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Master, Come Forth to Fight — Chapter 25. Part 3


And I kept drinking… until Xiao Yi Han collapsed drunk.

That was when I discovered, for the first time, that I had an extraordinary tolerance for alcohol—I could drink without ever getting drunk.

The next morning, when Xiao Yi Han woke up, he scrutinized me seriously for a long time. From that day forward, drinking with him became a routine neither of us could stop.

Xiao Yi Han drank with me during the day, and with the moon at night. When he got drunk, he’d fall asleep carelessly in his chair, snoring loudly. With no one else on the mountain besides us, I had no choice but to busy myself boiling water and preparing his bed.

I still remember the expression on Xiao Yi Han’s face the first time he woke up sober in the bed I had made. He looked dazed, stupefied, and even a bit wooden, as if he couldn’t quite process what had happened. Tugging at the clean collar of his robe, he asked, “Did you change my clothes yesterday?”

I nodded.

“For the first time…” he muttered to himself, “someone has taken care of me when I was drunk.”

I looked at him earnestly and replied, “Master, I will always take care of you like this.”

He stared at me for a moment before breaking into a lazy smile and lying back on the bed. “Alright then, bring me some food. We’ll continue drinking later.”

“Okay.”

At the time, I naively believed that drinking to the point of oblivion was just part of the life of a cultivator, and that being a filial disciple meant indulging one’s master like this.

It wasn’t until months later, when Grandmaster visited Xiao Yi Han and found the courtyard reeking of alcohol, that I realized how wrong I was. Grandmaster erupted in fury, scolding both of us thoroughly, and I finally understood that other masters in other courtyards didn’t treat their disciples this way.

Only then did Xiao Yi Han realize, “Oh, as a master, I suppose I should teach you something.”

From that point on, Xiao Yi Han started taking me to lessons with the instructors at the Xian Ling Sect academy, and I began a normal cultivation life. Never again did we drink together like that.

Time flows like a mischievous child, intertwining my first memories of Xiao Yi Han with this moment of our reunion.

But now, my heart is no longer as pure or clean as it once was.

I set down my wine cup, stood up, and walked unhurriedly to Xiao Yi Han’s table.

The spring breeze wafted in through the tavern’s open door, tugging at his hair and the hem of my robes.

“Master.” I stopped across from him, addressing him with a single word. I waited until he looked up at me, three parts drunk, before…

In that instant, my sword sang as it left its scabbard, the blade aiming directly for his throat.

I never expected this strike to succeed. If Xiao Yi Han were so easy to kill, the assassins I had hired would have brought me a hundred of his heads by now.

What I didn’t anticipate, however, was how he stared at me in that moment—blankly, defenselessly. Even as the tip of my sword pierced his throat and blood began to seep out, he simply looked at me, as if entranced, as if lost in thought.

My eyes narrowed, and my sword faltered. In that split second of hesitation, Xiao Yi Han’s aura surged, deflecting my blade to the side. The edge sliced his neck, leaving a shallow, bleeding wound, but nothing fatal.

He remained seated, his posture steady and unmoving. Once his protective spell had deflected my strike, it faded away.

I glanced at the blood trickling down his neck, then met his gaze directly. Our eyes locked, sharp and unyielding, like a needle against a thorn. “After eighty years, Master, do you still remember your disciple?”

“It’s been seventy-nine years and ten months,” Xiao Yi Han replied, taking another sip of wine, his tone tinged with a strange mix of melancholy and nostalgia. “My little disciple, you’re my only one. How could I forget?”

His words surprised me, as if he still felt some kind of sentiment toward me.

But how could Xiao Yi Han have any sentiment for me? If anything, the only bond between us was transactional—after all, I was a disciple he bought with real gold and silver.   

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