When Lin Zhengde was about to die, for some reason, the phrase kept echoing in his mind. With the naive melody of a youth unfamiliar with the ways of the world, he thought, “Yes, I can actually fear hardship.”
Why would a martial artist fear hardship?
He lay on the bed, gazing at the medicine bowl on the table. It was made of porcelain as thin as cicada wings, containing a priceless concoction… and poison.
The cool, thin sunlight spilled through the window lattice, and he found the light a bit glaring. So, half-closing his eyes, the sunlight penetrated through his eyelids, revealing a reddened darkness in chaos.
Since he had deviated into demonic cultivation, he often saw this dark red and gloomy color. It resembled dried-up blood, the lair of nurturing gu, or crushed sugar-coated haws.
The pain in his chest intensified, and he curled up on the bed, coughing incessantly. His throat was itchy as if small stones were lodged in it. This sharp pain brought forth involuntary tears.
Lin Zhengde felt that he must look extremely miserable now—helpless and wretched. A wretchedness that he detested, akin to a struggling insect.
This was the powerlessness that had pervaded his half-lived life.
He was an orphan, adopted by the former leader of the martial arts alliance. Everyone said the old alliance leader was a good person, adopting over a dozen orphans, treating them as disciples, and nurturing them like his own children.
…
His childhood nightmare was the face of his master hidden in the darkness.
When he and his martial brothers practiced, the master lurked in the shadows like a ghost, watching them intently. The greedy gaze, like a tangible tongue, seemed to lick over his body inch by inch.
“Top-notch aptitude.” The master forcefully restrained his wrist, almost grinding his teeth. The desire that surged forth, as if wanting to dissect and bone, was so thick that it could drown in the envy of oneself.
From the very beginning, Lin Zhengde felt that he was a gu, and he and his martial brothers were the gu raised by the master. Or rather, they were livestock being butchered, destined to be skinned and gutted one day.
His intuition had always been accurate, but no one believed him. The eldest martial brother reached out to pat his head, laughing, “Not running a fever, are you? Why are you always talking nonsense?”
“All people say that Master possesses a celestial demeanor and Daoist bones. Why do you claim him to be an evil ghost and a demon, Junior Brother Lin? Could it be that your eyes are deceiving you?”
He turned to look at the distant master, and in an instant, the coldness reached his fingertips, losing all warmth.
However, the eldest martial brother, who comforted him like this, eventually perished. In a lightless cave, killed by his most respected master’s own hands.
His master had fallen into demonic cultivation, practiced forbidden techniques, and gained immense power by killing. There was an art to the killings—they needed to have excellent aptitude, and the cultivation method had to be the same.
So, his martial brothers who lay lifeless in the cave, their eyes not closed even in death, were all livestock harvested.
The master disguised himself too well. He assigned tasks to everyone, instructing them to eradicate the demonic cult, making the members of the alliance believe they were killed by the cult.
Who else could commit such atrocities, stripping off even the skin, except the depraved disciples of the demonic cult?
And there was his master, with a celestial demeanor and Daoist bones.
The master greedily crouched on the ground, holding human skin and delightfully gnawing, the pungent smell of blood filling the cramped cave. The crunching sound, making one’s teeth ache, echoed continuously.
He intentionally fell to the ground, feigning unconsciousness, silently watching his master. Then, at the moment when the master was most relaxed, he raised the knife and cleaved the vulnerable neck into two.
The reason it was called demonic cultivation was that it was excessively sinister. No matter what, he couldn’t have imagined that his master, with a broken neck, could still lunge at him to bite.
During the struggle, he consumed his master. He wanted to vomit it out, so he clutched his throat, hunched over on the ground, retching. Tears mixed with fresh blood streamed down, and in that moment, he felt like a hungry ghost in hell.
It was too filthy.
He gained a surging power and became the new leader of the martial arts alliance. However, nobody knew how that Lin leader crawled out of the cave in such a wretched state—
Pale hands emerged from the pitch-black soil like the mightiest gu breaking free from confinement.
Covered in a foul stench, he stumbled through the streets, seeing the glistening sugar-coated haws under the sunlight.
A bout of dizziness.
He used to really want to eat those red, sugar-coated things. Back then, he was so small, speaking softly, and didn’t dare to ask for anything. So, led by his martial brothers, he passed by the sugar-coated haws.
“We are Martial artists. Why eat sugar-coated haws?”
Therefore, the past was not to be mentioned. He was like those seemingly shiny sugar-coated haws, but if you took a bite, you’d discover the hawthorn inside had long gone rotten.
His inner self had already decayed. The power he absorbed was rejected by his body. The shell was tortured with countless injuries, and a slight misstep in cultivation would lead to demonic cultivation.
On a regular night, while practicing, he suddenly felt someone ominously staring at him, just like his master did in his childhood.
Startled, the power surged through his meridians like tiny snakes, and a mist of blood sprayed out. He collapsed, convulsing, in a reddened darkness. Struggling, he lifted his eyelids, realizing that the thing that had frightened him was just the shadow of a tree.
Seeing ghosts where there are none—how laughable it must be.
Later, people in the martial world knew that Lin, the alliance leader, had deviated into demonic cultivation. Countless eyes fixed on his position, greedy, eager, jealous, much like the gaze of his master in the past.
As if rising from the depths of hell, akin to the deceased master, he summoned a horde of hungry ghosts, staggering and indulging in carnage. A nauseating greed prevailed.
However, things were different now. He was no longer the weak Lin Zhengde of the past; he was the feared leader of the alliance, Lin. So, even if he clung to the position of the leader, even if the greed in those eyes almost bled, no one dared to offend his authority.
Seated in the leader’s position, he looked down at the assembled people and suddenly found it amusing. In the silent room, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, only his hoarse laughter echoed.
He was Lin, the alliance leader, wielding supreme power and immense wealth. When he fell ill, precious herbs flowed like water, and the brewed medicinal soup foamed with a gurgling sound. Taking a sip, he tasted the bitter flavor that spread to the depths of his heart.
Chin propped on his hand, he looked at the pharmacist indifferently. The pharmacist’s words were automatically filtered out, and all he heard was the gentle rustling of the wind and the crisp chirping of birds.
The handsome and pale man smiled lightly and said, “I want to eat sugar-coated haws.”
The eloquent pharmacist immediately stumbled, unsure if he had misheard, and asked in disbelief, “Leader Lin, what did you say?”
“I said I want to eat sugar-coated haws.”
The medicine was too bitter, so he wanted to eat sugar-coated haws. Healing was too dull, so he decided to learn to play the qin.
No one dared to stop him because he was the unfathomably powerful leader of the alliance, and now, after deviating into demonic cultivation, his mind was a bit dysfunctional.
Before encountering Bai Tang, he had no idea why he suddenly wanted to learn the qin. After meeting Bai Tang, everything had an answer.
Why did he want to learn the qin?
Because he wanted to play it for ‘him’.
Before he died, he went to Bai Tang with a qin in his arms. In the deep green forest, the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting its glow on the qin. Lowering his gaze, he played a piece called “Phoenix Seeking the Phoenix.” As the song ended, with expectations he couldn’t express, he tremblingly asked Bai Tang for his thoughts.
Bai Tang pondered for a moment and said, “The tune is strangely nice.”
He couldn’t help but laugh.
He recalled the first time he saw Bai Tang. At that time, his eyes were bloodshot, his mind in chaos, and everything he saw was a reddened darkness. He couldn’t even feel the pain in his body.
During that time, it seemed like he was in hell, surrounded by swaying hungry ghosts. They had no human skin, extending blood-soaked hands to grab his ankles. So, he lifted his knife, wanting to sever everything.
All that was filthy, greedy, nauseatingly sinful—all were cut off. In his madness and despair, his mind was filled with such voices screaming. Just as he was on the verge of a splitting headache, a soft and clean young voice pulled him back from the abyss.
In the moment their eyes met, all the blood-red colors silently dissipated. His vision was solely focused on this young man, amidst a field of lamentations and surrounded by blades and shadows. However, he couldn’t see anything else, couldn’t hear anything else. He stood there, dazed, gazing at the young man.
Gazing at those ink-green eyes capable of melting all thoughts.
Then, he saw himself in them.
If redemption had truly appeared in his sorrowful and brief life, it was definitely not the day he crawled out of the cave, glimpsing the first ray of sunlight. Nor was it when he sat in a high position, eating the sugar-coated haws with a bitter taste.
It was Bai Tang.
He looked at him, and held his breath, as if afraid to disturb a dream.
Such a clean, beautiful, pure, and flawless dream.
After meeting Bai Tang, he never ate sugar-coated haws again. It seemed like the combined sweetness of all sugar-coated haws couldn’t compare to the sweetness of the two words “Bai Tang.”
Before taking medicine, he would earnestly pronounce the name “Bai Tang” several times. He would break it down, chew it, and let it linger in his mouth, finally tasting a bit of sweetness.
Only a faint and slight sweetness, but for a heart burdened with too much bitterness, even that tiny bit of sweetness could fill it.
“Bai Tang.”
He closed his eyes, softly chanting the name, the voice so light it was like a dream.
However, there were times when falling ill, merely uttering a name couldn’t suppress the melancholy. At those moments, he would strongly desire to wield his knife… or go find Bai Tang.
Go find Bai Tang.
No need to do anything, just simply look at him. Even if only for a moment, just one glance could stop his fingertips from trembling, could make him draw a difficult breath.
Just like now, he’s falling ill again. Blood gushes from his throat, his mouth is filled with blood, and he clenches his teeth, but the blood still spills from the corners of his mouth.
The red-black blood soaks the pillowcase, and his entire body convulses uncontrollably. The painful serpents crawl out from his bone marrow, grotesquely as if wanting to burst out of his skin.
Bai Tang…
Wants to… see Bai Tang…
The man with the mask struggles to reach out as if trying to grasp something. A beam of sunlight streams through the window, landing on the man’s palm.
He once lay in a dim cave, tremblingly reaching out his hands, groping along the rock wall, wanting to grasp that beam of light.
His fingertips tremble slightly, and the reluctant hand opens, opening so forcefully that the veins on the back of the hand protrude. Then, the pale hand weakly drops, knocking over the porcelain bowl on the table.
The medicinal soup spills all over the floor.
“Wow, so you’re still afraid of bitterness.”
Author’s Note:
With forty-five votes, here comes the extra story of Lin, the Alliance Leader.
Little angels, if you find it heartbreaking after reading, please don’t mention it in the comments (whispering). The author has marked it as a sweet story, and passing angels seeing lamentations in the comments might think the author is up to something.
But the main story is obviously super sweet (crosses fingers), and this extra story was chosen by everyone through voting! So, little angels, can you praise the sweetness of the extra story even if it goes against your heart? (whispering and testing) The author will sprinkle more sugar in the next chapter (tentatively offering a bribe).
Hope the little angels can write something like “It’s too sweet, I’ve been sweetly moved to tears,” and then everything will be reasonable and in order (love you~ pen kisses~).
