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Ch69 - Sitting in Meditation




Su Hansheng had never seen Chongjue lose consciousness before.
Even in his past life, Chongjue had been invincible—once, covered in blood from battle, he’d still managed to pin Su Hansheng to the wall and have his way. He’d been lively, insatiable, even as blood dripped down his skin.
Cautiously, Su Hansheng called, “World-Honored One? Uncle?”
No answer.
He tried to haul him to the bed, but Chongjue’s height and build were too much for him. After much struggling, with the help of the companion tree, he finally dragged him onto the bed.
Su Hansheng wiped the sweat from his brow. “Go and call the Little Medical Immortal from Xuanhu Lodge.” The companion tree rustled and prepared to leave, but Su Hansheng suddenly changed his mind. “Never mind, don’t alert Xuanhu Lodge—go see if the Vice Dean is back.”
Given Chongjue’s current state, even if an ordinary medical cultivator were summoned, they would probably be unable to determine the cause—let alone that strange bone chain…
Perhaps Zou Chi might know something.
The companion tree waited a while longer, giving its master a chance to change his mind, then scampered off to look for him.
It was well past midnight. Su Hansheng sat cross-legged on the footrest, resting his chin on the edge of the bed, gazing at Chongjue with reluctant concern.
With the Lanke Record’s skill at evading the Heavenly Way’s pursuit, could he truly have been slain by Chongjue, vanishing along with that flower as dust?
But if the Lanke Record was truly a traitor who’d turned from the Dao, and Chongjue had acted as an agent of Heaven to eliminate him, shouldn’t Chongjue have been rewarded with a great destiny? Why had he instead been bound by that bone chain?
Su Hansheng grimaced involuntarily at the thought of that white bone chain.
A chain running through the heart—it must be excruciating.
Chongjue lay in deep slumber, silent and unmoving as a statue.
Su Hansheng hugged his knees and waited until the companion tree returned, only to tell him that Vice Dean Zou Chi still hadn’t returned.
Su Hansheng frowned and stood up to look outside.
He’d always thought his bed was spacious enough for himself to roll around, but with Chongjue lying there, it suddenly felt cramped—nowhere to put his hands or feet.
Chongjue slept on soundly, undisturbed even by Su Hansheng’s close presence.
Cautiously, Su Hansheng reached out, pulling aside Chongjue’s disheveled robes to get a closer look at the mysterious bone chain.
He had assumed it was an illusory talisman, but to his shock, his fingers met cold, solid bone—dense and ice-cold, very real.
He carefully tugged at the chain, and though it seemed to penetrate Chongjue’s very soul—there was no visible wound at the heart’s vital gate—the unconscious Chongjue shuddered violently and let out a stifled, pained gasp.
It must have hurt terribly.
Su Hansheng jerked his hand back and didn’t dare touch it again.
Was this the price Chongjue paid for interfering in the affairs of the three realms? A strange chain piercing his body?
If he’d known, he would have stopped Chongjue more firmly.
No, wait…
Head hanging low, Su Hansheng reached for Chongjue’s hand and thought glumly that he never should have made that deal with the Lanke Record in the first place.
It was all his fault.
For the first time in his life, Su Xiaoxiao accepted blame so readily.
Su Hansheng was still holding Chongjue’s hand when he heard a faint, crisp clinking. Puzzled, he lifted Chongjue’s sleeve—and was shocked to see a slender bone chain threaded through his wrist as well.
Alarmed, Su Hansheng climbed onto the bed and began peeling back Chongjue’s robes, looking him up and down.
Not just his heart—the chains ran through his limbs and dantian, hidden beneath his robes, extending into some unknown void.
Su Hansheng was utterly terrified. He knelt beside Chongjue, hands trembling as he shook him. “Chongjue… Chongjue!”
Chongjue remained silent. There wasn’t even a flicker of response.
Su Hansheng’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it would leap from his throat. The sight of Chongjue bound by those chains left him at a complete loss, his mind blank with fear. After a long pause, he suddenly came to his senses and scrambled to get off the bed.
“Senior Brother… Big Senior Brother!”
Why wasn’t Ying Jianhua here? He was sure he’d heard Ying Jianhua’s voice in his dream earlier.
Su Hansheng’s face was as pale as paper, his legs too weak to stand. He almost collapsed onto Chongjue before catching himself.
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Su Hansheng blinked, only noticing now that his face was wet. From the tip of his nose to the rims of his eyes, everything stung, and he must have looked quite a mess.
He turned away, rubbing his face roughly, as if pretending no one had seen. “I wasn’t crying.”
Chongjue never showed weakness in front of a junior. In fact, collapsing earlier had likely been his limit. The chains still pulled at his bones and heart, but he managed to sit up with slow, deliberate movements.
If not for his pallor, Su Hansheng might have believed that the enfeebled Chongjue collapsing onto him had been nothing but a dream.
Chongjue’s tall, broad-shouldered frame gave him an imposing aura, but Su Hansheng had the strange feeling he was holding a piece of jade on the brink of shattering. He instinctively reached out to support him.
“Don’t move.”
With all these chains, shouldn’t he be resting? Didn’t it hurt?
Chongjue glanced at the hands Su Hansheng had placed behind his back but didn’t brush them away. “The Lanke Record is treacherous…”
He probably wanted to say, “Don’t trust him again,” but worried Su Hansheng would think he was overstepping, so he hesitated.
Su Hansheng quickly said, “I won’t trust him again in the future.”
Chongjue was taken aback. His pale face showed a rare flicker of a smile.
Su Hansheng flushed, awkwardly changing the subject. “Those chains inside you—what are they? Do they hurt?”
Only now did Chongjue realize his robes were disheveled, his chest and waist both exposed.
Chongjue: “…”
He could not recall ever being so disrobed in his life. Composing himself swiftly, he straightened his robes and said, “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
Su Hansheng frowned. “But—”
Chongjue changed the subject stiffly. “Don’t you… want to know about the Lanke Record?”
Su Hansheng tilted his head. “Know what?”
“The Lanke Record was one of the Four Sacred Objects two thousand years ago,” Chongjue said. “His name is… Qifu Yin. He and your mother were twins.”
Su Hansheng was momentarily stunned.
Whether it was Chongjue, Xie Zhizhi, or Ying Jianhua, none of them ever shared the stories of the last generation with Su Hansheng—they all treated him like a child.
This was the first time an elder had actually told him of the past—and that elder was Chongjue, who had always tried to control him most tightly.
It was quite unexpected.
Seeing that Su Hansheng was distracted and had stopped asking about the bone chains, Chongjue rubbed his brow and spoke calmly.
“Qifu Yin acquired control of the Lanke Record at a young age. He was proud and overbearing. No one knows why he slaughtered the Three Sacred Objects two millennia ago. When your father—” Chongjue hesitated, “—when Xuanlin went to capture him, Qifu Yin would rather die than submit.”
But when his elder sister, Qifu Ling, arrived, she didn’t even have to speak—a single look was enough for Qifu Yin, wielder of the Lanke Record with power to rival heaven, to meekly surrender, allowing Su Xuanlin to imprison him in the Lanke Realm for a thousand years.
Chongjue said, “Qifu Yin’s feeling for his sister…”
He trailed off and fell silent, glancing at Su Hansheng’s curious face, unwilling to say anything more in front of a child.
“Even though you and Qifu Yin are related by blood, he will never feel kindly toward you. Though the talisman on your hand is effective, do not let your guard down with him.”
Su Hansheng had already sensed Qifu Yin’s hostility and nodded thoughtfully.
Relieved that Su Hansheng seemed to have listened, Chongjue did not linger. He forced himself off the bed.
Su Hansheng asked urgently, “What about—”
Seeing his persistence, Chongjue finally relented, saying with a hint of frustration, “It’s nothing serious. Just a talisman bone chain—it’s already faded.”
Su Hansheng’s brows nearly knitted into two tense knots. “Stop treating me like a child and showing me only my own wrist. Let me see.”
Chongjue sighed and pushed up his sleeve, revealing a flawless wrist.
Indeed, the chain was gone.
“What about your heart and dantian? Those are the vital gates—if there’s something wrong, what then?”
Chongjue: “Really, it’s—”
“Su Xiaoxiao!”
Before Chongjue could even refuse, Su Hansheng was already tugging at his robes, determined to check for himself.
“Let me look—just a peek, I promise, just a crack in the fabric. Please?”
Chongjue pressed a hand to his temple. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Su Hansheng muttered, “I’m not some lecher or thief—why are you so defensive?”
Chongjue: “…”
This child really needed to be taken in hand.
Su Hansheng quickly regretted his words and tried to make up for it, plastering on a smile and cooing, “Uncle…”
Chongjue was unmoved. “It’s late. Get some rest.”
Su Hansheng’s brows creased. As Chongjue turned to go, he blurted out, “Fine, I won’t look—but can I at least touch?”
A heart and dantian pierced by a talismanic bone chain were nothing like ordinary injuries. Su Hansheng couldn’t rest until he had confirmation.
Chongjue ignored him and stepped away.
Su Hansheng hesitated, then stopped himself from following. He hung his head and stared at his toes.
If something really happened to Chongjue because of him, would even both his eyes be enough to bring him back?
He was so wilted he might as well have grown mushrooms.
Just then, a soft sigh sounded nearby, and a shadow fell across the candlelight.
Su Hansheng looked up in bewilderment.
Chongjue had returned. He bent and took Su Hansheng’s hand, pressing it gently against his heart, beneath his robe.
Thump. Thump.
His pulse was slow and steady.
Su Hansheng felt the rhythmic beat beneath his palm. He looked up at Chongjue, eyes wide.
“You—”
The two were separated by an absurd height difference. Chongjue’s ink-black hair had come loose as he leaned in, brushing against Su Hansheng’s cheek. In the flickering candlelight, the narrow pavilion and drawn curtains seemed to enclose them in a small, warm world.
Against his will, Su Hansheng’s heart skipped a beat.
With resigned tolerance, Chongjue guided Su Hansheng’s limp hand to his own waist, letting him feel his dantian.
Su Hansheng’s fingers curled involuntarily; he held his breath, staring up at Chongjue in shock.
Chongjue’s scent of bodhi flowers enveloped Su Hansheng, gentle yet intoxicating. His face was pale and serene, detached as if he were chanting sutras in meditation—not a hint of desire.
Su Hansheng lifted his head further and swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly.
“The chains are gone. There’s nothing to worry about.” Chongjue looked down at him. “Satisfied?”
Su Hansheng started, suddenly aware of what he was doing, and jerked his hand away, leaping back like a startled rabbit.
“Y-yes, satisfied…”
Chongjue asked, “Xiaoxiao, what’s wrong?”
Su Hansheng rubbed his hands over his own robes, as if he’d been burned. His ears were red.
“I’m f-fine… as long as the chains are gone, it’s fine.”
Chongjue gazed at the blushing boy, puzzled by his abrupt transformation.
The truth was, the bone chains had only temporarily withdrawn beneath his skin, forced by his will. The World-Honored One had no business lingering. But seeing Su Hansheng in thin robes, barefoot under the lamplight, looking so pitiful, he couldn’t help but step closer and pull him briefly into an embrace.
Su Hansheng stiffened, frozen in his arms.
Chongjue had hugged him before, and he hadn’t reacted like this. Now, he didn’t know where to put his hands or feet.
“Uncle… Uncle…”
“Mm.”
Chongjue patted his head, as if comforting a child, and then released him. After a long pause, he said softly:
“It’s all right if you aren’t perfectly obedient.”
Su Hansheng’s body was still rigid, arms half-raised from the hug, staring blankly.
“Huh?”
Chongjue continued, “It’s fine if you cause a little trouble. Just keep to your true path—don’t lose yourself to depravity.”
Perhaps the so-called “great kindness” Chongjue intended was, for a vibrant youth like Su Hansheng, nothing but a shackle.
Teenagers at seventeen or eighteen are innately rebellious. If his well-intentioned strictures instead pushed the boy astray, it would be a regrettable loss.
Su Hansheng’s nature wasn’t truly bad—he just needed guidance.
Chongjue looked down at the unusually docile boy and gently tucked stray hair behind Su Hansheng’s ear. “Rest now,” he said quietly. “If the Phoenix Bone flares, come find me.”
Su Hansheng nodded instinctively.
After a pause, Chongjue added, “Don’t be late or skip class tomorrow.”
Another nod.
At the moment, he seemed bereft of wits and awareness—if Chongjue ordered him to copy scripture three hundred times, he’d probably just nod and comply.
Chongjue gave him a final glance and finally left, dissolving into mist.
Su Hansheng stared blankly in the direction he’d gone, unable to snap out of his daze.
***
Back Mountain Shrine.
Chongjue materialized in the shrine and, unable to maintain his composure any longer, staggered to a cushion, bracing himself on a low table.
The bone chains he’d suppressed earlier had reemerged, more numerous and ferocious than before, piercing his body and drifting around him, their ends vanishing into the void.
Chongjue coughed up blood. With the last of his strength, he activated the shrine’s barrier, then sat cross-legged in meditation.
Every time he overreached, the backlash added another chain. This time, confronting Qifu Yin had nearly sealed his meridians. Only seclusion would banish them.
Soon, the shrine was utterly silent.
Chongjue’s breathing was faint, his stillness that of a statue carved from priceless jade.
Suddenly, a knock—tuk-tuk.
Outside the shrine, protected by a barrier even Mahayana cultivators could not breach, someone rapped lightly at the door.
Chongjue, deep in meditation, did not react.
***