Chapter Sixty: The Blossoming of Spring

This was a measure taken out of desperation, a solution born of helplessness. Ye Liuyun did everything within his power and made one final change. In that moment, he also lost all ability to change anything further.

The one thing he failed to anticipate was that Shen Lian’s sword energy, unleashed with full force, could vanish. With Bingyu’s assistance, he could face Shen Lian’s God-Slaying Sword without fear, but when confronted by the “Sword Energy of Being and Nonbeing,” he had no better solution. This went beyond his expectations; no one would have imagined that sword energy, once released, could simply disappear, utterly and completely gone.

Ye Liuyun did his best, but Shen Lian exceeded his understanding. The palm Ye Liuyun struck did not land on the sword energy, but rather on flesh and blood—and the sword energy, too, struck the young body before him. In his haste, Ye Liuyun’s palm was not powerful enough. He had already withdrawn much of his force at the critical moment, but still managed to shatter his opponent’s heart meridian, while the sword energy pierced through the back.

The sword energy exploded, accompanied by a tremendous forward momentum, offsetting Ye Liuyun’s palm and causing the figure to fall into Ye Liuyun’s arms. The scent of her hair reached his nose, quickly followed by the metallic tang of blood.

In that final moment of helplessness, Xiao Zhu stepped in to shield Ye Liuyun from the fatal sword energy. Xiao Zhu did not know why she did it; she was unsure if Ye Liuyun could even evade the attack. When Shen Lian began his move, she sensed a peril so intense that, instinctively, she blocked it for Ye Liuyun.

In all his lives, this was Shen Lian’s first time killing someone—a woman, no less.

It was hard to say whether Ye Liuyun’s palm was more deadly, or if Shen Lian’s sword energy delivered the true fatal blow.

Strictly speaking, Xiao Zhu was not yet dead.

Whether she deserved to die, Shen Lian did not know. By worldly morals, Xiao Zhu was a ruthless femme fatale, capable of killing without hesitation. Though she was the eldest daughter of Cloud Manor, she was spoiled and domineering, and for her own interests, she had slaughtered Li Zhuang and his men from the Shunfeng Escort Agency.

Shen Lian held little affection for her, but he had never intended to kill her. It was not deliberate; perhaps no one would have expected Xiao Zhu to willingly shield Ye Liuyun from the sword energy.

There were certainly people in the world willing to die for Ye Liuyun—more than a few. At the very least, the sword servants of Sword Manor, such as Sword Thirteen and Sword Fourteen, would unquestionably die for him.

Yet if there were anyone absolutely unwilling to die for Ye Liuyun, it would be Xiao Zhu, for there was perhaps no one who disliked him more.

If Shen Lian was shocked, Ye Liuyun was at a loss for how to express his feelings. He did not even feel any urge to avenge himself against Shen Lian; the flying sword controlled by his internal energy fell into the lake, and Ye Liuyun had no time to care about this divine weapon.

Xiao Zhu’s martial arts were formidable, so she did not die immediately. Ye Liuyun’s vital energy flowed ceaselessly into her, sustaining her last breath.

Falling against him, Xiao Zhu whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Only Ye Liuyun understood why she apologized: for many years, Xiao Zhu had opposed him countless times, nearly causing his death on several occasions.

“Don’t speak. Let’s go back to Sword Manor. They have the best medicine there—we can stabilize your wounds,” Ye Liuyun forced himself to stay calm, though his mind was in turmoil.

“My injuries—I know them better than anyone. Even an immortal could not save me. Let me speak, please?” Xiao Zhu said, her words broken and faint.

Confronted with this situation, Shen Lian was at a loss for what to do. He felt no guilt in his heart, yet a trace of remorse lingered. Truthfully, he even envied Ye Liuyun; at least there was a woman willing to risk her life for him.

Ye Liuyun was meticulous in thought, but every important decision he made was resolved in a single moment of clarity. He never regretted any choice, whether right or wrong, but now, he was lost.

Seeing Ye Liuyun’s hesitation, Xiao Zhu suddenly smiled like a child. “It’s only at this moment I believe you truly like me—not because of some damn marriage contract. I’ve been so foolish.”

She had once hated the idea of marrying Ye Liuyun, a cripple, only because of a marriage contract. But just now, she hoped Ye Liuyun had fallen in love with her—not simply because of a contract.

Ye Liuyun did not disappoint her. In fact, after so many years, she understood what kind of person he was.

Their intimate words were not for Shen Lian to overhear; he stood at a distance with Kuhui. He remained, not because he still sought details about the Qingxuan Immortal Sect’s recruitment, but hoping he could help somehow, or at least ease his remorse—even though he had done nothing wrong.

This is the strange nature of humanity: right and wrong, black and white, cannot be simply distinguished. It is also what Shen Lian would never relinquish—even for the eternal Dao, he would not become a cold, unfeeling stone.

***

In the end, Xiao Zhu departed, after a night of east wind, when spring blossoms filled the world.

She was buried amidst thousands of pear trees, the hills and fields awash in pure white, a resting place for a fragrant soul.

Even the finest medicines of Sword Manor could not grant her another day of life.

Ye Liuyun was nowhere to be seen, nor did he seek vengeance against Shen Lian. He simply built a humble hut beside Xiao Zhu’s grave and lived there quietly.

Shen Lian met the Master of Sword Manor, Ye Liuyun’s father.

He was a remarkable man, with graying temples but a healthy complexion. What made him unique were his eyes—conveying a profound weariness, as if he had witnessed the shifting tides of the world, and now saw all things as fleeting dreams.

The old master dressed simply; elsewhere, without his eyes, he would seem nothing more than a scholar.

His name was Ye Qiufeng—Autumn Maple, as in the leaves that fall.

“Master Ye, how is Liuyun now?”

“He’s well. You need not blame yourself. Kuhui has already told me everything that happened that day.”

Shen Lian fell silent, unsure how to respond. Could he say he no longer felt guilty, though he believed that, even if given another chance, the outcome would not change?

Ye Qiufeng, sensing Shen Lian’s inner conflict, continued, “Liuyun asked me to pass something to you. That is why I wished to see you.”

Ye Liuyun had given Shen Lian a letter, detailing how to enter the Qingxuan Sect’s disciple selection, with hints and details. A brilliant mind, he had deduced Shen Lian’s purpose from various clues.

After reading the letter, Shen Lian felt even more unsettled.

He had won that contest, and lost it as well.

It also proved that Ye Liuyun had not sunk into despair; he remained the young master of Sword Manor.

Shen Lian did not seek Ye Liuyun, but left Sword Manor.

He believed that someday, they would meet again. Perhaps as enemies, or perhaps with a smile to let bygones be bygones—who could say?