AVL Chapter 80

Modifying Yan Ling’s memories was extraordinarily difficult.

 

No matter what suggestions were given, he steadfastly held onto his own name, his parents’ names, and his friends’ names. Even when his mind was flooded with memories of “Xi Jue,” when asked what his name was, he still blurted out “Yan Ling.”

 

In the end, having no other choice, they used a spiritual-grade spell to finally alter his consciousness.

 

On the twenty-eighth day of the eighth month, his birthday, Yan Ling also ceased to exist in the world.

 

He completely became “Xi Jue.”

 

Yan Ling’s appearance was modified to look like Xi Jue, and his temperament took on a subtle arrogance and willfulness. Though not quite matching the true Xi Jue, it was passably convincing as an unruly wastrel.

 

Xi Ze looked at the small youth obediently sitting in Xi Jue’s “comfortable nest” and paused slightly.

 

It was as if there were an illusion—as if there were no “Kan Tianyan,” no spiritual-grade xiangwen, as if nothing had happened. Little Xi Jue was still living in his cherished, comfortable nest, as always.

 

Yan Ling looked at him confusedly and called: “Father?”

 

Xi Ze regained his senses, regarding him with a complex expression.

 

Yan Ling was merely a tool to Xi Ze for deceiving the outside world. He didn’t need much emotion. Xi Ze regarded him expressionlessly, lowering his gaze as he asked: “What is your xiangwen?”

 

Yan Ling answered instinctively: “Can’t say.”

 

Xi Ze frowned: “Why can’t you say?”

 

Yan Ling was also confused, murmuring: “Can’t say. Father won’t let me say.”

 

But that wasn’t right.

 

Wasn’t Father right here in front of him? Why couldn’t he say?

 

Xi Ze’s brow furrowed deeply as he looked down at Yan Ling coldly: “Who am I?”

 

Yan Ling said dazedly: “You’re Father.”

 

Xi Ze said: “I’m telling you to say.”

 

Yan Ling’s consciousness had just been modified, his mind still foggy and struggling to process. He said confusedly: “Oh, Father wants to know? Then I…”

 

Before he could finish, Yan Ling suddenly seemed to be stopped by something. Clutching his head, he groaned in pain without warning, as if trying to break free from the spiritual-grade spell and reclaim his clarity.

 

“No… you’re not my father!”

 

Xi Ze suddenly gripped his shoulders, forcing his head up, and said coldly: “What is your xiangwen?!”

 

Yan Ling’s eyes snapped open, blood-red. He used all his strength to push him away, his voice hoarse: “You’re not my father! I’ll kill you—!”

 

The heartbreaking roar had barely left his lips when the spiritual-grade spell suppressed his consciousness again.

 

Yan Ling went quiet in an instant. The killing intent and redness in his eyes gradually faded, replaced once more by confusion.

 

Xi Ze asked him again.

 

Piercing shrieking sounds came in waves, echoing in Yan Ling’s ears.

 

Yan Ling stared at him blankly, speaking woodenly like a puppet: “Can’t say.”

 

Even with his memories altered, he couldn’t tell anyone what his xiangwen was.

 

Deep in Yan Ling’s subconscious, he still remembered that Yan Hanque loved him dearly and would never be like this man…

 

radiating the killing intent that wanted him dead.

 

Yan Ling stared at Xi Ze in a daze, shuddering inwardly.

 

Everything…

 

seemed not quite right.

 

No matter how many times Xi Ze asked afterward, Yan Ling remained like a rebellious child, hanging his head and refusing to answer. When pressed, he would wail with splitting headaches, screaming about wanting to kill.

 

Finally, Xi Ze gave up completely and let him be.

 

After that, Yan Ling completely became Xi Jue.

 

Heng Qinglian, Feng Chongyang, Rang Duan, and Qu Xiangren discussed something at the Xi residence. Shortly after, family members from these four families began awakening xiangwen one after another.

 

—Even the Heng and Rang families produced two spiritual-grade xiangwen: “Exchange for Bright Moon” and “Glimpsing Heaven’s Secrets,” plus numerous heavenly-grade xiangwen among the others.

 

Four spiritual-grade xiangwen awakenings in a single year, with heavenly-grade xiangwen awakening as if free—it shocked the entire thirteen states.

 

Yan Ling obediently became the “Xi family young master,” strutting about day after day on the strength of his birth.

 

Yet he differed from the true wastrel Xi Jue. His heart was soft and kind. Even holding a whip, he didn’t know how to use it on people. Sometimes he’d shock himself into backlash.

 

Except on rainy days, when he seemed to be waiting for something. He could watch the rain from the window all night long.

 

Until the rain stopped, yet nothing came.

 

“What was I waiting for?” Yan Ling pondered seriously.

 

After thinking about it repeatedly, he finally understood.

 

He was simply waiting for the rain to stop.

 

Rain always stops. Even the Southern Territory’s endless rainy season eventually gives way to clear skies.

 

As long as he waited.

 

In Yan Ling’s memories, his mother Lady Xi should be the one who loved him most dearly. Yet since he became conscious, she had never once visited him at the residence.

 

Yan Ling asked the servants and young attendants, but they looked equally confused, only saying they were newly hired and didn’t know Lady Xi’s nature.

 

Yan Ling could only assume Lady Xi was too busy. After all, with year-end approaching, busyness was natural.

 

But he waited and waited. Through New Year, Lantern Festival, the First Day of Spring, the First Day of Summer, and even the Qiaoqi Festival—his birthday—Lady Xi never came to look at him once.

 

Yan Ling grew increasingly suspicious that something was wrong with his memories.

 

Until one day, just before Yan Ling was to enter Tianyan Academy, he unexpectedly encountered Lady Xi in white robes at the Xi residence.

 

The memories planted in his consciousness took effect, and since Yan Ling heavily relied on the identity of “mother,” he quietly crept around the flowers and, seizing the moment Lady Xi wasn’t paying attention, jumped out with a “wow” sound, leaves tangled in his hair, calling out excitedly to her: “Mother!”

 

In that instant, Yan Ling clearly remembered Lady Xi’s reaction.

 

It wasn’t the indulgence of a mother toward her beloved son. Rather, it was like seeing something that chilled one to the bone—her eyes full of terror and…

 

hatred.

 

Yan Ling froze, hearing that ear-splitting killing intent in his ears as he looked at her confusedly.

 

“Mother?”

 

Doesn’t Mother love me?

 

Why would she want to kill me?

 

Before Yan Ling could make sense of it, Lady Xi suddenly rushed at him with a scream, gripping his neck and pressing him hard to the ground. Like a madwoman, she said harshly: “Be quiet! Don’t call me mother! You’re not my son! Be quiet—!”

 

Yan Ling was terrified into shock, the fear of nearly being strangled making him struggle desperately.

 

Lady Xi held him down firmly. Suddenly, tears began streaming down her face, falling onto Yan Ling’s cheek.

 

Yan Ling froze.

 

Lady Xi’s hand finally released him. For some reason, she suddenly wrapped his thin body tightly in her arms, her voice breaking as she wailed: “Jue’er, my Jue’er…”

 

Yan Ling trembled violently at the intensity of her sorrow, curling up in her arms confusedly. He wanted to reach up and hold her, wanted to say “But I am,” yet for some reason he couldn’t speak the words.

 

He could only let this hysterical woman, nearly driven mad by guilt and anguish, hold him while she cried and laughed.

 

Finally, Xi Ze, arriving belatedly, rescued Yan Ling and had a young attendant accompany him back to the residence.

 

Yan Ling sat numb on the bed, touching the painful bruises on his neck, flashes of similar scenes passing through his mind.

 

Yet no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn’t remember when anyone had ever gripped his neck like that.

 

Not long after, deep autumn arrived, and the city bloomed with osmanthus flowers.

 

Young Yan Ling entered Tianyan Academy for his studies, becoming acquainted with several students in Zhuxing Zhai.

 

The first two years in Zhuxing Zhai were Yan Ling’s most carefree days as Xi Jue—no need to worry about life and death, spending his days only joking around and teasing that tight-lipped fellow Sheng Jiao, listening to the subtle sounds of parched earth being nourished by gentle rain.

 

Until the third year…

 

Wen Gubai, who perpetually emitted the sound of gently flowing water mixed occasionally with sharp cracking stone sounds, somehow learned something. Every time he saw Yan Ling, the sounds from his body grew increasingly strange.

 

Like pity, mockery, yet also as if calculating some mischievous plot.

 

Yan Ling didn’t understand why.

 

Later, Wen Gubai inexplicably added a new spell theory class, saying he would teach a technique capable of altering consciousness and tampering with memories.

 

A group of young students held “spiritual-grade” in extremely high regard. Upon hearing this, they eagerly perked up their ears, each one taking it very seriously.

 

But after one class ended, aside from Yan Ling and Sheng Jiao, even Fu Man, who was extremely enthusiastic about spell theory, was curled up on the desk with the others passing notes, completely lost.

 

It was simply too obscure and incomprehensible. No one could understand it.

 

Though Sheng Jiao couldn’t understand it either, his expression remained the same no matter what class he attended. Even when his mind went blank and he started spacing out, his face still looked expressionless and serious.

 

Only Yan Ling understood it.

 

He seemed instinctively interested in this kind of spell technique, wanting to figure it out. He racked his brain desperately, striving to comprehend every word Wen Gubai said.

 

After one class, his head was nearly spinning.

 

For children scarcely into their teens, taking on Mysterious‑grade spells was already more than advanced. Wen Gubai, having some sudden impulse from nowhere, jumped two levels and taught spiritual-grade spells instead.

 

Fortunately, Yan Ling’s mind worked quickly. After just two classes, he could awkwardly grasp the spell technique.

 

Everyone else was snoring away. Wen Gubai, unusually, didn’t grow angry. Instead, he looked at Yan Ling with appreciation and said softly: “Would you like to know how to counter this kind of spell?”

 

Yan Ling nodded: “Yes.”

 

Wen Gubai smiled: “If you have time before the end of this month, come find me at the director’s quarters. I’ll teach you privately.”

 

For a moment, Yan Ling seemed to hear Wen Gubai casting bait into water, waiting for a fish to take the hook.

 

Over two or three years, Yan Ling had imperceptibly mastered the ability of “Sound of Leisure” fairly well and roughly understood what these sounds meant.

 

Wen Gubai was fishing for him?

 

Yan Ling had long since learned to hide his emotions without realizing it. Even knowing his memories had problems, he told nothing but lies, deceiving even Xi Ze into gradually lowering his guard.

 

Though he found Wen Gubai strange, Yan Ling showed no sign of it whatsoever. Like he was being given special treatment, he said cheerfully: “Okay, okay! Thank you, Director.”

 

Wen Gubai smiled.

 

Yan Ling appeared excited on the surface, unmoved in his heart, even observing coldly, wanting to know what Wen Gubai intended to use him for.

 

Subsequently, Yan Ling went alone to the director’s quarters and learned the counter-spell for the spiritual-grade spell technique in just half a day following Wen Gubai’s instruction.

 

These years of doubting his own memories made Yan Ling trust no one. Even with Wen Gubai’s warmth, he relaxed not a bit, constantly vigilant about what Wen Gubai might do to him.

 

But unexpectedly, after teaching him, Wen Gubai simply let him leave without another word.

 

Yan Ling left the director’s quarters half-believing, half-doubting, and sat alone in his quarters for a long time. Suddenly, a strange thought occurred to him.

 

“Has something gone wrong with my memories?” Yan Ling always felt Wen Gubai seemed to know something, which was why he would teach this counter-spell to him. His heart suddenly raced with an idea: “…Should I try using this counter-spell on myself to see?”

 

Perhaps it could solve the confusion that had plagued him all these years.

 

Suddenly, the scent of osmanthus drifted in from outside, interrupting his deep contemplation.

 

Yan Ling frowned.

 

The Qiaoqi Festival hadn’t arrived yet—where was this osmanthus coming from?

 

He pushed open the window to look, intending to see if Sheng Jiao was meditating again and his overflowing spiritual force had caused the osmanthus in the courtyard to bloom. His gaze hadn’t even risen when it met directly with a “wall.”

 

Yan Ling froze.

 

Sheng Jiao was standing outside the window at some point, his face expressionless as he looked at him.

 

Yan Ling was startled and nearly reflexively slammed the window in his face. He said irritably: “What are you doing standing there?”

 

Sheng Jiao’s brow furrowed tightly as he mobilized his spiritual force: “You…”

 

Yan Ling asked curiously: “Me?”

 

Sheng Jiao must have discovered something off about Yan Ling during the day. After thinking hard for a while about what to say, his thin lips pressed tightly in hesitation, words caught between speaking and silence. Suddenly, he turned and left.

 

Never mind.

 

Yan Ling: “?”

 

What was he even here for?

 

“Hey! Sheng Jiao!” Yan Ling instinctively called him back.

 

Sheng Jiao’s footsteps paused.

 

After calling him, Yan Ling regretted it, uncertain what to say to this tight-lipped fellow. After hesitating a moment, he feigned cheerfulness: “My birthday is coming up soon. Don’t you want to give me a gift?”

 

Sheng Jiao remained silent, turning to look at him. Finally, he managed to get out: “You… what do you want?”

 

“Figure that out yourself! How can I just ask for it myself?” Yan Ling glared at him. “Have you ever given anyone anything before?”

 

Sheng Jiao thought for a moment. For him, the time before age twelve felt like a lifetime ago. He only vaguely remembered that before awakening his xiangwen, he seemed to have once given someone a piece of osmanthus cake.

 

Yan Ling was shamelessly taking advantage of him. He loved watching Sheng Jiao unable to refuse him, listening to the anxious sparking sounds in Sheng Jiao’s heart as he struggled internally.

 

“I don’t care. You absolutely must give me something—the most expensive kind. This young master won’t accept cheap goods.”

 

Sheng Jiao frowned.

 

He had no spirit stones to buy expensive things.

 

Ever since he came out from the Shen clan’s estate changed into this neither-human-nor-ghost form with all his seven emotions and six desires lost, the Sheng family had treated him poorly. They wouldn’t even give him spirit stones willingly.

 

Sheng Jiao was also someone unconcerned with material desires. He wore only two sets of the Zhuxing Zhai residence robes, alternating between them daily. Even his fine black garments had been washed until they faded white.

 

Even ascetics lived better than he did.

 

He’d been sustaining himself by eating bigu pills for the longest time. Fortunately, after forming his core, he didn’t even need bigu pills anymore.

 

Spirit stones were entirely useless to him.

 

Seeing Sheng Jiao looking so stingy and troubled, Yan Ling nearly couldn’t help but laugh “pfft” out loud. Noticing Sheng Jiao’s Tianyan pearl hanging on the windowsill from his grasping at the window frame, his itchy fingers reached out to play with it.

 

Sheng Jiao, not yet fully in control of the Tianyan pearl and fearing its lightning patterns might strike Yan Ling, immediately pulled back, dodging Yan Ling’s slender fingers.

 

Yan Ling paused for a moment. A flicker of hurt and embarrassment crossed his eyes at being rejected, but quickly his carefree nature returned. Supporting his chin on his hand, he grinned: “Then give me a string of beads to play with.”

 

Sheng Jiao keenly sensed his hurt and opened his lips as if to explain.

 

Yan Ling yawned, not waiting for his explanation. He stood on tiptoe on the other side of the window and pushed at his shoulder, urging: “No more refusing! You absolutely must give it to me on my birthday, or else… well, you wouldn’t want to know the consequences.”

 

Sheng Jiao: “…”

 

Sheng Jiao staggered back several steps from the push, staring blankly at the closed window. After hesitating for a long while, he turned and returned to the osmanthus courtyard.

 

The young Tiandao master went back and sat alone through half the night. He poured out all the spirit stones from his storage ring and counted them carefully for a long time.

 

Staring at the small scattered pile of spirit stones, Sheng Jiao began calculating how many spiritual pearls these could buy.

 

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