AVL Chapter 81.1

Mastering a spiritual-grade spell technique wasn’t something achieved in one or two days.

 

That night, Yan Ling spent half the time working the counter-spell against a half-moon patterned water mirror, not sensing anything was wrong. He only vaguely felt some kind of prohibition in his consciousness loosen for a moment before being forcibly suppressed again.

 

Yan Ling frowned. Seeing the sky had grown light, he could only stash the half-moon patterned water mirror in his sleeve.

 

Today he was to go out training with the others from Zhuxing Zhai.

 

Since Yan Ling’s true memories began, he vaguely knew the “thunder” must represent something, yet he couldn’t understand its meaning.

 

Until this training expedition.

 

The Xiezhi Sect executioners were putting a heavily condemned criminal to death on the spot.

 

Beneath a clear, cloudless sky, a deafening thunderclap suddenly echoed.

 

In that instant, the spiritual-grade counter-spell Yan Ling had cast on himself using the water mirror, dormant for a day, was suddenly triggered by this thunder like kindling igniting. It exploded thunderously in his consciousness.

 

The false memories and cognition, masqueraded and hidden, burned away like paper in flames, revealing their true form inch by inch.

 

Yan Ling’s eyes widened in bewilderment. He stared blankly at the mangled corpse in the distance, completely frozen.

 

Two lines of tears silently slid down that falsified face, yet he didn’t even notice, continuing to stare fixedly at those grim bloodstains in a daze.

 

Thunder.

 

So it represented death?

 

In that instant, Yan Ling’s memories flooded his consciousness like a tidal wave—including those two thunderclaps before he fell unconscious.

 

Yan Hanque, Lady Chao…

 

A child of merely thirteen years old, utterly unprepared, accepted the cruel truth in the most brutal way: both parents were long since dead.

 

The impact was too great. He seemed like a wooden puppet, dazed for a long time until Sheng Jiao rushed over and wrapped him in an embrace, his hands tightly covering Yan Ling’s eyes.

 

The grim bloodstains, like ferocious monsters before his eyes, disappeared. Yet his head split with agony as if countless needles pierced his skull, pain making his body convulse and tremble.

 

Osmanthus fragrance enveloped him.

 

Yan Ling remained dazed for a moment, then suddenly trembled as he gripped Sheng Jiao tightly and wailed in heartbreak.

 

He cried with such anguish, as if venting all the years of confusion at these strange memories, the despair of wanting to destroy the spiritual-grade xiangwen within him, the crushing grief of losing both parents.

 

This was his last permitted moment of weakness—his final indulgence in fragility.

 

Sheng Jiao’s stiffened hands gently held him.

 

Yan Ling cried until exhausted, his eyes vacant and dull. He sat there motionless like a soul departed from flesh, unresponsive no matter how anyone called to him.

 

Wen Gubai arrived hurriedly and, seeing his state, vaguely understood what had happened. After comforting the other frightened youths, he brought Yan Ling back to Tianyan Academy.

 

Yan Ling remained muddled for a long time. Whenever he heard thunder, he would space out as if in escape.

 

As if separated from his body, the pain and sorrow could dissipate.

 

From then on, Yan Ling forced himself to don the mask of “Xi Jue” again and continue living, without letting anyone in the Xi family see any flaw.

 

“Once I find the Xi family’s Tianyan earth vein…” Yan Ling thought, supporting his chin as he gazed out at the rain without enthusiasm, as if deciding something utterly ordinary, “I’ll self-detonate my Golden Core and destroy Tianyan completely.”

 

“No, wait.” Yan Ling quickly dismissed the thought. “Until I form my Nascent Soul.”

 

Golden Core cultivation, though immensely powerful for ordinary cultivators, was as common as a feather among Central State families with Tianyan xiangwen. Even self-detonation would be stopped.

 

At merely thirteen, he had already reached Golden Core. In a few years, he would form his Nascent Soul.

 

“Sound of Leisure,” though merely a useless ability to hear the voices of all things, was ultimately a spiritual-grade xiangwen—something ordinary people could never reach in a lifetime. For him, it was merely a matter of time.

 

If he wanted it.

 

Deep autumn had arrived. Osmanthus flowers bloomed, their fragrance pervading all of Zhuxing Zhai.

 

Yan Ling’s eyes held no emotion, no feeling. He no longer feared death, didn’t dread the predators circling around him, nor worried about past or future.

 

Having discarded everything that could be abandoned, he had nothing left to lose.

 

Yan Ling listened quietly to the rain.

 

Suddenly, from the misty rain and smoke, Sheng Jiao appeared carrying an umbrella. The youth’s frame was rapidly growing. Clothes that had fit him a few months ago were now too small. He slightly raised the umbrella and locked eyes with Yan Ling at the window frame.

 

Yan Ling’s pupils suddenly dilated.

 

In that instant, the courage to perish together with the Xi family was shattered. He looked at Sheng Jiao with confusion and a trace of hidden resentment, his lips trembling as they moved slightly. He asked him:

 

“Why have you come?”

 

Why come now, forcibly burdening his fearlessness with a chain.

 

Sheng Jiao froze, hesitating at the doorway for a moment before suddenly turning to leave.

 

Yan Ling watched coldly from the side, observing Sheng Jiao’s retreating figure. He thought: “That’s how it should be.”

 

There was nothing in this world worth his attachment or longing. They were merely classmates who had known each other two or three years, not even proper friends. What right did he have to become his anchor?

 

In that instant, Yan Ling’s heart became trapped in an even deeper, heavier chain.

 

Yet Sheng Jiao’s figure suddenly returned. He dropped his umbrella and walked quickly to the window frame, placing the pearls in his palm—heated warm from his hand’s embrace—on the sill.

 

Yan Ling froze, blinking in confusion.

 

Sheng Jiao didn’t look at him. Instead, he gazed at the beautiful spiritual pearls he had painstakingly selected and purchased with all his savings. His lips moved slightly, emitting a few awkward words in a low voice.

 

“Gift… for you…”

 

Yan Ling was stunned.

 

During the Qiaoqi Festival, Sheng Jiao had intended to give these pearls to Yan Ling. But that day, Yan Ling had suddenly gone into a daze, and the entire Zhuxing Zhai descended into chaos. Afterward, Yan Ling seemed transformed, spending his days listless and despondent.

 

Sheng Jiao kept delaying, putting it off for over a month.

 

Yan Ling looked lost: “My… gift?”

 

Sheng Jiao nodded: “Birthday.”

 

The gift for his Qiaoqi birthday.

 

Yan Ling stared at Sheng Jiao for a long while before reaching out to grasp those spiritual pearls in his palm.

 

The pearls, warmed by Sheng Jiao’s hand, fell into his hand like a warm current flowing into Yan Ling’s heart.

 

Today was the twenty-eighth of the eighth month.

 

Yan Ling’s true birthday.

 

Yan Ling stared at the pearls, and suddenly he “pfft” laughed aloud.

 

Sheng Jiao looked up at him.

 

Yan Ling’s laughter grew louder, his lips trembling as he laughed, yet nothing came out. His eyes were bright red but no tears fell—he simply laughed.

 

Yet Sheng Jiao felt he was crying.

 

“Thank you.” Yan Ling held the pearls in his palm, tilting his head back to smile at Sheng Jiao. “I love them very much.”

 

Sheng Jiao couldn’t understand why Yan Ling’s emotions were this way. He wanted to ask but didn’t know how to voice it, only standing there with pressed lips.

 

The young Tiandao master had little savings to speak of. The spiritual pearls he’d bought were cheap goods—normally something a haughty young master would mock relentlessly before reluctantly accepting.

 

Sheng Jiao would have preferred Yan Ling to mock him than to see him laugh like this—both wild and sorrowful.

 

Yan Ling accepted the pearls, wiped the moisture from his eye corners, and said with a bright smile: “Sheng Jiao, from now on, will you give me a gift every twenty-eighth of August?”

 

Sheng Jiao didn’t understand why not on his actual birthday, but he never argued with Yan Ling. He simply nodded.

 

“Yes.”

 

The cold, rigid chain transformed into tenderness wrapped around a finger.

 

Yan Ling suddenly felt that continuing to live wasn’t so bad after all.

 

As autumn deepened, a few months later, the first snow fell silently. The new year approached.

 

Tianyan Academy released its students for holidays.

 

Yan Ling had wanted to stay at Tianyan Academy and not return to the Xi residence, but feared Xi Ze might notice something amiss. So he slowly packed his things and headed back.

 

These years, Xi Ze hadn’t been overly vigilant toward him. Still, Yan Ling worried Xi Ze might discern that his spiritual-grade spell technique had been countered. So he gave himself an inconsequential suggestion and donned Xi Jue’s wastrel “disguise” as he left Tianyan Academy.

 

Midway, however, he discovered Central State City’s main street bustling with activity. It was pre-Winter Solstice preparations—fiery red lanterns and candles all renewed.

 

Yan Ling walked alone down the busy street, uncertain where home lay.

 

Just then, a familiar sound like gently flowing water suddenly reached his ears.

 

Yan Ling, extremely sensitive to sounds, froze in place, thinking for a long moment before hazily recalling…

 

This sound seemed to be the one he’d heard on Yan Yue that night.

 

A-Yue?

 

Yan Ling immediately parted the crowd and pursued the sound, but the street was too crowded—so crowded it annoyed him.

 

The sound in his ears grew increasingly faint. Yan Yue seemed to be drifting away.

 

Yan Ling stumbled through the crowd, struggling desperately. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could only feel that gentle water sound growing more distant until it finally vanished entirely.

 

“A-Yue!”

 

Yan Ling stood frozen on the bustling street, his soul seeming to depart.

 

He’d assumed Yan Yue, like his parents, had been killed by Xi Ze. He hadn’t expected him to still be alive?

 

Yan Ling stumbled into an empty side street, leaning his back against the wall as his body sagged. He barely maintained consciousness without completely collapsing.

 

As long as he was alive, there was hope.

 

In the crowd’s cacophony of sounds, Yan Ling couldn’t hear what he wanted. His waist and back bent inch by inch, and he sobbed while covering his ears, not wanting to hear anymore.

 

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing sound cut through his ears.

 

It was overwhelming killing intent. Even with his ears blocked, Yan Ling’s entire body went numb from the shock.

 

Yan Ling suddenly dropped his hands and turned his head to look.

 

He saw a filthy child with unsteady steps, gripping a broken knife in his hand. His body held no spiritual force, yet he was filled with hatred as he rushed at Yan Ling.

 

He wanted to kill Yan Ling.

 

Yan Ling froze instantly.

 

In his moment of stunned confusion, the child had already reached him, driving the dulled blade straight at Yan Ling’s heart.

 

Yan Ling suddenly lowered his hand, his five fingers closing around the dirty blade, forcibly stopping the attack.

 

The gentle sound of a spring returned to his ears, wrapped in twisted resentment, sounding like raging waves and boundless hatred.

 

Yan Ling’s five fingers were covered in blood, dripping to the ground. He couldn’t believe it.

 

“A-Yue?”

 

Yan Yue was desperately driving the knife into his heart when he heard this name. He paused slightly, staring up at him in shock.

 

Yan Ling’s fingers trembled.

 

It really was Yan Yue.

 

Three or four years apart, Yan Yue’s frame had grown gaunt. Filthy all over as if he’d been wandering for ages, the once soft and obedient little face was now twisted with hatred.

 

Yan Yue said harshly, his hands shaking: “You’re from the Xi family!”

 

All Xi family members deserved to die.

 

“No…” Yan Ling’s tears fell uncontrollably. He released the knife and suddenly wrapped the filthy Yan Yue tightly in his arms, choking: “I’m not.”

 

Held in the embrace, Yan Yue could only slash wildly with the knife across his body, wailing: “You are! You’re Xi Jue!”

 

“I’m not, I’m not!” Yan Ling’s body was covered in blood wounds, yet he paid no heed. Holding Yan Yue while exhausted and falling tears, he choked: “I’m your senior brother, I’m Yan Ling…”

 

Yan Yue suddenly froze, his lips trembling: “But you…”

 

The small youth was no longer the naive, gullible child of years past. He desperately shook his head, struggling to push Yan Ling away: “You’re Xi Jue. This face of yours…”

 

Yan Ling gripped Yan Yue’s shoulders tightly with both hands, his face streaked with tears as he nearly pleaded: “I’m your senior brother. A-Yue, don’t you recognize me? This face… I’m sorry, I don’t know how to change it back. I’m sorry, I don’t know…”

 

Questioned by the only person in the world who mattered, Yan Ling, who had held together for so long, finally completely broke down. His trembling hands went to his own face, as if wanting to tear off that “false mask” that had been forcibly imposed on him.

 

Yet his face was covered in blood scratches, unable to change that illusory spell at all.

 

“I don’t want this face!” Yan Ling finally lost control, wailing in unbearable pain. “I don’t want…”

 

But he didn’t know how to change back.

 

To become Yan Ling again.

 

Yan Yue stared blankly at Yan Ling, who was wailing with bone-deep pain and couldn’t stop crying. After a long moment, his legs gave out and he sank to his knees, saying dazedly:

 

“Senior… senior brother?”

 

Yan Ling’s face had been nearly destroyed by his own clawing, yet the powerful illusory spell forcibly healed the injuries, revealing that “Xi Jue” face once more.

 

The water mirror fell from Yan Ling’s sleeve. Catching sight of that perfect, untouched face, Yan Ling nearly went mad completely.

 

“I don’t want to be Xi Jue!”

 

Yan Yue stared blankly before suddenly rushing forward and wrapping Yan Ling in his arms, stopping him from destroying his face again.

 

“Senior brother, senior brother…”

 

The child who, when young, would only cry to his senior brother at any trouble, now held the nearly-collapsed Yan Ling like an older brother would. His small, filthy hands gently stroked the back of Yan Ling’s head as he spoke softly:

 

“Senior brother, A-Yue is here.”

 

Yan Ling went rigid, then held Yan Yue and wailed without restraint.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He was consumed with grief, his words jumbled as he desperately apologized. “I’m sorry A-Yue, I don’t know how to change back. I want to change back but I can’t, I can’t. I was wrong, I’m sorry…”

 

Yan Yue held him gently: “It’s not senior brother’s fault.”

 

Yan Ling buried his face in Yan Yue’s neck, choking: “I’m… I’m afraid. I’m so afraid.”

 

Yan Yue: “Don’t be afraid. A-Yue is here.”

 

Yan Ling finally vented all the pain accumulated over these years in this bout of bitter weeping. Like he’d finally found a home, he held Yan Yue tightly, sitting there without desire to move.

 

Yan Yue tended to Yan Ling’s wounds with apology and told him about these years.

 

“…Lady Wan from the Medicinal Sect brought me back to be healed, but I wanted to find senior brother, so I snuck away.”

 

Yan Ling’s gaze followed Yan Yue’s movements. Seeing him covered in filth, he asked confusedly: “You’ve suffered a lot?”

 

Yan Yue, probably because he hadn’t smiled in so long, smiled awkwardly when he did—all the obedience of his youth gone, stiff and clumsy, yet he tried hard to comfort his senior brother: “No, not at all. Not one bit.”

 

Yan Ling said nothing.

 

Yan Yue finished tending his wounds and neatly arranged Yan Ling’s disheveled hair. He said gently: “Senior brother, what should we do from now on?”

 

Yan Ling froze.

 

He’d originally planned to keep disguising himself until reaching Spirit Transformation realm, then find the Tianyan earth vein and self-detonate to destroy the Xi family’s Tianyan.

 

But Yan Yue was still alive. That path was no longer viable.

 

Yan Ling couldn’t bear to leave Yan Yue alone in this world.

 

Yan Ling thought for a long while, then suddenly said: “The Xiezhi Sect.”

 

“What?”

 

“The Xiezhi Sect has always upheld justice and order. The Xi family’s crimes are grave…” Yan Ling said. “If we go to the Xiezhi Sect, we’ll surely find justice.”

 

Yan Yue asked doubtfully: “Will it work?”

 

The Xi family was flourishing now. Yan Yue couldn’t even get close to them. He’d heard the next Central State supreme leader would be Xi Ze.

 

Would the Xiezhi Sect really grant them justice?

 

Yan Ling wasn’t certain either. At this point, he could only gamble.

 

Yan Yue trusted his senior brother unconditionally. Since he said to go to the Xiezhi Sect, they would go. He helped Yan Ling to his feet and picked up the half-moon patterned water mirror from the ground, offering it back to him.

 

Yan Ling didn’t want to see that face in the mirror anymore and shook his head, refusing.

 

Yan Yue could only keep it for him.

 

Yan Ling didn’t dare put Yan Yue in danger, so he first settled him safely before going alone to the Xiezhi Sect.

 

Only the main sect throughout the thirteen states was called the “Xiezhi Sect.” The branch sects scattered across territories were called “Punishment and Redemption Offices.” Yan Ling had originally intended to go directly to the Xiezhi Sect’s main temple using “Xi Jue’s” identity to seek the sect master.