Zhong Yin glanced back at him and gave a small smile. “You’re right. I’m well past the age where that kind of thing matters to me.”

“Then… is it because of Immortal Master Qingyin?” Li Xun finally asked the question that had been weighing on his heart. Zhong Yin looked genuinely surprised.

But there was something else in his expression, too.

As Li Xun watched his face, he suddenly felt all the strength drain from his body, as if it were pouring out along with his sweat.

Still, what else could he do?

In front of a man who had already stepped halfway into godhood, any schemes or tricks were completely useless.

And more than that. This had to do with Immortal Master Qingyin. Facing the unknown with honesty and a bit of dignity was better than staying silent and letting himself be pushed around. At least he could still call it courage.

Would Immortal Master Qingyin approve of what I’m doing?

Zhong Yin looked at him for a long moment. Then he smiled again, a warm, gentle smile.

“I’m glad you had the courage to ask. Yes. It’s because of her.”

Even though it was already painfully obvious, hearing Zhong Yin say it out loud still left Li Xun speechless.

He could only sit there, stunned, listening.

“When she brought you into the Green Smoke Barrier, I understood how she felt. That’s why I pretended not to know that Wei Bufan had issued you a challenge. I ignored the fact that you’ve inherited Master Ghost’s legacy. I didn’t care whether you’re good or evil, or what kind of consequences you might bring to the sect. I only promised her one thing. I promised her that you would live on, the way she wanted. That’s all.”

“Then… what is it that she wants?”

Even though both of them understood each other’s feelings, what they were talking about was something that defied reason, something taboo. For Li Xun to put it into words, it had taken all the courage he had.

He tried to hold on to the clarity he’d just found, but it slipped away almost immediately.

His heartbeat, his blood, even the way his pores opened and closed; it all felt chaotic. So much so that even his voice trembled when he tried to speak.

“If I truly knew,” Zhong Yin said, a faint, cold curve forming on his lips, “why would I have let her remain imprisoned on this mountain for a thousand years?”

It was the first time Li Xun had ever seen that expression on his face.

“I can only ever grasp a small piece of what’s in her heart. And all I can do… is resolve that one piece. That’s it.”

Was there bitterness in his words? Frustration?

Li Xun didn’t dare assume. That wasn’t what mattered to him anyway. He drew a shaky breath, trying to steady his heartbeat. His lips parted, and his finger lifted slightly, pointing at his own face; yet for a moment, he had no idea what to say.

Zhong Yin glanced at him again. And Li Xun had the distinct feeling that he understood exactly what he was thinking. But somehow, the conversation had slipped away from where he wanted it to go.

“From as far back as I can remember,” Zhong Yin said, “I was always with her. Whatever she asked me to do, I never refused. I never disappointed her. But in the end… there are still things I couldn’t do. That, you should be able to understand.”

A rough outline was beginning to form in Li Xun’s mind, though it was far from clear.

Zhong Yin didn’t elaborate. He simply went on:

“In my entire life, I’ve only ever gone against her once. Back then, in the Land of No Return…”

“When our master was still alive, he saw what happened with her as a disgrace. An unbearable humiliation. He made me swear that as long as I lived, she was never to take a single step off Zuowang Peak. From that day on… I never saw her again.”

If Li Xun had been like most people, thinking he understood the full story, he would have been utterly confused by those words.

But now, drawing from his own experiences, he understood the outline well enough.

Still, for reasons he didn’t quite want to examine, he refused to think too deeply about it. He simply lowered his head and listened, letting himself feel the rare honesty behind Zhong Yin’s words.

In that moment of hazy introspection, it suddenly struck him. There was something about Zhong Yin that felt… familiar. A resemblance between them. And that resemblance was centered entirely around Qingyin. It was born from her.

Maybe this was what people meant by shared sorrow.

He looked up at Zhong Yin’s face, and the more he stared, the more he felt like he was looking into a reflection of his own. An expression carrying the same bitterness, the same quiet, endless ache.

Zhong Yin didn’t seem to notice the depth of Li Xun’s gaze. Or if he did, he didn’t show it. Either way, he clearly didn’t want to dwell on the subject any longer. He shifted the conversation.

“Do you know why I specifically asked for you to come here?”

Li Xun could only shake his head.

Zhong Yin gave a small smile. “Because during this time… I wanted to see her happy. To truly feel it. And that, only you can give her.”

Li Xun’s eyes lit up. But the light faded just as quickly.

“But… but the truth is, she actually…” he said bitterly,

“Gu Zhixuan came to see her once,” Zhong Yin interrupted.

“What?!”

Zhong Yin didn’t seem to hear Li Xun’s startled exclamation. His tone remained calm and even. “I was standing in the bamboo hut at the time, watching her back… watching Gu Zhixuan’s face. And I didn’t feel like she was any happier talking to him than when she talks to you.”

“Honestly, sometimes… she can be a little naïve.”

That last sentence seemed almost meaningless. But Li Xun understood exactly what it implied. His entire face went red with heat.

Zhong Yin looked at him for a moment, then let out a soft sigh. “But you’re not like me.”

Li Xun looked at him, confused until Zhong Yin continued: “I’m able to find happiness in her happiness. But you… you have to find it within yourself. If what makes her happy doesn’t meet your expectations, what then?”

There was no way Li Xun could miss the meaning behind those words. His face flushed even deeper, his neck stiffening as he prepared to argue. But just as he opened his mouth, he caught the sudden, sharp gleam in Zhong Yin’s eyes.

And for some reason… he hesitated.

That brief moment of silence made the storm in his chest surge tenfold.

He couldn’t, at least not now, let anyone, not even Zhong Yin, doubt his feelings for Qingyin. So he glared at him, fierce and unyielding.

But Zhong Yin didn’t get angry. He just spoke steadily, almost gently.

“You know your own heart better than anyone. I’m leaving soon, and before I go, I’m entrusting Qingyin to you. Everything else is fine. This is the only thing I’m not entirely at ease about. I hope… you can give me peace of mind.”

He extended a hand.

Li Xun stared at Zhong Yin’s outstretched hand for a moment, caught off guard; then finally came to his senses and raised his own hand to meet it.

This was the most solemn form of oath in the Tongxuan Realm. Li Xun didn’t feel anything strange about it. On the contrary, he began searching his mind for the most sincere, the most powerful words he could offer, for what would be the first, and truest, vow of his life.

With a clear, steady voice, Li Xun said, “If I ever have even the slightest thought of betraying Immortal Master Qingyin… then may she be the one to cut off my head with her own hand!”

It was an odd oath. Li Xun was sure this wasn’t what he had planned to say. Even a moment before speaking, that exact thought hadn’t crossed his mind.

But the moment his palm touched Zhong Yin’s… the words had come out on their own. Mysterious, almost beyond reason.

Zhong Yin smiled faintly, then let go of his hand. “That’s enough,” he said softly. “Go. Qingyin’s waiting for you.”

A warmth rose in Li Xun’s chest. But as he watched Zhong Yin’s back turn and slowly disappear into the distance, a strange, complicated feeling settled over him.

Just as Zhong Yin’s figure was about to vanish entirely, a sudden thought struck Li Xun like lightning. He called out, shaken:

“Does Immortal Master Qingyin… does she know about me too?”

Zhong Yin didn’t answer right away. But just before his presence completely faded, Li Xun heard his voice drift back:

“I doubt she sees things the way I do… In some ways, she’s still very naïve.”

It was the second time Zhong Yin had called Qingyin “naïve.”

Li Xun didn’t know what to make of it.

The late-night wind lashed against his face, sharp as a blade. Riding his sword, he wove carefully through the mountain peaks, before landing lightly on an icy summit where the snow had never melted, not even in ten thousand years.

This place is just over fifty li from Zhiguan Peak, but only seven or eight li away from Guantian Peak in a straight line.

Guantian Peak was the place Zhong Yin chose for his ascension.

It lies seventy li from Zuowang Peak and forty li from Zhiguan Peak. Among the seventy-two peaks of Lianxia, its height is second only to Zhiguan Peak.

The closer one gets to Guantian Peak, the more chaotic the primordial qi of heaven and earth become.

Through the gaps in the dark clouds overhead, flickers of lightning drift and snake across the sky. With every flash, the primordial qi let out a hoarse rumble, connecting by millions of  qi mechanisms, shifting and surging without end.

Flying through this place on a sword is incredibly dangerous. One wrong move could trigger a bolt of heavenly lightning.

By the time Li Xun set foot on solid ground, his back was already drenched in cold sweat.

But he didn’t even have time to feel afraid. The moment he saw that lone figure standing at the peak, utterly removed from the world, every other thought vanished from his mind.

He stood there, spellbound, watching. Watching Qingyin’s robes whip wildly in the wind. Watching her slender figure stand quietly before the bottomless abyss. His heart burned with emotion.

The past few days had been the happiest of his life.

He had never spent so much time close to Qingyin before. For the first time, he could see her subtle expressions, her faint smiles, and sense the quiet opening of her true heart.

They still hadn’t talked much, and her genuine smiles were few and far between. But for Li Xun, that was more than enough.

At the same time, he felt certain that Zhong Yin would have been satisfied too.

It wasn’t until earlier last night, when Qingyin had mentioned wanting to watch the Ascension Ceremony from here, that Li Xun had suddenly realized. It was already the eighth day of the twelfth month.

“You’re here,” Qingyin called out. Her tone was as cool and distant as always, with a hint of weariness.

Li Xun answered her, and couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased with himself. Qingyin had revealed something a little more personal beneath her usual calm, something she never would’ve shown before.

But today, and from now on, things were different.

Still, the moment he spotted that faint figure far off on Guantian Peak, whatever pride he’d been feeling quickly faded away.

Today was no time for pride.

He stepped forward quietly, stopping just behind Qingyin’s side.

She turned her head slightly and gave him a sidelong glance. “What, lost your nerve again?”

Li Xun wasn’t sure if he should laugh. The corner of his mouth twitched as he stepped up beside her, finally standing shoulder to shoulder.

Qingyin turned her gaze forward again, lining her sight with the solitary figure atop Guantian Peak. After a moment of silence, she said, “I’m glad you came today.”

Li Xun wanted nothing more than to declare, bold and passionate, “Even if you asked me to take on the thunder of the heavens, I’d do it.” But in the end, he didn’t quite have the courage. He just smiled and said nothing.

A crack of thunder exploded nearby. The rumbling boom shook the air, but neither of them flinched.

Qingyin paused for only a moment before continuing, “Actually, what I wanted to say was... thank you. Do you understand?”

She turned her head fully this time, looking straight at Li Xun. His face flickered between light and shadow under the bursts of lightning. But so did hers. And within that shifting glow, she gave him a soft smile.

“Maybe you prefer me speaking like this?” she said, brushing away strands of hair whipped loose by the wind. She glanced at Li Xun’s completely stunned expression, and her smile grew more vivid, more genuine.

These past few days, she had started smiling like this more and more often. It wasn’t the first time Li Xun had seen it. But every time felt like the first. His chest tightened, as if something heavy and unnameable had lodged itself there.

He opened his mouth, but only managed to let out two meaningless syllables. Then his whole face turned bright red.

Just then, across the distant sky, a bolt of lightning far thicker than any before cracked through the heavens like the whip of a thunder god, tearing across half the sky.

The thunder that followed sounded like the sky itself was groaning under the strain. And with that deafening crash, the first winter downpour began, cascading from the clouds a thousand fathoms above.

The raindrops, large as beans, were caught by the frigid winds of the upper air and froze into shards of ice, pelting the many peaks of Lianxia.

Qingyin and Li Xun simultaneously summoned their protective true breath shield themselves from the hail. Their attention both turned toward Guantian Peak.

It was only then that Li Xun began to feel nervous for Zhong Yin.

“This… it’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

“Instead of worrying about him, maybe you should be thinking about yourself.”

Qingyin didn’t turn around this time, but even through the constant rumble of thunder, her voice rang out loud and clear.

“We’re seven li from Guantian Peak. The primordial qi here is wild and violent. You might not be able to handle it. If you leave now, there’s still time.”

Li Xun didn’t hesitate for even a second. He shook his head. “I’m staying here with you.”

No sooner had he spoken than another barrage of massive lightning bolts came crashing down from the sky.

Judging by their trajectory, they were clearly aimed at Guantian Peak. But it looked like some invisible force field surrounded the summit. The lightning, sharp and furious like swords from the heavens, twisted off course just a li or so from the mountain, never landing a single strike on it.

The aftershocks, however, scattered in all directions. Several headed straight toward them. But Qingyin stood motionless, and under her quiet control, they were all dissipated into nothing before it could reach them.

Maybe because of this, the primordial qi in the air grew even more frenzied. Li Xun counted at least seventy or eighty thunderclaps one after another. The deafening roar rolled across the sky, shaking the heavy storm clouds above until they started to break apart.

Through the widening gaps, hundreds, maybe thousands of electric serpents slithered and twisted in the clouds, only to vanish in the blink of an eye. Just the glimpse of them was enough to make his scalp tingle.

So this… this was a lightning tribulation? The trial of ascension?

...

TLer: do you trust Zhong Yin?