Ch68 - The Bone-White Curtain

Uncle?

A trickle of blood slid down the corner of Su Hansheng’s eye, silently merging with the inky pool beneath him.

He stared at the encircling scrolls covered in talisman script and vaguely guessed at the man’s true identity.

Chongjue had once told him that the Lanke Record who escaped the secret realm might come looking for him, but he’d never mentioned they were related by blood.

Su Hansheng’s long lashes fluttered as he looked directly into his “uncle’s” amber eyes—eyes identical to his own. He felt only numbness.

If Lanke Record had slain the Three Sacred Objects two thousand years ago, he wasn’t someone to be trifled with.

So here was this blood relative, already crazy enough to want to gouge out his own nephew’s eye.

“Tame the Phoenix Bone?” Su Hansheng looked up, eyes curving with something like laughter. “If you’re so capable, Uncle, why not simply take the Phoenix Bone for yourself? Why bother with this act?”

Qifu Yin (Qi? Fu? Yin?—Su Hansheng couldn’t quite recall the name) seemed pleased by Su Hansheng’s calm reaction to the word “uncle”—no shock, no frantic attempts at reconciliation.

“A person chosen by Heaven to carry a sacred object is protected by divine fortune. If I were to snatch it, Heaven’s wrath would probably find me before I could even blink.”

He reached out again, stroking Su Hansheng’s eyelid. “Besides… you have my sister’s blood.”

Su Hansheng nodded as if satisfied by the explanation. “So gouging out your own nephew’s eye is your way of showing affection for your sister.”

Qifu Yin: “…”

Qifu Yin’s face hardened. “You and your father are cut from the same cloth—he’s glib, and you spew nonsense!”

Su Hansheng scowled. He didn’t want to be compared to Su Xuanlin. “You say you can tame the Phoenix Bone. Why should I believe you?”

Compared to Su Hansheng’s careless flippancy, Qifu Yin seemed infatuated with his cold, repellent glare. The corners of his lips curled up, and the thirteen bone-white beads hanging over his face jangled softly.

“You’d give one of your eyes to me?”

“Why not?” Su Hansheng said indifferently. “I have two.”

The pain from the Phoenix Bone’s flare-ups was unbearable. If this man could make it truly vanish, the price of one eye was a bargain.

Su Hansheng’s casual, breezy reply left Qifu Yin stunned. After a long pause, he let out a low, bitter chuckle, then tightened his grip and hauled Su Hansheng up.

With a splash, Su Hansheng emerged from the thick, black ink. The oppressive weight on his chest eased.

Qifu Yin said, “Give me your hand.”

Su Hansheng held out his left hand.

Somehow, this triggered Qifu Yin even more. “Right hand.”

Su Hansheng blinked, bewildered.

Qifu Yin said with undisguised loathing, “Your father used the left.”

Su Hansheng: “…”

Reluctantly, Su Hansheng switched to his right hand.

Qifu Yin smirked, not at all friendly. “You’re already better at following orders than your old man.”

Su Hansheng entertained a wild thought: Does he have a thing for Su Xuanlin? Why does every word from his mouth circle back to him?

Having reprimanded him, Qifu Yin lightly skimmed his fingertip along a nearby scroll. A talisman shaped like a phoenix fluttered out and landed on Su Hansheng’s ring finger, red glyphs winding around his finger and suddenly vanishing into the fingertip.

Su Hansheng sensed an unfamiliar crimson pattern appear in his mind, splitting and radiating through his dantian.

“This is a taming talisman,” Qifu Yin said. “In less than three shichen, the Phoenix Bone’s nirvana fire will activate. Try it out, and see if it works.”

Su Hansheng studied him.

Is he really not afraid I’ll use his talisman and forget our deal?

Qifu Yin seemed to read his thoughts. His pale palm stretched toward Su Hansheng’s right eye. “Our blood is the strongest contract. Even if you go back on your word, half your blood is mine—this eye will find its way to me sooner or later. And of course, I’ll be collecting part of the payment in advance.”

Qifu Yin—once one of the Four Sacred Objects, now fallen—seemed even more fearsome than those who remained. On his palm shimmered countless red glyphs, coiling into the shape of a strange eyeball, silent and menacing as it extended towards Su Hansheng.

Su Hansheng did not try to escape. He stared unblinkingly at the man.

The man’s cold palm finally pressed against Su Hansheng’s right eye. A surge of talismanic power buzzed in his ears, and a sharp, needle-like pain stabbed through his pupil.

Su Hansheng’s eyelid twitched involuntarily.

Qifu Yin had already withdrawn his hand and was gazing indifferently at the faint golden glow in his palm. “Once you confirm that the talisman is effective, I’ll personally pluck out your right eye.”

Just as Su Hansheng was about to speak, half of his body was once again dragged into the ink pool.

…As if he’d missed a step in the dark, he snapped his eyes open, jolting fully awake from the vision.

It was already pitch black outside.

The narrow bed was densely curtained by his companion tree, and the flower bud had quietly grown on a branch.

Moonlight spilled through the gaps, illuminating the snow-white petals—half-bloomed, as transient as the night-blooming cereus.

Su Hansheng sat up and touched his right eye lightly.

The eye was still there, and the wound at the corner was gone.

He covered his left eye and was instantly submerged in darkness.

So.

The right eye was still there, but it could no longer see.

—That was what the Lanke Record had meant by “an advance payment.”

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It was almost as if something was deliberately suppressing them.

And earlier, the Lanke Record had said…

“Within three sichen, the Phoenix Bone’s nirvana fire will erupt.”

Even Su Hansheng himself didn’t know exactly when the fire would flare—how did the Lanke Record know?

Su Hansheng sat cross-legged on the bed and waited patiently for three sichen.

Almost the moment the time was up, a wave of searing fire erupted in his dantian.

The Phoenix Bone gathered strength, intent on burning his body to ashes to fuel its rebirth. The flames crawled along his meridians, and in a flash, his entire bed was ablaze.

The companion tree, frightened like a snake, instantly slithered back, burrowing into the earth for safety.

Su Hansheng’s consciousness nearly evaporated from the pain. He staggered and collapsed onto the bed, half-delirious, instinctively murmuring:

“Uncle…”

It took him a while to realize who he’d called in his delirium.

Fine cracks, like molten lava, spread across Su Hansheng’s pale face, as though fire might burst through at any moment. Drunkenly wavering between lucidity and confusion, he finally mustered enough clarity to channel a thread of spiritual energy into the talisman on his finger.

The phoenix talisman let out a piercing cry, detaching from his fingertip, its body elongating as it shot toward the Phoenix Bone’s flames.

Su Hansheng’s eyes widened.

The fire that had tormented him for years now seemed alive. The talisman phoenix pounced aggressively, its talons seizing the blazing Phoenix fire and slamming it to the ground with a roar.

Dazedly, Su Hansheng watched the two phoenixes shriek and tussle, tilting his head as if it were all a dream.

The flames collided in bursts, blooming like fireworks, and the agony that had scorched him from within gradually faded, as if truly suppressed.

Su Hansheng’s mind gradually cleared. He stared blankly at the sight.

Did the Lanke Record’s method actually work?

For the first time, he felt no pain during a flare-up. He watched the two firebirds squabble, mesmerized, but soon found himself lost in thought again.

Who had he called for earlier?

Even if he needed Chongjue to suppress the Phoenix Bone’s flames, he should have called his name.

Why had he blurted out…

“Uncle?”

Suddenly, two syllables echoed in his ears: “What?”

Su Hansheng nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked up in alarm—Chongjue had appeared at his bedside without warning and was lifting the layers of light-blocking curtains to gaze down at him.

Su Hansheng’s eyes flew wide open. He clutched his chest, panting from the fright. Forgetting their cold war, he gasped, “Why are you popping up out of nowhere?!”

Chongjue frowned, then noticed the two phoenixes—one pummeling the other until it was a cowering baby bird, the surrounding flames dimming rapidly.

The Lanke Record’s phoenix talisman was truly for taming. In moments, it had subdued the bone fire to a fist-sized chick, the fire receding steadily.

Su Hansheng, stunned that the Phoenix Bone could be suppressed so quickly, replayed the complex talisman in his mind. It was far too intricate for a neophyte like him to comprehend.

As he pondered, Chongjue seized his wrist and hauled him off the bed, his expression icy. “Where did you get this talisman?”

Su Hansheng stumbled, barely catching himself barefoot, his brow furrowing. “What’s it to you, honorable World-Honored One? What rule of Mount Sumeru have I broken now?”

Changkong’s grip tightened—an early Foundation Establishment cultivator like Su Hansheng was no match for Mahayana-level strength. His wrist ached instantly, faint red marks appearing.

Su Hansheng: “It hurts!”

Chongjue’s eyes, usually calm as an ancient pool, now churned with suppressed emotion. “How many times must I repeat myself? Not one word from the Lanke Record should be trusted.”

Since his last confrontation, Su Hansheng had understood that Chongjue’s nature was not something he could change with a few words. He took a deep breath and didn’t bother to argue, only saying, “I didn’t blindly trust him. I just made a deal.”

Chongjue, too, was struggling to restrain his temper, determined not to let things end like last time.

“The Lanke Record harbors ill intent. His talismans are all traps. Your eye—”

He drew a water mirror in the air, forcing Su Hansheng to see for himself.

—His formerly amber right eye had turned an eerie, lifeless gray.

Su Hansheng, long aware he could no longer see from that eye, said flatly, “He taught me the talisman. I gave him one eye. Pure barter—no trap involved.”

Chongjue was taken aback.

Were young people nowadays so cavalier about their own bodies? How could he give away an eye so lightly?

The prayer beads at Chongjue’s wrist flared with a sharp, cold light. He raised a hand, sealing Su Hansheng inside a translucent barrier, then turned a cold gaze on the flower blooming upon the main trunk of the companion tree.

Frowning, Su Hansheng gripped his sleeve. “What are you doing?”

Chongjue’s reply was calm: “Taking your eye back.”

Su Hansheng looked at him in utter incomprehension.

“Why? Did I not say I was willing to make the exchange?”

Besides, not long ago, Chongjue had coldly watched as his fellow disciples perished—why was he so adamant about meddling now, over something as minor as an eye?

“He is beguiling you.” Chongjue brushed his hand aside with detachment. “Just as before…”

Just as he had deceived the three-year-old Su Xiaoxiao, stealing half his heavenly blessing through their shared Fuli blood.

Su Hansheng tilted his head as he watched the phoenix talisman pin the Phoenix Bone’s flames to the ground, then dissolve in a flash of light back onto the tip of his right finger, radiating a faint cyan glow.

“But it doesn’t hurt anymore…”

Under the moonlight, the “Midnight Bloom” slowly opened.

Chongjue moved, and in midair appeared the hazy outline of a demon-subduing pestle—yet for some reason, it failed to fully materialize and melted away without a sound.

A World-Honored One at the Mahayana stage did not need a sacred object to slay the Lanke Record.

With dispassionate calm, Chongjue gathered spiritual energy at his fingertips, his gaze settling on the flower where Qifu Yin’s will resided.

“I’m no longer in pain.”

Su Hansheng repeated it, his voice full of confusion.

He had never wanted anything except to escape the pain. If Qifu Yin had demanded his life, he would have handed it over without blinking.

An eye was nothing, after all.

Why couldn’t Chongjue understand that?

It had been the same in his past life. And now, too.

Even if he was reborn again, it would just be swapping one cesspit for another.

Just let him live a mad, unrestrained life—was that too much to ask?

Su Hansheng pressed both hands to the transparent barrier and shouted after Chongjue, “You told me you couldn’t interfere in the affairs of the three realms—stop!”

A Mahayana-level barrier was unbreakable for someone of Su Hansheng’s rank. He battered at it uselessly. He had no idea if his voice reached Chongjue, who never looked back, vanishing in a wisp of smoke.

“Uncle… Chongjue!”

A single flower held a world greater than the stars.

With the calm of a winter lake, Chongjue stepped into Qifu Yin’s illusion. A terrible weapon coalesced in his hand, and as he strode forward, innumerable arcs of spiritual power descended like shooting stars, exploding into radiant blossoms.

The floating Lanke Record was engulfed in flames. The entire world trembled and collapsed in a great wave, crashing into the ink pool below.

“Qifu Yin.”

Chongjue’s dark jade eyes were emotionless, but his body emitted layers of eerie killing intent, rousing the bone chains within him—yet even these were unable to restrain the lethal aura.

Half the illusion destroyed, Qifu Yin was forced from the ink, smiling mockingly at Chongjue.

“A willing transaction between two people—must you really interfere?”

Chongjue’s reply was cool: “Give Su Xiaoxiao his eye back.”

Qifu Yin casually pinched a glittering, amber-like orb between two fingers. “This one?”

Chongjue moved to strike, but Qifu Yin abruptly tightened his grip.

“Try anything, and I’ll crush it.”

Chongjue paused, his voice frosty. “He’s your sister’s child.”

“And the one who killed her.” Qifu Yin seemed intent on provoking Chongjue, his smile ironic. “But blood truly is strange. ‘A nephew takes after his uncle’—who knew the boy would turn out so much like me, in the end?”

Even Qifu Yin, proud to call himself a madman, was startled by Su Hansheng’s blasé willingness to trade away his eye.

For the first time in centuries, a trace of disgust flickered across Chongjue’s inscrutable face.

“Don’t compare him to you.”

“No matter how much you despise it, Su Xiaoxiao is my blood.” Qifu Yin tossed the orb up and caught it lazily. “And you—not kin, not adoptive father, just a so-called ‘brother’s sworn friend’—by what right are you here?”

Chongjue’s sleeve twitched slightly. After a long pause, he said softly, “Give the eye back.”

“Come and take it.”

Qifu Yin held the orb up to the light, then added with a yawn, “Even if you do get this orb, my sister won’t come back. If you’re afraid of provoking Heaven’s wrath, I’ll just throw it away.”

A flash of killing intent lit Chongjue’s eyes. His hand flicked—and the half-formed demon-subduing pestle from earlier suddenly appeared in his grasp.

Killing intent and ninety-nine bone chains erupted with a howl from his body.

Boom!

A storm of spiritual power shook the air, sending ripples through the barrier that encased Su Hansheng.

Trapped inside a World-Honored One’s barrier, Su Hansheng simply knelt and stared dully at the prayer beads on his wrist.

What did Chongjue in this life really think of him?

Was it really just “the child of a sworn friend” that made him cast aside propriety, risking the consequences of intervening in the three realms just to demand the return of a worthless eye?

The attack on the floating ship, the incident in the Wendao Festival’s secret realm…

In less than a month, Chongjue’s limitless indulgence had somehow magically transformed into a sense of legitimate authority—the right to watch over him, to control his every move.

In his past life, at least Chongjue’s possessiveness had carried a thrill of pleasure—if nothing else, a mutually beneficial arrangement. But now, it seemed Chongjue truly saw him as nothing more than the child of an old friend—indulgent, yet commanding.

Su Hansheng sat slumped for a long while before thinking, “I’ll have to keep my distance from him.”

Because of everything that had happened before, he’d never be able to simply rely on Chongjue as a respectful junior. Nor could he drag the immaculate, lofty World-Honored One down from his pedestal and force him to wallow in the muck with him.

Either Chongjue should leave Wendao Academy, return to the summit of Mount Sumeru, and resume his meditation—purifying his Buddha nature—

Or Su Hansheng could go home, retreating into Yingxu Sect’s little world to cause chaos as he pleased.

Both options meant going their separate ways.

Su Hansheng looked wretched, wilted and dull like frostbitten eggplants, his eyes downcast and lifeless.

Even though he usually treated the string of broken prayer beads forced onto his wrist by Chongjue with disdain, he couldn’t help unconsciously playing with them, running his fingers round and round, numbly composing in his mind what he would say when Chongjue returned—calm, mature, composed, as if he were suddenly an adult.

Time crawled by. Su Hansheng grew drowsy, yawning repeatedly, but Chongjue still did not reappear.

His heart gave an odd twist. Biting his fingers anxiously, he began to worry.

That Lanke Record was full of tricks, his talismans stacking so high he could even suppress the Phoenix Bone’s flames.

Chongjue, on the other hand, didn’t strike him as much of a fighter—he probably just sat there, serene and imposing, chanting sutras to send people off to the afterlife while they attacked him.

Su Hansheng gnawed at his fingers until the skin broke.

Had something happened to him?

No, that couldn’t be.

Chongjue was at the Mahayana stage—an ancient being who’d been alive for who knew how long. How could a hiding, scheming Lanke Record possibly defeat him?

Su Hansheng batted ineffectively between doubt and self-reassurance.

Late that night, a crack like a spiderweb finally appeared in the air nearby. The flower that had just fully blossomed under the moonlight suddenly seemed to drain of life, withering instantly, its petals fluttering down from the branch.

Su Hansheng startled, scrambling to his feet and pressing both hands to the transparent barrier.

Moments later, a figure in plain white robes emerged from the void—Chongjue, surrounded by a lingering mist.

Relief flickered in Su Hansheng’s eyes at the sight of him unharmed, but he at once schooled his face back into a frown and banged on the barrier to demand release.

Chongjue’s face was paler than usual. With a faint gesture, the barrier vanished.

Su Hansheng lost his balance, barely avoiding a fall.

Forcing himself upright, he coughed dryly and asked, cold, “Where’s the Lanke Record?”

Chongjue stepped closer. “Close your eyes.”

Su Hansheng, defying him, widened his eyes instead.

Chongjue clearly didn’t want to talk. With an impassive face, he gently tapped something against Su Hansheng’s eye.

Sharp pain flared in his right eye again. He looked into a water mirror—his iris had returned to its former amber.

Su Hansheng was stunned.

Chongjue had actually reclaimed his “eye” from the Lanke Record.

Wouldn’t this count as meddling in the three realms? Would the Heavenly Way punish him for it?

“Don’t ever interfere in my affairs again,” Su Hansheng said, voice tight with displeasure.

Chongjue made no reply.

Su Hansheng, determined to seem tough, deliberately snapped at him, “We’re not related. Why do you always have to stick your nose in everything? Don’t let me cause trouble, don’t let me talk rubbish. Fine, but now you can’t even let me trade an ‘eye’ for what I want? You have to barge in for that too?”

He looked down at the talisman still glowing on his finger.

Actually… he’d just scammed a taming talisman from the Lanke Record for free.

Not bad. He was rather pleased.

But then he remembered the “bloodline contract” the Lanke Record had mentioned. As long as he was alive, that man would probably come for his eye sooner or later.

Chongjue’s efforts today might have been wasted.

Chongjue glanced at him icily and turned to leave.

Something felt off. Su Hansheng hurried after him.

Normally, Chongjue would have lectured him sternly by now—why was he so silent today?

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Can’t you just give me a—”

Before he could finish, Chongjue’s tall frame shuddered once, twice, then collapsed onto Su Hansheng right then and there.

Su Hansheng grunted from the unexpected weight. They nearly toppled over, but the companion tree erupted from the ground just in time to cushion them both.

Su Hansheng, flustered, caught hold of Chongjue and looked at him in confusion.

The Lanke Record, heavily injured, could only bully a poor Foundation Establishment stage pupil like Su Hansheng.

Chongjue didn’t seem wounded—yet his face was alarmingly pale. His long lashes fluttered as he slipped into unconsciousness, his usually cold, perfect features marred by a faint red streak.

Pressed so closely, Su Hansheng felt something rigid beneath Chongjue’s white robe. He instinctively reached out, peeling back a corner of the clothing.

There, beneath the pale collarbone, close to the heart…

A bone-white chain dangled silently.

***