ATEG Chapter 131

Feiying could not understand it. He could not read Bie Chunian’s smile — could not tell whether it held mockery directed at others or at himself, could not tell whether it was tinged with relief or bitterness. The only thing he could make out from that complex smile was astonishment and joy.

He too had not anticipated this outcome — had not anticipated that the Xuanqing Sect would be destroyed just like that. This was not the result he had hoped for, yet he felt none of the fury that comes when things slip beyond one’s control. Instead, he was smiling with joy.

How could he feel joy?

Bie Chunian was also a player who had entered the game, but Feiying was merely a small pawn — one who had stumbled into the game without even understanding how. Bie Chunian, however, was already someone capable of actively stirring the waters. The fact that he had been able to obtain the ghost-face mask indicated, at the very least, that he had anticipated the Puppet Master Envoy Daren’s assassination in advance. His standing could be no lower than the Puppet Master Envoy’s. What position did he hold within the Xuanqing Sect? Was he one of the Six Envoys? Or did he hold an even higher rank?

His heart-flame had already been extinguished — that could not be faked. He was no longer a member of the Mingdeng Sect, and had only climbed to such a position by relying on the Xuanqing Sect as his backing. How could he feel joy over the Xuanqing Sect’s unexpected destruction? All the more so given that he had already endured the Five Declines of Heaven and Man.

Feiying felt only a deeper unease and dread. He could not see through Bie Chunian — could not fathom what this person’s true purpose was. But now he had already fallen into Bie Chunian’s hands. Where would his future flow?

……

The Xiaohuan River murmured along gently. Though it was the depths of cold winter, this small river had not frozen over — owing to the lay of the land here.

The place was enclosed on three sides by hills of modest height, which encircled a stretch of flat land within their embrace. These hills blocked the coldest winter winds; their peaks would be capped with white snow in winter, while the flat land nestled among them rarely saw snowfall. A river emerged from the mountains, traced a gentle arc, and wrapped this land within it. It always flowed peacefully and never froze.

Along both banks of the river grew many tall, straight trees. Come spring, they would put forth dense leaves; come autumn, they would bear round fruits — useful for washing the face and clothing, and also for detoxification and healing. But now their leaves had all fallen, leaving only bare trunks and branches.

Beneath those bare branches, a person lay.

He awoke to the sound of the murmuring river. Looking up, he saw the grey-brown canopy of trees, and between the branches, the grey-blue morning sky. He also heard the breathing and heartbeat of another person nearby, but he was very tired just then and did not wish to turn his head to look.

But that person took the initiative to draw near and asked him, “Hey, who are you? Why are you lying here?”

He had no choice but to sit up and turn to look. It was an old man whose hair had gone entirely white, his face covered in wrinkles and age-spots — yet his expression carried a childlike innocence.

“I don’t know,” he answered, and after a moment’s thought, added, “I can’t remember.”

The old man looked at him with a troubled expression. “You don’t remember anything at all? Not even your name? How old are you?”

He thought carefully once more, but found only a blank in his mind, and so he could only shake his head again.

He did not actually feel very worried himself, but when he saw that this old man seemed even more worried about him than he was, he felt he ought not remain so silent. So he turned the question around. “What about you? What’s your name? How old are you?”

“My name is Xiaomiao.” The old man answered cheerfully, brightening as though he had suddenly worked something out. “I’m six years old. I know how old you are too — you must also be six!”

“Why?” he could not help but ask.

“We’re about the same height.” The old man measured his height, then measured his own, then tugged at his own hair, then pointed at his hair. “Our hair is the same color. So we must be the same age. I’m six, so you’re six too!”

He looked at the old man, then looked at himself. He could not see his own face, but their heights were indeed roughly the same, and his hair was also white. So he nodded. Six years old — he wanted to believe this answer. His heart told him he was more than willing to believe it.

Xiaomiao saw him nod and narrowed his eyes with delight. “We’re the same age, so can we be friends?”

He nodded, yet something else stirred in his heart. He sat with the feeling carefully, and a thought suddenly drifted through his mind: Six years old… where is my mother?

Xiaomiao grew troubled too. “That’s right, where is your mother?”

He sat there in a daze, a nameless urgency rising in his chest.

Xiaomiao suddenly thought of something. “How about this — come with me to meet my mother first. She’s very capable!”

Not knowing what else he should do, he agreed.

He followed Xiaomiao. When the outline of a village entrance came into view, Xiaomiao suddenly hesitated, looked at him, and said, “We’re friends now, right? You’ll play with me, right? You already promised me — you promised me first.”

He looked at Xiaomiao, and in that face he saw the artless cunning and unease of a child. He did not dislike that expression, so he nodded.

Xiaomiao brightened again and said to him, “There are some other six-year-olds in the village, but none of them will be my friend, because I look different from them. We look the same, so we’ll be friends — and you can’t only play with them.”

Cooking smoke was rising from the rooftops, like the village stretching and letting out a great yawn upon waking.

He listened as Xiaomiao chatted on at length, and walked into the village, now stirring to life in the dawn light with the sounds of roosters crowing, water being drawn, and stoves being lit.

“That’s my house. My mother is in there.” Xiaomiao said happily.

……

When Duan Xiayun saw the person Xiaomiao had brought home, her pupils involuntarily contracted, and even her breathing stopped for a moment.

She was no longer the Six-Pattern Officer of the Disciplinary Bureau, but she still recognized that face — the face of King of Liang Xu Huan.

Xiaomiao had not noticed anything, and was happily introducing his new friend to her. Duan Xiayun used that time to blink twice: with the first blink, she concealed her expression and steadied her heartbeat and breathing; with the second, she had already reached a decision.

She could see that Xu Huan’s condition was deeply wrong. He seemed to have completely forgotten who he was. His hair and eyebrows had gone entirely white — but this was not the result of the Five Declines of Heaven and Man.

“Since you can’t remember anything, you may as well stay here for now,” Duan Xiayun said slowly, while unobtrusively taking his hand to feel his pulse.

Xu Huan let her examine him quietly, as though entirely unaware of what she was doing. After seeing Duan Xiayun, he had grown very still — as if something about her put him at ease, especially when her attention was on Duan Xiaomiao.

But Duan Xiayun had not noticed this. She was fully focused on Xu Huan’s condition. More than the fact that the King of Liang apparently possessed no weak level of cultivation, what truly commanded her attention was the utter disarray within Xu Huan’s body.

He was now like an ordinary person — he seemed to have even forgotten that he had cultivation at all. All his spiritual power lay dormant and inert, not circulating to nourish him. And on the vessel of his heart there was a wound, with a residual sword-intent that was deep and heavy — though it was already on the verge of fully dissipating, and was not too serious. But she happened to have many medicines here, medicines she had kept from before in order to protect Xiaomiao.

This place was not within Liang Kingdom’s territory — to be precise, it was not within the territory of any of the Six Kingdoms. The world is vast, and the nations of mortals cannot govern every inch of it, especially when the world holds no shortage of extraordinary mountains and treacherous terrain that mortals can hardly traverse. The Daqing Mountain Range and Diancang Mountain are famous examples of this. And beyond those two, the world holds many more blessed sanctuaries occupied by cultivators, where mortals also live under their protection. The village where Duan Xiayun now resided was exactly such a place — one of the many territories sheltered by her sect.

Duan Xiayun already knew that great upheaval had occurred within Liang Kingdom. And now she was looking at one part of that upheaval’s aftermath — Xu Huan, once risen like the sun at its zenith, reduced to this.

He must have fled here, but had no remaining strength left. Whatever force had brought him to this state might not be willing to let him go — it might continue pursuing him, a force she might be unable to resist, one that might shatter the peace she had only just managed to find.

Yet Duan Xiayun had already decided to take Xu Huan in.

She knew why she and Xiaomiao were able to live peacefully here. When what she had done was discovered, she had understood clearly the precarious position she was in — but Xu Huan had simply let it go. After she was dismissed from her post, she had brought Xiaomiao here. Xiaomiao’s illness had healed, but his mind could not be restored all at once; he would have to grow slowly. Perhaps even by the day his life came to its end, his mind would not return to normal. But he no longer had to endure the torment of his soul in constant turbulence, and she could at last be at peace and accompany him through this final stretch of his life.

Perhaps it was a guidance from the unseen that Xiaomiao had been able to find the wandering Xu Huan. And she was more than willing to accept that guidance.

“You…” Duan Xiayun looked at him gently. “You woke up beside the Xiaohuan River. How about I call you Xiaohuan for now — is that all right?”

“Xiaohuan…” Xu Huan murmured softly.

He seemed to have a faint impression — a woman, in the hazy light and shadow beneath an osmanthus tree, calling to him like that.

Very gently…

……

At the summit of Daqing Mountain, Changyang withdrew his gaze.

His eyes perpetually reflected a karmic mist — no one could tell from looking into them what he saw.

Li Quan had pushed Xu Huan out, only for Hundun to intervene and wrest away control. At that moment, Xu Huan had despised with utmost intensity the state of being controlled. He had struggled frantically in the contest of strength between two deities. He was not unaware of the gulf between himself and those two forces that were nearly impossible to match, nor was it that he did not know that forcing his resistance would only worsen his injuries. Perhaps he had simply stopped caring. Perhaps he had only been consumed by hatred. In that unstable contest of power, the shock and impact left him wounded and unconscious. This uncontrolled trajectory had instead followed the world’s most simple principle — the one solitary thread of karmic cause, pure and untainted, born from his own heart amid Hundun’s grasp.

Changyang had done nothing. He touched a finger, and the sun’s warmth kindled a small flame atop the mountain peak.

Hundun had been cheated here at the Xuanqing Sect. What followed would surely be a major move. He ought to go and see an old friend.

The flame at the mountain peak suddenly surged upward, and the figure of Flame Lord took shape within it.