Autumn rain falls in a long, steady drizzle, like a beaded curtain hanging from the sky. A deep chill creeps out from the rain, seeping into the bones.
These past few days, the road leading to Tiandu Peak has grown quieter. Fewer carts and travelers pass through.
But at the moment, a convoy of carriages and horses presses forward through the rain.
Nearly a hundred people, dozens of horses, and three carriages.
Despite the weather, they advance in an orderly and disciplined manner. At the center, there is an especially ornate oil-paper carriage, painted jade-green and drawn by a team of four horses—clearly the ride of someone noble and important.
From inside that carriage came the soft, raspy sound of coughing. The qi energy was weak, and the voice was hoarse—clearly belonging to some middle-aged or elderly woman with qi deficiency and imbalance.
"Traveling in this rain... wheezed the coughing old woman, "ugh…hadn't expected the road to be this rough."
"This stretch is still dirt road, but up ahead it turns to stone paving—much smoother," a young woman replied gently. "Please bear with it a little longer, Your Grace."
After a pause, she added, "these autumn rains have been relentless, and the heavens themselves have been odd lately. With Your Grace's health not being what it used to be, there's really no need to come all this way to pray and make offerings. If you fall ill, it'd be difficult to treat…"
The old woman gave a cold laugh. "I knew none of you were truly devoted. My child said to give him up just like that. And now that you want to bring him back, who among you is willing?"
Silence fell in the carriage. But the old woman's anger didn't ease up. She gave a heavy snort and went on, "Maybe it'd be better if I died. Then I could meet that foolish old husband in the afterlife and beg the King of Underworld to grant my poor grandson a place among the immortals—spare him any more suffering in this wretched mortal world..."
Her voice caught as she spoke, and she began to choke up. The others inside tried to console her, but she snapped at them, scolding each one until none dared speak again.
Meanwhile, behind the convoy, the clatter of hooves grew louder. A rider galloped up quickly, and as he passed by the carriage, a single glance from him was enough to send the guards stiff and silent, no one daring to act out of line. Without stopping, he spurred his horse to the front of the procession and called out to a man ahead: "Lord Gong!"
Lord Gong turned around, revealing a rough, square-jawed face—rugged but with a glint of shrewdness in his eyes. Seeing the rider approach, he smiled. "Ah, Vice Commander Zhang! What's the matter?"
Zhang Ji, sallow-faced and with a bit of sickly pallor, looked unwell—but the sharp gleam in his eyes was like lightning flashing across a stormy sky, hard to look at directly. His cultivation, in fact, was even higher than Lord Gong's.
He slowed his horse, saluted respectfully. "My Lord,he said. " judging by the rain, it doesn't look like it'll stop tonight. The road's only going to get worse as it gets darker—we definitely won't make it back to the city today. I suggest we start preparing to camp."
Lord Gong stroked his beard and nodded. "You're right. Go ahead and have the Taoist at the temple prepare a vegetarian meal for us. And double the security for the night—we can't afford any slip-ups. Why don't you ride ahead and make arrangements?"
Zhang Ji acknowledged the order and was about to kick his horse forward when something caught his eye. He blinked, then let out a quiet, "Hmm?"
A moment later, Lord Gong also noticed something strange. His gaze sharpened. With a small signal, Zhang Ji immediately understood. His horse surged forward like a shot.
Just a few strides ahead, Zhang Ji snapped his whip through the air with a crack like thunder, the sound echoing through the rain. At the same time, he half-drew the blade at his waist and urged his horse to go faster.
Lord Gong, eyes locked onto Zhang's movements, had already pulled the longbow from his back. With practiced ease, he nocked an arrow, string taut and ready. Around him, the guards responded swiftly—blades drawn, bows at the ready. If anything strange happened, they would strike in an instant.
Zhang Ji pulled on the reins and wheeled his horse around: "Lord Gong! There's a Daoist lying by the roadside—not sure if he's dead or alive!"
Lord Gong cursed under his breath, and waved his hand. "Toss him further off the road—don't let the Dowager see and get spooked!"
Just then, a maid peeked her head out of the green carriage and called out from afar, "Lord Gong, Her Grace wishes to know—what's going on up ahead?"
Lord Gong turned his head for a glance and said offhandedly, "Tell the Dowager there's no need to worry—it's just a a passed-out Daoist lying in the way."
The maid ducked back behind the curtain, but immediately peeked out again and called loudly, "Lord Gong! Her Grace is calling for you—she has something to say!"
Lord Gong paused, slightly surprised, but didn't say much. He swung off his horse and walked up to the carriage. "You called for me, Your Grace?" he said, bowing slightly.
A raspy cough came from inside before the old Dowager finally spoke. "Today we've come to the mountain to pray and offer respect to the gods. It's a day for good deeds. Take in that Daoist fellow—send him to Lingtai Temple. Let the abbot of Songfeng Monastery figure out what to do with him — that's all."
Lord Gong hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Understood, Your Grace." He turned and ordered the guards to hoist the Daoist onto a horse and send him ahead with Zhang Ji to the monastery.
With that small interruption handled, the group continued up the winding path.
.....
Heavens knows how much time had passed before Li Xun finally came to. He blinked a few times, still in a daze. His mind was foggy, but he could feel a blanket draped over him—his inner garments were still soaked through, and now that his body was warming up, the dampness felt miserable.
What made it worse was—this feeling… was painfully familiar.
The shattered mountain road… the burning maple forest… fellow disciples turned to ash… and that soul-crushing humiliation unlike anything he'd ever experienced—everything came flooding back like a volcanic eruption, searing his mind in an instant.
Heat surged through his body. With a shout, he sprang to his feet.
The shame and rage still boiled inside him, so much so that for a moment, all he could see was red.
In that dazed fury, someone shouted curses—then came two weak punches to his face. But the strikes were laughably soft.
Even in his current weakened state, his inner breath reacted instinctively. The backlash alone was enough to send that reckless attacker reeling.
There was a loud crash—sounded like someone broke through the door—and that jolt finally pulled Li Xun back from the edge.
His vision slowly cleared.
In front of him stood a young maid, pretty and frightened, tears brimming in her eyes. Behind her, at the open doorway, a man was struggling to get up off the floor.
"Where is this?" Li Xun fixed his eyes on the girl, his mind already racing, trying to to piece things together where he'd ended up.
The young maid, clearly shaken, shrank back and pressed herself against the wall, too scared to answer.
Li Xun's patience wore thin. He snapped, "Speak!"
"L-Lingtai Temple…" she stammered, barely managing to squeeze out the words.
Li Xun frowned. So… a Daoist temple somewhere in the mortal realm... he thought. No wonder these people here are so pitiful.
"How did I get here?" he asked, after a moment of thought.
The maid stuttered again, "Y-you collapsed on the road… someone… took pity on you and brought you here to rest…"
She seemed to be deliberately vague about who that "someone" was. Li Xun got the idea—most likely someone important, probably from a noble family. Not something a maid could speak of openly.
He didn't press the matter. Instead, he quickly checked himself over. His key belongings were still there—the Phoenix Feather Needle and the Jade Bixie were intact. Only the Azure Jade Sword was missing. He glanced around the room, but there was no sign of it.
Li Xun had been about to question the maid, but decided against it. Instead, he simply stepped out the door.
Outside, the man was still struggling to get up. Li Xun lightly tapped him with the tip of his foot, channeling a wisp of inner breath into him.
"Where's my sword?"
The man wore tight-fitting martial garb — clearly a guard. He didn't say a word. Just glared at Li Xun with pure hostility.
Li Xun couldn't be bothered to argue, nor was he worried about Azure Jade's whereabouts. That sword was soul-linked—connected to his will. In the mortal realm, no one could truly take it from him.
Catching the look in the guard's face, Li Xun gave a cold smile. "You don't want to talk? Fine. I'll fetch it myself."
With a thought, his spiritual energy extended outward. Moments later, he sensed a resonant hum echoed from several dozen yards away—Azure Jade, sensing his call.
He didn't even need to move. A flick of his fingers, and a streak of azure light shot into the sky before landing neatly in his hand.
The guard's eyes nearly popped out of his skull.
At his ridiculous face, Li Xun couldn't help but smile. His sour mood actually eased up a little.
Only then did it occur to him that his behavior had been… a little rough. After all, these people had picked him off the roadside. Lashing out like that did seem a bit like taking his anger out on the innocent.
He took a moment to collect himself, then said, "I've matters of great urgency and can't stay. I'll repay your master's kindness another day. Farewell."
With a final nod, he prepared to soar off on his sword—but thought better of it. Causing a public scene might draw too much attention. Instead, he simply pushed off the ground, landing lightly on the courtyard wall, ready to leave on foot.
That's when a sharp twang rang out beside his ear.
It was the sound of a bowstring—but there was no arrow flying through the air.
Li Xun frowned and turned toward the source. A middle-aged man with sallow skin stood there, coldly watching him, bow still raised. Clearly the one who'd just plucked the empty string as a warning.
If it had just been him, Li Xun might've ignored it entirely—taken off without so much as a glance.
But right after the twang, dozens of burly men suddenly appeared around the building, all armed with powerful bows and razor-sharp arrows. Every arrow was nocked and trained on him—as though facing a great enemy
Li Xun could tell—if that yellow-faced man gave the word, those arrows would rain down on him instantly.
Truth be told, even though Li Xun's cultivation was solid, he'd never had to deal with dozens of drawn bows at once. He wasn't even sure if he could block them all. His heart tightened ever so slightly.
What made it weirder was—these kinds of weapons were forbidden for civilians. In the mortal realm, crossbows and war bows were strictly under government control. Only soldiers and official guards could possess them. Sure, he'd guessed his rescuers were from a noble or official family, and having some armed protection wasn't strange. But this kind of lockdown? It felt excessive.
Tension was one thing. Confusion was another. But what mattered most now… was how to respond.
Li Xun steadied his breath, fixing a cold stare on the yellow-faced man a few dozen steps away. His hand gripped his sword hilt tightly. If that guy so much as gave the signal to fire—he'd be the first one dead.
A few dozen paces? Li Xun could cross that in a heartbeat.
Under his cold gaze, the archer's expression shifted slightly—clearly sensing the danger. A beat later, he lowered his bow and called out:
"You Daoist! You've got some nerve. My master saved you from peril, and you repay the kindness by attacking a servant of our household? And now you try to leave without a word? How do you justify that?"
Daoist?
Li Xun's mouth twitched slightly, then he recalled the cloud-patterned robe he was wearing—it was indeed a Daoist's attire. And given that he was a cultivator, being mistaken for a wandering Doist wasn't all that unreasonable.
Honestly, he wasn't looking for trouble. And since the man didn't seem ready to actually fight, Li Xun eased up a little.
Without thinking further, he replied in the same tone as the man: "This humble Daoist has pressing business and cannot delay. As for any offense, I've already apologized to your man. Hardly a capital crime. Yet here you are, threatening me with arrows. What's your excuse?"
The man gave a faint smile, his expression softening quite a bit, but he still didn't signal his men to lower their bows. Just as he was about to say something else, his eyes caught someone approaching, and he turned his head, calling out, "Lord Gong."
Li Xun followed his gaze—and immediately frowned. A burly man with a thick beard had stepped onto the rooftop. Why did this guy look so familiar?
Just as Li Xun was still pondering, their eyes met. The big-bearded man's gaze was razor-sharp—at first glance, he looked fierce and brutal. That face made Li Xun feel an even stronger sense of familiarity. As he puzzled over it, he suddenly noticed a thin scar at the corner of the man's eye, stretching past his temple to behind his ear.
That scar was like a bolt of lightning, cutting straight through the haze in Li Xun's mind. His chest tightened painfully—he nearly lost his balance and fell.
In a low, almost whisper-like voice, he muttered, "Gong Wei…"
The bearded man flinched, eyes flashing. "You know me?"
What answered him wasn't words—it was a low, stifled howl of emotion.
There was no longer any doubt in Li Xun's heart. Without another word, he spun around and leapt skyward—soaring more than ten zhang into the air. The blade at his waist, Azure Jade, flashed out of its sheath, a burst of green light flaring as he rode his sword away like a streak across the sky—gone in an instant.
Behind him, the guards stood dumbfounded, mouths agape like they were dreaming.
He didn't know how far he'd flown— a flood of emotions surged up inside him, crashing into his mind, and not even Jade Bixie could hold them back.
Scenes from childhood to now flickered through his mind like a lantern reel, all leading back to that faint, damnable scar.
Gong Wei. How could he ever forget this man? Especially that scar—it was etched into his memory as clearly as if it were his own.
He remembered that afternoon so vividly. His father had brought this man home, praising him as a warrior strong enough to stand against an army, with strength in his arms to lift a thousand jin. Li Xun, young and full of curiosity, had asked the big-bearded man to draw the great warbow hanging on the wall.
Gong Wei pulled the massive bow, which was taller than Li Xun at the time, into a perfect arc with ease. Then, with just a bit more strength, snap—the bowstring broke.
The snapped string lashed across his face and left that scar.
Even back then, watching the blood run down Gong Wei's face while he stayed dead silent, not flinching an inch—that ruthless calm had burned itself into young Li Xun's mind. He had secretly admired that kind of toughness. And the scar—because it had happened in front of him, because of him—was unforgettable.
As he grew older, that childhood awe had faded. But now, years later, that one scar and that one man had torn open a floodgate—and behind it came a stream of blurry, half-forgotten faces.
Gong Wei is the commander of the palace guards. If he's here, then someone important from the royal household must be nearby… Who is it?
He couldn't keep flying. Suppressing his sword-light, he landed in a stretch of open wilderness, chest heaving. He sorted through every scrap of information he'd gathered since waking, piecing together the most likely answer:
It must be a noblewoman from the household, come up the mountain to pray for blessings… but which one?
It had been almost nine years. Nine years since he'd seen anyone from that world.
Now, those long-lost family members were flooding back into his life, one by one—too vague to recognize clearly, yet sharp enough to pierce his heart. He could still remember his grandfather's mad, scattered gaze, and the stern, cold face of his father.
But the rest—his mother, grandmother, the concubines, younger siblings—they were all like distant phantoms. Hazy. Unreal. Like mist in the wind—gone before you could hold onto them.
I have to go back!
That was the first clear thought that cut through the chaos. Just a few dozen li away, his blood kin—those closest to him in this world—were within reach. His whole body started burning. The urge to see them again flared up like wildfire.
Is it mother, or the Dowager Consort?
He kept walking back and forth, thoughts racing. Wave after wave of heat surged through his chest like boiling blood.
What would he say when they met?
Yes, what could he say?
Nine years. How was he supposed to explain that he was still alive? How could he make them believe it? How could he possibly express everything he was feeling?
What would he say to his mother? To the Dowager Consort? What about the other concubines?
And then…what would they say?
What would his mother say, seeing him again? The Dowager Consort? The others?
And his father? What would he say? What about his grandfather? What kind of expression would be on his face?
How would the guards and servants of the Prince's manor react…
To a young master who's been missing for nine whole years?
Even with a mind sharper than most, Li Xun couldn't help but feel anxious about everything he was about to face. His palms were damp with sweat—sticky and clammy, making him uncomfortable without even realizing why.
He wiped them instinctively on his clothes.
But the coarse texture of dirt and gravel scraped his palm raw.
He flinched and stopped in his tracks.
Looking down, he finally noticed how he was dressed—His daoist robe, once woven from rare cold-jade silkworm threads, wasn't exactly rags, but after all that chaos he'd just been through, calling it "tattered" would be generous. It was stained with mud, spattered with blood, and from the waist down there was… a faint stench he didn't even want to identify.
Can I really show up like this?
His hesitation deepened. His gaze slowly lost focus, drifting.
Suddenly—a fiery red color flashed before his eyes, and in that instant, it exploded beside his ears like thunder.
He let out a shout and turned to run in panic. Only made it two steps before tripping— He stumbled and fell, rolling twice on the mud before splashing through dirty rainwater that soaked him all over again without mercy.
There, just in front of him, a bright red maple leaf landed softly on the ground. It twisted gently in the breeze, the stem spinning in a little circle, finally pointing straight at his pale face.
Li Xun stared at it in a daze for a long time.
Then, slowly, he lowered his face to the earth—cheek pressed against the cold, wet ground, dragging slightly as he breathed out in exhaustion.
Tears burst forth, streaming down without restraint.
After a few choked sobs, he finally couldn't hold it in— A hoarse, broken scream ripped from his chest.
How can I go back? How the hell do I go back?!
What was he now?
The young heir of the Prince of Fu?
Just look at him—some ragged little daoshi, looking nothing like a noble son.
A core disciple of Mingxin Sword Sect?
He'd just stood by while his master was murdered by someone who should've been his mortal enemy. His master died with eyes wide open, and he'd done nothing.
So who the hell was he?
To the outside world, he was a penniless beggar.
A traitor who sold out his sect just to stay alive.
A madman who actually believed he could go back to being the young heir of a royal household.
How was he supposed to return like this?
He staggered to his feet, swayed a few steps, finally stood firm.
The autumn rain, which had paused for a while, began falling again.
He looked up at the heavens, let out a long, bitter breath, and gave a crooked smile.
Then, without another word, he walked into the curtain of rain—
Never looking back.