For the next several days, Shang Zhu’s movements were nearly restricted. Did He Yi’an, the sect leader, truly have nothing better to do than follow him?
“Your Excellency,” Shang Zhu asked considerately, lowering his eyes in self-reproach, “does accompanying me every day interfere with your duties?”
He still had to play the thoughtful, pitiable boy. Naturally, such a boy could not know how busy a sect leader should be.
He Yi’an looked startled, then remorseful. “I happen to have time and wanted to stay with you. You are no inconvenience.”
Shang Zhu smiled while cursing him inwardly.
After that, He Yi’an stopped following openly and tracked him in secret. Believing Shang Zhu a mortal, he barely concealed his aura. The surveillance lasted one day before long absences began, and Shang Zhu finally breathed freely.
After five days of restraint, he could fulfill his promise to the tree spirits. He carried bags of spiritual water and rich soil into the forest, making several trips so none were neglected.
“He’s leaving without a word?”
“Is this a secret good deed? We don’t even know his name.”
Shang Zhu answered every question except that one. Spiritual beings loved too faithfully. Why leave a name that would make them grieve after he died? Knowing that someone had once cared was enough.
He returned to the chicken nest. Practice had made him skilled. Fortunately, the birds had no awakened minds; otherwise he could not have killed them.
“Shang Zhu! Are we doing it again?” the bloodfish whimpered.
“You’ll become used to it. Be good. I’ll suffer with you.”
Like a ruthless employer, he mixed persuasion with threats until it cooperated. He Yi’an’s power had suppressed the burning almost completely.
His days became a narrow cycle: eating, sleeping, tending the trees, hauling chickens, cultivating.
On the eighth day, He Yi’an returned. Fatigue shadowed his face, but his smile remained warm.
“Do you remember that I wanted to take you as my disciple?”
“Of course! Have I finally earned it? I’ve been so obedient and caused no trouble.”
He lied without blinking. The devastated chicken nest might have disagreed.
He Yi’an brushed a leaf from his shoulder. “You needn’t be obedient. I chose you because you are you.”
Shang Zhu threw himself into his arms. “Thank you. I’m so happy.”
His face, hidden against the robes, turned black with hatred. He stared at the vulnerable throat before him.
Because I am me? Yes—because of my blood.
He Yi’an stroked his hair. “But prepare yourself. Tomorrow there will be a trial.”
“A trial? Will it be difficult?” There had been none in his last life.
“Whatever happens, you will remain my disciple.”
He Yi’an drew away, mistaking Shang Zhu’s reddened eyes for joy. “Rest well tonight.”
“Your Excellency, isn’t this your room? Why haven’t you made me leave?”
“Your body was weak, and staying here helped. Now that you are healthy, perhaps I won’t let you return.”
“No. I still want to come here,” Shang Zhu pleaded playfully.
He Yi’an laughed and promised several times before leaving.
Weak body? It was still about his blood. Hypocrite.
Shang Zhu ignored the memory of being driven into a side room in his previous life and went to the hot spring. He removed his clothes and immersed himself in spiritual warmth. Then he scrubbed every place He Yi’an had touched until the skin reddened and fine streaks of blood appeared.
Good night, He Yi’an. What will you prepare for me tomorrow?
—
“Shang Zhu?”
He Yi’an opened the door to find him sitting obediently on the bed, long white hair spilling over the edge and violet eyes shining.
“Why are you awake so early?”
“I was so excited about becoming your disciple that I…” His voice faded to a mosquito’s hum.
“Barely slept?”
“Yes.” As if I would lose sleep over this.
He Yi’an crouched to meet his eyes. “Sleep a little longer. There is no hurry.”
“I couldn’t. I’m too excited.”
“Then eat breakfast first.”
The meal was extravagant, with several kinds of congee alone.
“I can’t finish all this.”
“Choose your favorite.” He Yi’an emphasized favorite with a delighted smile.
Shang Zhu loved every bowl. After much hesitation, he chose century-egg and pork congee.
“Thank you, Your Excellency.”
Only the quiet touch of bowls and chopsticks remained. To any observer, they looked perfectly warm together.
After breakfast, He Yi’an carried him by flying sword to the front mountain. Mist wound between green peaks. Keeping to his role, Shang Zhu clutched He Yi’an’s sleeve.
“If you’re frightened, hold tighter.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
A huge crowd waited. Hadn’t He Yi’an only needed to conduct a disciple ceremony? And what of the trial?
The moment Shang Zhu landed, an immortal-looking elder on a high platform declared, “Everyone is here. Let the trials begin!”
Shang Zhu vanished, He Yi’an’s face the last thing in his sight.
There were two tests: the Heavenly Staircase and the Heart-Questioning Spring.
At the signal, the broad white staircase darkened beneath thousands of candidates. Some rushed ahead, though the trial was not a race.
Shang Zhu climbed steadily. He Yi’an could have taken him as a disciple with one command. Why arrange this elaborate detour? Whatever the reason, Shang Zhu must not perform poorly.
Soon fewer than one fifth remained. He glanced back at endless steep jade stairs and the tiny figures scattered over them.
“Brother! Shall we help each other?”
An energetic stranger reached for his shoulder. Shang Zhu shifted just enough for the hand to miss, pinched himself hard, and turned with a bloodless face.
“I’m frail. I’m afraid I would burden you.”
The stranger’s expression stiffened before his smile returned. “What burden? I’m Bai Tiansheng. What is your name?”
“I’m Shang Zhu. Thank you. You’re very kind.”
Bai Tiansheng. We meet again.
They talked while others greeted Bai Tiansheng. He had deliberately slowed to collect people and favors. Eventually he made an excuse about meeting friends and left, claiming he did not wish Shang Zhu to feel excluded.
Shang Zhu sneered at his retreating back. He wanted credit for kindness while despising its recipient.
But if no trial existed in the previous life, how had Bai Tiansheng entered the sect?
Shang Zhu increased his pace and soon caught him.
“Tiansheng, why are you so slow? You have plenty of company, so I won’t disturb you.”
He swept far ahead under Bai Tiansheng’s dark stare.
As expected, Shang Zhu finished first. Though outwardly mortal, he carried hidden power and had been nourished by Silent Reflection Peak for half a month.
“The first trial is over. Rest!”
The successful candidates appeared in a tranquil grove beside a ringing stream.
“Congratulations on taking first place,” Bai Tiansheng said.
“You did well too. Third place.”
He had not expected Shang Zhu to accept the praise so easily. He forced a smile, exchanged meaningless words, and left. Shang Zhu saw the jealousy in his eyes. Bai Tiansheng would assume he had boasted deliberately.
He had.
“You’re the one who came first?”
Shang Zhu opened his eyes irritably, then recognized something familiar in the woman before him.
“I remember your white hair. I’m Mu Songge.”
She crouched as though speaking to a child.
“I’m Shang Zhu. Are you related to Mu Fan?”
“He’s my younger brother. He entered the inner sect in the last selection. I was sick for years, but now I’m well enough to join him.” She leaned closer conspiratorially. “Be careful of the third-place candidate. I don’t think he’s good.”
Then she left without explanation, greeting every finalist except Bai Tiansheng. Shang Zhu enjoyed his ugly expression, though the humiliation was still too mild.
Mu Songge had never joined Lingyun Sect in his last life either.
Rest ended. The Heart-Questioning Spring began.
“Only those free of distracting thoughts can cross,” the examiner explained. “The more tangled your mind, the shorter the distance you will travel.”
As first place, Shang Zhu entered first. What counted as distraction? Did naked hatred qualify?
He removed his shoes, lifted his hem, and touched the water. Agony like ten thousand needles pierced his sole. His face went paper-white—then the pain vanished.
He knew it had been real.
One step. Two. Three.
After that, the crossing became effortless. He reached the opposite bank.
“He crossed all of it!”
“Impossible!”
“Only the greatest cultivators have done that!”
The next candidates discovered it was not easy. Few reached halfway. Mu Songge went slightly beyond the middle. Bai Tiansheng managed only five or six steps, among the worst results. The people surrounding him looked at him differently.
“Shang Zhu places first. Mu Songge second…Bai Tiansheng ninth. The first ten may enter the inner sect.”
Mu Songge turned to find Shang Zhu, but he had already vanished.
A moment later, he stood again on Silent Reflection Peak.
He Yi’an patted a chair. “Why are you standing there? You must be exhausted.”
Shang Zhu sat rigidly. “You could have accepted me directly. Why make me take these tests?”
“Because they were arranged especially for you,” He Yi’an said. “So you could enter with a rightful name, beyond anyone’s gossip, and truly become my disciple.”
In his last life, people had whispered behind Shang Zhu’s back. They ignored him despite his status as the sect leader’s disciple, changing only after he revealed his strength.
Now he understood. It had never been merely his unlucky white hair and violet eyes.
But why had this life changed?
Why did He Yi’an keep saying the trial had been made for him?