Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Moon Outside the Window, As Ordinary As Ever

Shen Lian finally awoke from his daze, feeling his limbs achy and weak, an overwhelming exhaustion surging through him like a tide. When one devotes their entire being to a task, the mind grows incomparably focused, and any hindrance to this concentration is temporarily screened out. Only when the task is complete do those suppressed reactions come flooding back all at once.

Quite naturally, Shen Lian fainted. Seeing this, Master Su smiled to himself, thinking: It has been years since I last experienced such utter fatigue. In the Su Family Fortress, the loquat tree swayed uncertainly, as if shivering with fright, while some presence in the void was recklessly scrutinizing it.

Suddenly, Master Su appeared, carrying Shen Lian, his brows knitting together. A coquettish voice rang out, “You scoundrel, it was one thing for you to seek pleasure in the mortal realm, but you even brought back an illegitimate child.”

Master Su gave a wry smile. “You really are all bosom and no brain. I’ve been gone less than a year—how could I possibly have fathered a son this old?”

“Who knows if you didn’t have him in secret before?” the woman retorted with a faint humph, though she was nowhere to be seen.

“If I were to have a child, it would be with you.”

“Get lost! Who wants a child with you? Unless you kill that boy, I won’t believe a word.”

“That’s out of the question. How about I cut down this loquat tree to appease you?” Master Su glanced at the sentient loquat tree.

The tree’s crown drooped, looking utterly terrified.

“Why would I bother with that pathetic tree? We’re not short on firewood. Clearly, that boy is the real oddity here.” The woman sounded slightly annoyed.

A blaze of crimson light flashed across the sky, plunging down—a phoenix of pure flame, its cry piercing the air. The surrounding space seemed half-melted, wildly distorted.

Master Su’s earlier words had been only in jest; he knew that once he said this, his spirited wife would no longer vent her anger on the tree. As for Shen Lian, he absolutely could not allow him to be killed—should that person come to seek justice, it would be awkward, even if he did not fear him.

Master Su flicked his robe, as if creating an invisible vortex, instantly drawing the flaming phoenix inside. Yet at once, his sleeve caught fire. He thought to himself: She’s refined the Southern Bright Leaving-Fire to this degree—give her a few hundred more years and I’ll be no match for her.

At this thought, Master Su wished he could retreat into closed meditation immediately; if word got out that he couldn’t best his own wife, what a laughingstock he would become.

He casually tossed the unconscious Shen Lian aside and breathed out a stream of white vapor, instantly extinguishing the flames.

In the courtyard, the phoenix’s cry lingered, a flash of radiant light. A woman in palace attire, bearing a fire-phoenix mark on her brow, appeared, wrinkling her nose. “What’s so amusing about the mortal world? It’s so filthy—how can you stand it? Go wash yourself clean in the Milky Way, or don’t bother coming home.”

Apparently unable to bear the world’s grime, the palace-clad woman glared fiercely at Master Su, then vanished, not even caring where Shen Lian ended up. In truth, with her cultivation, she had already sensed in that fleeting instant that Shen Lian’s bloodline had nothing to do with Master Su.

Master Su patted the trunk of the loquat tree, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t return home either—lest one day, in a fit of anger, she burns you to ashes. Find a place to take on human form; I’ll give you this courtyard as your own.”

The Su Family Fortress shrank until it rested in Master Su’s palm, no more than a toy model. The loquat tree stood at his side as he tossed the magical artifact into its branches. Then, transforming into a long rainbow, Master Su soared away, streaking across the sky.

******

Shen Lian drifted back to consciousness, feeling a coolness all over him—he was floating in the still waters of a lake. The chill of early spring lingered; the water bit to the bone. He couldn’t help but sneeze.

With his constitution, he had long since become impervious to heat and cold; the sneeze was a sign he had soaked far too long, his blood and energy stagnant. Sensing his numb and stiff limbs, the sluggish flow of energy and blood, he realized the cold had seeped deep within him. Shen Lian struggled from the water, swimming ashore.

A day later, Shen Lian at last learned that he was within the territory of Sword Manor, and the lake into which he had fallen was called Mirror Lake—its surface so clear and still it reflected like a mirror.

Sword Manor was not the domain of bullies; local folk held the lords of the manor in deep respect through generations. The current old master, Lord Ye, was said to have passed the imperial exams in his youth but had never taken office. It was rumored he had never fought a duel, for in his time, his father was still alive, and now his son, Ye Liuyun, remained.

Some claimed the old master knew no martial arts at all, being a true scholar and gentleman. The affairs of the manor, large and small, were now all managed by Ye Liuyun with impeccable order, leaving the old master even more at leisure.

Though today was still cold and the flowers had yet to bloom, the moonlight was bright—the Lantern Festival had not long passed.

As a child, Ye Liuyun had disliked bright weather, not wanting others to see him too clearly. Now, he did not care, for in this world, few could match his freedom and ease.

Since he had begun upholding the Sword Manor’s reputation, all his endeavors had met with success. Though renowned and always triumphant, he was only eighteen—barely older than Shen Lian. His exceptional talent led many to forget his age, his mature steadiness often making people think the young master of Sword Manor was already in his twenties.

Eighteen—an age brimming with youthful vigor—yet in Ye Liuyun, one could rarely find that singular adolescent ardor.

Ye Liuyun enjoyed tea, believing that drinking it calmed the mind. In contrast, Xiao Zhu’s temperament was more typical for their age—except she was too self-centered, caring little for human life. Born a noble’s daughter, such disposition was hardly surprising.

Xiao Zhu was doing something she disliked: keeping Ye Liuyun company over tea.

Wisps of tea steam drifted between them, blurring the space, while moonlight filtered through the window lattice, scattered by the vapor into a mysterious glow.

“To wear this body amid the icy woods, unmixed with the dust of peach and plum; suddenly, one night, a pure fragrance bursts forth, filling the world with boundless spring. What do you think of this poem?”

“It sounds nice enough,” Xiao Zhu replied with a yawn.

“That was composed by your little admirer, Shen Lian. My father is fond of it—he says in ten years no poem on plum blossoms has surpassed it. I like it too,” Ye Liuyun chuckled.

“A guest arrives on a cold night; tea serves as wine. The bamboo stove boils, the fire just reddening. The same old moonlight before the window, but with plum blossoms, it is transformed. Brother Ye, how does this one compare with the last?” As the words fell, the moonlight outside the window was obscured, and a figure appeared.