Chapter 271: Drinking Alone

Chapter 271: Solitary Descent

Xiao Wu had regained sixty percent of his cultivation. Though the Hundred-Step Pavilion towered into the clouds, landing safely posed no challenge for him.

The fierce wind snapped his robes, fluttering like banners. Xiao Wu allowed his body to fall freely, like a white bird swooping through the air.

Yet just as the bottom of the cliff came into view, Xiao Wu suddenly halted, leveraging the sheer rock face several times before landing on a protruding pine tree.

Beneath the pine tree, residual energy swirled, lingering yet dissipating, as if veiled by a translucent film—clearly the remnants of an array.

He recognized this array—it was a cushioning array to break a fall.

Why would there be such a lingering spell beneath the cliffs of the Hundred-Step Pavilion?

Xiao Wu bent down, lightly touching the array with his fingertips. The remaining mana scattered like ripples. From its remnants, the array had likely been constructed three or four months ago.

Song Xiaoyu had fallen from the cliff exactly three months prior.

It was now deep into the night, the mountains silent save for the din of insects. Xiao Wu watched as the last traces of mana dispersed from his fingertips like scattered fireflies.

Xiao Wu lowered his gaze. His bonded sword was not with him, making Sword Control impossible. Instead, he snapped off a pine branch to serve as a makeshift blade. With a few swift movements through the verdant pines and bamboos, he stepped onto the branch and glided across the vast expanse of the Wuwang Mountains, heading southeast.

As the stars shifted, the red sun rose from the east. Xiao Wu reached his destination just as the last star winked out.

He landed at the foot of the Shangling Sect.

Like the Wuwang Palace, the Shangling Sect occupied a terrain rich in spiritual energy—a blessed paradise. The sect was built upon the most expansive mountain range in the southeast, stretching for thousands of miles.

From the foot of the mountain, Xiao Wu could faintly make out the lofty mountain gate, the stone plaque bearing the three ancient, dignified characters "Shangling Sect." The rear mountains were veiled in mist-like clouds, aglow with auspicious energy. Immortals flew past on their swords, their forms faint shadows to those below. Any one of them could have been Xiao Wu's old friends or colleagues.

This was where he had studied, cultivated, and grown up.

—With just a step onto those stairs, he could return to the Shangling Sect and resume his role as the aloof leader of the immortal dao.

Yet Xiao Wu merely glanced at it from afar before turning his gaze away.

Turning his back to the Wuwang Palace's mountain gate, he strode into the town.

At the foot of the mountain lay a thriving settlement. Mortals seeking immortality often gathered here, building huts hoping to one day encounter an immortal's favor. Over time, it had grown into a sizable city.

Xiao Wu wandered in casually, entering a shop that sold mountain goods. Such shops frequently traveled between villages to gather local products, making their owners well-versed in the surrounding terrain. He approached a friendly-faced shopkeeper. "Shopkeeper, is there a village at the foot of this mountain called Song Family Village?"

The youth who had once carried his talisman had introduced himself as being from "Song Family Village at the foot of the Shangling Sect."

Xiao Wu was dressed in white robes of the finest fabric from the Wuwang Palace, his presence luminous, almost divine. The shopkeeper looked up and immediately pointed him in the right direction.

Xiao Wu: "Thank you."

Following the shopkeeper’s directions, Xiao Wu soon found a village tucked into the mountains.

The village had no plaque, only a stone marker at its entrance inscribed with "Song Family Village." A few fields lay at the village entrance, where several elderly men were bent over, planting rice seedlings.

Xiao Wu clasped his hands. "Might I ask if there’s a young man in this village named Song Xiaoyu?"

An old man mused. "Song Xiaoyu?"

Xiao Wu: "Precisely."

With that, he held his breath briefly, awaiting the old man’s reply.

The old man paused for only a brief moment, yet Xiao Wu unconsciously clutched the edge of his robe, as though the answer to this question could determine something of great importance, compelling him to be cautious.

But the old man simply raised a hand and pointed at a distant thatched cottage: "Oh, I know him—Old Song’s boy, lives right there. That kid just came back from gallivanting around outside not long ago, said he went to work for some wealthy family in the city and came back loaded with silver. The whole village asked him where he worked, but the little rascal wouldn’t spill, rambling on all day about some 'Lord Wuwang'..."

The old man rambled on, while Xiao Wu exhaled quietly, sighing, "He's still doing well..."

At this, the old man grew somewhat displeased. Everyone in the village was practically family: "‘Still’? What’s that supposed to mean? Xiao Yu grew up right under my nose—of course he's fine! How could he not be?"

Xiao Wu chuckled softly. "My mistake."

His noble looks made his smile downright dazzling. The old man awkwardly rubbed his nose. "Well, if it’s him you’re after, he's in the third house on the east side of the village."

Xiao Wu thanked him.

Following the path between the fields, he found the thatched cottage. Through two layers of a fence, he could hear laughter and chatter from inside the courtyard.

Children clamored: "Xiao Yu-ge, Xiao Yu-ge! Tell us again how you went *whoosh*—right off the cliff!"

Whether it was the nearby Shangling Sect or the distant Wuwang Palace thousands of miles away, to these mountain children, such places were straight out of a legend. The grudges and romances of immortals were nothing more than tales from storybooks. The only person in the village who had ever entered the Demon Palace and returned unscathed—Song Xiaoyu—had become the kids’ favorite storyteller.

Song Xiaoyu's proud voice rang out: "So that day, Lord Wuwang entrusted me with an important task—he told me to jump off the cliff and put on a show. But secretly, he had already arranged for the Demon Sect Sovereign Xue Sui to meet me..."

His wild yarn elevated "Song Xiaoyu" to the role of the second most important character in the tale, describing how the infamous Lord Wuwang had valued and favored him so greatly. The awestruck children ate it up, their little faces filled with envy.

Song Xiaoyu continued, puffing out his chest.

Before long, the children inside grew tired of the story and decided to go out to play. They pushed open the door, and Song Xiaoyu led the group of little ones out in single file. Xiao Wu stood on the ridge between the fields, casting a concealment spell. The boy was in the prime of youth, his cheeks still round with baby fat, his sunburnt cheeks flushed under the light—utterly vibrant.

He didn’t notice Xiao Wu by the field ridge, and Xiao Wu didn’t step forward to speak to him either. Watching him walk away, Xiao Wu lowered his gaze.

Song Xiaoyu was alive and well. That was good. He wasn’t burdened by a death, and Xiao Wu felt much lighter.

But this Song Xiaoyu was not *his* "Song Xiaoyu."

Standing outside the door just now, Xiao Wu had heard the boy’s words clearly.

Song Village was nestled deep in the mountains, isolated and remote. Song Xiaoyu didn’t speak the proper speech but rather the thick southeastern drawl. In this rugged terrain, accents changed every ten miles, and Xiao Wu had to piece together his meaning through guesswork.

But *his* "Song Xiaoyu" had never spoken in dialect—only in the proper speech.

His enunciation had been crisp, his voice bright and pleasant, a voice like clear bells.

His height didn’t match either. This boy only reached Xiao Wu’s chest, but the Song Xiaoyu from Wuwang Palace had been slightly taller than him—always there to catch Xiao Wu whenever he stumbled.

The Song Xiaoyu who brought him meals in Wuwang Palace, who gifted him puzzle locks and sugar-roasted chestnuts, who amused him and steadied him as he staggered through the Siyou Pavilion again and again—that wasn’t this boy.

So who was he?

Xiao Wu had a vague suspicion, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. His heart felt as though it had been steeping in the hot springs of the back mountains, fizzing with a strange, muddled emotion that filled his chest. He pondered for a long time but couldn’t find the words to describe it.

Who was he? Why had he pretended to be Song Xiaoyu? Why had he wiped Xiao Wu’s face, brought him roasted birds, studied his scars, kept tracing them with his fingertips?

Why had he been so kind to him?

Beneath his calm and gentle exterior lay a knot of confusion. Xiao Wu stood alone between the fields, rooted in place for a long while. Absentmindedly, he plucked one pine needle after another from the branch in his hand, stripping it bare. He remained there until the sun dipped westward, until the old men who had been planting rice and herding cattle returned home, until oil lamps winked on in every household of the village. Only then did he snap out of his daze.

Xiao Wu thought: *I must return to Wuwang Palace.*

The thought came inexplicably, without reason. He wasn’t even a member of Wuwang Palace—how could he call it "returning"? If anything, he should be returning to Shangling Sect.

Yet this thought consumed Xiao Wu's entire mind. He felt there were still crucial matters left unverified, a mind full of unanswered questions—and those answers lay only in Wuwang Palace. The urgency to find them was so overwhelming that even with Shangling Sect, which had raised him, right behind, Xiao Wu couldn't bring himself to turn back for even a glance.

...Besides.

Xiao Wu paused slightly.

—Besides, if his suspicions were true, he could never return to Shangling Sect again.

The pine branch from earlier was already discarded. Xiao Wu snapped off a peach branch nearby instead, cutting through the endless night as he headed toward Wuwang Palace.

*

Wuwang Palace was in chaos.

Xue Sui prostrated himself repeatedly, ready to atone with his life.

He paced the courtyard with a long blade in hand, eyes bloodshot: "Search! All of you, search! Turn the place upside down if you have to, but find him! Otherwise, when the Palace Lord gets angry, we'll all lose our heads!"

His subordinates trembled with fear, faces pale with fear. "Sovereign, we've combed every inch of the palace except the Palace Lord's quarters. Not a living soul—not even a fly—to be found!"

Xue Sui gritted his teeth. "Keep looking! Or how am I supposed to answer the Palace Lord? You want to die or something?"

Patrols in Wuwang Palace suddenly doubled. Countless demonic cultivators were mobilized, ransacking every nook and cranny inside and out.

—Lord Pingwu, Xiao Wu, had disappeared.

The servant responsible for cleaning the courtyard had entered the room earlier, turned the place inside out, and found no one. The report reached Xue Sui, who, though frantic, tried to reassure himself that Lord Pingwu might have gone out for a stroll. But by noon, then by evening, Xue Sui was forced to face the fact—Xiao Wu was gone.

He had left Wuwang Palace, destination unknown.

Xue Sui was drenched in cold sweat.

Yesterday, when Xiao Wu stopped him with a peach branch, Xue Sui had known Lord Pingwu's cultivation had recovered. But since the Palace Lord said nothing, Xue Sui naturally didn't dare say a peep. He pretended ignorance and fled overnight—only for Xiao Wu to vanish the very next day.

Given how much their Palace Lord valued Lord Pingwu, if Xiao Wu had left without his knowledge, such a massive screw-up would mean certain death for Xue Sui.

After ordering his men to tear the palace apart—searching the Siyou Pavilion, Wu Buke's medicine cabinets, even lifting Mad Pharmacist's stretcher—and repeating the process two or three times, Xue Sui had no choice but to accept the truth: Xiao Wu was gone.

Heart sinking, he knocked on the courtyard gate.

Xie Chunshan was in unusually good spirits, admiring flowers and watching fish in the garden.

Xue Sui would have rather died than come report. He wanted to abandon his identity as a demonic cultivator and flee Wuwang Palace outright—but given the Palace Lord's methods, that would only lead to a far more gruesome death.

Weighing the lesser of two evils, Xue Sui nearly ground his teeth to powder before finally pushing the door open.

Inside, the Palace Lord lounged carelessly by a flower trellis, his dark robes spilling onto the ground. Propping his head with one hand, he read a book while a few dishes and a freshly opened jar of Peach Blossom Wine were haphazardly arranged on the table.

Noticing Xue Sui, Xie Shu set the book aside. "Envoy Xue, what is it?"

Xue Sui never visited without reason—he wouldn't disturb unless necessary.

Yet the next moment, Xue Sui hit the ground with a thud as he knelt, voice tight with tension: "Palace Lord, punish this one!"

Xie Shu tilted his head. "Punish you for what?"

The calmer and more indifferent the Palace Lord seemed, the more Xue Sui's legs trembled, nearly fainting. "Palace Lord, Lord Pingwu... Lord Pingwu, he... he..."

Xie Shu: "Hmm?"

"The cleaning servant reported—he's... gone!"

After speaking, Xue Sui kowtowed so hard it thudded, awaiting Xie Shu's judgment.

Yet for a long time, no one spoke.

Xue Sui cautiously raised his eyes, only to see Xie Chunshan spaced out, his gaze lingering on the flower trellis for a long while before he finally smiled and said, "Let him be."

Xue Sui nearly thought he had misheard.

Xie Shu: "He was supposed to leave anyway. Let him go."

The main plot had concluded—Xiao Wu was always meant to depart, to wander the world until the next Immortal-Demon Conference, where he would run Xie Chunshan through.

Yet as Xie Shu picked up his wine cup, a pang of loneliness hit him.

He had known Xiao Wu would leave. He just hadn’t expected him to leave so soon.

With the "Pharmacist's" crucial assistance, Xiao Wu’s cultivation had recovered faster, and so had his departure. Some scripted lines were even left unsaid.

Xie Shu had come here for Xiao Wu. In this world so different from the modern era, Xiao Wu was the only person he knew and understood. His appearance had been designed by Xie Shu, his temperament and talents tailored by him. Xie Shu could trust Xiao Wu with his back, even if they were fated enemies.

Lord Pingwu scorned underhanded tricks—this was something Xie Shu himself had affirmed.

As for the others in the Demon Palace, whether it was Xue Sui, Wu Buke, or even the most ordinary dancers and singers, any of them would jump at the chance to take Xie Shu’s life.

Xie Shu was accustomed to schemes, yet after all this time in the Demon Palace, he had never let his guard down—except around Xiao Wu.

And now, with spring blossoms filling the courtyard, Xie Shu had originally planned to recite a few offhand lines of the script, and invite Xiao Wu to admire the flowers and share a drink, perhaps even offer him a couple of light dishes. But that chance had slipped away.

The next time they met, it would be as sworn enemies meeting again—a sword through the chest.

The Palace Lord’s tone was slightly odd. Xue Sui hesitantly spoke up, "Palace Lord..."

Xie Shu: "You may leave."

As he spoke, he picked up his wine cup.

This body could hold its liquor—a few cups would do no harm.

The Peach Blossom Wine before Xie Shu was priceless, its aroma heady and sweet. Its only flaw was its short shelf life—once opened, if not consumed quickly, its aroma would fade, leaving it no different from ordinary wine.

He poured himself a cup, shook his head, and chuckled. "Drinking solo is a little sad, but it’s no matter."

Xie Shu tilted his head back and drained the cup.