Chapter Six: Participants and Observers

Around the hour when everyone in the Daoist temple had already drifted into slumber, a figure crept quietly out of a room, slipping into a clearing farther out in the woods beyond the temple. There, he summoned a carrier pigeon, slipped a note into the small tube on its leg, and with a flutter, the pigeon soared into the dim sky—its path set directly toward the capital.

A few days later, within the imperial palace.

The Emperor had just received the letter. After reading it carefully, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “How wonderfully amusing this is.” Though he smiled, his tone was laced with an inexplicable chill.

The servants attending below exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what had transpired.

“Convey my decree at once—‘invite’ the young prince Liu Junlin back to the palace!”

With that, the Emperor tossed the note into the brazier, where it was instantly consumed by flames.

At that very moment, in the study of Zixu Daoist Temple, Liu Junlin also received a small slip of paper. On it were just three simple words: “The game is set.” Liu Junlin’s expression was unreadable—he could not say what he felt within.

Liu Zhanyan, seated nearby, noticed and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Liu Junlin turned back and offered a bitter smile. “Senior brother, I’m afraid I must return earlier than planned.”

Liu Zhanyan’s hand, hidden in his sleeve, paused. His voice was cold as he replied, “If you must go, then go. Take care on the road. I won’t see you off.” With those words, he rose and left the study. Back in his room, his pallid face was streaked with tears.

Near dusk, the palace envoys arrived, “escorting” Liu Junlin back.

Only after Liu Junlin and his retinue had departed did Liu Zhanyan quietly step outside the Daoist temple, watching them disappear into the distance.

Tieqing hurriedly emerged, clutching a cloak, and shouted, “Liu Zhanyan, have you lost your mind? Do you even care about your own life anymore?!”

Liu Zhanyan’s vision blurred; he could only recognize Tieqing’s voice before his strength gave out and he collapsed…

“Liu Zhanyan!” Tieqing called.

When Liu Zhanyan awoke, Tieqing was already gone. Only Qingyu sat silently by his side. “You’re awake?”

Liu Zhanyan had intended to feign sleep, but at those words, he could only open his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Qingyu sighed helplessly. “If I had realized sooner that boy’s feelings for you were not right, I should have cut off your contact with him—crippled him in one move, perhaps. Then things wouldn’t have come to this.”

Outside the study that day, apart from Xiangzi, who had come to deliver tea, there was another present—Qingyu, standing by the window.

Liu Zhanyan managed a wry grin. “Old man, do you regret it now?”

Qingyu answered frankly, “Yes, I do. I regret it.” He really did regret it. One was another’s child, the other his beloved disciple. To see his own disciple suffer so—how could he not regret it?

As he thought on this, Qingyu’s eyes reddened, and he sniffed.

Liu Zhanyan exclaimed in disbelief, “Old man, you’re crying?”

Mortified, Qingyu snapped, “Shut your mouth! Lie down and rest!”

Liu Zhanyan lay there, laughing until tears streamed down his face. Only then did he stop and ask softly, “Old man, how long do I have left?”

Qingyu’s voice trembled. “At most five or six years.”

“Five or six years,” Liu Zhanyan murmured. Was that all the time he had left? How quickly the days had passed! He wondered if, after he was gone, that boy would shed tears for him—he probably would…

Three years ago.

“Hey, old man, let me ask you something!” Liu Zhanyan called out, swaggering.

Qingyu responded with a swift smack. “Who are you calling old man? Call me Master!”

Dodging, Liu Zhanyan stuck out his tongue. “Yes, yes, Master.”

Qingyu, resigned, said, “All right, what do you want to ask?”

“Master, do you have any way to cure junior brother’s condition?” Liu Zhanyan blurted out.

Qingyu’s eyes flickered, but he replied, “There is a way. Why do you ask?”

“I just want to cure his illness so he’ll stop clinging to me all the time,” Liu Zhanyan retorted.

At this, Qingyu gave him a once-over, noticing how Liu Zhanyan’s face suddenly turned red. He snorted, “And I wonder who’s really clinging to whom!”

“Master, will you just tell me?” Liu Zhanyan pressed.

Qingyu’s smile faded, and he became solemn. “I can teach you the method, but without my permission, you must never use it on your own. Do you understand?”

Seeing Qingyu so serious, Liu Zhanyan quickly nodded.

Qingyu then explained the method. He had intended for Liu Zhanyan to strengthen his body through cultivation before attempting it, so both would benefit: Liu Zhanyan’s powers would increase greatly, and Liu Junlin could finally be free from his affliction.

In one’s lifetime, only before the age of twenty can three drops of essence blood be refined. Ordinarily, as soon as they are drawn, a person’s vitality would wither away, for that essence is the very core of one’s life force.

Yet the Liu Yun Technique that Qingyu taught Liu Zhanyan was quite the opposite: those who practice it must, before twenty, extract three drops of essence blood through a special method, or else they will instantly age and die.

Liu Junlin’s constitution was exceedingly rare. Only these three drops could suppress it and restore him to normal.

Qingyu had never expected the calamity that would ruin all his plans. Liu Zhanyan could no longer pursue cultivation. What shocked Qingyu even more was that his foolish disciple, even as his health deteriorated, still thought only of extracting those three drops. Before Qingyu realized it, Liu Zhanyan had already refined the first drop—and nearly lost his life in the process.

Unable to stop him, Qingyu could only help, at least ensuring that it was done under his supervision for greater safety, rather than letting Liu Zhanyan risk his life alone.

After all this, if Qingyu still could not see what lay in Liu Zhanyan’s heart, then his decades of living had been for nothing.

With a heavy sigh, Qingyu’s eyes stung. He raised his sleeve to hide his face and stepped outside. Tieqing waited silently.

“At your age, must you be like this?” Tieqing remarked.

Qingyu, abandoning all pretense, dropped his sleeve and snorted. “Still better than a heartless fool like you!”

For once, Tieqing did not take the bait. He only said, “Everyone has their own fate. This was his choice, and he must bear it himself. You cannot help.”

Qingyu paused, then stamped hard on Tieqing’s foot before storming off.

Tieqing gasped from the pain. Looking at the light still shining from Liu Zhanyan’s chamber, he limped back to his own room.

By candlelight, Liu Zhanyan gazed at the books beside him, drifting once more into sleep. He dreamed of the first time he met Liu Junlin, and his slumber was sweet and peaceful.