Ch67 - Mad and Deranged

The long, crane-like figure of Chongjue in black robes stood tall. The black silk covering his face was blown by the wind, revealing a pair of familiar yet eerie snow-white pupils.

“Infinite Purgatory isn’t bad at all,” he said lazily. “I don’t really want to return to these heavily constrained three realms.”

The World-Honored One’s status meant that even killing someone would bring down heavenly tribulation.

So restrictive.

Zou Chi sighed helplessly: “Qifu Yin has come out of the Rotten Axe realm. Since his sister’s death, that child has gone quite mad and seems to hate Xiaoxiao as well.”

Hearing the words “Xiaoxiao,” Chongjue seemed to pause for a moment.

After a long while, Chongjue said as if nothing had happened: “Since I can’t merge, then design a way to force my body into meditation and act to draw out the bone chains—that would be convenient for me to take control temporarily.”

Seeing his urgency, Zou Chi raised an eyebrow: “Do you have urgent business to handle?”

Otherwise, given this person’s temperament, he would have started wreaking havoc long ago. Why would he actively rush to return to that heavily restricted body?

Chongjue smiled mysteriously, his hand lazily toying with the broken jade at his waist, his snow-white pupils revealing traces of blood-red malice.

“Eager to catch a disobedient little sparrow and return it to its cage.”

Zou Chi didn’t understand.

Su Hansheng was stunned for a moment. Just as he was about to move closer, he saw Chongjue seem to notice something and suddenly look in his direction.

“Who?!”

Su Hansheng felt as if that murderous glance had sent him plummeting from great heights. He gasped sharply, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the bed canopy above, taking a long while to regain consciousness.

This dream was terrifyingly realistic.

After waking, Su Hansheng covered his chest and panted for a long while, still immersed in Chongjue’s fierce, cold, murderous gaze and unable to recover.

Usually, his dreams of the black-robed Chongjue were passionate spring dreams, but this was the first time he’d dreamed of Chongjue wanting to kill him.

While Su Hansheng was still dazed, footsteps could be heard outside.

Someone lifted the curtain and entered, saying softly: “Young Master is awake?”

Su Hansheng’s heart was still racing. Looking up: “Changkong?”

Changkong smiled and nodded.

When Su Hansheng came to Wendao Academy, Changkong had returned to Old Talisman Ridge. He’d probably come temporarily this time, still wearing Old Talisman disciple robes he hadn’t changed out of. He skillfully helped Su Hansheng sit up, saying as always: “Young Master slept for over two hours. There are still afternoon classes. Wash up, eat something, and then go to the study hall.”

Su Hansheng had gradually calmed down, rubbing his aching forehead: “Where’s Big Senior Brother?”

“Old Talisman Ridge had urgent business, so Master went to handle it personally.” Changkong arranged Su Hansheng’s long hair, saying worriedly: “How has Young Master gotten so much thinner in just half a month?”

Su Hansheng was stunned: “Master?”

Only then did Changkong notice he’d let something slip, coughing several times.

Su Hansheng looked at Changkong in surprise.

Changkong had cared for him attentively since childhood. Elder Xie had said he was a pitiful child with no parents who was saved by Su Xuanlin, but no one had told him that he was Ying Jianhua’s disciple.

Seeing Su Hansheng’s unfathomable expression, Changkong quickly said, “Young Master, please don’t be angry—Master is only worried about you. Besides, given your special status, he doesn’t trust others to look after you. It’s really not…”

Really not to spy on you.

Before he could finish, Su Hansheng frowned and said, “You’ve been by my side for over a decade. Won’t this disrupt your own cultivation? Aren’t you wasting your time?”

Changkong was taken aback.

What Su Hansheng was actually concerned about… was whether this would hinder his cultivation?

It took a long while for Changkong to snap out of his shock. His expression softened. “It’s not a waste, not at all. Immortal Lord saved my life, and the Master has mentored me with great care. Looking after the Young Master for a few years—I’m more than willing.”

Su Hansheng drifted with the tide, but he couldn’t bear the thought of holding Changkong back from advancing on the great path. He shook his head. “I’m at the academy now, so you don’t need to look after me anymore. You should return.”

Changkong smiled. “There’s no hurry. I’ll go back once Master returns.”

Su Hansheng said nothing more, only asking: “Why did Senior Brother suddenly send you to Wendao Academy? What’s the matter?”

Changkong sighed helplessly. “Young Master, you’ve just woken up, so perhaps you haven’t heard yet—the boundary gate at the Tower to Heaven in Old Fuling…”

Boom.

A crack of thunder resounded, illuminating Su Hansheng’s face, pale as paper.

“…was breached by force.”

EIT PTAALNT 「EIT gfUJBLip NLdT fS dIT WJSQJQdT KTYY mLA fqTJTB Sfi L PfPTJd, LJB HUYQ GYLJAPTJ TAGLqTB dIifUNI dIT NLq」 ZUQGsYp AqiTLB dIifUNIfUd dIT dIiTT iTLYPA, BifmJQJN fUd dIT NfAAQq LgfUd vQAA HLJN fS lTqLiLdT xTLiA LJB dIT VIQTS kJSfiGTi’A ifPLJdQG LSSLQiA.

「GCJ nDLf hLNy AtOo vyAfyfmJ dJLL? vI mCNm mCJ INoJ NI mCJ WJImJty kOtyJt?」

「vzfOm, mCJ nDLf OA vyAfyfmJ dJLL NtJ zftJhm zJIhJyzNymI OA mCJ INhtJz OglJhmI, mCJft gLOOzLfyJI DymNfymJz—yOmCfyq LfXJ mCJ gtNyhC ANofLe fy WJImJty kOtyJt. WCO XyOEI COE oNye JIhNRJz? v’o NAtNfz mCJ mCtJJ tJNLoI NtJ fy hCNOI yOE.」

「bNO uOtz jfyq CNI NLtJNze tJmDtyJz. WCO XyOEI COE oDhC hNy ImfLL gJ tJoJzfJz?」

When Changkong sent Su Hansheng to Shangshan Study Hall, his mind was still reeling.

Was the dream he’d just had real or not?

The students in Shangshan Study Hall had little appetite for lessons. They clustered in small groups, whispering anxiously about the breach at the Tower to Heaven’s boundary gate.

Su Hansheng took his seat but hadn’t even opened his book before Yuan Qian pinched his lips and made a “sh-sh” sound, signaling him to turn around.

“Young Master, have you heard about the boundary gate?”

Su Hansheng turned, frowning. “I just heard.”

Wu Baili, rarely talkative, said even more than usual: “With the attack on the floating ship last time and the incident during the Wendao Festival where Fuli clansmen infiltrated, it’s obvious they went to great lengths to open the Infinite Hell boundary gate.”

Yuan Qian twisted the end of Su Hansheng’s hair absentmindedly, weaving it into a tiny braid. He commented offhandedly, “It’s been two millennia since the Fuli clan was sealed in Infinite Hell. Even if they got out, it’s unlikely they’d stir up much trouble.”

Wu Baili gave him a look as if he were an idiot. “Do you think the Infinite Hell’s boundary gate can be opened so easily?”

Su Hansheng fell into thought.

The Fuli clan feared the light. If nothing else, he’d inherited half the Fuli bloodline and likely had some unknown connection to the Fuli ancestors; otherwise, Ying Jianhua wouldn’t have sent Changkong to protect him the moment the Infinite Hell’s gate was breached.

Su Hansheng drifted through the afternoon lessons, barely present—his mind elsewhere. When the Headmaster called on him to answer a question, he almost earned himself a scolding. Luckily, Yuan Qian whispered, “Top Grade,” from behind.

Su Hansheng quickly echoed, “Top Grade.”

The Headmaster roared, “Top grade your ass! I asked how to draw this talisman mark!”

Su Hansheng: “…”

Yuan Qian, nearly dying of laughter under the desk, didn’t expect Su Hansheng to stab his tail with a brush in revenge, making him yelp in pain.

…And so, it was Yuan Qian’s turn to be scolded.

After a whole afternoon of reprimands, the rain still hadn’t stopped.

Changkong, whether he timed it perfectly or simply hadn’t left at all, appeared beneath an umbrella the moment the bell rang.

The heavy rain had lasted all day. Su Hansheng felt awful and didn’t want to leave. He sprawled across the desk, sluggish and unwilling to move.

Having taken care of him for so long, Changkong was well-versed in his moods. With practiced coaxing, he said, “Young Master, the rain won’t stop anytime soon. Let’s go back to Falling Parasol Lodge first. I’ll make you some pear syrup soup.”

Su Hansheng pouted. “I don’t want soup.”

Changkong pressed on, “I delivered your new disciple seal to Falling Parasol Lodge. Maybe Fourth Martial Uncle has sent you a message?”

Only then did Su Hansheng get up reluctantly, carefully stepping beneath Changkong’s umbrella, and let himself be coaxed home.

There were a few new messages on the magpie-patterned disciple seal. Kicking off his shoes, Su Hansheng slumped on the couch, listlessly checking through them.

Changkong frowned and came over, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Young Master, you’re running a fever. Is the bone-clinging poison acting up?”

Judging by the time, it was just about due.

“It’s nothing. I’ll just sleep with Lingzhi Mushroom. I’ll be fine.” Su Hansheng didn’t want to trouble others. He glanced at the rain outside. “How much longer will it keep raining?”

If it didn’t stop tomorrow, he’d probably wilt like a curled leaf.

Changkong said, “I don’t know.”

Su Hansheng wilted further. Changkong had no choice but to go to the backyard to make pear syrup soup—mixing in the Cuiwei Mushroom as well, hoping to ease his suffering.

Knock-knock. Someone rapped at Falling Parasol Lodge’s door.

Su Hansheng, still sickly, lounged on the couch, idly playing with his disciple seal. With a flick of his finger, he summoned his companion tree to open the door.

Whoosh.

A damp gust of wind swept into the room, making Su Hansheng frown. He looked up and saw Qifu Zhao, soaked from head to toe, hurrying inside. He hadn’t brought an umbrella or even used spiritual power to shield himself from the rain—he looked like a drowned chicken.

Su Hansheng sat up at once. “Why are you so drenched?”

The rain continued to pour, but Qifu Zhao, unusually, wasn’t wearing his usual light-shielding veil. His dripping bangs clung to his forehead, a pitiful sight.

“It’s nothing.” Qifu Zhao’s lips were pale, but he managed a smile. “It’s rare to be able to go without the light-blocking talisman. Getting a little wet won’t hurt.”

Su Hansheng’s hand paused. Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. “That business with the Little Medical Immortal… Did you do it?”

He was referring to Zhou Gushe’s having cured him of the bone-clinging poison in secret.

Qifu Zhao didn’t expect him to be so perceptive. Without hiding anything, he nodded. “Yes.”

Su Hansheng frowned. “Why would you do that? Aren’t you afraid of bringing trouble upon yourself?”

“All I know is that when the Young Master was willing to take the bone-clinging poison to hide his Fuli heritage, there must have been a good reason for it.”

Like a dog drenched in rain, Qifu Zhao endured Su Hansheng’s cold treatment, still smiling gently, concealing all claws and fangs beneath such a harmless face.

Su Hansheng was silent for a long time, finally unable to hold back a glare.

“You’re too nosy.”

Even as he said so, he made his companion tree grab a dry towel and fling it in Qifu Zhao’s face, adding in disgust, “Dry yourself off.”

Qifu Zhao obediently nodded and ran off to the side to wipe himself down.

Annoyed, Su Hansheng sat cross-legged on the couch, chewing on his fingers and brooding. In the end, he couldn’t help but warn, “If anyone asks you about this in the future, just say you know nothing. Got it?”

He couldn’t fathom why Qifu Zhao would do such a thing. With his own Fuli heritage, he was already having a hard enough time in the three realms, yet here he was, seeking out trouble for himself.

Qifu Zhao meekly agreed.

Su Hansheng fell silent again, then said, “If people found out I’m Fuli…”

He stopped halfway, as if afraid, swallowing the unsaid words.

“Young Master.” Qifu Zhao walked to Su Hansheng’s side and knelt on one knee, soothing him gently. “You are noble by birth, the son of an Immortal Lord. Even if…”

Su Hansheng suddenly cut in icily, “I never wanted to be the son of an Immortal Lord!”

Qifu Zhao was stunned.

After he spoke, the ferocity in Su Hansheng’s eyes quickly faded, replaced by a hollow sense of defeat. He drew his legs up, burying his face in his knees and covering his ears as he murmured, “Was it my Fuli blood that made him want to strangle me then?”

Was his birth a disgrace to a revered Immortal Lord?

If he was truly seen as such a humiliation, why not simply end him in the cradle, rather than let him endure this life for nothing?

Su Hansheng, who had been fine just moments ago, was now so despondent he wished he could bury himself in the ground. Qifu Zhao, helpless and panicked, had no idea how to comfort him.

Changkong arrived with the pear syrup soup, frowning at the sight. “Who are you?”

Recognizing the old Talisman Ridge robes on Changkong, Qifu Zhao stood and bowed, mumbling his identity. “The Young Master… I don’t know how he suddenly became like this.”

Changkong frowned. “What did you say to him?”

Puzzled, Qifu Zhao answered, “About being the son of an Immortal Lord and such.”

Changkong’s face turned ashen. “Why would you even mention that to him?”

That was practically twisting the knife in his wound.

Qifu Zhao: “…”

He hadn’t known this was a forbidden topic.

Besides, he’d mentioned it before, and Su Hansheng hadn’t reacted at all.

Changkong chased Qifu Zhao out, then returned to coax Su Hansheng. “Young Master, please don’t be upset. Have some syrup soup?”

Su Hansheng had already scrambled onto the bed, wrapping himself in the quilt and sulking. “Don’t call me Young Master.”

“Alright, alright,” Changkong knew he had to humor him. “What about ‘Martial Uncle,’ then? Get up and have a sip—I added lots of honey.”

Su Hansheng lifted a corner of the quilt, peeking out. “It’s Fourth Martial Uncle who likes sweet things. I’m not fond of that stuff.”

Even so, he sat up and drank it anyway.

The rain still poured as if the heavens meant to flood Old Magpie Ridge.

After taking his medicine, Su Hansheng crawled back under the covers and drifted off to the rhythm of the rain.

Half-conscious, he felt someone approach his bedside and touch his forehead with cool fingers.

Ying Jianhua’s voice murmured indistinctly: “This shouldn’t be. When the phoenix bone… when the bone-clinging poison acts up, there are always warning signs. He seemed fine during the day—how could it flare up so suddenly?”

Changkong replied quietly: “This disciple doesn’t know. Maybe it’s because of the rain? The Young Master kept saying all day that he couldn’t stand the rain, that it was unbearable.”

Ying Jianhua frowned and channeled spiritual energy into Su Hansheng’s forehead.

Like a sprouting branch, Su Hansheng absorbed Ying Jianhua’s spiritual energy, barely quenching the burning pain inside.

Suddenly, Ying Jianhua asked, “When did that flower bud appear?”

Changkong: “I—I don’t know.”

Ying Jianhua said coldly, “Cut it down.”

Su Hansheng’s eyebrows twitched. He wanted to stop them—the bud seemed connected to his very soul, and harming it would wound him too.

But his body was held down by an invisible force, and he couldn’t even move a finger. All he could do was listen to the sound of a sword being drawn.

His heart pounded wildly, his consciousness struggling in vain, trapped as if in quicksand.

Ying Jianhua: “Wait.”

Changkong stopped. “Master?”

Ying Jianhua gave another order, but Su Hansheng could no longer hear. His mind plunged into an abyss, the sky and earth spinning as if upended.

His body sank into sludge, unable even to breathe, organs aching dully.

He had no idea how long he remained conscious in the darkness, when suddenly a hand reached out, silently lifting him by the nape, pulling him bit by bit out of the mire.

Su Hansheng gasped, coughing violently as he struggled to open his eyes.

“Brother…”

But instead of his senior brother, it was the strange man from his dreams, his face half-hidden behind bone chains.

The man allowed only half of his face to emerge from the mire, the rest still trapped in darkness, motionless. He stroked the corner of Su Hansheng’s eye as before, black ink dripping steadily from the brush in his hair.

The ink, whatever it was, faintly shimmered with golden talisman patterns—each drop that hit the black sludge sent ripples of inscribed talismans across its surface.

Su Hansheng stared at him wide-eyed.

The man gazed into his amber eyes, murmuring as if bewitched, “Sister…”

Su Hansheng couldn’t move, so he simply glared at the man.

For some reason, the man seemed bizarrely excited. His sharp fingernails pierced the corner of Su Hansheng’s eye, nearly gouging out the eye itself.

“That’s the look! Big Sister used to look at me just like that…”

Su Hansheng: “…”

To be honest, this man was on par with Jin Yiyuan.

Who even had such creepy quirks?

But this man seemed even crazier than Jin Yiyuan. After a while, as if a switch had been flipped, the heat in his face melted away into cool nonchalance. He gently brushed his bloody fingers across Su Hansheng’s face and said calmly, “Su Hansheng, let’s make a deal.”

Su Hansheng was startled.

If he still thought this was a dream, he’d be a fool.

It was obvious this strange man had something to do with that strange flower bud, and he even called Su Hansheng by name.

The man lifted Su Hansheng’s neck, pulling his entire face free from the muck.

Now able to speak, Su Hansheng wasn’t frightened—he met the man’s gaze steadily.

“What kind of deal?”

The man smiled. Suddenly, countless scrolls covered with dense talisman script materialized in the darkness, unfurling in overlapping circles around them. The talismans buzzed with hushed voices, as if alive.

Only then did Su Hansheng realize he wasn’t trapped in mud, but in a viscous pool of ink.

“I’ll teach you how to tame the Phoenix Bone, so you need never endure its burning agony again.” Looking down on Su Hansheng, the man smirked, then leaned in to whisper: “And in return…”

Su Hansheng’s eyelid stung.

The man’s sharp fingernails drew a thin red line from the corner of Su Hansheng’s eye to his temple. His voice was indulgent, almost tender, but there was something deranged about it.

“…you’ll give one of your eyes to your uncle.”

***