Feng Ke’s gaze moved from the bloody water in the basin to Lian Shenwei’s face. He asked: “When did this start?”
His speech was deliberately slow, precisely so Lian Shenwei could clearly see his lip movements. The latter obviously saw clearly. Feng Ke didn’t miss the flash of guilt in Lian Shenwei’s eyes.
Feng Ke took a deep breath, something stuck in his heart, forcibly suppressing his anger back down.
When he got angry his speech became very fast. Once it got fast or he said too much, Lian Shenwei couldn’t understand. He couldn’t imagine the scene of arguing with Lian Shenwei while forcing out words one by one.
He’d feel like an idiot.
But after suppressing the anger back, what remained was a deep sense of powerlessness.
He crouched down, gripped the wrist of the youth who seemed to want to dodge, slowly tightening. Feng Ke felt the weak pulse in his palm representing life force, eyes reddening slightly: “Lian Shenwei, if you still consider me a friend, tell me the truth.”
“This condition of yours—was it before losing your hearing, or after?”
Lian Shenwei looked at him for a moment.
“Before.”
He lowered his eyes, giving a relatively precise time: “After the first time using internal energy.”
…So it appeared that early.
Feng Ke: “Why didn’t you say so then?”
“Just coughing a bit of blood.”
Lian Shenwei smiled at him, patted his hand, saying somewhat ingratiatingly: “It doesn’t hurt.”
This smile, falling into his eyes, was like a thorn piercing his heart, stabbing until blood flowed.
“Trust me,” Feng Ke’s voice was hoarse: “…I can cure you. All these years, this old man has held onto your life. This time I can too.”
Lian Shenwei: “I’m very troublesome. You’ll have to work hard for a very long time to find just a bit of medicinal material I can use, then develop it into new medicine.”
“I don’t want you too tired.”
Feng Ke: “Researching medicine—that doesn’t count as tiring.”
“…But I’m tired,” Lian Shenwei smiled and leaned back, sighing, saying softly, “I’m very tired.”
He was very conflicted.
Or rather, he felt he was very selfish.
He didn’t want to die now, but also didn’t want to live very long.
So he took medicine on time, obediently listened, so when he saw hope that could extend his life, inwardly he chose to ignore it.
Without hatred’s shackles, his life was like a breeze no one could grasp.
“Last time when unconscious, I walked on a road filled with fog. Halfway through, I heard you calling, even threatening me, saying you’d needle me.”
“You scared me back.”
“Perhaps my lifespan was exhausted, I shouldn’t have returned. This is the punishment.”
Lian Shenwei pointed at his own ear.
The last sound it heard from the mortal world was one voice after another—attachments he couldn’t let go.
Feng Ke sneered coldly: “What punishment? If anyone’s to be punished, punish me. I was the one who called. Punishing you—what kind of logic is that? If there really is that nonsense…”
His speech quickened again.
Lian Shenwei barely kept up at first, then couldn’t understand anymore.
He was like being isolated, the world utterly quiet around him.
Feng Ke actually wanted to lighten the atmosphere. Only after finishing did he realize Lian Shenwei couldn’t hear, so probably didn’t understand what he was saying.
He was speechless for a moment, lowering his voice: “Hold on a bit longer, okay?”
Lian Shenwei very easily agreed, complying: “Okay.”
Lian Shenwei’s gaze was calm. For him, agreeing or not agreeing made no difference. It was like—if it could make his friend happy for a moment, whether good or not good, he was willing to comply.
Feng Ke felt powerless again.
He pulled the handkerchief from Lian Shenwei’s hand and threw it in the water basin.
“The water’s cold, you still have a fever. Wipe your hands clean and go to sleep.”
Feng Ke pulled him up.
When Lian Shenwei stood, his vision went black for a moment. Not eating much these past days, he often felt dizzy. Feng Ke supported him, letting him recover for a moment. When he wasn’t dizzy anymore, he pressed him down at the bedside. “Sit.”
Feng Ke called Ming Zhu in, had her take out the water basin and also bring a basin of warm water.
Ming Zhu saw the blood in the basin and froze for a moment, then suddenly looked up. “…Master?”
Feng Ke shook his head. “Go change the water. Handle the handkerchief properly—your master’s blood contains toxicity after all.” Those victimized plants were also pitiful.
Ming Zhu looked worriedly at the bedside, then quickly fetched the water.
“From now on your master can’t use black handkerchiefs,” Feng Ke bent down, dampened a face cloth with warm water, wringing it dry while handing it to Lian Shenwei. “Wipe yourself.”
Lian Shenwei couldn’t hear, didn’t yet know his future handkerchiefs would all be mercilessly changed to a different color. He pressed his lips together, took it and wiped, also wiping away the blood traces on his lips—particularly glaring on the white face cloth.
Very obvious.
Ming Zhu glanced once and furrowed her brow: “Yes, Master Feng.”
Now for her and Tian Nan, Master Feng’s words sometimes had to come before their master’s orders.
Feng Ke now had no way to deal with Lian Shenwei. Scolding—he couldn’t hear. Reasoning—say too much and he couldn’t understand. His naturally bad temper was bit by bit worn down to ‘mild.’
“I’ll be leaving your side for a while. Maybe a few months, maybe most of a year.”
Lian Shenwei blinked, discerning clearly before saying: “Alright.”
Feng Ke: “It’s not abandoning you. Previously asked Qiu Che to get some new medicinal materials, but it’s hard to say whether the frontier has any… I need to go look at places outside the domain like Nanting and Lanxiu that produce abundant medicines.”
This sentence was slightly long. Lian Shenwei’s response was slower. “When are you leaving?”
Feng Ke: “Tomorrow.”
Couldn’t delay any longer.
Actually he wanted to leave tonight, but there was so much to entrust—otherwise he truly couldn’t feel at ease.
He gave Ming Zhu a look, then said to Lian Shenwei: “You sleep. Rest well.”
After watching him lie down, Feng Ke left Lian Shenwei’s bedroom and called Ming Zhu and Tian Nan together.
He returned to his own room and briefly explained Lian Shenwei’s current condition.
“So, his body’s deterioration is already very severe. He easily catches cold and develops high fevers. Don’t let him touch cold water. Stimulating foods are also forbidden. Warm nourishing medicines—no matter how precious, buy and stock up more. Follow the medicinal food recipes I write and give them to him daily.”
Feng Ke carefully recalled, taking up his brush to write out precautions character by character.
“Also conditions that might appear in the future…”
Ming Zhu and Tian Nan listened very seriously.
Feng Ke wrote most of the night—a thick stack of papers. When handing them to the two, he wasn’t tired either. Rubbing his face, he rummaged through boxes and chests looking for medicines Lian Shenwei could use.
Filled an entire table.
A very sufficient quantity.
Finally, he emphasized again: “The nourishing supplements can’t be interrupted. Only those things are sustaining his foundation. No matter what method—even forcing him—make him eat them.”
“Anyway, he can’t beat you two now. Just treat it like grabbing a kitten or fox cub to eat—stuff it in hard. You can always get it in.”
Tian Nan was silent: “…Understood.”
Worked until dawn the next day before finally considering every detail.
Feng Ke packed his bundle and went to Lian Shenwei’s bedroom. The sky was just barely light. The person with a low fever slept deeply.
Taking advantage of his sleep, Feng Ke administered needles one last time. After finishing, he pulled the covers back properly.
Then silently, carrying his bundle, he left the Regent Prince’s manor and rode away on horseback.
The early morning wind carried penetrating coolness, morning mist hazy, ground leaves withered yellow, hidden frost visible.
Feng Ke’s departure this time was much faster than when he left angry last time.
***
The frontier.
Heavy snow.
“Uncle Qiu!”
A youth gripping a long spear, body steaming with heat, nimbly flipped down from the martial arts platform. Li Ningfeng’s eyes were bright, smiling: “Uncle Qiu, what brings you here? Aren’t you leaving?”
The youth’s tone was very familiar. Qiu Che’s expression eased.
Li Ningfeng’s leg had completely healed. He was working hard to restore his previous level, taking time every day to practice.
He progressed extremely fast, grasping points immediately. Plus being Fudu Manor’s successor, vaguely resembling Ximian’s youthful shadow, Qiu Che inevitably gave him extra care.
Qiu Che’s experience in sword arts could be called grandmaster level. One or two pointers from him surpassed many years of self-cultivation.
Li Ningfeng had always been perceptive, sensing this elder-like subtle protection. Gradually, his form of address for Qiu Che changed from the initially extremely polite “Master Qiu” to “Uncle Qiu,” treating him with great respect and affection.
“Giving you something your master asked me to give you,” Qiu Che handed him the sword case in his hand. “Open it and look yourself.”
“My master?!”
Li Ningfeng was truly startled. He’d never mentioned his master before Qiu Che. How did it now seem his master and Uncle Qiu also knew each other?
He quickly took it and opened the sword case.
“This is—”
Quietly lying in the sword case was a glazed longsword, yet not delicate. About three adult male fingers wide, the blade had no decorative patterns—cold, crystal clear, extremely clean.
“The Snow-Bearing Sword?”
Li Ningfeng was shocked. He knew many jianghu matters, obsessed with weapons—naturally recognized this sword.
This was Fudu Manor’s hereditary sword. After that tragic massacre, the Snow-Bearing Sword disappeared—no one had seen it appear again.
Now actually in his hands, and related to his teacher.
Qiu Che: “Circulate your cultivation method and casually swing a few sword moves.”
Li Ningfeng complied, then discovered with amazement that his internal energy circulated extraordinarily smoothly. His nameless cultivation method actually seemed to have some hidden connection with this sword.
“Noticed?”
Li Ningfeng sheathed the sword, expression solemn: “Uncle Qiu, what exactly is going on?”
“The cultivation method you learned by accident is actually the unpredictable Snow-Bearing Sword Technique, originally one with the Snow-Bearing Sword,” Qiu Che explained to him.
“Your master has old ties with Fudu Manor. Taking you as disciple back then was also because you learned the Snow-Bearing Sword Technique. He had me give you this sword to complete the manor’s inheritance.”
“Also, your master said, properly speaking, your relationship with Fudu Manor isn’t deep. Their generation’s past grievances—you needn’t worry about or investigate. If you have the heart, every three to five years go offer incense at Fudu Manor.”
Outside was cold, and many people around. The two spoke while returning to the military tent.
Qiu Che had basically never lied. For Ximian’s sake, this counted as an exception. Fortunately what he said wasn’t all false either.
He only said his master had old ties with Fudu Manor. Other news about Lian Shenwei—not a word revealed.
Normal people wouldn’t connect a jianghu knight with the court’s Regent Prince. Li Ningfeng didn’t either, but he had other speculations.
Pouring Qiu Che a cup of wine warmed in hot water, Li Ningfeng touched the Snow-Bearing Sword, contemplating for a long while, then suddenly asked: “Is my master Young Master Ximian?”
“Cough cough!”
Qiu Che choked on a mouthful of wine.
“Uncle Qiu!”
Li Ningfeng was startled and hurriedly patted his back.
Qiu Che was truly shocked.
He recalled—he really hadn’t said much else. How had this kid connected his master with Ximian?!
Li Ningfeng carefully observed his expression, silently hissed, and quietly confirmed: “My master really is Young Master Ximian?”
Seemed like nothing couldn’t be said…
Ximian only told him not to expose his identity as Regent Prince.
Qiu Che pondered: “Why would you guess that?”
“You know Master. Master could have you deliver something as important as the Snow-Bearing Sword to me, indicating you should be very good friends. You also said Master has old ties with Fudu Manor, telling me to go pay respects every three to five years when I have time.”
“Uncle Qiu, you’re very famous in jianghu,” Li Ningfeng as a child loved jianghu’s carefree chivalrous spirit—precisely Qiu Che’s generation’s youth. “Young Master Ximian, Uncle Qiu, and the Feng family’s current generation heir—you three left behind so many legends. When I was little, I read many storybooks about your righteous deeds.”
Li Ningfeng recounted them like treasured memories.
“Young Master Ximian once nearly wiped out the entire Falling Moon Flow organization for Fudu Manor. Later Jingjue… His Majesty told me when he was still heir apparent, he was rescued by Young Master Ximian during the southern tour. Young Master Ximian had him go pay respects at Fudu Manor. Clearly, his relationship with the manor is extraordinary.”
“Similarly, Master can even decide Fudu Manor’s successor—this relationship is even more extraordinary.”
“Uncle Qiu’s personality doesn’t seem like someone who makes friends widely.”
“There are very few such coincidences in the world.”
After Li Ningfeng finished: “Uncle Qiu, am I right?”
Really quite perceptive.
Qiu Che was speechless for a moment, felt he couldn’t deflect, and simply admitted: “Yes.”
Li Ningfeng was stunned briefly. Qiu Che watched his mouth split open—the calm analytical appearance from moments ago completely vanished. Those eyes frightfully excited, the youth suddenly slapped the table. The table being stone, he instantly cried out and shook his hand.
Qiu Che: “…”
Li Ningfeng murmured: “Young Master Ximian was the jianghu knight I most admired in my youth…”
“The person I most admired actually became my master…”
His emotions were extremely complex, mostly happiness, yet suddenly remembered something—his excited expression instantly collapsed.
Qiu Che was exasperated: “What now?”
Li Ningfeng hesitated: “Master’s right hand?”
He’d heard Ying Jingjue mention that Young Master Ximian’s right hand tendons were severed, searching everywhere for the Feng family heir to treat them.
Ying Jingjue didn’t know jianghu matters, but Li Ningfeng immediately knew upon hearing—this was Young Master Ximian lying to him. Ximian was on good terms with the Feng family heir. Seriously inquiring would reveal—if those tendons could be saved, why would it drag on?
He didn’t expose it.
Thinking now, after Teacher rescued Jingjue, not wanting him to worry, he must have lied.
Qiu Che: “You know?”
At this moment Li Ningfeng still held a thread of hope, but seeing Qiu Che’s expression, his heart couldn’t help but sink. Nervously: “Is Master’s right hand truly very serious?”
Qiu Che was silent for a moment: “He…”
“His right hand hasn’t been able to grip a sword for many years.”
Li Ningfeng’s pupils contracted, palm suddenly clenched tight. After a long while: “Uncle Qiu, who did it?”
Qiu Che patted his shoulder: “He doesn’t want you to know, so don’t ask. Doesn’t affect daily life—writing, eating are all fine.”
Li Ningfeng remembered once in a reply letter from Master, the brush strokes at the end had more tremor than before. At the time he thought Teacher’s health wasn’t good. Now knowing… it should have been Teacher’s right hand hurting.
Even hurting, still replied to his letter, answering his questions.
Young people always wore their hearts on their sleeves before those they were willing to be close to. Qiu Che saw he was still distressed, helplessly said: “His left-hand swordsmanship is also very formidable, not much different from his right.”
Li Ningfeng raised his head.
Qiu Che: “My coming to help you this time—I lost to him in a duel. He had me come.”
In the youth’s pitch-black pupils, not a trace of earlier excitement remained. He touched his own leg, saying quietly: “The one who treated me, Master Fubiao—is he the Feng family heir? Also Master’s friend.”
Fubiao—wind.
So Fubiao was likely an alias.
Qiu Che tacitly acknowledged.
Li Ningfeng was stunned briefly. “So that’s how it is.”
This tribulation that could have crushed his entire life—Master silently helped him overcome it.
Master Fubiao was, Uncle Qiu was too.
What virtue, what ability did he, Li Ningfeng, have to receive such care?
He could even imagine Master far away, worried for this unfilial disciple, frowning.
Unable to describe the feeling, Li Ningfeng stared at the vigorously burning stove. Staring long, his eyes grew sore.
“Don’t overthink. There’s another matter needing your help,” Qiu Che said. “Your master’s health isn’t great. I came to the frontier—one, to keep my word and help you; two, to find medicinal materials not in Central Plains.”
Li Ningfeng suppressed the complicated thoughts in his heart, came back to himself, and nodded solemnly: “Leave this matter to me. But in that case, Uncle Qiu will need to stay here for some time.”
Qiu Che: “No matter. I’m idle anyway.”
This place was more interesting than he’d thought.
The tent quieted again. Water in the stove bubbled, warm steam rising.
Li Ningfeng: “Uncle Qiu, can you tell me about Master?”
“Sure.”
Qiu Che smiled slightly, somewhat understanding why those uncles he’d met as a child all liked rambling about their past.
Talking with juniors indeed had some pleasure.
“When your master and I first met, he was drinking at Phoenix Pavilion, just casually lying under a flowering tree, sword also casually placed. That was our first exchange…”
When the first victory report from the frontier reached the capital, it seemed to bring the cold and snow from there as well.
Lian Shenwei stood by the window watching the snow.
The youth wrapped in a thick ink-blue cloak, gentle gaze falling on the jade sandalwood plum blossoms outside the window.
“Plum blossoms brave the cold. They’ll bloom soon.”
**
wannaberecluse On SRTT Chapter 50.1