Zhang Ruochen and Kong Lanyou bid farewell to Master Yintuoluo and, upon leaving the oak grove, saw Suihan standing by the holy carriage, seemingly waiting for a long time.
“Great Saint Ruochen, please accept three bows from Suihan.”
Standing ten zhang away, Suihan performed a Confucian salute, bowing respectfully.
In the grove, the wind rustled, and the stream murmured.
Zhang Ruochen said calmly, “Why not pretend you didn’t recognize me? You should know that since I haven’t revealed my identity, I don’t want many to know I’ve returned. Aren’t you afraid I’ll silence you?”
After the three bows, Suihan said, “A thousand years ago, if not for Great Saint Ruochen’s intervention, I would have died. The first bow is to thank you for saving my life.”
“The second bow is for retrieving the Confucian Saintly Ancient Tea Tree from the Raksha Clan.”
“The third bow is for protecting the Kunlun Realm, ensuring the Heaven and Earth Spiritual Root, the Flat Peach Tree, was preserved.”
During the great calamity at the Central Imperial City, Suihan and Tai Zai Wang Shiqi had fallen into the hands of Zhou Zhen and Shentu Yunkong, gravely injured. It was indeed Zhang Ruochen who saved them and healed them with the Spring of Life.
“Let’s not dwell on the past,” Zhang Ruochen said.
Suddenly, he thought of something and asked, “How has the Talent been these past years?”
Suihan knew who he meant, saying, “Nalan has long left the Ziwei Palace, no longer meddling in worldly affairs, and has secluded herself in the Book Sect. I haven’t seen her in centuries.”
Few people lingered in Zhang Ruochen’s mind from the Kunlun Realm, but the Saintly Book Talent, his confidante, was one of them, leaving an indelible mark from his youth. Her every smile and gesture was unforgettable.
A true confidante, someone he longed to sit with, discuss the world, and share thoughts, was perhaps only her.
Other women, like Luo Ji or Ji Fanchen, carried too much ethereal grace. Even with intimate bonds, Zhang Ruochen still felt a slight distance.
Ling Feiyu, Bai Qing’er, Chi Yao, Prajna, or Luo Sha were either too assertive or guarded in their hearts.
Mu Lingxi and Kong Lanyou never hid their feelings, but their bond felt more like family, rooted in reliance and closeness, akin to lifelong companionship.
If Zhang Ruochen had ever experienced a spiritual, emotional love, it was with the Talent.
Two people, supposed enemies, became friends, risking their lives for each other. Their bond was clear, though never spoken aloud.
Perhaps neither wished to take it further.
Further steps might not lead to a good outcome.
…
Suihan watched Zhang Ruochen and Kong Lanyou leave before boarding the holy carriage.
One of the zither attendants, curious, asked, “Who was he, worthy of a great saint’s three bows?”
“An old friend from the martial world,” Suihan replied, naturally unwilling to reveal Zhang Ruochen’s return to the Kunlun Realm. Yet, as he sat in the carriage, he pondered whether to inform the Saintly Book Talent.
He knew that in the two or three centuries after Zhang Ruochen’s disappearance, she had repeatedly asked him if the Heavenly Palace had any news of him.
Later, she secluded herself in the Book Sect, withdrawing from the world, and Suihan had not seen her since.
…
Since they were in Tiantai Prefecture, a visit to the Sword Tomb was in order.
Zhang Ruochen brought out Shi Ren, who had been cultivating talisman arts with the Heaven-Connecting Divine Tree in the Qiankun Realm, and returned him to the Sword Tomb. After a millennium of cultivation, Shi Ren’s talisman mastery had reached great heights, destined to become a pillar of the Kunlun Realm’s talisman path.
At the insistence of Shi Qiankun, the patriarch of the Prison-Suppressing Ancient Clan, Zhang Ruochen and Kong Lanyou stayed one night at the Sword Tomb, departing the next day.
Regrettably, Zhenmiao, the sentient Saintly Mushroom who had been cultivating with the clan, had already left for parts unknown.
As a saintly medicine with a Supreme Saint Artifact, its boldness in wandering freely surprised Zhang Ruochen, contrasting sharply with Little Black’s timidity.
Riding on the peacock’s back, Kong Lanyou smiled and asked, “You returned the Heavenly Demon Stone Tablets to the Blood God Sect, passed the Buddha Relic at Sikong Zen Temple, and sent a friend back to the Sword Tomb. Is the next stop the Book Sect to see your old confidante?”
Zhang Ruochen shook his head with a smile, saying, “How about visiting Saintly Bright City instead?”
The peacock descended, landing by the wide Tongming River.
Zhang Ruochen took out a saintly ship from his spatial ring, and with Kong Lanyou, they sailed toward Saintly Bright City, feeling an unprecedented sense of ease and openness.
At times, they sat on the deck, admiring the scenery on both banks.
At others, they fished with rods they had bought.
Sometimes, they played music together, Zhang Ruochen on the zither, Kong Lanyou on the flute.
As the Saintly Bright Prince, Zhang Ruochen was skilled in music, having composed the “Lanyou Melody” for Kong Lanyou.
Yet, for years, he had been consumed by vengeance and pursued by enemies, burying his talents.
This return to the Kunlun Realm, Zhang Ruochen sought neither bloodshed nor forced cultivation, only his true self, yearning to wander freely and revisit the landscapes of his past.
Hearing of Ling Feiyu’s troubles, he felt a flicker of concern, but upon reflection, such events must have been frequent over the millennium.
It showed that without him, the Kunlun Realm’s cultivators could endure.
There was no need to see himself as indispensable or to live so heavily burdened.
Even the greatest trials, Ling Feiyu had overcome before; surely, she could handle this one.
Zhang Ruochen played the zither, Kong Lanyou the flute, their harmony growing, their music heavenly and enchanting.
Passersby on nearby boats cheered, some enthralled, others inviting them to share drinks.
Zhang Ruochen did not refuse, joining them as an ordinary person, drinking, dining, and laughing about life’s many facets. The next day, they parted, wishing each other well, saying the martial world was vast, and to return home safely.
After touring Saintly Bright City, they climbed Kongle Mountain.
For Zhang Ruochen, Kongle Mountain, outside Saintly Bright City, held special meaning, symbolizing his past with Chi Yao.
On New Year’s Eve at sixteen, he and Chi Yao watched the city’s myriad lights from Kongle Mountain.
The next day, he died by her sword.
A thousand years ago, on another New Year’s Eve, Chi Yao returned as Huang Yanchen, and they climbed Kongle Mountain again, gazing at the city’s splendor.
Zhang Ruochen had once told Kong Lanyou the origin of her name and promised to bring her to Kongle Mountain to see the night’s myriad lights, a promise unfulfilled.
Perhaps by fate, today was New Year’s Eve again.
But tonight, Zhang Ruochen did not wish to stay at Kongle Mountain. He planned to return to the Eastern Region, to Wang Mountain, to the Bright Sect, where his family awaited. For a festival, one should reunite with kin.
The Bright Sect was built on Wang Mountain, by the banks of Luo River.
Outside the mountain, a great city had risen.
Zhang Ruochen recalled that when he was at Wang Mountain, only a single wall had been built, fortified by Little Black’s defensive array to fend off attacks from the Hell Realm and other major worlds of the Heavenly Court.
Who could have imagined that, a millennium later, the wall had been expanded time and again, the city’s scale far surpassing the former Yunwu Commandery City?
When Zhang Ruochen, Kong Lanyou, and Kong Xuan reached the city gate, the sun was setting.
The sky glowed red, clouds ablaze.
“Rumble!”
The sound of beast hooves echoed as a troop of armored soldiers galloped from afar, stirring thick dust.
“The Eight Hundred Ninety-Fourth Young Master returns to the city!”
“The Eight Hundred Ninety-Fourth Young Master returns from hunting in the Mysterious Wilderness, looking like he’s had great success.”
…
The city gate opened wide, with many cultivators coming out to greet.
Zhang Ruochen, Kong Lanyou, and Kong Xuan stepped aside by the gate, curiously looking on.
With Zhang Ruochen’s current cultivation, such juniors hardly warranted his attention or curiosity, but the title “Eight Hundred Ninety-Fourth Young Master” sounded odd.
Besides the Silent Extinction Great Emperor of the Broad Cold Realm, had the Bright Sect also produced someone with nearly a thousand children?
Escorted by armored soldiers, a silver war chariot, pulled by two iron elephant beasts, sped to the gate and stopped.
A young man in white scale armor and a red-clad girl stepped down from the chariot.
The youth, striking and proud, ordered, “Move the game into Bright City in batches. This young master must return to the sect first. It’s New Year’s Eve; I can’t be late! Cut off the Red Cloud Deer’s ears—my old man loves those!”
Zhang Ruochen, Kong Lanyou, and Kong Xuan had already entered the city.
Kong Lanyou, noticing Zhang Ruochen’s persistent smile since entering the gate, asked, “What’s so funny?”
“Let me tell you a joke: a fat man had a thousand children,” Zhang Ruochen said, having deduced who the Eight Hundred Ninety-Fourth Young Master’s father was.
Kong Lanyou didn’t laugh, finding it not amusing at all.
Passing through Bright City and climbing stone steps, they reached the Bright Sect’s mountain gate.
Even at the gate, holy qi permeated, with ancient spiritual trees, their hanging roots like coiled dragons.
At the gate, two Bright Sect disciples stopped them, saying it was too late today and they’d need to present a visiting card tomorrow to enter.
“How audacious! Do you know who stands before you?”
Kong Xuan unleashed saintly might, forcing the two disciples to their knees.
“Ignorance is no crime,” Zhang Ruochen said, waving for Kong Xuan to retract her might. Hands behind his back, he ignored the sect’s protective array inscriptions and stepped inside.
At that moment, the Eight Hundred Ninety-Fourth Young Master and the red-clad girl arrived at the gate.
“I am Zhang Eight Hundred Ninety-Four of the Bright Sect. Why do you intrude on our gate, Senior? Do you know this is a capital offense?” the young master called out, rushing to block Zhang Ruochen’s path.
The red-clad girl drew her sword, pointing it at Zhang Ruochen.
“Are names given so carelessly? Fair enough—if I had so many children, I’d struggle with names too, unable to remember who’s who, so numbers would do,” Zhang Ruochen remarked.
Noticing they were siblings, he looked at the red-clad girl, curiously asking, “And you’re Zhang what?”
“Zhang Yanyan,” the girl said coldly.
“She’s my nine hundred twenty-first sister,” Zhang Eight Hundred Ninety-Four said.
Zhang Ruochen nodded, saying, “Numbers for a girl’s name aren’t ideal.”
Kong Xuan’s earlier burst of saintly might had clearly alerted the Bright Sect’s saint-realm powerhouses.
As dusk deepened, beams of saintly light shot from various cave abodes, piercing the twilight, heading toward the mountain gate.
