Volume Three: Not According to Freedom Chapter Eighty-One

When Geng Yuan awoke, he found himself surrounded by verdant pines, immortal cranes gliding among the clouds. Rising to his feet, he felt not the slightest discomfort; even the wounds he had suffered were utterly healed, though a dull pain lingered in his chest.

Had he not perished? Was the Demon God finally sealed?

“You’re awake, little brother,” someone greeted him.

Geng Yuan nodded, lowering his gaze to examine his attire. The sash at his waist was particularly elegant.

“Where am I?” he asked, perplexed by the stranger’s address.

Why call him ‘little brother’?

Huai Xiu observed the pale youth, whose beauty was undeniable—a true visage for Mount Bu Zhao—but whose frail appearance evoked pity.

“This is Mount Bu Zhao. I am your elder brother, Huai Xiu. What happened? Ever since you returned from the Weak Waters, you’ve been like this, remembering nothing.”

Weak Waters?

So, he truly had died, and now his soul resided in the body of a disciple of this immortal mountain?

“How fares the Demon God?” Geng Yuan pressed.

Huai Xiu poured him a cup of water. “The Demon God has been suppressed. Now, the Demon Lords have all been sealed by disciples of the Immortal Gates. The world is at peace.”

“That is good,” Geng Yuan replied.

Huai Xiu was puzzled; his junior brother had never concerned himself with affairs of the Six Realms, so this question was odd.

The youth pondered for a moment before asking, “And… the Divine Lady… how is she?”

Huai Xiu’s eyes twinkled slyly. “What’s this? You still can’t forget her?”

Was it him—the soul inhabiting this body—who pined for her?

Huai Xiu sat down, speaking earnestly, “Huai Gui, you and I grew up together. I know well your feelings for Lady Jun. It’s true, you are extraordinarily handsome—none in the Eight Wilds can rival you—but cultivation is what matters most to us immortals. You are the most promising disciple in Bu Zhao Mountain. So, about going to Lotus River, try harder, will you?”

Geng Yuan looked at his own hands. Indeed, in this body he sensed no great power; even his sea of divine consciousness was tranquil, and his primordial spirit lacked the strength to summon the Cang Yuan Bow.

How had his body ended up so weak?

Huai Xiu, fearing he had wounded his brother’s pride, softened. “Huai Gui… I’m sorry. My words were too harsh. You really do have potential.”

Huai Gui raised his head, his peach-blossom eyes innocent. “Elder brother, does what you say mean… as long as my cultivation improves, I can go to Lotus River?”

Completely disregarding the apology.

Huai Xiu wasn’t angry, nodding. “In a few days, the annual spell exam will be held. Lady Jun from Lotus River will come. You can see her then, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Geng Yuan’s heart quivered, his face flushing red.

He would see Jin Li.

Even a distant glimpse would suffice.

“Elder brother, I don’t remember much. Could you tell me more?”

Huai Xiu melted under repeated calls of “elder brother.” Once arrogant and unruly, his little brother now addressed him respectfully—Huai Xiu almost wished his mind would stay muddled forever.

He smiled. “You are Huai Gui, the youngest disciple under the Pine Master of Bu Zhao Mountain, ranked thirty-sixth. You’re the youngest and, alas, the weakest in spellcraft.”

Three superlatives.

Huai Xiu launched into tales of Huai Gui’s past foolishness, recounting absurd events that made Geng Yuan feel momentarily mortified.

He silently labeled this person in his mind: ignorant, disrespectful, spoiled, mischievous.

Low cultivation yet daring to provoke disciples of other sects, not only getting beaten but also daring to play tricks on his master…

Truly useless.

Yet now, he could only slowly change all this, regaining his former strength without raising suspicion.

Night fell and Huai Xiu departed.

Geng Yuan rose from his couch, intent on learning more about Huai Gui. On the desk lay a smattering of books; the paintings on the wall depicted landscapes and flowers. Though his abilities were uncertain, judging by the books, this Huai Gui was likely barely literate but particularly fond of poetry.

The poetry collections were yellowed, their covers tattered, the bindings stitched with thread. Most paintings featured lotuses and pear blossoms—favorites of the previous owner.

Jin Li loved them too.

He stepped outside, gazing at the water jar where lotus buds floated, feeling a pang of sorrow. Moving closer, he caught his reflection in the watery surface.

The face was the same—he was Geng Yuan, not Huai Gui. Yet Huai Xiu was so certain.

He touched his face, lowering his hand after a while.

He turned, lonely in the moonlit courtyard, and looked up at the brilliant full moon, the night sky clear and cloudless. He wondered if Jin Li was seeing this same moon.

Tomorrow was the Mid-Autumn Festival in the mortal world.

He remembered the last time they had celebrated together—it had been in Lotus River, and those days were truly wonderful.

Just then, Huai Xiu rushed over, exclaiming, “Huai Gui! Hurry, come down the mountain with me!”

“What’s happened?”

“The Jiao Demon has appeared!”

The words exploded in Geng Yuan’s mind, his body instantly stiff and cold. Jiao Demon? Hadn’t he sealed it? How could it reappear?

Huai Xiu had no time to explain, dragging him away. The two rode swords together, Geng Yuan sharing a blade with Huai Xiu. “The Jiao Demon was released ten years ago in Phantom Dust by an unknown person. It’s said to possess strange sorcery, able to change its appearance at will, silently using illusions to kill and devour. Now, ten years later, it’s returned—someone must have awakened it again.”

Huai Xiu was right, but Geng Yuan was no longer himself—something was amiss.

Yet as Huai Gui, his presence would be useless. Huai Xiu seemed to sense his hesitation, smiling reassuringly. “It’s fine. You’ll see the world; your brothers are all together, and I’ll protect you.”

Geng Yuan nodded.

Indeed, at Mount Bu Zhao, moon shadows streamed east, immortal swordsmen flew like meteors, dazzling him. He had never trained as a sword cultivator; to adapt to Huai Gui’s role, he’d have to start anew.

Dream-Shadow Domain.

This place marked the boundary between Ghost Festival and the mortal world; with Mid-Autumn approaching, lotus lanterns floated on Dream-Shadow Lake. Lotuses shouldn’t bloom this season, yet lanterns and starlight adorned the river.

Could such a tranquil place truly harbor a Jiao Demon?

Disciples from other immortal mountains arrived, a throng forming seals and setting up an array.

Bu Zhao Mountain specialized in sword cultivation, so its disciples encircled the perimeter, ready for battle.

Suddenly, the lake surface rippled violently, as if something beneath was about to burst forth and attack those on the shore.

Golden talismans activated, runes spun on the array.

Purple and black soul energy surged from the water, charging into the array, vanishing amid anguished screams.

The brief, terrifying scene left Geng Yuan uneasy. Was the Jiao Demon really here? He had sealed it in a place only he knew.

With the Evil Bone asleep, the Jiao Demon should sleep as well—unless someone forcibly awakened it.

Geng Yuan clenched his fists. Then, more soul shadows erupted, greater in number and ferocity. Cracks appeared on the golden disks; Geng Yuan was about to step forward when Huai Xiu blocked him, intent on protecting his younger brother.

Geng Yuan pursed his lips, watching the shrieking soul shadows with dark eyes.

As the array neared collapse, talisman cultivators revealed hidden symbols on their robes, which glowed golden and repelled the soul shadows, forcing them to retreat.

As the crowd relaxed, the lake suddenly erupted in towering waves, flashes of sinister blue eyes visible within.

Someone shouted, “Jiao Demon! The Jiao Demon is here!”

Disciples panicked but did not falter. Huai Xiu called loudly, “Where are the disciples of Bu Zhao Mountain?!”

“Here!”

“Bu Zhao Sword Technique, begin!”

Several disciples soared, sleeves billowing, swords ready, movements swift and decisive.

Huai Xiu pushed Geng Yuan forward, his eyes resolute, swordplay fierce. Monsters emerging from the waves were slain beneath Bu Zhao Mountain’s blades, array cultivators reset their formations, talisman experts worked their magic, disciples from three immortal mountains joined forces. Despite the chaos, not a single life was lost.

Geng Yuan slipped away amid the melee.

He needed to uncover the truth—could the demon clan be making a comeback?

Reaching the mortal realm, he saw river waters rising, fishermen gathering anxiously, the sky ominous with heavy clouds threatening torrential rain.

Dark mist spread over the river, strange and foreboding.

Geng Yuan felt uneasy. He urged the fishermen, “Leave quickly!”

No sooner had he spoken than the river exploded, whirlpools seeming poised to drag everyone into their depths. People fled in panic; the streets became a chaotic mess. Geng Yuan heard a desperate cry: “My child! My child!”

He turned to see a child swept into the flood, a mother onshore screaming in despair.

Without hesitation, the youth leapt into the churning waters. His sea of consciousness burned, but as Huai Gui—a useless cultivator—he could barely move.

The water invaded his mouth and nose, stinging his eyes; he could not breathe.

Suddenly, someone hauled him out.

He coughed violently, his lungs ablaze, struggling to expel the water.

A boy’s voice sounded, “You jumped in to save someone without any immortal skills? Do you want to die?”

The voice was familiar. Geng Yuan did not rise, only asked, “What about the child?”

“He’s safe.”

Geng Yuan stiffened, his heart skipping a beat. He knew that voice well—it haunted his dreams. Yet he never dared look back.

Jin Li and Ruan Tu had just arrived in the mortal realm, witnessing the scene: a mother’s frantic cries, a youth diving into the swirling currents, failing to reach the child’s sleeve, struggling before sinking.

For a moment, the girl was unsure how to judge his actions.

Jin Li looked at the youth’s jade-and-red immortal robes. “Are you a disciple of the Immortal Gates?”

But the boy only stood there, wet hair clinging to his jaw and cheeks, face pale as paper from the cold river.

Perhaps he truly was frightened.

“Are you alright? Where are your fellow disciples?”

The youth never lifted his head, answering coldly, “They are at Dream-Shadow Lake.”

With Jin Li’s presence, the river calmed, though the streets remained deserted. Jin Li waved her hand, drying the youth’s clothes. “This place is dangerous. Go find your brothers.”

With that, she walked away.

Ruan Tu glanced back at the youth slumped on the ground, head bowed, brow furrowed, eyes contemplative as he departed.