That day, Fang Zhun secretly went down the mountain to drink wine. When he returned, not only did he bring back over a dozen wine jars, he was also carrying a dead person in his hand.

The gatekeeper disciple couldn’t help but exclaim in surprise upon seeing him. “Martial Uncle! Why bring back a dead person?”

He tugged at that person’s hair, displaying the filthy face whose color couldn’t be discerned. “How does he resemble a dead person? He clearly still has breath.”

This movement was rather forceful. That person made a humming sound and moved slightly—indeed not a dead person.

That child Feng Di was practicing meditation at Zhiyan Studio. Hearing the sounds of Master returning, he listlessly went out to greet him.

“Master, you’ve returned…” Before finishing his words, something foul-smelling flew toward him. Feng Di hurriedly caught it with his hands—heavy, it was a person, even dirtier and smellier than a beggar.

Frightened, he was about to throw it away when he heard Fang Zhun instruct, “Wash him clean, find some clothes to change him into. When he wakes, bring him to see me.”

Feng Di looked at the beggar-like person in his hands with difficulty and disgust. After a long while, he could only say yes.

With great effort, he fetched hot water, stripped off that person’s filthy clothes, and scrubbed him thoroughly clean, washing three times. Only then, when he pushed aside the drenched hair and looked carefully, did he discover this was actually a delicate-featured youth who seemed seriously ill—not a trace of blood color on his face, lips cracked beyond recognition.

He took some cotton, dipped it in water, and lightly dabbed at his lips. Seeing the youth’s eyelids trembling as if about to wake, he said in a low voice, “How do you feel? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?”

The youth suddenly opened his eyes—both pupils pitch-black, actually like icy valleys, looking him up and down without speaking.

Feng Di froze under his gaze. This person had eyes completely different from his wretched appearance.

“This is the immortal mountain Qingyuan. My master is an immortal—he’s the one who brought you back. You needn’t be afraid.”

He softly comforted while taking a set of his own clothes to change him into. His finger accidentally touched the youth’s bare shoulder. That youth’s reaction was extreme—shrinking back violently, revealing an expression of wariness mixed with hatred.

Feng Di was startled again. Unable to suppress his temper, he said urgently, “What are you doing? I’m not trying to eat you!”

The youth said nothing, quickly dressing himself. His build was tall and slender, yet much thinner than Feng Di. Those clothes were extremely loose and baggy, making him appear even more gaunt and sharp-featured. The drenched long hair was loose, swept diagonally to one side, revealing a snow-white profile—bridge of nose refined, eyelashes long and curled, handsome as a girl.

Feng Di first rolled his eyes, but seeing the youth’s beauty, his heart couldn’t help wanting to be closer to him. Just about to speak, he suddenly heard him say in a low voice, “Didn’t you say your master brought me here? Where is your master?”

The voice was somewhat hoarse yet carried a trace of languid laziness—quite alluring.

Feng Di grumbled internally, not particularly liking his impolite attitude, yet said aloud, “You… follow me.”

Fang Zhun was reading in his room. Seeing Feng Di bring the youth, he set down his book and smiled slightly.

“You’re awake? You suffered many injuries. I treated them for you. Are you still uncomfortable anywhere?”

The youth still didn’t speak. Both eyes extraordinarily bright, he stared fixedly at him. After a while, he suddenly stepped forward. “Are you Qingling Zhenjun?”

Fang Zhun froze. “No, I am…”

“My master is Fang Zhun Zhenren! What nonsense are you spouting?” Feng Di, always protective of his master, quickly jumped out to clarify.

The youth’s eyes moved slightly. Lowering his head, he said again, “Then… may I ask if Zhenren knows where Qingling Zhenjun is?”

Fang Zhun stroked his chin, examining him carefully from all angles. “Though Qingling Zhenjun established his hall at Mount Xiaoyao in Xuanzhou, he rarely stays there. He’s always had no fixed residence, wandering everywhere. From your appearance, you seem not to know him. Why seek him?”

Because at that time, the Ten Islands Within the Seas had a flourishing evil cult proclaiming “Slaughter Gods and Kill Immortals,” specifically ambushing places where scattered immortals gathered to cause trouble. Those minor scattered immortals without much cultivation easily lost their lives. Though powerful scattered immortals weren’t afraid of these troublemakers, they still found them bothersome.

This youth’s origins were unknown, covered in injuries—some torn and clawed by demon beasts, others hacked out by tools like hoes and iron spades. He was probably no good person.

Better to be cautious after all.

The youth lowered his head without speaking, beginning to play mute.

Feng Di said urgently, “Hey, my master is speaking to you!”

As if he hadn’t heard, he kept his head down, eyelashes like dense little fans, trembling slightly.

Fang Zhun smiled. “Since you’re unwilling to speak, that’s fine too. Stay here first. Though your injuries have been healed with magic, it’s still quite a drain on your body. Feng Di, take him to the back, tidy up a tiled room for him to stay temporarily… Right, what’s your name?”

The youth was silent for a moment. “I don’t know… I’ve forgotten.”

Fang Zhun didn’t mind. “Feng Di, after settling him in, go down the mountain to buy some food. You’re… hungry, aren’t you?”

The youth remained silent.

Fang Zhun said no more, waving his hand to dismiss them both.

Feng Di was very dissatisfied with this ungrateful youth, rolling his eyes repeatedly along the way. After helping tidy the room, just as he was about to push the door and leave, he suddenly heard him say softly from behind, “Thank you.”

Actually, he wasn’t a bad person either.

When Feng Di returned again, he’d brought many delicious things.

The youth stayed on like this.

He was very weak, completely unable to leave Zhiyan Studio—the wind and snow outside would break him. He was also very quiet, able to go two or three days without speaking a word.

Yet no one could ignore his existence, even when he didn’t speak, like a shadow.

His eyes were too beautiful, too bright, always silently and attentively observing everything here, carrying a trace of youthful curiosity along with a trace of caution and weariness inappropriate for his age.

He kept his mouth shut about everything concerning himself. Fang Zhun didn’t ask either, which frustrated Feng Di, wanting to ask yet not daring.

The youth stayed for approximately ten days. His face gradually gained color, no longer appearing as if he’d break with a single snap like when he first arrived.

He always liked leaning by the window, playing with apricot blossoms that fell on the windowsill.

Outside, apricot blossoms bloomed magnificently. He wore a robe washed to whiteness. His skin was crystalline—in the sunlight he resembled a jade statue.

Feng Di had originally been concentrating on listening to Fang Zhun explain incantations, yet his gaze couldn’t help drifting there.

If not for that day when he’d stripped his clothes to wash him, he truly wouldn’t dare believe this person was male. Everyone said that Martial Uncle Fang Ye’s daughter, Senior Martial Sister Bairu, was beautiful, a rare beauty. However, Feng Di felt she didn’t compare to even half of this mysterious youth.

Lost in thought, he suddenly heard Fang Zhun say, “…Well, have you memorized it?”

Feng Di immediately felt embarrassed, opening his mouth unable to speak. He hadn’t been listening to Master explain incantations at all!

Fang Zhun never rebuked disciples. When they didn’t concentrate on listening to lectures, he would just look at them with a half-smile. This expression was quite torturous. Feng Di’s face flushed red with shame.

The youth behind suddenly said, “It doesn’t seem very difficult. I can recite it.”

He rattled off a long string—all extremely awkward and difficult incantations—actually not missing a single word. Feng Di heard his own jaw dislocate. Even Fang Zhun was somewhat surprised, saying in wonder, “Not simple—you can recite it after hearing it twice. What about this section?”

He spoke another even longer string of incantations. The first time he spoke rather slowly, the second time faster.

That youth immediately repeated it, then smiled, brows relaxing. “How interesting. Is it a curse text?”

Feng Di couldn’t speak. Fang Zhun’s eyes brightened instead. Walking over, he smiled. “Truly excellent. How about it—want to become my disciple?”

Master! Feng Di was greatly shocked. How could he take someone he’d only just met with unknown origins as a disciple?

The youth lowered his head. “No, I should take my leave. I must go find Qingling Zhenjun. Thank you, Immortal, for your care these days. I’m deeply grateful.”

Fang Zhun’s gaze was gentle. He said softly, “Leaving like this, you’ll be bullied again, won’t you? When I found you in the forest, those men were about to…”

“Don’t say it!” The youth’s complexion suddenly turned deathly pale.

Fang Zhun didn’t continue, softening his voice. “Learn some self-defense skills—later you won’t be bullied anymore. A child with your temperament should understand this principle.”

The youth inhaled deeply several times. His agitated expression gradually calmed. He stepped from the window, kneeling before Fang Zhun, respectfully kowtowing three times. “This disciple greets Master.”

He’d actually truly taken a master.

Feng Di couldn’t help saying in a low voice, “Master, his origins…”

Fang Zhun waved his hand to interrupt, saying warmly, “I can refrain from asking about your origins and name, but you must tell me why you seek Qingling Zhenjun? From your accent, you don’t seem to be from here. Have you encountered some difficulty?”

The youth lowered his head thinking for a while, then said softly, “Fine, I’ll speak. But I’ll only tell you alone. Please come over.”

“Master, beware of trickery!” Seeing Fang Zhun walk over without suspicion, Feng Di quickly reminded him.

However, it seemed no one took his reminder seriously. His master was highly skilled and bold, thus living particularly open and honest. For everything, only this bitter-fated disciple could play the villain—truly depressing.

The two spoke beneath the apricot tree for a long time. Finally that youth bowed respectfully to him, then turned and walked to Feng Di’s side.

Fang Zhun’s expression showed unprecedented seriousness. He said, “Feng Di, first teach Feng Yi how to meditate. Your master has matters to attend to. I’ll examine the results when I return.”

Feng Yi? Feng Di froze again, immediately realizing this was the Daoist name Master had given this junior martial brother. His appearance was handsome and refined—he truly deserved the character “Yi” (Deportment). But this didn’t mean he had to accept him. This person was mysterious and extremely arrogant—his temperament didn’t suit Feng Di’s taste at all.

Of course, the most critical reason was that he could actually remember such awkward incantations after hearing them twice.

Feng Di felt a strong sense of crisis.

Feng Yi walked over with a smile on his face, bowing respectfully while addressing him with utmost respect, “Senior Martial Brother.”

That thread of aversion in Feng Di’s heart suddenly vanished. Being a senior martial brother didn’t feel bad. He coughed once, putting on a proper serious face, saying solemnly, “Master told me to teach you meditation. Let’s begin now!”

In any case, being Feng Yi’s senior martial brother was a relaxed and pleasant matter.

No matter what he taught, Feng Yi learned extremely quickly. Feng Di had always felt his master was the world’s smartest immortal. Then in his heart, Feng Yi was the world’s smartest mortal.

That afternoon, he taught very satisfyingly. Satisfying yet vexing. Occasionally thinking how clever he was—probably within a few years, his learning would surpass himself. He thought if things truly reached that point, it wouldn’t do. He was the senior martial brother after all—being inferior to his junior martial brother would become a joke, wouldn’t it?

Watching Feng Yi successfully enter meditation without a sound, he simply also sat cross-legged together with him, focusing together, entering the supremely satisfying meditation state.

That afternoon, what Master went to do, he didn’t know at first. Later he heard from other disciples.

Over taking Feng Yi as a disciple, Master had a huge argument with Grand Master. Reportedly, Grand Master resolutely disagreed with Feng Yi entering the sect. Master insisted. The two finally parted on bad terms. When Master returned, he rarely carried a trace of anger. For two whole days, aside from teaching them cultivation, he didn’t speak a single idle word.

At that time, he didn’t understand what had actually happened. After very many years passed, he finally understood what Master and Grand Master’s dispute that year had been about. Only he understood too late.

Under Master’s insistence, Feng Yi became a true Qingyuan disciple. From then on, the two fellow martial brothers began healthy competition between themselves.

Today you meditated for two hours, then I’ll do three hours. You memorized two kinds of formulas, I’ll memorize four.

Fang Zhun was obviously satisfied with this healthy competition. Also because their progress was especially fast, what he taught became increasingly abundant. Qingyuan disciples mentioning Martial Uncle Fang Zhun’s two disciples would click their tongues in admiration, privately giving them both a nickname—”Cultivation Maniacs”—one month’s learning equivalent to others’ one year.

Ten years of time flowed past like rushing water. The originally pale and handsome youth, gentle as a girl, had also grown into a tall and slender young man.

Feng Di often got lost, unconsciously running back to Zhiyan Studio. Each time he could see different female disciples coming to chat and laugh with Feng Yi. He was born beautiful, loved to smile, spoke particularly pleasantly—young female disciples all liked him.

After the female disciples left, Feng Di inevitably would worriedly pull him to talk. “Feng Yi, you and I—cultivation is currently the fundamental root. Those romantic feelings between men and women, best not to become entangled, lest it delay cultivation.”

Feng Yi then smiled especially innocently. “Not at all—Senior Martial Brother jests. They’re all the ones coming to speak with me. Can’t very well make them just stand there dryly, can I?”

What he said was also right. Feng Di could only say, “In any case, with female disciples, especially those junior disciples, best pay attention to your words and actions.”

Feng Yi said lightly, “Senior Martial Brother is saying I was frivolous. I understand. From now on I won’t laugh and chat with them.”

Of course that wasn’t his meaning! But after ten years together, he’d also figured out Feng Yi’s temperament quite clearly. Ordinarily he seemed completely harmonious, smiling warmly—actually inside he was extremely proud, tolerating no errors including himself, tolerating no contempt, even Master’s single joking remark.

Feng Di sighed. “I’m doing this for your own good. You should understand my meaning.”

Feng Yi smiled. Fortunately, he still knew who truly cared for him.

“I know. Thank you, Senior Martial Brother.”

Feng Di patted his shoulder, very gratified.

Later, Qingyuan’s reputation grew larger and larger. Daily, people coming up the mountain to seek masters were numerous as ants, yet disciples accepted into the sect became fewer and fewer.

One day, Martial Uncle Fang Ning led a delicate-featured young girl to their door, saying his own disciples were already too numerous—this little girl should be temporarily accepted by Fang Zhun.

Fang Zhun spoke with Fang Ning outside. The two of them hid by the door peeking. Seeing that little girl’s bright and beautiful appearance, Feng Yi couldn’t help smiling softly. “Having such a little junior martial sister wouldn’t be bad.”

Feng Di couldn’t suppress his curiosity, craning most of his head to look. Just then that young lady also turned her head over. The two made eye contact. Feng Di felt somewhat awkward, smiling at her in a friendly manner. That girl’s face reddened instead, slowly lowering her head.

Feng Yi said, “Senior Martial Brother, she seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Feng Di rebuked, “Don’t talk nonsense!” His own ears also reddened somewhat. Feeling this peeking was improper, he simply straightened his body to leave.

Just then, Fang Zhun spoke inside. “I’ve already taken two disciples—I’m afraid I can’t manage. Better wait until these two children can stand on their own. Disappointing Senior Martial Brother’s kind intentions—I feel very sorry.”

Fang Ning could only take that little girl away. Feng Yi, seeing Feng Di’s disappointed and confused expression, smiled. “Why not petition Master to keep her?”

Feng Di glared at him once and left with a flick of his sleeve.

Later, that girl took one of Martial Uncle Fang Ye’s disciples as master, taking the Daoist name “Manqing.” Also because of that startling glimpse at Zhiyan Studio that day, she actually became attached to Feng Di, making him avoid her frantically—but that’s a story for later.

Only after this incident did Feng Di occasionally think—if they truly had another little junior martial sister, it wouldn’t be a bad thing either.

At that time, he’d been cultivating for not long. Inevitably he had moments of restless agitation. The Manqing matter made him somewhat distracted with flights of fancy. He knew it wasn’t right, yet couldn’t resolve it, so he could only go find Feng Yi to chat.

Walking into the apricot blossom forest, from afar he saw Feng Yi leaning against a tree sitting in meditation. Only the posture was somewhat wrong, back against the tree—this fellow was actually slacking and sleeping while meditating! He laughed for a while, quickly walking over to startle him. Just arriving before him, Feng Yi’s entire body suddenly trembled violently, as if encountering something extremely terrifying, abruptly jumping up from the ground, face deathly pale, gasping loudly.

Feng Di himself was actually startled, saying urgently, “What happened?”

Feng Yi turned his head sharply, staring blankly at him as if looking at some demon or ghost. After a very long time, his expression gradually calmed. Wearily rubbing his temples, he said in a low voice, “No… nothing, just had a nightmare…”

Feng Di smiled. “In broad daylight like this, what nightmare? Feng Yi, do you still remember that Manqing?”

But he seemed not to hear his words, spacing out for a while himself. Hearing him repeatedly call his name, he hurriedly turned saying, “What… what Manqing?”

After speaking, as if suddenly reacting, he revealed a somewhat strange smile. “Senior Martial Brother, you’re still thinking of her? Since you’re interested in her, simply report to Master and fulfill you two.”

These words didn’t sound very pleasant. Feng Di had originally had a bellyful of concerns to tell him, but instead was blocked from speaking, leaving with a stern face.

From then on, he couldn’t help but self-examine, becoming alert that such thoughts were wrong. Thereafter seeing Manqing, he put on an even colder face, unwilling to say half an extra word. Slowly, those vexing concerns also seemed to gradually settle, returning to former peace.

Feng Yi gradually became somewhat wrong instead—often mentally distracted. Just a few months, and originally plump cheeks had hollowed out, complexion again becoming that pale color from when he first arrived.

He often hesitated to speak, as if having some difficult matter.

Feng Di, because last time when he’d wanted to discuss concerns with him, had instead been blocked back with an unpleasant remark, was quite bothered. This time he simply assumed he’d also encountered some unspeakable concern, thus deliberately pretended not to know, didn’t ask him.

Master Fang Zhun was even more absent-minded. He could manage himself well enough—how could he perceive disciples’ delicate sensitive emotional changes?

One day, accepting a demon-elimination task from the Breaking Army Department, Master took them both out, treating it as practice for subduing demons and eliminating evil.

Feng Yi was mentally distracted the entire journey, very much not in the zone. As a result, during demon elimination he indeed had problems—only focusing on the demon before him while forgetting the one behind. If not for Fang Zhun’s timely intervention, he’d nearly had his body bitten in half by that tiger demon.

Afterward, Fang Zhun rebuked him. Feng Yi only lowered his head without speaking, appearing absent-minded.

Fang Zhun thus became somewhat annoyed, saying, “If you’re unwilling to put effort into cultivation, simply tell your master early on. Also saves pointlessly making a trip out—do you truly think this is sightseeing?”

These words made Feng Yi suddenly raise his head, staring fixedly at him.

Many years later, when Feng Di recalled his expression at that time, his heart couldn’t help feeling sour—like having countless things to say yet being told the listener refused to hear.

Feng Yi said nothing, turning and leaving.

Later… he seemed to change greatly, yet also seemed unchanged—still loved to smile, still could speak many sweet words.

Even later… Hu Sha came.

Even even later… they all left again.

Finally… Feng Yi became a demon.

One day, he looked at him with those blood-colored eyes, as if looking at a stranger. At that time, Feng Di finally awakened to realize—the junior martial brother who could once share concerns with him, laugh happily together, would never return.

“You understand nothing.” This was what Feng Yi said.

Yes, he truly understood nothing, personally pushing someone into a pit of fire.

If, if at that time, he’d been willing to listen, to ask, to care—would everything still have developed to today’s state?

However, even asking himself over and over in his heart, no one gave him an answer.

His entire life was destined to live in regret, never able to turn over for eternity.