Chapter 103

The two wandered aimlessly, making the four seas their home.

Later, Song Qingshi unexpectedly rescued an Elder Sword Master, gravely wounded by his treacherous disciple. The Elder Sword Master, surnamed Mo and advanced in years, had slain his unworthy apprentice. Reflecting deeply on his sorrow, he resolved to take on a new disciple of good character...

He observed Song Qingshi and Wu Huan—one blind, the other mute...

Silence was golden. Swordsmanship didn't require speech; it demanded only persistence and earnestness.

The Elder Sword Master unhesitatingly chose Song Qingshi. Though small in stature, the boy appeared docile and honest.

Song Qingshi regarded this as a boon from the formation and studied diligently. After each lesson, he meticulously jotted down questions with pen and paper: "How many degrees should a slanted sword strike be tilted—45 or 35? When forming a triangle, should it be an equilateral or scalene triangle? What is the angle bisector? What are the data for acceleration and trajectory adjustment? Should the movement be inward or outward first? At which position? How many seconds per interval?"

After reading the paper filled with questions, the Elder Sword Master pondered for a quarter of an hour before declaring solemnly, "I'd rather teach the blind one."

Song Qingshi was unceremoniously expelled from the sect, returning crestfallen to his studies of herb gathering and pill refining.

To the Elder Sword Master's astonishment, Wu Huan, despite his blindness, displayed extraordinary talent. Once taught, he never made the same mistake twice and could apply the lesson to other situations. His senses were remarkably keen, far exceeding those of ordinary people. The Elder Sword Master grew increasingly fond of him, almost treating him like a son, imparting all his knowledge in hopes that Wu Huan would comprehend the true path of the Heart Sword.

This was the lifelong pursuit of every Sword Cultivator.

First, master the form of the sword; then, cultivate its intent; finally, forge the Heart of the Sword to cleave through all obstacles and ascend to the pinnacle of swordsmanship.

...

Time flowed swiftly in Peach Blossom Valley.

Wu Huan practiced day and night without cease. For ten years, he honed his swordsmanship while Song Qingshi remained by his side, refining pills for a decade. Leveraging the Elder Sword Master’s connections and resources, Song Qingshi gathered various materials, crafting precious elixirs to expand Wu Huan’s mortal meridians, aiding his cultivation and accelerating his progress. In doing so, Song Qingshi neglected his own cultivation, significantly slowing his own advancement.

Finally, Wu Huan formed a Golden Core.

Overjoyed, the Elder Sword Master renamed him Mo Yuan.

Song Qingshi was stunned.

"My original name’s origins are unknown. If people discovered it came from such a sordid place, it might tarnish Master’s reputation," Wu Huan—now Mo Yuan—agreed. "From now on, I wish to erase that past entirely and draw a clear line with it."

Though the town had been small and he had never officially worked as a courtesan in Tianxiang Tower, the stigma remained. Moreover, his beauty was unforgettable to all who saw him.

Now grown, his features had blossomed into even greater allure. Even when he darkened his face with ointment before venturing out, he still encountered male and female cultivators seeking his affection—or worse, those who took advantage of his blindness to force themselves upon him. Such scoundrels became either targets for sword practice or poison trials.

If he didn’t change his name, what if he gained fame in swordsmanship only to have his origins exposed? The gossip would be relentless, and public opinion could be cruel.

Who would believe a former male courtesan was virtuous? It would only invite unwanted advances and unnecessary trouble.

Song Qingshi understood the Elder Sword Master and Mo Yuan’s reasoning, but he struggled against it: "Couldn’t they choose a different name?"

Though he had read of Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign’s glorious history in books and now walked the same path within his formation, fragments of lost memories hinted at a tragic end—Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign had gone mad, hadn't he?

"No! This name is far too ominous!"

Song Qingshi frantically scribbled protests on wooden boards, but his efforts were inefficient and chaotic.

The Elder Sword Master, baffled and somewhat irritated, snapped, "What’s wrong with the name I chose? It was my late son’s name! Is it that awful?!"

Song Qingshi stubbornly held up signs suggesting alternatives: "Mo Zi, Mo You, Mo Mo, Mo Yu, Mo Little Black."

The Elder Sword Master smacked his head. "Why don’t you just rename yourself ‘Slacker’?!"

After hearing the proposed names, Mo Yuan fell silent for a long moment before saying carefully, "I think Mo Yuan is quite nice."

This matter, like Song Qingshi’s muteness, seemed a fixed point in Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign’s memories. No matter how he resisted, it was futile—Wu Huan’s new name was swiftly decided. Though Song Qingshi stubbornly continued to call him Wu Huan, as a mute, his protests were meaningless...

Song Qingshi was despondent for days before finally pulling himself out of his gloom... Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign’s story was already history. Mourning wouldn't alter history. If this was a memory, he wanted to understand how things had unfolded and see if he could alter Wu Huan’s fate within the illusion.

Whether real or illusory, he refused to abandon hope for Wu Huan’s happiness.

...

A true Sword Cultivator needed the blood of formidable foes to temper their blade.

After the Elder Sword Master passed peacefully, Song Qingshi accompanied Mo Yuan out of Peach Blossom Valley.

The cultivation world was dark. One possessed peerless beauty; the other had a Water Single Spiritual Root ideal for furnaces—both were magnets for the wicked. They encountered countless vile individuals, some coaxing, others deceiving, some robbing, others forcing... every depravity imaginable.

Mo Yuan’s sword grew ever sharper, stained with increasing blood, and his reputation spread far and wide.

Song Qingshi searched far and wide for materials to refine the Xuantian Taiming Pill. He obtained Purple Spirit Grass and Bodhi Stone, but the Millennium Turtle’s inner core remained elusive, troubling him deeply.

Mo Yuan had long since learned to navigate his surroundings with Divine Sense, no longer troubled by his blindness. His personality grew livelier, often teasing Song Qingshi, playfully pinching his cheeks and belly. Each night, he weighed him, satisfied if he’d gained weight, worried if he’d lost any, insisting he eat properly.

On their travels, he’d heard many mock Song Qingshi’s looks. Even the Elder Sword Master often called him scrawny, small, and foolish-looking—hardly endearing.

Perhaps... Song Qingshi truly wasn’t conventionally attractive...

But Mo Yuan adored his appearance regardless! He loathed anyone speaking ill of Song Qingshi!

Each time, he’d sulk in resentment toward his master until the Elder Sword Master stopped mentioning it.

Mo Yuan didn’t fully understand his feelings for Song Qingshi, but the faint medicinal fragrance that clung to him had long seeped into his heart, entwining into an inextricable bond. Sometimes, selfishly, he thought it was just as well that Song Qingshi’s plain looks deterred others—he could cherish him alone, keep him hidden...

Yet this was wrong. Constant ridicule would only hurt him.

If plump cats were praised as cute, wouldn’t plump humans become adorable too?

Mo Yuan worked tirelessly, crafting delicious meals to fatten Song Qingshi into a pleasing plumpness. Alas, Song Qingshi’s constitution betrayed him—no matter how much he ate, he barely gained weight. Though yielding pleasantly to the touch and perfect for hugging at night, he fell far short of the plump, childlike roundness ideal.

At some point, Song Qingshi began wearing veils or wide-brimmed hats outdoors, avoiding crowds.

Mo Yuan assumed it was due to insecurity about his looks and grew even more concerned, avoiding the topic while redoubling his efforts to fatten him up. He prepared sweet treats, sought delicacies, coaxing him to eat more—short of chasing him with a spoon.

Touched by the attention, Song Qingshi rubbed his rounded belly daily, musing: "There’s a special kind of 'not full' called 'Wu Huan thinks you’re not full'..."

Their meandering journey, gathering herbs and savoring cuisines, finally led them to news of the Millennium Turtle.

In Moon Feast River’s depths lay a cave housing an ancient turtle of unknown age. Yet the cave held strange phenomena—many who emerged suffered strange mental states. Knowing Song Qingshi had long prepared medicines to restore his sight, Mo Yuan yearned to behold his most important person clearly. After discussion... despite some unease, Song Qingshi compared Mo Yuan’s age with historical records of Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign, confirming this wasn’t the time of his decline, and agreed to slay the turtle for its core.

History recorded Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign as not blind—Song Qingshi felt confident.

They entered the water smoothly but unexpectedly encountered two Water Monsters. In the struggle, the wounded creatures stirred massive waves, sweeping Mo Yuan into the cave. Song Qingshi, entangled in the monsters’ tentacles, couldn’t intervene. Desperate, he released Netherfire, dissolving one monster alive and seizing its Water Spirit Pearl to nourish his spiritual roots.

The remaining monster, maddened by its partner's death, fought viciously.

Nearly invisible underwater, it harried Song Qingshi until dusk, leaving him wounded before he finally drove it off and rushed into the cavern to search for Mo Yuan.

He saw Wu Huan sitting dazedly beside the mutilated remains of the turtle, covered in blood, as if he'd completely lost his mind, and couldn't help but be startled.

He cautiously approached and realized the blood on Wu Huan was from the turtle, finally breathing a sigh of relief.

Song Qingshi patted Wu Huan's face and traced in his palm: "Are you okay?"

"Qing... Qing Shi?" Wu Huan seemed to wake from a nightmare, gripping his hand tightly. "M-my stone is still here..." His words were jumbled, his breathing heavy, as if struggling for air. He held on so tightly it nearly crushed the bones in Song Qingshi's wrist, refusing to let go.

Song Qingshi winced in pain, noticing his unstable mental state and not daring to struggle, afraid of making it worse.

Wu Huan pulled him into his arms, clutching him tightly, pressing him against his body as if trying to swallow him whole and hide him away, yet unsure how to do so, resulting in desperate, restless movements.

Song Qingshi felt his ribs might break from the embrace, tears pricking his eyes from the pain, but he held them back, afraid to cry.

After what seemed like forever, Wu Huan gradually regained his senses, remembering how to "devour" properly. He cupped the face of the person in his arms, nuzzled it, breathed in his scent, then kissed his soft lips, parting them to demand more—whether emotions or body, he wanted to consume everything, leaving nothing behind, making it all his own to feel at ease.

He understood the desire in his heart, understood his own feelings.

Like a wild animal, he pressed forward, pleading, craving, invading, devouring, plundering...

The young man struggled slightly before yielding, gasping in his arms, retreating step by step, surrendering almost everything.

"I... I'm sorry," Wu Huan finally realized this was reality at the last moment, snapping back to his senses. Suppressing his nearly overwhelming desire, he stopped before things went too far, helped Song Qingshi straighten his clothes, and kept saying sorry. "There was a strange formation here... it trapped me in a nightmare illusion. I..."

Song Qingshi traced in his palm: "What did you dream of?"

Wu Huan froze for a long time, unwilling to recall the illusion. After a while, he said hoarsely, "In the illusion... you died many times..."

The Nightmare Mind-Devouring Formation dug up a person's worst fears. Each time, he dreamed of falling in love with Song Qingshi, only to lose him in an instant—blood everywhere, warm hands turning cold, breath stopping. Again and again, he held the lifeless youth, feeling like he'd lost everything, as if the world had ended.

His breathing grew ragged again; even knowing it was an illusion, the pain was unbearable.

Song Qingshi held him tight, then traced in his palm: "Think about how you found the flaw."

"The you in the nightmare... didn't have your medicinal scent." Wu Huan recalled the flaw and came back to himself. He buried his face in Song Qingshi's shoulder, gripping his warm hand tightly, breathing in the familiar scent, and sobbed, "So I knew it was fake... you're still here with me..."

Song Qingshi knew he disliked showing vulnerability, so he didn't look down, only gave reassuring pats to his shoulder while using spiritual energy to soothe his chaotic mind and stabilize his emotions.

Wu Huan repeated over and over, "You're still here..."

Song Qingshi returned the hug.

Time lost all meaning before Wu Huan finally recovered...

Embarrassed, he lifted his head, eyes red, and placed the ten-thousand-year turtle core into Song Qingshi's palm, hesitantly asking, "This is the last ingredient for the Xuantian Taiming Pill. With it... will I be able to see you?"

Song Qingshi nodded.

"Qing Shi, if I get my sight back... I won't be blind anymore. I won't be a burden. I'll work to be better... so... can I like you?" After a long pause, the usually eloquent Wu Huan couldn't find better words. Finally, he asked cautiously, "Qing Shi... can I be your cultivation partner?"

In his earlier frenzy, he had shown his true nature—he could no longer pretend to be a lamb.

He wasn't sure if the youth would accept him.

"Don't be afraid of me... don't leave me," Wu Huan said softly, looking down. "If... if you don't want to, we can stay as we are now..."

He was willing to suppress all his instincts.

As long as the youth stayed by his side, he would agree to anything.

Song Qingshi took his hand and carefully traced: "I do."

Wu Huan suddenly felt the nightmare dissipate, like the whole world had lit up.