DDAM 6

“Shixiong, it’s starting to rain! Come inside quickly. Stop practicing your sword!”

A youthful voice cut through the curtain of rain; Xuan Qing leaned halfway out from beneath the covered walkway. He waved a handkerchief at the figure in the courtyard.

Chu Huaiji lowered his sword, then smoothly brought his movements to a halt and stood firm. Rainwater slid down the length of the blade, mingling with his sweat until it was impossible to distinguish one from the other.

He returned his sword to the rack beneath the eaves and stepped into the shelter of the corridor. He untied the ribbon binding his hair; released from its restraint, his long, dark locks hung against his shoulders.

Xuan Qing stood on tiptoe and reached out to wipe away the sweat, but Chu Huaiji shook his head. With a quick incantation, he instantly restored himself to a dry state.

Xuan Qing sheepishly scratched his head as he tucked the handkerchief back into his robes.

In the blink of an eye, the rain shifted from fine threads to heavy, bead-like torrents, drumming against the bluestone paving. A white mist rose from the impact, veiling the entirety of Mount Shuangwu in a blue-grey shroud.

“It has been a long time since I’ve seen rain this heavy…” Chu Huaiji murmured softly. Xuan Qing stole a glance at his expression and tentatively asked, “Is Shixiong in a bad mood?”

“No.” Chu Huaiji shook his head and smiled, though the smile held a trace of melancholy. “I was just reminded of the past.”

He placed a hand on Xuan Qing’s shoulder and gently steered the little fellow, who barely visit our site reached his shoulder, toward the pavilion at the end of the covered walkway. “There was a time when I was very afraid of thunder as a child. Whenever it rained like this, my dad…” He paused, then corrected himself: “My mother would come over and read to me.”

Xuan Qing’s eyes lit up. “Wow, was she telling stories?”

Chu Huaiji chuckled softly and shook his head. “He didn’t have that sort of sentimental touch.” He paused, lost in recollection. “Sometimes it was obscure, difficult texts; occasionally, it was entire volumes on military strategy.”

“I was so young back then. How could I possibly have understood any of that?” There was a hint of a helplessness in his voice. “At first, I was actually a bit curious and eager to understand exactly what he was reciting. Unfortunately, he was the sort of person whose explanations were dry as dust. After a while, I’d simply drift off to sleep while listening. It turned out to be a happy accident: I didn’t hear the thunder, but I certainly got a good night’s rest.”

Xuan Qing couldn’t help but chuckle. “Your mother sounds fascinating, Shixiong! She must have been a remarkable woman, one who could hold her own against any man.”

A strange look crossed Chu Huaiji’s face, and he gave a vague nod. “…Mm.”

Completely oblivious, Xuan Qing eagerly asked, “What about your father? Didn’t he come out to comfort you?”

“Him…” Chu Huaiji’s expression became complicated; he drew out the word slightly, as if he were weighing how best to describe that troublesome man. “It was a blessing enough if he didn’t come out to make things worse.”

Xuan Qing blinked.

Chu Huaiji continued, “Whenever he saw me cowering in the corner, terrified and in tears, he wouldn’t comfort me, he’d just tease me instead. One moment, he’d claim the thunder was the Thunder God throwing a tantrum and snatching up disobedient children; the next, he’d say that whenever the thunder rolled, something would crawl from the underworld specifically to devour kids who cried.”

“…The more he talked, the more terrified I became, and the harder I cried.”

Xuan Qing’s eyes widened further. “And then?”

And then…

Chu Huaiji remembered a scene of the past, and a smile appeared on his face. Ji Heqing had just managed to coax the child into stopping his tears; yet, in the brief moment he turned away to pour more tea, he looked back to find his scoundrel of a husband squatting before their son, vividly describing the gruesome details of how the Thunder God tears out the hearts and livers of children. His expression darkened instantly.

The little one had already curled into a ball; he cried so hard he could barely breath.

Jun Jiewu scooped the hiccuping child out of Chu Chenyan’s arms and patiently comforted him once more. Only when the boy had finally quieted down did he thrust the child back into Chu Chenyan’s arms. He lowered his voice to a stern, hushed tone, and issued an ultimatum: “If he doesn’t forgive you within the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn, you’ll be sleeping in the corridor tonight.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

Chu Chenyan held his still-crying son, looked down at the tear-streaked little face, and gave the matter serious thought.

Then, he spoke.

“…Do you know why the Thunder God only comes out on rainy days?”

The little one shook his head.

Chu Chenyan said with a straight face, “That’s because, back when the Thunder God was young, he was the ladies’ man. One rainy day, he went to meet his secret lover, only to be discovered by her husband…”

He hadn’t even finished speaking when the door was kicked open.

Ji Heqing stood expressionless in the doorway, still holding the book he had been reading earlier. “Chu Chenyan.”

“……Here.”

“Get out.”

Xuan Qing was captivated; a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he said with envy, “That sounds wonderful…”

He murmured the words, then, as if struck by a sudden thought, changed the topic: “So, Shixiong, why did you come to Mount Shuangwu?”

No sooner had the words left his lips than he seemed to realize they might be inappropriate; he hurriedly waved his hands to clarify. “I didn’t mean anything by it! It’s just… my own family was poor; my parents couldn’t afford to raise me, so they had no choice but to send me to Mount Shuangwu. It was only later, when Master saw I had some aptitude for spiritual cultivation, that he took me on as a disciple…” He scratched his head. “But your family sounds so well-off, and your parents doted on you. How could they bear to send you away to these mountains?”

Chu Huaiji listened to him finish, then smiled.

“I understand what you mean; there’s no need to be flustered.”

That smile lingered briefly on his lips but never reached his eyes. He turned his gaze toward the endless curtain of rain outside the veranda: “Back then, my parents were plotting something… something very dangerous.”

He didn’t elaborate. “They were afraid I’d be implicated,” was all he said in the end. “It just so happened that Master was traveling through the area; seeing that I possessed decent innate aptitude and an affinity for the Dao, he asked if they would allow me to join the sect and cultivate. They readily agreed.”

Xuan Qing nodded in realization. “I see.”

He remained silent for a moment before speaking again, his tone betraying his admiration: “Shixiong, your aptitude is truly exceptional. Reaching the Nascent Soul stage at twenty is something I wouldn’t even dare to dream of.”

His eyes were filled with reverence as he looked at Chu Huaiji. “Talent like yours is rare indeed, hard to find another like it across the entire cultivation world. Given time, you will make a name for yourself across the realm; even ascending to the Upper Realm would likely be no difficult feat.”

Chu Huaiji did not respond.

The patter of rain filled the silence. A curtain of water cascading from the eaves, splashed into the bluestone vat, sending out ripples that spread in concentric circles. He lowered his head and looked at the hands he had placed upon his knees: “…Actually, I don’t want to ascend.”

“…Huh?” Xuan Qing was stunned. “Why? You must be joking, Shixiong, right?” His voice rose in agitation. “With such exceptional aptitude, wouldn’t it be a waste not to ascend?”

Chu Huaiji’s fingers curled slightly; after a long pause, he looked up and said, “My parents are still in the mortal realm. Once they’ve settled everything, they’ll come to fetch me.”

He paused and smiled. “Besides, that grand undertaking they’re planning can’t [unauthorized copy]go without a successor. If I don’t go back, who knows which collateral branch might end up reaping the benefits?”

Xuan Qing’s curiosity was piqued. “What grand undertaking? Is it even more important than ascension?”

Chu Huaiji glanced at him. “It’s a secret.”

Xuan Qing refused to let it go; he tugged at Chu Huaiji’s sleeve and shook it gently while adopting a wheedling tone: “Please, Shixiong, just tell me! I promise I won’t breathe a word to anyone else.”

Unable to shake off the persistent youth, Chu Huaiji discreetly looked at the surroundings. The corridor was empty; there was nothing but the rustling sound of rain, not a third person in sight. Only then did he lean forward slightly and lower his voice: “My father is actually the Emperor.”

Xuan Qing: “!!!”

“To be precise, the future Emperor,” Chu Huaiji said as he straightened up. “I don’t know if he has ascended the throne yet, but that was certainly the plan when I left.”

He paused, lost in memory. He sounded like any other young man who is proud of his father: “He said that once he became Emperor, he would change the dynastic name to ‘Yong.’ He vowed to reclaim the northern territories, unify the realm, and bring peace and prosperity to the land, ensuring that displaced commoners would have homes to live in and fields to till, free from the suffering of war.”

He spoke with delight, failing to notice the color draining from Xuan Qing’s face.

“Yong…” Xuan Qing murmured.

Feeling something amiss, Chu Huaiji frowned. “Yes, Yong. What’s wrong? Why do you look so pale?”

Xuan Qing’s Adam’s apple bobbee, and his voice sounded unsteady: “Shixiong… is your father’s surname Chu?”

Chu Huaiji gave him a puzzled look. “Obviously. If my surname is Chu, his is naturally Chu as well.”

Xuan Qing’s voice was barely a whisper, as if he were afraid of disturbing something: “Emperor Yongwu, Chu Yuan…”

Chu Huaiji didn’t immediately register the words: “What Wu–”

He stopped mid-sentence. He hadn’t caught the first part, but the last two characters were his father’s name.

…But wasn’t a title like that something bestowed only after an emperor had died?

Chu Huaiji suddenly felt a chill run through his entire body; a bone-deep cold spread inch by inch along his marrow. Xuan Qing looked at him; his eyes were filled with reluctance, yet he continued speaking in broken snatches: “Emperor Yongwu, Chu Yuan… passed away during the Yonghe era.”

“Just a few months after the Empress succumbed to illness, he died suddenly in the dead of night. People say…” He stole a cautious glance at Chu Huaiji’s expression. “People say that, overcome with grief over his beloved wife’s death, he followed her into the afterlife.”

Chu Huaiji’s mind went blank.

The words drilled into his ears one by one, yet he was unable to understand their meaning.

The Empress’s passing… the Emperor’s death…

His eyes reddened; he grabbed Xuan Qing by the collar, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip. “Where did you hear this?!”

Xuan Qing stumbled forward from the pull but did not struggle; instead, he said in a trembling voice, “Although Master forbids us from inquiring about affairs in the world below, whenever my senior sisters go down the mountain to procure supplies, they bring back chronicles of the mortal realm…”

He paused. “I read this last winter in a miscellaneous book.”

Outside the corridor, the rain drummed ceaselessly against the tiled eaves, the stone steps, and the bluestone water vats. Though the sounds were loud, to Chu Huaiji, they seemed muffled.

His hand clutching Xuan Qing’s collar gradually lost its strength; it was as if he had been drained of all vitality, and his fingers slowly loosened until his arm fell limp at his side.

“Shixiong,” Xuan Qing called out in a quivering voice. He wrapped his arms around him. “Shixiong… please accept my condolences.”

The youth’s voice trembled, yet he strove to steady it. “Though your parents have… passed away, the great ambition of their lives was ultimately realized. The Great Yong stands established; the realm is unified, and the hearts of the people are won. Figures such as Emperor Wu and the Empress, who blessed the common folk in life, shall surely ascend to the heavens in death, taking their place among the stars to be revered for eternity.”

Chu Huaiji stood rooted to the spot, devastated; his gaze was vacant, like an empty shell stripped of its soul. After a long moment, he suddenly wrenched himself free from Xuan Qing’s grasp and stumbled toward the edge of the veranda:

“…I’m going down the mountain.”

Startled, Xuan Qing reacted swiftly; he wrapped his arms around Chu Huaiji’s waist and refused to let go. “Shixiong! Please, calm down!”

Chu Huaiji tried to break free; the rain poured down on them, instantly soaking his hair and robes.

“I’m going down the mountain…” he repeated. “I have to go find Father and Dad… they’re waiting for me…”

He was unaware that he had inadvertently blurted out his greatest secret. Fortunately, Xuan Qing had not heard clearly; he dismissed the words as the incoherent ramblings of someone overcome by grief.

“Shixiong…”

“Have you made enough of a scene?”

Just as the two were grappling with one another, a figure clad in blue-grey robes appeared beneath the pavilion.

Xuan Qing’s body tensed; he hurriedly released his hold and bowed his head as he addressed the newcomer: “Master.”

Freed from the restraint, Chu Huaiji stumbled. He wanted to run down the mountain, but was frozen in place by a binding spell cast by Daoist Fu Feng.

Fu Feng looked at Chu Huaiji, who was disheveled in the rain, and then glanced at the cowering Xuan Qing; his brows furrowed sligh stolen content tly. “This is folly!”

With a wave of his hand, Chu Huaiji was transported back beneath the eaves. The young man’s robes were soaked through, and rainwater dripped from his hair and chin; he looked for all the world like a stone statue drenched by a downpour.

Fu Feng sighed inwardly. His voice softened. “Since you have entered my sect, you ought to know that a cultivator must sever all ties to the mortal world.”

“Whatever fate befalls Chu and Ji is a matter of destiny. No outsider can interfere, nor can anyone alter the inevitable. What good would it do for you to descend the mountain now?”

He said earnestly, “Huaiji, your talent far surpasses that of ordinary people; at times, I even wonder if you are an immortal from the Nine Heavens who has descended to the mortal realm to undergo a tribulation. Every step of your cultivation has unfolded as naturally as a stream carving its own path. Yet, do you know why you remain at the Nascent Soul stage?”

“It is because your heart is not at peace. You harbor too many distracting thoughts and are weighed down by too many worldly attachments. If you could cast these aside, who knows, you might well become the fastest person in this age to ascend to the Great Dao.”

Chu Huaiji kept his head bowed. Seeing that the young man seemed to have calmed down, Fu Feng lifted the immobilization spell.

The very next moment, Chu Huaiji’s knees buckled, and he knelt upon the slightly damp wooden floor. “I beg Master to allow me to descend the mountain.”

“You!” Fu Feng was choked with anger; his brow twitched as he waved his sleeve. “Stubborn and unyielding!”

Chu Huaiji remained silent, his back held ramrod straight. Wet strands of long hair clung to the sides of his face, yet his red eyes stared at Fu Feng.

After a long moment, Fu Feng let out a sigh. The sternness in his tone faded, replaced stolen contentby resignation. “Very well. If your heart is no longer here, there is no benefit in me forcing you to stay.”

He paused, then lowered his voice. “However, Huaiji, there is something I ought to hint at today.”

He gazed toward the distant, mist-shrouded peaks, and said slowly: “Both your parents were individuals of great destiny. If you cultivate diligently, there may yet come a day when you see them again.”

Chu Huaiji’s heart leapt; he abruptly raised his head. “Master… what do you mean?”

Fu Feng did not answer directly; instead, he pointed toward the sky. “Heaven’s secrets must not be revealed.”

Chu Huaiji stared at him in confusion. For a long while, the light in his eyes dimmed and brightened by turns. Finally, he lowered his gaze and murmured, “Master, you just made that up to trick me into cultivating?”

Upon hearing this, Fu Feng bristled with indignation; he raised his horsetail whisk and hit the young man across the shoulder. “You insolent disciple! Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time?”

“Back when I was wandering and first laid eyes on them, I felt an extraordinary air about them. They were no ordinary folk. Yet, though I have always been able to discern a person’s innate constitution and their affinity for immortality, those two were the only ones whose true nature remained opaque to me.”

“Moreover, they bore the mandate of emperors, bathed in the light of the Ziwei Star. With a destiny like that, even if it wasn’t exactly what I had surmised, it is impossible for their fate after death to be the same as that of common mortals.”

He glared at Chu Huaiji, yet ultimately, he added, “If you don’t believe me, simply ascend and see for yourself; then you’ll know. In any case, you certainly won’t find them in the mortal realm anymore. Rather than wasting your energy in futile rage here, you would do better to find a path forward for yourself.”

Chu Huaiji remained kneeling beneath the veranda; he said nothing more. It was unclear how much of Fu Feng’s words he actually believed; he simply fell into a long silence, so long [stolen content]that Xuan Qing couldn’t help but steal several glances at him. When he finally raised his head, his demeanor had calmed significantly.

He planted his hands on his knees and performed a respectful kowtow to Fu Feng.

“Thank you for your guidance, Master.”

Fu Feng glanced at him but didn’t reply; instead, he turned and walked back into the hall, tea-cup in hand, leaving behind only an indifferent remark: “Get up; the ground is cold.”

Xuan Qing hurriedly stepped forward to help him up.

Chu Huaiji allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. His knees were numb from kneeling, causing him to stagger slightly before quickly steadying himself. He lifted his head and gazed out at the grey sky beyond the veranda. The rain had not yet ceased; distant mountain ranges were veiled in mist, appearing and disappearing as if separated by vast waters and countless peaks.

He called out softly,

Father… Dad…

Are you there?