Choco, kofi arigatō 〜
(1/5)
As night fell over Yushan Sect, lanterns lit up across the grounds. Though their small wooden hut was tucked away in a remote corner, even a single light was enough to illuminate the entire space.
By then, Chu Jinglan had regained full strength in his limbs. Watching him adjust his robes neatly, Xiao Mo asked: “Shall we begin now?”
Chu Jinglan nodded: “Mm.”
Xiao Mo flicked his fingers, conjuring several orbs of spiritual light that floated outside to brighten the open area near the hut.
The night sky was clear—stars were sparse under the overwhelming brightness of the full moon. Against this backdrop, Xiao Mo’s spiritual light orbs resembled tiny stars scattered around the clearing.
The two stepped outside together. Chu Jinglan walked to the center of the clearing and stopped before nodding toward Xiao Mo.
Xiao Mo appeared motionless at first—but in the next instant, an immense wave of pressure crashed toward Chu Jinglan like a surging tide!
Chu Jinglan’s expression tightened sharply as he let out a muffled groan. His muscles stretched to their limits, pulling at the last thread of spiritual energy within his shattered dantian as he struggled to resist the overwhelming pressure.
At first, he couldn’t move at all.
When Xiao Mo had been by Chu Jinglan’s side during his days as a prodigy, he hadn’t fully realized the disparity between them. But now, in the Middle Realm, Xiao Mo could clearly see how much his cultivation had given him an advantage.
As an Inner Demon, Xiao Mo’s initial state was far from convenient—he was nothing more than a black, formless mass without even a humanoid shape. He carried inherent hostility from others and was bound to Chu Jinglan’s vicinity, unable to stray far.
But Xiao Mo’s transformation had been astonishingly rapid.
Not only could he appear before others, but he could also vanish at will. Meanwhile, someone like Chu Jinglan—a genius—had painstakingly built his cultivation step by step, only to have it destroyed. Now he had to start over while enduring pain and hardship.
In contrast, Xiao Mo’s cultivation had started on par with Chu Jinglan’s and progressed smoothly thanks to his Inner Demon nature. Aside from lacking a physical body and being unable to harm people directly, his method of cultivation was enviable to many.
Looking at it this way, it seemed reasonable that Xiao Mo had some restrictions placed on him.
As these thoughts crossed Xiao Mo’s mind, he maintained the pressure steadily while observing Chu Jinglan. After a moment of enduring the force, Chu Jinglan slowly began to move.
He took half a step forward and raised his hand in the opening stance of his usual sword practice.
It seemed he intended to train under the pressure—to adapt to it through sword practice.
But his movements were incredibly slow—slower than a snail’s pace, like watching a video in slow motion. It wasn’t even close to forming a proper technique. If this were an actual battle, Jing Lei would have knocked him unconscious several times over by now.
Still, practice starts from zero and builds upward—it wasn’t realistic to expect immediate results.
Xiao Mo casually floated up to sit on the roof, observing Chu Jinglan’s sluggish movements from every angle. The stark contrast between Xiao Mo’s lightness and Chu Jinglan’s heaviness was striking. In just a blink of an eye, Chu Jinglan was drenched in sweat as though he’d been pulled out of water.
Instinctively, Xiao Mo prepared to cast a cleaning spell—but Chu Jinglan sent him a voice transmission: [Not yet.]
Alright then.
Xiao Mo lowered his hand and instead picked up his flute, playing softly.
He played the tune composed by Chu Jinglan—not like the chaotic noise he’d deliberately created earlier to disrupt the Yushan Sect disciples. Though slightly off-key, his breathing was steady this time. The melody was still unpleasant but surprisingly rhythmic despite its halting notes.
After playing two or three sections, Xiao Mo stopped and simultaneously withdrew the pressure.
As soon as the oppressive force dissipated, the mountain-like weight pressing down on Chu Jinglan vanished abruptly. His body wavered unsteadily, nearly losing balance before using his sword as support to stabilize himself.
He bowed his head and gasped for air as beads of sweat rolled down his face and splattered onto the ground. Only then did Xiao Mo cast his cleaning spell over him, gently wiping away his disheveled appearance.
During the earlier pressure training session, Chu Jinglan had only managed two slow sword strikes. Now his entire body trembled uncontrollably—his hands and feet felt foreign and disconnected from himself.
The pressure had lasted for less than half a stick of incense’s time. Xiao Mo had controlled it well—any longer, and Chu Jinglan likely wouldn’t have been able to endure it at all.
After resting for a moment, Chu Jinglan reached for his pill bottle but nearly dropped it, his hand trembling with prominent veins visible on the back. He managed to force a pill into his mouth, and only then did his body begin to recover slightly.
Once his breathing steadied, Xiao Mo finally spoke: “Let’s stop for today. Pushing further will only injure you.”
Chu Jinglan didn’t insist on continuing unnecessarily. “Mm.”
He lowered his gaze to his hands, watching as the trembling in his palms gradually subsided. As long as he wasn’t completely crushed, every adaptation was a form of tempering—every small step was experience that would make him stronger.
Chu Jinglan exhaled deeply, releasing the stale air from his lungs. Once he recovered fully, he sheathed his sword.
Xiao Mo jumped down from the roof and asked: “Back inside to read or meditate?”
Chu Jinglan had already rested earlier in the afternoon, so sleeping now felt too early. For these two overachievers, their daily lives revolved entirely around cultivation—they were both used to it.
As Chu Jinglan raised his eyes to watch Xiao Mo leap down from the roof, he also caught sight of the moon behind him.
The moon was full tonight, bathed in a faint warm yellow glow. Although Guangdu Prefecture’s temperature still felt like midsummer, the moon was already an autumn moon—a golden autumn moon. In cultivation circles, autumn moons were often associated with clarity and enlightenment. The best time for spiritual energy flow changes under moonlight was during this season, leading to practices like “bathing in moonlight meditation.”
Chu Jinglan said: “Let’s go to the mountaintop.”
Xiao Mo followed his gaze toward the round moon and immediately understood: “To bathe in moonlight? Sure.”
Cultivating anywhere is still cultivation—feeling and understanding the spiritual energy of heaven and earth not only benefits physical refinement but also greatly aids mental clarity. Naturally, Xiao Mo agreed.
Yushan Sect was located halfway up the mountain, so reaching the summit required passing through the rear mountain gate and ascending further.
This mountain had no original name; it was simply called “Yushan” after the sect. Among famous mountains and rivers, it wasn’t particularly tall. The path below the halfway point—the same path Xiao Mo and Chu Jinglan had traveled earlier between the village and sect—was steep. Beyond the halfway point toward the summit, however, the road widened considerably. Some areas were rugged but posed no dangerous terrain.
Trees lined both sides of the mountain path. Walking along the spacious road under the bright full moon overhead didn’t feel dark or eerie—it brought a sense of vastness and openness instead. The clear moonlight filled their hearts with tranquility and gave them a refreshing feeling of freedom.
Xiao Mo’s light footsteps deliberately tapped against the stone slabs in rhythm with the low chirping of insects in the forest, creating a unique melody amidst the mountain woods.
Something stirred in Chu Jinglan’s heart—the unfinished tune from that half-written score seemed to loosen slightly in his mind.
Listening to Xiao Mo’s footsteps reminded him of what Xiao Mo had said earlier while carrying him back.
“Xiao Mo,” Chu Jinglan called out.
Xiao Mo was admiring the moonlit forest when he turned his head at Chu Jinglan’s voice. “Hmm?”
“You asked me when I’d carry you,” Chu Jinglan said calmly. “I can do it now.”
Xiao Mo froze mid-step and stopped abruptly. “What?”
Without much expression, Chu Jinglan repeated: “I’ll carry you.”
Xiao Mo: “…”
“I…” Xiao Mo stammered slightly before gripping his flute tightly to steady himself and smooth out his words. “I was just joking when I said that.”
Chu Jinglan didn’t respond verbally—he simply looked at Xiao Mo quietly.
Though Chu Jinglan lacked spiritual pressure at Qi Refining early stage, Xiao Mo suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of pressure bearing down on him.
Xiao Mo initially wanted to protest—he’s a grown man, not injured or sick—being carried by someone feels a bit… embarrassing.
But he had been the one to bring it up earlier. If Chu Jinglan truly wanted to try it, then perhaps it wasn’t impossible. Still, the thought made him feel awkward, as if he couldn’t overcome the hurdle of shame.
Caught in hesitation and under Chu Jinglan’s steady gaze, Xiao Mo found himself unable to respond right away.
Seeing the hesitation and doubt Xiao Mo was trying to hide, Chu Jinglan calmly added: “There’s no one else around.”
…That was true. Even if someone were to carry him, there were no outsiders here to witness it. If they were going to try, this moment and place were indeed ideal.
But did they really need to try?
The little figure in Xiao Mo’s mind tugged back and forth in conflict, while Chu Jinglan stood quietly under the moonlight, waiting patiently.
Perhaps it was the beauty of tonight’s moonlight, or perhaps it was the calm determination in Chu Jinglan’s frost-like gaze. Slowly, the inner tug-of-war resolved itself.
It’s just a small experience—something I’ve never tried before. There’s no harm in it. Since we’ve come this far, what’s the harm in giving it a shot?
Finally giving in, Xiao Mo hesitated before stepping forward, still feeling slightly unnatural. “Uh… okay. Just for a short distance?”
Chu Jinglan nodded and crouched down on the mountain path.
Xiao Mo pressed his lips together and hesitated for another second or two before steeling himself. He bent down and slowly placed his hands on Chu Jinglan’s shoulders.
Chu Jinglan lifted him steadily onto his back.
As an Inner Demon, Xiao Mo technically had no weight. To maintain his disguise as a human, however, he used spiritual energy to create some semblance of weight—otherwise, his lightness would immediately seem suspicious. Even so, he was still very light overall, making it effortless for Chu Jinglan to carry him.
When Chu Jinglan stood up with him on his back, Xiao Mo instinctively tightened one hand on Chu Jinglan’s shoulder and leaned closer against his back.
His other hand still clutched his flute tightly, unwilling to let go.
No matter where he placed his hands, they felt awkward. His perspective had also shifted—it was a strange height that made him feel unsteady. His feet dangled off the ground without solid footing but were securely supported by Chu Jinglan’s hold—a contradictory mix of stability and unease.
It was likely because walking relied entirely on oneself, but being carried meant surrendering much of that control to someone else—a dependence that wasn’t entirely comfortable.
Even Xiao Mo could sense this feeling—how could someone as meticulous and cautious as Chu Jinglan not feel it too?
Earlier when Xiao Mo had asked what it felt like to be carried by someone, Chu Jinglan had said “no feeling.” Xiao Mo chuckled lightly—still being stubborn?
After that soft laugh, Xiao Mo relaxed completely. His hand rested loosely on Chu Jinglan’s shoulder without fear of falling anymore.
Chu Jinglan walked steadily—so steady that Xiao Mo couldn’t resist letting go entirely. He released his grip and entrusted all control to Chu Jinglan. Then he shifted his flute horizontally and began playing softly.
The melody was light enough not to disturb the forest too much; only a few birds stirred briefly from their sleep with grumbling squawks before settling back down again. This time, he didn’t play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Instead, he played the tune composed by Chu Jinglan.
The notes were fragmented and intermittent—slowly progressing upward like their journey together up the mountain path.
When they reached the mountaintop, there were no trees to obstruct the view. Before them stretched an endless expanse of distant mountains and the night sky, illuminated by the soft glow of the autumn moon hanging high above. As Xiao Mo played his tune, a line of poetry came to mind:
“May the flowing moonlight shine upon you.”
By the time this thought emerged, Xiao Mo had already finished playing half of the melody, yet two more flute notes unconsciously escaped his lips.
Chu Jinglan’s spirit stirred.
The vast mountain view and the clarity of his mind brought a sense of openness. Xiao Mo lightly patted his shoulder and said, “Put me down.”
Chu Jinglan set him down, and as he did, it felt as though he had released a feather—light and fleeting—leaving behind only a faint sensation.
The mountaintop had a small pavilion, but instead of entering it, they walked to a spot near the peak and sat on a large rock. Just ten steps ahead lay the mountain cliff. The wind at night was chilly, so Xiao Mo enveloped Chu Jinglan in a protective layer of spiritual energy. Chu Jinglan closed his eyes to meditate, intending to use the moonlight’s spiritual energy to cleanse his meridians, while Xiao Mo gazed out from the deep cliffs toward the distant horizon, letting his thoughts wander freely.
“The bright moon rises over the Heavenly Mountains; in this vast world, mortal life is but a fleeting speck.”
Standing between heaven and earth, humans may build towering structures but remain insignificant—a mere drop in the ocean. Even grand ambitions are no more than a drifting leaf on water.
Wandering aimlessly with no attachments and nowhere to go—Xiao Mo’s gaze softened as he reflected on this truth he had understood long ago during his rootless existence.
Yet now… something seemed to have changed.
Xiao Mo’s thoughts gradually retracted from the vast mountains and moonlight, shrinking back until they centered on himself and Chu Jinglan.
Between an Inner Demon and its host lies an invisible thread—a connection that Xiao Mo could always sense clearly.
Xiao Mo was not only a witness but also a companion to Chu Jinglan. At least for this stretch of their journey, wherever Chu Jinglan went, Xiao Mo would inevitably follow. In other words, even if he drifted aimlessly, he wasn’t truly without a place to belong.
Chu Jinglan’s sea of consciousness and Chu Jinglan himself—these were Xiao Mo’s home.
Suddenly struck by this realization, Xiao Mo froze.
…It seemed he was only now becoming aware of how deeply intertwined he and Chu Jinglan truly were.
The profound thought he had just grasped burst like a bubble being gently popped. Xiao Mo realized his thoughts had wandered strangely for a moment and quickly pulled himself back together, ending his meditation.
It felt as though he had gained something—but also as though nothing had changed. His spiritual consciousness remained stable, leaving Xiao Mo unsure about the results of this session.
It was strange, but it didn’t seem like a bad thing—his mental clarity hadn’t been shaken.
Since that was the case, he decided to leave it to chance. After all, not every meditation session yields profound insights.
Having completed his part of their cultivation session, Xiao Mo bent one leg and rested his chin lightly on his knee as he watched Chu Jinglan.
After all, it was thoughts of Chu Jinglan that had interrupted his meditation earlier.
1 Kofi = 1 Extra Chapter
Profoundly grasped the ancor to life
thanks for the chapter!