The Years I Served as My Master's Cauldron - Chapter 7

The snow fell silently all night. In the land of “Never-Ending Cold,” the fragmented snowflakes drifted incessantly, completely covering the bricks and tiles of the Nine Nether Sect. The accumulated snow reflected the morning light, making the sect shimmer and shine like an immortal’s pavilion, a magnificent palace of jade and pearl.

A disciple assigned to sweep the mountain steps yawned, his eyes hazy with sleep, waving his bamboo broom which stood taller than a man with listless movements. The fallen snow was quickly swept away, revealing the cold, moss-gray stone steps. He looked down while sweeping, but suddenly froze: a startling splash of crimson blood had stained the accumulation of snow in front of him.

He swallowed hard, his spine stiffening instantly. The rumors that had circulated within the Nine Nether Sect just a few days ago flooded his mind.

Could it be… that the legend of the bun-stealing demon is true?

His scalp went numb, and he suddenly felt a cold, damp liquid drip from above onto the back of his neck.

Terror surged in his chest. He tried to console himself, thinking it might just be melting snow from the morning. Trembling, he looked up.

There, hanging above the wooden plaque engraved with the characters “Nine Nether Sect,” was a fresh human head! Blood continued to drip from it, creating tiny, crater-like holes in the snow beneath.

“Aaah—!”

He could no longer contain himself, letting out a scream that shook the world and startled a flock of cold crows into flight from beneath the eaves.

The eight Elders of the Nine Nether Sect were urgently summoned to the Council Hall. Xie Weiyuan forced himself to stay alert, sitting upright on the Nine Deer High Platform. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, clearly indicating he had not slept well the previous night.

Chaos reigned below the platform. With the old cases unresolved and new incidents arising, the hearts of the sect members were filled with panic, each fearing that the executioner’s blade would fall on them next.

Elder Qingya stroked his snow-white beard, holding a thick case file in his other hand as he reported: “Lord Linghua, after a lockdown and search of the sect, we have identified four missing persons.”

“Which four?”

“Li Bing from the kitchen, Ren Feng from Elder Tianjiu’s hall, Liu Cang, the cleaning disciple of the Dan Furnace Hall…” He paused, then added: “And Shen Yunjin is missing as well.”

As the last three syllables were uttered, the other Elders’ expressions shifted dramatically. Days ago, if it weren’t for Lord Linghua adamantly protecting Shen Yunjin, they would never have let him be. Now that an incident had occurred, he had vanished into thin air.

Connecting all these events, it was hard not to suspect him.

“It really is him! I said long ago that this child had a wicked heart and could not be kept,” Elder Hongzhen snorted coldly.

“Heh… even the Soul-Devouring Nails couldn’t finish him; he is truly a catastrophe,” remarked an elderly Elder nearby.

“I believe today’s incident was his doing out of spite, he deserves to be executed!”

Xie Weiyuan remained calm. He picked up a cup of warm water from the table and took a shallow sip. “Stay calm. The matter has not been fully investigated; do not pass judgment so recklessly.”

Elder Lingyu advised: “Indeed, fellow Elders, do not be anxious; perhaps it is a demonic spirit from the Heavenly Province that has escaped.”

“Hmph, these are just excuses to cover for him.”

They argued for a long time without reaching a consensus. Elder Lingyu proposed: “Sect Master, the ‘Black Feather’ can track the auras of the dead. It would be better to fetch the head and use the Black Feather to perform a tracking spell.”

She was the only female Elder in the sect, dressed today in black, fitted training attire, her hair pinned up with only a simple, plain white hairpin. Xie Weiyuan pondered for a moment and nodded.

Elder Lingyu removed the white hairpin. This was the “Black Feather” she spoke of a spiritual weapon capable of transforming into a feather or a staff. It was completely pristine white, changing color according to its master’s temperament. Only the purest white and the deepest black could discern justice in this world.

She condensed a stream of pure white spiritual energy and applied it to the Black Feather. The pristine hairpin instantly transformed into a glowing, brilliant white feather, floating in the air.

“Elder Lingyu, may I borrow this spiritual weapon?”

Elder Lingyu frowned, confused: “Does the Sect Master intend to search for him alone?”

Xie Weiyuan nodded slightly: “I will go alone. You all remain to guard the sect.”

“But Sect Master, your Soul-Devouring Nail wounds haven’t healed yet; why force yourself?” Elder Qingya advised with a grave expression.

“My wounds are no longer a major issue. This matter concerns my own disciple, so I should be the one to resolve it.”

“But the Black Feather…” Elder Lingyu looked embarrassed, hesitating to say the next words. The Black Feather spiritual weapon possessed its own temperament and soul. Once it fell into the hands of someone whose heart was not pure and kind, it would turn pitch black, filled with intense hostility; at best, it would burn the meridians, and at worst, it would backfire and devour the soul.

She couldn’t bring herself to say that Xie Weiyuan’s heart was not “pure and kind,” so she could only hint.

Xie Weiyuan said nothing more. He channeled a thread of spirit-flow from his fingertips to touch the Black Feather. The glowing golden feather shuddered, turning pitch black one moment and snow-white the next, before finally settling into a murky, chaotic grey.

“This…” Elder Lingyu frowned. She had never seen the Black Feather take on a third color. The other Elders were stunned, unable to fathom the reason.

Xie Weiyuan’s expression remained unchanged. Just as he prepared to leave the Council Hall, a white figure blocked his path. Ji Yunlan was not wearing his usual disciple’s attire; for the first time, he wore a wide white robe somewhat similar to Xie Weiyuan’s. He was delicate and gentle by nature; wearing the wide robe lacked Xie Weiyuan’s sharp, sweeping aura, instead making him look more peaceful and refined.

“What are you doing here?”

“Master, please permit your disciple to accompany you,” Ji Yunlan requested respectfully.

Xie Weiyuan’s gaze fell on the section of his neck exposed by the collar, his expression displeased: “What use is there in you following along?”

Ji Yunlan’s palms were slightly damp with sweat. He had always feared his Master, and under the scrutiny of those sharp peach-blossom eyes, the tension grew heavy, and an inexplicable sense of nervousness arose in his heart: “I also wish to find Senior Brother Shen. Furthermore, Master is injured, and I wish to serve you along the way.”

Xie Weiyuan did not answer, merely staring at him, as if discerning truth from falsehood.

After a long time, the piercing gaze finally retracted. Elder Qingya stepped in to mediate: “It’s rare for Yunlan to have such filial piety; Lord Linghua, why not take him along? It will serve as training.”

Ji Yunlan gripped his robe tightly, awaiting Xie Weiyuan’s verdict.

“Since when did you and he become so close?” the man’s voice chilled.

“Senior Brother Shen… after all, we had four years of fellowship as fellow disciples; I do not wish to see him wrongly accused.”

A long time later, Xie Weiyuan brushed past him and left, leaving behind a noncommittal: “As you wish.”

Ji Yunlan stood there, dazed, staring at the snow-white figure. He looked at his own palms, his fear deepening—if Shen Yunjin were to have an accident, how much longer could his own body sustain him?

“Pear blossoms fall, spring enters the mud.” “Living this life for one person alone. Oh, how obsessed a monarch can be.”

Deep in the ferry workshop, a songstress played the pipa, her delicate fingers nimble on the strings, like silver bottles shattering or jade beads falling onto a tray.

“Traveler, do you wish to take a boat? Today, Lady Chen is hosting guests from all corners of the world; the boats are filled with fine wine, delicacies, beautiful women, and music.”

“No, no… my wife is waiting for me at home. Another time, another time.”

Pedestrians on the roadside pushed away the lady beckoning at the bow of the boat. The lady glanced over, suddenly seeing a youth in heavy black clothes passing by, and instantly fell silent this gloomy appearance certainly meant he wasn’t someone to be trifled with. She twisted her waist, turned back, and waved her handkerchief to attract other guests.

Shen Yunjin looked indifferently at this familiar path. After a while, he turned into a desolate alley and finally stopped in front of a patch of scorched earth. The mysterious person who left the box at his window told him to look for Wen Yuzhu here, but he was nowhere to be seen.

He stared deeply ahead. What was once an elaborately decorated building was now a ruin. The bricks and tiles had collapsed, leaving only broken walls. A thin layer of snow covered them, yet it could not hide the decay.

Shen Yunjin walked over the withered leaves, his footsteps crunching on the dry branches. His deep gaze lingered on every part of the ruins, as if he could still recall the sound of laughter under the eaves years ago.

Unfortunately, nothing remains.

Soft footsteps suddenly came from behind. He paused, his fingers gripping his sleeves.

A sigh fell lightly behind him. Soft as a feather, yet stifled like the sound of rain.

Shen Yunjin turned slowly. A pure white figure stood beneath a withered tree. Her hair drifted in the light breeze, obscuring half her face, but failing to hide her clear, beautiful eyebrows and eyes, which looked like distant green hills. The woman was still in the prime of her life, yet those eyes, once filled with affection, were now blank and white, unable to see the splendor of the past.

Tears fell like silk.

She had finally turned into a lonely soul, trapped in a prison, her eyes slowly filling with tears.

“Yunjin.”

Wen Yuzhu’s voice was very light, as if calling from across mountains and ages, a distant call to an old friend.

Shen Yunjin looked blankly at the snow-white figure and murmured: “You… are still alive?”

Wen Yuzhu shook her head: “I am but a wisp of spirit now, thanks to that person who gave me life again.”

“Who?” Shen Yunjin asked in a low voice.

“Come closer, and I will tell you slowly.”

Wen Yuzhu walked forward quickly, her figure ghost-like, but she slowed as she was about to touch Shen Yunjin. The call separated by years away, fell into his ears.

He took a step back.

Wen Yuzhu smiled gently, and a golden thread seeped out from her eyes.

Shen Yunjin’s consciousness blurred. He was stunned: “You… who created you? You are not her at all!”

Wen Yuzhu suddenly gave a sinister smile: “You are somewhat clever, but… it is too late.”

The golden thread instantly wrapped around him. A darkness clouded Shen Yunjin’s eyes; the divine power within his body was slowly being drawn away, and a sudden, sharp sense of detachment rose in his chest. He was about to lose support when the woman suddenly retracted her spell.

Her gaze fell to the end of the wind and snow, as if she had seen something, and her expression darkened, as if facing a mortal enemy.

Shen Yunjin followed her gaze. At the end of the wind and snow, two snow-white figures stepped through the snow. The leader stood tall and upright, his brows like frost, his dark hair bound by a purple jade crown, a spiritual white Black Feather tied at his waist.

It was none other than Xie Weiyuan.