Sect Master Wen's Junior Martial Brother Who Shared His Hardships Has Returned - Chapter 7

The heat in the pill chamber had not yet dispersed. Xu Chaoqi bent down and packed several dozen bottles of pills into his storage pouch.

His black hair hung down, swaying before Xu Chaoqi’s eyes, blocking his view. Before he could free a hand to deal with it, a large hand had already gathered up his ink-black hair and smoothed it behind his back.

His scalp tightened as his hair was bound up, and a cold jade hairpin passed through it, fixing it in place.

Xu Chaoqi looked at his own upright reflection—his hair bound neat and orderly, without a single stray strand, giving him quite the appearance of a gentleman.

He rarely found himself looking at it more than a few times out of curiosity. The person behind him gazed at his back and said in a low, deep voice, “Is Yangjing still there?”

“Yangjing?” Xu Chaoqi was stunned for a moment. He touched his own neck, and as his five fingers curled, it was as if he’d grasped something.

“Still there.”

He lowered his hand and slowly opened it, revealing a piece of cool jade lying quietly in his palm, glowing with a golden-red light.

This kind of cool jade was possessed by countless people in this world—it was a vessel for containing one’s life-bound artifact. The cool jade before him was a high-grade Yellow-tier, nothing especially remarkable.

But the instant the cool jade appeared in the air, the sound of a cold sword being unsheathed rang out within the pill chamber. Immediately after, mountains and rivers trembled, the earth hummed, and the flowing waters within a thousand li turned turbulent—even the mountain streams seemed to flow backward.

Xu Chaoqi realized something and turned to look at his Senior Brother.

“It’s the Yin Po!”

The Yangjing in Xu Chaoqi’s hand also began to tremble. Though it was merely an unremarkable Yellow-tier item, it seemed as if it had gained a soul, as though responding to something.

Within Yingtian Sect, in the lower realm.

The great hall stood ten zhang tall, its dome supported by four massive white jade pillars carved with dragon patterns. Wisps of fragrant smoke drifted from the incense burners—a scent unique to Yingtian Sect.

Within the hall were arranged several dozen chairs of dark wood, upon which sat people dressed in various attire. Some wore black robes embroidered with intricate patterns, holding teacups as they drank tea.

Some wore jade thumb rings pressed against the sides of their faces, smiling faintly as they chatted merrily with those around them.

Others sat upright and solemn, meticulous in bearing, fingering the prayer beads in their hands, while those attending to them dared not move even slightly.

And Fu Xuandao, who had been so humble before Xu Chaoqi, now sat high up in the hall, looking down upon everyone.

His fingertips tapped against the back of his chair, a faint smile at the corners of his lips, yet his eyes were lowered, his expression difficult to read.

Just then, the mountains and rivers trembled, the sun and moon lost their color, and everyone present heard the faint, almost imperceptible sound of a sword’s cry.

“It’s the Yin Po Sword!” someone stood up and cried out in shock, their eyes filled with deep dread mixed with a fear buried deep within their soul.

His throat bobbed as he stepped backward, his gaze avoiding those around him who were sizing him up.

“It’s the Yin Po. This old man has lived for several thousand years—surely I couldn’t mistake even this sound.” The moment these words were spoken, silence fell over the hall, an invisible pressure gathering around everyone.

A middle-aged cultivator pressed his fist, fingers curled, against his lips. His voice was steady and grave. “The Yin Po Sword has not left its sheath in a thousand years…”

Then he raised his head to look up at the hall. “Sect Master Fu, has something major happened in Yingtian Sect recently? Otherwise… how could Sect Master Wen have drawn his sword?”

The color in Fu Xuandao’s eyes deepened. He looked down upon everyone, his smile undiminished. He gazed deeply at the one who had spoken; that person shuddered and lowered his head, not daring to meet his eyes.

Fu Xuandao’s gaze narrowed, and he lowered his head and smiled.

There were too many major matters—how was he supposed to know which one it was?

As for drawing the sword… what did that amount to? The Sect Master could roll up his sleeves and cook for someone—what wasn’t possible after that?

He leaned forward, gathering his thoughts, and said, “There is indeed a major matter—this time’s Centennial Grand Competition…”

He paused, and everyone raised their heads to look at him.

He said solemnly, “For this time’s Centennial Grand Competition, our Yingtian Sect’s Sect Master will descend to the lower realm to observe. To show our regard for the disciples of the Twenty-Seven Regions, our sect will award the champion of this competition a Heaven-tier artifact; the top ten will receive high-grade Earth-tier artifacts; the top hundred will receive low-grade Earth-tier artifacts.”

If this had been any other time, the moment those seated in the hall heard the words “Heaven-tier artifact,” their eyes would have already turned red with eagerness, wishing they could take their disciples’ places and defeat every other sect themselves.

But now, the moment they heard that the Sect Master would descend to the lower realm, the one drinking tea accidentally spilled it all over himself; the one fingering prayer beads nearly crushed them; the one sitting upright and solemn had long since lost his usual composure—he stood up, his very breathing turning ragged.

As for whatever else Fu Xuandao said afterward, it had already grown hazy in everyone’s ears.

“Is this true?” Someone asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.

Everyone’s breath quickened, their palms already damp with sweat.

Fu Xuandao swept his gaze over everyone in the hall and gave a short laugh.

“Whether it’s true or not, this humble sect dares not say for certain, but two days from now, this sect will lead the Young Sect Master and the elders of our sect to receive the honored guest.”

(TL: 本宗 (běnzōng) = 本 (běn) = this / one’s own; 宗 (zōng) = sect, clan, ancestral line, school)

Commotion broke out below the hall. Even those who were normally most composed could not help but flush in the face; their expressions varied, but none lacked a gleam of excitement in their eyes.

Fu Xuandao tapped his fingertips against the back of his chair. His voice was not loud, but the rhythmic sound gradually quieted the hall below.

Throughout the great hall, only his voice echoed.

“When the sect receives the Sect Master, outsiders should not be too numerous. Discuss it amongst yourselves, but the total must not exceed fifty.”

Having said this, without regard for how those below reacted, he rose and departed.

The hall was silent at first, then grew even more chaotic.

Two days later, above the Immortal Palace.

Over the past two days, having his Senior Brother bind his hair for him had become something of an addiction for Xu Chaoqi. Today, he was to descend the mountain, and in order to make a good impression on others, he specially rose early to bind his hair himself.

His hands were not clumsy, but even after fussing with his hair before the mirror all morning, it never looked as good as when his Senior Brother had bound it for him that day.

He pondered for a while, and in the end decided to give up and let his Senior Brother bind it for him instead.

The hairpin his Senior Brother had used to bind his hair that day was nowhere to be found. His Senior Brother glanced at him and took out an ink-jade hairpin instead.

The ink-jade hairpin had fewer patterns, but the jade itself was clear and fine, and more importantly, the hairpin matched well with the dark robes he wore.

Xu Chaoqi glanced at the hairpin a few more times, then looked up at the hairpin atop his Senior Brother’s head. This hairpin was of the same style as the previous one, yet it was different from the one his Senior Brother wore—all the hairpins his Senior Brother had worn these past days were of another style entirely.

It was as if…

Senior Brother had one set of hairpins, and had also prepared another set that had never been used.

At this thought he tilted his head up, only to have his Senior Brother press his head back down.

His Senior Brother’s touch was extremely light. He watched his reflection—perhaps because his Senior Brother had specially bound his hair for him today, it looked even better than it had the past two days.

After a while, a jade crown was placed atop his head—ink jade rimmed with silver, the silver edge carved with a phoenix pattern.

Once he was ready, he stood before the mirror. The person in the reflection wore simple, elegant dark robes and an ink-colored crown—he looked less like an ordinary Golden Core cultivator, and more like a young immortal lord descended from the heavens to undergo trials.

At noon, the sun blazed fiercely as Xu Chaoqi followed his Senior Brother down the heavenly ladder, step by step.

He looked around at the flowers and grasses along the way and asked curiously, “Senior Brother, we’re leaving at noon—will the people below have waited too long and grown anxious?”

His Senior Brother appeared unhurried, yet his strides were always somewhat larger than Xu Chaoqi’s. Because of this, Wen Chaoxi would stop and look back at Xu Chaoqi every so often as they walked.

“Then let them wait.”

Xu Chaoqi: …

He finally caught up to walk on the same step as his Senior Brother. Hearing this, he tilted his head up to look at his Senior Brother’s tall figure from behind.

Senior Brother really had made quite a name for himself.

Once, they had traveled a thousand li to see a sword cultivator of Nascent Soul stage—for them at the time, an insurmountable mountain.

They had waited before the mountain gate to pay their respects, but the cultivator had deliberately refused to see them. It happened to be pouring rain, and they were soaked for three days and three nights.

His Senior Brother had held him in his arms, taking off his outer robe to cover his head.

They had thought the cultivator was tempering their resolve, but it turned out the cultivator had made a bet with a friend—wagering on just how far these two fools at his gate would go in their pursuit of the sword techniques. Even after they endured the storm, countless more difficulties awaited them beyond it.

He hadn’t wanted to make his Senior Brother wait any longer, so he had gone in to beg the cultivator himself.

The moment the cultivator saw him, his eyes lit up, and he said with a smile that it wasn’t that he couldn’t teach him the sword technique—if he could drink three cups of wine, he would teach it to his Senior Brother.

He had lowered his head and agreed. Just as he was about to take up the cup, a flash of sword-shadow pierced straight through it.

His Senior Brother had arrived without his noticing, rainwater dripping from his hair. His face cold, he kicked the table over.

“Even if I, Wen Chaoxi, never touch a sword in this lifetime, you will not lay a hand on him!”

The memory gradually receded as flower petals drifted past Xu Chaoqi’s eyes.

Seeing that he had caught up, his Senior Brother continued on downward.

He followed his Senior Brother’s pace, looking toward the blazing sun, the light so bright it made him narrow his eyes.

“Senior Brother, how much further do we have to walk?”

“Three more cups of tea’s worth.”

They didn’t actually need to walk at all—his Senior Brother could have simply carried him down by flight.

It was only because his body was weak that he needed to move about more each day, and so today his Senior Brother was accompanying him down the stairway on foot.

He lifted the hem of his robe and hurried down quickly, to keep from tripping.

When he reached his Senior Brother’s side, he stopped and reached out to tug at his sleeve.

His fingertips paused upon touching the fabric. After a moment’s thought, he quietly slipped his hand further in, until his fingertips brushed against a burning-hot palm. He paused again, and finally took hold of the other’s large hand.

That palm, calloused all over from wielding a sword, seemed to still for an instant. Puzzled, Xu Chaoqi looked up—only to find his own hand had already been taken hold of.

The broad palm enveloped his right hand. The other seemed uncertain of how much strength to use—tight at first, then gradually loosening.

Xu Chaoqi did not feel it was too tight; still, the grip was firm, not something he could easily shake off anytime soon.

His Senior Brother’s palm was very rough. He looked at his Senior Brother’s hand—the way he held it was strange.

“Is Senior Brother so used to holding a sword?”

The way his Senior Brother gripped his hand was the same as the way he gripped a sword—only he was not a sword, and what his Senior Brother wielded forth was not a flash of sword-light, but this very person.

Wen Chaoxi seemed to realize something and turned his head to look down at their clasped hands. His broad palm shifted slightly, and at last their hands settled into the shape of an ordinary handhold.

Facing the blazing sun, Senior Brother walked ahead, and he walked behind.

Xu Chaoqi’s eyelashes stirred. In truth, before his rebirth, he and his Senior Brother had often held hands like this.

At the base of the heavenly ladder, over a hundred elders and disciples of Yingtian Sect waited.

A sea breeze blew, and the white robes of the assembled cultivators snapped and fluttered. Everyone’s expressions were solemn, their nerves taut.

Among the Yingtian Sect disciples present, only Fu Xuandao dared to raise his head; all the rest kept their heads lowered, offering salutes toward the empty sky.

The Yingtian Sect disciples occupied the place of honor, while the Region Lords and others from the Twenty-Seven Regions stood to either side. They had long since shed the arrogance and pride they showed before others; now, like the Yingtian Sect disciples, they too bowed toward the empty air in salutation.

The Sect Master of Yingtian Sect, now over ten thousand years of age, belonged to the generation bearing the character “Chao.”

By seniority, he was not only the Grand Ancestor of the Yingtian Sect disciples, but the Grand Ancestor of the entire Twenty-Seven Regions.