Yan Jianlan had previously traveled to various places in the Thirteen States, but usually to “listen for thunder,” never paying attention to the scenery along the way.
This time, traveling with stops and starts, he discovered how many beautiful waters and bright mountains the Thirteen States had.
Before even leaving the Central State, the carriage mustard seed had already stopped two or three times.
Yan Jianlan seemed like it was his first time traveling far from home. He found everything novel—even seeing a mountain ravine blooming with snow lotuses in winter required stopping so he could excitedly drag Sheng Jiao to look.
Sheng Jiao went along with everything.
Yan Jianlan happily ran several laps through the mountains—he’d grown up on Yan Family Mountain, running and playing with Yan Yue in the mountains practically from his earliest memories.
This long-lost feeling made Yan Jianlan feel his state of mind had opened up considerably.
Yan Jianlan ran back cheerfully to see Sheng Jiao in black robes standing by the snow-white unicorn, his gaze watching him run from among the snow lotus-filled mountains.
Yan Jianlan froze. That long-lost joy suddenly surged into his heart.
As long as Sheng Jiao was there, he wouldn’t fear that unknown, goalless future anymore.
Yan Jianlan ran a few quick steps, his layered crimson robes fluttering like a butterfly as he pounced into Sheng Jiao’s embrace.
“Sect Master Sheng!”
The title “Sect Master Sheng” had become a term of endearment for Yan Jianlan.
Standing there quietly, Sheng Jiao was like a calm, deep pool that nothing could disturb. Yan Jianlan was like the spring breeze rippling the pool’s surface, or like flowers drifting onto the water, instantly stirring ripple after ripple in the tranquil depths.
Sheng Jiao raised his hand and let him crash into his arms.
Yan Jianlan stood on tiptoes, hanging onto his shoulders, smiling: “I want to plant Yan Family Mountain full of snow lotuses too—osmanthus blooms in autumn, snow lotuses in winter, flowers to see every day.”
Flowers in full bloom, teeming with life.
Sheng Jiao nodded: “Alright.”
Yan Jianlan laughed endlessly, though who knew what was so funny.
Every time he saw spiritual flowers and grasses in beautiful scenery, Yan Jianlan would excitedly return to tell Sheng Jiao about planting them on Yan Family Mountain. In just a few days, he’d already allocated what to plant in every corner of the mountain, leaving not a single empty plot.
Yan Jianlan had never been so relaxed, living carefree without bearing any burdens. At first, he inexplicably felt nervous and guilty, always feeling like he’d forgotten to do something.
But wherever he was, as long as he turned around and could see Sheng Jiao standing there waiting for him, all concerns would instantly vanish.
The two traveled with stops and starts. On Double Ninth Festival day, they even played in a city on the Central State border.
This border town wasn’t at a Tianyan earth vein fracture point, so ordinary people’s lives weren’t much affected. Everyone happily celebrated the Double Ninth Festival—admiring chrysanthemums, making offerings—bustling with excitement.
Yan Jianlan in crimson robes wore Sheng Jiao’s black crane cloak over them, pulling Sheng Jiao through the crowded throng, his face full of wonder and joy.
Sheng Jiao didn’t like crowds, but the number of people around didn’t affect him. Even the most crowded sea of people was just a wisp of wind passing by his side—his gaze always held only Yan Jianlan.
Yan Jianlan was handed two dogwood branches. He stuck one still hanging with bright red berries in his hair, then happily handed the other to Sheng Jiao.
Sheng Jiao silently accepted it, holding it in his hand.
“So lively,” Yan Jianlan clasped his hands behind his back and said to Sheng Jiao with a smile. “When I was little and wanted to go to such lively places, I had to throw tantrums, roll on the ground, beg piteously—use all eighteen tricks before my parents would reluctantly take me out to play.”
If he overdid it, he’d probably get a beating before going out.
Later at the Xi family, even on the Evil Qi Road, if no one took him, he’d never go out to play alone.
Today was probably Yan Jianlan’s first time in years being taken to play so freely in such a lively place.
Sheng Jiao said indifferently: “From now on, when you want to play, I’ll take you. No need to throw tantrums.”
Yan Jianlan laughed uncontrollably: “Well done, Sheng Wuzhuo. Looking so unassuming, yet you’ve learned to take advantage of me in roundabout ways.”
Sheng Jiao remained silent.
This small town wasn’t very large. After wandering for half a day, they’d seen most of it. When night fell, bonfires were lit, and countless people carried lanterns to play.
Yan Jianlan wanted a lantern too, but he wouldn’t say it directly—he had to be difficult. He sat on a pastry stall bench hugging his knees, eyes fixed on passing people’s lanterns. After they passed, he’d look at Sheng Jiao resentfully.
Sheng Jiao: “…”
After a few rounds, Sheng Jiao figured out what he meant and stood up: “Wait here, don’t wander off.”
Yan Jianlan immediately beamed, wiping pastry crumbs from his face and nodding: “Thank you for your trouble, Sect Master Sheng.”
Sect Master Sheng glanced at him and walked toward the nearest stall to buy him a lantern.
Yan Jianlan smiled with his chin propped on his hand, watching the tall, imposing, cold-looking Sect Master expressionlessly squeeze into the crowd to buy a little fox lantern. He laughed so hard he kicked his legs, nearly kicking over the table.
Just then, an impatient voice came from the adjacent seat.
“…Who knows? Now all the xiangwen in the entire Thirteen States have disappeared. Even so, the powerful cultivators from those aristocratic families are as numerous as clouds in the sea. Those who attack aristocratic families when they’re down at this time probably don’t have very good brains.”
“True.”
All along the way, Sheng Jiao had been by his side constantly. Whether intentional or coincidental, Yan Jianlan hadn’t heard a single word about “Tianyan,” “aristocratic families,” or “xiangwen.” Hearing it suddenly now felt like another lifetime.
Yan Jianlan thought of something. His pastry-eating slowed down as he tilted his head, watching those two cultivators curse and complain.
“…We’d clearly already gotten some Tianyan spiritual power from those declining aristocratic families. If we’d just cultivated for a few years, we’d probably have xiangwen too. But just like that, it’s gone. That ‘Twelve Xiangwen’ is truly a madman.”
“Thinking about it carefully, Twelve Xiangwen borrowing our spiritual power to destroy the Qu family probably treated us as tools from the start. What he always wanted to do was destroy Tianyan.”
“Really… If I had a spirit-level xiangwen, how could I be like Twelve Xiangwen and bring trouble upon myself?”
The pastry in Yan Jianlan’s hand was suddenly crushed in his fingers. He stared woodenly at the two people, eyes cold as the gleam on a sword.
Sheng Jiao had finally bought the little fox lantern back. Before he could return, he suddenly heard the “clang” of a sword being drawn.
Winter Snow at his waist seemed to sense something, its entire blade vibrating slightly.
Sheng Jiao turned sharply.
It was Spring Rain.
The lively Double Ninth Festival street fell silent for a moment, then suddenly erupted in screams.
Spring Rain Sword had already been unsheathed. Yan Jianlan stood tall, the crane cloak on his shoulders falling loosely onto the bench with his drawing motion. The small table next to him was cleaved directly in half, pastries scattered everywhere.
Yan Jianlan expressionlessly placed Spring Rain Sword against that cultivator’s neck, his expression icy and cold, a suppressed madness faintly threatening to burst forth.
Those two cultivators were scared witless. They hadn’t expected that just coming for tea would lead to encountering a Void Return cultivator. Without “Abandoned Immortal Bone,” they had absolutely no ability to resist and could only freeze there with pale faces, not daring to move.
They’d just been gossiping about “Twelve Xiangwen” with dissatisfaction in their tone. If this person knew Twelve Xiangwen, he might cut them down with his sword.
Thinking this, both their legs went weak, eyes full of terror.
Sheng Jiao’s face darkened. He arrived in an instant, reaching to grip Yan Jianlan’s wrist to make him lower the sword, but the moment he touched, he felt that thin body trembling finely.
“No…”
Yan Jianlan’s face showed no expression. His lips moved lightly, murmuring.
“He’s not called Twelve Xiangwen…”
Sheng Jiao froze.
Yan Jianlan held the sharp sword with killing intent throughout his body, but inside he was like a tree hollowed out by rot, seemingly completely shattered from inside out. He repeated in a dazed low voice: “He… he’s not called Twelve Xiangwen.”
Not called Twelve Xiangwen, not called “Kan Tianyan.”
Not even called Yu Tuishan.
Yan Jianlan suddenly froze.
He wasn’t called “Xi Jue” either—that name that caused him a lifetime of misery. He didn’t even…
Didn’t even have a courtesy name.
What remained in the world was only the small handful of ashes from the coming-of-age robe in Yan Jianlan’s sleeve.
Yan Jianlan’s hand loosened. Spring Rain Sword clattered to the ground.
Killing intent slowly receded.
The two cultivators, having narrowly escaped death, stumbled away hastily, terrified of being silenced.
People around looked at each other, unanimously retreating, fearfully staring at Yan Jianlan who had suddenly drawn his sword to kill, afraid he was a madman who slaughtered innocents at will.
Yan Jianlan stood there with empty, lost eyes.
Sheng Jiao picked up Spring Rain Sword, gripped Yan Jianlan’s hand, cast an illusion technique, and passed through the lively sea of people back to the carriage mustard seed parked by the river outside the city.
He then used the rhinoceros horn lamp to send a concise message to Juan Xunfang, having Punishment Court people come arrest those two.
When the cold wind blew, Yan Jianlan shuddered sharply. His consciousness not fully clear, he only dimly remembered forgetting Sheng Jiao’s crane cloak, stopping and stammering: “Clothes… clothes…”
Sheng Jiao said: “No need.”
“But…”
Sheng Jiao grabbed Yan Jianlan who was about to turn back, forcibly stuffing him into the carriage mustard seed and shoving the bought little fox lantern into his arms.
Yan Jianlan had loved it moments ago, but now seeing that warm glow only felt empty and hollow, without any joy of having expectations fulfilled.
His emotions seemed all temporary—once they passed, he forgot what those feelings were like.
Sheng Jiao initially thought taking Yan Jianlan sightseeing everywhere could help him escape that terrible, dangerous state, but unexpectedly, the more they avoided it, the more those negative emotions were forcibly suppressed.
When an unexpected outlet was found for them to explode, it would surely push Yan Jianlan another step toward the abyss.
Originally it would take half a month to leisurely reach Yan Family Mountain. Sheng Jiao urged the unicorn and spirit mustard seed on, taking only a day and a half to arrive.
Yan Jianlan reverted to his previous state of being unable to muster energy for anything, listlessly sleeping a whole day.
When he woke again, torrential rain poured outside the carriage mustard seed, dripping down like broken strings of beads.
Sheng Jiao stopped the carriage mustard seed at the Yan Family Mountain stairway entrance, opened the carved door holding an umbrella outside, and said softly: “Shall we walk up?”
Yan Jianlan asked confusedly: “We’re here?”
“Mm.”
Sheng Jiao didn’t directly take the carriage mustard seed to the mountaintop, nor cast a rain-avoidance technique. He reached out to help the drowsy Yan Jianlan out, holding up a bamboo-ribbed umbrella to block the overwhelming rain.
Looking up, there was Yan Family Mountain.
His state of mind completely different from last time, Yan Jianlan’s mind was blank, emotions still bound. Even following the familiar yet strange steps upward one by one, his heart was terrifyingly hollow, unable to stir any emotion at all.
Yan Jianlan suddenly felt a wave of panic, realizing with unprecedented clarity that he might truly have a problem.
Clearly all past events had long passed, yet he seemed thrown alone into that past full of suffering and despair, completely lost about how to escape this terrible emotional state.
Memories were like elusive vicious dogs, always lurking in his mind, seizing inattention to emerge and viciously bite him without warning.
Sheng Jiao accompanied Yan Jianlan climbing Yan Family Mountain. Seeing him remain drowsy as if in a dream, he silently placed the carriage mustard seed on an empty plot, which instantly transformed into an elegant small courtyard.
But Yan Jianlan wouldn’t enter. Hugging the umbrella handle, he crouched there staring confusedly at the ruins before him, eyes unfocused, thoughts unknown.
Sheng Jiao didn’t ask. Using spiritual power, he turned all the vines on Yan Family Mountain’s ruins to ash, revealing the original broken foundations and some dilapidated old buildings.
Yan Jianlan’s pupils moved slightly, but quickly returned to ash-like stillness.
As if in a dream.
(advanced chapters available on kofi)
wannaberecluse On SRTT Chapter 50.1