ATAVID CH49

Snow fell on Wei Xun’s shoulders. The youth had grown very tall now.

Standing tall and upright, wrapped in a thick ink-colored cloak, his stature was straight. The all-black color palette accentuated his cold, pale complexion, and the sharpness between his brows added a sense of aloofness. Except for those eyes, which were exactly like Lin Qing’s, the rest of his contours were shockingly similar to the young version of himself.

Wei Lan looked at him, his thoughts suddenly pulled back to Wei Xun’s childhood.

Back then, Wei Xun wasn’t as solemn and profound as he was now. Although he always wore a stern, little-adult face, there were times when he would sit in the trees, hidden by the dense leaves, and when the Elders of the Lingxiao Sect passed by, he would accurately pelt Hua Zhen with small stones.

“Ouch!” Hua Zhen would clutch his waist, his face turning an ugly dark color, roaring: “Who threw that?! Get out here right now!”

The other Elders looked at each other, none of them seeing who had made the move. Wei Lan, standing beneath the tree, gave a faint glance. His gaze traveled through the layers of leaves, meeting Wei Xun’s indifferent eyes. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

But a scene suddenly surfaced in his mind. In that image, the woman gently stroked her not-yet-swollen abdomen, asking softly: “Do you think the child will look more like me or like you?”

Wei Lan didn’t hesitate: “Better if he looks more like you.”

The woman laughed and collapsed onto the soft couch. The candlelight danced, making her brows and eyes look even gentler. After a while, she turned over, resting her chin on her hand, kicking her legs in the air behind her, and tilted her head to look at him: “I was very mischievous as a child; I was always being beaten by my parents. If this child is like me, won’t you have to beat him in the future?”

Wei Lan looked down at her and smiled: “I just won’t beat him.”

The woman laughed again, her eyes curving like flowers just beginning to bloom in March.

Wei Lan was startled. He pursed his lips, not knowing why he was remembering that memory again. Clearly, his heart had long since withered into dead wood, no longer harboring any ripples. But in the end, he sighed and raised his hand to conceal Wei Xun’s aura. In the end, Hua Zhen never found out who had hit him.

When Wei Lan returned to his cave residence, he saw young Wei Xun standing in the courtyard, brandishing a sword taller than himself. His lips were pressed into a straight line, his pitch-black eyes staring straight at him, his tone stiff and filled with a stubbornness born of spite: “If you want to punish me, then punish me.”

Wei Lan said: “I don’t intend to punish you.”

Wei Xun gave him a deep look, said nothing more, and turned away with his sword in tow. Watching his retreating figure, Wei Lan couldn’t help but think: if that woman from his memory were still here, how would she teach their child?

But that memory was simply too short. He was one thousand years old now, and those five years of memory were like a single drop of water in the vast ocean compared to the millennium.

Later, when Wei Xun grew a bit older and needed to learn swordsmanship, Sect Leader Jiang and the other Elders wanted him to practice the Path of Ruthlessness. Wei Lan was hesitant. Although the Path of Ruthlessness could yield twice the result with half the effort, Wei Xun was still too young—only six or seven—and hadn’t yet experienced what it meant to have “feelings.” It was too cruel.

Sect Leader Jiang smiled upon hearing this: “Wei Lan, when you practiced the Path of Ruthlessness, you were the same age as Wei Xun. And once he reaches the Spirit Transformation realm, it wouldn’t be too late to change paths then.”

Wei Lan’s brows were locked in a frown. He had abandoned the Path of Ruthlessness later on, not because of worldly romance, but simply because he found his heart could no longer be stilled. After much deliberation, he had made that decision. At that time, he wanted to personally raise Wei Xun.

Sect Leader Jiang wanted him to marry Jiang Yunxi, who was his martial sister. She didn’t know whose child she was carrying, and she cried, saying the child in her womb had no name or status, begging only for a nominal husband and promising never to drag him down. Wei Lan looked at the infant Wei Xun in his arms and then at the weeping woman, and in the end, he agreed.

But from beginning to end, he never truly experienced the romance those cultivators spoke of. Let alone whether, if Wei Xun reached the Hua Shen realm and didn’t want to change paths, he would truly practice the Path of Ruthlessness for a lifetime. Wei Lan still wanted to ask Wei Xun before making a decision.

But the next day, Wei Xun, carrying his sword, heard his words and asked: “The Path of Ruthlessness? If I practice it, can I be heartless?”

After asking, before Wei Lan could reply, he hooked his lips into a cold sneer: “Never mind, I’m sure one can. Besides, if I have feelings, I can just pluck the ‘Emotional Thread’ out.”

With that, he turned and left. Wei Lan was startled, but eventually, he agreed to let him proceed. In fact, Wei Xun’s talent for the Path of Ruthlessness was truly superb—it could no longer be described as terrifying. He practiced at an incredible speed, reaching the Golden Core realm in just a few years.

But along with it, the youth’s figure grew lean, and his handsome looks inevitably became eye-catching.

“Junior Brother Wei, you look so much like the Sword Venerable,” a Lingxiao Sect disciple said to him by chance.

Wei Xun, having just finished training, frowned slightly: “Do I?”

“You do.” The disciple nodded repeatedly. After looking him over carefully, he added: “To tell the truth, you look even better.”

Wei Xun said nothing. He stopped and looked at Wei Lan’s cave residence as he passed. The cold plum blossoms had already bloomed, and the faint scent of plums, wrapped in the chill of the air, blew through his long hair.

Calculating, it had been a year since Wei Lan last saw Wei Xun. He paused, originally wanting to ask how his cultivation was progressing and if his sword techniques had improved—but before Wei Lan could speak, Wei Miao, eyes red from crying, said: “Father, this sword technique is so hard to learn! I don’t want to learn it anymore. Why don’t we go out and drink plum wine together?”

Wei Xun was accustomed to such displays from Wei Miao. He curled his lips and left without pausing. Later, Wei Lan repeatedly saw Wei Xun covered in wounds. He couldn’t help but ask: “Is it that you don’t understand the sword technique, or have you been in a conflict with someone?” Otherwise, how could he keep injuring himself?

Wei Xun’s tone was calm: “Neither.”

But the wounds on his face not only didn’t vanish, they became increasingly prominent. As a cultivator, minor wounds would heal in an instant; for them to stay so long, it was clear he was deliberately keeping them from healing. Wei Lan realized this and found himself both amused and helpless, but he couldn’t just let him continue wearing a face full of wounds. He suddenly remembered Lin Qing and, as if by a ghostly impulse, said: “Those eyes of yours… they look very much like your mother’s.”

Wei Xun paused, and those pitch-black eyes lifted slightly to look at him. There was a trace of scrutiny, suspicion, and something indescribable in his gaze. However, from that day on, Wei Lan indeed never saw new wounds on his face again.

Later on, Wei Lan went into deep seclusion to practice. When he emerged, the news he heard was that Wei Xun had perished and his soul lamp had gone out. Wei Lan was despondent, finally feeling that the bond between father and son was shallow.

But at this moment, looking at the living youth before him, he felt as if it were a different lifetime, and his half-life had been a delusion. He opened his mouth, a broken sound rolling through his throat—hoarse and unrecognizable—as he simply breathed out two words: “…A-Xun.”

Twenty-seven years had passed in an instant, and only those five years of memories remained in his mind. The emotions suppressed for nearly a thousand years surged forward like a giant wave, his heart clutched by an invisible hand, causing him pain so sharp he could barely breathe.

For twenty-seven years, other than Wei Xun having extreme loathing for his own face because he looked like his father, Wei Lan had subconsciously rejected Wei Xun because he looked like himself instead of Lin Qing. Because Wei Xun practiced the Path of Ruthlessness and Wei Lan often saw his own shadow from years ago in him, Wei Lan’s attitude toward him had been as thin and detached as plum blossoms touching spring water.

But now, as those dissipated emotions surged back, Wei Lan finally remembered how much he and Lin Qing had looked forward to the arrival of this child before Wei Xun was born.

“Hahaha—”

Wei Lan suddenly burst into loud laughter, feeling that his entire millennium had been truly meaningless. He had been brought back to the Lingxiao Sect by his master when he was young, began practicing the Path of Ruthlessness at seven, and had carried the responsibility of protecting the sect since childhood. He reached the Jin Dan realm at one hundred, and for the hundreds of years after, he had focused only on the Dao. His master told him to abandon all feelings and relationships; when he saw that Wei Lan was unwilling to kill his master to attain the Dao, he committed suicide before the Floating Lamp Palace, forcing Wei Lan to step into the Great Success realm. Before dying, he told him the Lingxiao Sect would be in his hands from then on.

Crossing the tribulation of love was not his intention; he lost his memory by accident, but also met his wife because of it. Later, when his memory returned, he originally intended to change his path after reaching the Hua Shen realm, but this would likely take another hundred years to break through—yet he had no regrets.

But the Lingxiao Sect would not allow it. They wanted him to shoulder his responsibility. To force him to reach the Hua Shen realm as quickly as possible, they killed his wife. He did break through, but it seemed he had possessed nothing at all. After his “Emotional Thread” was severed, he lived in a daze for another twenty years. His child’s soul lamp went out, and then he pushed himself to the next stage, stepping into the Void Refinement realm.

How ridiculous. How truly ridiculous. In Wei Lan’s life, every time he broke through a realm, he was stepping on the corpses of those closest to him. In the end, he was told that everything he had risked everything to protect was such a cold, selfish, blood-stained sect.

The snow fell even heavier. Jiang Qunyu looked at the scene before him and asked Wei Xun: “Do you still want to kill him?”

Wei Xun stood in the wind and snow, his ink-colored robes stained with white, his expression as cold as ice. He asked: “Do you think he is pathetic?”

But before Jiang Qunyu could answer, Wei Xun quickly added: “It is only his own fault. If he is determined to seek death, it is not impossible for me to send him on his way.”

“Wei Xun,” Jiang Qunyu turned his head to look at him, asking word by word: “If you truly want to kill him, why didn’t you fly here on your sword?”

Snow landed on Wei Xun’s lashes, making his face appear even colder. His eyes were lowered, hiding the emotions within. Jiang Qunyu continued: “You took your mother’s lamp; why didn’t you leave? Why return? Are you here to kill him? Or are you afraid he will seek his own death?”

At first, Jiang Qunyu had indeed guessed Wei Xun’s plan. But later, the details didn’t match up, so he had been hesitant. In the end, he thought perhaps even Wei Xun wasn’t sure himself. He was conflicted; perhaps he had made two plans—for instance, if Wei Lan tried to brush things off after retrieving the emotional thread, Wei Xun would choose to kill him personally. Or, if Wei Lan was determined to die, he might have stopped him. But exactly what was in his heart, only Wei Xun knew.

Wei Xun did not respond, only quietly watching the wretched man before him, looking at the eyes that had once reflected sword light and moonlight, now filled only with madness and regret.

Do I hate him? Yes. Do I resent him? Yes. But when he truly saw Wei Lan like this, his heart felt hollow, unable to produce even a shred of satisfaction from revenge.

“Jiang Qunyu,” Wei Xun whispered, “perhaps you are right.”

Jiang Qunyu was startled. He saw Wei Xun walk step by step and stop in front of Wei Lan, asking indifferently: “What are you looking for?”

Wei Lan paused for a long time before saying: “A long time ago, the soul lamp I lit for your mother went missing…” His voice was hoarse, filled with a sense of bewilderment, as if he had just woken from a long dream.

“Ha.” Wei Xun laughed softly, though the smile did not reach his eyes, which remained cold and bitter: “Lost for seven or eight years, and the Sword Venerable finally remembered?”

Wei Lan looked dazed; after a long while, he laughed lowly: “That’s true, it’s good that you took it. This place, the Lingxiao Sect, is so unlucky. Someone as clean as your mother certainly wouldn’t have liked it here.”

As he spoke, he slowly raised his hand. The spiritual energy that should have flowed in his palms was now dissipated like sand; cracks were visible in his meridians, and even his fingertips were shaking uncontrollably. Wei Xun’s expression changed drastically, his heart sinking. Wei Lan had already destroyed his own cultivation base. His cultivation was broken, his immortal bones shattered, and even his last chance at survival had been extinguished by his own hands.

Wei Xun’s face was pale. He remained silent for a long time before finally opening his mouth: “Mother no longer resents you.”

Hua Yuan Sheng (Transformed Resentful Living): once the resentment is resolved, they find release. Lin Qing’s resentment had long been resolved.

Wei Lan curled his lips. He looked down at his empty palms, his eyes devoid of sorrow or joy, filled only with dead, silent peace. “When I entered the Lingxiao Sect, I swore by my Dao heart that I would protect the sect all my life and never raise my sword against the Lingxiao Sect.” He said it softly, as if telling a story that had nothing to do with him. “Now that I have slaughtered the entire sect and washed the immortal mountain in blood, my oath is broken, the punishment of heaven is upon me, and I was never going to live anyway.”

Furthermore, without Lin Qing—only those five years of memories—how was he supposed to live? He lifted his eyes to Wei Xun, his gaze filled with a humble plea: “A-Xun, after I die…” He had originally meant to say, bury me with Lin Qing, but hesitated, finally sighing: “Forget it. In the end, I have failed her; how can I dare to disturb her again?”

As he spoke, he suddenly leaned forward and vomited blood. Wei Xun watched his condition and remained silent for a long time, finally pressing his voice down to say: “Mother has not yet entered the Forgetful River.”

Wei Lan stiffened, opening his mouth, but nothing came out. After a long while, he asked: “…Did she encounter something terrible?” Otherwise, why hadn’t she entered the Forgetful River? Lin Qing was such a timid person; would she be afraid?

Wei Xun’s gaze was as still as a lake: “Ask her yourself when you reach the Forgetful River.”

Wei Lan stared blankly at Wei Xun. The next moment, he suddenly smiled. For the first time in so long, it was a gentle smile, like melting snow, moonlight falling into his eyes. “Is that so…” He whispered, looking toward the snowy sky, as if he could already see the distant banks of the Forgetful River. “Then I will go first. I will go to the Forgetful River and wait for her.”

Wei Lan took one last look at him and said softly: “It’s just a pity… I didn’t get to watch you grow up.”

Wei Xun was startled.

In the winter of the twenty-second year of Xi Ping, the Lingxiao Sect was destroyed. Sword Venerable Wei Lan passed away.

Snow fell with a rustle; Wei Xun raised his hand and caught a falling snowflake. He seemed to curl his lips in a smile. After a long while, he said: “Wei Lan is dead.”

It was within his expectations, yet he felt no joy, only an empty, cold void. From this day forward, in this world, there would truly only be him and Jiang Qunyu left.

Jiang Qunyu stood by, and for some reason, his heart felt heavy. A long time later, he reached out, caught a snowflake, and said: “We grew up together.”