The Leaving-Man Tree had previously made independent promises to both Shen Zong and Wen Zhihan.
The most crucial task among them had already been successfully fulfilled—or rather, successfully fulfilled by its own definition—allowing the entire world to begin mourning for Wen Zhihan while simultaneously capturing the specific lingering soul that Wen Zhihan had sought to apprehend.
Although the condition of that lingering soul was somewhat less than ideal at present, it had been successfully caught nonetheless.
Heaven knows the sheer amount of mental effort the Leaving-Man Tree, as a plant with rather limited human empathy, had expended in order to secure benefits from both parties simultaneously.
As a result, having barely managed to pull it off, neither of its two employers deigned to pay it any mind.
Not to mention that its double-dealing actions were rapidly approaching the point where they could no longer be kept under wraps.
Fortunately, Shen Zong was presently in no position to settle accounts with it. Reaching a place like the base of the Cliff of Returning to Heaven left him practically unable to protect even himself.
Deep within the mountain cave, devoid of all spiritual energy, yin and deathly energies held the absolute upper hand. For a cultivator, it was akin to a fish out of water, making every step an agonizing struggle.
Wounds healed at a crawl in such an environment. Even though Shen Zong channeled massive amounts of spiritual energy into Wen Zhihan, it achieved little more than attempting to fill a bottomless abyss.
His brow was drenched in cold sweat. To realign Wen Zhihan’s broken bones, his prolonged and intense concentration had already exhausted an overwhelming amount of mental energy.
The Leaving-Man Tree failed to comprehend his actions.
Clearly, this was his most hated enemy; why go to such desperate lengths to pull him back from death’s door?
Its main body was not located here, nor did it fear death, so upon the thought arising, it simply voiced the question.
[Isn’t this just perfect?]
Shen Zong raised his head, his gloomy eyes staring fixedly at the speaking sapling out of the gloom, as if calculating precisely where to ignite a fire to turn it into a pile of charcoal.
[Y-You, stop that, it’s terrifying.]
The Leaving-Man Tree silently distanced itself from him,
[I’m just trying to comfort you with kind intentions! Look, nobody knows you’re still alive right now, Wen Zhihan is injured, and his life and person belong entirely to you. You can finally do whatever you please, taking revenge and settling grudges as you like. Why are you still pulling such a long face?]
“Get lost…”
Shen Zong appeared intensely tempted to beat it soundly, but ultimately restrained himself, bringing a single fist down heavily against the rock wall instead. “I told you before to stay away from him. You didn’t obey at all, did you?”
[Um… well, there were extenuating circumstances.]
“You really did make a deal with Wen Zhihan.”
Shen Zong finally perceived certain clues. Though lacking concrete evidence, the guilty panic written across the Leaving-Man Tree’s form instantly confirmed his suspicion,
“Then you should know by now that if he dies here, your reward goes up in smoke.”
[Oh, that won’t happen.]
The Leaving-Man Tree flicked its leaves, instinctively brightening up.
[The man is actually rather trustworthy. Because there was a possibility he might die, he handed over all the agreed-upon compensation in advance!]
What?
A wave of dizziness struck Shen Zong once more.
Yet he still heard his own voice continue to press the inquiry, its tone and pitch remarkably clear and calm,
“He knew he might die.”
[Isn’t that obvious? You were being encircled by over a dozen sects!]
“So he paid you in advance…”
Shen Zong murmured, “And in advance, he gathered so much evidence… Wen Zhihan, he… what else did he do?”
The Leaving-Man Tree shook its branches and leaves, indicating there was nothing more.
Nothing more?
Shen Zong snatched it up by the stalk, ripping its roots straight out of the earth. “How could there be nothing more?”
The Leaving-Man Tree shrieked and struggled.
[Even if you threaten me, I can’t conjure up a new last will and testament!]
“He isn’t dead…”
The movements of the man and the tree were violent enough to make their elongated shadows leap wildly in the flickering firelight. Shen Zong hastily released it, turning around to tend to the everlasting lamp burning beside Wen Zhihan.
Three lamps had been placed near the makeshift straw bed, positioned respectively at Wen Zhihan’s head and sides. Working in tandem with a formation and a White Spirit Pearl placed within Wen Zhihan’s mouth, they held back a single thread of lingering vitality.
At present, however, the flames of two among those lamps suddenly began to flicker violently. Should they extinguish now, rekindling them would prove impossible.
Shen Zong cupped his hands around the weakest flame, sheltering it. After a long moment, once the tongues of fire ceased their erratic dancing, he finally relaxed his muscles.
He had already reset Wen Zhihan’s bones, stanched his bleeding, and applied medicine, yet should they fail to leave this place in time, Wen Zhihan might still perish.
He had tumbled down the cliff himself; he knew precisely how agonizing the fall was and how excruciatingly difficult it was to survive by one’s own efforts.
In his past life, he possessed fortuitous encounters and was fated not to perish, but Wen Zhihan was different.
What if Wen Zhihan had not pushed him away at the very last second, but instead exerted every effort to protect himself?
What if at that time, the medicine he administered had not taken effect right on cue, allowing Wen Zhihan to circulate his spiritual energy to shield his physical body?
What if he had not knocked away the Fuyue Sword, or had not fallen under the control of his inner demon?
Yet everything seemed already too late.
“Wen Zhihan…”
He muttered the name repeatedly, letting the words of “comfort” unintentionally uttered by the Leaving-Man Tree echo back and forth through his mind.
—Isn’t this just perfect?
Indeed.
Was this not precisely what he desired?
‘Wen Zhihan’ had fallen into his hands with no reinforcements in sight, and he himself had sustained minimal injury. What was wrong with this outcome?
Even the exhaustion of spiritual energy mattered not; the catalyst for his demonic cultivation lay precisely here at the base of the cliff. He knew what must be done, and at any moment he could abandon the orthodox Dao to embrace demonic cultivation. Once he did so, the environment of the cliff bottom would no longer be able to hold him back.
Shen Zong laboriously conjured up his prior plans and hypotheses.
Following the fall, he had not even needed to forge a corpse for Wen Zhihan; he could directly reduce that physical shell into a hollow vessel devoid of soul, and execute everything he wished to do, everything he had run out of time to accomplish in his past life…
He could imprison his enemy’s soul and subject it to endless, unending torment.
Yet why did he hesitate to strike?
The cave entrance was guarded by the Leaving-Man Tree, temporarily eliminating any need to worry about the intrusion of malignant entities, let alone the alternation of day and night outside. Watching the steady burn of the everlasting lamps, though evidently little time had elapsed, Shen Zong felt as though each day dragged on like a year.
He stared fixedly at Wen Zhihan’s pale face, speaking to himself,
“Who… on earth… are you…”
In the past, the mere emergence of a flicker of wavering intent within his mind would have summoned his inner demon to roar with laughter and hurl mockery, driving his thoughts with murderous intent and madness to occupy his brain entirely.
Presently, however, the inner demon remained utterly silent.
As though it had perceived something, it deliberately concealed itself deep within his sea of consciousness, denying him any excuse to shirk responsibility, affording him no avenue to evade reality, and forcing him to maintain absolute clarity.
As Shen Zong’s inner demon, possessing supposedly nothing more than raw instinct, it understood better than anyone how to drive him into a new kind of desperate strait at this very moment.
A desperate strait named reality.
The inner demon no longer whispered bewitching words into his ear, no longer reiterated that [this is your enemy], no longer interrogated him about [why are you wavering now], no longer mocked him as a [naive coward], and no longer insisted that [you clearly know he cannot possibly still be alive; he is utterly dead, his soul scattered to the winds!]
Scarcely a moment prior, the inner demon had still been exceedingly rampant.
[You know better than anyone that Master cannot come back!]
Yet at this moment, only that damned Leaving-Man Tree remained, ignorantly and irritatingly questioning and reminding him.
[Shen Zong, why are you making that face? Are you scared?]
Scared?
Shen Zong lowered his head, catching sight of his own trembling fingers.
His limbs were freezing and his vital energy was reversing, leaving him scarcely capable of channeling further spiritual energy. The clarity talisman had instantaneously burned away to nothingness, failing to produce any effect.
A sudden thought striking him, he fumbled across Wen Zhihan’s cooling body, attempting to unearth further proof that Wen Zhihan was merely Wen Zhihan.
During the treatment of his injuries, nearly all of Wen Zhihan’s garments had been torn away into tattered rags barely serving modesty; fumbling across them now yielded nothing save a tiny spirit pouch.
Spirit pouches typically featured simple restrictions, serving primarily to deter casual thieves and treasure-grabbers. Wen Zhihan’s pouch proved exceptionally easy to unlock.
The contents stored inside were thoroughly ordinary: a handful of medicine vials, some bandages, and other commonplace necessities.
Shen Zong rummaged further, unearthing a small scroll.
He froze momentarily.
He had seen this scroll before. A few days earlier at Qiongwu Peak, Wen Zhihan had secretly inscribed something upon it, though he had lacked the time to inspect it closely then.
He gently unrolled the scroll, and several lines of familiar handwriting drifted into his field of vision.
[Eight years]
[The person subjected to possession]
[Bai Chixin] [ motive unknown]
[Lingering soul fragments, northwest direction]
[Xuanyucang √]
[Protagonist—] [Bai Chixin once claimed the protagonist cannot die] [Possibly driven by interests]
[Shen Zong]
[Heavenly Dao]
…
[The unorthodox cultivators will frame A-Yuan, evidence…]
[Who spread the arts of demonic cultivation? Bai Chixin? Accomplice?]
[Dragon Valley]
[Encirclement]
Shen Zong stopped reading before reaching the end, his fingers trembling as the scroll slipped from his grasp to the ground.
His cognitive faculties grew sluggish and stiff; he found himself practically incapable of linking this string of terms together, yet the handwriting inscribed upon the paper proclaimed everything.
That was… Master’s handwriting.
An identity could be assumed, a soul could be stolen via possession, but handwriting could not deceive.
His initial suspicion that his master had been replaced by another originated precisely from the writing of that fellow.
His master’s calligraphy possessed the delicate elegance of bamboo, blending gentleness with strength, particularly when writing the character ‘Yuan’, where the final vertical stroke was consistently drawn longer, concluding with a stroke both sharp and light, resembling a drooping long sword.
When writing the character ‘Ren’, his master habitually adopted a square, imposing layout. Once upon a time, while writing, his master had told him that writing reflected one’s character, and one had to stand upright to remain fearless.
…It had been a very, very long time since he last laid eyes upon his master’s handwriting.
The details he had assumed would fade from his memory remained startlingly fresh.
He had never forgotten them after all.
[Do not fear…]
[Master is here…]
[A-Yuan.]
Auditory hallucinations suddenly rang out in his ears. Shen Zong collapsed to his knees, gasping for air as though suffocating, clamping his hands tightly over his ears, yet that familiar, faintly trembling whisper continued to haunt him.
[A-Yuan… you will not come to harm…]
[You must remember, no matter what occurs in the future, Master will always stand on your side.]
No.
[Master believes that even if… one day I am no longer here, relying solely on your own strength, your immortal path will remain broad and unhindered without issue.]
Incorrect.
[Shen Zong, if one day you discover… that Master has kept secrets from you…]
[When did you learn to drink?]
[A-Yuan. I am deeply grateful for today.]
Impossible—
[Shen Zong, once this matter concludes, let us take a trip to Yongjing Prefecture together; I… have something I wish to tell you.]
Darkness blanketed Shen Zong’s vision as he faintly caught the sound of someone crying out in agonizing pain.
[Your master is truly a strange individual, dragging you into such misery and covering you in wounds on one hand, yet treating you with such tender care on the other, funneling spiritual energy and exhausting his vital essence to heal you throughout the entire night…]
The Leaving-Man Tree chattered away in his ear. Before that wave subsided, past remarks from his inner demon replayed in his mind as well.
[A creature like Wen Zhihan is at his absolute best when he’s half-dead and incapable of speech.]
This is wrong…
[A-Yuan.]
Ultimately, he heard Wen Zhihan’s voice once more.
[Everything is fine now.]
The accumulation of past events washed over him like an avalanche, encompassing Wen Zhihan’s every word and action, his hesitation to speak, and the numerous discrepancies he had either intentionally or unintentionally overlooked.
Shen Zong clutched at his head as though seizing a lifeline, questioning and becoming hysterical like a madman.
That entity pushed him away in return, bidding him to stop throwing tantrums.
[Right, exactly, it’s Bai Chixin! He’s the one who had me search for a lingering soul named Bai Chixin, and now we’ve caught him!]
[What does it have to do with me? If you don’t want him dead, save him yourself, why are you throwing a fit?]
Save him?
Shen Zong finally loosened his grip on the Leaving-Man Tree. His vision cleared slightly from the dizzying darkness as he rasped out his words in a voice raw with blood, inquiring in a low tone,
“How… how do I save him?”
The Leaving-Man Tree let out a mischievous chuckle, maliciously rubbing its leaves together.
[You promised me, remember? Once I accomplished what you wanted, you would obediently cultivate in demonic arts.]
[Once you embrace demonic cultivation, your strength will naturally multiply tenfold, and pulling a cultivator back from the brink of death will be effortless. By then, I’ll take both of you out of here. How’s that, quite a bargain, right?]
“…Demonic cultivation.”
Hearing those two words, Shen Zong’s expression shifted drastically. He froze in place, looking uncharacteristically awkward and flustered as he turned back to glance at Wen Zhihan’s unconscious face.
As if caught in the act of committing a misdeed.
“No…”
He instinctively refuted, “Master won’t like it…”
Stunned by the impact of simultaneous extreme grief and joy, his vital energy reversed and his meridians rebelled, causing fresh blood to stream from both ears and eyes. Yet he remained utterly oblivious, forcing his eyes wider to see clearly, casting him in the appearance of a vengeful ghost crawled straight up from hell against his pale complexion.
Frightened, the Leaving-Man Tree shrank back, but Shen Zong merely crawled forward on his knees for two steps and seized his master’s sleeve.
“He will be disappointed…”
[You don’t have a choice anymore, though.]
[A gentleman’s word is his bond, how can you go back on it? If you don’t cultivate demonic arts, you won’t be able to save Wen Zhihan’s life, you know!]
Clutching his splitting head, Shen Zong felt as though every meridian in his body were on the verge of snapping.
The Leaving-Man Tree continued to offer counsel in his ear.
[Look, even if you refuse to cultivate demonic arts, even if you wash your hands of Wen Zhihan, you’re still a dead man walking anyway.]
[Your Dao heart has cracked to this extent, I can feel it. Right now, only demonic arts can save you. I’m telling you this for your own good~]
[Besides, you know,] the Leaving-Man Tree wracked its arboreal brains for further arguments to persuade him,
[Don’t you still want to clear Wen Zhihan’s name? Only by cultivating demonic arts will those charges become indisputable! Otherwise, even if he dies, he might not die with a clean reputation!]
“Wrong…”
Furrowing his brows in agony, Shen Zong endured the torment as he grabbed a tight hold of the Leaving-Man Tree. “You knew all along… didn’t you? You knew about the body possession all along, you knew what Master was trying to do, yet you refused to admit it, you clearly knew…”
[Shen Zong, there was nothing I could do.]
[This is the arrangement of the Heavenly Dao; the two of you cannot fight against the Heavenly Dao.]