard from the teacher at the schoolroom.
It had been a lesson about marriage. The teacher had spoken at length, but Wu Zhao remembered only one line:
You and I, husband and wife, shall remain together until our hair turns white.
Wu Zhao barely understood the difference between men and women. From that single sentence, however, he concluded that perhaps only husbands and wives could stay together forever.
So on the day Qi Bojun was leaving, Wu Zhao looked up at him with two pools of tears in his eyes and said urgently,
“Then you have to come back. I’ll wait for you, no matter whether it’s three years or longer. Remember, when I grow up, I’m going to be your wife! I’m still too young to be your wife now, but once I grow up, I can…”
“I’ll be a good wife. The kind of good wife everyone likes. You mustn’t forget to come back for me, okay?”
Qi Bojun was silent for a long time.
Then he said, “All right.”
The three-year promise passed in the blink of an eye.
On the day Qi Bojun came back for him, Wu Zhao remembered the childish things he had said and burned with embarrassment from head to toe.
But when he thought about staying by Qi Bojun’s side—having a big house to live in and all kinds of delicacies to eat—he somehow lost his senses.
So he gritted his teeth, went through the wedding rites with Qi Bojun, exchanged ceremonial cups of wine, and reported their marriage to Heaven and Earth.
From that moment on, they became husbands.
And ever since, wherever Qi Bojun went, Wu Zhao went with him.
“Lord Zong Feng, there’s a river up ahead! We’ve been short on water the whole way, and quite a few people are thirsty. Should we stop here and let everyone drink their fill before we continue?”
Wu Zhao had been happily admiring the scenery when he suddenly heard that name.
His expression fell slightly.
Of all the cultivators on this journey, the one Wu Zhao disliked most was this man called Zong Feng.
The man had “accidentally” mentioned that he was a disciple of the Zhuxiao Sword Sect, and along the way he had repeatedly baited others into praising him. He was unbearably affected and pretentious.
Up ahead came Zong Feng’s arrogant voice.
“Fine. We’ll rest here for half an hour before moving on.”
The carts stopped in the forest. Everyone climbed down in an orderly fashion, took out their water bags, and headed toward the stream.
The head resting on Qi Bojun’s lap also lifted.
Wu Zhao did not say what he wanted.
He simply looked at Qi Bojun with the most sincere, earnest eyes imaginable.
Qi Bojun said flatly, “Don’t go too far.”
“Mm!”
Wu Zhao flipped himself upright, grabbed his own water bag and Qi Bojun’s, and jumped off the cart without a second thought.
A crowd had already gathered by the river.
As the high-born disciple everyone looked up to, Zong Feng naturally belonged to the first group to arrive for water. He did not need to lift a finger. All he had to do was stand there while someone else fetched it for him.
While they waited, Zong Feng said with a grin, “Will one of you go fill a water bag for that old gentleman? He’s so old. His hands and feet probably aren’t very convenient.”
Among those who had accepted the bounty was an old man over fifty. He had kept a low profile throughout the journey, always shrinking quietly into a corner.
Whenever the others joined in praising Zong Feng, he never once participated.
Zong Feng had been annoyed by him for quite some time.
“Lord Zong, that old gentleman looks perfectly fit! I’m sure he can take care of himself.”
“I bet the old man has long since reached the fasting stage. I haven’t even seen him relieve himself once along the way. Maybe he doesn’t need to drink water either.”
“Ah, you can’t say that. He is rather old, after all. What if he suddenly drops dead in the street…”
Several cultivators certainly knew how to flatter.
Zong Feng was basking in their praise when a mutter suddenly drifted past his ear.
“If the Zhuxiao Sword Sect has disciples like this, it can’t be far from extinction.”
Zong Feng’s gaze turned cold.
He swiftly drew his sword, thrust it diagonally into the water, and flicked upward.
A sheet of water came splashing toward Wu Zhao.
The attack had been so fast that Wu Zhao had no time to dodge. He simply stood there blankly as the water drenched half his cloak and splashed down into the hollow of his throat.
Only after attacking did Zong Feng look up to see who had been bold enough to say such a thing.
When he saw that face, he paused for a moment, apparently not expecting that it had been Wu Zhao who spoke.
Then anger rose straight to his brow.
“Was that you just now?” he asked, each word deliberate. “If you’ve got the nerve, say it again.”
Wu Zhao stared at Zong Feng.
After a long moment, he very bravely ran away.
He shot back to Qi Bojun in a flash and plunged headfirst into the man’s arms like a little calf. After wiggling his bottom into position, he sat down with his back against Qi Bojun and began blowing warm air over his reddened hands.
“So cold, so cold, so cold, so cold…”
The river was some distance from the carts, and it was difficult for the voices there to carry this far.
Wu Zhao had no intention of telling Qi Bojun what had happened, either.
Wu Zhao was broad-minded by nature. He had never liked keeping unpleasant people in his thoughts.
Instead, he expertly complained to Qi Bojun about the cold weather, how cold his hands were, whether he would get chilblains, and how ugly he would look if he did. And if he became ugly, would Qi Bojun abandon him and throw him by the roadside to fend for himself?
He was so pitiful.
Wuwuwu…
It was not until Qi Bojun finally spoke that Wu Zhao stopped.
“Quiet.”
Wu Zhao, having thoroughly enjoyed his performance, fell silent with lingering satisfaction.
Zong Feng and the group of cultivators returned to their carts.
The convoy started moving again.
By then, night had fallen. The cultivators took out their stored provisions and lit fires on the carts to heat their food. Qi Bojun also took out a rabbit and began roasting it over the flames.
Smoke slowly curled into the air.
During the long, dark night, someone started the conversation, and soon everyone began sharing their backgrounds and origins to pass the time.
Wu Zhao was completely absorbed in gnawing on a rabbit leg beside Qi Bojun when Zong Feng’s tone suddenly changed.
He stared straight at Wu Zhao.
“Hey. Where do you live?”
Wu Zhao wiped his mouth with a cloth, raised his head, and gave Zong Feng an utterly harmless smile.
For no apparent reason, Zong Feng froze.
Then he heard Wu Zhao say,
“My family lives in a fishing village fifty li from Meihuawu. Tenth house from the left. Come visit whenever you’re free. I’ll treat you to a closed door.”
“You!”
Zong Feng nearly overturned the cart in fury.
But he quickly calmed himself.
He could not lose his temper in front of everyone. It would make him look petty and narrow-minded.
Grinding his teeth, Zong Feng swallowed his anger.
But inwardly, he spat:
Hmph! Disgusting dead queer.
The carts traveled another several dozen li before the outline of Meihuawu finally emerged.
Deep in the distance stretched a sea of plum blossoms, while the clan crest hung majestically in the sky.
After crossing the river ahead and traveling another stretch overland, they would reach Meihuawu, where so many cultivators had hurried that night.
Meihuawu contained numerous blessed paradises, and spiritual energy was abundant. Even an ordinary cultivator who merely approached the place could benefit from strengthening their body and opening their meridians.
It turned out that was no exaggeration.
Wu Zhao could genuinely feel the fatigue leaving his body bit by bit.
He gradually grew excited.
Because of his health, Wu Zhao had rarely traveled far from home. This was his first true outing.
So the moment they crossed the river, he could not wait another second. He jumped down from the cart and darted away like a butterfly.
Everything was new to him.
This tree was fascinating.
That blade of grass was fascinating.
He looked here, touched that, examined everything he came across.
By the time his enthusiasm finally began to fade, he suddenly remembered that there was someone missing from his side.
Wu Zhao jolted.
He hurried back toward the cart and muttered softly to Qi Bojun,
“Why are you so slow?”
Qi Bojun was busy with the cart. At those words, he glanced over at him.
His expression was indifferent, but the meaning in his eyes could not have been clearer.
Wu Zhao inexplicably understood.
He promptly shut his mouth.
And watched helplessly as Qi Bojun pulled down from the cart a gigantic bundle utterly at odds with Wu Zhao’s refined and “noble” image.
Qi Bojun never carried unnecessary baggage when he traveled alone.
Most of the jobs he accepted were bounties issued by great clans. To demonstrate the generosity of their hosts, those clans would prepare everything the cultivators might need during their stay. There was therefore no reason for him to pack anything himself.
But bringing Wu hair grow past his hips, so Qi Bojun had to trim it every so often. They would be staying in Meihuawu for at least half I know what you’re thinking. But I don’t think I’m troublesome at all. Before we left, I even said we didn’t have to bring so much. I can overcome any difficulty myself. You’re the one who insisted on bringing all this Zhao was another matter.
Every single item in this bundle was essential.
First was a pair of scissors.
Wu Zhao disliked letting his hair grow past his hips, so Qi Bojun had to trim it every so often. They would be staying in Meihuawu for at least half a month this time, so the scissors had to come along.
Second was a jar of powdered goat’s milk.
Wu Zhao had drunk goat’s milk every day as a child. Even after growing up, he could not break the habit. He needed a cup every night before he could fall asleep.
That had to come too.
Third were several sets of clothes sewn by Qi Bojun himself.
Wu Zhao had a peculiar constitution. Cheap fabric gave him red rashes. After it happened several times, Qi Bojun had spent some time apprenticing himself at a cloth shop.
From then on, he made all of Wu Zhao’s clothes himself.
They would need to change and wash clothes frequently during their stay in Meihuawu, so these were indispensable as well.
Fourth was essential among essentials: a food tray made by Qi Bojun.
It had three small compartments for dishes and one large compartment for rice.
Wu Zhao’s stomach was delicate. Too much food gave him indigestion; too little made his acid reflux flare up; egg yolks gave him an allergic reaction.
Every meal, Qi Bojun relied on this tray to portion out exactly two vegetable dishes and one meat dish, ensuring that Wu Zhao received balanced nutrition.
Fifth…
In short, the reason Wu Zhao had felt so carefree throughout the journey was because everyone else had been doing the work for him.
“You don’t have to say anything. I know what you’re thinking. But I don’t think I’m troublesome at all. Before we left, I even said we didn’t have to bring so much. I can overcome any difficulty myself. You’re the one who insisted on bringing all this, okay…”
Wu Zhao spoke without much confidence.
Just then, footsteps sounded in the distance.
More than a dozen Meihuawu disciples emerged carrying lanterns. With one hand behind their backs, they stood at the entrance to Meihuawu, waiting from afar for their arrival.
Wu Zhao pricked up his ears.
Someone nearby excitedly pointed out that the person standing at the very front was the head of the Meihuawu clan himself, Yao Chufeng.
This demon really must have been troubling Meihuawu for a long time.
It was the middle the next morning, every cultivator was required to memorize the jade slip placed beside their bed, which recorded all of of the night, yet the head of the clan had personally come out to welcome them.
Still startled, Wu Zhao watched as Yao Chufeng came forward and exchanged a few concerned words with every cultivator, asking whether the journey had been tiring.
Then, citing the late hour, he had his disciples lead the cultivators to their guest rooms to rest.
Meihuawu’s hospitality was impeccable.
Before leaving, every disciple made sure the cultivators had everything they needed. Anything requested was immediately presented with both hands.
But Meihuawu was not a scenic resort.
It was a major sect, and countless disciples devoted themselves to cultivation there every day.
Therefore, before going out the next morning, every cultivator was required to memorize the jade slip placed beside their bed, which recorded all of Meihuawu’s rules.
The room assigned to Wu Zhao and Qi Bojun was the innermost one along the covered bridge.
Wu Zhao had been thoroughly called out by that look from Qi Bojun. He desperately wanted to prove that he, too, possessed practical life skills.
So the moment he entered the room, he began making the bed.
When he had meticulously smoothed out the final corner of the quilt, he raised his chin proudly and looked behind him.
The place where the man had just been standing was empty.
“Qi Bojun?”
The night was deep, and the dew was heavy.
Zong Feng sprawled carelessly across his bed.
He had just closed his eyes when someone knocked twice on the door.
He decided to pretend he had not heard.
The person outside, however, refused to give up and knocked several more times.
With no choice, Zong Feng shouted toward the door,
“I’m sleeping! Whatever it is, say it tomorrow!”
Knock, knock.
Zong Feng snapped, “I said I’m sleeping! If you won’t leave, stand outside and talk. I can hear you!”
Knock, knock, knock.
Zong Feng’s temper finally exploded.
He threw back the covers.
“What kind of animal can’t the man’s gaze falling over him again and again, burning itself into his skin, like sunlight slipping away—touching everything, understand human speech?”
He snatched up the sword beside him, put on his shoes, and strode toward the door.
He was already planning to strike whoever was outside the moment he opened it.
But just as his hand touched the door bolt, the door suddenly swung open on its own with a resounding bang, both panels flying outward.
A man stood directly before him.
He was tall, so tall that the top of his head nearly brushed the doorframe.
Zong Feng could not make out his face. It was only faintly visible in the darkness.
The two stared at each other for several dozen seconds.
The newcomer made no improper gesture and uttered not a single word.
Yet Zong Feng could feel the man’s gaze falling over him again and again, burning itself into his skin, like sunlight slipping away—touching everything, leaving no trace.
Then Zong Feng suddenly noticed the snow-wave embroidery on the man’s sleeves.
Such distinctive embroidery.
Such an uncommon design.
He had seen it these past few days.
This man was…
This man was…
Zong Feng’s fingers tightened around his sword hilt as his mind raced.
Strangely, though, an inexplicable terror seized him.
The name was already on the tip of his tongue, yet somehow he could not remember it.
Suddenly, Zong Feng felt both legs begin to tremble.
He stumbled backward and fell heavily onto the floor.
At that moment, the man moved.
His lips parted.
In an almost gentle voice, he said,
“Lord Zong, good evening.”