The No. 1 Hunfen King in the Entire Server [Interstellar] Chapter 89

Lin Jing hadn’t visited Chu Feihuan in a while.

He was staying at Luoxia Peak, the most spiritually abundant and beautiful place in Lingxiao Sect, where the twilight scenery was unmatched.

Whenever he got bored, he would sit by the cliff, watching the view, playing his leaf flute, and bickering with the system.

After a few days of this, the lingering sadness in his heart finally faded. He returned to being a detached player, observing the grand scheme from the outside.

Of course, Gu Xiangsi and Chu Feihuan had not died from their fall.

They had been swept into a river and rescued by a reclusive divine healer—an old man living in a secluded peach blossom forest.

Chu Feihuan hadn’t suffered grave injuries, but Gu Xiangsi had. Her meridians were shattered, her dantian nearly destroyed—she would need rare and priceless herbs to recover.

The divine healer, eccentric in nature, demanded a price for saving her: Chu Feihuan’s heartblood.

Without hesitation, Chu Feihuan drove a sword into his own chest, letting his blood pour out, his face pale as paper—but his eyes never wavered.

After taking his heartblood, the healer handed him a long list of herbs.

“Find them all within a year,” he said, “or prepare to collect her corpse.”

And so, Lin Jing followed Chu Feihuan, watching him struggle through the mortal world for an entire year.

Stripped of his legendary Springwater Sword, his cultivation destroyed, he was now weaker than even a commoner.

He carved himself a wooden sword and carried it at his waist.

The herbs the healer demanded were all heavenly-grade spirit plants, each guarded by powerful beasts.

But Chu Feihuan was a genius. Even with his body shattered, he forced his way through with nothing but sheer will, cutting a bloody path forward with that wooden sword.

He trained relentlessly, day and night, traversing mountains and rivers, brushing against death time and again.

“Xuangang Sand, Purple Phoenix Bamboo, Heartless Flower, Silverglow Lotus…”

The first three were still traceable, despite the danger.

But the Silverglow Lotus had gone extinct two hundred years ago—nothing more than a legend.

No trace of it remained in the world.

Still, for a mere rumor, Chu Feihuan plunged into Ghost City and the Realm of Life and Death.

The entire world was hunting him down. He was forced to live like a rat, lurking in the shadows, hiding his identity.

Lin Jing watched as he became a beggar, sneaking into the blood-soaked Colosseum of Jue City, where thousands fought to the death for the entertainment of the wealthy.

Chu Feihuan stood atop mountains of corpses, victorious, earning an audience with the city lord.

The city lord, a lecherous man drowning in flesh and filth, took one look at him and revealed his vile intentions without even trying to hide them.

Chu Feihuan’s face remained expressionless.

With a sudden burst of strength, he broke free from his chains and, with one swift strike, severed the city lord’s head.

Stumbling into a hidden chamber, bleeding from every wound, he finally found what the rumors had spoken of—the legendary flower.

His fingers trembled as he reached for its petals—

Only to discover it was fake.

Lin Jing stood beside him, silently watching as the man who had fought through rivers of blood suddenly lost all strength.

His wooden sword stabbed into the ground, his black hair falling over his face—

And then, he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

In the dim chamber, only the flickering candlelight of mermaid-fat candles remained.

Chu Feihuan slowly lifted his head.

He didn’t know whether he was looking at the heavens or at fate.

But the once-brilliant light in his cyan eyes had completely faded.

For a moment, Lin Jing thought he was going to die.

But he didn’t.

Because Gu Xiangsi was still waiting for him.

He couldn’t die.

He wouldn’t allow himself to.

Dressed in tattered black robes, the young man lowered his gaze.

Wiping away the blood at the corner of his lips, he forced his battered body upright.

Scarred hands grasped his sword once more.

And in the endless darkness, he stumbled forward—one step at a time.

Lin Jing closed his eyes and returned to the Yingluo Hall.

The ancient texts described the Silverlight Celestial Lotus as white, with star-like radiance at its core, an extremely cold entity that would freeze upon contact with water.

Lin Jing walked forward, his robes brushing against the smooth, pristine floor, stopping at the edge of a pool.

Mist swirled around the Liuli Nine-Turn Furnace within the water, while a mysterious crane circled above in an endless loop.

Countless white lotuses bloomed in the pool.

Lin Jing bent down and parted the petals of one. When he saw the starlike glimmers within, he found it amusing.

And then he actually laughed.

How ridiculous.

So absurd it was laughable.

Chu Feihuan, look at what you’ve risked your life searching for.

How pitiful. Truly pitiful, you foolish boy.

Lin Jing plucked a lotus from the pool.

It laid quietly in his palm, its petals curled gently inward.

After escaping from Jue City, Chu Feihuan ended up near Xishui Village within the Chu Kingdom, purely by chance.

Lin Jing placed the lotus inside a small box but hesitated to hand it over.

For now, he didn’t want to communicate with Chu Feihuan via paper cranes.

If Lin Jing were a player, this would be the perfect opportunity to earn righteousness points.

After all, in such a moment of utter despair, having a friend send a message via a paper crane—bringing light into the abyss—would surely be unforgettable.

However…

Lin Jing lowered his head and sighed. “You don’t need it.”

Chu Feihuan, you don’t need salvation, nor warmth, nor unnecessary kindness.

For you, the less you carry—whether love or hatred—the better.

Lin Jing summoned a maid and, after some thought, instructed, “Take this to a ruined temple in Xishui Village in the Chu Kingdom. Hide it well, but not so well that it can’t be found. It should feel like a precious treasure that requires great fortune to obtain—but not too difficult, in case he misses it.”

The maid: “…”

What is my lady even talking about?

Lin Jing and the maid stared at each other. She didn’t know either.

The maid, arranged by Shangguan Wuyuan, would have been a hidden elder in any small sect. Delivering such a small box to Xishui Village was effortless. She remembered her mistress’s strange instructions, deliberated for a long while, then finally spotted a pile of long-dried bones beneath the temple’s Buddha statue. Sighing, she hid the box behind the white bones, just as the peculiar young lady had ordered.

Lin Jing idly chatted with the system. “Where are all the good people? Why isn’t anyone stepping in?”

System: “Just watch the show. Why do you care?”

Lin Jing: “But his chances of turning into a demon are quite high.”

System: “Not likely. There’s still Gu Xiangsi. For her sake, he won’t become a demon.”

Lin Jing: “You actually understand quite a bit.”

The system analyzed the data and said, “Isn’t that how it always goes in human stories?”

Lin Jing chuckled. “Right. ‘I could have become a demon, but for you, I choose to suppress it.’ Is that what you mean? So touching.”

He had grown up in a mental research institute. His parents were key researchers. After getting familiar with the system, their conversations felt like chatting with his own dumb son.

The system: “…”

Once again speechless, it sulked away.

The night rain pattered.

Lin Jing followed behind Chu Feihuan, returning to that temple once more.

A decade had passed in a blur, yet the temple’s eaves remained broken, its thatched roof leaking, rainwater dripping onto the moss-covered stone floor.

Dust and cobwebs covered the shrine. The gold leaf on the Buddha statue had peeled away, leaving half its face pitch black like a ghostly wraith. The candles had long since burned out, leaving only cold moonlight streaming in.

Lin Jing, in his spirit form, sat atop a wooden table, idly spinning the fortune stick holder. His white robe draped elegantly as the gemstone beads on his sash swayed with each movement.

He waited for a while before Chu Feihuan finally arrived.

The rain had washed away the blood on Chu Feihuan’s face, revealing his sharp, cold features. His eyebrows stretched like sword strokes into his temples, his nose was high and straight like a jade peak. The young man’s black hair, damp with rain, dripped past his pale lips. Clutching his wooden sword, he staggered inside, his body covered in wounds.

Fresh from a life-or-death battle, his nerves were still taut. He didn’t even think—he simply stumbled forward into the temple, looking only for shelter to tend his wounds.

His body was too weak. His vision swam as he reached a pile of straw, sitting cross-legged before the Buddha statue to begin healing.

Lin Jing: “?”

Hey, you idiot! The Silverlight Celestial Lotus is right next to you!

Lin Jing rolled his eyes. “So, you’ve really forgotten all about me.”

Hah, of course. Typical you, Chu Feihuan, a shallow face-obsessed fool.

A filthy, ugly, wretched existence doesn’t deserve to be remembered, huh?

Lin Jing hopped down from the table.

Shangguan Wan’s dress was beautiful, but also incredibly cumbersome—made from the finest celestial silk, with lotus sleeves and collar. The waistline trailed long silver threads strung with precious beads, each step making them chime softly. Every bead had been refined with the blood of ancient beasts. A red thread of origami cranes dangled from his waist.

Lin Jing walked up to Chu Feihuan, grinding his teeth. Looking down at him, he muttered, “Brat. Ungrateful little wolf! Ignoring an elder’s advice only brings suffering. You’ve forgotten even me, haven’t you? You must have forgotten everything I told you too. You’re in for a rough time.”

With a sneer, his shadow slowly dissipated.

The rain poured on.

By midnight, Chu Feihuan’s eyelashes trembled, and he opened his eyes.

His mind cleared, and he silently gazed at the broken Buddha statue before him.

Outside, rain dripped from the temple’s eaves. The sound was crisp and pure, like a monk’s chant, distant yet near.

An ancient temple, a rainy night in the mountains.

The turmoil of his past felt like a fleeting dream.

As a child, he had known wealth and nobility.

In an instant, the Grand Princess’s residence became a river of blood, his family slaughtered.

As a young man, he had journeyed through thousands of mountains, seeking the Dao.

In an instant, he was falsely accused, slandered, and thrown into a hellish prison.

After joining the Jiuyang Sword Sect, Chu Feihuan encountered many people—some who hated him to the bone and some who loved him as if he were their life. In the end, all the grudges and hatred came to a close within the great fire of Cangjian Peak.

After all he had been through, he circled back to this ruined temple.

Chu Feihuan’s gaze fell on the skeletal remains.

He had noticed them the moment he entered, but forced himself to ignore them.

The rain droned on, bleak and endless.

The old beggar’s bones had long since weathered and decayed. Even in death, his posture was slouched and unkempt, as if he had died as irreverently as he had lived. The red clay bowl before him had long been covered in cobwebs.

Every detail told the same story—Time had passed, and the world had changed.

The old beggar who once played his clay bowl like an instrument and blew on leaves for amusement, the sharp-tongued and eccentric man, was no more. No wife, no children, no name. He had died here, in this desolate temple, with only the wind and moon to bear witness.

And the child who had once been naïve and brooding, uneasy about his future— Had since journeyed half a lifetime, soaked in blood and vengeance, only to return.

Chu Feihuan wanted to reach out and touch the bones, but his hand froze in midair.

He stared at the dried blood between his fingers, then lowered his gaze for a long time before the corner of his lips curled faintly—cold and mocking.

Closing his eyes, he laid down again.

From the folds of his sleeve, over his heart, he retrieved a delicate paper crane. His hands were stained with blood, yet he had protected this fragile thing with his life, keeping it untouched.

His fingers lingered over the folds of its wings. Lowering his lashes, he murmured, “Guess why my eyes are green.”

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