Wei Wenfeng was terribly sad.
Qian Xuelang had known that much ever since the day he went to see him after Master’s death. But just how deep the sorrow ran, and how far it reached, was beyond anything he had been able to understand or feel.
Only today did Qian Xuelang realize that the pain Wei Wenfeng concealed beneath his smiles and concern had never been dimmed by time, much less disappeared.
Day after day, year after year, it had finally borne this bitter fruit.
An apology rose unexpectedly in Qian Xuelang’s heart. He should have realized it long ago. But, as Ren Yijue had said, he had never truly seen Wei Wenfeng.
However much the man had cared for him or looked after him, Qian Xuelang had never seen Wei Wenfeng himself. How could he possibly have noticed anything?
Qian Xuelang found himself before a forging furnace. Its fire had only just been extinguished. The coals still crackled from time to time, and the heat had not yet faded.
Wei Wenfeng stood motionless beside it, staring at a newly forged scarlet saber.
It was Honglu.
“You’re here.” Wei Wenfeng did not turn his head. His voice was casual. “Come, sit down.”
Qian Xuelang approached and sat beside him at the railing. Together they gazed at Honglu.
They were within Wei Wenfeng’s sea of consciousness. Having left the memories behind, Qian Xuelang now saw whatever Wei Wenfeng wished him to see. As matters stood, there was nothing before him beyond Honglu and the forge.
Yet perhaps this was also precisely what Qian Xuelang himself had seen in years past. Whenever he looked at Wei Wenfeng, he had noticed only Honglu and the forge.
“You’re awake,” Qian Xuelang finally said.
Wei Wenfeng smiled. “Awake? What does it mean to be awake? Am I awake when I act like the Wei Wenfeng other people expect? When I move on? When I sit here talking to you? If that’s what it means, I’m afraid I’ve been awake for far, far too long.”
“Being awake means enduring your own grief instead of dragging innocent people into it,” Qian Xuelang said evenly.
The words left Wei Wenfeng looking lost. “I…”
“This sword is far more powerful than you realize,” Qian Xuelang said. “Wei Wenfeng, don’t allow a weapon of your own making to command you. Wake up. Otherwise you’ll kill me and then become a calamity to all living beings. If we’re lucky, we’ll destroy each other instead.”
Wei Wenfeng stared at him. He trembled all over, endless pain and sorrow filling his face.
No matter how many years he had known this master and disciple, Wei Wenfeng still could not accept their indifference toward life and death.
Before leaving the sea of consciousness, Qian Xuelang spoke once more. “I’m sorry, Wei Wenfeng. I know… however painful it is, you desperately want to remain here. But… you can’t.”
Qian Xuelang opened his eyes again.
The temple was still the same ruined temple. Ren Yijue remained unconscious, the Bodhisattva still gazed downward, and apart from the fact that Wei Wenfeng’s sword had not fallen, nothing seemed to have changed.
But the flames of old battles had vanished from Wei Wenfeng’s eyes. They reflected the people of the present once more.
“It’s… it’s you…” Wei Wenfeng’s voice was hoarse. He lowered the sword and stared at his hands in disbelief, as though not yet fully awake from a dream. “I… I was going to kill you?”
Wei Wenfeng’s face turned white. He released his grip. The sword of grief struck the ground with a metallic clang. His expression shifted wildly. He stumbled backward a couple of steps and muttered, “No. Why would I kill you? I actually wanted to kill you… impossible… I clearly sensed demonic qi… Wait. What… what else did I do? Did I kill anyone?”
“Not that I know of.”
Entering another person’s sea of consciousness consumed enormous power and was exceedingly dangerous. Had Qian Xuelang not trusted Wei Wenfeng’s character, he would never have taken such a risk. His own condition was scarcely better than either of the others’, though he still had a little strength left.
“Is that so?” Wei Wenfeng said softly. “Is that so? I haven’t yet…”
Before the forgemaster could finish, his body began to feel wrong. Pain struck his heart, his eyelids grew heavy, and his vision went black. He promptly fainted.
Qian Xuelang: “…”
He had intended to tell Wei Wenfeng that the sword had actually been attacking the demonic qi within Ren Yijue, not Qian Xuelang himself. And that if the sword continued spreading its aura of grief, someone really would die soon.
Unfortunately, he had been unable to say either thing in time.
Qian Xuelang tentatively touched the sword. Though he sensed something unusual, its effect upon him was nowhere near as severe as it had been upon Wei Wenfeng. He picked it up, took the two unconscious men with him, and made his way to Abandoned Blades Residence.
Abandoned Blades Residence was Wei Wenfeng’s home. Since retiring, he had hung a four-character inscription at the gate: “Abandon Blades, Seal the Forge,” a declaration of his firm intention to withdraw from the world.
The residence was in complete disarray. The forge stood open and tools lay scattered across the floor. Evidently, on the very day the sword was completed, its influence had seized Wei Wenfeng’s mind and trapped him in painful memories. He had not regained his senses since.
Qian Xuelang placed the sword to one side and carried Wei Wenfeng and Ren Yijue inside to rest.
Wei Wenfeng rarely received visitors. His residence had only three rooms: one for himself, one reserved for He Tianjun, and one for guests, who were usually Qian Xuelang.
Qian Xuelang put Wei Wenfeng in the main bedroom and Ren Yijue in the guest room. Then he left the house and headed toward Abandoned Blades Pool on the mountain behind it.
Abandoned Blades Pool had once been a small pond of water so clear one could see its bottom. Wei Wenfeng originally intended to use it for quenching metal, but he later changed his mind and cast into the pool every weapon he forged after publicly sealing his forge.
As for why he had changed his mind…
By the time Qian Xuelang arrived, the weapons at the bottom of the pool had sensed the presence of a powerful cultivator and begun resonating in unison, as though about to erupt through the water. The sound was terrifying.
Though the weapons did not emerge, the killing aura of so much metal was overwhelming. Qian Xuelang gazed into the pool, recited an incantation, and stretched out his hand. At the touch of his spiritual power, the water separated like a mirror split in two.
Once the water parted, the weapons ceased radiating aggression and settled quietly back onto the pond bed, becoming so much rusting iron again.
Qian Xuelang stepped into the opening and descended straight down. After an unknown stretch of darkness, he finally entered a silent cave deep within the mountain.
The cave had originally been a fluorite vein. Fluorite was also called moonlight stone, bright moon pearl, or luminous night pearl. It shone in darkness as brightly as day. Ancient people had often used it instead of oil lamps in tombs, where it gleamed like suspended stars and moons, making it immensely valuable.
When the pool opened, light fell into the cave and the fluorite began shining with a cold radiance. The stones varied slightly in color, were cold to the touch, and appeared crystalline to the eye. As Qian Xuelang walked, a thousand lights and ten thousand hues multiplied in interlocking reflections, shadow upon shadow without end. It was like walking through a bewildering dream.
Qian Xuelang went deeper and soon reached a broad chamber formed naturally within the cave. Its furnishings were almost identical to those of He Tianjun’s former rooms: wardrobe, dressing table, writing desk and stools, even an empty sword stand.
Where a four-poster bed ought to have stood, however, there was a couch of cold jade. A smooth jade pillow supported the head of the person lying upon it.
Qian Xuelang climbed the short steps, sat beside the jade couch, and looked at He Tianjun.
His master’s hair was bound neatly in a high ornament, his expression gentle and his clothes immaculate. His hands rested over his abdomen. The fluorite lights rippled across the cave like waves, illuminating his features with the faint suggestion of a smile, as though he had merely fallen asleep one afternoon.
In truth, Qian Xuelang had already reached his own conclusion. He had come down only to confirm it. Yet seeing his late master’s face filled him with unexpected sorrow and weariness. He simply watched He Tianjun for a long while, then bent forward and rested against his arm, dozing briefly.
There was no way to tell time inside the cave. When Qian Xuelang gradually awoke, his spirits had improved considerably. Lifting his face, he almost felt eight years old again, sleeping beside his master, before there was a Heavenly Mandate or any difficult trial ahead of him.
He held his master’s hand, feeling no warmth at all. Of course he had known this long ago.
After a soft sigh, Qian Xuelang reached out and undid He Tianjun’s robes.
This was neither exaggeration nor flattery: He Tianjun had once been the cultivator closest to the Immortal Dao. One could say he had attained the body of a half-immortal, lacking only a single final step.
When drunk, Wei Wenfeng sometimes rambled to Qian Xuelang that if He Tianjun had become immortal, perhaps he would not have died. But attaining immortality was never easy. His master’s opportunity had not yet come, and no matter what he did, he could not have crossed that threshold.
Yet his master’s cultivation was complete and his immortal bones had formed. Only a lightning tribulation remained.
Qian Xuelang brushed aside those stray recollections. When he opened the final layer of clothing, his hand stopped.
Upon He Tianjun’s once-flawless skin were indeed thunder marks like a spider’s web: bloody traces and raised red scars spread outward, enclosing his body in an unbroken net. There was no need to examine the rest. It would not be much different.
Qian Xuelang’s hand trembled. He clenched it into a fist, pressed his lips together, and only after a long while reached out to touch He Tianjun’s chest.
Beneath the skin lay the bones and marrow of an ordinary mortal. All the clear qi was gone. Exactly as Qian Xuelang had suspected, the lightning tribulation had stripped away the immortal bones his master had cultivated with such effort.
The overwhelming clear qi on the sword had truly come from He Tianjun.
Understanding something in one’s heart and seeing it with one’s own eyes were utterly different experiences.
“Master,” Qian Xuelang whispered, “you anticipated this day long ago. You even used your own remains. Why would you do such a thing… unless…?”
In a sudden flash, all the clues gathered so far rose together in his mind.
The dire divination, the Heavenly Demon’s rebirth, Ren Cangming’s misfortune, the demon-slaying divine weapon in Wei Wenfeng’s hands: the scattered fragments suddenly joined into a single, complete chain.
“You…”
Qian Xuelang understood everything. He sprang up in shock, but could not bring himself to utter an unkind word about the master to whom he owed so much.
After dressing and fastening He Tianjun’s clothes again, he paced before the jade couch for a while. Then he left the fluorite cave and returned to Abandoned Blades Residence.
Only one question remained in Qian Xuelang’s mind.
Did Wei Wenfeng know?
Qian Xuelang watched over both men until nightfall, when Wei Wenfeng finally woke. He sprang from bed in a panic. “Xuelang! Xuelang! Where are you? Are you all right?!”
“I’m here.” Qian Xuelang rose from Ren Yijue’s side and went out to meet him. “Wei Wenfeng, I’m fine.”
Just then Wei Wenfeng, flustered and frantic, struck his head against the doorframe with a tremendous thump. An awkward silence fell.
After a while, Wei Wenfeng muttered, “Er… I… forgot to light the lamps.”
Cultivators possessed sharp eyes and ears and could see in darkness easily enough. It was an exceedingly poor excuse.
Fortunately Qian Xuelang was in no mood to tease him. He remained composed. “I’ll do it.”
Together they lit the candlesticks around the rooms. Some had burned down entirely, leaving only thick accumulations of wax. Wei Wenfeng had evidently grown tired of dealing with them. He had neither cleaned them nor replaced them, simply leaving them as they were.
“Wei Wenfeng, do you have anything that can seal that sword?” Qian Xuelang asked. “Unless we seal it, I fear my friend will never wake.”
“I do. But that sword’s power is beyond anything I anticipated. I can’t promise it’ll seal it completely.” Wei Wenfeng agreed and headed back into his room. Casually he asked, “Hmm? You’ve made a new friend? That’s rare. Or is it still that little phoenix from before? Wait… don’t tell me I was the one who injured your friend…?”
“No.”