Chapter Seventy-Seven: Even the Proud Plum Blossom Fears the Cold

After sending Li Mi off, Yu Lang spent quite some time explaining to everyone the circumstances of his resurrection. His account was simple enough: during his cultivation, he had lost his way and suffered a disastrous backlash, but was saved from mortal peril thanks to Li Mi’s timely intervention.

This explanation, while not entirely airtight, was acceptable. And in everyone’s eyes, the fact that Yu Lang was alive at all was cause for celebration—so the details seemed less important.

After such an ordeal, the men of the Lang Battalion found themselves letting go of their previous grievances over Qingqing. When a friend has “died” and returned, many things seem less significant.

“Brother Lang, in seven days I’ll be marrying Huang Ying. You must come.” Zhang Chengxing handed Yu Lang an invitation embossed with gold.

Yu Lang smiled and agreed.

Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off in Zhang Chengxing’s gaze—a faint sense of disappointment, as though Zhang had almost wished Yu Lang hadn’t survived. The thought sent a chill through Yu Lang, and on reflection, he recalled Zhang’s overreaction when Qingqing left; it had seemed excessive, especially since Li Dahu, who was closer to Qingqing, had merely been bewildered, while Zhang’s response was inexplicably intense.

“You noticed it too,” Li Dahu’s voice startled Yu Lang.

Yu Lang thought everyone else had left and that he was alone, not realizing Li Dahu was standing there like a ghost.

Lately, Li Dahu had become unpredictable, carrying an aura that even Yu Lang couldn’t quite fathom.

Yu Lang invited him to sit. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Huang Ying agreed to marry Zhang Chengxing because of Instructor Huang’s pressure, but her heart belongs to another. Zhang Chengxing is utterly devoted to her and can’t accept the idea that she’s attached to someone else.”

“So he suspects I’m the one in Huang Ying’s heart?” Yu Lang frowned.

“Precisely. There was even a time when I suspected you turned Qingqing down because of Huang Ying, and I was angry at you for ‘two-timing’—until a few days ago, when I saw someone else in Yangzhou.”

“Who?”

“Zhu Yiming, grandson of the Patriarch of the Yellow River Sect. Years ago, after his dantian was destroyed, he nearly ended his life by the canal, but Huang Ying talked him down. Now, with her wedding approaching, he’s returned to Yangzhou despite the risks—clearly, he has feelings for her too.” Li Dahu had gone to considerable lengths to uncover all this.

“Tell me where he’s staying; I’ll drive him out myself,” Yu Lang said, preparing to leave. Zhang Chengxing’s wedding could not be marred.

Li Dahu gave a bitter laugh. “You may not be his match. In three years, his cultivation has soared; he’s now at the middle stage of Enlightened Mystery. The Yellow River Sword Seal, famed for its ferocity in the early stages, means he’s likely stronger than most at the peak of Enlightened Mystery. And he’s brought a skilled retinue. You’ve seen the Yellow River Sect’s sword formation before—less elegant than the Daoist schools’, but brutally effective.”

At present, Yu Lang had yet to solidify his Enlightened Mystery Seal, his Whetstone Blade had been taken, and the power of the Northern Abyss could not be revealed lightly. His open strength was not enough to guarantee victory over Zhu Yiming. He was surprised that the once timid, indolent scion had achieved such heights, proving the old adage true: “Disaster is the seed of fortune; fortune, the root of disaster.”

“Yu Lang, if there comes a day when only one of us can survive, would you kill me?” Li Dahu suddenly asked, his tone strange.

Yu Lang froze, unsure why Li Dahu would pose such a question. Was he also one of the Wallbreakers? Cold sweat broke out on Yu Lang’s brow—he had never considered the possibility that his dearest friend could be one of them. Between Wallbreakers, there could be no friendship, only slaughter.

After a long silence, Yu Lang calmed himself. “No. If some force ever tries to pit us against each other, I will break it rather than become its puppet.”

Li Dahu smiled broadly. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. That’s why I believe Zhang Chengxing will come to his senses too—he’s just stuck in a rut right now.”

So it was a false alarm; Li Dahu was not a Wallbreaker, only wishing to reassure him that Zhang Chengxing meant no harm.

“Let’s wait and see. With Li Mi here, Zhu Yiming won’t be able to stir up much trouble.”

Suddenly, both men sensed something at the same time and exchanged glances.

“You should get some rest. I’ll be off,” Li Dahu said, feigning a farewell.

“Mm.” Yu Lang nodded.

Almost simultaneously, they each sent a sword aura toward the rafters.

Both sword auras missed; Yu Lang was surprised to realize Li Dahu had also reached the Enlightened Mystery stage.

A shadowy figure appeared in the room.

“Who are you?” they demanded in unison.

“I am Eagle, the shadow guard assigned by His Majesty to Yang Yuhuan,” the man replied. He was dressed in black, features sharp as if carved in stone.

“Yang Yuhuan requests Young Master Yu’s presence. For safety, she cannot leave the academy, so I was sent to fetch you.”

Yu Lang frowned. “You’re injured?”

Eagle’s face was expressionless. “That’s none of your concern.”

Having benefited much from Yang Yuhuan’s favor over the years, Yu Lang did not refuse and followed Eagle to the Moon-Washing Academy.

Opposite Listening-Wind Pavilion lay a refined courtyard reserved for honored guests. Since Yang Yuhuan entered the academy three years ago, she had claimed this place as her own. Yu Lang had visited a few times before and was familiar with the way.

It was late autumn. The flowerbeds that had once burst with spring color now lay forlorn, the ground strewn with endless yellow leaves.

In the flowerbed, a solitary plum tree remained in bloom. Wrapped in winter clothes, Yang Yuhuan was quietly counting the petals.

Only those who have counted plum blossoms know how desolate the heart can be.

One petal, two petals, three petals—yearning for someone unseen.

“Young Master Yu, you’re here?” Yang Yuhuan forced a smile, but tears still glistened at the corners of her eyes.

“What’s troubling you, Sister Yuhuan?”

“It’s nothing. I just feel a little sad at the thought of leaving this place after the New Year. I’ve lived here for three years and grown attached.” She gazed up at the gentle sunlight, her beauty even more radiant for it. “It’s a pity I cannot leave in the spring and take with me these loveliest sights. Only this bleak scene will remain as my last memory.”

Yu Lang smiled faintly. “Just look at the sunlight and the plum blossoms. Forget the winter’s decay—what the eye does not see, the heart won’t grieve.”

On the stone table lay a sumptuous spread, each portion heaping. Forcing herself, Yang Yuhuan chose only the richest, greasiest dishes, shoveling them into her mouth as though waging war against herself.

In the end, she could not keep it down and retched.

“Why do this to yourself, Sister Yuhuan?” Yu Lang sighed.

She gave a sorrowful smile. “His Majesty favors plump women. If I don’t fatten myself up, I’ll lose his favor when I return to Chang’an.”

For Yang Yuhuan, to lose favor was to die. Of all those who wished her dead, only the Emperor could give her peace.

“Do men truly possess affection in their hearts?” she asked.

Yu Lang was silent, unsure if she meant his feelings for Qingqing, or the Emperor’s for her.

“Elder Sister Xian could not bear her humiliation and drowned herself two days ago,” Yang Yuhuan said bitterly.

Yu Lang shuddered—petals fell from the plum tree in a flurry.

If Du Fu were to hear of Xian’s death, would he regret and feel guilt for leaving so easily in years past?