Chapter 50:
Aftermath
WHEN RUAN HAILOU had forced open his acupoints and sprinted toward the House of Founders, everyone thought that the hatred that had built up inside him for more than a decade had finally reached its peak, and that he wanted to take it out on Hui Leshan’s tablet. Never could they have imagined a conclusion such as this.
Ruan Hailou’s figure had already vanished from the cliff’s edge, but it took a long time for all present to return to their senses. They didn’t know whether to sigh or gnash their teeth, but when they thought of the terrible fate of the Bixia Sect disciples, they could only heave a deep sigh.
A long moment later, Yue Kunchi rasped, “Shimei, Shizun’s tablet fell down with him. Should we erect a new one for Shizun in the House of Founders?”
Zhao Chiying was quiet for a while, then said, “Let’s leave it for now. We can talk about it later.”
Then she turned to look at Shen Qiao and Shiwu. “Does Daoist Master Shen have some time? I wish to consult you about something.”
“Please go ahead, Sect Leader Zhao.”
Zhao Chiying saw Shiwu following them, his face tinged with nervousness, and smiled despite herself. “Shiwu should come along too.”
Shiwu was a little embarrassed. Shy by nature, he first hid his face behind Shen Qiao, then seemed to realize this was a bit rude. He quickly poked himself out again and said, “Thank you, Sect Leader Zhao.”
Even Yue Kunchi thought Shiwu rather cute, and a snort of laughter escaped him. But he’d forgotten about his internal injuries—right after laughing, he hissed harshly in pain.
“I told you to rest, but you didn’t listen,” said Zhao Chiying. “In that case, you can come too.” Zhao Chiying shook her head, clearly near the end of her rope with this shixiong. She gestured ahead with her left hand. “This way, Daoist Master Shen.”
She led the three of them to Bixia Sect’s Zhengyang Pavilion. This was where the sect leader would normally entertain honored guests. It had been a long time since the last guest—few came after Bixia Sect’s decline. Entering it, they could smell the faint scent of cold desolation.
Shen Qiao and Shiwu had just taken their seats when they saw Zhao Chiying kneel before them with a solemn expression, then bow with her head to the ground in Shen Qiao’s direction.
“Why are you bowing so deeply?” Shen Qiao was shocked. He stood and moved to pull her up, but Zhao Chiying stopped him.
“Shixiong and Yuanbai have already told me. You brought Shiwu all the way from Yecheng to Bixia Sect, just to fulfill what Zhu-shixiong entrusted you with before his passing. A promise is worth a thousand gold, and you are a man of your word. You deserve this bow of respect from me.”
Shen Qiao smiled, anguished. “Your honored sect was in the middle of a crisis, so I couldn’t explain in full. Sect Leader Zhao and Elder Yue probably don’t know, but Zhu-xiong died because of me.”
He told them how he’d been severely wounded in a fight with Sang Jingxing, and how, after his close shave with death, he’d hidden himself in the mountains. How Shiwu had saved him, and how the abbot and his disciples had taken him in, bringing that fatal calamity to their door.
For Shiwu, recalling it all again was utterly agonizing—it meant scene after scene of blood and tears. But Shen Qiao had taught him courage, and he was no longer the child who’d burst into tears at the drop of a hat. Now he forced his sorrow down, clenched his hands into fists, and spoke not a single word.
Once Shen Qiao was finished, a heavy silence settled over Zhuyang Pavilion.
After a moment, Zhao Chiying said sternly, “These are two separate matters. No one could have predicted Zhu-shishu’s death, and it’s the last thing you wanted to happen. He walked proudly to this death, so I trust he was perfectly willing. No one could have stopped him, and he achieved what he wanted to. How can Daoist Master Shen say it was because of you? Hehuan Sect knew Zhu-shixiong was from Bixia Sect, and they still murdered him ruthlessly. This debt is on their head, not yours.”
The more reasonable she was, the guiltier Shen Qiao became.
He was happy to treat others with kindness, and he didn’t care how much he gained or lost in exchange. But when other people returned him a similar kindness, to the point that they were willing to die for him, it was far harder for him than simply receiving nothing in the first place.
As if sensing Shen Qiao’s thoughts, Shiwu reached out to hold his hand.
A small patch of warmth lay snug in his palm. Shen Qiao squeezed Shiwu’s hand back, enveloping that warmth within his own hand.
“I’m very grateful for Sect Leader Zhao’s consideration. But I did cause this, so I should be the one to resolve it. It is no concern of Bixia Sect’s.”
Witnessing their deep affection for each other, as if they couldn’t stand to part, Zhao Chiying began to think to herself. At the same time, she asked, “Was Zhu-shishu’s last request for Shiwu to join Bixia Sect?”
“Yes,” said Shen Qiao. “Though Zhu-xiong left the sect for his own reasons and never returned, he’s always considered himself a member of Bixia Sect in his heart.”
Zhao Chiying took the wooden plaque Shiwu handed over and brushed over the “Zhu” character atop it. For a moment, a trace of sorrow flitted across her expression, which was normally so calm and composed.
“Once, Bixia Sect had members who ranked in the top ten too,” she said. “But with our internal feuds, our talent waned, declining day after day. What happened today was like piling frost atop snow—disaster on top of disaster. Fan Yuanbai took a count just now: only six of our disciples survived.”
With Zhao Chiying and Yue Kunchi, this only brought their numbers up to eight. What could an eight-man sect even do? If they didn’t produce any reasonably talented disciples, then even if nobody attacked them again, their sect would be gone within the next decade, living on only in name.
Yue Kunchi’s heart ached at her words. He tried, rather unconvincingly, to add another person to their numbers. “I have another disciple in Yecheng…”
A memory stirred in Shen Qiao. “Does Yue-xiong mean Han Eying?”
“Correct,” said Yue Kunchi. “Her father is the Palace Attendant of Qi, Han Feng. She’s decently talented, but due to her special status, I didn’t take her as my personal disciple—I treated her like an external disciple and taught her a little that way. Has Daoist Master Shen met her?”
“I had the pleasure of meeting her once,” said Shen Qiao.
He’d only been able to meet Han Eying because Yan Wushi had saved him. And the only reason he was here now was because Yan Wushi had handed him to Sang Jingxing.
All of these causes and effects seemed obscurely interconnected. In the end, perhaps it was impossible to separate any of it from that one particular name.
Shen Qiao suddenly remembered what Pu Anmi had said: that soon, Yan Wushi wouldn’t be able to save even himself. And Bai Rong had once said something similar.