Why is the Demon Venerable Like That? - Chapter 18

Lu Yuan’s hand slid from Ling Chuandu’s chin to his throat. He could feel the blood vessels beneath his palm pulsing weakly.

Divine blood burned Lu Yuan’s eyes a brilliant, crimson red. Even if these were only fleeting, fragmented memories, they were undeniable evidence.

He laughed out of extreme anger. “Why?”

The wound on Ling Chuandu’s shoulder had already split open, and the white bandages were slowly being stained bright red. He had been dragged into that memory illusion alongside Lu Yuan. Blood licked at the bandages bit by bit until it spread to their edges. Ling Chuandu’s entire body had already turned cold from blood loss.

However, it was nowhere near as cold as that day in Jiucang City.

Ling Chuandu’s eyelashes trembled. He gripped the edge of the bed so hard his knuckles turned white, his eyes wide with disbelief. “How are you…”

How do you have the aura of Lu Lingyue? Why do you have the abilities of my senior brother? Who are you? Who exactly are you?

Ling Chuandu seemed not to notice Lu Yuan’s hand around his throat. He reached out with a trembling hand, wanting to stroke the reddened corners of Lu Yuan’s eyes.

Lu Yuan grasped Ling Chuandu’s hand, cruelly preventing him from getting closer. His expression was as cold and stern as an emotionless sculpture. He asked, devoid of any visible emotion, “Why did you kill Lu Lingyue?”

Ling Chuandu’s grip on the bed frame tightened abruptly. Lu Yuan’s voice sounded like a thunderclap, striking violently against his heart.

“Because…”

“Because he…”

Ling Chuandu bit his lower lip. Even though the “Voice of Heart’s Sincerity” was forcing him to tell the truth, he stubbornly uttered only a few words before sealing his mouth shut. Blood seeped out from the corners of his tightly pressed lips.

Lu Yuan said in a low voice, “Ling Chuandu, speak!”

He was absolutely furious. If his reason had not remained intact, he would have strangled this murderer right then and there, cutting him into a thousand pieces and scattering his ashes.

Ling Chuandu only stared at him fixedly, as if he could not understand his words at all. His gray pupils were filled with blurred tears, but they never fell.

Lu Yuan’s breath hitched. Inappropriately, he recalled seeing the exact same look a long time ago.

On the night before his birthday one year, he could not sleep. His eyes were wider and brighter than an owl’s, so he decided to go catch some “Flowing Lights” in the middle of the night to make a firefly lamp. Flowing Lights were similar to human fireflies, only larger and longer-lived. He snuck out of his bedroom and ran to the back mountain, intending to give the Flowing Lights a surprise.

He did not know if the Flowing Lights were surprised, but he knew for sure that he was terrified. He had seen a dark figure near the small grove where he usually went to slack off.

Lu Yuan did not dare to breathe, assuming some sneaky villain had snuck into Jiucang City. However, his courage was greater than the sky. He silently crept toward it; by this time, his ability to suppress his aura had become flawless. He slowly approached the dark figure, but the other party turned around abruptly, scaring Lu Yuan so much that his right palm, filled with decisive momentum, slashed toward the person’s chest.

Upon seeing the other’s face, Lu Yuan cursed loudly. He had attacked too quickly to retract his spiritual power, so he had to punch his own wrist with his left hand, forcing the strength to divert to the side of his opponent.

The result was a miserable shriek of bone. He had fractured his own wrist.

Lu Yuan was furious, wanting to scold the other for being insane. He cradled his wrist with his left hand. “Ling Chuandu, what are you doing out here in the middle of the night!”

Ling Chuandu stared at him silently for a while, long enough to give Lu Yuan the creeps, before saying gloomily, “Aren’t you out here right now, too?”

“I…” Lu Yuan was so blocked by his words that he did not know where to vent his anger. He had never been injured from childhood to adulthood; the pain of his fractured wrist made him grimace, and naturally, he could not say anything pleasant. “Jiucang City is my home! I can go wherever I want at night!”

Ling Chuandu’s chest rose and fell violently, as if he had been stung by his words. He nodded. “This is indeed not my home. I will leave tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?” Lu Yuan ignored his injured hand and hurriedly grabbed Ling Chuandu with his uninjured one.

“Home.” Ling Chuandu bit out the word with a strange expression. He repeated it to himself, “Home… but where is my home?”

Ling Chuandu had a high bridge of the nose and deep-set eyes. Even as a teenager, one could already see the contours of his adult face. The shadows of his brow bones hid his eyes, making his expression unreadable. Lu Yuan was scared to death by his state; he felt his hand stop hurting, and his anger vanished. His heart skipped a beat, recalling Ling Chuandu’s background, and he felt a bit of regret for his earlier slip of the tongue. “I…”

Lu Yuan stammered for a long time, then got stuck. He was still young then, and naturally not as sharp-tongued or eloquent as he would become later. Finally, Lu Yuan made a decision. “Then come with me.”

Ling Chuandu looked at his arm with a strange expression. “Aren’t you going to the physician?”

“It is the same there.” Lu Yuan’s pitch-black eyes were shockingly bright in the night.

The two teenagers wandered through Jiucang City until Lu Yuan stopped at a garden. Written on the plaque in bold, calligraphic strokes were three characters: He Xue Yuan.

“Why did you bring me here?” Ling Chuandu wrinkled his nose. This was usually where cultivators of Jiucang City would sip tea and admire flowers during their leisure time. But recently, evil spirits had been rampant, so there was naturally no leisure time, and people were almost never seen there.

Lu Yuan did not answer; he just plucked a spiritual herb to apply to his hand as he walked.

“That was only planted by Elder Xiang recently!” Before Ling Chuandu could stop him, a budding flower fell victim to his hand.

Lu Yuan ignored him, walking all the way to the center of He Xue Yuan before stopping under a massive wisteria tree. Lu Yuan was silent for a while. He extended his right hand, which had already healed. “Here, hold out your hand.”

Ling Chuandu frowned at him, only placing his hand in the other’s palm after a long hesitation.

The wisteria flowers danced, but snow suddenly fell in soft, fluttering flurries. Yet, it was clearly May.

Ling Chuandu showed a childish expression for the first time. “How did you do that?”

Lu Yuan said nothing. This was the first time he had brought another person into his own constructed illusion; it was still quite taxing for him. Although he could not see it, judging by Ling Chuandu’s expression, his own face must have looked quite terrible.

Ling Chuandu suddenly grabbed Lu Yuan’s clothes, looking at his face in a panic. “Lu Yuan, stop! You are bleeding!”

Lu Yuan did not stop until the illusion covered the entire Crane Snow Garden.

“I call it ‘Fragrance of the Courtyard’.” Lu Yuan wiped the blood from under his nose dismissively. “Here, it can rain, snow, or be filled with brilliant sunshine. Most importantly, nothing will ever wither or die here.”

Ling Chuandu looked at Lu Yuan’s graying complexion, his voice tinged with anger. “So why did you bring me here?”

“Look.” Lu Yuan pointed into the distance.

Under a pear tree in the distance, a woman was dancing with a long spear. The tassel of the spear stirred the falling petals into a wave. She had a heroic air, her spear moving like a swimming dragon, her movements agile and swift as a phantom. Finally, as if satisfied, she took down the gourd hanging from the spearhead and took a leisurely sip.

Ling Chuandu’s figure swayed. His heartbeat slowed until his hands and feet turned cold. He muttered in a daze, “Mother…”

That was his mother, Ling Qianzhi.

Ling Qianzhi had always been a maverick woman. She never cared about what others thought of her. Although she was the ruler of the Hundred Domains of the Demon Realm, the long spear in her hand was named “Demon Breaker.” Someone had once laughingly asked her if it was inauspicious for a Demon Venerable to have a weapon named “Demon Breaker.” Ling Qianzhi only replied that she broke the desires in her heart and the demons of the world. The identity of a demon cultivator was just a label given by others; what did it have to do with her?

This omnipotent woman knew how to kill evil spirits as quickly as possible, but she did not know how to stop a child from wailing. In Ling Chuandu’s memories, his mother’s way of talking to him was always stiff. It seemed she had not gotten used to the identity of being a mother.

Sometimes, when he cried because of minor grievances, Ling Qianzhi would watch him in a panic, offer irrelevant comfort, give up on saving the situation, and learn to fake-cry without dignity just like him. She would peek through her fingers to observe Ling Chuandu’s expression. Only when she saw him stop crying would this woman, who was like a female eagle, let out a massive sigh of relief.

Ling Qianzhi did not know his sorrows at all, because she was either exorcising demons or on the way to exorcising them. Three hundred and sixty days out of the year, she was not in the Hundred Domains of the Demon Realm.

One day, Ling Qianzhi’s body suddenly began to wither away inevitably. She did not fear her own death; she only looked at Ling Chuandu with apology, her bloodless lips moving as she said “I’m sorry.”

After that, Ling Chuandu concealed his identity and was brought back to Jiucang City by Lu Yuan’s master. In truth, when Ling Qianzhi died, Ling Chuandu’s bewilderment far exceeded his sadness. He did not know where to go in the future, nor did he know if anyone would ever be willing to make him happy again. The helplessness and fear of the future overwhelmed the pain he had not yet had time to express.

The past was like flowing water. Today, he had even thought he had forgotten Ling Qianzhi’s appearance. Until today, Ling Chuandu realized with a shock that he still remembered the position of every strand of Ling Qianzhi’s hair, the path of every wrinkle on her skin. Ling Qianzhi’s every smile and frown had taken root in his memory, becoming an indelible mark.

“My illusion ability can recreate the past and build a home for the wanderer.” Lu Yuan was exhausted and sat cross-legged on the snow without any decorum.

Not far away, Ling Qianzhi was still drinking by herself; she was merely an illusion shaped by memories.

“Although it is fake, I hope it can make you feel a little better.” Lu Yuan said slowly, “I will leave the Fragrance of the Courtyard to you. Until you find a true home, you can treat this place as a home for you and your mother.”

A home for him and his mother.

Ling Chuandu did not speak then; he only looked deeply at Lu Yuan.

Wind and snow fell into his eyes.

This look was the same as the one now. Like translucent gray agate, the surface was polished smooth as a mirror, but the interior was as firm as a rock, as if it would never be pierced by pain again.

But if it did not hurt, why would one cry?

Lu Yuan closed his eyes blankly until warm liquid fell onto the back of his hand. Ling Chuandu had bitten his lower lip into a mangled mess; the soft flesh inside his mouth had also suffered. The “Voice of Heart’s Sincerity” was forcing him to tell the truth in his consciousness, but it was as if he had made up his mind, turning into a shell that would never open.

Lu Yuan barked, “Let go!”

Ling Chuandu’s sanity was being pulled apart. Severe pain scraped against his skeleton, and his blood had turned into flowing poison. His entire body was trembling. In the end, he only grabbed Lu Yuan’s sleeve in panic and determination. His fingers were cramping, but he still stubbornly held onto that piece of fabric.

Seeing this, Lu Yuan had no other choice but to pinch Ling Chuandu’s jaw forcefully, trying to make him open his mouth. But he was jolted by the bones of his jaw.

He is too thin.

Lu Yuan was stunned, his grip loosening involuntarily.

In that moment of distraction, Ling Chuandu suddenly grabbed Lu Yuan’s forearm. Earlier, Ling Chuandu had almost gouged a hole in the bed frame from the pain; wood splinters from the crushed frame were scattered randomly, stuck in his fingernails, fingertips, and palms. These wood splinters cut through the skin of Lu Yuan’s arm, leaving thin streaks of blood.

The two people’s blood mixed together, making the scene chaotic and strangely, creepily intimate.

Ling Chuandu asked hoarsely, “Who are you, exactly?”

The agate became blurred again.

Lu Yuan felt his chest tighten. His anger had not yet subsided, so he gritted his teeth and said, “Why exactly did you have to kill…”

Ling Chuandu seemed afraid to hear that name again. He practically shoved himself into Lu Yuan’s arms with desperate, trembling urgency, like a child who had done something wrong and, not knowing what to do, could only crowd into the corner he felt was safest and warmest.

Lu Yuan was truly at a loss. It was he who was killed, yet it felt as if he were the one who had done something to wrong the other. He looked down at Ling Chuandu, who was whimpering in his arms like a wolf pup, paranoyiacally calling his name. He knew he should be angry, should say something, should push this murderer away, rip open Ling Chuandu’s heart to see what kind of person could kill without regard for their bond.

Outside the window, a purple shadow flitted past. Lu Yuan looked back in a daze.

It was the shadow of the wisteria flowers in the courtyard reflecting on the window, the leaves of the jade hairpins passing the porch.

It turned out that it was another year of the Fragrance of the Courtyard.