SS CH22

Sun Minfeng had seen countless incurable diseases in his life, and he believed there were three types of people in the world who were truly “sick” and beyond saving: those who moaned without any actual ailment, those who were half-dead, and those who went looking for trouble when they had none.

When he saw his own sect master acting so lost and distraught over a half-dead man, he decided that Chu Xiwei belonged to the last category—he was sick, and it was incurable.

“He is suffering from the ‘Dream-Severing’ poison, and I have no cure for that,” Sun Minfeng said, taking the patient’s pulse and spreading his hands. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not deliberately making excuses. He is trapped in his own dreams and cannot get out. While external forces could force him awake, as long as he refuses to let go in his heart, the poison will seep into his meridians day by day. Even the gods couldn’t save him.”

Chu Xiwei looked at the man sleeping on the bed. His eyes were shot through with blood, the intensity almost threatening to tear the black and white of his eyes apart and spill out as a sinister red.

“…Wake him up.”

“Why bother?” Sun Minfeng examined a golden needle with deliberate slowness. The tip of the needle condensed a flicker of candlelight that was sharp enough to sting the eyes. “This poison traps a person in the past. The way he is now, it’s clear he doesn’t want to wake up. Wouldn’t it be better to just let him sleep away quietly?”

“I said, wake him up.” Chu Xiwei turned his head, his expression flat. “Is my word no longer good, or have you gone deaf?”

Seeing Chu Xiwei like this, Sun Minfeng felt his heart skip a beat; the smile on his face faded.

After a long while, he said, “Master, have you really thought this through? Waking him up now will be more agonizing than dying. How much hatred must you have for him to be so cruel?”

Chu Xiwei slowly curled the corners of his mouth: “His life is mine. I say he dies, then he dies… If I say he lives, then he shouldn’t even think of the word ‘death’.”

Sun Minfeng looked at Ye Fusheng and said, “Formulating the antidote for ‘Dream-Severing’ isn’t hard, but it lacks a vital ingredient.”

Chu Xiwei raised an eyebrow: “What is it?”

“Blood of extreme cold.” Sun Minfeng held out his hands. “It can be the blood of a spirit beast that grows in an extremely cold place, or the heart blood of a master who practices supreme cold martial arts. But these two things… we have neither.”

“Does Bu Xueyao not have it either?”

“Heh, not everyone who digs a pit prepares to fill it. Bu Xueyao created this poison to torment people to death. The only way to make it quick would be a clean strike of a blade; why would he ever prepare an antidote?”

Chu Xiwei was silent for a long time. “Can it be delayed?”

“Yes, I can delay it for at most three months. After three months, if there is no antidote, he will surely die.” Sun Minfeng wiggled his fingers. “As for the method of delay, it depends on your decision, Master.”

Seeing Chu Xiwei looking at him, Sun Minfeng explained: “The Ice Soul Bead gifted to you by the old Palace Master is not quite a treasure of absolute extreme cold, but it is a rare item of intense yin-cold energy. If it is ground into powder and taken as medicine, supplemented by my acupuncture, it can suppress the toxicity of the ‘Dream-Severing’… However, this is your protective talisman. Once given away, I fear your ‘Orthodox Sun Arts’ will become unstable.”

Chu Xiwei froze. He hooked a silk thread from his collar, at the end of which hung a white bead the size of a fingernail, emitting a soft, translucent glow under the lamplight.

He didn’t even look at it as he tore the cord and tossed the bead over. Sun Minfeng caught it; a bone-piercing cold instantly covered his hand in a thin layer of white frost. He wrapped the bead in a cloth and looked at Chu Xiwei’s face, which had flushed with a sickly heat. He shook his head, his tone sour and mocking: “You really are willing… Looking at you now, I can’t tell if he owes you a life, or if he is the death of you.”

“Too much talk!” Chu Xiwei coughed twice, his body swaying slightly. Sun Minfeng took a bottle of medicine from his cloth bag and said: “Take one every day. Remember, avoid intense joy or rage, and return to the Palace to see the old Palace Master as soon as possible.”

“I know.” Chu Xiwei swallowed the pill and looked at Ye Fusheng. “When can he wake up?”

“Tomorrow morning. I guarantee you’ll have a lively person back. Now turn right and go to sleep.”

Chu Xiwei was chased out of the room. Holding the medicine bottle, he stared blankly at the tightly closed door. Suddenly, he heard a rustle of wind. The bottle slipped into his sleeve. He turned to look at the person who had arrived, resuming his placid, indifferent expression. “How did it go?”

The person who came was the eerie woman known as “Er Niang.” She lightly touched the teardrops under her eyes and spoke in a mournful, sinister tone: “Bu Xueyao was quick. Upon noticing the change, he led the ‘Heavenly Spiders’ and ‘Centipedes’ in a retreat. We only caught a few tails; we didn’t catch the big fish, but…”

“But what?”

“We captured Li Feng. How does the Master intend to deal with him?”

Chu Xiwei sneered: “When you capture a running dog, you naturally want the master to come and see, otherwise he will never learn how to discipline his own subordinates.”

Er Niang understood. “This subordinate will send someone to the Burial Soul Palace to deliver the message immediately.”

“Also, issue the ‘Wind and Rain Decree’ for me. Search the world for items of extreme cold. Those who present them shall be heavily rewarded.”

“Yes.” Er Niang bowed and was about to leave when she remembered one more thing. “Master, the young manor lord of Duanshui Manor… he is insisting on returning to the manor.”

“Then let him go.”

“But…” Er Niang hesitated. “The situation is unclear. Guyang City is not safe, and Duanshui Manor has been reduced to ruins. It is the focal point of all parties now. If a child with such a sensitive identity rushes out, I fear…”

“Er Niang, is it that women all suffer from the flaw of being soft-hearted?”

Chu Xiwei’s heartless voice came from above. Er Niang’s heart skipped a beat, and she knelt on one knee: “This subordinate would not dare.”

“In the jianghu, there is no distinction between men, women, old, or young. Since he picked up the sword and stepped onto this path, he must be prepared to face everything. Do you really need to worry for him?” Chu Xiwei curled his lips. “If he wants to go, let him go. See if he can dig out a complete corpse from that pile of debris.”

“…Yes.”

“When he is collecting the remains, take a few people to keep watch nearby. If you discover anyone acting suspiciously, you should know what to do without me telling you.”

“This subordinate understands!”

Relieved, Er Niang did not linger. She let out a shrill, ghost-like wail, and dark shadows stirred in the darkness, disappearing into the night with her.

The night grew deeper and heavier with dew, but Chu Xiwei did not return to his room. He sat under the half-withered peach tree in the courtyard, his eyes unblinking, fixed on the door. Inside, the lights were bright, casting Sun Minfeng’s busy shadow on the window sill.

I don’t know how much time passed, but suddenly, an irrepressible cry of pain came from the room, as if someone had had their bones broken and flesh torn away while still alive.

Chu Xiwei’s face turned pale. He stood up, but as soon as he took a step, he stopped himself. He forced himself to sit back down, laughed at himself, and suddenly slapped his own face.

“…Useless. Does he deserve this?”

Having said that, he sat even straighter, but as he listened to the sounds drifting from inside, his hands involuntarily tightened into fists, his knuckles turning white.

“…I really am a cheap fool!” Taking a deep breath, Chu Xiwei stood up abruptly and walked over, kicking the door open. “Quack doctor! Why is your treatment like a slaughter? Since he’s in this much pain, can’t you be gentler…”

His voice cut off abruptly. On the bed, Ye Fusheng had already opened his eyes and was looking straight at him. Caught off guard by their locked gaze, Chu Xiwei felt a panic arise in his heart. But as he looked closer, he saw Ye Fusheng’s eyes were hollow and unfocused, not reflecting his image at all.

His limbs were tightly bound to the bed frame. His ankles and wrists had been sliced open with wounds the size of infant mouths. Sun Minfeng pressed his fingers against him, channeling his energy to push down along the meridians, forcing out the black, toxic blood bit by bit.

Seeing the storm gathering in Chu Xiwei’s eyes, Sun Minfeng took a moment to explain: “The acupuncture is just finished; I forced him awake. He has been poisoned for a long time, and the toxins have spread to his limbs through old wounds. If you don’t want him to be a cripple in the future, you have to extract the poison. This process… do you know how women give birth? It’s roughly the same as giving birth to septuplets… Rebirth is not a game.”

Chu Xiwei: “…”

“You haven’t slept? Then come and help. I’m about to go out and boil the medicine, and I was just planning to call someone in to watch him.” After forcing out the toxic blood, Sun Minfeng wiped his sweat. “Here is a box of ointment for promoting blood circulation and regenerating flesh. Apply it to his wounds, then cover his eyes with this medicated cloth. Take it off after two hours, and his vision should return to normal. However, the ointment will cause intense, unbearable itching, and the medicine on the cloth will make his eyes feel as if they are being gouged out. You must not let him move around, and even more so, do not let him tear off the cloth.”

Chu Xiwei took the bottle and the cloth, unable to stop himself from asking: “Can it lessen the pain?”

“Strange. It’s him who is hurting, not you. What are you afraid of?” Sun Minfeng gave him a sideways glance, shouldered his medical bag, and walked out the door.

Chu Xiwei sat by the bed and wrung out a hot towel to wipe the dirty blood from Ye Fusheng’s hands and feet. His fingers touched the warm skin, but it felt like touching a flame; he felt a sudden heat and couldn’t help but shrink back.

Ye Fusheng was staring fixedly upward. His consciousness was beginning to return, but he still couldn’t recognize the person before him. He asked in a hoarse voice: “…Who are you?”

Chu Xiwei was somewhat angry, laughing in his rage.

He didn’t answer. With a darkened face, he dug out a piece of jade-colored ointment from the box. His movements were rough, but his touch was light. He even warmed the ointment in his palm before slowly and evenly spreading it over Ye Fusheng’s joints.

“The child who followed me… where is he?” A dense, unbearable itch spread from the wounds deep into the bones, as if countless insects were crawling and gnawing. Ye Fusheng’s voice carried a trembling he couldn’t conceal, and his speech was pitifully weak.

Looking at him like this, Chu Xiwei could hardly recall the cold, formidable back from ten years ago. Had he himself become stronger, or had the other become fragile?

He still didn’t answer.

“Why… save me?” Ye Fusheng shook his head. A cloth fragrant with medicine covered his eyes. As the cold ointment on it touched his skin, it quickly melted, and the liquid seeped into his eyes, feeling like two cold fingers stuck into his sockets, stirring and digging madly—as if to scoop out his eyeballs!

Ye Fusheng’s face instantly turned ashen, and he almost bit his own tongue off.

The reason he only “almost” did it was because he had bitten onto someone’s hand.

Chu Xiwei had extended his hand in the nick of time, and Ye Fusheng had bitten down on the edge of his palm, immediately drawing blood.

Yet, as if he didn’t feel the pain, his other hand caressed the long-standing teeth marks on Ye Fusheng’s index finger. Compared to the intense itching and pain, this sensation was insignificant, but it felt like touching a dragon’s reverse scale, causing Ye Fusheng to tremble all over.

“It is still there… you, and I, are both here.” Chu Xiwei said slowly in a terrifyingly calm tone. “Master, tell me, who am I?”

Ye Fusheng trembled and released his bite, swallowing a mouthful of blood and coughing uncontrollably, his face as pale as a corpse.

In that moment, he felt as if he had truly died, until Chu Xiwei’s hand covered his throat, and he came back to life.

Struggling to curl the corners of his mouth into a smile, Ye Fusheng turned his head toward him and whispered softly: “A-Yao…”