White Jade City, the City Lord’s manor.
Su Zhiyuan gripped the jade communication slip tightly, fine beads of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
On the other end of the slip, the White Jade Sect Master, Guo Shouren, was roaring in fury: "Useless! The Immortal Master's auspicious day is approaching, yet you let the joyous papers turn to ash? Su Zhiyuan, are you tired of living?"
Su Zhiyuan’s heart was filled with bitterness.
"Sect Master, please appease your anger! This official... this official does not know why either. The joyous papers enshrined in the secret room turned to fly ash overnight... I have always enshrined them carefully and never dared to be negligent!"
"Humph!" Guo Shouren’s voice grew even colder. He didn't want to hear explanations; he only wanted a solution. "How much flesh and blood can refugees provide? Figure it out yourself. I’ll give you three days to produce new joyous papers. If the Immortal Master's grand event is delayed, you know the consequences."
"Yes! This official will see to it immediately!" Su Zhiyuan quickly complied.
After a long silence, Guo Shouren asked again, "How is the General Star?"
"Everything is under control. I have acted according to the plan. The General Star destiny has been violently shaken, and the energy of his flesh and blood is pouring out. He can be used as a perfect vessel at any time," Su Zhiyuan reported hastily.
"Very well. You must watch him closely; there can be no mistakes. Once the matter is successful, the Immortal will reward you." Guo Shouren’s tone held a hint of satisfaction before he cut off the communication.
Su Zhiyuan let out a long breath. Thinking about the impending success, his expression turned longing, but it quickly darkened as he sharply called for a confidant. "Where is Jian Huaishuang? Where is he now?"
Several subordinates looked at each other, not quite understanding Su Zhiyuan's meaning.
One of them replied, "My Lord... since that day at the city gate, no one... no one has seen Immortal Master Jian. We thought... we thought you had other arrangements..."
"A bunch of useless trash!"
Su Zhiyuan was so angry that the veins on his forehead bulged. He was cautious by nature; to avoid alerting Jian Huaishuang, he had never explicitly mentioned the task Guo Shouren had assigned him, only telling his men to keep a secret eye on him.
He hadn't expected his subordinates to misunderstand his intentions, thinking he didn't care. Furthermore, since Jian Huaishuang held the title of a disciple of the White Jade Sword Sect, no one dared to truly restrain him. He had actually vanished right under their noses!
"You couldn't even keep an eye on one person?!" Su Zhiyuan suppressed his rage. "Go find him immediately! But remember, act in secret. You must not alert him!"
"Yes!"
...
On the other side, at the edge of the Dead Man’s Forest, there was a scene of lively mourning.
In the camp, white cloth hung everywhere, and the strains of funeral music played continuously. Those unaware would have thought a funeral was being held.
In the center of the crowd, the leading man from Shideng Village and A-Xiu were dressed in coarse white hemp. Large white paper flowers were pinned to their chests, and their faces were filled with happy, if somewhat awkward, smiles.
They were welcomed by the crowd to a tent adorned with exquisite double happiness characters and skull patterns. They stepped over fire pans, received white packets, and the bridal veil was lifted.
At the lively wedding banquet, the villagers surrounded the newcomers, talking and laughing loudly. White paper money fluttered in the air amidst the joyful funeral music.
Jian Huaishuang sat stiffly on a wooden stump in the corner, holding his giant sword, which was nearly as tall as he was. He looked completely out of place.
He had been picked up from the forest by Li Dazhu two days ago. At that time, he was covered in wounds and in a daze.
The villagers in the territory were people who had known hardship and had soft hearts. Seeing that he was just a young boy, not much older than Shitou, Widow Li had stuffed him with food and medicine for his injuries.
Jian Huaishuang had intended to leave once his injuries were slightly better, not wanting to intrude, but he was held back by the enthusiastic Li Dazhu. "Little brother, don't be in such a hurry to leave! We're having a white affair today. Join us to soak up some of the joy; the more people, the merrier!"
And so, he had been pulled to the wedding scene in a daze, sitting in the corner with his sword, feeling as if he were in another world.
He should have left.
"Little brother, don't just sit there! Eat meat! There's plenty today!"
A black-faced man, without a word, stuffed a large piece of fragrant roasted snake meat into his hand. The force was so great that his wrist dipped.
Oil stained his pure white robes, but the man didn't care, slapping him hard on the back and laughing as he went to greet others.
Jian Huaishuang looked at the meat in his hand, feeling lost.
The burning heat seeped through the oil paper, warming his cold fingertips.
His family had been destroyed when he was young, and his relatives had all perished in the mouths of demons. It was the White Jade Sword Sect that brought him up the mountain, giving him a place to live and a path to cultivate.
He had always been grateful for this.
'Huaishuang, your talent is extraordinary. Do not let it go to waste.' His master’s words were still in his ears, the tone always so calm that no emotion could be heard.
He had thought that this was how masters and disciples were, and how a cultivator should be—pure-hearted, with few desires, discarding worldly ties.
So he cultivated diligently, slaying demons and defending the Dao, believing that protecting the common people was his duty.
Jian Huaishuang had saved many people. Those commoners would kowtow in gratitude, calling him Immortal Master and offering their thanks, but then they would keep their distance. Their eyes held reverence and detachment.
He thought that the relationship between people should be like this: clearly defined and owing nothing to each other.
Later, he was severely injured while saving people, and his cultivation plummeted. He went from being a sect genius to a laughingstock, bullied by his fellow disciples. He endured it silently, telling himself it was a trial, feeling no resentment or regret.
But now...
"Oh, you child, your injuries haven't fully healed yet, have they? This bowl of blood-replenishing soup was specially saved for you by Auntie Li!"
Widow Li squeezed through with a coarse ceramic bowl, her mouth still grumbling. "At such a young age, how did you turn yourself into this ghostly state? Don't you know how to cherish your own body? You really deserve a scolding!"
As she scolded him, she forcefully pushed the bowl into his hands. There wasn't a hint of disdain in her eyes, only a kind of... heartache that he couldn't understand.
Jian Huaishuang took it instinctively; the bowl was warm.
He looked at the soup sloshing in the bowl and then at his surroundings.
These villagers would fight over a bite of food, laugh loudly, and even use coarse language. They would touch him without any hesitation and force food upon him.
It was as if he wasn't some Immortal Master who needed to be kept at a distance, nor a waste who needed pity, but just a... person who needed to be looked after, one of their own.
It was strange.
A foreign feeling welled up in his heart. He was used to coldness and boundaries. The current clamor and warmth made him feel out of place, even wanting to flee.
Did he regret it?
A question he had never dared to think deeply about surfaced clearly in his mind.
If he hadn't forcibly used a forbidden technique to save those strangers, causing his foundation to be damaged and his cultivation to be destroyed, would he still be that respected genius disciple?
Would he still be able to hold the sword in his hand and protect his Dao?
Looking at the steaming bowl of soup in front of him, feeling the slightly painful slap from the black-faced man behind him, and hearing Widow Li's seemingly harsh but actually caring nagging...
Jian Huaishuang lowered his head, his long hair covering his pale face. His fingers tightened slightly around the ceramic bowl.
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