Ge Sheng (1)
Ge Sheng was shrouded in confusion, entwined in the wilds.
When my beloved is gone, who remains? Alone?
In the summer days, in the winter nights.
After a hundred years, return to one’s home.
——
Four days later, at the very spot where the Four Directions Protector had cast his sword to block the gate, a horse carriage drove into Xifeng City from outside Mount Shenlie.
Inside the carriage sat an old man.
The old man’s surname was Hu, given name Luobei. He was a swordsmith.
But he was no ordinary swordsmith.
The Hu family had been a renowned forging household since the previous dynasty. It could be said that half of the divine weapons and sharp blades in the jianghu came from the Hu family. This Hu Luobei was the sole heir of the Hu family line, inheritor of all their essential skills and techniques.
Though the old man was now over sixty years of age, his face still glowed with health, and he could still wield a hammer and turn a grinding wheel. Legend had it that he had forged a thousand blades and smelted ten thousand swords. It was further said that the swords of the Zhuyin Sect’s Four Directions Protector, Pixing and Daiyue… came from this very man’s hands.
At this moment, Old Hu’s face bore a complex expression as he gazed at the object in his arms. It was a long rectangular box, wrapped in two layers of fine cloth on the outside, making it impossible to discern what it contained.
However, Old Hu knew that inside the box lay a sword—a sword that could be called one of the finest masterpieces among all the weapons he had forged in his lifetime.
——Daiyue.
The old man had never imagined that at such an advanced age, in the twilight of his years, he would see this sword again. Even less had he imagined that he would have the fortune, through this sword, to witness with his own eyes the magnificent grandeur of the legendary Xifeng City, spoken of in the jianghu as unfathomable and mysterious…
As well as the countenance of the supremely enigmatic Sect Leader of the Zhuyin Sect.
The carriage traveled unobstructed through Xifeng City. The old man lifted the carriage curtain and saw rows of Zhuhuo Guards patrolling with swords in hand, each one’s expression frozen like stone.
This tall, pitch-black, imposing city towering upon the snowy mountains seemed to be shrouded in some kind of sorrowful and heavy atmosphere.
After descending from the carriage, someone came to guide him. Old Hu kept his head lowered and his breath held the entire way, finally following a young, gentle attendant in white robes up a long staircase and into the Yangxin Hall of the Zhuyin Sect Leader.
Before entering the bedchamber, the white-robed man gave him only one instruction: be quiet.
Hu Luobei recalled all the various rumors circulating in the jianghu about this elusive Sect Leader of the Zhuyin Sect, and naturally nodded repeatedly in agreement.
Thus the attendant led him inside.
The first thing Old Hu smelled was the thick, lingering bitter scent of medicine.
There was none of the magnificent splendor befitting a great sect, nor the sinister eeriness common to evil cults.
The bedchamber was solemn and quiet, with curtains drawn tightly on all sides, and the depths shrouded in a dim, oppressive light.
This was completely different from what the old man had imagined.
He saw a large bed in the innermost area, half-concealed by hanging silk curtains, through which he could vaguely make out… a person lying on the bed, their breath feeble and failing.
The patient was truly emaciated, with jet-black long hair scattered messily across the pillow, the skin of their neck and face pale as paper. Even hidden beneath thick brocade quilts, one could see this person was nothing but skin and bones, like the setting sun near the western hills.
Old Hu was somewhat unable to process this.
This… this was…
The current Sect Leader of the Zhuyin Sect?
The white-robed attendant who had led him in walked forward with slow, gentle steps, lifted the curtain, and leaned close to the patient’s ear to call softly.
The patient seemed to be sleeping very deeply, and though the attendant was calling to them, it was as if he dared not disturb them, keeping his voice extremely soft.
After calling patiently for quite some time, the person on the bed finally stirred weakly, seemingly awakening.
“Is there… news of the Protector…”
The voice was weak and hoarse, yet still carried a trace of elegant coolness like scattered snow. This voice must have been very pleasant once.
The white-robed attendant said gently:
“Sect Leader, Daiyue has returned.”
“…Help this lord sit up.”
Old Hu couldn’t help but raise his head to look.
But with this one glance, he couldn’t help but be stunned by their beauty.
This Zhuyin Sect Leader was truly so young and exquisitely refined. Even reduced to skin and bones, without a trace of color in their face, one could still find traces of past elegance and grace in those features and brows.
The Sect Leader reclined in the attendant’s embrace, eyes lowered, giving some quiet instructions. The attendant then beckoned him forward to present the item.
Old Hu hastily unwrapped the long box’s cloth covering. Opening the lid, a dazzling dark golden radiance spilled forth.
The Daiyue sword lay quietly in the box, from hilt to scabbard, every minute pattern restored to perfect condition, without the slightest sign of damage.
Old Hu shuffled forward on his knees a few steps, raising the box high above his head with both hands.
Thus he saw that pale and cool Zhuyin Sect Leader, expression indifferent, slowly take the long sword from the box.
…And carefully, gingerly embrace that cold long sword in their arms.
Old Hu froze.
The weight of the Daiyue sword was truly not light. The patient’s powerless hands trembled continuously, yet the sword never fell.
They held it so tightly yet so tenderly, as if cradling not a sword, but their most deeply beloved person.
……
On this day, Hu Luobei received his reward and was safely escorted down Mount Shenlie, still in a daze.
He recalled the Zhuyin Sect Leader’s haggard complexion and feeble breath, and couldn’t help but remember again those shocking rumors that had spread through every street and alley these past days.
First, that the long-missing young master of Wanci Manor, Duanmu Lin, was still alive, and had actually been kept as a medicine person in the Zhuyin Sect for eighteen years. Second, that the reportedly cold and unfeeling Zhuyin Sect Leader Yun Changliu had actually harbored feelings for Duanmu Lin since childhood, and had held a grand wedding several days ago, taking him as a consort.
Third, that the Four Directions Protector Guan Wujue of the Zhuyin Sect, the red-robed person wielding twin swords that had once amazed half the jianghu, had defected from the city the day after the Sect Leader’s wedding, and his whereabouts remained unknown to this day.
……
The swordsmith had been sent away long ago.
By the bedside in Yangxin Hall, Wen Feng finally couldn’t help but advise, “Sect Leader, weapons are instruments of violence. A treasured sword like Daiyue carries especially heavy bloodlust and cold qi. You…”
Yun Changliu sighed lightly, with some reluctance placing Daiyue into the arms of the deeply worried Wen Feng. “…Put it away for this lord. When the Protector returns, give it back to him.”
Wen Feng’s expression darkened, his lips working for a long time before managing to utter, “Yes.”
He knew——not only him, many people secretly knew——that Guan Wujue would likely never return.
But the Sect Leader was still waiting for his Protector.
At first, they had tried to search.
Yun Changliu had mobilized almost all the forces the Archives Hall could muster, but it was useless.
Guan Wujue had always been meticulous in his thinking, terrifyingly calm and perceptive, and moreover he was far too familiar with all of the Zhuyin Sect’s operations. If the Protector truly intended to hide, in such a vast world, trying to find him would be like fishing a needle from the ocean.
At the same time… the Sect Leader truly had no strength left, simply couldn’t keep struggling. Ever since that day when Guan Wujue left, it seemed some force that had been sustaining Yun Changliu was suddenly drained away entirely, and he collapsed all at once.
He didn’t display any excessive grief, but he barely spoke, and couldn’t eat anything. At night he was often startled and unable to sleep, while during the day he would suddenly fall into deep slumbers from which he couldn’t be roused.
His spirit was willing but his flesh was weak. Even if Yun Changliu desperately wanted to leave the city himself to chase after the man, his physical condition wouldn’t allow him to even step outside Yangxin Hall for a walk.
He could only wait.
His only solace was that the pain brought by the Fengchun Sheng poison seemed to have entered a short period of stagnation.
Thus, when Yun Changliu was still lucid, he would summon his newly wed consort to chat.
“You are not Duanmu Lin.”
That day, Yun Changliu reclined on the bed, speaking flatly to the medicine person in blue robes sitting by his bedside.
“Yes,” Ye Ru pressed his lips together, reaching out to tuck the brocade quilt more securely around the Sect Leader, but kept his eyes lowered, not daring to look at him. “Ah Ku is not… I am not Duanmu Lin.”
“Where is Duanmu Lin?”
Unexpectedly, upon hearing this, Yun Changliu didn’t get particularly angry.
Honestly, right now he truly didn’t have the energy to be angry with anyone. Even if he had a bit of energy left, he still needed to save it to thoroughly scold the Protector when he returned.
“Sect Leader, please forgive me. I don’t know either.”
Ye Ru looked up at the window with some melancholy. “Perhaps… perhaps he’s no longer among the living.”
“Do you know that the Protector once wanted to disguise you as Duanmu Lin’s identity, to use you to exchange for this lord’s life?”
“I know. Ah Ku was willing.”
“Do you know where the Protector is now?”
Ye Ru shook his head.
After this, Yun Changliu no longer asked these questions, but turned to other matters instead. One by one, piece by piece, all concerning the Protector.
He asked how the Protector had lived at the branch hall, whether anyone had bullied him, whether anyone had spread unsavory rumors.
He asked whether the Protector had been badly injured by that whipping, whether he had been overworked without rest, whether his food and clothing had been meager and good medicine lacking.
He asked whether the Protector had ever fallen ill, ever been injured, whether his mood had always been depressed, whether he missed Xifeng City, whether he missed… him, this Sect Leader.
Each time Ye Ru shook his head repeatedly saying no, no. Yet Yun Changliu would always fall into long silence, as if he had already decided on a different answer in his heart.
He also said he felt deep regret now—if only he hadn’t avoided him that year, if only he had sent more people to check on news of the Protector.
Once, as Ye Ru was leaving the bedchamber, he heard Yun Changliu murmuring to himself. “That’s right, how could… truly be without resentment or regret…”
Ye Ru started, turning to see the Sect Leader’s eyes veiled in mist, murmuring in a dazed, low voice, “Could it be… what he said before leaving was the truth?”
“Does he truly still hate me, and that’s why he won’t return?”
Ye Ru nearly burst into tears on the spot.
After that he learned his lesson. No matter what the Sect Leader asked, he racked his brains to steer the conversation in a positive direction, talking about things from when the Protector was at the branch hall, which would occasionally make Yun Changliu smile softly.
After several more days passed, the efficacy of the medicinal blood Guan Wujue had fed him before leaving was exhausted, and the Fengchun Sheng poison returned with a vengeance.
Yun Changliu began falling into unconsciousness constantly. Whether he fainted from pain or from exhaustion, who could say? In any case, the time needed to awaken grew longer and longer.
From initially being unable to rouse him for most of a day, it gradually developed into continuous unconsciousness lasting several days. From at least being able to speak normally when lucid, it became that even when he woke, his consciousness was sluggish.
But no matter how muddled his mind became, whenever Yun Changliu awoke from his deep sleep, he would still instinctively ask about news of the Protector.
By now, this was the only attachment he had left tethering him to the mortal world.
Occasionally, the Sect Leader would also murmur painful words in his unconscious delirium, saying indistinctly that it hurt, hurt so much. Interspersed were calls of the Protector’s name, his voice pleading for him to return, so soft it was almost inaudible.
The old Sect Leader, who had spent years in the dark and desolate Yanyun Palace, finally moved out of that cave-like palace and entered Yangxin Hall together with Wen Huan, watching over his increasingly weakened eldest son.
But Yun Changliu wouldn’t speak to him either… except for the first day, when he had asked his father if he knew Guan Wujue’s whereabouts, only to receive a negative answer.
Time never shows mercy to anyone. Two days later, on a warm and clear morning with bright sunlight and crisp birdsong chirping cheerfully outside.
Yun Changliu once again awoke from a prolonged unconsciousness. Opening his eyes, he hazily saw Yun Guyan sitting by his bedside, eyes bloodshot.
He suddenly said, “Father… it hurts.”
“…It hurts,” Yun Changliu gazed quietly at his father, saying in a very small voice, “…I want to die.”
Yun Guyan raised his eyelids slightly, reaching out to gently stroke his child’s face.
Yun Changliu’s pale lips had been bitten by himself until they were torn and ruined, blood flowing down his chin. Yet when he said “I want to die,” his tone was as indifferent as ever, as if merely saying “I’d like some Biluochun tea this afternoon.”
For twenty-five years, he had struggled forward tormented by bitter pain. Now at last he had finished everything, at last owed nothing to anyone anymore.
Yun Guyan touched his eldest son’s forehead again, took a handkerchief to gently wipe away the cold sweat, and said in a deep voice, “Will Liu’er not wait for your Protector to return?”
“……”
Yun Changliu gave no response.
He closed his eyes, silently sinking into the layers of bedding, arduously maintaining his feeble breathing.
A very long time passed.
Just when Yun Guyan thought he had fallen back into slumber, he finally heard a faint sigh.
“No… I still must wait… wait a little longer.”
From that point on, Yun Changliu never again spoke of wanting to die.