Later, however, I removed that pendant and buried it at the bottom of a chest—for the very same reason Xiao Yi Han mentioned: out of disdain.
Now, I’ve retrieved that buried jade pendant. As I descend the mountain to kill Xiao Yi Han, I know how difficult he will be to deal with. This might turn into a protracted struggle, and the pendant could serve as an emergency fund if necessary.
Riding my sword down the mountain, I soon arrived in Yang Zhou and settled into an inn. Using the latest intelligence from my scouts, I sought out a tavern Xiao Yi Han frequented.
It was early morning, and the small tavern was nearly empty. I ordered a pot of wine and sat in a corner, keeping an eye on the entrance.
The season was late spring, the most beautiful time in Yang Zhou. Peach blossoms and willow trees painted the city in vibrant hues, and the world, now at peace, was nothing like the chaotic days of old.
Outside the tavern, a little girl rubbed at her eyes, irritated by the dust, as she stumbled forward blindly. Unintentionally, she bumped into a man dressed in tattered clothing.
My pupils instinctively contracted when I saw him.
With disheveled hair, ragged clothes, and a face overgrown with stubble, his appearance was rough and wild. Yet those eyes—they were the haunting specters of my dreams, the ones I would recognize even if I turned to ash.
This was the man who had betrayed the sect, fallen into demonic ways—my master, Xiao Yi Han.
The little girl, frightened by his disheveled state, froze in place, squinting at him with one eye.
Xiao Yi Han glanced down at her for a moment before crouching, roughly pulling her hands away from her face, and blowing on her irritated eyes. A few tears rolled down her cheeks, washing out the dust, but the scare left her trembling on the verge of tears.
Xiao Yi Han patted her on the head. “Off you go,” he said lazily, his voice still carrying its characteristic drawl but stripped of its former warmth. “Be careful not to run into other bad people.”
At least he knows he’s a bad person.
I chuckled coldly to myself as I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Old grudges and new resentments intertwined like creeping vines, coiling tightly around my heart.
For a moment, I couldn’t control my trembling hand holding the wine cup, which knocked against the table repeatedly, producing a rhythmic “thud, thud, thud.”
A hundred years ago, when I became Xiao Yi Han’s disciple, I revered him as if he were my savior. I silently vowed to never let him down, to be someone he could take pride in. But I never expected him to become something etched onto me…
a humiliation.
Xian Ling Sect has an unspoken rule: to graduate as a master, one must first take on a disciple. Yet, more than eighty years after Xiao Yi Han betrayed the sect, even with all my efforts and diligence, I have yet to find a single disciple.
The isolation from my peers and the disdain from my juniors condemned me to a life of loneliness. As long as I carried the stain of Xiao Yi Han, I would remain in this solitude.
Xiao Yi Han had to die.
Steeling my gaze and calming my thoughts, I quietly poured myself another cup of wine and drank.
Xiao Yi Han sat at the table diagonally across from mine, drinking as well. As his cup rose and fell, memories I had buried began to resurface. Through the cracks of time, I found myself recalling the moment, a hundred years ago, when Xiao Yi Han first brought me to Xian Ling Mountain.
At that time, having just taken me as his disciple, Xiao Yi Han had graduated as a master and moved into his own courtyard. With no one to supervise him, he spent his days and nights lazily sleeping, only to wake and drink in the courtyard. He even invited me to join him.
I was young then, timid and cautious, constantly staying by his side, afraid that even the slightest mistake might anger him and lead to my expulsion.
When he told me to drink, I drank.
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