Jiang Luo walked slowly, step by step, until he stood before the Fated One. Clutching his abdomen, his face pale from the cold wind, he looked utterly wounded and weak. “Fated One, Daoist Elder Wei He.”
The night masked many things, and others couldn’t clearly see how badly Jiang Luo was hurt. But they could see the blood on his clothes and face. More importantly, the man across from him—Chi You—had lost an arm. So just how badly must Jiang Luo be hurt?
The fact that he was able to return at all was already a blessing! Daoist Elder Wei He was shocked. “Quick, quick, Heavenly Master, Ji Yaozi, help him back—I’ll examine him!”
“No need to worry, Daoist Elder,” Jiang Luo gave a weak smile, his voice barely audible, “These injuries aren’t life-threatening. Just flesh wounds. Ginseng spirit will do.”
The funeral parlor owner was momentarily stunned, then relaxed a little. “Ah, I almost forgot he has that living ginseng doll. Daoist Elder, that little thing’s five hundred years old. Once Jiang Luo eats it, he won’t need your help.”
“A five-hundred-year-old ginseng spirit? That’ll definitely work!” Daoist Elder Wei He sighed in relief. “Then let’s not waste time. We should hurry back. The hundred ghosts on the other side have left too. Let Jiang Luo go treat his injuries quickly.”
Jiang Luo looked at the Fated One again, letting out a soft sigh. With a trace of melancholy, he said, “Fated One, I can’t beat him.”
“You’ve already done very well,” the Fated One looked at him intently, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “No one could have done better than you.”
After comforting Jiang Luo, he turned his gaze to Chi You in the distance, now surrounded by a swarm of ghosts. The malicious ghost looked battered and was reattaching his severed arm. Though Chi You didn’t appear to be fundamentally harmed, there was a glint in the Fated One’s eyes. “You’ve already managed to make him lose an arm. That’s astonishing.”
Jiang Luo was still growing stronger, yet he had already reached this level. In just half an hour, he had left Chi You in such a state. If Jiang Luo continued to grow at this pace, becoming more powerful, then killing Chi You wouldn’t be out of reach.
He could accomplish what no one else could. Emotions flickered briefly in the Fated One’s eyes before vanishing in an instant. He raised a hand and gently wiped a streak of blood from Jiang Luo’s cheek, his voice as soft as water, tender as melting snow. “You’ve done very well today. Go back and rest.”
The group began slowly walking back. The elders deliberately slowed their pace to match Jiang Luo’s, moving as slowly as possible.
After entering the courtyard, Daoist Elder Wei He confirmed Jiang Luo didn’t need his help and left first. Feng Li and Ji Yaozi supported Jiang Luo on either side, escorting him back to his room.
Inside, the ginseng spirit was lying on the bed, playing with its toes. Upon seeing them return, it lit up and cheered, “Daddy, you’re back!”
“This is the ginseng spirit?” Ji Yaozi looked at it in amazement. “It’s raised so well—chubby and white.”
The ginseng spirit grew timid at the sight of strangers and shrank under the covers, trembling under the thick blanket.
Ji Yaozi chuckled, “Ah, hiding? You noticed Jiang Luo’s seriously injured? Smart little guy.”
Seriously injured?
The ginseng baby peeked its head out from the blanket, cautiously glancing at Jiang Luo, its expression confused.
Why couldn’t it see that Jiang Luo was hurt?
Aside from a bit of blood loss, he seemed perfectly healthy.
Just as it was about to say so, Jiang Luo swiftly yanked it out from under the blanket. The ginseng spirit felt the world spin around it—before it could even speak, a segment of its root whisker had already been cut off.
It immediately forgot what it was about to say and burst into loud wails.
Jiang Luo placed the root in his mouth, and his complexion visibly brightened—so much so that he began to sweat from over-replenishment.
He belatedly realized that he may have overdone it.
Suppressing the rising heat, he caught the ginseng baby’s tears in his belly wrap so as not to waste even a drop of essence.
Seeing his current complexion, Ji Yaozi didn’t even need to ask to know he had recovered. It was late now; Ji Yaozi yawned, “Since you’re fine, I’ll head back to bed. See you tomorrow.”
“Thank you for your concern,” Jiang Luo replied politely.
Ji Yaozi lazily waved goodbye and strolled out. Once his figure disappeared, Jiang Luo’s eyes turned toward Feng Li.
Why was he still here?
Not only did Feng Li not leave, he even sat down at the table, back straight, half his handsome face swallowed by shadow. “Come here.”
Jiang Luo approached warily.
The lightbulb in the room was an old model from twenty years ago, coated in a waxy layer of grime that dimmed the room in a yellow haze, making everything look like a moving sepia photograph.
Feng Li carried the scent of alcohol.
“Teacher,” Jiang Luo said, “aren’t you going to rest?”
Feng Li lifted his head, and the shadow slid back to his nose bridge, casting the lower half of his face into the dim yellow light like cold marble. “Put that back on the bed.”
The ginseng spirit stiffened under his gaze, instantly swallowing its tears and pretending to be dead.
Jiang Luo obediently put it back, then returned to stand in front of Feng Li.
Feng Li’s voice turned cold: “You did something wrong today. Do you know what it was?”
Jiang Luo’s smile faltered slightly, and he lowered his head. “This disciple doesn’t understand.”
Feng Li slowly looked around and picked up a dry twig from a vase on the table, his tone unreadable. “Tonight was the Hundred Ghosts Wedding Procession. You shouldn’t have taken the initiative to go forward, and even more so, shouldn’t have made a request to the Fated One.”
“Your master is me, not the Fated One,” Feng Li’s eyes darkened. “You should listen to me, not him.”
Now that was an interesting statement, Jiang Luo thought.
Feng Li said, “Hold out your hand.”
Holding the twig, he clearly intended to strike Jiang Luo’s palm. The irritation in Jiang Luo’s heart was nearing its limit. He spoke softly, “Teacher, I—”
“Hurry.” Feng Li interrupted.
He had already raised the twig into a position meant for punishment. Feng Li said nothing more, but his intent was obvious—if Jiang Luo didn’t obey, harsher consequences would follow.
Jiang Luo was silent for a moment, then extended his hand.
“Every time your senior brothers made a mistake, they received ten strokes from me. Since this is your first offense, I’ll give you five.” Feng Li didn’t hold back. The twig landed heavily on Jiang Luo’s palm, quickly raising a red welt. Jiang Luo looked at it—he didn’t feel the pain was much—but still curled his fingers slightly in pretended discomfort, only to force himself to open them again a moment later.
Strangely, his heart calmed.
He kept replaying Feng Li’s earlier words and could see now that the Fated One and Feng Li clearly didn’t get along. Feng Li disliked the Fated One intensely. Could this rift be used to set them against each other?
Let them tear each other apart.
One… two… three.
Feng Li struck three times.
Jiang Luo made a mental note of every single one. By the third, his palm was too bruised to look at.
Feng Li frowned and stopped, then said, “Roll up your sleeve.”
Jiang Luo hesitated and didn’t move.
Beneath the fabric, there were still marks left by the malicious ghost. If he revealed them, Feng Li would surely notice.
A wave of irritation surged inside him.
—Why is Feng Li so damn annoying?
Seeing him not moving, Feng Li assumed he was afraid. He reached out himself and began rolling up Jiang Luo’s sleeve. With the layers of winter clothing, it took some effort. Feng Li patiently rolled everything—from thermal wear to the down jacket—up to the elbow. Once Jiang Luo’s forearm was fully exposed, he picked up the twig again.
Jiang Luo glanced down—and to his surprise, the marks on his arm had vanished. No, not entirely vanished. If one looked closely, there were still faint traces, almost like an illusion. This must have been the effect of the ginseng spirit. Just one strand of ginseng beard, plus the dim yellow lighting in the room, and Feng Li failed to notice the fading marks beneath the skin.
But Jiang Luo was feeling hotter and hotter, so hot that the innermost layer of his shirt was soaked in sweat, sticking uncomfortably to his back. He reminded himself internally that he shouldn’t eat so much ginseng again—too much tonic wasn’t good either.
The final two strikes landed hard on his forearm.
On the pale, cold skin, two red swollen welts visibly rose. Spaced about a palm’s width apart, the swelling spread into the surrounding skin, making the whole arm look inflamed.
Seeing the effect, Feng Li’s brow twitched ever so slightly. He looked up at his disciple’s expression.
Jiang Luo looked like he was in severe pain. His forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat. His lips were pressed tight, and both his lips and the corners of his eyes were flushed again.
His arm was red, and the two welts held a strangely alluring, almost sadistic beauty. His palm looked even more pitiful—more swollen than the other hand by a full size.
Feng Li’s lips pressed into a straight line.
In truth, there was no such rule about punishing disciples like this. His former disciples had never dared make mistakes in front of him. If they did poorly, at most, they were locked up in solitary confinement.
But this time, he used that excuse and punished Jiang Luo with five strikes, leaving five marks.
Noticing his gaze, Jiang Luo tiredly lifted his eyes to look at him. “Teacher…”
Outside, the wind howled, the skies dark and heavy. The scent of alcohol on Feng Li’s body hung thick in the air, heavy and mellow, casting a drowsy intoxication into the room.
The bulb inside the room swayed slightly. The light it gave off was dull, shrouded by a dirty waxy film, casting flickering, dusty shadows all around.
Under this lighting, even an ugly face would seem softened and affectionate, filled with a hazy, lingering charm.
Jiang Luo’s half-lidded glance, neither warm nor cold, drifting lazily upward, under this hazy, indistinct lighting, gained an ambiguous, distorted sense of taboo.
Feng Li stared at him. His gaze suddenly darkened. He abruptly stood up, tossed aside the dry branch, and threw down the words, “Don’t let it happen again,” before striding quickly out of Jiang Luo’s room.
Jiang Luo stared after him, utterly baffled. Watching the door close behind Feng Li, he frowned.
“What the h*ll is wrong with him?”
Too weird.
He thought for a while but couldn’t make sense of it. So he got up, locked the door, shut the windows tight to keep even the faintest draft from sneaking in, then lit a talisman and tossed it into the brazier. As the flames crackled to life, he started undressing to get into bed.
The bed was cold, but the thick bedding quickly warmed up. But Jiang Luo was already overheated. Now it was unbearable—he threw off the covers and started fanning himself with his hands. Eventually, unable to take it anymore, he got out of bed, poured half a kettle of warm water, and used a towel to wipe himself down.
The ginseng spirit stood pitifully at the edge of the bed, wringing tears from its bib into Jiang Luo’s big red enamel basin, and pitifully asked, “Daddy, I didn’t see clearly who plucked my beard just now. Can you tell me who did it?”
Jiang Luo fibbed without a flinch: “It was Heavenly Master Feng. I saw it with both eyes.”
“I knew it!” The ginseng spirit sniffled and puffed up its round belly. “Daddy, I asked you to tell the Heavenly Master that I can cry instead of losing my beard. Did you tell him?”
Having totally forgotten about it, Jiang Luo replied seriously, “I told him, but he didn’t believe it.”
The ginseng spirit stopped crying, looking both wronged and furious. “How could he be like this!”
Jiang Luo and the ginseng baby took turns cursing out Feng Li, going back and forth for a good ten minutes before they finally stopped. After Jiang Luo wiped himself with water infused with the ginseng spirit’s tears, even the remaining bruises vanished in no time. Not only that, but all the other injuries he had previously sustained disappeared as well. Jiang Luo felt like a peeled boiled egg—cleaner than if he’d taken a bath.
Jiang Luo looked regretfully at his abdomen. “Your tears can regenerate tissue, but can’t you help me grow a couple more abs?”
The ginseng baby rolled its eyes. “Daddy, you better keep dreaming.”
Fresh and clean, Jiang Luo climbed back into bed. This time, at least, he didn’t feel overheated. But even though night had fully settled in, he kept tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. The ginseng baby was already snoring with a bubble at its nose, but Jiang Luo lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
He was suffering from insomnia again—this time from over-supplementing.
Jiang Luo gave up and started replaying the events of the night in his head. The more he thought about it, the more he found himself fixated on the strange look Feng Li had given him.
That gaze… something was off.
He thought and thought, almost drifting to sleep, when suddenly, a realization struck him like lightning.
The way Feng Li looked at him—
It wasn’t the way a teacher looks at a disciple.
It was the way a man looks at another man.
