Chapter 115: Crimson Flowers Hidden in White Bones (15)
Bai Chunsheng cried—this might have been the last thing Yan Jingqiu ever said to him. He wanted to see Bo Yan one final time.
Life and death no longer mattered.
The southern part of the Western Desert was not as near as Bai Chunsheng had imagined. He hadn’t expected the old abbot to still be there.
The old abbot sat cross-legged in front of the gate and said, “Even if you go after him, you won’t catch up.”
He continued, “Actually, Mahayana and Tribulation Transcendence are just concepts. Do you know what Tribulation Transcendence truly means?”
“Breaking through Mahayana by a heavenly thunder tribulation is only the beginning of this heavenly trial. The real tribulation is the setbacks of the mortal world,” the old abbot said. “Yan Jingqiu cannot see past it. Even if you try to find him, it will do no good. You might even risk your life for nothing. Why bother?”
Bai Chunsheng glared at him with his tear-red eyes, silent and ferocious. Without a word, he pushed past the old abbot and left.
The old abbot sighed, calling after Bai Chunsheng’s retreating back, “Ah, you little fool. Think carefully again—why did Yan Jingqiu lose his memory in the first place!”
The old abbot’s scolding only made Bai Chunsheng shut his ears tighter. He pouted and quickened his pace.
The Western Desert wind was harsh, filled with sand that stung the face, making sword-flying impossible.
But once he exited Huayan Temple, he entered a bustling city. Bai Chunsheng hurried into the Treasure Gathering Pavilion to buy a sand-sled cart and a six-legged camel horse with excellent endurance. While waiting for the camel horse, he overheard a few cultivators inside the shop chatting casually. They wore the robes of the Taixu Sect and appeared to have come along with Yan Jianhang to Huayan Temple.
They discussed recent events: “…Has the Young Sword Sovereign really come back to life? Why haven’t we gone to greet him yet? Wasn’t that why the Patriarch called us here?”
“Impossible,” another said. “If it were the Sword Sovereign, would things look like this? These people wouldn’t have the nerve.”
“I saw the pictorial records sent out by Cuiwei Palace. His sword techniques bear almost no resemblance to the Sword Sovereign. I can barely see traces of the Yan family sword style, but it isn’t the Sword Sovereign’s style—probably just a trick he learned somewhere.”
“I heard he’s Yan—”
“Oh, that explains it… He studied under Daoist Lian Guang. I heard Daoist Lian Guang was once a disciple of our Yan family but was expelled.”
Note: Previously translated Lian Guang Daoist.
Hearing this, Bai Chunsheng’s gaze froze. He stepped closer, grabbed the collar of the nearest cultivator, and pressed him with the authority of a Dao-stage practitioner to force out where Bo Yan currently was.
His own situation wasn’t great, but it was better than hearing from Yan Jianhang that Bo Yan was already dead.
After Bai Chunsheng had fallen asleep, and Bo Yan left him at Huayan Temple, several major sects and families had discovered his trace and come to the Western Desert.
Bo Yan had left Huayan Temple on his own, dealing with these people for a long time.
Many had fallen to his sword, and he himself had suffered severe injuries.
Bai Chunsheng remembered Bo Yan’s left arm, still not fully healed from the injury caused by the jade figurine in the Water Abyss Realm. Now old wounds were compounded by new ones, making him even more anxious.
Just as the camel horse he had ordered arrived, a fierce wind whipped through the city.
The swirling sandstorm tore across the sky like a savage whip, winding from the horizon to the ground. The once-docile camel horse suddenly went berserk, trying to break free. The cultivator holding it let out strange sounds to calm the beast. When he had a moment, he asked Bai Chunsheng, “Are you still going? The sandstorm might catch you. I heard some powerful immortals are fighting in the south. You might wait a few days. These terrestrial immortals are never reasonable. You’re so good-looking—you mustn’t lose your life for nothing.”
Squinting against the sand-whipped wind, Bai Chunsheng faintly heard the subtle roar of a dragon.
He glanced at the camel horse, now terrified by the dragon’s presence, and shook his head. “I don’t want this horse. Leave it here for me… if I manage to come back.”
The cultivator, battered by the sandstorm, was about to ask what he meant, but as he opened his mouth, sand mixed with spiritual energy blew into it, preventing him from even activating a protective array.
Finally opening his eyes, all he saw was a white figure vanishing into the storm outside the city.
Had he gone mad? What on earth was this person trying to do?
Three incense sticks’ time earlier, southern Western Desert.
Bo Yan, pierced by multiple swords and scales shimmering along his face, had already been driven to the brink.
Suddenly, he seemed to awaken to a thought and turned back toward Huayan Temple. Perhaps it was a premonition of death, giving him a hallucination—he almost thought he heard Bai Chunsheng saying he loved him.
Of course, he knew it was impossible. Bai Chunsheng would still be asleep for at least three more days.
By the time three days passed, Bo Yan feared he would have already turned to ashes, impossible to fit even in a single container, scattered across this boundless desert.
He shook his head. Blood trickled from his forehead, drop by drop falling into the shifting sand. Yet he found it strangely amusing and let out a hoarse laugh.
That laugh startled his enemies.
Though these people seemed far stronger than his exhausted self, they trembled involuntarily and stepped back. “What more do you intend to do?!”
It was as if the hunted were these enemies, not him.
Bo Yan looked at these cowardly creatures, their courage broken yet still clinging to greed, hoping to outlast him for a share of the spoils. He licked his lips. “Guess carefully…”
Sword light surged. The sound of sharp blades slicing through flesh blended almost naturally with the surrounding screams.
But his strength, inevitably, would run out. The sand-laden wind of the Western Desert lashed at his wounds, the sting sharpening his senses even more.
Bo Yan felt that he truly might not have much time left to live. Luckily, ever since being slashed by the jade figurine in the Water Abyss Realm, he had mentally prepared himself for this.
In these past days, he often recalled the illusion on Changliu Mountain—the fire that had destroyed the entire palace—and Bai Chunsheng’s shy kiss. The sands of the Western Desert were scorching, the moon at night was piercingly bright, and it was, perhaps, a fitting place to lay his bones.
Those he had attacked and scared back hundreds of meters were now watching him warily, circling him like vultures, waiting for him to die so they could pounce on the corpse.
Almost simultaneously, they all raised their hands, pointing at Bo Yan’s back, whispering among themselves.
Bo Yan’s extraordinary hearing caught every word of their conversation.
“Huayan Temple… why Huayan Temple?!”
“He’s clearly here, so why would a Tribulation Transcendence cultivator fall there?”
“Could it be that the one truly about to transcend—”
—Yan Jianhang was dead.
Bo Yan didn’t know why the thought had arisen, but his instincts had always been accurate.
He turned his head and saw the sky behind him swirling with vast clouds—clouds that shouldn’t exist in the Western Desert.
Suddenly, he remembered the fragment of memory from when he had climbed up from the riverbank of the Yunhai Small World: two words left to him by his pre-amnesia self.
The first was: “Do not repeat the same mistakes.”
Later, Bo Yan understood that it meant: do not fall in love with Bai Chunsheng.
He hadn’t been able to accomplish this, and he had accepted the consequences willingly.
Bo Yan felt there should have been a second line, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember it.
But just now, he seemed to hear Bai Chunsheng’s voice and suddenly remembered.
The second line was: “If you can’t, let it be.”
—Do not repeat the same mistakes. If you can’t, let it be.
In the depths of Bo Yan’s life-and-death realm, the misty gray fog began to recede.
The aura of decay first sank downward, then began climbing steadily.
Yan Jingqiu opened his eyes.
He had regained his memories.
He was awake.
Fully awake.
The flames from Bo Yan’s self-detonation had not yet dissipated. The ghostly blue flames began to regrow and swirl around him, while black flames re-covered his body. Red flames, spreading like wildfire, climbed over the corpses on the ground, absorbing nutrients like plants, growing stronger.
The sky churned with dark clouds, faint lightning flashing within. Sun and moon shone together over the desolate bones and red flowers.
The surrounding cultivators felt something was terribly wrong. The massive pressure threatened to crush their bones.
On a distant mountaintop stood an elder in Mahayana cultivation. He suddenly realized, “Run! He really is Yan Jingqiu!”
“This… is the Tribulation Cloud of Ascension!”
“Boom!”
Thunder rumbled.
The awakened Yan Jingqiu stood silently in the heart of the raging lightning storm. He discarded the Dingguang Sword in his hand. No one knew what he was thinking.
Fragments of memory flashed before him—seemingly from a quiet chamber.
A figure sat opposite him, face like carved jade, thin lips, straight nose, wearing a crow-blue brocade robe with mountain and river patterns, a lake-blue jade belt at his waist: “I have two questions. What if Bai Chunsheng hadn’t come to the Yunhai Small World to find you?”
“He wouldn’t.” The voice was his own.
Yan Jianhang asked, “Why not?”
Yan Jingqiu replied, “Because it’s him.”
Yan Jianhang sipped his wine: “And the second question—what if, after losing your memory, you no longer loved him?”
“Impossible.” Yan Jingqiu raised his cup, drained it, and smiled. “Because it’s me.”
Author’s note: The ending was destined, because Bai Chunsheng is Bai Chunsheng, and Yan Jingqiu is Yan Jingqiu. No matter how many times it happens, it is fate.
Huge shoutout to @_nyanmaru_ on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.
