Zhang Chengling followed uncomprehendingly behind the two men, sensing that his shifu had become a little different after changing his appearance. The atmosphere was stifling; not even Gu Xiang, off to the side, had the nerve to make a racket, following behind without daring to make a single sound.
Usually, once the two of them were put together, they would keep needling each other nonstop, both taking cracks at the other person to release excess energy. However, neither of them spoke, placing their respective attentions on putting one foot in front of the other. Zhou Zishu did not even put his human skin mask back on--no one here recognised him anyway.
He felt a sense of discomfort in his chest, like he was suffocating. The Great Shaman's words were like a heavy blow straight to his chest--if ridding himself of his martial ability granted a fifth of hope, he would rather not have this hope, and die slowly, peacefully, like this.
Throughout history, numerous pugilists, far too many to count, had fought one another for just one secret manual and failed tragically. That gongfu of his was trained through momentous perseverance, through the deepest winters and the hottest summers; through carving his own unprecedented path of understanding via laborious rumination.
It was not merely a possession of his, or merely a skill he was proficient at. It was the culmination of his entire soul.
What did it mean to rid himself of his martial ability? It was like a person missing his soul; he might as well have turned himself into an imbecile at the very beginning and live blissfully in idiocy.
Naturally, the Great Shaman had understood this. It was why he had only sighed in the end, and not persuaded him.
If he was missing a good portion of his soul, if he had not this last bit of dignity, was it not an empty existence that was only fulfilled by dying? He indeed wished to live, but he did not wish to do so barely clinging onto his last thread of life.
Suddenly, Zhou Zishu could not help but raise his voice and sing, "Time flits by too fast for me, I fear how the years do not wait for me; at the break of dawn I hike up the mountain to gather magnolia, and at dusk I pluck hardy weeds from the river delta; the sun and moon continue to exchange places in the sky, just as how spring and autumn change over tirelessly; to think of how the grass withers and the trees shed their leaves, I fear the aging of the beautiful…"
That voice carried hints of hoarseness; in each word and every line, sorrow and anger had been tucked away, leaving only an indescribable viciousness and wild arrogance. This wild arrogance that he had been born with had reached the end of the road; it had wandered amongst the thousands of miles of rivers and mountains the people of the country made their living by, twisted and turned for far too long within his chest, and now, finally broke free from his throat.
The sky was gloomy, bearing down on them heavily. Gazing at the endless grasslands around them, there was only that one narrow path overgrown with weeds and littered with fallen branches. The northwestern gale did not know to stop howling; it rustled the grass forlornly, whistling through the fissures in rocks and through the woods like the wailing of a mountain spirit. It felt as if a thousand, even a million years could pass in the span of a day.
The breeze puffed up his wide sleeves, as if it was telling him to go with the wind. Wen Kexing lifted his head and observed Zhou Zishu's skeletal frame. The wind snapped the hair at his temples like a whip, lashing against the side of his face. Closing his eyes, he blocked out the image of that figure which had filled his wistful vision, and concentrated wholeheartedly on the burning agony he felt.
Cold wind swept into Zhou Zishu's throat, choking him. That tune of his, that had wandered far off-pitch, cut off abruptly as he bent slightly at the waist to cough. On his near-transparent lips, there was only a spot in the centre of his lips where there was some colour--an extremely, extremely thin line. Yet, it was as if it held the trace of a smile, a dark, blood red.
Wen Kexing raised his head to gaze at the sky that looked like it was about to fall, and a flake of something cool settled on his face--the first snow of Dongting had descended.
Why did the heroic have to face his eventual downfall? Why did the beautiful have to grow old one day?
Suddenly, a sense of resentment that he could not put into words rose within his chest. The resentment seemed to be on his own behalf, but also seemed to be on someone else's behalf, almost spilling over. He was resistant against accepting it; his fingers trembled as he felt an all-encompassing desire so strong that it could tear apart the heavens, the earth, and the mortal world with its might. He wanted to interrogate the heavens…what was natural creation? Why did they have to be beholden to the orchestrations of natural creation just because they lived, and suffer them?
With trepidation, Gu Xiang watched her master look back at her, who smiled as he asked, "A-Xiang, do you like that dumb boy Cao Weining?"
Gu Xiang was dumbfounded for a moment, staring at her master in confusion. "Master…"
Wen Kexing asked, "Do you find him nice?"
Gu Xiang had the feeling that those eyes were gazing straight at her soul. Suddenly, an odd emotion welled up in her, and she thought, was Cao Weining nice? She recalled that person telling her, "what if you're wrong, what if…you realised it in the future? I'm worried that you'll feel troubled over this." with a serious expression, recalled him hiking up his long sword with great effort to parry that couple of old demons and keep them at bay at all costs, whipping his head back at the moment of crisis. Those words, "Take him away first, hurry!"
Gu Xiang suddenly recalled that before this, no one had ever said things like letting her be the first to leave. Without knowing why, the edges of her eyes reddened, and she nodded sullenly, but only said, "Cao-dage is quite nice, he knows how to talk to people well, and he's educated…"
Wen Kexing chuckled soundlessly, "Yes, he's the only person who can utter something like 'be utterly ignorant as you sleep like the dead in spring'."
Gu Xiang could tell that he appeared to be saying something sarcastic, and actively defended, "'Weary in the spring, exhausted in the autumn, and nap in the summer'; everyone gets sleepy during springtime, don't they sleep like the dead and are unable to wake? The way I see it, what Cao-dage says is reasonable. His words aren't only just a bit better than those bookworms who only talk of 'the scent of chrysanthemum comes from the bitter cold', they're a lot better."
With a mischievous air, Wen Kexing looked at this slightly-blushing young girl, and nodded. "Sure, let's go rescue him then."
Gu Xiang was taken aback. "Huh? Didn't that Lord Seventh say just now that…"
Wen Kexing interrupted her loudly, "If I want to save someone, then I'll save them, and if I want to kill someone, then I'll kill them. I'll do as I like, and I'll see who in the world dares to block my path. Why prattle about so much? As a shabby, destitute pretty boy scholar, he doesn't know anything! A-Xu, are you coming with?"
Zhou Zishu smiled. "I wouldn't dare not to."
The corner of Wen Kexing's mouth lifted slightly, but his brows were still drawn together, inexplicably giving off an air of killer frostiness. This made his face, on which the mask was stuck, look rather frightening, as he said, "Alright, A-Xiang, whoever you're willing to rescue, just go and rescue them. I will naturally accompany you in stirring up a great ruckus."
At this moment, Cao Weining was very disheveled. He had tumbled and was as covered in mud as a mudskipper, the rags of his clothes stuck to him. One of his eyes was swollen nearly shut. Both his hands were tied behind his back, and his sword had been taken from him. Despite being shoved and stumbling for the whole journey, with Feng Xiaofeng bellowing and cursing sharply by his ear every now and then, for some reason, he was very much at peace.
He realised that he was really worthless. The teachings of their Qingfeng Sword Sect's ancestors dictated that "The individual goes where the sword goes; the individual dies when the sword shatters; uphold morality and righteousness; exterminate demonic evil." Now, despite the fact that his sword had been snapped and that he had probably been taken for one of those unorthodox villains, he did not take it to heart. Cao Weining had never considered himself one of those great figures who had the tremendous talent to govern, or the ability to shake the pugilist world with a stomp of his foot. As long as whatever he did was within his conscience, done without guilt, he was alright with it.
He only saw Zhou-xiong doing good deeds; saw Gu Xiang, such a frail and petite maiden, protecting the child of the Zhang family with her life. Conversely, it was the venerable orthodox who were bitterly forcing them to desperation.
What was good, and what was evil? All along, Cao Weining's greatest strength was his ability to keep an open mind.
Qingfeng Sword Sect taught him the path of good and evil, but did not teach him to pursue fame and personal interests. So, if others said that he was bad, that he had veered off the righteous path and willingly fell to evil, what could he do? Cao Weining thought about it. He felt quite sad, but sad as he was, he did not find that he had erred in any way. In a haze, he thought, If others do not think me good, then forget it. Anyway, by pursuing their own path in life, no one interferes in another's life. It's just that…I feel like I've let down my shifu and shishu a little.
It felt like Green Willow Grandpa had broken a rib of his: his chest blazed with agony every breath he took, and he was growing slightly disoriented. They threw him into a dark place, but without even glancing around first, Cao Weining closed his eyes and started regulating his qi. He intended to recuperate enough of his energy before escaping—he was still planning to escape, it didn't matter what happened to the others, but Gu Xiang was protecting Zhang Chengling all alone. Wasn't the situation going to be very troublesome if they couldn't find Zhou-xiong and Wen-xiong, and ran into the Poisonous Scorpions again?
He did not know how long had passed before a commotion suddenly sounded outside. He heard an extremely familiar voice roaring, "Bullshit! Since when has our Qingfeng Sword Sect produced unorthodox evil? In fact, the way I see it, you peach-red and willow-green old demons are the ones who don't look like decent people!"
The scene before Cao Weining's eyes brightened as the door to the shack he was held in was opened. A group of people walked in; squinting, Cao Weining peered over with his wretched appearance and discovered that the one raging within the group was none other than his shishu Mo Huaikong. Instantly, Cao Weining thought, Oh no, my shishu is going to hit the roof.
Mo Huaikong had already hit the roof--in the instant he saw Cao Weining, he growled in fury. Snapping his sleeve, he shoved Green Willow Grandpa and made him fall on his ass without the slightest bit of respect for the elderly. Enraged, Peach Red Grandma screeched, "Mo Huaikong, you lunatic, what are you doing?!"
Mo Huaikong did not beat around the bush either. In front of everyone else, he roared back at her, "That is my shizhi! If he has done anything evil, my Sect Leader shixiong will naturally cleanse our sect of him. Do we require you two old demons to uselessly screech at us about what we should do?"
Internally, Cao Weining could not resist the silent cry of "Well said!", thinking that even though his shishu had a terrible temper, he ultimately still sided with him. However, Mo Huaikong's next sentence was, "Before you beat the dog, you still have to check who its owner is!"
At once, Cao Weining cried silent tears of dejection in his heart.
Out of the blue, Feng Xiaofeng yelped, and yanked over the Gaoshan slave, whose eyes had been bandaged. Pointing to Mo Huaikong, he accused, "What a good Qingfeng Sword Sect. Why don't you ask what good things your good shizhi has done? It's the little female demon that was with him who harmed A-Shan's eyes with poison, if I can't capture that little female demon, I will rip the eyes out of this little rascal Cao!"
Mo Huaikong was just about to speak, but someone off to the side humphed. "A little girl, executing such a vicious technique right off the bat--obviously, she's a little female demon. Why would Young Hero Cao mingle with this sort of shady woman? I would like to be enlightened on this matter."
This made Mo Huaikong swallow the words that he had just been about to utter. Mo Huaikong shot a venomous gaze at Cao Weining, and the latter opened his mouth to pathetically call, "Shishu."
Mo Huaikong fumed, "Who's your shishu?" He stepped forward, grabbed Cao Weining's collar, and said coldly, "Who was the person with you that they mention? Speak!"
Cao Weining opened his mouth, and mumbled, "That's...A...Xiang, A-Xiang isn't one of the bad ones, shishu, A-Xiang...A-Xiang…"
Peach Red Grandma scoffed. "A-Xiang? You're sure addressing her rather intimately."
Having hurried back from the other direction, Yu Qiufeng, who looked solemn on the outside but had his own nefarious intentions, butted in, "It is understandable for a young man to have been wrongly led astray by beauty. As long as you turn over a new leaf, all of us here are also not unreasonable people with petty hearts…"
Before he could finish speaking, Feng Xiaofeng raged, "I want to rip her eyes out!"
It was unknown whether he had intended to do so or not, but he successfully destroyed the stage that Yu Qiufeng had set for himself. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Yu Qiufeng had the desire to stomp on this shortie until he was dead.
At the present moment, Gao Chong, Zhao Jing, Reverend Cimu and the rest were absent as they were busy with the funeral preparations for Shen Zhen. Without a leader, this mob of vile crooks was like a group of dragons without a leader, and bickered among themselves even more flagrantly. Mo Huaikong's eyelid was twitching non-stop. Picking Cao Weining up from the ground, he growled through gritted teeth, "Unfilial disciple, speak honestly--where is the little female demon headed to, having kidnapped the Zhang child?"
With great effort, Cao Weining said, "A-Xiang didn't…"
Enraged, Mo Huaikong landed a slap on his face, which had already swelled up like a pig's head. At this exact moment, a clear, light voice announced, "The little female demon is over here, you old, shameless bunch, come and catch me if you're capable enough!"
Cao Weining's mind imploded--A-Xiang!