Because Meng Jianqing was escorting him, Li Keji encountered no difficulties changing horses at post stations along the way.
When they rushed back to Qingcheng, it was only the third day of the sixth month, but they were still a step too late—Lady Ye had passed away the previous day.
Now that Li Keji had returned, Lady Ye’s funeral arrangements were quickly completed. She was buried to the right side of Li Ruilin, with a tomb space left on the left for his first wife, Lady Zhou. After the funeral, the Li clan members hurriedly dispersed, fearing that being too close to Li Keji would bring them trouble.
Only Li Keji and Iron Flute Autumn remained standing before the grave, with Meng Jianqing waiting patiently behind them.
Looking down at Qingcheng from the mountain in the evening, everything was shrouded in light mist.
Observing coldly, Meng Jianqing saw that Iron Flute Autumn was thinner and darker than in his portrait, hardly human in appearance.
His condition seemed quite poor…
Iron Flute Autumn said slowly, “Keji, do you know why I refused to accept recruitment from Zhu Yuanzhang and his people back then?”
His sudden mention of this matter greatly confused Li Keji, who replied: “I don’t know.”
Meng Jianqing deliberately ignored the arrogance of addressing the Hongwu Emperor by name and waited for his answer.
These words were not only for Li Keji, but also for him, for Shen Guangli, and for the Hongwu Emperor.
A dreamy smile appeared on Iron Flute Autumn’s face: “Simply because I was born unwilling to be beneath others, born unwilling to be constrained by anyone. Do you understand?”
That simple?
As if hearing their inner doubts, Iron Flute Autumn continued: “However, that’s only half the reason. As for the other half, who can claim eternal ownership of these rivers and mountains? Every two or three hundred years brings a new cycle. Why should I waste my precious time on such empty fame? Life is less than a hundred years, yet we constantly worry for a thousand years; if youth doesn’t seek pleasure, we waste our prime years!”
When he spoke these last words, he was almost howling at the sky, the radiance on his face causing Li Keji to smile slightly.
This was the Iron Flute Autumn he knew—proud and free as wind and clouds.
Meng Jianqing pondered in silence.
He thought of Wen Ruhai. Wen Ruhai was the same type of person as Iron Flute Autumn and Li Keji, which was why they naturally came together.
They were so different from him, from the rest of the world.
Iron Flute Autumn continued: “When I met Caiwei, I realized no one can truly be carefree for an entire lifetime.”
Meng Jianqing’s heart skipped a beat.
So that was it.
Even Iron Flute Autumn could not escape this trial.
Just as he could not escape his old dreams of the sea—like smoke and mist, vague and indistinct, yet constantly entangling him.
Iron Flute Autumn’s face showed an expression both bitter and blissfully content.
The young Ye Caiwei was not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and she strongly disapproved of his dissolute behavior. But she was so intelligent, determined, and composed, with such enormous courage hidden beneath her delicate exterior. This was his obsession.
Speaking of such matters to Li Keji would shock the world, but Iron Flute Autumn saw it as natural. Li Keji was Caiwei’s son—only he was qualified to hear his innermost thoughts.
Did this hopeless love, made more persistent by its impossibility, bring him more pain or more joy? Iron Flute Autumn himself could not determine. This was the shackle he had placed upon himself. He had originally thought nothing and no one in the world could bind him.
Iron Flute Autumn stroked the tombstone and continued: “When I heard news of your trouble, I understood immediately—when Xiang Zhuang dances with his sword, his intention is toward the Duke of Pei. This was directed at me. But I was unwilling to admit defeat. I thought that, according to the law, you should not be guilty of any serious crime in the Dongting Lake case. Though Caiwei worried about you, she refused to let me go plead for mercy.”
Li Keji gazed at the tombstone. Iron Flute Autumn had carved it with his own hands.
Iron Flute Autumn raised his head, letting the cold raindrops fall on his face, and said slowly: “Caiwei’s illness grew worse. I used my true qi to sustain her life while summoning Xuanhu Daoist to treat her. But Xuanhu Daoist said hers was a heart ailment—years of worry and grief had accumulated without release, and once triggered, it was like an avalanche, impossible to save. Only then did I realize that for the sake of my pride, I had made Caiwei endure such torment. In my entire life, my only attachment was one I created for myself, and one I destroyed with my own hands.”
He spoke very calmly, but Li Keji, who had lived with him day and night for over ten years, sensed the dead, withered sadness in his heart.
Iron Flute Autumn turned to look at Li Keji, as if trying to find traces of Ye Caiwei in his face. After a while, he said, “Keji, even for your sake, I will not go to Yingtian. If I were to bow my head in defeat and enter court service, how could I face Caiwei’s devoted care for me? She always knew what kind of person I was and would never force me to act against my nature. I could not lower my head to save her while she lived—now that she’s gone, what meaning would bowing my head have? So, Keji, from now on, you must rely entirely on yourself.”
He looked back at the darkening sky, let out a long breath, and said: “Qingcheng Mountain is what Daoists call the seventeenth blessed realm under heaven. To spend my final years here is also my good fortune.”
Li Keji’s spirit couldn’t help but tremble: “Master, you mean—”
Before he could finish, he suddenly turned to look down the mountain slope.
An aged, hoarse voice shouted from below: “Iron Daoist, don’t think you can just walk away!”
Meng Jianqing couldn’t help but start in surprise.
Racing up the mountain slope was Old Yan, whom they hadn’t seen for many days!
Iron Flute Autumn stared for a moment before recognizing who it was, then laughed heartily: “Yan Da, so it’s you! If you want to settle old scores, first get past my disciple; if you can defeat him, I’ll naturally come find you!”
Before Old Yan could get close, Iron Flute Autumn patted Li Keji’s shoulder and leaped up.
Old Yan cried out wildly, throwing three short knives like meteors to intercept Iron Flute Autumn.
But Li Keji’s soft sword wrapped around his waist had already been unsheathed. Moving like lightning with his sword like a rainbow, he slashed diagonally through the rain. With three clanging sounds, the three short knives were deflected and flew back. Seeing Old Yan’s crazed expression and apparent unawareness of dodging, Meng Jianqing immediately threw three small knives, striking the returning short knives sideways and sending them all flying into a grove of tombs several zhang away.
Iron Flute Autumn had already swept past tombstones and burial mounds of various sizes, disappearing into the misty Qingcheng Mountains, with bursts of laughter that seemed like both song and weeping echoing from afar.
Old Yan stood there in a daze.
Seeing his expression of utter despair, Meng Jianqing couldn’t help but feel moved.
Master Yan Da, who had first mastered blade techniques, had retired in his prime years and never achieved the renowned reputation in the tumultuous jianghu like Master Yan Er, for one reason only—he should never have encountered Iron Flute Autumn and been defeated by this young, arrogant, heaven-blessed talent. Back then, everyone thought Master Yan Er was invincible, but thinking about it now, whether intentionally or not, he had never actually faced Iron Flute Autumn in combat.
Old Yan had probably spent the latter half of his life dreaming of another battle with Iron Flute Autumn to wash away his shame.
But he couldn’t even get past Li Keji.
For Old Yan, perhaps no greater sorrow in life existed than this.
Moreover, they all knew Iron Flute Autumn would never return.
Not even for Li Keji.
Meng Jianqing had wanted to bring the dispirited Old Yan down the mountain with them, but on second thought, he let him remain on the mountain in his daze.
He thought that when Old Yan came to his senses, he wouldn’t want anyone to have seen him lose composure.
When they reached the foot of the mountain, Li Keji couldn’t help but look back. In the misty haze, could he still see the cemetery among the pine and cypress trees?
His heart ached, and tears fell involuntarily.
From now on, he had lost the two people closest to him in this world.