Volume Three: Unbound by Convention Chapter Eighty-Four

Night soon fell, and scattered lanterns adorned the entire street, casting a splendid glow. On the river, numerous flower boats drifted by, carrying with them enchanting melodies that floated through the night. People moved up and down the street—families together, couples wrapped in intimate affection, all basking in the festival’s warmth.

Jinli sat within her pavilion, raising her wine cup to gaze out at the bustling splendor. The Qisui clansmen had left early, summoned by urgent matters, assuring her they would soon return. But she knew well that clan affairs were never so easily resolved. Setting her cup down, she placed silver coins on the table and stepped out into the evening.

The private room dampened much of the outside clamor, but as soon as she opened the door, the noise surged back, filling her ears. She straightened her outer robe and descended the stairs.

“Senior brother, is there truly an evil spirit here?”

She paused, turning at the familiar sight of cultivator robes. A smile curved her lips—it was those from Not-Zhao Mountain. They stood upright, swords in hand, righteous and upright, so out of place in this festive, earthly setting. Perhaps their very presence unsettled even the waiters, who watched them with wary eyes, as though the authorities had come to conduct a search.

She shrugged and was about to descend when she collided with someone. A steady, clean scent of snow pine lingered on him.

“My apologies, miss.”

His voice was gentle and pleasant. She looked up, and as she expected, a handsome, innocent face appeared before her.

“It’s you.”

Any gloom in Gengyuan’s expression vanished instantly. He looked at Jinli and smiled. “Sister.”

Jinli chided him, “How many times must I tell you? You should call me ‘Martial Aunt.’”

Gengyuan’s gaze lingered on the gauzy veil covering her face. Perhaps she wore it to avoid trouble. The girl’s dress was vibrant—a flowing peach-blossom gown with a jade-colored outer robe. The gown blossomed around her like a peach flower about to bloom, bright and lively, radiating youth.

Gengyuan’s peach blossom eyes curved with his smile. “Sister, what brings you here?”

Jinli stood on the steps, noting that even with him standing below, the boy was still taller than she was. She couldn’t help but marvel at how children these days grew so tall.

“It’s the Mid-Autumn Festival. Of course I came out to enjoy the festivities. And you, why are you here?”

Gengyuan gestured towards his distant brothers. “Recently, a senior brother reported that there were demons lurking here. So I came with them to investigate.”

Jinli nodded, then arched a brow and stepped aside. “Then go on.”

But Gengyuan didn’t pass her by. Instead, he stepped closer, resting one hand on the railing. Jinli remained calm, arms folded as she watched him quietly.

“But sister, my cultivation is weak. I can’t be of much help.”

“Then why come down the mountain?”

He leaned in, the scent of snow pine enveloping her. Warm breath teased her ear. “Because I wanted to see you.”

No woman could resist a handsome, innocent-eyed, clean and fresh youth with a lovely voice, calling her ‘sister’ with every word.

Jinli was no exception. After all, disciples of the Immortal Gate were only a few thousand years her junior—no great gap to her.

“All right, for safety’s sake, you’d best go tell your brothers where you are, lest they think I’ve spirited you away.”

Gengyuan’s eyes flickered, finally settling on Jinli’s lips. “Wait for me.”

“Mm.”

With a long stride, the youth quickly caught up with his companions. Jinli, unable to bear the stuffiness inside, decided to wait outside instead.

No sooner had Gengyuan spoken than Huaigui laughed and said, “Go ahead and enjoy yourself tonight. Just remember—don’t try to be a hero. If anything happens, send up a signal, understand?”

Huaixiu, like a doting father, watched as Gengyuan nodded. As he turned to leave, Tusu Chun spoke up, “I’ll go with him. It’s safer that way.”

But when Gengyuan descended the stairs, he found no trace of her. Anxiety pricked at his heart—had Jinli not waited for him? He searched the crowd but saw no sign of her. At that moment, Tusu Chun stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “Huaigui, I’d like to talk to you.”

Gengyuan glanced at her hand, his expression darkening. He shook her off coldly. “Senior sister, I have other matters to attend to. Excuse me.”

He hurried out into the lively crowd, feeling lost without any spiritual arts to help him search. Had Jinli really left? She’d promised to wait for him.

“Little nephew.”

His body stiffened. The coldness and gloom in his eyes melted into tenderness and joy at the sound of that voice. He spun around to see Jinli, standing with two mooncakes from the pastry shop in her hands, smiling at him from beneath her veil.

He ran to her, a sense of regained treasure overwhelming him. He pulled her into a fierce embrace.

Jinli was taken aback, feeling the wild pounding of the boy’s heart against his chest, her own heart unwittingly falling into rhythm with his. Some strange, bittersweet feeling surfaced in her—familiar yet foreign. They’d only met a handful of times, yet their hearts beat as one, stirring unfamiliar emotions within her.

“Huaigui.”

Jinli lifted her gaze to see the woman standing behind Gengyuan. The smile faded from her face. She patted Gengyuan’s back, signaling for him to release her.

Hearing the voice, Gengyuan’s eyes darkened. “Senior sister.”

He turned, calling Tusu Chun’s name. Jinli glanced between her and the youth. Gengyuan’s face was clouded, while his “senior sister” was on the verge of tears, shocked and disbelieving, as though she’d been betrayed.

Such an expression made Jinli uncomfortable. She had no intention of becoming entangled between the two of them.

She placed the mooncakes on a bench and said to Gengyuan, “I’ll be going now.”

She started to leave, but Gengyuan seized her hand, hastening to explain, “She’s my senior sister… There’s nothing between us, don’t misunderstand.”

Such an ambiguous explanation would convince no one. But Jinli smiled, “I understand. You should deal with what’s in front of you first. We can talk after.”

The youth was stubborn, unwilling to let go, a look of sorrow and pain in his eyes that weighed heavily on Jinli’s heart. She felt a twinge of sadness.

Seeing his reluctance, she gently cupped his cheek. “It’s all right, we have plenty of time.”

Reluctantly, he released her, watching her fade into the sea of people, his gaze growing shadowed and angry.

He turned to Tusu Chun, his face cold. “Senior sister, what do you want to say?”

Faced with this changed Huaigui, Tusu Chun’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Huaigui, you weren’t like this before.”

Not like this—entangled with others, indulging in the mundane. Even when his cultivation was lacking, he used to be positive and diligent. But ever since he’d leapt off that cliff, everything had changed.

The youth’s look was sullen, a mocking smile twisting his lips. “Senior sister Tusu, the past is gone. Fallen leaves return to the earth and vanish.”

“Are you still blaming me? For not refusing that marriage proposal?”

What did that mean? Did Huaigui truly like Tusu Chun? Then why was he so eager to go to Lianchuan, to impress Jinli? The questions multiplied—how had Huaigui died, and what was his connection to these people?

“You were the one to accept that proposal; it has nothing to do with me. I never blamed you, senior sister. Now that you have your chosen one, as your junior, I’m happy for you.”

“Stop lying! Don’t talk to me with this indifference!”

Had he ever? In the past, he’d have brushed it off—“You think too much.” He wouldn’t have let her overthink so much.

His face now showed nothing but impatience. “Must you persist in these wild imaginings, senior sister?”

Tusu Chun stepped closer, but Gengyuan saw her intentions and evaded her. “Please conduct yourself with propriety, senior sister.”

But she still managed to grab his sleeve, crying bitterly. “Huaigui, can’t we ever go back to how things were?”

The youth looked at her coldly, a faint killing intent radiating from him. “No.”

He shook off her hand and turned away, but the next moment, a fist struck his face.

Stunned by the sudden blow, Gengyuan’s eyes flared with anger and menace. Who dared assault him?

“Useless wretch! Why do you keep pestering her?”

He wiped the blood from his lips and looked up, warning in his eyes. “Who are you?”

The man before him was unremarkable in appearance, but his robes marked him as a disciple from another immortal sect. Behind him stood a group of similarly dressed companions, their attire gleaming with luxurious fabric under the lantern light.

Zhaoyao Yi, a disciple of Not-Zhao Inner Mountain, pulled the weeping Tusu Chun to his side, glaring fiercely at Gengyuan and shouting, drawing the attention of all on the street. Tusu Chun said nothing, only cried harder, as though Gengyuan had wronged her.

“Did you hit your head when you fell off the cliff? Shame you didn’t die!”

His words were venomous, his face twisted with malice. Gengyuan’s eyes grew deadly. “Was it you?”

No one noticed the panic that flickered in Tusu Chun’s eyes as she stood behind Zhaoyao Yi.