Responsible

Young Lin Langyao suddenly jolted awake.

He blinked sluggishly, his small hands clenching tightly on his neatly knelt knees.

A profound drowsiness still clouded his mind, leaving him momentarily disoriented about his whereabouts, a blank expression etched upon his face.

He felt a strong sense that he shouldn’t be here, nor should he look this way, yet he couldn’t recall where he was supposed to be.

The ethereal swordsman in white, noticing his distraction, suddenly flicked his wrist.

A surge of energy shot from his fingertip, precisely striking the child’s forehead.

“Ow!” Lin Langyao yelped, jolted backward by the force and tumbling onto his back behind the low desk.

Lying on the ground, he felt the light before his eyes being blocked by a figure.

The pristine, unsullied hem of a plain white robe swayed before him, drawing his gaze to follow its movement.

Wen Chaoxuan remained silent for a moment.

“Get up,” he then commanded.

Lin Langyao’s eyes rolled, and he felt a strong urge to feign pain and remain sprawled on the ground indefinitely.

He was utterly fed up with studying; his Master’s lectures on scriptures and Daoist principles were completely incomprehensible to him.

Having been scolded multiple times for lacking spiritual insight, a rebellious and self-indulgent thought began to fester within him.

But…

Yet, he knew that if he truly acted on that impulse, Wen Chaoxuan would undoubtedly grow angry.

Lin Langyao was still very much afraid of this Master.

Although his Master had brought him back, provided him with food, clothes, and a roof over his head, the man’s uncharacteristic coldness during those initial days had cast a significant shadow over his heart.

At the time, Lin Langyao couldn’t understand why Wen Chaoxuan rarely spoke to him.

On the vast mountain, it was just the two of them—Master and disciple—and Lin Langyao could only hope for conversations with Wen Chaoxuan.

However, apart from imparting lessons and Daoist teachings, the man remained largely silent, either meditating with his sword or busying himself with other tasks.

Whenever Lin Langyao wished to speak, Wen Chaoxuan would instruct him to practice swordsmanship.

Lin Langyao would then drag the small wooden sword Wen Chaoxuan had crafted for his temporary use out of the house, stand beneath the bamboo trees, and perform a perfunctory imitation of sword forms for a while.

As soon as the man’s attention wavered, he would immediately drop the sword and sneak off to peek at what Wen Chaoxuan was doing.

He was utterly fascinated by Wen Chaoxuan.

A child of his age, often considered a nuisance by both people and animals, was naturally prone to curiosity about the outside world.

Yet, he was confined day in and day out on this towering, isolated mountain peak.

Having flipped over every stone and dug up every mound on the mountain, with nothing left to play with, he had no choice but to turn his attention to studying his own Master.

At that time, Lin Langyao was still unaware that his Master was the most formidable swordsman in the entire world.

Consequently, every time he attempted to peek, Wen Chaoxuan would catch him red-handed.

On one occasion, he believed he had discovered a foolproof method to avoid detection.

He stealthily climbed onto the thatched roof, and after roughly confirming he had found the location of Wen Chaoxuan’s sleeping quarters, he excitedly pulled apart the roof’s straw thatch, creating a hole to peer down.

Unfortunately, Wen Chaoxuan was bathing in the room that day.

As a strand of straw floated down into the bathing tub, the man, who had been meditating with closed eyes, opened them.

He remained silent for a long moment, then suddenly raised a hand and waved it toward the ceiling.

A surge of spiritual energy shot forth, and young Lin Langyao promptly tumbled headfirst into the water-filled wooden tub.

Splash! Water sprayed everywhere.

Wen Chaoxuan grabbed Lin Langyao by the collar, lifting the boy who had choked on several mouthfuls of water, head down.

Seeing the unlucky child’s face turn crimson from sputtering, he could only raise a hand and pat his back.

Once Lin Langyao had recovered, Wen Chaoxuan abruptly asked, “Do you like men?”

“What?” Lin Langyao asked, bewildered.

“Why do you always peek at me?” Wen Chaoxuan stated.

‘Because you never talk to me, of course,’ Lin Langyao thought, then quickly realized the gravity of the situation.

‘How did I get caught again?!’

Before Wen Chaoxuan could react, he violently wriggled free from his grasp, scrambled over the wooden tub using both hands and feet, tumbled onto the floor, then swiftly scrambled up and bolted out the door.

However, he hadn’t taken more than a few steps when a flying iron sword struck him, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground with a thud.

Wen Chaoxuan, in a rare display of disheveled appearance, emerged from the room.

He was hastily draped in white robes, his belt loosely tied, and his damp hair still rested on his shoulders.

He walked over and picked up the fallen child.

“Master, I was wrong, Master! I’ll never dare to do it again, please forgive me!”

Wen Chaoxuan carried him into the inner sleeping quarters, dropped him onto the floor, and with a single hand holding his sword, drew a circle on the ground.

“You shall reflect on your actions here today,” he stated with a stern expression.

Wen Chaoxuan closed the door and left.

Lin Langyao sat blankly on the ground for a while, then suddenly sneezed.

Only then did he remember to take off his wet clothes.

Naked, he wanted to go back to bed to fetch a blanket, but as he stood up and walked forward, he suddenly collided with something, making stars dance before his eyes.

Rubbing his forehead, Lin Langyao incredulously looked up, then haphazardly felt around him.

He discovered something terrifying: Wen Chaoxuan had drawn a barrier, trapping him in place!

Lin Langyao was stunned.

The barrier seemed to be soundproof, for no matter how much he yelled, there was no sound from outside.

He could only sit naked on the ground until nightfall.

Although it was summer, the temperature difference between day and night on the mountain was extreme.

As the sun gradually set, the air grew colder and colder.

Lin Langyao sneezed repeatedly, eventually becoming dizzy and lightheaded.

When Wen Chaoxuan finally remembered to release his mischievous disciple, he pushed open the door.

What he saw was the child curled into a ball, hugging his knees, covered in half-damp clothes, trembling like a pitiful, bedraggled stray dog.

Wen Chaoxuan was speechless.

“Ah—choo!—”

Lin Langyao had fallen ill, lying listlessly beneath his covers.

Wen Chaoxuan’s slightly cool palm pressed against his burning forehead, his brows tightly furrowed as he determined that the boy had caught a cold.

“As a cultivator, how can your body be so frail?” he chided.

“You catch a fever simply from falling into water.

Will you dare to neglect your practice in the future?”

Lin Langyao argued spiritedly in his own defense: “But I haven’t become an immortal yet!” (TL Note: At that time, Lin Langyao had not yet begun Qi Refinement, the initial stage of cultivation.)

“And if it weren’t for you, Master, achoo—forgetting me in the room, achoo—I wouldn’t have gotten sick, achoo—!”

Wen Chaoxuan was silent.

Upon closer inspection of the blame, Wen Chaoxuan was indeed at fault; he should not have forgotten that his disciple’s clothes were still wet and left him confined in the room for so long.

However, no one had ever dared to admonish him in such a manner before.

Without a word, Wen Chaoxuan abruptly withdrew his hand, rose, and exited the room.

After blowing his nose with a handkerchief, Lin Langyao realized the room was empty once more.

Only then did a delayed wave of panic and fear wash over him.

‘Is Master angry?’

He had spoken impulsively and argued back, and now he was engulfed by the fear of being abandoned.

Outside, the night was pitch black, and inside, a solitary candlelight flickered.

The silent loneliness of the night easily swelled and grew, suffocating him.

The child twisted his hands beneath the covers, agonizing for a moment, then unable to bear it any longer, he threw off the blanket and scrambled out of bed.

The next moment, Wen Chaoxuan entered the room, carrying a bowl of freshly brewed ginger soup.

Seeing Lin Langyao about to get out of bed, he stated impassively, “Lie back down.”

Lin Langyao uttered a soft “Oh,” and the tightness in his chest suddenly eased.

He then swiftly pulled his limbs back into the covers, wrapping himself snugly.

Wen Chaoxuan brought the bowl to his lips.

Lin Langyao obediently took a sip, then immediately stuck out his tongue, overwhelmed by the spiciness.

Seeing this, Wen Chaoxuan reached out and pinched the back of his neck, much like one would grip a dog’s scruff, forcing him to open his mouth and drink the entire bowl of soup.

Lin Langyao, overcome by the spiciness, continued to pant and stick out his tongue.

Tears welled in his eyes, his small face burned crimson, his eye rims were red, and his lips were red.

He sniffled, utterly deflated.

Wen Chaoxuan put down the bowl, intending to simply instruct him to sleep well and then leave.

However, as he turned, he caught sight of the child’s utterly pathetic, drooping appearance.

His heart stirred involuntarily.

After a moment of hesitation, he raised a hand and awkwardly stroked the boy’s fine, soft hair.

“It won’t happen again,” the man said.

Lin Langyao wondered if his ears were playing tricks on him.

Was Wen Chaoxuan apologizing to him?

Sensing his Master’s softened demeanor, Lin Langyao’s heart swelled with joy, and he pressed his advantage.

“Then can I talk to you in the future?”

“Why would you want to talk to me?” Wen Chaoxuan asked, his brows slightly furrowed, his eyes reflecting confusion.

“But people always have to talk and chat with each other,” Lin Langyao replied, perplexed by his Master’s confusion.

“Otherwise, how would I know what you’re thinking?”

“Why do you need to know what I’m thinking?” Wen Chaoxuan asked.

‘Because I want to understand you,’ Lin Langyao thought.

At that moment, a sudden flash of insight allowed him to perceive the genuine bewilderment in Wen Chaoxuan’s question.

His Master, despite appearing immensely powerful and knowledgeable, was utterly clueless about ordinary human emotions and desires.

He couldn’t comprehend why Lin Langyao would be so intensely curious about him, nor did he understand why people needed to understand each other.

To him, two individuals living under the same roof was akin to drawing a circle on one side and another on the other, with everyone remaining in their respective circles, not interfering with one another.

However, the restless Lin Langyao always lingered at the edge of that clearly defined boundary, itching to step into his Master’s circle.

Lin Langyao pondered for a moment, then tentatively said, “Because I want to make you happy.”

“If you were more diligent in your studies, I would naturally be happy.”

Lin Langyao was silent.

“But, but you can’t *only* be happy because of my studies, can you?” Lin Langyao said, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

“Master, you should be happy in your daily life too.”

“I am not unhappy,” Wen Chaoxuan stated.

“You’re just not unhappy, but you’re not happy either,” Lin Langyao emphasized, highlighting the distinction between the two states.

Wen Chaoxuan fell silent, seemingly in thought.

After a long pause, he said, “Then, would you also be happy if I were like that?”

Lin Langyao paused, then nodded vigorously.

“Then so be it.”

Wen Chaoxuan nodded, indicating his understanding, then collected the bowl and turned to leave the room.

From that day forward, Wen Chaoxuan never again refused Lin Langyao’s attempts at conversation.

During his idle moments, Lin Langyao would also notice the man’s gaze often falling upon him, intentionally or unintentionally.

That focused look was as if he were earnestly studying Lin Langyao’s joys and sorrows, his every emotion and desire.

Occasionally, he would ponder why, if humans were born with emotions, some would need to learn to comprehend what “emotion” truly was.

He wondered if Wen Chaoxuan had truly learned.

Lin Langyao’s thoughts snapped back to the present.

Under Wen Chaoxuan’s gaze, he sprang up from the ground with a carp-like flip.

Wen Chaoxuan asked him, “Where did I leave off in the lecture?”

Lin Langyao uttered a hesitant “Uh,” unable to answer.

Wen Chaoxuan then changed his question: “How much of the foundational Qi Refinement cultivation technique I told you to memorize have you learned?”

Lin Langyao scratched his cheek, gestured with his hand, and replied with little confidence, “About half and half…”

That profound and intricate foundational cultivation technique was difficult even to recognize the characters for a child like Lin Langyao.

Having been urged by Wen Chaoxuan to read it repeatedly for a month, memorizing half of it was already quite an accomplishment.

Wen Chaoxuan’s quiet gaze fixed steadily upon him.

Lin Langyao, unable to bear the scrutiny, immediately corrected himself: “Seventy or eighty percent… no, no, about ninety percent! I’m sure I can memorize the remaining ten percent if I review it a bit!”

“With such an attitude, how can you ever bear great responsibility in the future?” the man asked, his slender brows furrowed and his face taut.

This was a subtle precursor to his anger, yet Lin Langyao didn’t quite grasp the source of his displeasure.

It was strange, but Wen Chaoxuan always seemed to place immense expectations on him, as if it would be an unforgivable offense against natural law if Lin Langyao failed to become an unparalleled talent.

Lin Langyao, utterly bewildered, chuckled and said, “Master, you’re already so powerful.

What great responsibility needs me to shoulder it? It’s enough just to have you here.”

“What if one day I am no longer here?” Wen Chaoxuan ignored his flattery, urging him to sit upright and open his book.

Lin Langyao, with the frankness of a child, randomly flipped to a page, holding a messy bamboo brush.

“Then I’ll just go with Master,” he declared.

“Wherever Master goes, I’ll go.”

****

A gust of wind suddenly swept through, overturning everything onto the ground.

Lin Langyao stood stunned, clutching his brush, several ink stains blooming across the front of his clothes.

He foolishly looked up at his Master, whose face was contorted in a rage he had never witnessed before.

The white-robed swordsman closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and asked, “Is it true that no matter what, you are unwilling to study?”

Lin Langyao opened his mouth, his throat working with difficulty as an uncontrollable panic surged through him.

He could feel that Wen Chaoxuan was truly angry this time.

He tried to salvage the situation: “No, that’s not it, Master… I, I’ll study, I promise I won’t slack off anymore, please don’t be angry…”

Lin Langyao quickly turned to pick up the scattered books, paper, and inkstone.

When he finally looked up, his arms full of the jumbled items, he found that Wen Chaoxuan was gone.

The room felt utterly empty, with shifting bamboo shadows dappling the cold desk.

The child felt as if he were trapped in a terrifying nightmare.

Clatter.

The items scattered across the floor once more, but Lin Langyao paid them no mind, rushing out the door.

He searched everywhere on the mountaintop for any sign of Wen Chaoxuan.

He scoured the front and back of the house, but he never saw that familiar white-robed figure.

The midday sun beat down on his head, making him feel dizzy and disoriented.

Lin Langyao, with dragging, despondent steps, returned to his room.

He flopped onto the edge of his bed and rubbed his eyes miserably, forgetting that his hands were still stained with ink from picking up the inkstone earlier.

This left streaks of grime across his tender, pale face.

He knelt motionless by the bed like a stray puppy, cradling his sorrow and sadness, and gradually drifted off to sleep.

He slept until dark, awakened by a movement within the room.

Joyfully, he opened his eyes and immediately rushed out of the bedroom, preparing numerous apologies to offer his Master.

However, he hadn’t realized there was no lamp lit in the room.

He stumbled over something in the gloom, falling to sit on the floor, and watched as the loose window pane rattled against the frame in the wind.

Only then did he slowly realize that this was the sound he had just heard.

Lin Langyao was speechless.

His limbs cold, he scrambled up from the floor.

The desolate moonlight streamed through the small window, and suddenly, even the wind ceased.

A deathly silence enveloped everything.

In the vast, boundless darkness, a sudden feeling of being abandoned by the entire world welled up within him.

He hadn’t returned.

This time, Master did not appear the next moment, carrying ginger soup and pushing open the door.

On this high peak, far removed from the human world, if Wen Chaoxuan were absent, there wouldn’t even be a flicker of candlelight.

By the time Lin Langyao collected himself, he was already running through the darkness, his cheeks stinging from being scraped by branches in the woods.

He shouted “Master!” as he left the familiar, cherished thatched hut and rushed down the mountain.

This was the first time he had left the mountain without permission since Wen Chaoxuan had taken him as a disciple and brought him to Qintian Peak.

In the past, Wen Chaoxuan had stood by the cliff edge, pointing to a boundary he had drawn, and told Lin Langyao: “There is always a give and take.

If you are determined to seek immortality and the Dao, you are destined to forsake the mortal world.

Henceforth, without my permission, you must not leave the mountain alone.

If you step across this boundary…”

“What will happen?” Lin Langyao asked curiously.

“If you cross the boundary,” Wen Chaoxuan said earnestly, “no matter how far you go, I will find you.”

Young Lin Langyao sprinted madly down the mountain.

His departure triggered the formation Wen Chaoxuan had set up on the mountaintop, and white light rose from the ground, following him like a shadow, leaving a long, winding trail behind.

As he ran, his sash snagged on a coarse bush, causing his feet to falter.

He tumbled head over heels directly down the slope.

Just as he was about to fall, dizzy and seeing stars, Lin Langyao suddenly crashed into a warm embrace.

Strong hands supported his body, steadying him and pulling him securely into a hug.

Wen Chaoxuan’s clothes still carried the chill of the night wind from his swift arrival.

He ran a hand over his disciple’s body, confirming that he hadn’t suffered any serious injuries.

His voice, uncharacteristically urgent, asked, “In the middle of the night, who told you to leave the mountain without permission!”

Lin Langyao ignored his reprimand, his small hands clutching his clothes, and simply buried his head into his chest, refusing to be pulled away.

Just as Wen Chaoxuan was about to forcibly lift him to lecture him, he suddenly felt a cold dampness against his chest.

The child’s tears soaked through the fabric, cold and wet against the man’s skin.

His body curled into a tight ball, clutching Wen Chaoxuan’s robes as if they were a lifeline.

Low, choked sobs emanated from him, breathless and ragged, making Wen Chaoxuan stiffen all over, unsure of what to do.

“You lied…” Lin Langyao sobbed, hiccuping.

“You said it wouldn’t happen again… and you left me again…”

Wen Chaoxuan froze, startled.

He had casually made that promise, yet he hadn’t expected Lin Langyao to remember it so deeply.

He had always prided himself on his integrity, never easily breaking his word or vows.

Now, facing his disciple, he was utterly speechless.

He stood there for a moment, holding the gradually quieting Lin Langyao, then gently stroked his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

But at that moment, Lin Langyao didn’t know if that apology was for leaving him, or because Wen Chaoxuan couldn’t fulfill his promise.

Wen Chaoxuan carried him, walking step by step up the mountain under the moonlight, returning to their shared small hut.

As he placed the crying, exhausted Lin Langyao onto the bed, Wen Chaoxuan gently tried to pull away the small hand that stubbornly refused to release his robes.

The moment he did, an unprecedented feeling of profound melancholy surged from the depths of his heart, overwhelming him like a tide, leaving him bewildered and at a loss.

“Even as Master and disciple, there will be times when our paths diverge,” he murmured.

“In the days to come, you must learn to walk your own path.”

Wen Chaoxuan seemed to be speaking to Lin Langyao, yet also to himself.

Lin Langyao, asleep in bed, knew nothing.

He merely turned over and softly mumbled in his sleep:

‘…Master.’

****

‘…Master.’

Lin Langyao habitually let out a muffled cry, sleeping restlessly.

Perhaps it was from shouting too much the previous night, but he felt a burning sensation in his throat and an intense thirst.

There seemed to be the sound of someone moving in the room.

Soon after, that person stood by the bed, gently raising his head.

A cool porcelain cup touched his lips, and a little sweet water was fed into his mouth.

Lin Langyao’s thirst was quenched, and he quickly sank back into the covers, falling into a deep sleep.

He slept for an unknown duration, as if lost in an exceedingly long and ancient dream.

When he finally opened his eyes in the hazy light, he immediately saw the white-robed figure seated by the window.

Silence slowly permeated the ambiguously warm room.

The faint winter sunlight illuminated only Wen Chaoxuan’s profile, the greater part of his face lost in obscure, indecipherable shadow.

He resembled a stone statue, solidified for ages, seemingly untouched by the passage of time.

No one could tell how long he had been sitting there—perhaps only a moment, or perhaps for an eternity.

Lin Langyao’s stirrings brought Wen Chaoxuan back to reality.

He turned his head, and his eyes met Lin Langyao’s directly.

Wen Chaoxuan immediately rose and walked to the bedside, pressing down on his disciple who was attempting to sit up.

He dared not look at Lin Langyao, as if even a single glance more would be a grave sin.

His eyes fixed on the patterns of the silk quilt, he spoke to Lin Langyao with a calmness that was clearly forced: “I’ve already applied the medicine for you.

Lie down a bit longer.

Tell me if you need anything.”

Lin Langyao opened his mouth, found his voice incredibly hoarse, and closed it again.

Obediently, he lay back down under the covers.

He scratched his head.

Yesterday’s events had occurred too abruptly and coincidentally; he knew in his heart that Wen Chaoxuan would be greatly shocked and find it difficult to accept upon waking.

He himself didn’t particularly mind such matters.

As a disciple, it was only right to brave fire and water for his Master.

Moreover, doing this would only cause a bit of pain, not even threaten his life.

In such an emergency, there was no other choice; what happened, happened.

However, given Wen Chaoxuan’s earnest and serious nature, it would undoubtedly be difficult for him to come to terms with it immediately.

He would surely inquire about the circumstances after being affected by the illusion.

Lin Langyao had already prepared himself to answer Wen Chaoxuan’s questions, but Wen Chaoxuan remained silent.

The man simply sat by his bedside, his silence almost terrifying.

Beneath his sleeve, the veins on the back of his swordsman’s hand protruded from excessive force, indicating that the hand’s owner was currently making an extremely difficult decision.

In a flash, Lin Langyao suddenly realized that something dreadful might be about to happen.

He immediately struggled to sit up, forcefully gripping Wen Chaoxuan’s hand.

He opened his mouth, frantically wanting to call out “Master,” but only a hoarse, indistinct sound emerged.

Wen Chaoxuan turned his head to look at him, his face calm, yet tinged with the relief of a decision finally made.

“I’ve made up my mind…”

Lin Langyao closed his eyes in despair, like a condemned prisoner awaiting his sentence.

“…Since this has already happened,” Wen Chaoxuan slowly began.

“I will take responsibility.”

…

…

…

Lin Langyao opened his eyes, his face utterly blank.

“What?”