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墨書 Inktalez
After the matters were settled, Spirit Sword Destiny dismissed everyone.
As he turned around, he saw the Master and Xu Xiaofei walking side by side.
What had they discussed in that room? Had they already recognized each other as father and son? Looking at their expressions, they seemed to be more familiar with each other, even though it was only their second meeting.
He couldn't help but wonder.
With the Master present, he would surely sense his prying, so he dared not eavesdrop. Yet he was eager to know what had transpired during this meeting. There had originally been no one else beside the Master, just himself... but now there was Xu Xiaofei. When he looked at Xu Xiaofei, did he also think of his mother? What kind of woman was she? Would they talk about her together?
He gazed at Shen Jinglan, and although his expression remained unchanged, his heart was in turmoil.
Shen Jinglan was also looking at him, and then at Xu Xiaofei.
A cold wind blew past, causing pain in his chest again, and his throat began to itch; he forced himself to suppress the urge to cough. A deeper shadow appeared in his eyes.
Xu Xiaofei was like his past, his future, yet much brighter than his own.
He had experienced Autumn Moon, Spring Breeze, Summer Lotus, and Winter Snow. The landscapes he had seen in this life far exceeded those of most people in the world; he should be satisfied... But could the scenery below truly be all that one person could see?
Earlier in the room, he had entrusted both the Evil Sect and Spirit Sword Destiny to Xu Xiaofei. This young man was capable of bearing such a heavy responsibility. He wouldn't live much longer, but they still had a long time ahead of them—at least hundreds of years, possibly thousands. He knew Xu Xiaofei's feelings for Spirit Sword Destiny, and he could see that Spirit Sword Destiny was not entirely indifferent towards this young man. There was a bond between them that would ultimately connect their hearts.
By then, perhaps he would have transformed into a breeze passing through the forest or a handful of snow accumulated on a high mountain...
Could he truly let go of all this?
—But what if he couldn't let go?
Xu Xiaofei broke the silence first, saying, "I have troubled your sect for many days; it is time for me to leave."
He bid farewell to the two individuals from the Evil Sect.
Although he liked them both and wanted to get closer, they had never exchanged a word, yet the gaze they shared still pierced his heart.
His heart ached, and he felt like an outsider.
As long as Shen Jinglan was around, he could not insert himself between these two. Perhaps he should wish for Shen Jinglan's death more than anyone else, but he found himself not wanting Shen Jinglan to die.
He really should return; if he didn't go back to Xiaoyao Sect soon, his senior brother would probably worry about him getting into trouble or going missing. His ties to Xiaoyao Sect were not yet severed, and he did not want to silently betray them by joining the Evil Sect. With his current abilities, staying would not help much.
There would be plenty of time in the future; they would surely meet again.
He turned to leave, and the two behind him watched until his figure disappeared.
Even though it was winter, the camellias planted in the garden were still blooming, releasing their fragrance.
Spirit Sword Destiny's gaze shifted back to the flowers, and he suddenly asked, "Master, did you come specifically to see that Xu Shaoxia?"
Shen Jinglan glanced at him with clear eyes: "I came to find you."
He replied, "I know you have many things to attend to. I can stay in Central Continent for another month; wherever you go in this month, I will follow. If there are any troublesome people or matters, I will handle them for you." He smiled again, "After this month, even if you ask me for help, I won't be available."
"Master..." Spirit Sword Destiny stared at him, his throat choked with emotion, unable to speak for a moment.
Tears blurred his vision.
He wasn't particularly obedient... why did the Master accommodate him so much?
This did not sound like something a superior would say to a subordinate, but it absolutely resembled the words of a gentle and indulgent mentor speaking to a junior who had always been sheltered under their broad wings.
He had indeed been protected by the Master for a long time.
How much longer did the Master intend to protect him?
He suddenly smiled, "Coincidentally, I was just about to ask the Master where we want to go this month. I've come to realize that the matters of the sect can never be fully resolved, and I don't need to handle everything personally. I originally planned to eliminate those two escaped traitors and cleanse several branches of internal spies, but I have already assigned people to take care of that." He said softly, "For this month, I won't do anything. Wherever the Master wants to go, I'll accompany you."
Shen Jinglan looked at him and smiled slightly.
"This is yours," he said.
In an inn in Jinping City, Xu Xiaofei had gone to bed early as he needed to travel the next day.
As darkness fell, he found himself once again trapped in that timeless dream.
This dream seemed very long, very long...
Dreamscape · Four
As soon as he fell into the dream, Xu Xiaofei immediately sensed something was off—he was no longer the carefree immortal once regarded as a Corpse by others but had transformed into the boy deeply connected with him in past dreams. It felt as if he were merely floating outside the world, looking down at everything happening below.
The boy he embodied was now likely in the town where they first met.
In the tranquil town with flowing bridges and swaying green willows, pedestrians hurried past, and vendors shouted loudly. He held an open scroll in both hands, asking everyone around him. The ink on the scroll was smeared, making it impossible to see what was depicted.
"…Take another look, look closely."
"......Have you never seen him?"
"......Has this person really never been to the town before?"
The scene shifts.
From the bustling market, it transitions to indoors.
It should be in the boy's home.
Except for the three walls lined with bookshelves, every wall is covered with scrolls. A glance reveals that they all depict the same person—
With flowing black hair and ethereal garments.
"Who are you? Who are you? I have never seen you before, just a fleeting encounter! Why is it that... after just one meeting, I can't stop thinking about you, and I keep dreaming of you?"
The boy gazes obsessively at the figure in the painting, whispering urgently.
Suddenly, he yanks the scrolls off the wall, tearing them down one by one and tossing them into a copper basin filled with burning charcoal.
The flames leap high at once.
"Dark Arts, it must be you who cast the Dark Arts!"
He stares at the scrolls being consumed by fire, his expression hinting at madness.
Then, without regard for anything else, he reaches out and snatches a scroll that is mostly burned from the flames. Even in his dreams, he can feel the searing pain from the fire scorching his fingertips...
Stone Slab Cold.
He knelt on the cold stone slab floor, his head bowed. His legs ached to the point of numbness, as if he had been kneeling for a long time.
In his ears, a woman was sobbing, and there was the angry roar of an elderly man.
"Unfilial son... unfilial son! You think you can break off the engagement? Even if I tie you up, you will still go and marry! As for seeking immortals and asking for guidance, don't even think about it. Focus on your studies; our Xue Family has a tradition of scholarship and does not associate with those mystical monks!"
He gritted his teeth and remained silent.
The woman continued to cry and persuade, "My lord... Yin Er must be under some spell. He used to be so obedient... and was getting along well with the Qin Family girl. How could he suddenly... change so drastically? Don't punish him! We can find... a highly skilled Taoist priest to exorcise Yin Er. Please don't punish him!"
He slowly got up from the ground, staggering as he rose.
The surrounding scene changed completely.
What had just been the hall of a prosperous family was now a frozen street, where the snow underfoot had turned into a layer of slippery ice. It seemed he had almost fallen just moments ago.
He had originally worn a scholarly blue robe that, while not luxurious, was clean and tidy, without a single patch. Now, however, he looked much more disheveled; his outer robe was not only worn but also too thin to withstand the harsh winter cold.
He walked through the streets, heading further away from the center, where the houses became narrower and the clothing of passersby grew increasingly shabby.
Turning around a corner, he saw an old man huddled in rags, with a broken bowl in front of him. Thin ice floated on top of the bowl, which contained not even a single copper coin.
He stopped and hesitated for a while before pulling out a steamed bun from his pocket, breaking it in half, and bending down to offer it.
He seemed to recognize this old man.
"Don't beg here, you know? Find another place! No one here can afford to eat, and there's no extra money for you. Take this piece of steamed bun and leave quickly."
The old man did not respond or make a sound. He didn't even open his eyes.
He suddenly froze.
The old man's skin was a bluish-purple, his eyes tightly shut, and he had long since stopped breathing.
He stood up again.
"Alas..." he said softly, "it's better this way; at least he won't have to suffer from hunger and cold anymore."
Why is winter so long?
Why hasn't it passed yet?
His expression darkened, and as he lifted his foot again, his steps became heavier.
As night fell, he walked through the muddy ground covered in ice, taking deep and shallow steps, like a ghost on the verge of collapse.
It seemed he would soon be overwhelmed by poverty.
But as the scene changed from night to day, he realized that time had moved forward again; he had held on and had not collapsed yet.
A fresh fragrance wafted through the air, and he saw a branch of delicate yellow flowers shining like sunlight.
It was Forsythia.
The first branch of Forsythia in early spring!
He smiled. He was quietly calculating his expenses; he had found a place for part-time work. Although the pay was meager, at least he wouldn't starve. It had been quite difficult at first! Coming from a wealthy family, he had devoted himself to studying since childhood and had never worried about making a living. Therefore, when his money was stolen by thieves, he nearly couldn't survive. Fortunately, he managed to overcome this hardship with his own hands.
"In a while, when it gets warmer and I've saved up some money, I'll go look for 'him' again."
He said to himself.
"However, I can't be too harsh on myself when it comes to food; I need to eat enough... Otherwise, my strength will keep declining, and if I get sick, it would be troublesome; I can't afford a doctor."
He indeed felt that during this cold and hungry winter, his health had deteriorated significantly. He often felt weak and perhaps had developed some underlying illness.
He decided not to think about it any further.
Winter had passed, and spring had arrived. He did not reach out to pluck that bouquet of flowers, but the Forsythia had already brought golden sunlight into his heart.
With a smile in his eyes, he walked forward; ahead was an embankment that crossed the lake.
For some reason, a group of bystanders had gathered by the lakeside, stretching their heads to look into the water.
As he walked past the crowd, he casually glanced into the lake.
It was a corpse... Although it was early spring, there were still ice shards floating on the lake, chilling to the bone. Even if the person hadn't died upon falling into the water, they would surely be dead by now.
He suddenly stopped in his tracks.
The slight smile on his face turned into surprise and fear.
It’s impossible…
It’s impossible…
He must be seeing things; it absolutely cannot be the person he has in mind, it just can’t!
As a Daoist who does not partake in the mundane world and rides the winds, how could he drown in a lake?
He suddenly turned around, pushing through the crowd and making his way inside.
The corpse was being pushed closer to the shore by the water waves.
He could see more clearly now. He wasn’t mistaken—despite only having a fleeting connection, he recognized him! The dozens of portraits that once hung on the three walls were all drawn by him, and he was already very familiar with this person’s figure and appearance.
The people around him murmured in pity; corpses that had frozen or starved to death occasionally drifted down from upstream, all of them poor souls who had lived in misery. Many had grown accustomed to it. But this one, tall and well-proportioned, with clothing that looked quite fine, must have been a handsome and charming noble young master in life. How could someone like him die on the lake instead of seeking pleasure in a warm, spring-like boat?
He gradually stopped hearing what others were discussing. He felt cold from head to toe, and his heart sank to the depths.
He refused to believe that the man was dead, yet there he lay with his eyes tightly closed, unmoving, allowing the waves to carry him up and down.
It was as if he were truly dead.
If those he sought were no longer around, what was he struggling for?
The crowd gasped.
He jumped into the lake; the water was colder than he had imagined, chilling to the bone, terrifyingly cold.
He struggled to swim towards that person, regardless of whether they were dead or alive... he had to pull them back to shore!
His hands and feet were numb from the cold, suddenly igniting like a raging fire. His strength had almost burned out the moment he entered the water. This was beyond his limits. He felt as if he would collapse at any moment, completely fall down, and sink forever to the icy depths.
But he actually managed to drag that person onto the shore.
A kind-hearted person helped him up as he crawled onto the land, and the stunned crowd instinctively made way for him.
The sound of his heart pounding in his chest turned into a deafening roar, drowning out all the murmurs of those around him. He knelt beside that person, gasping for breath, having lost all his strength.
He knew he was close to death.
Until the end, he would never understand what kind of "Dark Arts" had befallen him. He had been living well in Hometown Town, with a prosperous family and a deeply affectionate Childhood Sweetheart. His Teacher at the academy praised him for his intelligence, saying he would surely achieve success in the future. All of this changed because of a chance encounter with this person, and they hadn't even exchanged many words!
But...
If he were to die alongside this person, it seemed... he could also find some satisfaction in that.
At least he could see them one last time before dying.
Tears fell onto that person's face.
Suddenly, that person opened their eyes and embraced him.
It was still those eyes he often saw in his dreams, unforgettable and clear. When he first saw them, he didn't think much of it, but as time passed, he gradually realized that from the very first moment he laid eyes on those orbs, he had already fallen under their spell.
"Can you tell me what exactly you used... the Dark Arts?"
The world spun, and darkness enveloped everything.
...
The dense ink gradually faded, eventually transforming into a slowly dissipating Mist.
Xu Xiaofei realized he had flown out from the Mist, rising into the air. His vision cleared, and when he looked down, he saw that the dissipating Mist was framed within a long scroll laid flat on a table.
These scenes were all presented within the painting.
And he himself had transformed back into that carefree immortal.
"So that's how it is..." he let out a soft sigh.
Regarding his previous experiences, the boy had always refused to tell him the truth, but as an immortal, he certainly had many ways to uncover what had happened.
With a wave of his sleeve, the scroll turned into a burst of golden light and flew back into his robe. He turned around and suddenly froze.
"You..."
If he hadn't been flustered, he would have noticed this much earlier.
The boy stood at the door, having no idea how long he had been there, gazing at him with a dazed expression. His face showed a mix of embarrassment and sorrow, along with a hint of relief. Upon noticing that he was looking at him, he turned and ran away.
He chased after him, having instantly figured out what to do.
This dream lasted until dawn.
Xu Xiaofei lay in bed, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the somewhat blinding sunlight streaming in through the window.
In the end of that dream, he and that boy should have had a happy ending... But why did he feel a sense of loss in his heart?
If they truly achieved fulfillment, how could he be here, alone and cold, sleeping in an inn?
He dared not think further about what they went through afterward.
He also couldn't think any longer; every attempt to recall would send sharp pains through his head.
He had remembered some fragments, and as he pieced them together, he vaguely felt that the truth was flashing before his eyes. But this glimmer of insight was so elusive, always slipping quietly through his fingers.
Xu Xiaofei suddenly thought of Shen Jinglan and Spirit Sword Destiny.
Perhaps deep down, he had already realized who he was; it was just that he had not yet become aware... It was this inner voice that urged him to get closer to these two people.
He wondered where those two were at this moment and what they were thinking.
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