IS Chapter 104

The mist dissipated, and Li Yuan stood in another courtyard.

The courtyard, built of white stone, was empty, desolate, and devoid of scenery or ornamentation, save for the verdant pines, bamboos, and cypresses. The scent of sandalwood from the pine wood slowly dripped down like the cold dew on mountain rocks.

A thin layer of snow covered the plants, and white frost clung to the eaves; it was winter.

Beneath a tree stood a low desk, and behind that desk, Li Yuan saw a younger Ye Zhuo.

Three years old? Four years old? Li Yuan couldn’t quite distinguish the ages of humans when they were young, especially since children in immortal cultivation sects differed from ordinary mortal children.

He only felt that he was so small, even smaller than he had appeared at five or six years old.

Li Yuan walked over softly.

He saw the little Immortal Ruler’s hair, barely reaching his shoulders, loosely gathered at the ends with a snow-colored, silver-embroidered ribbon. The few strands that couldn’t be gathered, being short, curled slightly on his forehead.

He wasn’t dressed in the neat, cuffed sleeves of practice, but in more flowing and exquisite casual robes, also snow-white, with a collar edged with fine rabbit fur. It was winter; he should be wearing such clothes.

Li Yuan had already reached his side.

The clear-spirited and elegant little Immortal Ruler seemed to be practicing calligraphy.

He was holding the brush in a proper manner, copying calligraphy.

Li Yuan glanced again and saw that he wasn’t copying a beginner’s script for learning characters, but a sword manual. It was naturally no ordinary sword manual; at a glance, it felt chillingly profound. For some reason, Li Yuan felt that it must be Yun Xiangxi’s writing, and also Yun Xiangxi’s sword.

This young Yun Xiangzhuo wasn’t just learning to write; he had already mastered the characters and was learning the sword. He was copying Yun Xiangxi’s handwriting, so naturally, his own writing was eight or nine parts similar.

But Ye Zhuo’s later handwriting wasn’t like this. Li Yuan had seen many examples of his later handwriting in his study on Misty Green Peak and could remember them clearly. For a few days, he felt that his own human script was actually not as bleakly beautiful as this person’s and had secretly learned a few strokes.

The two were completely dissimilar.

There was no one around, so Li Yuan reached out and cautiously touched the little Immortal Ruler’s hair. The feeling under his hand was both real and illusory. The little Immortal Ruler, being touched, didn’t react and continued to write with single-minded focus.

He really should take him away. Li Yuan sat down beside him, resting his elbow on the desk. While Yun Xiangzhuo wrote, he simply watched.

He saw the little Immortal Ruler’s profile, his long, slender eyelashes blinking only occasionally. His pupils were round, and his cheeks had delicate and graceful curves, like a handful of crystalline snow.

Such a child.

At least, he wasn’t having a bad time at Illusion Sword Manor.

Li Yuan finally examined the entire immortal courtyard. The style, the desolate and cold atmosphere, suggested it was Yun Xiangxi’s residence.

Then where was Yun Xiangxi?

“Where is your father?” he asked the small Yun Xiangzhuo.

No one paid him any attention.

Then Li Yuan would find him himself.

He didn’t think there would really be only Yun Xiangzhuo here; if that were the case, he would have to report it to the authorities.

Looking around, Li Yuan knew where Yun Xiangxi was.

Not too close, not too far, behind a window in a pavilion, he saw Yun Xiangxi’s faintly discernible white-robed figure, seemingly carving something at a desk.

From that position, he could look down and see Yun Xiangzhuo below. If anything unexpected happened, there would be no obstruction, and he could arrive in an instant. It seemed things hadn’t reached the point of needing to report to the authorities.

Li Yuan saw that Yun Xiangxi would occasionally put down what he was doing and look towards where Yun Xiangzhuo was. Like an ordinary, qualified father.

Li Yuan recalled Ling Ye’s words and realized that Ye Zhuo must have grown up here when he was small—by Yun Xiangxi’s side.

Practicing calligraphy, learning the sword, daily life. Perhaps it had been like this from a very young age.

And Yun Xiangxi might not have allowed Yun Xiangzhuo to have too much contact with others, even if it was his mother.

That was why Ling Ye had said that night, “Shouldn’t you go back?”

Ling Ye had also said, “At least, Yun Xiangxi is a good father.”

Li Yuan’s gaze fell on the fine ribbon tied at the end of Yun Xiangzhuo’s hair. Here, who would be tying his hair?

Yun Xiangxi could actually raise a child. He hadn’t devoted himself entirely to sword practice, nor had he casually gone into secluded cultivation. Even Li Yuan found this surprising.

How would he raise this child? There seemed to be no one else in this residence—it would be day after day, teaching by word and example.

But besides the sword, what else did Yun Xiangxi have to teach him? Li Yuan felt he shouldn’t be thinking about this question. Like a piece of ice, he should be completely clear, with no external objects in his heart and no dust on his body. This wasn’t a bad thing for a sword cultivator; in fact, it was the ultimate state a sword cultivator strived for in their entire life.

As Yun Xiangzhuo was finishing copying the sword manual, a soft chime sounded in the distance. But his brush didn’t pause, and his state of complete concentration wasn’t disturbed in the slightest.

Only when he had finished copying the entire sword manual did Yun Xiangzhuo put down his brush.

Someone had come to visit.

The visitor wore ink-blue robes, had a pair of flamboyant, upturned phoenix eyes, and wore his long hair loosely, exuding a carefree and unrestrained air.

He actually walked right up to Yun Xiangzhuo’s desk without any hesitation.

“What are you writing?” he said. “Let me see—oh, you write so well.”

The visitor leaned down, getting a little too close. Yun Xiangzhuo didn’t seem to like such close proximity and moved a little further away from him.

Which was in Li Yuan’s direction.

Li Yuan really wanted to pick him up and hold him.

The visitor was still talking: “Little Zhuo, are you cold?”

No one paid him any attention.

Only Li Yuan quietly watched the visitor’s face.

This was a face he had seen, a face he recognized. The person who had appeared in the inner demon’s illusion, alive, smiling, was now snow-white-haired after twenty-odd years.

And was later given funeral rites by him.

This was the Swordsmith. He had forged Xiangxi Sword, and also Reverse Scale Sword, and had finally committed suicide in Sword Casting Valley.