Chapter 123: Unease Beneath the Fading Moon and Morning Breeze

In the pitch-black water, the incomplete bright moon above was faintly visible.

Kneeling cross-legged, sinking repeatedly, his meridians nearly healed to the last thread, Su Fan’s heavy expression finally softened as he opened his eyes.

Playing with the jade pendant in his hand, he smiled lightly and said, “Once again, you saved me. What exactly are you?”

The jade pendant lay quietly in Su Fan’s palm, offering no reply, only the gentle sound of flowing water.

“Yes, it was given to me by Elder Wang. But I fear he has long since passed on. It’s been many years without seeing him; I must seek him out once I leave here.”

“No, why is there the sound of running water?” Just as Su Fan was about to close his eyes, they snapped open sharply.

The scene before him made him wave his hands frantically, desperate to swim upward.

Below him was a pitch-black whirlpool—the source of the water’s sound.

Su Fan felt his body being pulled by the whirlpool, as if it wanted to drag him into its endless depths.

He did not wish to know what lay beneath the whirlpool; all he wanted was to escape quickly. The unknown always carried too many dangers.

Yet, things went against his will. The immense force pulling him was like an elephant against an ant, like the heavens against a mortal.

The whirlpool was like a mysterious vast sea, and Su Fan was but a speck of dust within it.

In an instant, Su Fan vanished into the sacred spring, his whole body weakening, craving only to sleep.

…

“Su Fan is learned beyond measure and of exemplary character—a rare talent of our Great Song Dynasty. He is undoubtedly the new top scholar. Does any minister object?”

“Your Majesty is wise; we have no objections.”

“Good. The current magistrate of Kaiyuan Prefecture has requested retirement several times due to old age; this time it is granted. Su Fan, you are hereby appointed magistrate of Kaiyuan Prefecture and are granted a residence in the eastern city.”

Hearing these words, Su Fan quietly lifted his head and fixed his gaze on the man on the steps above—a man who looked down upon the world as if all were at his command.

Su Fan felt an intense aversion toward him, a deep-rooted, inexplicable disgust.

Even now, despite the many favors bestowed upon him, Su Fan refused to utter words of gratitude.

After the emperor’s decree, Su Fan lingered without expressing thanks, causing astonishment among the ministers.

Some ministers farther from the steps whispered among themselves; their expressions were not of concern for Su Fan but rather of scorn and schadenfreude.

The emperor on the steps smiled, but it was a stiff smile. He opened his mouth but forced back the anger he wished to unleash.

“Your Majesty, Su Fan is likely nervous. Under your heavenly authority, how can a mere mortal remain composed? I beg your mercy,” a middle-aged man in gray robes hurriedly said.

Another nearby coldly glanced at the speaker and said, “Su Fan may be well-read in all imperial classics, but he does not understand etiquette. Such disrespect toward Your Majesty merits exile.”

The man on the steps closed his eyes briefly, annoyed. “Brother Shangguan is right. He is indeed well-versed in books but inexperienced in worldly matters. Very well, this time we shall let it pass.”

The man seemed about to say more but stopped, casting a fleeting glare at Su Fan before returning to his seat.

There were four seats before the steps; two of the speakers occupied two of them.

Suddenly, Su Fan chuckled lightly and said calmly, “I entered the academy at twelve and am now twenty-two. In these ten years, I have traveled half the realm of Great Song. How can you say I am inexperienced?”

The ministers sneered at Su Fan, then glanced furtively at the emperor on the steps, thinking, “This scholar is truly ignorant, daring to talk back to His Majesty. Today, he is doomed.”

One of the four seated men, the same as the gray-robed speaker, looked smugly at the gray-robed man.

The gray-robed man’s face was stern, filled with reproach as he looked at Su Fan, then turned his gaze toward the emperor, awaiting his anger.

The emperor smiled—a bitter, forced smile, as if anger had turned to mockery. He said, “Then why do you not give thanks? Is it not enough?”

Su Fan’s expression remained unchanged as he looked up at the emperor and said with a faint smile, “It is not that it is insufficient, but that it is too much. The Great Song still has countless suffering commoners. I earnestly request permission to sell the granted residence to aid the people.”

The man on the steps sneered, “Very well, as you wish. I hereby approve your retirement. You may step down.”

Su Fan was taken aback for a moment, bowed deeply, and then withdrew from sight.

The emperor on the platform looked upon him with disdain, mocking, “An old-fashioned scholar—can such a man be called talented?”

Su Fan faced forward, stepped out of the palace gates, took his seat in the sedan chair, and set off for home.

Suddenly, a thunderclap roared. Behind him, the palace erupted into flames amid lightning and thunder. The sky’s lightning struck the towering palace.

The palace’s protective formation, usually impenetrable, could not withstand the thunderbolt’s strike. As the palace collapsed, several figures flew out—cultivators all.

The mortal ministers were likely already dead; only these powerful cultivators remained.

They looked up in confusion. Dark clouds gathered, lightning flashed, thunder roared—lightning seemed to strike right before their eyes.

One cultivator, perhaps trying to test the storm, was struck by a bolt, turning instantly to a mist of blood.

Su Fan watched the scene, feeling as if it belonged to another world, yet it was so vivid.

In moments, the cultivators who had fled were annihilated, yet more came flying from all directions.

The divine thunder seemed like heavenly wrath—the fury of the heavens.

Su Fan felt bloodlust fill the air, as if surrounded by blood and unable to breathe.

Suddenly, a red lightning bolt crashed toward Su Fan. He hurriedly raised his hand to block it.

A sharp pain struck; his vision blurred. He struggled to open his eyes but could not.

Eventually, he opened them to find himself by a small stream. The water was red, exuding a foul stench of blood.

It was blood—human blood.

Alarmed, Su Fan sprang to his feet, leapt out of the stream, and looked around.

Here were no peach blossoms, no kind villagers, no fragrant peach blossom wine. This was another world.

Struggling, Su Fan followed the stream forward until it split into two branches.

One was crystal clear; the other was scarlet and bloody, flowing in different directions.

Su Fan painstakingly cleansed himself of the bloodstains, then sat by the bank, pondering the situation.

Before long, an elderly farmer approached. Su Fan hurried to greet him.

Before Su Fan spoke, the old man asked, “Are you from Peach Blossom Creek?”

Su Fan replied, “Are you from Peach Blossom Creek?”

The old man laughed heartily, “How could I be from Peach Blossom Creek? If I were, I would have long been dead.”

Su Fan was shocked and quickly asked, “Why would people from Peach Blossom Creek be dead?”

The old man’s expression darkened, then he said, “It seems you are not from Peach Blossom Creek either. Otherwise, how could you not know of the calamity that befell Peach Blossom Creek?”