SS CH33

Gu Xiao tossed and turned all night, unable to fall asleep no matter what.

Once the third watch passed, he simply got out of bed. After listening to ensure there was no movement in the neighboring room, he flipped out of the window. He slipped into the kitchen, swiped a flask of wine and a plate of peanuts, left behind some silver coins, and returned to the courtyard. Finding a spot on the massive tree where he could both conceal himself and keep a constant eye on their room, he hunkered down like a monkey.

This was an osmanthus tree, rumored to be over a hundred years old. It grew remarkably thick and lush, which was why the innkeeper hadn’t cut it down when purchasing the plot, treating it instead as an auspicious mascot to draw in wealth. To this day, it stood peacefully in the backyard.

It was currently autumn, the season when osmanthus blooms in full splendor. The rich, sweet fragrance lingered thick and heavy around his nose, an aroma so potent it was almost intoxicating. Gu Xiao plucked a few blossoms and dropped them into his wine flask, indulging in a bit of poetic affectation. Yet, no matter how fragrant the wine was, it tasted somewhat bland to him tonight.

An unknown amount of time passed, and Gu Xiao was already feeling a pleasant buzz when he suddenly heard a cat-like whisper from beneath the tree: “Gu Xiao, are you up there?”

Gu Xiao parted the concealing layers of fragrant blossoms and peered down. He saw a round, plump child staring up at him. The boy was dressed a bit too thinly for the autumn night, shivering in the crisp wind and occasionally sniffing his nose.

Chu Yao murmured hesitantly, “What are you doing up there?”

“Watching the scenery.”

Hearing this, Chu Yao glanced around. Aside from the old inn building and the blue cobblestone floor littered with fallen leaves, there was absolutely nothing to look at: “What scenery is there to see here?”

Gu Xiao drawled mischievously, “A little meatball that grew legs—plump, fair, and even capable of talking. Doesn’t that count as scenery?”

Chu Yao: “…”

He stomped his foot and was about to run away when Gu Xiao set the plate of peanuts on a fork in the branches. Hooking his feet securely around a thick bough, he swung downward like a hanging bat. With one hand, he tilted the flask to drink, while with the other, his long arm shot out, scooping up the rather hefty child by the waist.

Caught completely off guard, Chu Yao’s feet left the ground. Before he could even shout, his vision blurred, and he found himself nestled snugly in Gu Xiao’s arms. The youth hadn’t even swallowed his mouthful of wine; his peach-blossom eyes reflected both the sweet blossoms and the silver moonlight, blinking like a flower blooming in an instant or the moon reaching perfect fullness.

For a moment, Chu Yao forgot to struggle. Children naturally gravitate toward beautiful things, so he reached out blankly to touch the youth’s eyes. Gu Xiao didn’t dodge, merely fluttering his eyelids. His eyelashes swept gently across the child’s tender palm, sending a ticklish, tingling sensation through his hand.

Gu Xiao pulled the plate of peanuts over, popped one into Chu Yao’s mouth, and asked, “Why aren’t you sleeping in the middle of the night? What are you doing out here?”

“I slept too long during the day, so I can’t sleep now.” Chu Yao shifted a bit in his arms. “Why aren’t you sleeping? Aunt Gu said that if you don’t sleep well, you won’t grow tall.”

Hearing someone refer to his female bandit of a master by such a title for the first time in his life, Gu Xiao froze before bursting into laughter: “That applies to little kids. I am already grown up.”

Chu Yao chewed on the peanut and countered, “But Aunt Gu said today that you are a child too.”

“In the eyes of elders, children never truly grow up.” Gu Xiao ate while continuing to feed the boy, successfully dispelling most of his wine-induced drowsiness. Only then did his eyes crinkle into a smile. “So, what exactly did you come find me for? Speak up. Don’t learn to hide your thoughts at such a young age. Otherwise, when you grow up, you’ll regret not treasuring the times when you could be entirely honest.”

Chu Yao looked at him half-understandingly. Tilting his little head, he said, “You are so incredible. Can you come back to the palace with me and be my master?”

He knew from Chu Xun that their true identities had already been revealed, so he no longer went to great lengths to hide it in front of Gu Xiao. Having heard of the harrowing feats Gu Xiao performed to protect Chu Xun all the way back to Jinshui Town, his admiration for the youth had reached a level of absolute worship. He wished he could package Gu Xiao up immediately and take him back to the palace to be his personal master.

Although the Great Chu’s national power was robust, countless internal strifes and external threats lurked beneath its prosperous surface. Consequently, the Emperor held exceptionally high standards for his descendants; whether they were princes or imperial grandsons, all were required to study literature, practice martial arts, and learn horsemanship from a young age. Once Chu Yao passed the age of eight, specialized imperial martial masters from the palace would be assigned to train him.

Yet, at his tender age, he could not comprehend the distinction between an imperial master and a Jianghu martial artist. He only believed that what he saw with his own eyes and heard with his own ears was best. After this narrow escape from death, Chu Yao now viewed the palace guards—who were usually praised to the heavens—as nothing more than embroidered pillows. In his mind, no one could possibly be more formidable than this master and disciple duo.

However, although Gu Qifang was incredibly powerful, he was always somewhat terrified of her. His childish intuition even faintly suggested that Gu Qifang didn’t particularly care for him or his brother Chu Xun. Children possess highly sensitive minds; thus, Chu Yao never even considered pestering Gu Qifang, opting instead to use his short legs to seek out Gu Xiao under the cover of night.

In Chu Yao’s memory, that stormy night spent fleeing together provided a sense of warmth and reliability he had never experienced before.

When Gu Xiao didn’t answer, the boy began counting on his fingers, listing his points one by one: “You saved me and Brother Xun. My Imperial Grandfather, Imperial Father, and Imperial Mother will definitely reward you handsomely! Be my master, and you can have whatever you want. No one will dare mistreat you, and… and I will listen to everything you say…”

“So young, yet you’ve already learned the art of bribery?” Gu Xiao crossed his arms, lifting his eyelids slightly. “But I don’t care for wealth. I’m a man who appreciates beauty. Compared to power and silver, only a beautiful woman can stir my heart.”

Remembering Gu Xiao’s outrageous demand from that fateful night, the boy’s face turned slightly red as he murmured, “M-my family has many beau—”

“Alright, I appreciate your kindness, but I don’t want to go with you.” Gu Xiao patted his head. “Look at me; I have no regard for seniority, and my courage is forever larger than my brains. Who knows when I might cause a massive disaster? Following you back would only bring trouble.”

Chu Yao recalled the sheer volume of nonsense that constantly spewed from this fellow’s mouth. For a moment, he actually couldn’t find a single argument to counter him, only managing to squeeze out after a long pause: “Rules can always be learned…”

“Forget it. If I learned those rigid rules, would I still be Gu Xiao?” Gu Xiao scoffed, pinching the boy’s chubby cheek. “Drop it. No chance.”

Chu Yao: “…But I said I wanted to repay you.”

Gu Xiao shrugged his shoulders: “Forgetting me entirely is the best reward you can give.”

Chu Yao didn’t understand, yet for some reason, he didn’t dare to ask further. His eyes welled with tears from a sudden surge of grievance.

“A chance encounter is already a blessing from fate. For people of our vastly different backgrounds to cross paths means our affinity is deep enough.” Gu Xiao scraped his finger gently across the boy’s nose, popped another peanut into his mouth, and changed the subject by lifting the wine flask. “Want a taste?”

Chu Yao looked in utter disbelief at this rogue who was actually enticing a child to drink.

Gu Xiao: “It won’t make you drunk, and it smells wonderful. If you don’t believe me, take a sniff.”

Chu Yao hesitated but leaned in closer. There wasn’t much leftover wine in the flask; instead, the fragrance of osmanthus dominated the scent. After sniffing for a good while, he looked up: “Osmanthus?”

Gu Xiao proffered the flask: “A sip?”

Chu Yao stared at the wine flask as if trying to burn a hole through it. In the end, his curiosity won. He accepted it with both hands and took a tiny sip. The moment it hit his throat, he broke into a violent fit of coughing.

His little face, which had been turned slightly pale by the night wind, instantly flushed a brilliant red. His eyes looked up at Gu Xiao, shimmering with tears. A strange wave of heat surged through his limbs, rendering his bones entirely limp. Without a single word, he collapsed straight into Gu Xiao’s lap, dead to the world.

Gu Xiao was startled. He caught the boy, checked his pupils, and read his pulse, leaving him completely speechless.

A descendant of the imperial family, yet he was actually a lightweight who went down after a single sip? This was truly…

Utterly shameless and unbothered by his own actions of intoxicating a child, Gu Xiao amused himself by pinching and poking the chubby, round face for a good long while. Only then did he contentedly scoop up the boy, flipping back through the wide-open window of his room exactly the way he had come out.

Lying on the bed with a warm, radiating little meatball tucked against him, Gu Xiao smacked his lips. He pulled the blanket tightly around the two of them until they resembled a stuffed spring roll, falling asleep with immense satisfaction.

It was a night entirely devoid of dreams.

The next morning, well before sunrise, Gu Qifang finished packing her gear, ready to hit the road. She hired four carriages. Two of them were sent off in completely opposite directions. An hour later, she dispatched a third carriage heading toward Yuzhou. Only after they had finished breakfast did she instruct Chu Xun—who was thoroughly disguised as a young maiden—to carry the still-sleeping Chu Yao into the final carriage.

Gu Xiao was rolling on the floor with laughter at the sight of the young imperial grandson dressed up in vibrant silks and cosmetics. He gave Gu Qifang a massive thumbs-up: “Master, this… this move of yours is absolute perfection! A sharp-tongued mother-in-law purchasing a child-bride while taking care of a toddler, hahaha… I can laugh about this storybook setup for an entire year!”

Chu Xun: “…”

Gu Qifang let out a sharp huff. Today, she had discarded her usual attire, swapping it for a dark brown dress. Her hair was bound up tightly with a simple hairpin. With a few sharp strokes altering her eyebrows and lips, she looked like an entirely different person—the moment she hardened her expression, she was the living embodiment of a harsh, bitter matriarch.

She had hidden her Flying Swan Knife somewhere completely out of sight. Wagging a finger at him, she snapped with an air of absolute scolding: “Get your ass straight back home. If you dare cause any more trouble out there, I’ll break your legs when I get back. All three of them!”

Gu Xiao felt a distinct chill between his thighs. He hastily raised his hand to swear to the heavens: “I will absolutely be obedient! I’m leaving right this second, otherwise may the Gu family line end with me!”

Chu Xun: “…”

Gu Qifang: “…You are practically begging for a beating, you little brat.”

Before Gu Qifang could swing a hand, Gu Xiao scrambled onto his horse, riding out four or five chang in a single breath. Only then did he rein in his mount and look back, shouting, “You all… take care.”

Gu Qifang rolled her eyes and remained silent. Chu Xun, holding the child, found it inconvenient to move much, choosing instead to offer a gentle smile and a nod.

Gu Xiao’s gaze lingered on Chu Yao for a moment. He felt a slight pang of regret for giving the kid a sip of wine the night before, which left them unable to share a proper farewell today. On second thought, that brat was incredibly prone to crying; if he were awake today, he would likely be sobbing his eyes out. What was the point?

With that thought, his horse paced a couple of circles on the spot. Gu Xiao finally turned his mount around, cracked his whip, and galloped away, leaving a solitary trail of dust behind.

Humming a light tune, his heart was full of lingering attachments. He constantly felt the urge to look back, yet in the end, he never did.

Traveling over long distances day after day, his pace wasn’t fast, but the journey was incredibly smooth. He encountered no dangers whatsoever, experiencing a tranquility that felt just like the countless ordinary days of his past.

He calculated the distance in his mind. In roughly three or four days, he would arrive back at Feiyun Peak. Duanqing preferred quiet and solitude; staying on the mountain alone surely wouldn’t be boring for him. He was likely either watering the flowers and plants or copying scriptures in meditation.

Gu Xiao pondered that once his master returned, he would likely face a thoroughly thorough thrashing. Thus, his mind was completely consumed with trying to figure out how to extract a protective talisman from his Shiniang. He didn’t expect to escape punishment entirely, but he hoped his Shiniang could plead for mercy so his master would strike a little lighter, allowing him to be back on his feet as a brave man after nursing his wounds for just a couple of days.

As he was deep in thought, a sudden flash of silver light erupted directly ahead. Caught entirely off guard, Gu Xiao had no choice but to instinctively lean backward until his upper body was pressed flat against the horse’s back. Only then did he realize that a slender, incredibly resilient, and bizarre wire had swept past. One end was connected to a serpent-shaped silver hook embedded deeply into a nearby tree, while the other end was gripped firmly in a man’s hand.

Had his reactions been a fraction of a second slower, his head would likely have been cleanly severed by that wire.

Facing an ambush out of nowhere, Gu Xiao initially assumed that the thugs from the Soul Burial Palace had managed to track him down. However, when he raised his eyes under the moonlight, he saw a man reining in his horse to look back at him.

The man was clad in robes as white as pristine snow, with an ancient, simple longsword slung across his back. His dark hair was tied high, and his face was concealed behind a sterling silver mask carved with elegant cloud patterns. He exuded an aura that was utterly pure and untainted by the mortal world; had his opening move not been so ruthlessly lethal, Gu Xiao might have mistaken him for a detached immortal who did not belong to the earthly realm.

With a flick of his wrist, the man retracted the wire, slowly coiling it into a small sphere before hanging it from his waist. His voice drifted through the silver mask: “You are heading toward the path ahead? What a coincidence, so am I. Take a detour.”

Gu Xiao was angered to the point of laughing: “The main road is for everyone to travel. We simply happen to be sharing the same path. Just because you are walking this way doesn’t mean I cannot?”

“Sharing the same path?” The man chewed on those words, slowly breaking into a laugh. “The people of this world are nothing more than a bunch of filthy beasts who are worse than swine and hounds. What right do they have to share a path with me? Young man, I am in an exceptionally good mood right now. Before I change my mind, leave.”

Youths are naturally prideful and stubborn. Gu Xiao furrowed his brows, but remembering Gu Qifang’s strict warnings, he forcefully suppressed his temper. He chose not to argue with this lunatic who was clearly difficult to deal with, instead speaking up: “The path ahead leads directly to a natural chasm. It is a dead end for horses and carriages, entirely devoid of human tracks. Has Your Excellency taken a wrong turn?”

His words were entirely true. Ahead lay a treacherous marsh, followed by a fractured canyon—a truly desolate landscape of barren mountains and evil waters where beasts of burden could not pass. Every single time he and his master traveled here, they had to rely on their lightness techniques to cross. For years, no outsiders had ever been seen, allowing Feiyun Peak, nestled deep within the canyon, to remain completely hidden amidst the mountains and forests. Therefore, Gu Xiao’s statement was both a genuine warning and an attempt to turn this bizarre individual away.

The man’s jet-black eyes peered through the hollow openings of his mask, staring at him like a venomous serpent locking onto its prey. He laughed in a slow, calculated drawl: “Taking a wrong turn? No, not at all. However…”

Before the final word could fully land, the man vaulted off his horse. He moved with the terrifying speed of a ghost shadow; Gu Xiao couldn’t discern his movement at all, only feeling a sudden, icy dread wash over his back. He instinctively threw himself sideways to the ground, and a spray of fresh blood instantly splattered across his body.

The white horse he had been riding collapsed heavily onto the earth. A deep, bone-deep gash tore across its neck, cleanly sliced open by a sharp weapon. The wound bled profusely, its flesh mangled and turned outward, leaving the beast unable to stand back up despite its struggles.

What terrifying speed, what ruthlessly cruel methods!

The white-clad man stood amidst the pooling blood, completely unbothered by the fact that the horse’s blood had stained his cloud-patterned satin boots. He merely let out a soft, gentle laugh: “Young man, so you are Gu Qifang’s disciple.”

The hairs on the back of Gu Xiao’s neck stood perfectly on end as the cool night wind chilled the cold sweat on his forehead. He instinctively gripped the hilt of his knife, yet a profound sense of powerlessness crept into his chest.

The man before him seemed to transform from a celestial immortal into a malicious ghost in the blink of an eye.

Gu Xiao’s gaze slowly drifted downward, his pupils shrinking violently as they locked onto the man’s hand—grasped firmly in his left hand was a dagger.

It was curved like a crescent moon, resembling an iron hook. Carved exquisitely onto the hilt was a lifelike prajna flower.

The nameless fury within Gu Xiao’s heart was instantly ignited at this very moment. The blood throughout his entire body rapidly froze before suddenly boiling over. He spoke with absolute, bitter hatred, practically grinding his teeth: “You… are a member of the Soul Burial Palace?”

The man lightly twirled the dagger, flicking off a few droplets of blood. He shook his head, explaining with an air of good temper: “No, the Soul Burial Palace is mine.”

Gu Xiao’s heart suffered a violent jolt. He stared at the man, the cold sweat on his back completely soaking through his clothes, yet his mouth refused to display any cowardice: “You are the master of the Soul Burial Palace? Then, the twenty-five lives of Baihua Village… was that your handiwork?”

The man paused to recall, murmuring, “There does seem to be such an incident. If that woman hadn’t been so clamorous while I was peeling off her face, prompting me to casually slice out her tongue, I would have nearly forgotten about it.”

“What grievance… what hatred did you share with them?!”

The man wagged his finger back and forth: “No, no, no. I held no grievance or hatred toward them. It is simply that they shouldn’t have crossed paths with the three of you, master and disciples.”

“Then what grudge do you hold against my master?!” Gu Xiao could finally no longer suppress his roaring fury. His long knife cleared its scabbard, carrying a streak of cold moonlight as it sliced through the wind, aimed directly for the man’s neck.

This single strike was “White Rainbow,” one of the most dominant and ruthless techniques within the Flying Swan Knife Style. It carried eighty percent of Gu Xiao’s total internal energy; he believed that even if it failed to kill the man, it would at least inflict a heavy injury.

However, while the man’s left hand continued to carelessly play with his dagger, his right hand merely flicked a finger against the side of the incoming blade. The trajectory of the knife was instantly deflected. In that exact fraction of a second, his right hand formed a claw, striking straight for Gu Xiao’s face. Gu Xiao barely managed to tilt his head aside when a sharp, searing pain erupted across his shoulder—the attack had physically torn through his clothes and skin, leaving three bloody, raw finger gouges!

“Your reactions aren’t bad. This is indeed the martial prowess of the Flying Swan lineage. My subordinates mentioned that you ruined my grand plans, so I had already intended to seek you out eventually.” The dagger rested gently against Gu Xiao’s chin. The man scrutinized his features thoroughly before suddenly laughing again, “You don’t look like your master, nor do you look like him. I am highly pleased.”

Gu Xiao gritted his teeth, spinning his knife back to force the dagger away as he retreated rapidly. He suddenly reached down and detached a bamboo flute from his waist.

This was an item Gu Qifang had given him, but Gu Xiao had never learned how to play a proper tune. At this moment, he merely channeled his inner force and blew hard, producing a harsh, fractured screech. The piercing sound shattered the bamboo tube, echoing far into the highest reaches of the heavens and startling countless birds and beasts throughout the forest!

The man’s amused movements came to a sudden halt.

After delivering that single blow, Gu Xiao found his internal breath faltering slightly. He already understood that this lunatic was heading directly for Feiyun Peak. With his master currently away, his only hope was that his Shiniang would hear this warning signal and hide immediately.

“Just as annoying as your master,” the man sneered. Yet, he stopped paying Gu Xiao any attention, soaring forward toward the path ahead. Terrified, Gu Xiao hastily brought his knife across to block him.

He fought neither to kill nor to injure; he utilized every ounce of his skill, thinking only of delaying this individual for a fraction longer.

Unfortunately, it was completely futile.

The man had merely been testing his martial arts previously, but he now possessed absolutely no patience left. He clamped his hand around Gu Xiao’s right wrist, forcing the long knife to slip from his grasp as an agonizing pain—as if his bones were being ground to dust—shot through his arm!

He clamped his jaw tight, refusing to utter a single sound. The man peered toward the horizon ahead for a brief moment before suddenly murmuring, “Something has happened to him.”

Gu Xiao froze, a nameless terror instantly creeping up his spine.

“He is either not present, or he has been thoroughly delayed by something. Otherwise, upon hearing that flute signal of yours, he would have undoubtedly rushed to your rescue.” The man gripped Gu Xiao’s pulse point, pondering for a moment. “Forget it. Going over now would likely be a useless endeavor anyway. It would be better to…”

Bathed in cold sweat, Gu Xiao understood the unspoken threat. Gritting his teeth, his left palm formed a finger strike aimed straight for his own Juque acupoint, intending to end his own life. However, the man anticipated the move entirely, slapping his hand away and delivering a heavy palm strike square to his chest. Gu Xiao was sent flying backward through the air, crashing heavily onto the ground. He coughed up a massive mouthful of fresh blood, completely unable to lift his body back up.

“Did I grant you permission to die?” The man knelt down beside him, his silver-white mask appearing even more frigid and sinister beneath the pale moonlight. “Rest assured, I will not kill you. Come back with me.”

He used his dagger to carve a few bloody words into the carcass of the dead white horse, hoisted Gu Xiao up, and mounted his own horse. Casting one final glance toward the direction of Feiyun Peak, he shook his head with an air of regret and galloped away.

An hour later, a Taoist priest with disheveled hair emerged from the forest. His steps were staggered and unstable, his face as pale as paper, with un-dried blood staining the corners of his lips.

His frame was somewhat unsteady, yet he moved with incredible speed. By the time he reached this spot, he could no longer control his ragged breathing, supporting himself with one hand against a massive tree. His gaze swept rapidly across the scene, taking in the pools of blood and the knife gashes on the trees one by one. Finally, he stepped forward to stand before the lifeless white horse.

Carved into its flank was a single, bloody sentence. It resembled a cheerful greeting from an old friend unseen for many years, yet it sent a bone-chilling dread straight through to the core—

Separated by passing years, is my Lord still well?