Chapter 87: Weary of Rain and Tired of Wind
In the deepest, most private corner of Meng Xueli’s consciousness, the place he had kept most hidden, Ji Xiao’s aura completely permeated him.
This level of soul-to-soul contact and impact left him weak in the bones and muscles, dizzy in waves, as if the cliffs of the world had thawed overnight and the peach trees of Changchun Peak had all bloomed at once.
At this moment, Ji Xiao was very close to him, yet felt impossibly distant.
“Your life-saving grace cannot be repaid; I wish henceforth to follow the Sword Sovereign wherever you go!”
“I can wear something thicker; you provide me with a little hearth.”
“I obey your commands, loyal and steadfast, as witness the sun and moon!”
…
“You are by my side; I will ensure your safety.”
“This is where I attained the Dao. Will you agree to form the ceremony of companionship with me?”
“I do not bear the name Ji. My surname is Xiao.”
Memories flickered one after another. In a daze, Meng Xueli felt as though a hundred years had passed, yet in reality, it was less than a moment—shorter than a single blossom opening.
Ji Xiao whispered in his ear, “It isn’t safe here. Give me ‘Hundred Generations of Time.’” His voice was steady and gentle, careful not to frighten him.
Meng Xueli’s mind went blank; he could not think, only obeyed instinctively.
Ji Xiao raised his head toward the sky. “Hold me tight.”
In the western sky, the last streak of golden sunset vanished at the horizon. Darkness surged like a tidal wave, swallowing the secret realm. Across the wilderness, fierce winds howled and bent the grass and trees.
Another day had passed, leaving only three days until the originally scheduled conclusion of the Hanhai Grand Competition.
Unbelievable changes unfolded within the secret realm. Temperatures dropped sharply, streams and lakes froze, and frost fell upon forests and flowers.
Ji Xiao’s eyes narrowed. He knew what Gui Qing intended to do.
Meng Xueli’s legs felt like jelly; he could barely stand. Fortunately, Ji Xiao held him close. Ji Xiao split “Hundred Generations of Time” into twin swords, soaring toward the central city’s underground palace. One arm held his Dao companion’s shoulders; the other wielded the sword. His robes flapped wildly in the gale.
The bitter wind whistled, making it almost impossible for Meng Xueli to open his eyes. He looked up. The sky, which had been half deep blue and half dark red after sunset, was now riddled with web-like cracks, like shattered colored glass or ice broken by a beast’s trampling.
The cracks spread rapidly, covering the heavens, a scene both eerie and breathtaking.
“What’s happening?”
“Gui Qing intends to refine the secret realm,” Ji Xiao’s voice came from above, calm yet imbued with a reassuring strength.
Within the underground palace, the mirage beasts sensed extreme unease, unable to sustain the illusionary scene. Starlight scattered, mountains receded, and the secret realm’s sky fragmented, revealing its original gray-black expanse.
The secret realm was a fragment of space, its operating rules set by Ji Xiao, with precise timings for opening and closing.
If Gui Qing Zhenrenmissed this chance, he would have to wait twenty years for the next opening of the Hanhai Grand Competition’s secret realm to have a shot at controlling it—unless his cultivation surpassed Ji Xiao’s former level. The containment arrays set by Ning Wei and others at various teleportation formations in the realm activated in sequence, aiding Gui Qing in refining the realm.
But Ji Xiao was not dead; the original master of the secret realm still lived.
“Hundred Generations of Time” surged forward. Meng Xueli felt Ji Xiao’s aura behind him ascending at a terrifying speed. Dense, invisible spiritual energy converged around them, forming a tangible, rushing vortex. He realized that Ji Xiao was absorbing the secret realm’s power, contending with Gui Qing for control of time.
Two immense forces clashed and pulled against each other in the confined space, nearly tearing the Hanhai Secret Realm apart.
The secret realm began to collapse.
The deafening roar was more terrifying than thunder; massive sections of ancient buildings in the central city toppled, and distant rolling mountains sank downward. The earth cracked open, and underground water gushed skyward, forming geysers several meters high.
The “outer realm” had long been barren and sparsely inhabited because it contained countless drifting spatial fragments. Those fragments were extremely unstable, generating violent currents and brutal winds that could shred any living being.
The collapse of heaven and earth seemed no greater than this. Within the raging vortex of spiritual energy, Meng Xueli could barely breathe; the heavy rubble pelted him like a storm of wind and rain, striking relentlessly.
Soon everything vanished. The rubble turned to dust, the roar faded in an instant, and someone covered his ears.
Ji Xiao had erected a sword-energy barrier for them, maintaining the flying sword’s stability.
Meng Xueli vaguely recalled the first time he had met Ji Xiao, when he had still been a spiritual ferret, curled against Ji Xiao’s chest, shielded by the Sword Sovereign from wind and snow, impervious to harm.
The flying sword cut through splashing water and falling boulders, racing forward as if the world itself had ended. Only the two of them remained in the heavens and earth, flying against the wind atop the sword.
Meng Xueli clutched Ji Xiao’s waist tightly, swallowing back his tears.
He thought that even if he were to die in the next moment, dying in Ji Xiao’s embrace would make his life worth it.
Ji Xiao felt the trembling of the person in his arms. “Are you afraid?”
Meng Xueli shook his head, then nodded.
He was not afraid of death—he was afraid it was all a dream.
Why did he not dare think that Xiao Tingyun was Ji Xiao?
The world admired the golden-prunus blossoms of Changchun Peak, but Meng Xueli had never believed in his own luck.
Ji Xiao was alive, had professed his love for him, and had stayed by his side to protect him—Meng Xueli could not even dare dream of it.
Do I deserve such sudden fortune? I don’t, do I?
Ji Xiao said, “Don’t be afraid. I am here.”
Meng Xueli nodded, the intense dizziness subsiding, and a measure of strength returning to his body.
The flying sword plunged into the underground palace, racing along dark corridors. Behind them, the passageways collapsed continuously, bricks and stones exploding outward, dust billowing in clouds.
Meng Xueli saw the mirage beast crouched at the end of the corridor and shouted with all his might, “You useless beast, run!”
The mirage beast trembled, looking utterly innocent. It did not know where to flee; it swung its tail twice in place and jumped upward.
Meng Xueli, frustrated, scolded, “Shrink now!”
This time, the mirage beast understood. Its massive body rapidly contracted.
Ji Xiao’s flying sword was about to sweep over the mirage beast’s head. He abruptly lowered its altitude. Meng Xueli bent down, scooping up the mirage beast, and Ji Xiao adjusted the sword to rise again, charging forward.
Meng Xueli cradled the soft, boneless mirage beast in his arms.
At the center of the underground palace lay a pond glowing with jade-green light. Clear spring water bubbled incessantly.
“Whoosh!” The flying sword plunged into the pond, sending water sparkling skyward.
In the next instant, the entire underground palace collapsed.
Even in such a life-or-death moment, a fleeting thought crossed Meng Xueli’s mind: the mirage beast’s living conditions were worse than his own. Clearly, he was still the more favored one.
Ji Xiao continued to uphold the sword-energy barrier, holding back the surging seawater. He appeared composed and skilled; seeing his little Dao companion look up at him, he even smiled faintly.
The sword-energy barrier parted the water as they landed on the soft sand of the seabed. “Hundred Generations of Time” glimmered, illuminating a patch of the sea.
Ji Xiao asked, “Are you alright?”
Meng Xueli shook his head, still slightly dizzy.
Ji Xiao relaxed.
Meng Xueli vaguely heard the cry of a jiao, raising his alertness. Before he could fully observe his surroundings, he detected the scent of blood.
Ji Xiao cleared his throat twice and, using the sword as a support, slowly sat down. “It’s alright. We’re home. This is your koi.”
Meng Xueli did not understand. All he saw was blood trickling from Ji Xiao’s lips, staining his front.
“You’re injured?!”
Ji Xiao waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
Forcibly absorbing the power of the secret realm and rapidly increasing one’s cultivation in a short time was a risky move. In truth, the fact that this body had not exploded and died was already the result of his precise calculations and control.
Meng Xueli had experienced such a tumultuous day, suppressing his tears as he tried to help his recovered Dao companion to his feet. “Don’t speak. Let’s get back to shore first.”
Ji Xiao refused to comply. “There’s still something I must say. I’ve been preparing for three days.”
He withdrew two items from his bosom—two wooden combs.
Meng Xueli’s eyes blurred with tears, unable to clearly see Ji Xiao’s expression. The combs emitted a faint, soft glow. When the teeth were joined together, they formed a full moon; when split apart, a half-moon.
Ji Xiao cleared his throat, swallowing the blood in his throat, and smiled. “‘Storm and Rain’ was my first sword. It was a wooden sword, originally kept by my senior brother Hu Si. I asked for it back and made a pair of combs from it, named ‘Weary Rain’ and ‘Tired of Wind,’ to give to you.”
He placed the gifts into Meng Xueli’s hands. “I want to be your true Dao companion. Will you allow it?”
The world would have guessed that ‘Weary Rain’ and ‘Tired of Wind’ were priceless treasures, but they were neither divine weapons nor secret manuals—just two simple, ordinary wooden combs.
Just as Meng Xueli was the only plain, steady wish in Ji Xiao’s otherwise extraordinary life.
There was a romantic meaning behind them: I have grown weary of the world’s storms; I am willing to comb your hair and tie it up, day after day.
Yet Ji Xiao had chosen an awkward moment, though his expression was sincere. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll find another way.”
“Ah—” a heart-wrenching cry echoed from the seabed—Meng Xueli’s scream of anguish.
…
After Meng Xueli’s argument with Que Xianming had collapsed, Que Xianming’s rage had nowhere to go. He shot out of the secret realm, heedless of the mirage beast’s worried cries, howling softly as he spiraled upward into the heavens.
“Meng Xueli, you actually fell in love with a dead man! You’ll regret it sooner or later!” Beneath the clouds and mist, the Hanhai desert stretched endlessly. The rolling sand dunes shifted with the wind, changing shape.
In the vast Hanhai, heaven and earth seemed to have no boundaries, and there were no people or other demons—only a single demon, soaring across the sky.
The sunset faded, night fell, and the moon’s shadow shifted westward. Que Xianming gradually realized something was wrong. At his speed, he should have flown out of the Hanhai and reached the southern continent. Why was there still yellow sand beneath the clouds?
There were no landmarks, only dunes constantly reshaped by the wind. It seemed he had returned to his starting point.
The peacock flew southeast, yet had no choice but to wander in circles.
Que Xianming struggled to fly higher, beating against the high-altitude air currents. Suddenly, his wingtip struck something cold and hard, producing a sharp metallic clang. Unable to bear the pressure, his head throbbed, and he lost strength, plummeting downward.
A chill surged from Que Xianming’s heart all the way to his tail feathers—this was not the real sky, or rather, not the real world.
The sky here was a formless dome.
The peacock flew high for seven days, its wings weighed down as if filled with lead, returning to the starting point. Three more days it wandered over the sand, exhausted, yet still could not escape.
He finally realized he was inside a circular, domed world with no exit.
After ten days of torment, Que Xianming was on the verge of collapse, shouting toward the sky, “Hey, who are you—”
“Come out if you dare—”
“When I get out, I will kill you! I will kill you!”
The newly acquired bird of the Master of Tianhu Realm was cherished and never left the owner’s side, always played with inside its golden cage.
The cage was exquisite and beautiful, with a thin layer of fine sand at the bottom.
The bird’s colors were dazzling: a long neck of goose yellow, charming pink-orange wing tips, blue-green noble tail feathers. It darted about energetically, occasionally craning its neck to let out a sharp cry, full of spirit.
A group of beautiful maidservants and concubines gathered around the cage, laughing and making merry.
They all witnessed Hu Si standing by the window at dusk, holding the cage. When the stars first appeared, he turned, and the cage now contained a bird.
Qiu Guang teased, “Realm Master is amazing! The bird actually flew in by itself!”
Chun Shui admired, “It’s a little peacock, and its feathers are so beautiful!”
“It’s not that small,” Hu Si replied with a calm smile, composed. He closed the cage leisurely and hung it beside the bed, waving, “All of you, go down.”
From the pond rippling at Changchun Peak, even a great jiao looked like a tiny koi.
Sea below the pond, heaven inside the cage. Such was the space-transcending power of a saint.
The bedchamber fell silent. Incense smoke drifted, and thick curtains hid the lamps.
The vermilion cloud ship hovered for three months before finally setting off. Under the silver moonlight, it pierced clouds and fog, leaving the Hanhai, and flew steadily south toward Tianhu.
Huge shoutout to @_nyanmaru_ on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.
