Chapter Fifteen: The Clouds Drift Aimlessly Beyond the Peaks

Shen Lian glanced at his own flesh, then stepped outside. The tangible window offered no hindrance; with a simple movement, he found himself in the courtyard.

At that moment, the clouds parted to reveal the moon, casting shadows among the plum blossoms. Sparse stars and a pale moon bestowed a gentle, hazy radiance, as if a misty drizzle had drifted down from the heavens, softly blanketing the earth. That faint, watery light also fell upon Shen Lian’s soul, which had left his body.

With a thought, Shen Lian chose not to let the moonlight and starlight flow past him like water. Instead, he drew them in. The gentle brilliance gathered, forming a translucent cloak about his soul, like a robe of feathers. Shen Lian felt a subtle heat, akin to the noonday sun beating upon him. A trace of soul power evaporated under the warmth, bringing a faint sting, but his soul grew more solid, acquiring an extra layer of protection.

Where the courtyard had been silent and empty, now a faintly glowing figure appeared—at once visible and invisible. His face was blurred, hair and beard indistinct, yet he radiated an aloof, divine aura.

Inside and outside the courtyard, guards sent by Old Master Shen kept watch over Shen Lian’s small compound. Two stood by the gate, sheltered from the wind. One of them opened his eyes groggily and saw Shen Lian’s figure wrapped in moonlight, uttering a low cry that roused his companion.

Shen Lian, startled by the commotion, had no wish to stir further trouble. With a thought, the thin veil of moonlight around him dissolved. The living soul, formless and intangible, is difficult for mortal eyes to perceive. The awakened guard’s companion saw nothing, grumbled at him, and went back to sleep. The first guard rubbed his eyes, found nothing unusual, and assumed he had been seeing things.

Without the moon’s silken shroud, Shen Lian was tossed about by the night breeze, drifting uncertainly, as if naked and exposed to the biting cold, battered by wind and frost. Yet he felt neither joy nor sorrow; even as his soul suffered, it did not trouble him.

Still, he realized something important: the soul leaving the body is full of novelty and danger. Now it was nighttime, which posed little threat, but come daylight, even with his deep reserves of soul power, he doubted he could withstand the blazing sun.

Rumor has it that ghosts roam at night, not in broad daylight—it seems the saying holds truth. Lacking any experience, Shen Lian could only cautiously explore the changes of soul-exit, treading carefully as though on thin ice.

Fortunately, in the depths, a slender thread tied his soul to his flesh, reminding him that in this discomforting world, he was not utterly alone. Like a kite released into the sky, he was still anchored by a string, preventing him from drifting aimlessly between heaven and earth.

The body is both a prison and a raft guiding one across the sea of earthly suffering—imperfect, yet indispensable. As the old poem goes, “Clouds leave the mountain without intent; the weary bird knows to return.” The soul, freed from its cage, enjoys newfound liberty, but like a tired bird, must return to its nest to be nourished by the body.

In the courtyard, Shen Lian practiced controlling his soul, experimenting in various ways. He discovered its mysteries—not only could he pass through matter, but, mimicking how he drew in moonlight, he could also attach the breeze to his soul, blending with it and riding the wind. When he detached from the breeze, he felt no gravity’s pull, drifting gently along the ground.

After grasping some features of soul travel, he widened his range, passing through walls and doors without resistance. In this ancient-like world, there were no electric lights; most people retired early. Thus, the few rooms still illuminated late at night stood out.

Shen Lian’s soul-exit was merely a trial without purpose. Seeing a room still lit, he entered. With no obstacles, he heard a woman’s sobs—soft and plaintive, steeped in sorrow.

Then came Shen Qingshan’s voice: “Why are you crying? Ruoxi is just ill. You should take good care of her.”

“But the child grows thinner every day, she won’t talk or eat. The doctors we called can’t find the cause. How can I not worry? Tell me, isn’t Shen Lian a curse? He killed his mother, and now he’s come home and harmed Ruoxi. If it weren’t for your foolish idea to have him marry Ruoxi, would she have fallen ill?”

The woman wiped her tears, venting to Shen Qingshan.

Shen Lian had entered the room and witnessed the scene between Shen Qingshan and his wife, Mrs. Chen. Shen Qingshan sat opposite her, brow furrowed.

“So Shen Ruoxi is ill,” Shen Lian thought. As for Mrs. Chen’s accusations, even in his current emotionless state, they could not anger him, nor would they have at any other time.

He had been confined for a month, cut off from outside news, and knew nothing of his cousin Shen Ruoxi’s illness.

“Shen Lian’s been locked up by the old master for a month. Ruoxi’s illness only started five or six days ago—how could it have anything to do with him? Don’t let sister-in-law stir you up.” Shen Lian felt no anger, but Shen Qingshan was annoyed. Influenced by the old master, he had a preference for sons, but since his daughter married Shen Lian, he feared no harm would come to her.

Mrs. Chen would not relent. “I don’t care if Shen Lian is good or bad. Look at him—always distant, always with his own ideas. Even if you’re sincere, he might not appreciate it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Shen Lian is more reliable than anyone. If you treat him well, even if he says nothing, he’ll remember. Besides, we’re family; we shouldn’t expect repayment.” Shen Qingshan spoke thus, but his mind turned to what he’d discovered at the inn.

He had already learned the truth of that day when Shen Lian met the man in the green robe at the inn. The two guards sent to protect Shen Lian had been killed by the green-robed man, but Shen Lian’s conduct that day had surprised him even more.

“All lives matter—how can you take it lightly? You treat human life as nothing, but I cherish it, whether it’s someone else’s or my own. We all only have one life.” This was what the innkeeper had faithfully recounted from Shen Lian.

Shen Qingshan believed those words came from Shen Lian’s heart, without a hint of falsehood. Even for two unrelated guards, Shen Lian would stand up for them, facing the terrifying green-robed man without fear.

Such poise and presence, appearing in a boy of twelve or thirteen, was something Shen Qingshan had never seen in another. Only one like this was worthy of trust; only by entrusting the Shen family to someone like Shen Lian could it endure.

He knew his own limitations—even maintaining what he had was difficult, let alone pursuing expansion. His elder brother was even less capable.

Shen Lian, listening nearby, though unmoved by emotion in his current state, acknowledged that his uncle by blood had indeed judged him correctly.

(Thanks to Sassy Dom for the 1888 reward, Pressure Cooker Stews Maiden for the 588 reward, Sword Hero Floating Cloud for the 588 reward, and Still Intoxicating for the 588 reward.)