CHAPTER 75

  Storm Surge

  Guidao Island, Xianru Empire

  Three months later…

  LUO FAN

  I exhaled a deep breath, my chest swelling with both relief and excitement as the island came into view. Its lush greenery stood out vibrantly against the endless blue of the sea, the sort of untouched beauty that could only be found far away from the chaos of empires and the noise of human ambition.

  This was it. The end of my journey, or perhaps the beginning of something new. I hoped that within this hidden sanctuary, I would find the answers I sought, and maybe even a home where peace could finally be mine, much like the tranquility I once felt on Frost Mountain.

  The boat swayed gently as it approached the shore, and I allowed myself a rare smile. The clean, salty breeze was refreshing, and the sight of the serene island filled me with a sense of hope I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  When the boatman finally docked, I leapt off onto the warm, soft sand, my legs wobbling slightly after the two-hour ride across the sea. It felt good to be back on solid ground.

  I reached into my pouch and paid the boatman twice his fee. His eyes widened with joy, and he bowed repeatedly, his gratitude nearly spilling over.

  “Thank you, young master!” he said, beaming as if he’d struck gold.

  I waved him off with a polite nod, then asked, “Could you direct me to the temple?”

  “Of course, Sir,” he replied, pointing inland. “Keep going forward until you see a grove of bamboos. The temple lies just beyond that.”

  I nodded, thanked him, and watched as he sailed away, still waving back at me as though I’d given him a treasure chest instead of a few extra coins.

  The island might have seemed small from a distance, but crossing it on foot was another matter. The trail was uneven and meandering, cutting through thickets of palm trees and shrubs that swayed gently in the sea breeze. Despite my weariness, I pressed on.

  After what felt like an eternity, half an hour by my best guess, I finally stumbled upon a tall bamboo grove. It was as the boatman had described, the bamboos standing like silent sentinels, their slender, emerald stalks stretching skyward.

  I followed the grove’s perimeter until I reached a tall gate constructed from thick, sturdy bamboo. It was a simple yet imposing structure, its craftsmanship more functional than ornamental.

  A rope dangled from a small bell perched at the top of the gate. I tugged it, and the resulting chime was startlingly loud, reverberating through the tranquil air like a proclamation.

  Almost immediately, I heard the rapid patter of footsteps approaching.

  The gate creaked open, revealing a boy of about thirteen or fourteen. His curious eyes met mine as he studied me with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

  I folded my hands respectfully and offered him a polite smile. “Greetings, young master. My name is Luo Fan. Is the Sect Master available to entertain an uninvited guest?”

  The boy straightened his back and returned the greeting with equal politeness. “I’m Nan Wucheng. Please, come in, Mister Luo.” He stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter.

  I stepped through the gate, my breath catching as I took in the sight before me.

  The temple grounds were vast, but apparently, time had not been kind to this place. The main structure, once grand and majestic, was now a shadow of its former self. The stone wall on one side had crumbled, replaced by a makeshift barrier of tied bamboo poles.

  The front yard, which I guessed had once been a marble-paved training ground, was a patchwork of missing tiles, cracked stone, and stubborn weeds that had sprouted in the gaps.

  Nan Wucheng led me inside the temple itself and gestured for me to sit on a bamboo chair. “Please wait here. I’ll fetch Elder Tao,” he said, before disappearing down a dimly lit hallway.

  Left alone, I allowed myself a closer inspection of my surroundings. The interior was no better than the exterior. Cracks marred the walls, some so deep I feared they might collapse at the slightest tremor. The once-smooth marble floor was chipped and uneven, with missing pieces replaced haphazardly by wooden planks.

  Still, despite its shabby state, the temple had a certain charm to it. The furniture, all crafted from bamboo, was sturdy and functional.

  I ran my hand over the armrest of my chair, feeling the smooth surface of the bamboo. It was far from luxurious, but it was enough.

  Nan Wucheng returned, accompanied by an old man who appeared to be in his sixties. His steps were slow, his posture slightly hunched, and his robes were plain, patched in a few places.

  I quickly stood to greet him, though I hesitated for a moment when I noticed his aura—or rather, the lack of one. His cultivation level was barely discernible, and it seemed no higher than mine, a mere second level. Certainly not the aura of a sect leader or even a master.

  “Mister Luo,” Nan Wucheng began, his voice formal yet tinged with excitement, “Elder Tao has arrived.”

  I hurried to lower my head respectfully. “Greetings, Elder Tao,” I said, mimicking the way the boy addressed him, uncertain of his exact role within the sect. “My name is Luo Fan. I possess both a light and a dark core, and I wish to ask if the sect is willing to accept disciples of my… age.”

  Elder Tao froze mid-step. His eyes widened in astonishment, and his mouth fell open slightly as he processed my words. “A… dual core?” he asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.

  “Yes, Elder Tao,” I confirmed with a nod.

  For a moment, he stared at me as though I had claimed to be an immortal descended from the heavens. Then, slowly, his expression softened into a smile—one that quickly turned into a grin. A heartbeat later, he threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing through the dilapidated hall.

  “Finally!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “This sect has found a true disciple at last!”

  I frowned, unsure of what he meant. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, Elder Tao,” I said cautiously.

  Elder Tao turned and called out in a booming voice, “Xiao Leng! Come here at once!”

  A moment later, a smaller boy, younger than Nan Wucheng, came rushing into the room. His round face was flushed from running, and he paused uncertainly when his eyes landed on me.

  “Come,” Elder Tao beckoned. “Come meet our first dual-core disciple, and your future master.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up with pure delight. He dashed to Nan Wucheng’s side, and together, they folded their arms respectfully, dropped to their knees, and were about to kowtow before me.

  “Wait!” I blurted, holding up my hands to stop them. They froze mid-bow, looking at me in confusion. “Please don’t bow to me. I’m just a second-level cultivator. I am not worthy to be anyone’s master. Rise, both of you.”

  The boys exchanged a quick glance, then reluctantly rose to their feet.

  “Don’t worry, they’re just expressing their joy at your arrival,” Elder Tao said with a chuckle. “These children have been waiting for someone like you for a long time.”

  I bowed my head slightly toward the boys. “If anything, I should be the one bowing to them,” I said earnestly. “I arrived after them, which makes them my senior.”

  Elder Tao shook his head, his smile never wavering. “That’s true but the situation here is different. Though we’ve been keeping this temple alive for years, none of us are true disciples of this sect. Only a dual-core cultivator can claim that status. You are the first true disciple this temple has seen in decades.”

  The weight of his words sank into me like a stone. My heart tightened. “You mean… this sect hasn’t had a dual-core disciple for a long time?” I asked softly.

  Elder Tao nodded. “It’s been forty years since I was appointed the caretaker of this temple, and in all that time, you are the first dual-core to walk through these gates. That’s why this is such a momentous occasion for us. Today is truly a blessed day.”

  I swallowed hard, unsure whether to feel honored or burdened by the revelation. “Thank you, Priest Tao,” I said quietly, trying to mask my unease.

  “Please, call me Tao Liu. Formalities are unnecessary here.”

  “Then, Tao Liu,” I asked hesitantly, “since there is no master in the sect, who will induct me as a disciple?”

  Tao Liu’s expression brightened. “That responsibility falls to me. When I was appointed caretaker, I was entrusted with a scroll granting me the authority to accept disciples on behalf of the sect. While I cannot serve as a master, I can ensure that new disciples are formally inducted and can begin studying the teachings left behind by our predecessors.”

  I felt a surge of relief at his explanation, my earlier doubts about the sect’s legitimacy easing slightly. “That’s more than sufficient,” I replied, nodding.

  “Wucheng! Leng! Prepare the incense and candles,” Tao Liu called after them. “Set them on the altar in the sacred ground. And tell Bing Hai to prepare a special meal for this special occasion. Oh, and don’t forget the tea!”

  The boys, who had been standing quietly nearby, suddenly perked up. “Yes, Elder Tao!” they chorused, and without another word, they scampered toward a back door. They were brimming with energy and carried a slight chubbiness, a clear indication that they were well-fed despite the temple's dire conditions.

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  “Please, sit down,” Tao Liu said the moment the children were gone. His voice carried an easy warmth, his demeanor calm and composed.

  I returned to my seat, settling on the bamboo chair with a small sigh of relief. My body still ached from the long journey, and the idea of resting in one place, even momentarily, was a comfort I hadn’t realized I needed.

  “How many residents does this temple have at the moment?” I asked, genuinely curious about the state of the sect.

  “Aside from you, there are only four of us,” Tao Liu replied, his tone tinged with a mix of pride and resignation. “You’ve met the two boys—Nan Wucheng and Xiao Leng. They’ve been here since they were small. Then there’s Bing Hai. He’s nineteen, but he’s not cultivating.”

  “Not cultivating?” I asked, surprised. A temple, especially one tied to a sect, seemed an unusual place for someone not to pursue cultivation.

  Tao Liu nodded. “His foundation is weak, and his intelligence is… well, not up to par. He struggles to understand even the most basic techniques, but he’s good at house chores. I’ve kept him around because there’s nowhere else for him to go. His parents passed away long ago, and none of his relatives wanted him.”

  I frowned, my heart sinking a little at the thought. “I’d like to meet him,” I said.

  “You will,” Tao Liu assured me. “He’ll be the one bringing us tea shortly.”

  We fell into a brief silence, the quiet hum of the temple settling around us. I took a slow breath, contemplating what to say next. There was something I needed to clarify before we could move forward.

  “Elder Tao,” I began carefully, “there’s something you should know before we proceed.”

  He tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Go ahead.”

  “There’s a problem with my vision,” I explained. “I can see people and objects well enough, but I cannot read the writing on books. The teachings in the library… I won’t be able to read them myself.”

  Tao Liu studied me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he nodded, a reassuring smile spreading across his face. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Nan Wucheng can assist you. He’s only thirteen, but the boy is sharp. He’s been reading the books in the library already, though his understanding is limited.”

  I smiled faintly. “That’s perfect. In return, I’ll do my best to impart what I can to him and Xiao Leng from what I manage to comprehend.”

  “They’ll be delighted,” Tao Liu said warmly. His gaze softened as he looked at me more closely, his brows knitting together in faint concern. “I must say, Luo Fan… you look frail. Is there an illness that’s been troubling you?”

  I sighed, feeling the weight of my condition press down on me again. My body had grown thinner over the months, my cheekbones more pronounced, and my skin paler than before. “Yes,” I admitted. “It’s a destructive drug that’s been slowly killing me for almost two years now. It behaves like poison but was refined with light energy. It destroys my internal organs at a slow pace, and when left unchecked, it becomes far more aggressive.”

  Tao Liu’s eyes widened in recognition. “Are you referring to the White Vulture?” he asked. “The same drug that claimed Crown Prince Sheng?”

  I blinked, surprised by his knowledge. “You’ve heard of it?”

  “Of course,” he said solemnly. “Everyone was talking about it when the crown prince passed away. I happened to be in the capital at the time. You’re fortunate to have survived this long. The prince wasn’t so lucky.”

  I looked down, memories of my brief visit to the palace resurfacing. “I was brought to the palace to investigate his condition,” I explained. “But it was too late by then. His body had already deteriorated beyond repair. He passed before we could even determine the source of the drug.”

  Tao Liu sighed heavily, shaking his head. “That’s a tragedy. I’ve heard that the White Vulture has no cure and typically kills its victim within half a year. How have you managed to survive this long?”

  “Powerful herbs,” I said simply. “They’ve helped slow its progress, but they can’t cure it. I’ve been told that my best chance lies in strengthening my dark core. Since the drug was refined using light energy, a strong dark core might be able to counter the light energy fueling the drug. It’s a gamble, but I don’t have any other options left.”

  Tao Liu rubbed his chin, his gaze pensive. “It’s a dangerous path, but it might be your only chance. I take it that’s one of the reasons you’ve come here?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “It’s part of the reason. But beyond that… I need a place to belong. Somewhere I can rebuild myself—my cultivation, my purpose. Somewhere I can start anew.”

  Tao Liu smiled faintly, though his eyes were full of understanding. “Then you’ve come to the right place. It may not be much, but this temple is a sanctuary for those who wish to forge a new path. We’ll do what we can to help you.”

  I nodded, gratitude swelling in my chest. For the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of hope.

  “There’s a special room in the basement of the temple,” Tao Liu continued. “It’s designed for seclusion, ideal for those seeking to strengthen their dark core. You could make use of it if the need arises.”

  “It is something I’ll need eventually,” I replied, “but not now. Recently, I’ve been through some… unfortunate events. They’ve left me emotionally unstable, and my dark energy has been rampaging uncontrollably, suppressing my light core. Because of that, I’ve had frequent episodes of qi deviation. I need to stabilize my dark core first before attempting anything else. Without balance, both cores will consume each other.”

  Tao Liu furrowed his brows in understanding. “Of course, you’re right. Forgive this old man for his shortsightedness. I had forgotten how essential balance is for someone with dual cores, and I know how difficult it is to achieve. Maintaining harmony between opposing energies is a feat that even the most skilled cultivators have failed to accomplish. I was one of them.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “You?”

  He gave a wry smile and nodded. “Yes. Many years ago, I too bore the burden of two cores. I was a fourth-level light cultivator when my master decided to implant a dark core within me. He had hoped I could become the successor to this sect and revive its dying legacy. But mere hours after the implantation, the opposing energies inside me clashed violently. My master realized the danger too late. The backlash nearly cost me my life.”

  I frowned. “What happened?”

  “My master made the difficult choice to nullify my cultivation to save me,” he explained, his voice calm but tinged with old sorrow. “He severed my connection to both cores and rendered me incapable of advancing further. Although I tried to start anew, my progress stopped at the second level. I’ve been here ever since, watching over this temple and waiting for someone like you to walk in.”

  I felt a pang of sympathy for the old priest. “I’m sorry, Elder Tao. That must have been a terrible loss.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve long made peace with it. My cultivation may have ended, but life did not. I’ve found purpose in caring for these children. If I can raise them well and see them lead fulfilling lives, then I will have accomplished something meaningful. Greatness is not only achieved through cultivation, Luo Fan. Sometimes it’s found in the small acts of kindness we do for others.”

  His words resonated with me, stirring something deep inside. “Thank you for sharing that, Elder Tao. You’re right.”

  He smiled warmly, the lines on his face softening. “Enough about me. Tell me how you’ve come to learn about this temple?”

  I hesitated briefly before answering. “Abbot Mo told me about this place and its history with dual-core cultivation. I came here hoping to learn how to manage my cores and perhaps find a way to strengthen my dark core. It’s a gamble, but it might be the only way to destroy the White Vulture poison in my body.”

  Tao Liu nodded. “The road ahead will not be easy, but I can see you’re determined. And don’t worry—I remember the techniques my master taught me to keep the two cores in harmony. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

  Gratitude swelled in my chest. I bowed my head deeply. “Thank you, Elder Tao. I owe you more than I can express.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t bow so deeply. You’re a dual-core cultivator now, the first true disciple of this sect in decades. It is I who should be thanking you for coming here. Your presence gives this temple hope.”

  Despite his words, I couldn’t shake my discomfort. I wasn’t ready for the responsibilities that came with being a dual-core disciple, let alone being seen as the savior of this sect. Still, his sincerity was undeniable, and I couldn’t bring myself to refuse his gratitude.

  “Since you have the knowledge, Elder Tao,” I said, “then perhaps it would be proper for me to call you my master?”

  He shook his head quickly. “No, no, that won’t do. In the cultivation world, one must not take on the title of ‘master’ lightly. I can guide you, but I am unworthy of such an honor.”

  I nodded. I understood the sacred rule of the cultivation world, that a cultivator must never assume the role of a master unless he’s reached the sixth level of cultivation. “Then I’ll simply call you Elder Tao.”

  At that moment, Xiao Leng burst into the room, panting and red-cheeked. “Elder Tao! The altar is ready.”

  “And the tea?” Priest Tao asked, arching a brow.

  The boy scratched his head sheepishly. “I’ll remind Bing Hai to bring it.”

  Priest Tao waved him off. “Never mind the tea. We’ll have it after the induction.” He turned back to me with a grin. “Let’s proceed to the sacred ground. This is an occasion we’ve waited decades for.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Of course. Tea can wait.”

  “Indeed it can. The induction cannot. Come along.”

  With that, Priest Tao rose to his feet, his energy belying his years, and led me toward the back door. I followed, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and anticipation.

  *****

  RUAN YANJUN

  The air in my chamber was heavy with the stench of burning incense, an attempt to mask the acrid scent of blood and sweat clinging to my skin. Seated in a lotus position on the cold floor, I trembled, struggling to meditate, but the relentless pain refused to grant me even a moment of respite.

  Deep within, my core roiled with violent energy, its darkness writhing and clawing at the walls of my soul, desperate to break free.

  Descension.

  The word echoed in my mind, a foreboding reminder of what lay ahead if I faltered even for a moment. For years, I had contained this ancient power, tamed it like a wild beast, but now it was slipping beyond my control.

  A sharp knock startled me out of my thoughts.

  “Master, are you there?” Huang Wen’s voice filtered through the door, calm and dutiful.

  I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing my voice to remain even. “What is it?”

  “Word has come from Guidao Island. Priest Luo has made it safely to the Storm Surge Temple.”

  The tension in my chest eased slightly, though the inferno within me raged on. “Good,” I replied, my tone cold and clipped. “Instruct the men to keep the island under watch and ensure no one gains access to it.”

  “As you wish, Master.”

  “You may leave.”

  “Yes, Master.” His footsteps receded, and I was left in silence once more.

  I stretched out my legs and rested my head against the wall, exhaling shakily. Relief clashed with the relentless pain coursing through me. Luo Fan was safe, at least for now.

  His decision to join the Storm Surge Sect could only mean one thing. He had finally decided to embrace his two cores.

  A faint smile tugged at my lips. It had taken every ounce of my manipulation to lead him down this path, yet he had resisted at every turn. He clung stubbornly to his light, refusing to acknowledge the dark core I had implanted inside him. In the end, his defiance left me with no choice. Trading him to Emperor Gao for a mere scrap of a scroll had been the final push.

  I knew him too well—knew that he would protect his virtue at all costs. And if someone dared to take what was most precious to him, his dark core would awaken. Just as it had the night Jinjing was killed. His power had surged then, raw and unstoppable, allowing him to incapacitate a master cultivator with nothing but instinct. That was what I had been waiting for. That was what had to happen.

  I never doubted that he would hate me for it. His hatred was inevitable, a fire I had stoked with my own hands. But if that hatred fueled his survival, if it drove him to find a way to master his affliction and one day seek vengeance against me, then it would be worth it.

  Because, in the end, what mattered most was that he was alive.

  And yet… the weight of his hatred settled deep within me, heavier than I had anticipated. The thought of of having him look at me with nothing but contempt sent an ache through my chest that even my demonic core could not rival. I had sacrificed everything to keep him alive, only to become the very thing he despised.

  I closed my eyes, his face seared into my mind like an unshakable specter. The memory of his fragile form, his fierce determination, his quiet defiance—they haunted me.

  “A-Fan,” I whispered, my voice raw with emotions I had no right to feel. “You’ll never forgive me, will you?”

  The core inside me roared, a violent surge that dragged me back to reality. My body convulsed as the dark energy flared, threatening to consume me.

  I coughed, tasting blood on my tongue. My vision blurred, the edges of the room darkening as if the abyss itself was reaching out to claim me.

  No. I will not lose this battle.

  With trembling hands, I reached under the bed and pulled out a small vial. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, its iridescent glow a cruel irony for what it was—a concoction born of destruction.

  The White Vulture.

  I had spent two grueling weeks with Han Bao perfecting it, modifying it to weaken my demonic core. It was a poison, yes, but it was also my last chance to delay the inevitable.

  The vial felt heavy in my hand, not because of its weight but because of the decision it represented. Once I drank it, there would be no turning back. My body would suffer unspeakable pain, and the core would lash out in retaliation. But it was better than becoming the absolute demon that lurked at the edge of my soul.

  I uncorked the vial and brought it to my lips. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, a fire that spread through my veins like molten steel. My entire body seized, and I collapsed onto the floor, clutching my chest as the core reacted violently to the intruder.

  Agony consumed me, a battle waging inside my very being. The White Vulture tore through my organs, shredding them with its destructive force, while the core fought back, pouring all its energy into resisting the invader. The pain was unbearable, but I welcomed it. It was proof that I still had control. Proof that I was still human.

  Through the haze of pain, one thought anchored me.

  My A-Fan.

  If I succumbed to the core, if I descended into the abyss, I would lose the last shred of humanity he had unknowingly preserved in me.