Cultivators frequently had to descend the mountain for experiential training, and encountering various traps, injuries, and poison was simply a common occurrence.
Yet even so, sect gates never lacked miraculous elixirs and medicines, and very few individuals ever allowed their injuries to deteriorate to such a terrifying extent.
Furthermore, wounds inflicted by fierce beasts differed from those caused by sharp weapons. The edges of torn flesh were jagged and uneven, forcing Wen Zhihan to rinse the area while simultaneously peeling back the raw skin.
Scabs that had finally formed were torn apart, leaving behind black, toxic blood lingering deep within the tissue, while the wounds themselves proved far deeper than they appeared on the surface.
Wen Zhihan held his breath as he repeated the process of flushing and pulling back the flesh bit by bit. He glanced sideways several times to check Shen Zong’s expression, yet could only catch glimpses of the boy’s cheek and the back of his head shielded by stray strands of hair.
If these injuries had received treatment sooner, they would never have evolved into this state.
As this thought surfaced, Wen Zhihan shook his head, forcing himself to dismiss extraneous reflections and pouring his complete focus into the most microscopic movements.
Excessive force would cause the wounds to hurt worse, tearing open unnecessary bleeding, whereas insufficient movement would leave behind necrotic flesh and toxic blood that required cleaning, ultimately subjecting Shen Zong to greater suffering. Even the slightest tremor of his hand would inflict incalculable pain.
Wen Zhihan dared not relax, needing to suppress all emotional volatility and stray thoughts. Fortunately, cultivators regularly practiced mental discipline and meditation, making this task manageable.
Yet when dark blood welled forth in a steady stream, and he carefully parted the tissue with a silver needle only to reveal white bone gleaming from deep within, his breathing finally faltered.
He felt a sudden wave of profound regret.
Gritting his teeth, Wen Zhihan blinked the sweat from his eyelashes, realizing he had never experienced such difficulty maintaining concentration before. He had long understood the principle that deep concern breeds distraction, yet never imagined it would affect him so severely.
By the time the horrifying scars covering the entire back had been tended to and flushed with medicinal wash for the final time, he was drenched in cold sweat brought on by sheer tension.
The medicated wash served a dual purpose: cleansing the wounds while purging the fierce beast venom and lingering demonic qi. This was precisely the most excruciating step.
All of this suffering had been inflicted by the former master, Wen Zhihan.
The system had once told him that returning held no meaning, that no one would receive a better fate due to his return, and that no one welcomed him back, it was he who had insisted upon coming.
From the cleansing until now, Shen Zong had not uttered a single cry of pain, but lowering his gaze, Wen Zhihan saw that the fingers tightly clutching the hem of the robe against the boy’s thigh had turned white from exertion.
He was enduring it silently.
Deliberately, Wen Zhihan extended his left hand.
He knew that without something to bite down upon during such moments, forbearance became nearly impossible, though he also knew that even if the boy failed to hold back, nothing truly untoward would occur.
Yet he felt compelled to act.
Whether in childhood or the present, whenever Shen Zong suffered grievances, he invariably endured and bottled them up, appearing far too sensible in the eyes of outsiders.
Whether using this as an excuse to vent or seizing the opportunity for retaliation, people needed an outlet to release their frustrations before peace could return to their hearts.
This time, he applied a harsher, more potent medicinal wash, withholding any further mercy.
Shen Zong also broke out in a cold sweat. Hesitating for a mere fraction of a second, he clamped down hard on the offered arm.
A sharp pain lanced through Wen Zhihan’s forearm, drawing blood almost instantly. He could feel Shen Zong’s two sharp canine teeth sinking in, could feel the hot, humid breath from the boy’s mouth blowing against his suddenly hypersensitive skin. As the grip tightened, even the boy’s jaw trembled momentarily.
Pain is not invariably a misfortune, Wen Zhihan thought.
His nerves, dulled and frayed by prolonged tension, were finally forced back into a state of sharp clarity. He carefully drew closer to his disciple, attempting to let him lean against his embrace much like he had in childhood.
This time, the attempt finally succeeded.
Daring not startle the boy, Wen Zhihan gently and cautiously stroked the back of his head, once, twice. Shen Zong seemed to freeze briefly upon registering the movement, before biting down even harder on the flesh of his arm.
The disciple, who had grown considerably taller, lowered his head like an injured little wolf cub, still refusing to make a sound, yet entirely soft and furry.
Wen Zhihan slowly closed his eyes, willing to let him vent a little longer.
Just a little longer would suffice.
Recovering what was lost, reuniting after a long separation, this was his first embrace with his disciple since finally returning here and assuming the mantle of Wen Zhihan once more.
Perhaps genuine emotions were finally leaking through the fractures, or perhaps because he was no longer rejected, the subtle sense of distance dissipated somewhat.
Enduring a mere flesh wound was hardly beyond Wen Zhihan’s capacity. He had previously survived far graver injuries that threatened to extinguish his life, compared to those, this was trivial.
Until, after lingering in that momentary indulgence, he heard a strange disturbance ripple through the snowy expanse.
Those were not footsteps belonging to someone trained in long-term cultivation. Wen Zhihan turned his head instinctively.
That was…
Ash-gray, thick fur, fleshy paws the size of a human head, a thick, elongated wolf-like head with sharp fangs, broad shoulders and a wasp-like waist akin to a tiger or leopard, and a pair of dual tails symbolizing spiritual resonance,
Double-tailed Snow Jackals!
Reacting with extreme velocity, the instant they lunged forward, Wen Zhihan shoved the still pain-resistant Shen Zong out of harm’s way while raising a single palm to unleash a majestic surge of spiritual energy, blasting the three beasts backward.
With a splash, Shen Zong plunged into the warm spiritual spring water.
“Do not come out! These few are acting abnormally!”
Stating this, Wen Zhihan prepared to summon his spiritual sword, but paused mid-motion. Tipping lightly off the snow, he darted dozens of feet away, drawing the fierce beasts in pursuit.
Double-tailed snow jackals lacked the ability to climb trees, nor were they fond of water, making the spring a far safer sanctuary.
At a certain age, such fierce beasts developed a degree of spiritual awareness, occasionally consuming spiritual herbs and elixirs, and utilizing rudimentary spiritual energy during combat, rendering them far more dangerous than ordinary wild animals. Yet under normal circumstances, they remained merely unfriendly toward humans rather than predatory.
This explained why the managers of Xuanyu Cang had never driven them away.
Yet today’s bizarre aggression, erupting well before sunset, defied all reason.
Wen Zhihan had no desire to take lives at this moment, leaving aside ordinary days, since the managers of Xuanyu Cang tolerated these spiritual beasts, and he had just depleted an entire spring of theirs, slaughtering them outright felt entirely inappropriate.
Forming sword seals with his right hand, he rapidly traced a suppression character in midair. Golden threads hung suspended before he struck them forward with a single palm, locking the limbs of the three beasts in place.
The next second, however, two additional double-tailed snow jackals emerged from the shadows. Joining forces with the original three, they erupted with immense strength, shattering his suppression talisman.
Wen Zhihan frowned slightly, reaching for his hilt, when he spotted a figure flashing past behind a distant tree branch.
Stepping back swiftly, he mounted his flying sword and took to the air. The five fierce beasts clawed frantically at the ground, leaping high toward his trajectory before crashing heavily back onto the snow.
Failing to connect with their target, the beasts roared furiously, opening their bloodied jaws toward him as a cluster of dark blue spiritual light gathered deep within their throats, launching a barrage of freezing attacks in his direction.
A sweep of Wen Zhihan’s sleeve intercepted and dissolved the onslaught, though a microscopic layer of imperceptible ice crystals rimmed his cuff.
At that exact juncture, a cultivator clad in black robes adorned with red cloud patterns on his belt arrived swiftly upon the scene, accurately flicking five silver needles toward the fierce beasts while scattering a handful of red berries to expertly dismiss them.
“Tch.”
Arriving via flying sword before executing a swift midair pirouette to land gracefully, the newcomer planted a broad, heavy sword that clashed wildly with his refined demeanor right before him, leaning against the pommel with a scowl.
“These beasts aren’t even in heat, why are they running amok in broad daylight to frighten people?”
Catching sight of them tucking their tails and scrambling for the berries, he added as an afterthought, “And they’re all males! If you ask me, we should just geld the lot of them! Who knows what garbage they’ve been scavenging to get this worked up?”
Wen Zhihan stood silently behind him, glancing down at his own back before giving a subtle wave of his hand, instantly erasing every trace of pale red residue from his garments and hair ribbon.
“And you, Wen Zhihan!”
Turning back abruptly, Wen Zhihan offered a slight wave in greeting. “Chen Feijue, long time no see.”
“Who’s been seeing you for a long time?”
The man possessed a fiery temper paired with striking, vibrant features. As he arched a brow, his sharp brows appeared ready to slant straight into his hairline.
“Didn’t we just cross paths recently? Such a poor memory, did you do it on purpose? Didn’t I warn you long ago that Wen Zhihan and dogs are barred from entry? Yet you insisted on coming back, serves you right being chased and scratched by these mongrels!”
“Cough…”
Wen Zhihan rapidly sifted through his memories, attempting to reconstruct recent events through the lens of the original plot. Ah, right, it seemed related to those bee stingers… After using Shen Zong to deal with those fierce beasts, Bai Chixin had harvested a batch of exceptionally precious demonic bee stingers, but because they were tainted, he could not sell them directly.
Purification methods varied, but the cheapest and most wasteful approach was to bring them here and cleanse them using spiritual spring water,
Oh no.
“…Was ruining an entire pool of my spiritual spring water last time not enough for you?! Hey, are you zoning out? I am talking to you!”
Chen Feijue nudged the pommel of his massive sword with his foot. The weapon, easily weighing scores of pounds and spanning wider than a palm, was effortlessly hoisted onto his shoulder after frosting over with a layer of ice.
“I suspect you meddled with these creatures. Hey, Wen Zhihan, don’t tell me you deliberately drugged them to frame me so you could avoid paying your fines?”
Stiding toward Wen Zhihan, he reached out to grab his arm with a furrowed brow, clearly intent on conducting a thorough inspection.
“It is nothing.”
Wen Zhihan intercepted his arm instead, offering a reassuring smile. “I will pay every single spirit stone of the compensation, not a fraction less. Today’s incident was merely an accident. Since the beasts are unsettled, we shall simply take our leave.”
“We? You didn’t come alone?”
Distracted by the pivot, Chen Feijue scanned the surrounding area, his peach-blossom eyes widening in surprise.
“Your disciple…”
“He sustained some injuries and requires recuperation.”
“Figures.”
Chen Feijue released his grip, only to spin around with sudden swiftness the moment he stepped away, throwing a strike toward Wen Zhihan’s face.
Spiritual power surged through the air. Wen Zhihan raised a hand to meet the challenge, though Chen Feijue did not draw his sword, Wen Zhihan relied solely on empty-handed defense, moving with wind-like swiftness and exchanging over a dozen blows in the blink of an eye.
Only then did both parties come to a simultaneous halt.
“Your footwork hasn’t degraded, but why is your spiritual qi lagging behind your physical reactions?”
Lowering his gaze, Chen Feijue inspected the slightly disheveled and damp hem of Wen Zhihan’s robe.
“Injured, yet wandering around dressed like this, completely lacking propriety.”
“Hm? I came here to soak in the spring, naturally I am not fully dressed.”
Wen Zhihan looked mildly perplexed. “A minor injury.”
Keeping his right hand behind his back, the ice crystals on his cuff dissolved instantly, obliterating all evidence.
Chen Feijue wore a bizarre expression, staring unblinkingly at him for a moment before his brow furrowed deeper. “You… have nothing else to say?”
Pausing, Wen Zhihan fumbled through his spirit pouch and pressed a high-grade luminous pearl into the other man’s palm.
Imprisoned within the pearl was an exceptionally rare spiritual beast core capable of advancing a cultivator’s mastery, an item entirely unobtainable through ordinary wealth.
Chen Feijue’s expression finally softened, though he chuckled dryly. “Feeling generous today, are we?”
“I did indeed utilize a pool of your spring water today, which I shall compensate alongside the previous debt.”
“…Just that?”
Wen Zhihan generally maintained an amiable and agreeable temperament, though he was well aware that when Bai Chixin occupied his body, he likely exhibited nothing of the sort.
Turning the pearl over in his palm to confirm the genuine golden spiritual radiance within, Chen Feijue looked increasingly perplexed. “You… have no other matters?”
“None.”
Gancing toward the adjacent spiritual spring and the aloof figure of Shen Zong standing within it, then back at Wen Zhihan with renewed suspicion, Chen Feijue let out a sudden snort.
“Better for you, then.”
“…”
“I half expected you to claim that your teenage disciple attempted to harm you yet again, stabbed you, and framed you, forcing you into an ambush by fierce beasts so you could pin the cost of today’s and yesterday’s springs onto him.”
Turning to stride away, Chen Feijue paused to cast one final, meaningful look over his shoulder.
“I won’t retract my earlier warning. Regardless of what the other two families say, the Chen family welcomes no ties with Wen Zhihan. Vacate this place before day’s end, and I won’t press the matter further.”
“Wait.”
Stepping forward, Wen Zhihan pursued. “What about Shen Zong? Might he remain here for a couple of additional days to recover?”
“…Hypocrite.”
Summoning his massive sword with a surge of spiritual qi, Chen Feijue vaulted onto the blade and shot into the sky. “Do as you please.”
With that, the manager of Xuanyu Cang departed.
Shen Zong stepped slowly out of the spiritual spring, halting as Wen Zhihan approached to gently press a hand to his shoulder with a soft reassurance, “Your injuries will heal far faster within the spring. Soak a while longer.”
Shen Zong merely stared at him, nodding in silence.
Not until Wen Zhihan turned away, making good on his word to dry his damp garments and dress properly before preparing to depart, did the boy notice.
The traces of fruit juice previously lingering along Wen Zhihan’s lower back and hair ribbon had been completely erased.
…Wiped away by Wen Zhihan himself?
Nearby, Wen Zhihan had seated himself on a dry patch of ground, extracting fresh, dry gauze and bandages to re-dress his own wounds.
Within that bottle of medicinal powder lay the toxic dust he had deliberately introduced.
Operating on instinct, Shen Zong called out to him,
“Master.”