Chapter Eighty-Nine: In Idle Conversation, Returning Once More to Willow Town

The Black Armored Army was once again on the move. With the departure of Master Venom, the dense forest no longer posed any danger. Ordinary poisonous miasmas and insect beasts were mere trifles, hardly worth mentioning. Yet Su Fan’s expression remained somber.

The words Lin Xiaofeng had spoken before leaving echoed in his mind: “Now that Master Venom has gone, I fear we shall never see him again in this life.”

Never see him again—that could only mean that Master Venom’s departure meant death, that he would be killed by the one manipulating events behind the scenes. Su Fan did not believe it would be Nameless; Nameless would not stoop to such things. Then who? Perhaps the so-called “Envoys of Heaven’s Origin” spoken of by those two strange gentlemen. Who the envoys were, Su Fan had no desire to investigate.

He had already made up his mind: if he survived this journey, if he returned alive, he would go to Drunken Immortal Tavern on Old Wine Street and beg Drunken Immortal to teach him the art of brewing.

Thinking of such a joyful prospect, the gloom on Su Fan’s face gradually faded. The first true sunlight fell upon his face, and the sparse fuzz on his cheeks, illuminated by the slanting rays, made him look almost childlike in his innocence.

Though he had survived nearly a hundred years in the world of men, in the cultivation world he could at best be called a youth. Thus, his appearance had hardly changed, and he bore none of the weathered sorrow of ordinary centenarians.

Yet the cruelty and bloodlust within his pupils, the heart hidden within his body, were no longer so kindly or naive as his outward appearance suggested. Inside, there were only strategies for evading plots and taking lives.

He could avoid the struggles of the mighty, and need not concern himself with the squabbles of the insignificant. But if any great figure harbored ill intent toward him, he would stain three feet of ground with blood, even if it left him half dead. If lesser men dared cross him, he would not hesitate to teach them a lesson—though such lessons would have to wait for their next life.

This was Su Fan’s creed: all talk of righteousness and great virtue rested upon a foundation of strength. Without sufficient cultivation, such ideals were but a joke, and besides, Su Fan had no wish to die so soon. As long as his enemies ran rampant and mysteries remained unsolved, closing his eyes for good was nothing more than a fantasy.

Still, life required its amusements to have any meaning at all. Otherwise, one was no different from the pigs in the backyard of the West City butcher’s shop, waiting to be sent to the pot.

Perhaps that analogy was not quite apt—after all, pigs had their joys too: eating, perhaps, and sleeping. But such pleasures only led to their fate—being fattened up, then slaughtered.

Thus Su Fan reached another conclusion: pleasure could bring happiness, but also lead one into peril. Did it offer no benefit, then? As he strolled alongside the army, he gazed at the stream by the road, searching for a suitable reason to persist in his dream of learning the art of brewing at the Old Wine Street tavern.

Narcissus, the courtesan of West City’s brothel, loved rouge and powder. She invented a new kind of rouge, made a fortune, and even opened a shop that prospered. Was this not pleasure changing one’s destiny?

Amused by his own thoughts, Su Fan grinned broadly, showing no sign of someone about to experience—or who had just survived—a great battle. The Black Armored Army did not question this new, eccentric general.

Yet Su Fan could sense their wariness. He walked over lightly to their side, wearing a smile that resembled that of a beggar or a rogue by the city wall—roguish yet sincere.

The soldiers nearest him felt uneasy, wanting to avoid him. Though the general’s manner was genial, he was nothing like this. Their general was a figure of awe, leading them through encirclement, forcing back even an old monster like Master Venom—a show of valor and severity. How could he now act so familiarly, as though he were just another comrade?

But Su Fan was already at their side, and there was no escaping him. The soldiers could only hastily ask, “General, what are your orders?” Their voices trembled, not from disrespect, but from the pressure of speaking with a superior—it was always thus.

Su Fan took no offense, still smiling as he replied, “I simply wanted to chat with you all. The march is so bleak and dull; a conversation might ease our troubles.”

The foremost soldier bowed respectfully and replied with a soft “Yes, sir,” leaving Su Fan unsure how to continue. The soldiers were, after all, too bound by formality, making things rather awkward for him.

He coughed dryly to ease the tension, his forced smile fading away. Casually, he asked, “What’s your name, brother?”

The soldier who had replied nodded quickly, “My name is Lin Shu.”

Su Fan nodded slightly, then asked, “And where are you from, brother?”

Lin Shu answered, “Willowtown, of the Lin family.”

“Willowtown, Lin family…” Su Fan repeated softly for a long time. That place had been a turning point in his life; without Willowtown, he might have been just another old man lying in some run-down cottage in Stone Dragon Village.

Just like old Wang from back then. He wondered if he would have been lucky, if he’d have had a good son to take him to the city. If so, he’d want to go to Luo City, spend his days in teahouses listening to idle chatter, though he’d rather not drink tea anymore. The Peach Blossom Wine of the Elder in Purple was excellent, as was the Osmanthus Wine from the shop outside Fallen Immortal City.

If so, perhaps his mother could have enjoyed her later years, not perished at the hands of cultivators, her soul scattered to the winds, unable even to find the path to reincarnation, her dying thoughts still filled with worry for her child’s safety.

And he would not have met that towering figure he called father, nor suffered such utter defeat at the hands of disparity, nor would his family have been broken because of him.

Lin Shu noticed Su Fan’s face suddenly darken, and was alarmed, unsure if some gesture or careless word had offended him. He hurriedly asked, “General, you…”

Su Fan waved him off, forcing a wry smile. “Willowtown is a fine place. I studied for a time at an academy there. Oh, yes, General Xiao Lin studied there as well.”

Lin Shu seemed to feel a sense of kinship and replied cheerfully, “You mean Spirit Remembrance Academy, General? It’s said to have been founded by a highly skilled elder. I studied there as a child too.”

“Spirit Remembrance Academy.” To remember Ling, to remember Lin Ling—Xiao Lin could never let go of Lin Ling, yet she stood right before him, and he didn’t recognize her. Perhaps this was the greatest distance in the world. And had he ever let go of that person in his own heart?

Su Fan sighed. “I remember there was an elegant room in the East Wing. I wonder what has become of it.”

Lin Shu gave a bitter smile. “The academy rules forbid anyone from stepping foot in the East Wing—not even the teachers have ever been there.”

Su Fan fell silent, lowering his head in thought.

“General, there’s someone up ahead—a dead man.”

Su Fan started and his gaze snapped to the front of the long column.