Volume Three: Unorthodox Freedom Chapter Eighty-three

“Mother.” Tushan Yan turned around, her fingers gently caressing her daughter's face, her expression soft and tender. “A’li, remember this: I will always support any decision you make. Go forward boldly, do not fear, do not shrink back—your mother will always be behind you and your brother.”

Jinli nodded. Tonight, Tushan Yan seemed a little melancholy, perhaps saddened by the fall of yet another ancient emperor.

“Mother, shall we go to the mortal world tomorrow to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival?”

“Yes.”

A pale light began to touch the horizon, the pear tree in the courtyard was beaded with rain, and a few leaves had fallen onto the grey flagstones. The air was fresh, but tinged with a chill.

When Jinli woke, the place beside her was already cold—Tushan Yan had clearly been gone for some time. After washing, she watched as the first rays of morning climbed across the window lattice. Opening the window, she caught a faint, lingering scent of lotus drifting around her.

She took the letter from the table and opened it. Instead of immortal script, it was written in ink and brush: “A’li, my child, I go to guard the four corners—do not miss me.”

She had left again—before dawn.

Today, they were to go to the mortal world for the Mid-Autumn Festival. It was a time for family to reunite, yet Tushan Yan had gone. Jinli’s heart ached, a touch of bitterness rising within her. It was all because of what she’d said the night before.

Really...

“My lady, Yunxiang has sent a letter.”

Jinli brightened. “I wonder where that girl Yunxiang is off enjoying herself, that it’s taken so long for her letter to arrive.”

Qisui, wearing a smile, handed the letter to Jinli and withdrew.

He was thoughtful, recalling Tushan Yan’s words to him beneath the moonlight last night—words that sounded like instructions, like a farewell.

“Qisui.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s go.”

The two of them crossed the sea of clouds to the mortal world, where the festive atmosphere was already in full swing.

Summer Capital.

Here, lanterns were being hung along the streets, and garlands of flowers—crafted from coarse cloth and paint—twined around racks. On closer inspection, the flowers were surprisingly lifelike.

Tonight would surely be lively.

Mount Buzhao.

In his room, Gengyuan was urging his immortal powers, attempting again and again to infuse his immortal marrow with energy, but each time he failed. It was as if his marrow could no longer be cultivated.

“Huaigui!”

A woman’s voice called, and Gengyuan slowly withdrew his power, opening his eyes. Few people ever came to his quarters except for Huaixiu and a few fellow disciples who had once been close to Huaigui—women, even less so.

Before he could reach the door, it was pushed open, startling him into retreat.

The woman’s brow was set with solemnity and a trace of authority, yet her face bore the sorrow of one who had aged before her years. Though she could not be old, there was a weariness about her.

She strode in, hands searching over Gengyuan. “You woke up—why didn’t you tell me?”

Gengyuan grew impatient; he disliked being touched. He raised his hand, stepping back to widen the distance between them. “Senior sister, men and women should maintain propriety.”

He saw the confusion on her face, the surprise and doubt at Huaigui’s coldness.

Gengyuan realized that her relationship with Huaigui must have been unusual. He had said the wrong thing.

“Chun’er?”

Tusu Chun looked at the cold-faced youth, her eyes brimming with tears.

Gengyuan felt as though he’d spotted a savior when Huaixiu entered. A glance between them, and Huaixiu understood everything.

“Chun’er, don’t cry. Huaigui fell from a cliff and injured his head—it’s normal that he’s forgotten many things.”

Gengyuan was never patient with women who wept at the drop of a hat. Now, his face showed clear irritation.

Tusu Chun’s lips trembled, her voice rising in grievance. “Then why does he remember you and everyone else, but not me?”

It wasn’t intentional—after all, he wasn’t Huaigui. Perhaps the moment their beloved Huaigui fell from the cliff, he had already died.

Wait—a fall from a cliff?

Mount Buzhao was among the clouds. Most disciples here could fly on swords. Even he, though unable to fly, knew a fall from such a height was certain death—how could anyone be so careless?

Was Huaigui pushed? Was it deliberate?

While Huaixiu explained matters to Tusu Chun, Gengyuan turned to pour tea for them both. “Senior sister, please have some tea.”

Tusu Chun’s tears did not fall; she stared at him, searching his face as if she could bring forth a memory, have this face call her name, recall the past they’d shared.

“...Huaigui?”

The youth’s face was stormy, devoid of emotion. In the end, Tusu Chun could not believe it. “Huaigui, are you still angry with me?”

He knew nothing—how could he blame her?

“No, senior sister, you’re overthinking it.”

Tusu Chun could hold back no longer; tears streamed down her cheeks. “You never called me ‘senior sister’ before! What’s wrong with you? Are you pretending?”

Gengyuan frowned. Huaixiu, seeing things spiraling out of control, quickly led Tusu Chun away.

The youth watched the courtyard through the doorframe.

Huaixiu, losing patience, explained, “At first, he didn’t remember me, either. Don’t be upset, Chun’er—he’ll recover, given time.”

Tusu Chun looked at the boy with a heart full of longing. Gengyuan quickly caught the despair in her eyes—the kind only someone in love could know.

So this Tusu Chun was fond of Huaigui. But how did Huaigui feel about her?

After much effort, Tusu Chun was finally persuaded to leave. Only then did Gengyuan notice the food box in Huaixiu’s hands.

He had come to bring Gengyuan a meal.

“Huaigui, it’s all right. Take your time—there’s no need to blame yourself.”

He did not.

As Huaixiu set out the dishes and rice, he said, “Chun’er is the daughter of an inner mountain elder. She’s always had a temper—do bear with her.”

“It’s nothing, senior brother. If not for you today, her heart would have been wounded.”

Seeing how sensible Huaigui was, Huaixiu felt a surge of relief. He patted Gengyuan’s shoulder. “Eat up.”

The food on Mount Buzhao was excellent; the kitchen’s dishes were always delicious.

“Senior brother, in a few days I’ll be able to go down and eat with everyone myself—there’s no need to trouble you.”

Huaixiu went to tidy the bedding, but saw it was already neat. The room was spotless. Looking at the handsome youth before him, still somewhat frail, Huaixiu’s eyes filled with guilt.

“Huaigui, it’s my fault for not protecting you properly.”

Gengyuan looked up, smiling, but his eyes were cold. “It’s all right, senior brother. It’s all in the past—and besides, I don’t remember anything.”

He was not Huaigui—he was Gengyuan. All he wanted was to return to Jinli’s side. Nothing and no one else mattered to him; he did not wish to know.

After the meal, Gengyuan asked, “Senior brother, everyone here has their own soul-bound sword. Do I have one?”

Huaixiu hesitated, then replied, “There’s no rush. Your body hasn’t fully recovered yet.”

With that, he left.

Gengyuan placed his hand on his chest. In that moment, he felt a distinct beat in his palm. He stared at his hand, quietly invoking the Ling Shui Arts. A faint blue light flickered and quickly vanished—then nothing.

He examined his delicate, uncalloused hands. Clearly, Huaigui had lived a life of luxury and ease, which explained the current frailty.

Seventeen years old, yet unable to lift or carry, and thrown off a cliff...

He could not help but feel frustrated, a growing irritation and anger stirring in his heart.

He had become a cripple.