WJ Chapter 124

Ru Fen (2)

Shortly after, Yun Changliu had Wen Feng fetch Guan Wujue’s case file from the Ghost Gate records for a closer look.

What he saw gave him yet another shock — this fellow had somehow become the new Ghost Head of the current cohort. When one considered his martial prowess, it made a certain sense, yet for a Broken Ghost to become Ghost Head was something that had never happened before. It was truly unprecedented.

The Sect Leader mulled this over in silence, his thoughts turning through several twists and turns where Guan Wujue was concerned, before he finally spoke with grave composure. “Speak for yourself. As a Yin Ghost, you made an attempt on the life of the Left Envoy of the Zhuyin Sect — by Ghost Gate’s rules, what crime does that carry?”

Guan Wujue let out a quiet inward sigh, his face betraying nothing. “A capital offense. Death by two thousand cuts.”

Yun Changliu lifted the teacup at his side and took a sip. “Liu Wanjun did indeed deserve to die. Seeing as you acted out of fervent loyalty to protect your master, and conveniently rid this lord of someone who had it coming, your crime is reduced by one degree. And what would that punishment be?”

Guan Wujue replied, “One hundred lashes of the Bone-Crushing Whip, three days each of water torture and exposure punishment, removal of the fingernails and toenails, five shichen of insect torment, and ten pellets of ‘Penance Pain’.”

In truth, given the state of his body, this was hardly any different from a death sentence. He would never survive even those one hundred lashes of the Bone-Crushing Whip.

Yun Changliu gave it careful thought, set his teacup down on the table, and said, “You rendered meritorious service protecting this lord in the battle the day before yesterday. You are permitted to redeem your crime through merit — reduced by another degree.”

Guan Wujue pressed his lips together. “Fifty lashes each of the Bone-Crushing Whip and the barbed whip, fifty strokes of the heavy rod, one shichen of insect torment, and five pellets of ‘Penance Pain’.”

Yun Changliu said, “Just now you conducted yourself admirably before the assembly. Reduce again.”

“The Ghost Head deserves preferential treatment. Reduce again.”

“This lord has newly succeeded to the Sect Leader’s seat — an amnesty is in order. Reduce again.”

“…”

Wen Feng stood behind Yun Changliu. At first he had been anxious on Guan Wujue’s behalf; by now, his expression had gone completely blank.

A quarter of an hour passed. The attendant Wen watched helplessly as Yun Changliu issued one “reduce again” after another, forcing Guan Wujue to recite Ghost Gate’s entire catalogue of punishments from heaviest to lightest, without missing a single one.

This was Guan Wujue, after all. What ordinary Yin Ghost could possibly memorize such a long succession of penalty provisions word for word? Most simply waited to hear what punishment was handed down from above, then went to the Punishment Hall to receive their sentence.

“…Fifty strokes of the admonitory whip, kneeling for two shichen, three days of solitary confinement in the cold chamber for self-reflection.”

Reciting punishments had left Guan Wujue’s mouth parched and his throat dry. At last he could not help but offer a gentle reminder. “Sect Leader, this is the lightest punishment Ghost Gate has. It cannot… be reduced any further.”

Yun Changliu fell silent, a faint expression of regret crossing his face.

Wen Feng, watching with perfect clarity, felt the urge to beat his own head against the floor.

Yun Changliu said, “Then let the punishment be carried out accordingly.”

“However—” no sooner had he spoken than the Sect Leader’s tone shifted again — “your severe injuries are not yet healed, and you cannot endure punishment in your current state. For today, you shall be punished somewhat less, and the remaining amount shall be noted down and administered at a later time.”

Guan Wujue coughed and bowed his head. “Sect Leader, this subordinate can bear it.”

Yun Changliu said coldly, “This lord says you cannot. Do you dare talk back?”

Pressed down by the weight of that authority, Guan Wujue — capable as he was — found himself without a word to say. He could only close his eyes and grit his teeth. “No… I would not dare…”

He had worked it out now. Five years had passed, and that cluster of unspoken little quirks his young Sect Leader Changliu had always possessed had grown considerably more brazen. Before, the worst of it had been the stubborn habit of falling utterly silent when he didn’t wish to speak. Now it seemed a new one had been added: when he didn’t wish to hear someone speak, he would sooner die than let that person get a word in.

As expected, Sect Leader Yun gave Guan Wujue no further opening to respond. “Today you need only receive ten lashes of the admonitory whip — and there is no need to go to all the trouble of visiting the Punishment Hall. This lord shall administer the punishment here personally.”

“Wen Feng, go to the Punishment Hall and have the admonitory whip brought over.”

Wen Feng, standing at the back, was already a portrait of misery.

Sect Leader, if you really don’t want to punish him, you could just say so…

No one would dare accuse you of favoritism, truly…

Ten lashes of the admonitory whip! Who exactly do you think you’re fooling—

While Wen Feng was still steeped in his silent anguish, he saw Yun Changliu pick up a fresh teacup from the tray before him, fill it with tea with his own hands, and push it openly in Guan Wujue’s direction. “Here — have some tea.”

Wen Feng felt his scalp prickle. He turned, wheeled around, and walked straight out of Yangxin Hall.

Guan Wujue had by now realized that any further show of deference or appeals to propriety would be entirely useless. Feeling something between tears and laughter deep within, he gave his thanks and shuffled forward on his knees to receive the cup with both hands. Knowing that Yun Changliu had something of a mild fastidiousness about cleanliness, he did not dare actually touch his lips to the rim — he tilted his head back and let the tea pour directly down his throat, then returned the cup with both hands held up.

Yun Changliu said nothing and poured him another cup.

Guan Wujue had gone nearly two days without closing his eyes, and since the day he had seen Yun Changliu and returned, he had not so much as drunk a drop of water. After speaking so much, his throat had long since felt scorched and burning past the point of endurance. These few cups of tea from the Sect Leader gave him some measure of relief.

Yet once that parching thirst suddenly eased, all the other discomforts throughout his body were promptly amplified. Guan Wujue had been suppressing the urge several times already; now the dizziness was growing heavier and heavier, and his chest felt cold as though packed full of broken ice. He was clinging to his last breath, not daring to let go.

He feared that the moment he allowed his mind to slacken, he would black out right there in front of Yun Changliu. Being a Broken Ghost was already bad enough — if he were then seen in such a feeble, useless state, the Sect Leader would likely never be willing to employ him again…

Fortunately, Wen Feng returned quickly. Yun Changliu took hold of the admonitory whip, rose, walked to Guan Wujue’s side, and gave it a practiced crack in the air. “This lord punishes you here before you now — do you accept this willingly?”

The air of severity was certainly convincing enough…

That is, provided one did not know the Sect Leader intended to deliver only ten lashes.

“Yes… this subordinate submits willingly to punishment.”

Guan Wujue was nearly at his limit. He felt his limbs cycling between cold and hot, his head splitting with pain. He understood that he was probably about to break into a fever at any moment; his only wish now was for the Sect Leader to finish the punishment quickly and release him back to the Ghost Gate.

Yun Changliu watched in plain sight as the man’s complexion grew paler and more ashen with every passing moment, and found himself recalling that evening when the black armor of the Broken Ghost had bled through with glaring crimson as the Armor Wound-Lock Technique was used to seal his injuries. The admonitory whip in his hand rose — then stilled. Rose — then stilled. Three times this went on, and still he could not bring himself to strike.

“…” Yun Changliu knit his brows and flung the admonitory whip aside. “Note it down — next time, it will all be administered together.”

Wen Feng forced a smile. “Of course, of course… yes, yes…”

Knew it would end up like this.

Yun Changliu felt, if anything, a slight pang of self-reproach. He had not expected that he, the exalted Sect Leader, would find himself genuinely bending the rules out of personal feeling — and for some Broken Ghost he had never even known before… Even if it was simply a matter of cherishing talent, he was taking it rather far. He turned away and exhaled quietly, then said to Guan Wujue, “Very well. You may withdraw for now.”

Under ordinary circumstances, Guan Wujue would never have permitted Yun Changliu to make such an exception on his behalf — but right now it fell upon him like a pardon from execution. His mind was already growing somewhat hazy; he gave a hoarse bow and retreated from Yangxin Hall.

He had barely cleared the doors of Yangxin Hall when Yun Changliu steadied himself against his seat and sat down, face drawn, mind turning over something unreadable. It was then that Wen Feng suddenly remembered, “Oh, that’s right, Sect Leader — what was it you called that Yin Ghost here for in the first place?”

Yun Changliu’s expression changed. He stood up and strode out after him at once.

What a lapse in judgment — he had actually forgotten to ask for the jade pendant back!

No sooner had Yun Changliu stepped through the hall doors than he spotted Guan Wujue’s retreating figure in the distance. His spine was still held straight, but his steps were distressingly unsteady — each footfall uncertain and faltering as he made his way down the long steps leading from Yangxin Hall.

Yun Changliu was alarmed, and quickened his pace considerably. That slight, thin figure was already nearly within reach, when he saw Guan Wujue sway — and tip forward, about to fall.

The Sect Leader immediately stepped forward and caught the man from behind. The burning heat that met his hands gave Yun Changliu a fright, and he called out, “Wujue!”

Guan Wujue’s breathing was labored, his eyes barely able to stay open. Yet that voice in his ear struck through him like a jolt of lightning — without a second thought, he summoned a burst of strength and wrenched himself free of the Sect Leader’s steadying hold.

But he was already unsteady on his feet to begin with. In his sudden lurching, one foot missed the step entirely — and before anyone could act, he was about to tumble head over heels down those dozens of tiers of stairs.

A fall like that would be catastrophic. Stunned and furious in equal measure, Yun Changliu lunged forward in two swift strides and caught Guan Wujue again — and this time, rather than simply supporting him from behind at the ribcage, the Sect Leader wrapped both arms tightly around the man and held him fast, not daring to let go, for fear that this addled Yin Ghost would have another fit of madness.

The fever had left Guan Wujue’s mind murky and confused. He made two faint attempts to struggle in his arms, but gradually lost the strength to move at all. His pallid, bloodless lips trembled as though he were trying to say something, yet only faint, formless sounds escaped them.

“Sect Leader…” Wen Feng had just come hurrying out behind them, and was equally shaken by the sight. “Goodness — what’s happened to him?”

“He is ill.” Yun Changliu’s face was cold and set. He bent down, swept an arm under Guan Wujue’s legs, and lifted him horizontally into his arms before turning back toward the hall, his voice low and commanding, “Send for a physician from Medicine Gate to come to Yangxin Hall.”

By rights, for a Broken Ghost of Guan Wujue’s standing, ordering him sent to Medicine Gate would already have been a show of grace — but Yun Changliu genuinely did not dare send him away. This strange, peculiar creature who could act so recklessly even in the presence of the Zhuyin Sect’s own Sect Leader — if he were sent to Medicine Gate, who could say what kind of trouble he would manage to stir up next?

Yun Changliu glanced down at Guan Wujue lying in his arms, already drifted into semi-consciousness. His gaze grew shadowed.

No matter what…

He could not allow this person to remain in the Ghost Gate any longer.

…

Ten days later.

The weather had gradually warmed over those few days. After a spring rain, all things stirred back to life; the sky cleared to a deep, vivid blue, and the air felt refreshing enough to lift the spirits.

Sunlight poured bright and warm through Yangxin Hall. Eight large chests were lined up in a row — from gold, silver, and jewels to rare curios, martial arts manuals, divine weapons and swords, precious medicinal herbs, formation charts, mechanisms and contrivances, everything had been arranged in full.

Miss Chanjuan was crouched beside the chests with shining eyes, touching the red coral tree one moment and stroking the woven tapestry of colored clouds the next — unable to bring herself to put a single thing down.

Wen Feng stood beside the writing desk, grinding the ink with careful, practiced strokes. Yun Changliu held a wolf-hair brush and was making notations down a list, not lifting his head as he addressed the person below him in an even, unhurried tone:

“You contracted a shadow — how is it you did not come to report it to me first?”

“I…”

Yun Danjing stood perfectly straight before the writing desk, his face flushed crimson and tight with stubbornness.

He knew full well that what he had done was genuinely improper. At the time, the three sects and five orders had surrounded the city, and everyone inside the sect had been run ragged — Yun Changliu’s every thought and sinew had been stretched toward the threat of the enemy at the gates. With no attention to spare for the Ghost Gate’s new recruits, Yun Danjing had seized the opening to get there first and recruit this Ghost Head for himself.

He couldn’t bring himself to admit the fault out loud, and he’d been afraid his older brother would forcibly take Yang Yue away. He had spent half the day in anxious dread before coming to Yangxin Hall, and had even brought Chanjuan along — his actual plan being to play the card of sentiment.

His secret thinking had been: if he had his little sister put on her sweetest, most coaxing manner and plead on his behalf, Yun Changliu would likely feel too awkward to reprimand him too harshly in front of Chanjuan… What he hadn’t anticipated was that this spineless girl, the moment she set foot in Yangxin Hall, would be completely dazzled by yesterday’s ransom sent by the three sects and five orders — she was practically drooling.

Yun Danjing held his neck stiff and choked it all back for a long moment before finally forcing out a single stilted sentence. “In any case… Yang Yue is the Ghost Head of this cohort. He already pledged his allegiance on his own.”

Yun Changliu could see through him without the slightest effort. His brush paused, and he sighed quietly. “I have no intention of taking him from you.”

Yun Danjing had truly been overthinking things. Yun Changliu had never had any particular inclination to contract a shadow to himself in the first place. An assassin shadow gave their entire life to a single master — their life, their dignity, their honor, everything laid entirely at that person’s feet. Yun Changliu felt the burdens on his own shoulders were already heavy enough; he had no particular wish to take on the weight of such a contract from a stranger.

Had Yun Danjing simply come to him directly and said he wanted Yang Yue, Yun Changliu would never have refused. Yun Danjing was his younger brother, after all — the one everyone inside and outside the sect addressed respectfully as Young Master — and contracting an assassin shadow was a matter that would last a lifetime. To carry it out in such furtive secrecy was hardly becoming.

Ever since Yun Changliu had entered the Wuze Realm for five years and emerged to succeed immediately to the Sect Leader’s seat, he had noticed a plainly growing awkwardness in his younger brother’s manner toward him. It was Yun Chanjuan — that carefree young miss — who still circled around him calling out “Brother Changliu” and “Brother Sect Leader” without a care.

“So be it,” Yun Changliu drew a quiet breath, set down his brush, and put the stray thoughts aside. “This lord will not pursue the matter further. Only — there is not to be a next time.”

He then looked toward the chests with their dazzling gleam and made a gesture of invitation. “The ransom sent by the eight great sects is all here. Help yourself — take whatever you like.”

Yun Danjing turned his face away and let out a sullen huff. “I won’t accept what I haven’t earned! Jiaoyang Hall wants for nothing.”

The very next instant a flutter of rose-pink skirts swept past the young master’s eyes — Yun Chanjuan had already rushed over with a happy cry and begun picking through the chests. The sight made Yun Danjing so furious he nearly smoked from all seven orifices.

While this little scene was unfolding, the sudden sound of footsteps reached them from within.

Yun Danjing was privately wondering with some surprise — Wen Feng was right here, so who could be coming from that direction? Beyond lay the inner bedchamber, and Yun Changliu had actually been willing to leave an outsider within the private quarters of Yangxin Hall?

The footsteps drew closer, and a pale, slender hand slowly pushed open the cloisonné screen. A lean young man stepped out with measured paces and came to a stop before Yun Changliu, bowing his head in quiet greeting. “Sect Leader.”

Yun Danjing fixed his gaze on the young man and found his features strikingly handsome, though his complexion was somewhat lacking in color — as one convalescing from a serious illness — and the large cloak draped over his shoulders was unmistakably the kind his older brother habitually wore. Yun Changliu gave a low hum of acknowledgment and turned to look at him, asking with measured calm:

“I told you to give it thought — how have you been thinking? What position suits your fancy? Have you made up your mind?”