After a deep and prolonged slumber, he had no idea how long he had been asleep. In the cocoon of his dreams, he was surrounded by familiar scents that brought an unparalleled sense of security, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Thus, he delved deeper into the realm of dreams, reluctant to awaken. Yet, even in the deepest recesses of his slumber, a sharp, piercing pain lingered, refusing to dissipate and constantly stabbing at his heart.
Taking a deep breath, Ghost Li slowly opened his eyes. He found himself in a room that seemed to be from a dream. As he gazed around, memories flooded back. This was the room where he had once lived as a young boy, growing up amidst the familiar tables, chairs, and windows etched deeply into his soul.
On the wall behind the bed, the large character “道” still hung, though its color and script had faded over time. But to him, it still carried the same power and strength as when he first saw it years ago.
The wooden frame of the window creaked softly, and a crack appeared. The gray-haired monkey, Xiao Hui, leaped in from outside. Seeing that Ghost Li was awake and sitting on the bed, Xiao Hui’s face lit up with joy, and he bounded over, chattering incessantly.
Ghost Li’s heart skipped a beat. The scene was reminiscent of so many years ago, except for the injuries on his body and the newly opened spirit eye on Xiao Hui’s head. For a moment, he felt as if he were in a dream.
But that was impossible.
Xiao Hui chattered excitedly, holding a handful of wild fruits he must have picked from outside, ready to share with his master. Ghost Li shook his head, indicating he didn’t want to eat. Xiao Hui, undeterred, turned and hopped onto the table in the middle of the room, sitting down and eagerly munching on the fruits.
Ghost Li silently observed the room, his gaze eventually landing on the half-open window through which a sliver of light filtered in, obscuring the view outside. Yet, Ghost Li knew without looking that beyond the window lay a small courtyard, complete with a venerable pine tree, lush green grass, and a stone-paved path leading to a semi-circular archway. Every detail of this place was engraved in his memory, indelible.
The air was fresh, carrying a faint sweetness, and the courtyard outside seemed to exude the fragrance of grass.
In that moment, he felt a sense of homecoming, but soon, a sharp pain in his heart jolted him back to reality.
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
Ghost Li’s gaze shifted to the door. The footsteps approached rapidly, but just before the door, the person outside hesitated, not immediately pushing it open. Ghost Li watched the door intently.
A few moments later, the door finally creaked open.
A tall, steady figure stood in the doorway, their eyes meeting Ghost Li’s. Neither spoke for a while, their gazes filled with a myriad of unspoken emotions. It seemed as though the weight of these feelings rendered all words silent.
Xiao Hui, still on the table, spat out a fruit pit and glanced at the doorway, chattering a few more times before resuming his meal.
The man at the door sighed, a hint of a bitter smile playing on his lips. Shaking his head, he stepped inside, looking at Ghost Li deeply. “It’s been so long. Should I call you Old Seven, or Little Junior Brother?”
Ghost Li’s lips moved slightly, and after a moment, he looked at the man and softly called out, “Senior Brother…”
The Great Bamboo Peak was as quiet as ever, shrouded in a serene silence, leaving one to wonder where everyone else had gone.
Song Daren silently regarded the man before him, once his most beloved junior brother, the seventh and least accomplished disciple of Master Tian Yisun. Now, after a decade, much had changed.
“It’s been ten years since we last met,” Song Daren said, sitting opposite Ghost Li. “How have you been all these years?”
Ghost Li did not answer, only remained silent. Ten years had passed, a river of time, and it was difficult to say that things had been good.
Song Daren studied him. The former Zhang Xiaofan, now Ghost Li, still bore the same youthful features, but his face carried the marks of time and struggle. Despite being younger, Ghost Li’s cultivation had surpassed his, and a hint of silver could be seen in his hair.
Sighing deeply, Song Daren asked, “How is your body doing?”
Ghost Li looked down at his wounds. The tattered cloth on his chest had been replaced with clean, neat bandages, likely tended to by his fellow disciples. The wound still ached, but it was far better than before. “I’m fine, thank you for your concern, Senior Brother.”
Pausing, Ghost Li added, “I… have betrayed the Azure Ethereal Conclave. Do you still consider me a part of the family?”
Song Daren smiled, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Mistress told us that Master never expelled you from the Great Bamboo Peak, and he never thought you had done anything wrong. So, as long as you wish, you are still our Little Junior Brother, the Seventh Disciple of the Azure Ethereal Conclave.”
Ghost Li lowered his head, his body trembling. His left hand clutched the bedsheet, and his right covered his face, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill.
Silence filled the room. After a long while, when Ghost Li’s emotions had calmed, Song Daren spoke again, “If you feel well enough, come with me to the Hall of Silent Vigil. Mistress is there, keeping vigil for Master… she wants to see you.”
“… Yes.”
As they walked through the familiar circular corridor, Song Daren led the way, his broad shoulders like a steadfast mountain. Ghost Li followed silently, recalling the days when he first arrived at the Great Bamboo Peak, following Song Daren and gradually becoming part of the community.
The past seemed like a dream.
Glancing at Song Daren’s waist, Ghost Li noticed a white sash, a sign of mourning for their late master, Tian Yisun.
His expression darkened, and he closed his eyes.
As they emerged from the corridor, the Hall of Silent Vigil came into view. Today, it was filled with incense smoke and the sound of soft sobbing, unlike its usual serenity.
Song Daren approached the hall, pausing briefly when he noticed Ghost Li had stopped. “What’s wrong?”
Ghost Li’s face was pale, and he felt a strange fear, like a child who had done something wrong, afraid to face a disappointed parent.
Song Daren sighed, understanding. “Come on.” He patted Ghost Li’s shoulder, and Ghost Li, after a moment, nodded and continued.
As they neared the hall, the smell of incense grew stronger, and the sounds of sobbing became clearer. Inside, six pairs of eyes turned to Ghost Li, and he felt a tremor of fear.
Wu Dayi, Zheng Dali, He DaZhi, Lv DaXin, Du Bishu! These familiar faces, once his closest companions, now mourned in the hall, their waists adorned with white sashes, their faces etched with grief.
In the center, a large pot burned, and the disciples slowly fed paper money into the flames.
Through the swirling smoke, Ghost Li saw Tian Yisun lying peacefully on a funeral bier, his clothes changed to a clean, tidy set. Su Ru, his mistress, sat beside him, holding his hand, her eyes red but dry. Her hair was adorned with a small white flower, a symbol of sorrow and beauty.
Seeing Tian Yisun, Ghost Li’s steps faltered. Song Daren silently handed him a rope, and Ghost Li, grateful, tied it around his waist, symbolizing his return.
He approached the bier, kneeling and bowing three times. Then, he turned to Su Ru, also kneeling. “Disciple… Zhang Xiaofan, pays respects to Mistress.”
Behind him, the disciples’ expressions were complex, but the bond between them was evident.
Su Ru’s face showed a faint smile, then a flash of pain. “You’ve returned, Old Seven. He wanted to see you.”
Kneeling, Ghost Li felt the weight of the past. Su Ru asked, “Do you know why he kept saying ‘Don’t blame her’?”
Ghost Li, surprised, replied, “What do you mean, Mistress?”
Su Ru sighed, “Tian Yisun willingly let Lu Xueqi kill him, to save you.”
Ghost Li was shocked. “Mistress, I—”
“Do you know,” Su Ru continued, “that Tian Yisun always wanted the best for you? He would not have blamed Lu Xueqi, nor should you.”
Ghost Li, his heart heavy, bowed his head, accepting the truth and the unspoken wisdom of the past.
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