Child

Just as he was pondering this, a figure abruptly darted from the side, crashing into him. Lin Langyao froze for a moment.

In that instant, the wooden bucket was knocked from his grasp, and water sloshed across the floor.

The spirit vulture, which had been awaiting its drink in the trough across the way, innocently swiveled its eyes to regard him.

Snapping back to reality, Lin Langyao’s eyes widened with a brewing fury as he spun around to confront the perpetrator, only to behold a sack, seemingly endowed with legs, scrambling wildly across the floor.

Lin Langyao: “?!”

Lin Langyao stood utterly dumbfounded. ‘Had he stumbled upon some malevolent spirit so early in the day?’ he mused. ‘Could sacks gain sentience now?’ Suddenly, a muffled human voice emanated from within the sack, pleading for help. Stepping forward, he tore away the sack, only to reveal a small child who had been trapped within.

Finally rescued, the child scrambled free, gasping for breath, then made a surprisingly proper bow to Lin Langyao, saying, “Many thanks for your assistance, Fellow Daoist, many thanks…”

The child looked up, pausing in surprise. “Huh… do you not have spiritual power?”

This was truly rubbing salt in the wound. In principle, Lin Langyao refrained from laying a hand on children, yet if they managed to irk him, he certainly wouldn’t hesitate to administer a swift punch.

Perhaps sensing the imminent danger, the child let out a small shiver, rubbing their hands together with an awkward chuckle. “I sensed a pure spiritual energy approaching while I was in the sack, and thought it was a passing Fellow Daoist, but now it seems it must be because of this Withering-Flourishing Nine Breaths Pill you’re wearing.”

“Withering-Flourishing Nine Breaths Pill?”

At their words, Lin Langyao instinctively brought his hand to his chest.

Indeed, a pill, strung on a red cord, hung around his neck. Lately, Wen Chaoxuan had a habit of briefly stepping out, only to return with an assortment of bizarre herbs and elixirs, which he would then bid Lin Langyao to consume. Lin Langyao remained oblivious to the purpose or efficacy of these concoctions, yet he dared not defy Wen Chaoxuan’s words, thus, he obediently followed every command. It had never occurred to him that such a small child could identify the elixir by name. He couldn’t help but voice his surprise, “How do you know that? I don’t take kindly to jests; if you dare to fabricate a name to deceive me, I’ll stuff you back into that sack and kick you around like a ball.”

Such a venomous threat! Who would speak such words to a mere child? The child immediately cried out in injustice, “I’m a medical cultivator, and an alchemist to boot! Why would I possibly deceive you about such a matter? The Withering-Flourishing Nine Breaths Pill is an exceptional medicinal ingredient for regulating one’s meridians. Observing this pill, its perfect coloration and pure, untainted fragrance suggest it is of the finest grade. A single one is worth a thousand pieces of gold, incredibly precious; while wearing it as you are now is acceptable, it would be better to slice it and consume it in smaller doses… Huh, wait, that doesn’t quite add up. The Withering-Flourishing Nine Breaths Pill is an elixir meant for cultivators to regulate their meridians, but you don’t even have spiritual power, so why are you wearing it?”

“Do you want to know why?” Lin Langyao smiled, crooked a finger at them. “Come closer, lend me your ear.”

Curiosity piqued, the child leaned closer, when suddenly, a hand seized their plump cheek and yanked with force—

A pained shriek pierced the air in the inn’s backyard.

****

Once Lin Langyao had finished watering the spirit vulture, he casually brushed off his sleeves and sauntered back to his private room.

Wen Chaoxuan was inside, lost in thought as he gazed at a geomantic compass. Lin Langyao knew he was once again divining the movements of the tribulation-resolver, and greeted him nonchalantly, “Master, still haven’t figured it out?” Kicking off his shoes, he immediately sprawled onto the daybed.

Wen Chaoxuan remained in his posture, the compass still in hand, his face impassive, and stated, “Get off.”

Lin Langyao had barely settled onto the bedding when, upon hearing that single word, he immediately and compliantly sat back upright.

Wen Chaoxuan instructed, “Come here, give me your hand.”

Lin Langyao dutifully approached the table and offered his arm for Wen Chaoxuan to take his wrist and examine his pulse. Wen Chaoxuan’s hand, long and warm, was the hand of a swordsman, bearing the rough, hardened calluses of one who wielded a blade. The instant that hand met Lin Langyao’s wrist, that patch of skin involuntarily flared with a burning heat. It was utterly bizarre, so much so that it sent shivers down his spine.

To quell this peculiar sensation, Lin Langyao averted his gaze, looking out the window. Beyond the pane lay the pristine white snowscape of Jiuyuan’s winter. More than ten days had now elapsed since Lin Langyao’s cultivation had been utterly abolished. Many assumed Wen Chaoxuan was approachable, but this was, in fact, a profound misunderstanding. Wen Chaoxuan was simply a man of integrity and amenable to reason; he did not exploit his formidable cultivation to oppress others, but this hardly implied a gentle disposition. On that day at Qintian Peak, in the presence of the Three Great Aristocratic Families and Five Major Sects, he had abolished Lin Langyao’s cultivation, which was considered a form of accountability to the cultivation world, and temporarily assuaged the conflict. Once Lin Langyao had recuperated for several days, Wen Chaoxuan promptly departed north with him.

Lin Langyao remained bewildered by his Master’s intentions, yet Wen Chaoxuan had requested the bronze mirror bequeathed by the artifact cultivator.

Wen Chaoxuan took the mirror, turning it over and examining it intently, a pensive look etched upon his features, before posing a question Lin Langyao had never once contemplated: “This mirror was merely damaged by external force, so is it possible that it can be repaired?”

Lin Langyao stood agape, speechless for a considerable duration.

Wen Chaoxuan scoffed, a cold smile playing on his lips, and from his expression, it was clear that his unfortunate disciple had not engaged his mind in the slightest. He had habitually considered drawing his sword to discipline him, but upon seeing Lin Langyao’s frail frame, rendered so vulnerable by the loss of his cultivation that a mere breeze might topple him, he ultimately could not bring himself to strike.

So, the master and disciple prepared themselves and set out for the Heavenly Craftsman Pavilion (TL Note: Tian Gong Ge, a place known for its skilled artisans and artifact refinement) in Jiuyuan. Upon learning of their intentions, Old Sect Master Li specifically sent a spirit vulture, as Lin Langyao was now no different from a mortal, and while Wen Chaoxuan could transport him by riding the wind, the pace would be exceedingly slow, and Lin Langyao would still require periodic stops for sustenance and rest.

Old Sect Master Li had spoken thus: “This affair has escalated to its present degree, and I am not entirely blameless. Master Lu was prompted to visit Chaotian Pavilion because of my counsel… I realize it is belated to speak of this now, but while Pavilion Master Lin’s disposition is somewhat unruly, having incited no small amount of grievances, despite his playful provocations, whether in friendly duels or challenging various sects, he always knew when to cease. While he was undoubtedly at fault, his transgression did not merit the complete eradication of his cultivation. The Lu family incident is exceedingly intricate…”

Wen Chaoxuan inwardly admonished himself, ‘I cannot strike him, I must not strike him,’ ‘at least not until he achieves Foundation Establishment.’

Once Wen Chaoxuan concluded his pulse diagnosis for Lin Langyao, he waved a dismissive hand, indicating that Lin Langyao was free to do as he wished. Lin Langyao asked, “Master, when are we going to the Heavenly Craftsman Pavilion?”

Wen Chaoxuan mused for a moment. “As the wind and snow have ceased, we can set off today.”

Another thought suddenly struck Lin Langyao. He plucked the elixir from around his neck and idly spun it between his fingers as if it were a small orb. “Master, I just encountered a medical cultivator, and they claimed this single pill is worth a thousand pieces of gold.”

Wen Chaoxuan responded with an indifferent air, “Oh, really?”

Lin Langyao drew a sharp, silent breath. “But we have an entire box…”

Wen Chaoxuan’s brow furrowed. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“Master, just tell me a little, I swear I won’t tell anyone,” Lin Langyao whispered conspiratorially, his voice hushed, “Did you… go out and rob someone?”

Lin Langyao possessed a keen awareness of his and his Master’s meager financial standing. For centuries, Wen Chaoxuan had embodied the ideal of an incorruptible and ascetic (TL Note: A Chinese idiom, ‘liang xiu qing feng, xi feng yin lu,’ describing someone who is upright, poor, and lives self-sufficiently, unconcerned with worldly possessions or wealth) existence. While Lin Langyao had later founded Chaotian Pavilion, barely accumulating any assets, these amounted to little more than provisions and daily necessities, offered as gestures of goodwill by various sects. They possessed precious little gold or silver. For Wen Chaoxuan to return from a single excursion laden with numerous strange elixirs and spiritual medicines, Lin Langyao racked his brain, utterly unable to conceive of any other explanation apart from robbery.

Wen Chaoxuan lifted his gaze to meet Lin Langyao’s and stared fixedly for several seconds, sending a shiver of apprehension down Lin Langyao’s spine. Suddenly, Wen Chaoxuan beckoned him with a subtle crook of his finger.

Lin Langyao had an inkling that this scenario felt familiar, yet his body had already instinctively moved closer, before his cheek was suddenly pinched and yanked with force—

Having been expelled from the private room, he proceeded to the backyard to check on the spirit vulture once more. He appeared utterly dispirited, entering the stable with vivid red finger marks marring his face, and thought to himself, ‘It would be best if no one dared to provoke me now.’

Yet, as if fate itself conspired against his desires, Lin Langyao had barely begun to cultivate a connection with the spirit vulture when a boisterous figure suddenly burst into the space. Startled by the piteous cries, Lin Langyao whirled around, only to see the child from the sack scrambling and tumbling towards him, shouting as if he had found his salvation, “Fellow Daoist, save me!—”

The word “Scram” had not even fully left Lin Langyao’s lips when, unexpectedly, the child moved with astonishing speed. He felt a violent tug at his waist, causing him to stumble, as the child had already launched themselves, latching onto Lin Langyao’s waist and seeking refuge behind him.

“What are you doing? Are you asking for a beating…?” Lin Langyao was utterly bewildered (TL Note: A Chinese idiom, ‘er zhang he shang mo bu zhao tou nao,’ meaning to be utterly confused or at a loss), and was in the midst of reaching out to pull the child away, when a sudden, overwhelming surge of murderous intent washed over him, causing the instincts of a swordsman to ignite within him. In a fleeting instant, he abruptly spun around, his pupils contracting sharply, his obsidian eyes mirroring the chilling, moon-like glint of an approaching blade.

His physical reaction outpaced his neural response. Though Lin Langyao had been stripped of his heaven-defying cultivation, the blood of a swordsman still coursed through his veins. Once one cultivates the sword, they cultivate it for life. For the past century, through scorching summers and biting winters, beneath blazing sun and torrential downpours, his unwavering practice, never ceasing for a single day, had etched that singular movement deep into his very bones, like an indelible brand upon his soul. Lin Langyao—drew his sword!

“Clang—”