Before long, both sides had settled their matters, and Shen Zong quickly returned to Wen Zhihan’s side.
Because the Leaving-Man Tree had performed well on both fronts, neither of them raised any suspicions.
The roots and stems around Wen Zhihan’s feet were gone, restoring his freedom, and his spiritual sword had returned to his side as he waited in place for him.
“Master, you are injured.”
Shen Zong said with a show of concerned reminder, “It is still unsafe here. Let’s return to the cloud boat first.”
“Alright.”
Wen Zhihan nodded and casually fabricated an excuse. “That tree is called the Leaving-Man Tree. It seemed a bit fierce and dislikes outsiders approaching it, which explains what happened just now. I’ve already explained things to it, so it won’t attack again.”
Shen Zong listened expressionlessly and nodded.
“Oh. Then why didn’t Master simply get rid of it?”
Leaving-Man Tree: ?！？！
“…It is a spiritual tree forged by heaven and earth.”
Wen Zhihan originally wanted to say that this thing could not be burned out by wild fires and would regenerate with every spring breeze, but realizing it might sound inappropriate in front of the tree itself, he changed his reasoning to persuade him.
“Besides, it is actually quite reasonable. It helped out quite a bit beneath the snow just now. It told me that it wants to seek out a new auspicious location to plant its new seeds, and hopes we can bring it along for a stretch of the journey.”
“Oh. Then let’s just chop it down and take it.”
Leaving-Man Tree: ！！！
“According to its wishes, it seems bringing just a single seed, a sapling, will be enough.”
Wen Zhihan paused for a moment. Sensing the hostility in Shen Zong’s tone and recalling the sight of Shen Zong suddenly appearing to block the way, he smiled knowingly, shook his head, and said, “Shen Zong, do not let your emotions dictate your actions.”
“?”
Who is letting their emotions dictate their actions?!
Shen Zong raised his head to meet his gaze, a trace of annoyance rising in his heart, and turned his head away in noncommittal silence.
Leaving-Man Tree:
So, are we leaving or not?
The two finally cast their gazes back onto it.
A short while later, Wen Zhihan returned to the cloud boat carrying a palm-sized flower pot.
The pot was small, filled with soft soil, and in the very center protruded a finger-long green sprout. It looked like a tiny grass with a total of only three leaves, appearing far more pleasant to the eye than that withered tree in the snow.
The Leaving-Man Tree originally hadn’t wanted to follow them. After all, with neither side knowing the truth, it had struck a deal with both individuals simultaneously, making it very easy to slip up and expose itself if it wasn’t careful.
Yet, it had no choice.
Its main body was simply too vast. Burrowing through the soil to grow roots all the way along would be far too exhausting, and since it didn’t want to uproot itself, it suggested that a branch cutting accompany the two of them instead.
This branch cutting contained a portion of its main body’s spiritual essence, comparable to the divine clone that powerful cultivators could manifest upon reaching a certain advanced stage. Although it lacked the formidable strength of the main body, it inherited a portion of its abilities and shared the consciousness of the main body.
Traveling with this small flower pot served the surface purpose of assisting Shen Zong, needing to supervise the execution of the secret art, while the actual motivation was its reluctance to part with the Jade Sweet Dew promised by Wen Zhihan.
Anyway, the branch cutting and the main body were essentially identical, differing only in strength. By staying with Wen Zhihan, it could taste that wondrous flavor anytime, anywhere, and with maximum speed.
The two and the grass boarded the cloud boat once more, and just as they were about to set off on their return journey to Qiongwu Peak, a cloud-piercing arrow was shot from afar.
Its speed was moderate, and there was no need to dodge as the arrow pinned itself directly onto the prow of the cloud boat, rocking back and forth.
Wen Zhihan pulled it down and discovered a small bottle of external healing medicine hanging from it. Turning it over to inspect the bottom, he found the character Chen imprinted on it.
“Sigh.”
He sighed helplessly, accepting the medicine bottle. He carefully wiped the short arrow clean, wrapped it in an old cloth, and stored it away in a certain box inside the cabin.
With all this commotion, Wen Zhihan’s movements had been too large, causing the wound on his abdomen to split open slightly, and a bloody bite mark had also appeared on his forearm.
He took off his outer robes intending to tend to the wounds, and couldn’t help a faint smile when he saw the two canine tooth impressions on the bite mark.
The pain had long since subsided, but it was still best to treat it simply; otherwise, if others were to catch a glimpse, who knows what they might—
My, who bit this? Quite spirited.
The next second, Shen Zong casually picked up a tattered rag and covered the entire flower pot with it.
The tree sapling grew quiet.
Wen Zhihan quickly tended to the wounds on his body, applied medicine to Shen Zong’s back, and spent the entire return journey sitting cross-legged in meditation to regulate his breath.
Upon returning to Qiongwu Peak, the two did not linger long.
Wen Zhihan merely handled some miscellaneous affairs, retrieved the compensation reserved for the Chen family from his own treasury, and then rested for a while.
During this period, Elder Su of the Disciplinary Hall came by once more, but did not stay long. Seeing that Shen Zong’s complexion was indeed fine and that the two were living in peace, he left relieved.
“By the way.”
Before leaving, Elder Su casually reminded him, “In recent days, several major sects have successively experienced secret treasures being stolen and valued disciples falling victim to evil arts. Many people are currently investigating the matter.”
Wen Zhihan pondered slightly. Outwardly, he appeared to be recalling past events, but inwardly he was remembering the plot from the original story, and nodded slightly.
“I have indeed heard of it. How are things proceeding at present?”
“Word is that there is an internal traitor. If Peak Master Wen happens to have any clues as well.”
Elder Su paused for a moment before continuing, “Please notify me at the earliest opportunity.”
Wen Zhihan nodded in assent and saw Elder Su out.
He quickly recalled the corresponding plot from the original novel Homeward Journey.
Initially, it was only individual cultivators with crooked intentions who frequently committed crimes of murder for treasure and petty theft, not everyone who began cultivating did so to attain the Dao, become an immortal, or deliver humanity from suffering. Many people simply sought longevity, hoping to be stronger than ordinary mortals and earn an extra hundred years of life. It was precisely this type of people who continually committed crimes without being successfully prohibited, and could never be completely eradicated.
Therefore, this fraction of individuals was often referred to as unorthodox cultivators due to their lack of a clear Dao heart and their constant resort to devious methods.
Had it been merely this, such unorthodox cultivators could never amount to much.
However, in the original story, the arrival of the transmigrator Bai Chixin changed all of that.
Bai Chixin did not belong to this world to begin with. Because he knew the arrangements of fate, his actions were often uninhibited, entirely lacking bottom lines or principles.
He didn’t look like a cultivator at all, but rather a desperate gambler who believed in neither karmic retribution nor the distinction between good and evil.
Relying on the skin of Wen Zhihan, the Peak Master of Qiongwu Peak, Bai Chixin colluded internally and externally with numerous unorthodox cultivators harboring malicious intentions. In just a few short years, he amassed a vast quantity of secret treasures and spiritual elixirs. Relying solely on medicinal accumulation and magical artifact enhancements, he maintained the persona of a formidable cultivator with unfathomable strength.
Conversely, as for how to cultivate, how to regulate breathing in meditation, how to execute various immortal techniques, sword arts, seal casting, and array formation, he had learned none of it.
When reading the original text, the narrative often framed this as some sort of salted fish persona, but Wen Zhihan felt only incompetence, opportunism, unbridled greed, and a readiness to use any means necessary.
Wen Zhihan could not quite understand why such a selfish, hypocritical, and shameless character could still receive the mandate of Heaven.
If he had not returned, Bai Chixin would have reaped all the benefits and committed every evil deed before framing Shen Zong for the entirety of the crimes.
At that time, Shen Zong happened to encounter a once-in-a-millennia stroke of luck, experiencing profound epiphanies in his cultivation and making leaps and bounds in his realm. Yet he was unable to explain the origins of his fortunate encounters, unable to clear his name, and found himself cornered amidst the accusations of the crowd and his Master.
Ultimately, this led the major sects to come and demand accountability, surrounding and suppressing the criminal Shen Zong.
Driven to a desperate impasse, Shen Zong knew deep down that only his Master could testify to his innocence, yet he was still forced by Bai Chixin to the edge of the Cliff of Return, ultimately falling off the cliff with heavy injuries.
When he returned, he was already a Nascent Soul demonic cultivator.
At this thought, Wen Zhihan’s heart grew heavy, and his expression inevitably turned cold and stern.
Yet since he had already returned, he would not sit idly by.
“Leaving-Man Tree.”
Why don’t you just call me Tree-tree.
“Don’t always try to take advantage of people.” Wen Zhihan had no heart to joke with it. He stood up and retrieved the unassuming flower pot from outside the window,
“The items I asked you to find for me, how are the investigations coming along?”
It hasn’t even been a day yet!
“Then how many days do you need?”
A year, I suppose!
“Alright, then I’ll give you your reward a year from now.”
Fine, fine, you win! Then I’ll give you a few clues in three days, alright!
Only then was Wen Zhihan satisfied.
To resolve the mess left behind by Bai Chixin, he ultimately needed to capture Bai Chixin’s lingering soul, preferably alive.
Only by doing so could he properly tie up the remaining loose ends.
He closed the door to the main hall, seated himself casually behind the desk facing the folding screen painted with landscapes, cranes, and immortals, and slowly entered a state of meditation.
The Nascent Soul stage was so named because cultivators at this realm could refine a tiny Nascent Soul from within their dantian. In appearance and consciousness, it was identical to the main body, except that its entire form was a transparent white, and its size resembled that of an infant.
Wen Zhihan’s Nascent Soul gradually manifested within his dantian, gathering his entire body’s primordial energy before slowly leaving the physical shell. Seated atop a lotus throne in an identical posture, it slowly opened its eyes.
At that moment, the Wen Zhihan seated in the hall also slowly opened his eyes at the same time.
A Nascent Soul leaving the body was a perilous endeavor. For the vast majority of cultivators, unless faced with life-or-death crises, major senior experts would rarely risk doing such a thing.
However, Wen Zhihan had already experienced the separation of his soul from his physical flesh; he no longer feared such risks.
He had a reason he must do this.
The Nascent Soul gathered nearly ninety percent of his power, yet possessed extraordinary abilities. Freed from the constraints of his physical body while retaining the strength of his spiritual cultivation, he could swiftly accomplish numerous tasks as long as he remained undetected by enemies.
In the blink of an eye, Wen Zhihan felt the world around him shift, though he was clearly still seated indoors, his Nascent Soul’s five senses had transported him to an entirely different realm.
He intended to use the shortest amount of time to gather the most clues, finding every single identity and piece of criminal evidence related to unorthodox cultivators mentioned in the original story concerning Bai Chixin.
He would do his utmost to unearth in advance the most crucial individuals capable of framing Shen Zong and dragging him into disaster.
In the span of a single incense stick, Wen Zhihan had entered a state of wandering through the great void. Carried by the soaring and tunneling capabilities of his Nascent Soul, one piece of critical criminal evidence after another was retrieved by him, wrapped in yellow paper stamped with golden runes, and sent flying back from afar one after another.
With him so busy, three full days elapsed.
At noon on the third day, Shen Zong quietly pushed open the door to the main hall and walked up to Wen Zhihan.
“Master.”
Wen Zhihan looked up at him. Because his Nascent Soul had been separated from his body for three days, his aura and spiritual energy were somewhat weakened, making him appear like an ordinary cultivator.
He smiled faintly, showing the concern of an ordinary master. “Are your injuries any better? Have you been diligently practicing your cultivation these past few days?”
“They are much better; they no longer hurt.”
Shen Zong behaved with utmost respect before him, though his gaze drifted downward, lingering on Wen Zhihan’s waist.
“Master hasn’t changed his medicine in two days, has he? Let this disciple tidy things up for you.”
Wen Zhihan nodded and did not refuse.
Over these three days, Shen Zong had not been idle either, though rather than diligently cultivating as Wen Zhihan had instructed, he had been studying the secret art bestowed upon him by the Leaving-Man Tree.
That secret art was somewhat troublesome, demanding the right timing, location, and harmony of people. Not only did the hour and place have to be exact, but preparations had to be made in advance, culminating in human cooperation, so it could not be rushed.
Between studying this art of faking death, Shen Zong had squeezed out time to perform some auxiliary tasks.
For instance, dealing with some of the fellows who had plotted against him in his past life.
Unlike Wen Zhihan, who could directly manifest his Nascent Soul to leave the body and accomplish things swiftly, Shen Zong had spent these past two days relying on memories from his past life to capture several unorthodox cultivators of decent capability and cunning, forcefully branding them with seals and threatening their lives to make them run errands and handle matters for him everywhere.
These unorthodox cultivators were exceptionally useful; prior to his rebirth, they had been the first batch of individuals to work for him, sparing him any worries regarding betrayal.
As for himself, he only needed to continue playing the role of the obedient disciple on Qiongwu Peak, waiting daily to receive new instructions and collect the latest intelligence.
By the third day, however, he vaguely sensed that something was amiss.
Someone else shared his target: this very group of unorthodox cultivators. But their objective differed slightly, and through some unknown maneuvers, they had sent the unorthodox cultivators he wished to eliminate into a state of panic and heightened guard.
Because of this sudden variable, only half of the people he wanted to kill had been successfully eliminated, while many managed to escape in time.
During the most recent operation, the unorthodox cultivators under his command, acting on his instructions, had laid an ambush and ended up clashing with this third party operating in the shadows.
Shen Zong’s visit today was simply to confirm one thing.
Incense meant for calming the spirit burned slowly to the side. The room was dim, warm, and quiet, save for the gentle sounds of Shen Zong lightly changing his master’s robes and tending to the medicinal bandages.
As the final inner garment was peeled back, Shen Zong’s gaze landed on his shoulder blade.
A small, purplish bruise had appeared there.
From an angle where Wen Zhihan could not see, Shen Zong’s gaze turned abruptly cold, locking onto that spot with unblinking intensity.
The fellow who had ruined his plans today had been ambushed and bruised in this very spot by his subordinates.
To his knowledge, those unorthodox cultivators had not clearly seen the opponent’s appearance during the scuffle, but vaguely noticed it was not an ordinary cultivator, but rather a transparent Nascent Soul avatar.
A Nascent Soul leaving the body was an extremely dangerous affair, because during this period, the physical body and the Nascent Soul did not share power, yet their injuries, mortality, and spiritual awareness remained interconnected.
This patch of bruising was sufficient proof that the individual interfering with him during the day was none other than the Nascent Soul separated from Wen Zhihan.
Of all people, it had to be Wen Zhihan.
The moment he confirmed this, his inner demon relapsed abruptly. Crimson red flooded Shen Zong’s eyes, and his killing intent nearly robbed him of his reason.
Yet it was only nearly.
The more pressing the situation, the more he needed to remain calm.
Yet, why?
Why would Wen Zhihan risk such a danger to separate his Nascent Soul, just happening to run into the unorthodox cultivators under his control and getting injured, all just to frighten those few people?
This did not resemble Wen Zhihan’s style of doing things at all.
Fortunately, the unorthodox cultivators he dispatched had not yet exposed their bottom lines.
The smile on Shen Zong’s face remained unchanged, though dark red stained the depths of his eyes as he asked softly,
“Master, how did you get injured here?”
Wen Zhihan suspecting nothing, did not even look back as he brushed it off. “I accidentally sprained it myself, don’t worry about it.”
It sounded precisely like an excuse tossed out casually.
Shen Zong did not rush to probe further, merely offering to examine him. He lifted Wen Zhihan’s arm, adjusting the angle until he noticed that movement of the entire left arm was affected, before lowering it again.
His disciple’s movements were gentle, as though treating his revered master with the utmost care; his attitude and strength were faultless. Yet, imperceptibly, the distance between them closed. He practically pressed against Wen Zhihan’s back, stray locks of hair sliding onto Wen Zhihan’s shoulder, leaning close to his ear to whisper,
“It will swell up if left like this. Let this disciple set the bone for you.”
Wen Zhihan’s attention remained focused on his Nascent Soul thousands of miles away; had he turned back at that moment, he would have caught sight of the abnormal, dark crimson in his disciple’s eyes, the sign of an inner demon faintly stirring.
Yet he did not turn back, nor did he notice how close the distance between them had become. With his Nascent Soul separated and his defenses at their weakest, he instinctively regarded his disciple Shen Zong as the person he most trusted and felt closest to.
He even relaxed his upper body, leaning slightly toward Shen Zong. Weary as he was, he slowly closed his eyes.
“Then I’ll leave it to you.”
Wen Zhihan was indeed somewhat tired.
Ever since eight years ago, starting from fighting for survival alone in a completely unfamiliar space-time rift, he had kept all his nerves tightly strung. When every living person was a competitor for benefits, when eternal enemies coexisted only with temporary allies, he had scarcely experienced a single moment of genuine relaxation.
Yet now, he had returned; his plan to deal with Bai Chixin and the Heavenly Dao was progressing smoothly; the disciple he cared about most leaned close behind him wrapped in a gentle warmth, and the evening glow poured across the windowsill.
Everything seemed far too idyllic; Wen Zhihan’s fighting spirit was faltering slightly, making him yearn to pull his young disciple into his arms and catch up on a long, satisfying sleep.
He closed his eyes, and even when a vague thought crossed his mind that Shen Zong had yet to acknowledge him, he could not be bothered to care.
Shen Zong’s fingers rested upon the skin of his shoulder, gently massaging and relaxing the nearby muscles.
His fingers were somewhat cool, and his palms possessed the light calluses born of holding a sword year-round. As they brushed past the bruised injury with a casual touch, a faint itching sensation blossomed.
Shoulders, collarbone, side of the neck, just a few more inches closer, and he could seize the vital gateway of Wen Zhihan’s physical body.
Yet Wen Zhihan still did not dodge.
As though completely oblivious to how undefended he was at this moment, exposing such a severe vulnerability to the very person most eager to kill him.
Relying on this indulgence, Shen Zong made no effort to conceal the long-distorted malice lurking in the depths of his eyes. As though practicing for the secret art he would employ in the future, he sought out the specific acupoints he would need, once pierced, the final step of the fake-death secret art would be complete.
Yet he did not forget his primary business.
His strong arm gripped Wen Zhihan’s shoulder and arm, adjusting them to the precise angle, and then with a swift, nimble application of leverage and speed, crack.
The sprained bone and sinew of the shoulder fell back into place.
Wen Zhihan let out a slow breath. A thin sheen of perspiration coated his skin, and a trace of a smile surfaced in his slightly hoarse voice.
“Many thanks.”
Shen Zong remained silent, turning instead to tend to the wound on his abdomen. The bandages wound from his waist and abdomen to his back, tightening incrementally.
As he grasped both ends of the bandage, a slight daze overtook his gaze. He stared unblinkingly at Wen Zhihan’s profile and his straight, slender spine. The bandages binding Wen Zhihan’s body at this moment resembled a kind of rope, wrapping around him layer by layer, clutched entirely within his hands, leaving him with nowhere to escape.
A bizarre sensation welled up from the bottom of his heart, akin to the aroma rising from heated wine, roasting Shen Zong’s heart unnoticeably, bit by bit.
He gazed in a trance at Wen Zhihan, who sat there quietly with his eyes shut tight, his gaze dropping from the bruised shoulder blade down to the bite mark he had left himself.
A moment later, he resumed the action of wrapping the bandages.
Isn’t he look wonderful?
As if he’s on the verge of death.
Just now, you were imagining what he would look like completely falling into your hands, weren’t you? I saw it all.
Things like Wen Zhihan are at their absolute best when they’re half-dead and unable to speak.
The inner demon laughed aloud beside his ear, yet Shen Zong quietly bit down on the tip of his tongue, forcibly suppressing everything back down with pain.
Something isn’t quite right.
It wasn’t as though he had never witnessed Wen Zhihan in distress and injury, nor was it as though he had never tortured Wen Zhihan with various punishments, why on earth was he experiencing such a sensation now?
It felt like hunger and satiation alternating with one another.
Shen Zong finished re-tying the bandages, lifted his head to look at Wen Zhihan, who remained entirely oblivious, and his brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
Something must have gone wrong somewhere.