SS CH72

Shen Wuduan was a shameless bastard—the kind of outstanding, peerlessly unique bastard that stood out from the crowd.

As the fog slowly dispersed, Ye Fusheng finally got a clear look at the old master of the Hundred Ghosts Sect. He wore a black robe woven with subtle dark patterns. He was tall, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long, slender limbs. He showed absolutely no signs of the hunched posture or weight gain typical of the elderly; judging by his physique alone, he looked like a man in his prime.

But he was old, after all.

His hair had already turned gray. Though his face was well-maintained, slight wrinkles had surfaced, particularly around the corners of his eyes.

Yet no one would truly mistake him for a frail old man. Setting aside the lingering grace of his once dragon-like elegance, his eyes and smile alone outshone countless self-proclaimed romantic wandering knights and refined scholars of the martial world.

Having spat out those two mouthfuls of blood, the internal energy wreaking havoc in Ye Fusheng’s organs finally settled. In fact, after forcing out the congested blood, he felt much lighter than before. Seeing that although Chu Xiwei’s lips were stained red, his face showed no signs of pain, Ye Fusheng relaxed.

He patted Chu Xiwei’s back with one hand, then turned and bowed formally to Shen Wuduan. “Thank you, Senior, for the assistance of your palm strike.”

Shen Wuduan laughed. “If you hadn’t blocked for him just now, that strike would have landed squarely on your head. Therefore, this is the consequence of your own choice. There is no need to thank me.”

Ye Fusheng rubbed his nose and listened as Shen Wuduan spoke to Chu Xiwei: “Xiwei, for bringing an outsider into the valley, go to the Punishment Hall later and receive ten lashes. Let this be the only time.”

Chu Xiwei nodded. “Yes.”

Ye Fusheng frowned but ultimately said nothing. Shen Wuduan turned back to him, his expression now pleasant and accommodating. “Young man, your martial arts are quite good, but your qi and blood are a bit deficient. Go eat some brown sugar and dates to nourish yourself later. At your young age, it’s fine for anything else to be weak, but your kidneys cannot fail.”

Ye Fusheng: “…”

He blinked and asked sincerely, “Is this… spoken from the Senior’s personal experience?”

Shen Wuduan sighed softly, filled with profound emotion. “Drunk amidst tens of thousands of flowers, never failing my reputation as a fickle lover.”

This old Sect Master truly deserved his youthful reputation as a master among ten thousand flowers. Even in his old age, his romantic flair hadn’t diminished, and he felt no shame speaking of it to the younger generation; rather, he carried the nostalgic sigh of “remembering the glorious years of the past.”

Outsiders could hardly imagine that a man as enamored with romance and beauty as Shen Wuduan would actually marry the utterly disfigured Qin Liurong—a woman with no peerless beauty to admire and no tender affection to rely on. Yet from then on, he restrained his true nature, lived peacefully with her as husband and wife for thirty years, and did not betray her even after her death.

Skipping past this topic, Ye Fusheng asked, “What is beneath that hole from earlier?”

“A bone-burying pit,” Shen Wuduan replied.

“Is it a place for dead people?”

Seeing Shen Wuduan nod, Ye Fusheng said, “Then when Scholar Lu comes out, he will be a man who has died once.”

Shen Wuduan stroked his beard. “He might also just become a dead scholar.”

Ye Fusheng smiled. “With the Eldest Miss there, even if he dies, he’ll have to crawl back from the King of Hell’s palace.”

“You are much more interesting than this little brat,” Shen Wuduan laughed heartily, glancing at Chu Xiwei. “If you were the one I picked up back then, these past years wouldn’t have been so boring.”

Inexplicably despised, Chu Xiwei acted as if he hadn’t heard a thing, simply reminding him, “Let’s go.”

Shen Wuduan turned his head in surprise. “Have you not been home in eight hundred years? Why are you so impatient?”

Chu Xiwei: “…”

Seeing his impatience, Ye Fusheng wiped the remaining blood from his lips with his sleeve and addressed Shen Wuduan: “I’ve heard there are three places in the martial world one must not go: one is the Wangchen Peak of the Supreme Palace; two is Mizong Ridge of the Burial Soul Palace; and three is Netherworld Valley of the Hundred Ghosts Sect. This junior has had the fortune to visit one of these three places. I wonder if I will have the honor of seeing another today?”

Shen Wuduan was highly intrigued. “The one you visited must be Mizong Ridge.”

Ye Fusheng raised an eyebrow. “How did Senior know?”

“If you had met those dead-set fools on Wangchen Peak who cultivated themselves into idiots, how could you still have such an interesting temperament?” Shen Wuduan waved his hand dismissively. “The people of the Supreme Palace are the most boring. In my entire life, I’ve only ever met one…”

He suddenly stopped talking. A flash of grief and nostalgia rapidly crossed his face before he turned away. “It’s getting late. Once the water ghosts sink to the bottom, it’ll be hard to get on the road.”

Before his words even finished, Shen Wuduan was already far away. He didn’t appear to be walking fast—he even carried the lazy ease of a casual stroll—yet in just a few steps, he had opened a distance of nearly thirty feet. Even with Ye Fusheng’s sharp eyesight, he could barely track his shifting footwork.

The man who had just been chatting and laughing casually seemed to flee in panic when accidentally mentioning the Supreme Palace, as if someone had stomped on a painful sore spot.

“In the future, don’t mention the Supreme Palace in front of my Yifu.”

Walking up beside him, Chu Xiwei compressed his voice into a thin line directed straight into Ye Fusheng’s ear. Ye Fusheng’s eyebrow twitched, and he replied equally softly, “Why?”

“I once heard my Yifu say while drunk that he had a close friend who hailed from the Supreme Palace. They were as close as brothers; calling them friends willing to die for one another wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Unfortunately, later on…”

Ye Fusheng’s heart stirred. “The Old Sect Master doesn’t look like they had a falling out, so it must mean they are separated by life and death?”

Chu Xiwei nodded. “The ‘Yinxue Blade’ I gave you was something my Yifu carried since childhood. He later gave it to his friend for self-defense, though I heard the man disliked killing, so it served mostly as a token of their bond. Thirteen years ago, my Yifu heard he was in trouble and rushed overnight to help, but unfortunately, he was too late. The man’s residence was burned to the ground, leaving no remains. Only this item was found.”

Thirteen years ago, burned to the ground…

Ye Fusheng frowned. A thought flashed through his mind but vanished just as quickly. “Do you know where that person lived?”

Chu Xiwei replied, “Thirteen years ago, I hadn’t even joined the Hundred Ghosts Sect. This was just something I heard during one of my Yifu’s drunken ramblings. How would I know?”

Feeling a bit disappointed, Ye Fusheng nodded and hummed in acknowledgment.

Chu Xiwei suddenly asked, “Just now, why did you block that palm strike for me?”

Ye Fusheng froze for a moment as Chu Xiwei continued, “If my Yifu hadn’t held back, you definitely would have died.”

“I’ve wandered the border between life and death more times than I can count. The King of Hell probably knows me by face now, so I’m not afraid of death.” Ye Fusheng smiled, discussing matters of life and death as casually as if chatting after a meal. “As for why I blocked it… A-Yao, my life belongs to you now. Do I need a reason to block a palm strike?”

His heart skipping a beat, Chu Xiwei raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Hearing this, Ye Fusheng sighed. He reached out, tapped him on the temple, and said, “My entire life has been full of lies, but this is the one sentence I cannot take back. How can you not believe me?”

His tone was incredibly casual, but the moment the words left his mouth, he suddenly remembered that Chu Xiwei liked men. Even if he himself harbored no such intentions, this action was far too intimate. He instinctively tried to pull his hand back, but Chu Xiwei firmly grasped his wrist.

Unlike his usually aloof demeanor, Chu Xiwei’s palm was almost boiling hot. When he grabbed Ye Fusheng, the heat practically seared the skin through his bracer, causing him to involuntarily flinch.

But even hotter than his palm was Chu Xiwei’s gaze.

Ye Fusheng didn’t know that his casually spoken words carried the weight of a thousand mountains for Chu Xiwei. Like lightning accompanied by thunder tearing through the night sky, or a torrential downpour driven by fierce winds—it came fiercely and vanished in an instant, leaving behind a profound, lingering palpitation.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. It took him a long time to finally speak, using an address that hadn’t been heard in years: “Shifu, I want to ask you a few questions.”

Ye Fusheng’s intended struggle ceased entirely. Stunned first by the title he thought he would never hear again, he was then completely arrested by the unprecedented solemnity in Chu Xiwei’s tone. He answered deeply, “Ask whatever you wish, and I will hide nothing.”

“Thirteen years ago, I waited for you in Jinshui Town for thirty-three days. You said you would take me as your disciple, treat me with all your heart, and never betray me in this life. Was that true or false?”

“True.”

“Ten years ago, when the rebellion broke out in the palace, you promised to stand by my side. Yet in the end, to protect Chu Xun, you forced my parents to their deaths. Do you admit this or not?”

“I admit it.”

Since their reunion, Chu Xiwei had consciously avoided the past, and Ye Fusheng, mindful of his feelings, had said very little. Now that he finally brought up the old matters on his own initiative, Ye Fusheng didn’t feel fear; he only felt the settling dust of “it is finally here.”

He enunciated every word clearly: “Taking you as my disciple in Jinshui Town and promising never to regret it was true. Ten years ago, causing your family’s destruction and ruining your future was also true.”

Lowering his eyes, Chu Xiwei clenched his left hand tightly inside his sleeve. “Then you admit you broke your promise?”

Ye Fusheng didn’t deny it. “I am the one who failed you.”

The moment these words fell, Chu Xiwei’s eyes became completely bloodshot, tears threatening to spill from the corners. In the span of that single sentence, it was as if he had reverted back to that powerless child from ten years ago, too weak to even cry out.

His voice was hoarse. “You once said, ‘I am a man of the Jianghu; entering the court is a last resort. Regardless of who possesses what fortune, it is a contest of destiny relying on one’s own abilities, and has absolutely nothing to do with you.’ Since that was the case, why… why did you help him?”

Before Ye Fusheng could answer, he continued, “Since you helped him, you should have helped him to the very end… So why, when my assassination attempt failed and I was captured, did you kneel and beg for my life, offering to exchange your life for mine?”

If you had truly betrayed me entirely, my hatred for you would be so much more justified. But why, of all things, did you save me?

You make me hate you to the bone, yet you won’t even let this hatred be pure.

His grip on Ye Fusheng’s hand unconsciously tightened, transmitting a piercing pain that felt as though he were going to crush Ye Fusheng’s wrist bones to dust.

The deliberately avoided past was finally laid bare. Like tearing away the gilded exterior of a painted skin to reveal the rotting decay within, searching for that bloody heart.

You promised our bond as master and disciple would not be betrayed, yet you broke that promise, personally destroying my dreams of family and my bright future.

Since you broke your promise, why did you save my life? Hiding your name for ten years to join the Lueying Guards, and ten years later, offering your life in exchange.

A person of the Jianghu is born of the three mountains and four seas, their bones buried in the wind, rain, frost, and cold. You were supposed to be free and unrestrained. Why did you bind yourself in a cocoon?

Chu Xiwei had pondered these questions for ten years and still couldn’t figure them out. Today, he finally asked them aloud, waiting for the one who tied the bell to untie it.

Ye Fusheng remained silent for a long time, and Chu Xiwei didn’t rush him. Having waited ten years, he didn’t care about waiting a few more moments.

“I…”

After a long while, Ye Fusheng finally spoke. His tone wasn’t heavy; instead, it carried the free and easy relief of a burden lifted: “I helped Ziyu because it involved my Shifu; I saved you because the fault was not yours.”

Chu Xiwei’s eyebrow twitched. Over the years, he had investigated the lineage of the Jinghong Blade, naturally knowing that the woman who escorted him and Chu Xun when they were children was Ye Fusheng’s master—Gu Qifang, the shooting star of the martial world.

However, since that parting, there had been no news of Gu Qifang in the Jianghu. She had seemingly vanished from the face of the earth. Some said she died, though no bones were found; others said she retreated from the martial world, though not a single word was heard from her.

He slightly lowered his eyes. “What happened to Senior Gu?”

“…She died.” After a pause, the smile on Ye Fusheng’s lips quietly faded. “If she reincarnated, she might already be thirteen years old by now.”

Thirteen years old… That meant she met with an accident shortly after leaving Yuzhou City thirteen years ago.

Chu Xiwei was inexplicably startled, his eyes flickering. “What happened?”

Ye Fusheng slowly pulled his hand back, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He raised his head incredibly slowly, his slightly curved lips pressing into a sharp, straight line. His peach-blossom eyes were dyed an unyielding dark red, the only hint of moisture betraying itself at the corners.

He enunciated every single word: “I killed her.”