The present state was the best.
The Cliff of Returning to Heaven was wonderful, neither of them could ever leave, and spending a lifetime accompanying one another here forever was perfection.
Contemplating such a future filled the inner demon controlled by the inner self with a profound sense of satiation. Climbing onto the crude straw bed, it unfastened Wen Zhihan’s garments piece by piece, bit its own fingertip, and traced demonic cultivation seals across his master’s chest in blood.
To ordinary immortal cultivators, the techniques and power of a demonic cultivator frequently signified ominousness and evil.
Yet Shen Zong cared not, nor did the inner demon. At this moment, nothing surpassed the fact that his master remained alive.
Purplish-black demonic qi drifted between its fingers as the spell took shape, locking in Wen Zhihan’s remaining vitality while rendering the bloodstains on his chest invisible.
“Master…”
Lowering its head, letting its hair brush against Wen Zhihan’s skin, it curled up close beside his master just as it had in childhood, affectionately resting its head upon his master’s shoulder and lying down to sleep side by side.
“There is nothing left at the bottom of the Cliff of Returning to Heaven. No one will ever be able to take you away from me again.”
Seemingly temporarily satisfied, the inner demon finally fell into a deep slumber, dragging Shen Zong’s divine sense down into heaviness alongside it.
Opening his eyes once more, Shen Zong dared no longer crowd against his master. Moving cautiously off the bed, he resumed his rest on the floor beneath the straw pallet, with only a layer of old cloth cushioning him underneath, sitting and sleeping by the bedside like a stray puppy led back home.
His nerves, strung tight for so long, finally found release for the very first time. In the blink of an eye, Shen Zong plunged into a long-overdue sweet dream.
He had experienced many sweet dreams in his past life as well, typically revolving around his master.
Regardless of how hostile or cold the real Wen Zhihan treated him, within the realm of dreams, he could reunite with his former master.
If possible, he genuinely never wished to awaken from such a dream.
In sleep, everything felt remarkably real. Even if he merely practiced sword forms under his master’s guidance or shared tea while admiring the moon as usual, it felt supremely blissful, a fleeting dream capable of sustaining him with lingering warmth for ages.
Later on, he gradually grew lucid even within dreams, realizing he was dreaming.
Taking advantage of the dream state, the youthful Shen Zong grew increasingly reckless, beginning to pour out his sentiments uninhibitedly, willfully grasping his master’s hand and begging him not to leave.
“Master…”
It felt as though he had returned to the dreams of yesteryear, filled with an overwhelming grievance, though he could no longer recall what he was grieving over.
Regardless of his source of unhappiness, his master unfailingly patted his head with boundless patience, soothing him repeatedly while softly chanting his childhood name.
The warmth of the palm felt genuine, the whispers in his ear felt genuine, yet it remained a dream.
“A-Yuan, if you are sad, just cry. Master is here, it is alright.”
His master would never find him childish, never complain that his tears soiled his garments, and never blame his unreasonableness.
Even when terror gripped him, frightened that he might fail to dream of his master next time, clinging to his waist and refusing to let go, bluntly crying out not to wake up, his master merely gazed at him with a helpless sigh breathed softly against his ear.
His master would say with sorrow, “I am sorry, A-Yuan.”
No.
What wrong had his master committed?
On the day of his fall in his past life, Shen Zong had dreamed of the true master even while unconscious.
At that time, he had not yet abandoned the search for his master’s soul traces so early.
Seeing his master in a dream, he wanted to wail bitterly, yet feared having the thoughts within his heart exposed, forcing himself to put on a smiling face.
Yet the master in his dream still perceived his sadness.
He had originally intended to fake tranquility, curving the corners of his mouth into a flawless smile, he had no idea how his master managed to see through it.
His acting was so consummate that it had fooled everyone else, yet it crumbled completely the moment his master suddenly pulled him into an embrace and comforted him.
Unable to control the colossal grief, he merely clutched desperately at his master’s lapel, refusing to let go until he woke up.
Until he woke up, with his shattered body lying inside the cave, murmuring into the darkness.
“Master.”
“After my death, not a single soul in this world will remember you anymore.”
“Can I too scatter into nothingness just as you did?”
He could not help clinging to his master’s hand even within the dream, pleading in a vent of desperation,
“Take me with you, Master… Do not leave your disciple behind alone.”
Yet his master did not grant his request.
“I am sorry, A-Yuan.”
Yet he had no wish to hear an apology.
That was not what he wanted.
Nor did he know what else he still desired, or what demands he could possibly make of a dead man.
Until he crawled out of the Cliff of Returning to Heaven looking neither human nor ghost, until he stood once more beneath Qiongwu Peak as a demonic cultivator.
Gazing at that unrecognizable imposter, Shen Zong failed to understand how the identical face could morph into an entirely different visage, wishing he could hack the person into a thousand pieces.
Yet the sword he thrust hung suspended right before that face, advancing no further.
He remembered the master from his dreams.
Clearly possessing the exact same face…
He hesitated for a mere fleeting second, and that bogus Wen Zhihan narrowly escaped with his life.
When others came to assist in the battle, Wen Zhihan hid behind everyone, glaring at him with eyes brimming with loathing, as if wishing he would drop dead instantly.
Shen Zong heard that imposter say, “Do not look at me with such filthy eyes, it makes me sick.”
Just like every time in the past, whenever he merely gazed upon that face to yearn for his master, it would invite the most venomous curses or beatings from Wen Zhihan.
He never understood where he had gone wrong, or what he had done to deserve such hatred.
He merely missed his master too much, he wanted to draw a little closer, wanted to fall asleep keeping watch beside his master’s bed, wanted to gaze at his master’s back every moment, even if it was only from afar, even if his master never acknowledged him, it mattered not.
Yet that was forbidden.
Even a glance, even using the imposter’s physical form to reminisce about his master, was barred.
His inner demon told him: then hate.
Miraculously… when he glared at the imposter with absolute resentment, Wen Zhihan actually laughed with far greater joy, abandoning the insults of disgusting in favor of cursing him as weak and incompetent.
Shen Zong never understood why.
Until he returned to his dreams once more, catching sight of his master’s figure once again.
Forgetting it was a dream, he rejoiced, believing he was merely having a very, very long nightmare, thinking he had returned to the Mid-Autumn Festival of his sixteenth year. Happily, he seated himself beside his master to pour wine together.
“Children cannot drink alcohol.”
Shen Zong protested softly, “But Master, I am already grown, seventeen by nominal age, considered an adult in the immortal sects.”
“That still will not do, you are still growing.”
“Just one cup, not even a single sip, Master?”
“…Very well, it is agreed, no more than that.”
Happily raising his cup, Shen Zong clinked it gently against his master’s.
His master looked up at the bright moon while he sat beside him gazing at his master, his heartbeat quickening slightly, perhaps due to the wine.
Acting on a sudden impulse, he quietly reached out a hand and picked away a fallen petal caught in his master’s hair.
Seeming tickled, his master smiled and looked over toward him. With moist pink lips and a fragrance of osmanthus wine drifting over as he lowered his head to speak,
“What are you up to, you little mischief?”
“Disciple wishes…”
Gathering his courage and acting in accordance with his true heart, Shen Zong requested, “…It has been a long time since Master and I shared a bed. Tonight is the Mid-Autumn Festival, might we…?”
“You…”
A warm palm landed on his head, ruffling his hair. “I truly have no way to deal with you.”
Shen Zong felt light as a feather, yet it was not enough, still not enough.
That dream had been exceptionally long and absurd, leaving him dazed for a long while even after waking.
Until he woke up covered in sweat, accidentally catching sight of the bronze mirror on the side.
He saw his own face.
—A face brimming with desire and emotion, with a startling yearning hidden in the depths of his eyes.
In a panic, he retreated abruptly and shattered the bronze mirror.
Thank goodness it was a dream.
Thank goodness… it was merely an absurd dream.
Shen Zong repeatedly told himself that dreams counted for nothing, nor could they prove anything, he must not let his mind wander.
Yet following that night, for reasons unknown, he failed to dream of his master for a long time.
Though his room was filled with portraits of his master, for many days he subconsciously dared not step inside, only to suddenly push the door open on the seventh day and add a mole onto the thigh of his master’s portrait.
Followed by another dozen-odd days of avoiding the room.
…It was merely a dream.
Shen Zong awoke from his dream.
This time, truly awake.
Inside the cave, by the straw bed, hearing his master’s murmurs in unconsciousness, he hurriedly rose and gently clasped his master’s hand.
“…Mm.”
His master furrowed his brows deeply, his eyelashes fluttering as he slowly blinked awake.
“Mas…”
“A-Yuan!”
Awakening abruptly from a nightmare, Wen Zhihan pulled the youth directly into his embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around him.
“A-Yuan!”
A slightly choked, trembling voice that sounded as though he had regained something lost echoed by the youth’s ear. “A-Yuan… Thank goodness, you are still alive.”
Perhaps newly roused from a nightmare, or perhaps due to the dim lighting and sparse spiritual energy, Wen Zhihan remained immersed in the joy of rediscovery, completely failing to notice the anomalies in the youth’s body.
After a long moment, Wen Zhihan released him, nervously and anxiously inspecting his injuries.
The heavy scent of blood overwhelmed everything else. The cold, slender touch against his palms chafed at Wen Zhihan’s nerves, causing him to fumble clumsily at the mere sight of bloodstains, not daring to touch him casually again.
The child was injured so severely, yet his own actions had been rash just now. Had he hurt him?
This was the bottom of the Cliff of Returning to Heaven, the two of them had fallen from such a towering precipice, had his disciple been terrified? Was he still harboring a desire for death at this moment?
Having been unconscious for too long, Wen Zhihan’s memory prior to the fall had grown somewhat hazy. Subconsciously bringing to mind the scenes witnessed in the original work, he grew overwhelmingly anxious.
A match crackled nearby, snapping as it burned. With firewood running low, the firelight had gradually shrunk, plunging the surroundings into deeper darkness and concealing the unnatural expression upon Shen Zong’s face.
“Master.”
Lowering his head, Shen Zong forcefully choked back the sob in his throat. To prevent his abnormal emotions from being detected, he dug his fingernails hard into his palms,
“Have you… forgotten? It was you who protected disciple, risking your life during the fall. Disciple sustained no injuries, whereas you…”
This was his master.
His master had finally awakened, he could completely fling himself forward to wail and reunite with his master.
Yet he did not do so.
Dazed for a moment, Shen Zong endured it all.
His master remained his master. It was he who had been in the wrong, whose mind had been deluded by the inner demon, recognizing his master far too late and committing so many wrongdoings.
He had failed his master.
His master remained his master… In his past life, this was something he would not even dare to dream of.
Yet he was no longer the A-Yuan of his master’s memories.
He had caused all of this.
“Master…”
Straining to pull off a well-behaved smile, he asked carefully, “Does your body… still hurt?”
Hurt?
Wen Zhihan blinked. As his overly agitated emotions gradually calmed, he took a few beats longer to register his physical condition.
It was admittedly somewhat dreadful, but already far superior to his expectations.
Pain was simply the sensation he was most accustomed to, amounting to nothing.
Moving his arms a few times, Wen Zhihan allowed himself to be supported by Shen Zong as he slowly lay back down. “There is nothing major. After all, your master possesses Nascent Soul cultivation, even if this physical shell were completely destroyed, I would not truly perish so long as the Nascent Soul remains intact.”
He uttered these words intending to soothe Shen Zong, hoping to prevent him from taking physical injuries too heavily, while harboring a trace of selfish desire to subtly emphasize the benefits of cultivating immortality.
Yet the moment the words left his lips, Shen Zong’s previously smiling face collapsed into gloom, and his entire person visibly wilted.
Eh?
So long as the Nascent Soul remains, the physical body can be reshaped, was this not common knowledge in the cultivation world? Why did saying it make him unhappy instead?
Wen Zhihan hurriedly continued coaxing, “It is truly fine, I…”
Shen Zong raised his head, his eye sockets slightly reddened, instantly cutting off Wen Zhihan’s following words.
Yet the next second, he put back on his well-behaved smile and nodded, “Master is right.”
Wen Zhihan nodded in agreement.
“But Master, this is the Cliff of Returning to Heaven.”
Shen Zong continued, issuing a soft reminder while deliberately omitting any mention of malignant entities, “We are currently at the bottom of the cliff. Disciple has already scouted the area, the surroundings are perilous in the extreme, and spiritual energy is completely absent. Master, even if you possess a Nascent Soul, you are not entirely safe.”
Let alone the Nascent Soul stage.
Arriving at a place like the Cliff of Returning to Heaven, no one could afford the consumption. Whether Transcending Tribulation or Void Training, regardless of how lofty one’s cultivation might be, escaping was impossible, leaving solely the outcome of running dry of vitality.
Moreover, his master had been caught off guard, having been poisoned by him at the time, leaving him powerless to defend himself.
Yet what did it matter how wondrously boundless his master’s divine abilities were?
Was he supposed to watch his master’s physical body get gnawed away to nothingness by a swarm of malignant entities? Or watch his master lose all breath and pulse, growing ice-cold all over, leaving only a tiny Nascent Soul to sustain life?!
Unobtrusively suppressing his restless guilt and maintaining his breath as steady as possible, Shen Zong gritted his teeth and remained silent.
Wen Zhihan quickly managed to recall certain matters.
Ah, yes, the Cliff of Returning to Heaven.
He seemed to have indeed sustained grievous injuries, yet felt vastly better now… He could not have been unconscious for too long, right? Had Shen Zong paid an unwarranted price in order to treat him?
Feigning complete ignorance of the current situation, Shen Zong lowered his head and said, “Disciple caused us to fall to this realm and suffer such heavy injuries, I beg Master to punish me.”
Watching him offer a plea of guilt, Wen Zhihan felt a surge of heartache.
He sighed softly, “What wrong have you committed?”
Teeming with a vague anxiety, Wen Zhihan gently pulled Shen Zong’s arm, stealthily probing his disciple’s wrist pulse to confirm he had not cultivated demonic arts. Finding the Golden Core stable, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Recalling various events from the original work, he felt compelled to offer comfort,
“The heavens never cut off all avenues of escape, do not worry, Master will lead you out of this place very soon.”
“Master, I am not worried about that.”
Raising his head, Shen Zong offered a faint smile as he looked at him. “Disciple is not in a rush to leave this place. I ask Master to patiently recuperate from your injuries first, and we can discuss other matters later.”