I clenched my fists, my chest tightening with an emotion I couldn’t name. “Am I… just a burden?” I whispered to myself.
It wasn’t until later that I realized I had been holding onto something all along—a vague sense of guilt that I couldn’t shake. For centuries, I had existed in a state of survival, doing whatever was necessary to endure. But here, among these people, I felt like an outsider—a relic of the past clinging to a future that didn’t belong to me.
When I approached the second senior brother again, I asked quietly, “How is Master?”
He sighed, his expression softening slightly. “The venom is stable for now,” he said. “But that’s all we can do. His body won’t allow us to expel it completely.”
Qing Chen closed his eyes and nodded slightly. I looked at him for a moment before finally asking, “Master… don’t you feel exhausted? You’ve endured so much over the decades, tirelessly teaching and guiding your disciples, and now you’ve even taken on Senior Brother’s venom at the cost of your own health.”
For a moment, his serene expression didn’t change, but his hand briefly clenched as if suppressing some invisible pain. He opened his eyes and responded softly, “He made his choice, so I will follow through with mine. Let it be.”
There was a quiet determination in his words, yet I couldn’t help but feel a deep ache in my chest. How could someone bear so much without ever asking for anything in return? Qing Chen seemed untouchable, but moments like these revealed the immense burden he carried.
As he stepped forward, I instinctively reached out and placed my small hand on his arm. “Master, don’t push yourself,” I said, my voice trembling slightly.
Qing Chen paused, looking down at me. A faint, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his lips. “Alright, I won’t.”
And just like that, the moment passed.
He glanced at me once more, his calm eyes reflecting my small figure. For a brief moment, it felt as though his unshakable aura had softened, as though the light in his gaze had dimmed ever so slightly. “Hmm,” he murmured, lowering his head. It was as if he no longer saw me as a mere disciple but as someone much closer.
In that fleeting moment, I was struck by the realization that, even after all these centuries of existence, there were still moments of clarity—moments that felt entirely new. And in this moment, with Qing Chen standing before me, I realized that his pain wasn’t something distant or abstract. It was real, tangible, and inescapable.
Six months passed.
After recovering somewhat, Qing Chen called for Senior Brother and allowed him to leave the mountain. He was no longer a cultivator but a mortal, and it was time for him to live the life of an ordinary person.
When Senior Brother descended the mountain, I accompanied the second senior brother to the small path leading out of the sect. Qing Chen stood at the entrance, his figure tall and steady as always. Yet, there was a quiet softness to him, a gentleness that seemed to envelop him like a faint mist.
He bid farewell with a light wave of his hand, saying little but conveying much. Senior Brother knelt three times, his eyes filled with both gratitude and regret. Though Qing Chen showed no visible emotion, I could sense that this was a moment he had long anticipated, a moment that carried both relief and an unspoken sorrow.
Qing Chen turned to leave after Senior Brother disappeared from sight. As he walked away, I couldn’t help but notice how his steps were deliberate yet light, as though he was moving forward but still carrying the weight of countless memories. For all his strength, Qing Chen remained a deeply kind and gentle soul.
And that, perhaps, was what made him so extraordinary.
I grabbed Qing Chen’s hand. He lowered his gaze to look at me, and I boldly declared, “Master, in the future, teach me how to wield a sword.”
Qing Chen blinked, his expression softening into a faint smile. “Alright.”
He still had the strength to smile.
I stared at him, overwhelmed by a strange thought. Perhaps, I didn’t really need his blood after all.
I felt as though I could live like this forever, peacefully, alongside Master and the others. There was no rush, no danger, only the quiet rhythm of daily life. I was slowly growing accustomed to this existence. For the first time, I thought, this might not be so bad.
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