Chapter 7: Yuheng (Part 5)

He Tingtong was escorted into Luomei Courtyard.

He hadn’t been inside for many years.

Before age seven, he had lived here with Yun Zhi. Back then, he was young, with a shy personality, understanding nothing. When others said “a teacher for a day is a father for life,” he truly treated the sect leader as a father and Yun Zhi as a younger brother.

The sect leader affected refinement, and to win favor, He Tingtong did many things like collecting dew to brew tea or sweeping autumn frost to mix with honey.

Whenever the elders accepted these offerings with just a pat on his head and a casual word of praise for his thoughtfulness, his whole being would fill with joy, as if soaking in sweet honey.

In his childhood foolishness, he didn’t understand boundaries or know his place. He thought the sect was his home, and in daily life he was dutiful and responsible, supervising Yun Zhi’s studies and cultivation.

He thought his junior martial brother liked him—until Yun Zhi gave him a magical artifact, a beautiful small sword with a fiery red gemstone embedded in it. Unsharpened, lying in its case, bright and gleaming like a brilliant white mirror reflecting his envious eyes.

Yun Zhi said, “Do you like it? It’s yours, big brother.”

So he happily accepted it.

Then Yun Zhi said one sentence—”Senior martial brother stole my things, he bullied me, I don’t want to see him again”—and without explanation, his master beat his hands until they swelled, then sent him to the discipline hall for fifty lashes.

After that, he was sent to the most remote disciples’ courtyard and never returned.

Though Yun Zhi later came to apologize, saying he didn’t know this was a birthday gift eldest martial brother had carefully prepared for him, and seeing how much he liked it, he’d impulsively given it away. When eldest martial brother later asked where the sword went, fearing he’d be hurt, the words just slipped out…

“Senior martial brother, you’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

What could seven-year-old He Tingtong do?

Under Yun Zhi’s tearful gaze, he could only say lightly that it was fine.

Though the label of “thief” followed him secretly for three years, though several martial brothers treated him as invisible from then on, though he took a severe beating and lay bedridden for half a year—he had no choice. From then on, he was cautious in word and deed, never daring to harbor the slightest improper thought.

Solitary, taciturn, dull and slow—these became the marks on young He Tingtong, lasting until much later, after many years of deaths and revivals, when he went to broader worlds, met all kinds of people, encountered more conspiracies and schemes. Only then did the shadows of youth finally dissipate, and he cleared away the inferiority and anxiety seemingly carved into his soul.

---

“You two better reflect properly! When you’ve figured it out, then you can come out!”

The sect leader’s angry voice sounded behind them. After dropping that line, with a loud clang, he sealed the entire courtyard.

Restrictions rose from all directions, like an inverted bowl covering Luomei Courtyard.

Silence returned to the courtyard. He Tingtong stretched lazily, feeling his joints crack. After straightening up, his figure seemed a bit taller.

After all, before the sect leader, he was always bowing with lowered eyes, hunched over in submission—no wonder his back ached.

He pushed open the main door and walked briskly toward the room.

With Yun Zhi and Shen Xiyuan’s shocking scandal as precedent, He Tingtong’s little romantic entanglement was nothing to the sect leader. Besides, the sect leader was certain he would come around and choose the sect. He hadn’t even punished him, just given house arrest.

Unlike Yun Zhi—one hundred and fifty lashes, flesh torn and bleeding, lying on the bed with a pale face, silently weeping.

He Tingtong pulled over a chair, placed it before the bed, sat down with crossed legs, propping his head: “Young sect leader, still thinking about your little demon cultivator?”

Yun Zhi’s expression changed at these words. He stared at He Tingtong, and in eyes usually clear and soft, there appeared viciousness and malice. “Was it you who reported us to father?!”

“Of course it was me. Who else could it be?” He Tingtong readily admitted it. He draped one hand over the chair back, bent one leg to step on the seat, leaning back so only two chair legs stood, rocking back and forth quite carelessly. “Oh, of course, it’s also possible you two were too absorbed and accidentally let the sect leader stumble upon a live performance. After all, the old man is traditional—he can’t take such stimulation.”

Yun Zhi: “…”

He realized He Tingtong had changed. The former senior martial brother would never talk back to him, never said a harsh word. Even before falling off the cliff gravely injured, he only stared with those annoying eyes, shocked and pained, full of sorrow.

He knew He Tingtong cared about him, but who wanted a stray dog’s affection? Dull, boring, rule-abiding, a waste with ordinary spiritual roots who would never attain the great path in this lifetime. He couldn’t compare to Shen Xiyuan—handsome, interesting, mysterious, powerful, with countless ways to win his attention and bring him joy.

Between a lover and a disposable stepping stone, of course he’d choose his lover.

He’d long expected He Tingtong would hate him. But so what? He was originally a stepping stone his father selected for him—being used to the fullest was his destiny.

Only now the stepping stone had shown its true face, becoming malicious and flippant.

Or perhaps this was his true nature?

“Ayuan was right—you really can’t stand to see me do well.”

Yun Zhi propped himself up. Since the pretense was torn away anyway, he didn’t want to keep acting. Shedding the innocence and kindness he’d maintained on his face, he raised bloodshot eyes with a mocking smile. “You’re inferior to me in every way. All along you must have been jealous of me daily. What, you finally caught me in a mistake once, saw me punished, and now you’re delighted inside?”

He Tingtong slapped his leg laughing. “Indeed, after all it’s been a long time since I’ve seen such a pure fool as you.”

Yun Zhi ground his teeth, about to curse back, but when he looked at He Tingtong, at his disciple robe washed until faded, a sense of superiority suddenly arose.

“Actually, what does it matter if you schemed against me this once? I’m still the young sect leader, my father is your master. You’re just a dog raised by my Yuheng Sect. Apart from wagging your tail and begging before me, you have no other way to survive.”

“In the future, no matter how unwilling, as long as you want to stay in the sect one more day, you must listen to me. Though with your qualifications, you’re not even worthy of carrying my shoes.”

“And what are your qualifications?” He Tingtong raised an eyebrow, calm and composed. “The qualifications to be a cauldron for the demon race to feed back cultivation? Too bad your lover has already been expelled from the sect.”

Yun Zhi suddenly thrust a sword at him.

He’d actually hidden a sword under his pillow.

And Luomei Courtyard suppressed spiritual power.

He Tingtong was unarmed. Before the sword light reached him, he rolled to the side, dodging the attack and creating distance from Yun Zhi.

Still suffering from the whip wounds, cold sweat beaded on Yun Zhi’s forehead. His swordsmanship lost its stability, becoming weak and powerless, but his mouth kept running.

“Senior martial brother, no matter how much you say, aren’t you also locked in here now? Where’s your blind little beauty? Father probably threw him outside the mountain gate, right?”

“Poor little blind man, how far can he walk in Yuheng Sect’s territory?” Malice flickered in Yun Zhi’s eyes. “How about we guess—how many days can he survive?”

“Almost forgot, Ayuan is also outside the mountain. Don’t worry, he’ll definitely take good care of him, making your mortal little lover’s life worse than death.”

He Tingtong braced himself on the table, flipping to dodge. His body moved like a flying swan, one foot stepping on Yun Zhi’s sword, pressing down heavily, pinning it underfoot. “Mm, then please let him try his best.”

Yun Zhi couldn’t pull out the sword, his wrist instead painfully shocked. He gritted his teeth and released the sword, only to see He Tingtong chuckle. “Young sect leader, looks like you’ll need to work hard too.”

---

At the foot of Yuheng Sect’s mountain, cold winds blew.

The sect leader had people throw Fu Fengyan outside the sect gates, repeatedly emphasizing that this person was never to enter Yuheng Sect’s territory again—expel him every time he enters.

The blind mortal youth had nowhere to go and could only sit leaning against the boundary marker, curled into a lonely ball, looking pitiful.

The Yuheng disciples escorting him felt uncomfortable watching. To repay a life-saving debt this way, the sect leader and Brother He were too heartless.

But with the sect’s orders above them, they couldn’t meddle. After leaving him here, giving him a stick, and telling the mortal which direction to walk to reach the main road, they left him to fate.

Fu Fengyan didn’t move.

He remembered He Tingtong’s earlier instructions—wait outside, don’t run around, don’t breach the mountain, don’t conflict with ordinary people. In a few days he’d come down the mountain to meet him.

But how long was “a few days”?

Fu Fengyan had no concept, but he didn’t ask either. He just needed to wait.

After all, waiting was what he was most skilled at.

Only the sun wasn’t so good lately, and it would snow again in the coming days.

He didn’t like white, and he didn’t like cold things.

He hoped He Tingtong wouldn’t make him wait too long.

Finding a flat, clean place to sit, Fu Fengyan reviewed in his mind—after these several attempts testing He Tingtong, he discovered his beloved was very picky. He didn’t like affected pretension, didn’t like domineering coldness, didn’t like romantic charm, and mature stability also seemed hard to catch his attention.

Most tragically, his character inventory was completely exhausted.

What personality should he use to face He Tingtong next time they meet?

That pharmacist from the medicine hall? Or the sect leader of this sect?

Weren’t those ages a bit old?

A pale, bluish hand fell on Fu Fengyan’s shoulder and patted. Then a flippant, cheerful voice sounded beside him: “Little beauty, are you waiting for He Tingtong?”

It was the demon who’d possessed someone’s body in Yuheng Sect.

Flippant, dissolute, greedy, with a cloying floral scent surging from his body.

He Tingtong didn’t like this type.

He didn’t like it either.

“I know where he is. How about coming with me?” That voice continued, buzzing like a mosquito.

Fu Fengyan liked liveliness, liked hearing people talk, but didn’t like hearing demons talk. He remembered his agreement with He Tingtong and didn’t want to take action or deal with anyone besides He Tingtong. So he continued sitting with his back against the boundary marker, counting the days in his mind.

But the demon beside him was quite tactless. Seeing Fu Fengyan’s prolonged lack of response, those pale hands suddenly grabbed toward his neck.

A fragile mortal, blind too—just a light twist, and that head along with the neck bone would be torn off, becoming two sections of bleeding dead flesh.

Shen Xiyuan was bloodthirsty, murderous, greedy. He was a high-ranking great demon who’d sent out his primordial spirit to possess this mortal body and infiltrate the immortal sect as a spy.

Jubei Province was too remote and poor, far from as luxurious as Central Province. His only daily entertainment was flirting and teasing that young sect leader, leading him to help him enter the Azure Cloud Trials.

It had already been confirmed he could take that He surname’s place and participate in the trials—who could have expected the other’s luck would be so good, two killing strikes with the sword, both missing.

And he got reported and expelled from the sect.

Now he could only use other methods to reach the Azure Cloud Trials. More troublesome.

Great demons always held grudges.

The little cultivator caused him trouble—he didn’t mind making the other suffer a bit.

How about throwing this mortal’s head into He Tingtong’s courtyard?

Seeing his lover’s severed head, he should weep bitterly, right?

But his hand touched empty air.

That weak, powerless mortal hugging a bamboo pole had somehow moved position. A step away, the little blind man somewhat helplessly opened his eyes, his tone extremely soft.

“Don’t bother me.”

Shen Xiyuan only had time to see a trace of magnificent purple before his vision went black and he collapsed to the ground.

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On one side of the Hanshan Realm, the great demon’s main body couldn’t stop vomiting blood. His whole body trembled as he struggled to rise, head splitting with pain, body feeling torn into millions of pieces.

Then he realized with horror that the divided spirit he’d sent over by every means—was gone.