Shen Zong felt a natural, instinctual resistance toward Wen Zhihan’s sudden display of goodwill and touch.
Yet he never imagined that such obvious aversion could be interpreted as being afraid.
Afraid?
Are you kidding me!
Shen Zong nearly reacted on reflex, assuming this was a form of provocation, but he quickly realized he had just revealed a flaw.
For a brief, fleeting moment, the aura emanating from Wen Zhihan had turned both unfamiliar and familiar. Within his memories, the original Wen Zhihan had never worn such a look in his eyes.
Yet he calmed down almost immediately, reasoning that this was merely a false mask intentionally designed to deceive him.
As for Wen Zhihan, just what sort of person did he mistake him for, actually thinking he would feel fear?
A brief surge of anger rose from the depths of his heart, quickly prompting Shen Zong to cast aside the fleeting sense of incongruity and cease pondering the bizarre behavior of Wen Zhihan.
He forced a docile, harmless smile and made an excuse, “How could that be? Master overthinks, this disciple merely sees that the snowy cold is heavy, and Master…”
Wen Zhihan was shrouded in a layer of mist, his complexion so pale it approached translucency, save for a lingering trace of excessively vivid red upon his lips.
He looked precisely like an otherworldly specter who did not belong to the mortal realm.
Halting midway through his sentence upon encountering Wen Zhihan’s gaze, Shen Zong found himself temporarily struck dumb, abruptly forgetting what he had intended to say.
What kind of expression was that on Wen Zhihan’s face? Why did it look as though someone had bullied him, putting on such a pitiful act here?
He was even resorting to a pity ploy, it was simply—
Simply shameless!
It does not matter.
Bai Chixin had used this body to commit so many outrageous deeds, so it was only natural for the boy to fear him. On the contrary, it was he who, as a master, should not have been overly impatient.
The excuse was clumsy, but Wen Zhihan chose to pretend he had not noticed. He nonchalantly smoothed away the expression on his face and turned around to retrieve his neatly folded garments from the bank.
“This spiritual pool will not recover for the time being. Shortly, we shall head directly to another spiritual spring close by. It is very near, just a few steps away.”
As he spoke, he stood with his back to Shen Zong. Water-drenched dark hair blocked his slender spine, the ends resting precisely against his tailbone. The dripping moisture was absorbed entirely by the white bandage cinched around his narrow waist, hanging limply against his hipbones as though about to slip off.
Slender, powerful, and pale fingers lifted the dark hair from the nape of his neck, binding it high with a wooden hairpin. With a firm shake of his palm propelled by surging spiritual energy, the somewhat heavy tresses dried by more than half.
“Understood, Master.”
Shen Zong offered a respectful reply, though his gaze scrutinized him with unbridled intensity.
In his past life before he defected from the sect, he had frequently been beaten, scolded, and used as an outlet for the erratic shifts in Wen Zhihan’s moods. On several occasions, merely because he stood in the dark and watched a few moments too long, he was forced to kneel in punishment for extended periods due to showing disrespect to his superiors.
Consequently, he had always kept his head lowered, or else glared with humiliation and resentment.
Yet today, Wen Zhihan truly seemed to have turned over a new leaf.
Break.
Before long, Wen Zhihan had re-dressed in a simple layer of white robes secured by a pale blue belt, standing once more at the edge of the spiritual spring.
As that single word fell, an invisible ripple of fluctuations seemed to sweep across the air, and the pool water that had originally been as clear as jade instantly transformed.
Shen Zong felt his vision flash before his eyes, and that entire pool of spiritual spring water dried up in an instant, leaving behind only a thin puddle of water at the bottom while several spiritual herbs by the bank instantly withered.
No, this was the illusionary array that had just been withdrawn.
The pool water had likely dried up long ago, only remaining covered by a false illusion until the array was shattered just now.
Wen Zhihan had actually erected a dual-layered illusionary array around himself, yet due to his own negligence, he had failed to detect it.
Just what had this fellow been up to?
Shen Zong’s heartbeat accelerated abruptly, an emotion straddling the line between shocked vigilance and excitement.
To have directly exhausted such a massive pool of spiritual spring water, the sole possibility was that Wen Zhihan had sustained severe injuries during a time when he was unaware.
If it were merely the abdominal knife wound, it could never have reached such a severe degree.
Finally, all the discordant and abnormal details found a reasonable explanation. Wen Zhihan’s sudden kindness toward him, coupled with his adoption of his original master’s demeanor, was likely prompted by these hidden injuries.
Wishing to conceal his injuries, he was using his own riddled body as an excuse, fearing he would refuse cooperation or seize the opportunity to meddle, he had adopted a soft approach and resorted to such pathetic ploys.
Likely, it was once again a scheme directed at some opportunity related to him.
It was merely a tactic to force him into handing over life-saving fortunes that aided cultivation, tricking him into risking his life to reap profits without putting in any capital.
Though certain matters had diverged from his pre-rebirth timeline, the general trajectory remained largely unchanged.
Everything was just another new plot.
Having figured this out, Shen Zong felt a greater sense of solid grounding within his heart. That lingering unease was heavily placated, ceasing to provoke any turbulence from his inner demon.
His inner demon disliked seeing his killing intent waver, and neither did he.
Apologies.
Wen Zhihan seemed to murmur an apology toward the dry pool before leaving behind an encrypted letter in place. Under the reinforcement of spiritual arts, wisps of fluorescent light hovered around the letter, suspended conspicuously in midair.
The letter was intended for the manager of Xuanyu Cang, accessible only by the nine responsible parties of the three major clans, explaining that the spiritual spring had been overdrawn by him due to sudden and unavoidable circumstances, offering his deepest apologies.
Seeing that Shen Zong still stood motionlessly behind him, Wen Zhihan seemed to read his unspoken question and took the initiative to explain:
“In half a year, the spiritual spring will naturally recover its original state. As for the losses incurred during this period, you may have the people of Xuanyu Cang come to Cloudmist Peak to negotiate with me.”
As for why he had overdrawn an entire spiritual spring pool using an array, he could not provide a full explanation at present and would likely have to use recuperation as an excuse.
Yet after waiting a moment, he noticed Shen Zong had no intention of asking further questions.
Since his disciple did not ask, he should have found it effortless and felt pleased. Instead, he found himself recalling how Shen Zong had resisted his touch.
Wen Zhihan’s brows furrowed slightly as he let out a short sigh.
Having recalled the contents of the original work, he could no longer naively believe that his disciple held no lingering grievances toward him.
The experiences Shen Zong had endured were far more complex and perilous than he had imagined.
However, now was not yet the time to lay everything bare.
Having caught a glimpse of the heavenly secrets, before sending him back, the system had explicitly cautioned him not to casually blurt out the truth of his soul usurpation.
Fortunately, he had remembered in time, avoiding a rash and reckless move to reveal his identity while entirely in the dark.
Otherwise the heavenly dao currently still favored Bai Chixin, the transmigrator. The moment he spoke too much, the worst outcome would be a bolt of divine lightning striking him dead all over again.
Setting aside the heavenly dao, Wen Zhihan himself was psychologically unprepared.
Shen Zong’s fate was predestined to include the trial of a shattered dao heart.
As a master, he should have been the one to provide his disciple with a reliable refuge and retreat, so how could he brazenly recount to Shen Zong the perils he had braved and the immense effort and price he had paid?
Could he realistically turn the tables and demand worry and comfort from a youth who was still his junior?
Rather than turning the natural order upside down in such a manner, Wen Zhihan preferred that Shen Zong relax further, indulging in a bit more willful caprice like a genuinely cherished disciple.
Instead of bottling everything up inside his heart.
Let us go.
With the array shattered, a trace of fatigue surfaced on Wen Zhihan’s features.
The sensation of his divine soul gradually repairing itself was not unpleasant, but it left him deeply drowsy. Even while perceiving his disciple’s unnatural gaze, he chose to feign ignorance.
Since another spiritual spring lay nearby, Wen Zhihan had not bothered to dress fully. Traces of moisture still clung to his form, and a stray droplet slipped from his hairpin, landing with a soft splash against his lower leg where the hem of his robe parted.
Protected by circulating spiritual energy, walking barefoot across the snow did not feel cold, leaving behind a trail of packed snow footprints that quickly frosted over in his wake.
Shen Zong’s gaze followed the falling droplet down, lingering briefly on the footprints before shifting away. He lifted his foot to follow, walking in tandem step by step.
He gradually widened the distance between them, extracting a pouch of crimson berries from his spirit pouch.
These were the frost-lamp berries he had plucked casually along the path after disembarking the cloud-skiff.
Such berries grew exclusively in frigid regions and were not particularly rare, yet because they typically fruited at the absolute highest tips of trees, harvesting them posed a challenge.
Those who favored these berries above all else were the nocturnal fierce beasts inhabiting this snow-covered mountain.
The managers of Xuanyu Cang made no move to drive them away, having established only a strict rule forbidding anyone from wandering out at night in order to avoid these beasts.
Except for these fruits.
To ordinary cultivators, these frost-lamp berries were intensely sour and astringent, but to fierce beasts, they emitted a fatally enticing fragrance. With these in hand, one could easily lure nearby sleeping beasts straight out of their caves.
Once a real fight broke out, he would be able to ascertain just how severe Wen Zhihan’s injuries were and how much of his combat capability remained impaired.
To ensure nothing went wrong, Shen Zong had additionally smeared medicinal powder across the surface of the berries, slightly enhancing the combat prowess of any beast that consumed them.
Until the pair finally arrived beside the next spiritual pool.
The spring water was warm and brimming with pure spiritual qi, causing anyone who merely approached to feel a sense of comfort.
“Master, your bandage has loosened.”
Seizing the opportunity, Shen Zong stepped close from behind, pressing a hand stained with red fruit juice against his master’s lower back. “Should we not replace it?”
Smooth strands of hair slid past his palm. Holding him gently as though cradling a piece of tofu, Shen Zong ensured the scent of the frost-lamp berries transferred thoroughly to guarantee success.
“Hm? The bandage…”
Wen Zhihan paused abruptly. Standing at the edge of the pool without turning his head, he could clearly make out the reflection of his disciple standing in the water directly behind him.
The reflection mirrored in the spring water appeared somewhat blurred, sharing an intimate posture with him akin to ordinary masters and disciples.
He smiled softly. “Never mind that, let us change it after we leave the spring.”
More pressing matters occupied his mind. “Shen Zong, put that aside for now. Come into the water immediately, and let your master inspect the injuries upon your body.”
Just as those words fell, Shen Zong who moments prior had been fussing over whether his bandage was displaced abruptly widened the distance between them.
“Master need not trouble yourself.”
Wen Zhihan sighed helplessly, offering a patient reassurance. “I shall merely look, I will not move about randomly.”
According to the plot of the original book, wherever Shen Zong went, enemies followed. Even without Bai Chixin, countless mindless individuals harbored inexplicable malice and prejudice toward him.
Shen Zong was innocent, yet within the original narrative, it was precisely because of perennial illness and injury that he appeared exceptionally easy to bully.
Reaching out, he went to pull Shen Zong forward. “If you wish to soak in the spring, we must first determine how severe your external injuries are. If the wounds have not yet scabbed over, would it not be better to clean them before soaking?”
It would not be better.
Exposing one’s back and wounds to an enemy was the most foolish act imaginable.
Yet this enemy was Wen Zhihan, his nominal master.
Shen Zong’s expression sank imperceptibly as he slowly turned his back, his hand quietly closing around a palm-sized short blade just in case.
The moment he turned away, Wen Zhihan’s expression softened completely. Carefully peeling away Shen Zong’s layers of clothing, he revealed a back covered in horrific, jagged scars.
Indeed these wounds had never received proper treatment and had begun to fester.
Though the surface had scabbed over, residual toxins remained trapped within. He would have to reopen the wounds and clean them out meticulously.
It was bound to hurt terribly.
“Do not fear.”
Wen Zhihan pressed gently upon his shoulders. “I am going to debride the wounds for you now, otherwise they will not heal even after another month.”
Debridement?
Recalling how he had endured such treatment in his past life, seemingly subjected to immediate judgment, suffering heavier floggings that split his flesh even wider, and treated with poison as a counter-poison, Shen Zong found it utterly ridiculous.
What he called debridement was likely yet another sadistic game for Wen Zhihan to torture him and relish his agony.
Yet he did not care.
Even if Wen Zhihan carried no dagger of his own and directly snatched the blade from his grip to use without asking a single question, he still would not care.
Perhaps his subconscious act of defending himself with the blade had been discovered, and Wen Zhihan was punishing him precisely for this.
Reopening scabbed wounds was not overwhelmingly painful, falling short of the agonizing inflammation of festering injuries, but once that phase passed, Wen Zhihan produced the actual medicinal wash required for proper debridement.
“It will burn later. If you cannot endure it, bite down on me, it is quite alright.”
Assisting him into a sitting position, Wen Zhihan offered his left forearm.
As if fearing a refusal, he gave Shen Zong no time to react before tipping an entire bottle of disinfectant wash directly over the wounds.
Reaching deeper areas that required attention, he wrapped his fingers in gauze soaked with the wash, forced it into the lacerations to scrub, and repeated the flushing process.
A searing, corrosive pain akin to burning fire instantly struck Shen Zong. His body swayed, and unwilling to let out a miserable shriek before Wen Zhihan, he bit down hard on the offered arm.
How much time elapsed remained unclear. The debridement finally concluded, leaving his master’s forearm drenched in fresh blood.
Setting aside the disinfectant, Wen Zhihan gazed quietly at Shen Zong, who was dripping with cold sweat. Carefully pulling the heavily wounded youth into his embrace, he held him loosely while avoiding his injuries, gently patting and stroking his head to soothe him.