WJ Chapter 22

Yin Qilei (2)

Yun Changliu sank deep into dreams.

Bizarre and fantastical visions shuttled past him, yet never lingered.

He seemed submerged in a bone-chillingly cold deep sea, swallowed by terrifying currents. What remained of his senses was battered again and again against underwater boulders and reefs—each time shattered to pieces, each time suffocating near death.

He could never completely lose consciousness, and thus could never find release. There was only endless suffering.

……

In a pitch-black lightless room sat the young Sect Leader Changliu, cross-legged.

The young boy wore snow-white luxurious robes, with clear brows, handsome features, red lips and white teeth—every inch refined and beautiful as an immortal child stepped out from an ink-wash painting.

Yet upon that tender face was a lifeless, cold indifference. He gazed out the window from within the room, lips pressed lightly together, quiet as a sculpture carved from white jade.

This child who had carried deadly poison since his mother’s womb was destined from the moment of his birth into this world to endure endless tormenting agony.

Fengchun Sheng poison reacted most violently to emotional turmoil—he could not cry or laugh excessively, so that even the servants attending the young Sect Leader were all stiff and respectful elders. The young Sect Leader who could fall ill at any moment could not overexert himself, could not go out to play, had no companions his own age. The most frequent thing he swallowed daily was bitter or astringent medicine, and every three to five days he had to endure excruciating pain like slow torture.

In this unbearably lonely room, he lost consciousness from pain countless times, then awakened from pain countless times. Muddle-headed, feeling life wearing away in day after monotonous day.

The terror of Fengchun Sheng lay precisely in this endless despair—many poison victims couldn’t even hold out until the toxin exhausted their vitality, choosing instead to end their own lives because they couldn’t bear the agony worse than death when the poison flared.

The young Sect Leader gazed out the window in complete darkness.

His eyes were clear and limpid, innocent as an infant’s, yet had already witnessed hardships most people couldn’t imagine in a lifetime.

Why was he still alive?

Was he waiting for someone?

Would anyone come?

……

“Eh? You’re… Chanjuan’s other brother?”

A crisp voice rang out in the darkness.

Inside the room remained unchanging loneliness; outside it was warm spring with blooming flowers and birds calling for clear skies.

A girl delicate as carved jade stood on tiptoes, her tender white fingers gripping hard at the windowsill. A pair of watery eyes blinked curiously, bright as stars.

The white-robed young Sect Leader sitting by the window stared at her blankly.

“Huh… why aren’t you talking? Don’t you recognize Chanjuan?”

Miss Chanjuan tilted her head in confusion. The warm early spring sun flowed like golden silk over her upswept hair, glittering with scattered light.

The girl’s voice was soft and sweet. She pointed at him with one finger, saying solemnly, “You’re my older brother, and I’m your younger sister.”

The brocade-clad, jade-ornamented young master Danjing ran over, pouting as he pulled at his sister. “Chanjuan, don’t bother with him. This guy is weird—he’s a mute!”

Yun Changliu’s thin lips moved as he gazed at the pair of young siblings outside the window.

He wanted to speak, but didn’t know what to say.

It had been too long since someone his own age had spoken to him like this.

After a long while, the young Sect Leader finally spoke softly:

“…Not… a mute.”

Yun Chanjuan smiled as sweetly as if she’d received candy, pulling Yun Danjing with one hand while pointing at Yun Changliu with the other. “Danjing, listen, listen! He’s not a mute! You’re an older brother, and he’s an older brother too!”

“Wow, wonderful! Chanjuan has two older brothers now!”

……

Silver bell-like laughter approached from afar.

“Brother Changliu, Brother Changliu!”

Little Yun Chanjuan’s skirt hem fluttered like a pink butterfly. She clutched a large bunch of fresh wildflowers in her arms, hopping and skipping all the way to the window.

“Today Mother took us out to play! Look, look—the mountain flowers are blooming so beautifully! Why didn’t you come out to play with us?”

Yun Danjing carried a small bamboo basket filled with wild jujubes. The young master stuck out his neck and snorted. “I already told you he’s a mute brother and a sickly brother—of course he can’t come out to play.”

Yun Changliu still sat by the window, still not speaking.

Only his gaze outward was so gentle and peaceful.

Yun Chanjuan didn’t mind at all, smiling innocently and brightly. She lifted her short, tender little arms high, and a flower in full bloom was tossed through that window.

“Chanjuan’s flower is for you!”

The flower traced an arc downward.

Yun Changliu reached up and caught that nameless wildflower in his pale palm.

He lowered his lashes, very seriously bowing his head to smell the flower’s fragrance—a fresh, sweet scent. The petals still bore bright, round dewdrops, seeming to carry the breath of sunlight and earth.

Such vitality—for others, easily obtained; for him, only something to long for but never reach.

Whether it was Mother, or going out to play…

He had neither, and never could.

“Hey, mute brother!”

Several thuds sounded as more things were tossed through the window.

The young Sect Leader glanced aside—several bright red jujubes had rolled down beside him, creasing his white robe.

Yun Danjing stood outside the window with his neck raised high, his luxurious brocade clothes bathed in sunlight and dappled tree shadows, making a face at him. “It’s not like I’m giving them to you! We just picked too many—they’re so heavy, we can’t carry them back! No choice, so I’ll let you eat them.”

Yun Chanjuan wrinkled her nose, saying quietly, “But you were the one who insisted on taking the long way to see Brother Changliu…”

Yun Danjing’s face flushed bright red, embarrassed and angry. “I-I-I did no such thing! You little girl talking nonsense—watch me not spank you silly…”

Summer was a scorching season. Tree shadows were deep green under pale clouds and gentle breezes.

The two children laughed and played, running off in the blink of an eye.

Left behind was only the empty room.

And wildflowers and jujubes carrying the breath of midsummer.

……

Withered yellow fallen leaves dropped into a pool of shocking blood, instantly stained crimson red.

Towering flames, spreading thick smoke—all like masses of somber colors, dried on this chilling autumn night.

Charred corpses.

Betrayal and death.

Yun Chanjuan stood before the ruins of Jiaoyang Hall, now grown into a young woman. She was still so beautiful, still so pitifully moving. Only the smile was gone from that still-beautiful face, replaced by cold, vicious hatred.

“Brother Changliu… Danjing is dead. My brother is dead.”

Bloody tears streamed from her eyes, frightening as a rakshasa demon. Yun Chanjuan’s voice was hoarse, every word weeping blood. “Why won’t you avenge him? Why… why!?”

“Aren’t you—”

Suddenly wind howled, burying the young woman’s voice until it was faint and distant.

“—Aren’t you our older brother?”

Yun Changliu’s entire body was ice-cold, unable to move. The smell of blood filled his chest, making it impossible to breathe, as if about to crush his heart to pieces.

He wanted to speak, to cry out or even roar, but once again could say nothing.

He saw Guan Wujue kneeling before him in a daze.

Blood-stained red robes, blood-stained twin swords.

And Yun Chanjuan had somehow approached step by step from behind, also holding a sword in her hand.

“Brother Changliu, please avenge Brother Danjing.”

“Otherwise, you’re not my brother.”

She embraced his waist from behind, forcing the sword into his hand.

Yun Changliu’s eyes lost focus, stiff as a puppet.

His soul was already struggling frantically, yet it was bound within a body that couldn’t move, unable to resist.

“Kill that enemy, kill him.”

She gripped his hand, forcing him to raise the sword.

She pushed him forward.

Guan Wujue still knelt there, neither moving nor speaking.

Not even raising his head to look at him.

“—Kill Guan Wujue.”

Yun Chanjuan suddenly shoved his back.

The sword tip pierced straight toward Guan Wujue’s chest.

……

“No…!”

Yun Changliu struggled violently, flinging away the longsword in his hand as if avoiding a viper. Yet the longsword transformed in this eerie dream. What fell to the ground with a thud was that blood-soaked Bone-Crushing Whip.

Snow began falling all around.

A few steps from where the punishment whip fell lay a mangled corpse in the snow, motionless.

Blood beneath the corpse kept flowing, spreading across the white snow, glaringly red.

Pure white snow, bright red blood. White and red intertwined, resembling the crimson plum trees planted together with someone in winters past.

“…No,” Yun Changliu’s heart and liver shattered. He felt the sky spinning, his chest pressed by a massive stone, unable to breathe. “No, no…!”

Not like this.

It shouldn’t be like this.

It couldn’t be like this!

“—Wujue!!”

He cried out in alarm, awakening from the nightmare.

When he opened his eyes, dawn light was just breaking.

In the incense burner, calming incense burned leisurely with a wisp of white smoke. Yangxin Hall was peaceful as always.

“Sect Leader!”

Wen Feng stood watch at the bedside, eyes red from exhaustion. Worry and relief—these two completely opposite emotions—intertwined on his face, finally becoming a choked statement. “You’ve slept nearly a full day. Finally you’ve awakened…”

Yun Changliu’s cold sweat had soaked through his clothes. His mind was still murky and dazed, yet he immediately asked, “Where’s Wujue?”

Wen Feng’s heart ached sourly.

A year ago, when the Sect Leader personally administered severe punishment to the Protector, he’d collapsed the moment the whip left his hand. When he woke then, it was also like this—still confused, yet his first words were, “Where’s Wujue?”

However, at this moment, the Protector had probably already ridden his obedient little Liuhuo’er across those nine winding curves of the Red River and descended Mount Shenlie.

Wen Feng feared telling the truth would disturb the Sect Leader’s mind further, so could only steel himself to lie. “The Protector stood watch all night. This morning Wen Feng persuaded him to go rest…”

Yun Changliu steadied himself, allowing himself to slowly relax and lie back on the pillow, calming his chaotic breathing. Only then did his mind gradually clear somewhat.

Outside Yangxin Hall—Yun Chanjuan’s willful caprice, the falling sword sheath and her hateful crying, the unbearable agony when the poison flared, and… yes, he had called Wujue’s name. Then…

Seeing the Sect Leader remain silent, Wen Feng picked up a cloth from the nearby table and carefully wiped the cold sweat from Yun Changliu’s forehead. He turned to pour the Sect Leader some water, but suddenly heard a faint sound behind him.

Wen Feng turned his head. Yun Changliu had already slowly but firmly propped himself up to sit.

His face still showed slight exhaustion, sweat-dampened long hair clinging to his temples, yet his gaze directly at Wen Feng was calm and sharp, his voice cold and penetrating. “—You’re lying.”