AVL Chapter 8

Sheng Jiao had a very unique scent about him.

 

Like snow on mountain peaks, and also like the clear, cold fragrance of plum blossoms after snow.

 

Xi Jianlan had been staring directly at Sheng Jiao’s neck, wishing he could bite it and inject the poison pill into his meridians to turn him into a pool of blood. But whether it was because the surrounding scent was too calming or because his fever was too severe, in his dazed state he gradually lost consciousness.

 

Half-dreaming and half-awake, he vaguely felt a cold spiritual power flowing through his battered meridians, gently dispersing the burning heat. His whole body felt as comfortable as soaking in warm water.

 

Xi Jianlan hummed comfortably a few times, mumbling: “More, more.”

 

That spiritual power paused, then obediently gave him more.

 

Xi Jianlan contentedly buried himself in the warm embrace before him, vaguely hearing someone mention “Xi Qingfeng.”

 

Xi?

 

Xi Jianlan’s fever-addled consciousness cleared for a moment.

 

No, he had clearly been plotting to escape from the Xiezhi Sect people—how could he have suddenly fallen asleep?!

 

Xi Jianlan stiffened slightly and instantly woke up.

 

That scent still enveloped him, and the subtle sense of weightlessness remained—that tough guy was still carrying him to guard against Feng Yu’s little paper figures.

 

Xi Jianlan felt that person’s heartbeat. His thick eyelashes trembled lightly as he deliberately pretended to still be dreaming, murmuring like sleep-talking.

 

“Sheng Jiao…”

 

Sheng Jiao’s steps paused.

 

Xi Jianlan intimately rubbed Sheng Jiao’s shoulder with his forehead and called out again.

 

“Sheng Wuzhuo.”

 

Having just woken up, his voice carried a nasal tone, and even calling a name brought out a lingering, ambiguous feeling.

 

Sheng Jiao stared at him intently.

 

Xi Jianlan pushed his luck, randomly reaching up to hook around Sheng Jiao’s neck, as if in his sleepy confusion he wanted to kiss his neck without even opening his eyes.

 

Juan Xunfang… Juan Xunfang began frantically pressing his philtrum.

 

The slender neck was within reach. Xi Jianlan suddenly bit through the poison pill between his teeth, the poison silently seeping to the corner of his lips.

 

Just a light touch to the vital point on the neck, and no matter what heaven-defying abilities this person had, he would find it hard to escape death.

 

Sheng Jiao watched coldly as he leaned closer and closer.

 

Just as the soft lips were about to touch his Adam’s apple, Sheng Jiao suddenly reached out, his large palm covering Xi Jianlan’s mouth like a curtain and pressing him firmly down.

 

After a moment of spinning, Xi Jianlan was heavily set down, his waist caught on a mountain step, the black crane cloak spread across the ground in layers like spilled ink.

 

Xi Jianlan suddenly opened his eyes.

 

“Xi Jue.”

 

Sheng Jiao seemed finally impatient, his hollow, emotionless eyes staring coldly at him: “If you don’t want to die, put away your tricks.”

 

Xi Jianlan: “…”

 

How was this tough guy even more formidable than Sheng Jiao?

 

Annoying.

 

Xi Jianlan made an “mm” sound, wanting to explain.

 

But Sheng Jiao’s hand pressed even tighter, his large, burning palm pressed against Xi Jianlan’s lips, forcibly blocking all his false justifications.

 

His gaze was like bitter cold wind, naturally imposing without anger.

 

Juan Xunfang had been pressing his philtrum all the way. Seeing his Sect Master finally show his might, his eyes were about to shine brightly.

 

“See that?” he excitedly said to Shang Yuan, “The Sect Master can’t stand him anymore and is finally angry!”

 

Shang Yuan asked curiously: “But when the Sect Master gets angry, doesn’t he usually strike people with heavenly thunder?”

 

Juan Xunfang: “…”

 

Juan Xunfang’s face was full of pain, unwilling to believe: “Shut up!”

 

Shang Yuan didn’t understand and could only obediently shut up.

 

Under someone’s control, Xi Jianlan finally restrained his supernatural abilities and nodded submissively.

 

Sheng Jiao observed him for a while, as if judging whether he would truly behave.

 

But he seemed to see something and finally released Xi Jianlan.

 

Xi Jianlan’s slender waist was painfully pressed against the mountain step. He lightly licked his lips, swallowing the poison, and silently ground his teeth.

 

Having wasted two poison pills without harming this person even slightly, Xi Jianlan had never—except for Sheng Jiao—suffered such a major loss in his entire life.

 

Sheng Jiao no longer paid attention to him and turned to take a step forward.

 

Above the thousand-layer steps, Guchangsi Temple had arrived.

 

Guchangsi Temple was located deep in the mountains, with majestic temple buildings. Heavy black bird-scaring bells hung from the ancient temple’s flying eaves. When the cold wind passed through, the dull bell sounds frightened countless fierce ghosts into scattering.

 

Today, Guchangsi Temple unusually held an auction at the third quarter of noon. Since it was the first time selling Xiangwen, such a rare and significant event drew crowds even from those who weren’t buying—just to join the excitement. The small Guchangsi Temple was packed with dense crowds of people.

 

The welcoming monks held prayer beads, bowing and greeting each visitor.

 

Outside, cultivators gathered in groups of three to five, some whispering, others talking openly.

 

“Hey, monk,” a sword-carrying cultivator shouted loudly, “You’re openly selling Tianyan Xiangwen—isn’t that against moral principles? Aren’t you afraid Xiezhi Sect will wipe out you wild fox zen practitioners?”

 

The monk’s expression remained calm. Even when mocked like this, he remained peaceful, pressing his palms together and chanting a Buddhist phrase.

 

“The benefactor jests. What Guchangsi Temple is selling today is Xi Qingfeng’s painting, not Xiangwen.”

 

No one with eyes believed such nonsense, and everyone burst into laughter.

 

Even so, the excitement was still worth watching.

 

Feng Yu stood impatiently under an osmanthus tree, a pile of small paper figures floating in his palm, but none of them had any response.

 

Had Xi Jianlan really been captured?

 

Once he entered Xiezhi Sect, he probably wouldn’t come out alive.

 

The painting being auctioned at Guchangsi Temple today was definitely connected to the culprit behind the Xi family massacre years ago. If he could get the painting, Xi Jianlan might still have a chance.

 

Thinking this, Feng Yu gathered the small paper figures into his sleeve and walked toward Guchangsi Temple.

 

At the same time, Xi Jianlan had just stepped onto the stairs.

 

He quickly scanned and spotted Feng Yu’s conspicuous ghost-patterned ink-white robe. His eyes immediately lit up as he ran forward two steps.

 

“Feng, noble…”

 

His voice stopped abruptly.

 

Xi Jianlan: “?”

 

Xi Jianlan’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. At the same time, someone yanked the Binding Silk on his wrist, forcibly dragging him back.

 

Sheng Jiao said expressionlessly: “Want to go into the prison mustard seed?”

 

Xi Jianlan: “…”

 

Xi Jianlan smiled docilely at him and skillfully made hand signs: [Don’t want to. Please show mercy, sir.]

 

While cursing in his heart: “Sooner or later I’ll have to kill you.”

 

However, perhaps Feng Yu really was a noble person. Xi Jianlan had only called out two words, but despite the crowded, bustling surroundings, Feng Yu seemed to sense something, stopped, and looked back.

 

Xi Jianlan’s eyes lit up again, almost bringing him to tears.

 

Noble Feng, good brother!

 

With the silencing spell sealing his clever mouth, Xi Jianlan could only frantically make eye contact with Feng Yu.

 

Save me, save me!

 

The two seemed to truly have a spiritual connection. Feng Yu spotted Xi Jianlan at a glance in the sea of people.

 

Xi Jianlan peacefully pressed his palms together, even wanting to recite “Amitabha Buddha,” feeling that Feng Yu was like divine soldiers descending from heaven, radiating the Buddha’s light of saving people from fire and water.

 

The next moment, Divine Soldier Feng frowned and walked away.

 

Xi Jianlan: “…”

 

Xi Jianlan’s face stiffened.

 

He… he just left?!

 

Did he… not recognize him?

 

Xi Jianlan turned to look and saw that Sheng Jiao’s group had already changed their attire. The Xiezhi patterns on their robes were hidden, their swords were nowhere to be seen, and they blended unremarkably into the crowd.

 

Xi Jianlan immediately touched his face and sure enough discovered that his handsome face had become plain and unremarkable.

 

No wonder Feng Yu didn’t recognize him.

 

Xi Jianlan stared at Sheng Jiao ahead, gritting his teeth and hatefully lowering his hand. The Binding Silk on his wrist clinked as it collided.

 

Clever of him.

 

His skills were inferior—he admitted it.

 

The third quarter of noon was approaching, and people outside began entering Guchangsi Temple one after another.

 

Walking through the high threshold, what met the eye inside the temple was actually a towering bodhi tree, its lush branches and leaves covering the sky.

 

Guchangsi Temple did not enshrine any divine statues. In the center was a huge plaque with two bold characters written in flowing calligraphy.

 

—Tianyan.

 

These two characters were the calligraphy of some great master. Just one glance could reveal the intimidating sword intent and a contradictory zen tranquility and tolerance.

 

A painting hung on the high platform in the center of the temple.

 

It was Xi Qingfeng’s Xiangwen.

 

Xiangwen was originally the second spiritual root derived from Tianyan spiritual veins. No one knew how the culprit back then managed to peel off the Xiangwen intact and even make it into a painting.

 

The entire painting emanated an eerie, cold aura that made people feel vaguely uncomfortable at first glance.

 

Guchangsi Temple had seven floors. The lower three floors of the dharma hall were divided into private rooms. Lifting the bamboo curtains, one could see the bodhi tree in the center.

 

Xi Jianlan was pulled into a small compartment by the Binding Silk, inconspicuously scanning the area below, trying to find Feng Yu.

 

But after just one sweep, his gaze was drawn to the painting in the center.

 

He was deaf but had excellent eyesight. Seeing the signature, he was slightly stunned.

 

“Xi Qingfeng?”

 

Juan Xunfang instinctively stood behind Sheng Jiao, but after receiving a cold glance, he had to bite the bullet and sit “as equals” with the Sect Master. Hearing Xi Jianlan’s low murmur, he frowned: “Don’t tell me you still don’t know?”

 

The more Xi Jianlan looked at the painting, the more wrong it seemed. He turned back in confusion: “Know… what?”

 

Sheng Jiao lifted the bamboo curtain, looking down at the eerie painting that resembled tree roots, his eyes slightly darkening, thinking about something unknown.

 

Juan Xunfang was concise: “That painting is the Xiangwen peeled from the Xi family branch’s eldest son—Xi Qingfeng.”

 

Xi Jianlan was stunned.

 

He didn’t immediately understand the meaning of this short sentence, looking completely bewildered as if hearing a foreign language.

 

After a while, Xi Jianlan softly said “ah,” suspecting his earring magical device had been damaged earlier—otherwise, how could he hear such absurd words?

 

Xiangwen could be peeled off?

 

And sold?

 

The Xiezhi Sect people came to Guchangsi Temple because of this painting?

 

Completely understanding what this painting was, Xi Jianlan’s face instantly turned deathly pale. A strong bloody taste rose in his throat, and he almost suffered mental damage and spat out blood.

 

Xi Jianlan covered his mouth, forcibly suppressing the blood in his throat. His pupils shook violently, looking as if he was on the verge of collapse.

 

“My, my brother…”

 

Sheng Jiao frowned.

 

Shang Yuan was emotionally detached and looked confused.

 

But Juan Xunfang, who had always disliked Xi Jianlan, felt somewhat sympathetic.

 

The Xi family had already suffered such a great disaster back then, which was tragic enough. Who could have thought that six years later, his brother who had lived with him for many years not only died miserably but had his Xiangwen peeled off and sold at public auction?

 

Who could bear such a thing?

 

Xi Jianlan suddenly gasped, abruptly stood up with red eyes, and staggered toward the exit like a madman.

 

Sheng Jiao suddenly raised his hand.

 

The Binding Silk instantly restrained Xi Jianlan, forcibly pressing his wrist against a carved stone pillar nearby.

 

Xi Jianlan was essentially hung up by a chain by his wrists, his toes desperately touching the ground to keep his body from being suspended. The thick crane cloak parted, revealing his violently trembling slender form.

 

His eyes were clear and bright, two lines of tears suddenly falling, sliding down his pale cheeks to the fur edge of the crane cloak. His voice was full of anger and hatred as he shouted: “Let go! In six years, your Xiezhi Sect hasn’t found the real culprit, yet you let my brother’s Xiangwen… My brother was such a kind and gentle person, yet after death he still… still has to suffer such humiliation!”

 

Xi Jianlan completely broke down, his face covered with tear tracks, several strands of black hair sticking to his wet face, making his appearance even more sickly and pale.

 

Sheng Jiao looked at him indifferently, unmoved even by tears.

 

Juan Xunfang had struggled in Xiezhi Sect for so many years and had seen countless tragic events. He thought he had become as iron-hearted and impartial as the respected Sect Master Sheng, turning himself into a numb puppet.

 

But seeing Xi Jianlan’s nearly collapsed miserable state, even the hardest heart couldn’t help but show some softness.

 

“Sir.” Juan Xunfang showed compassion for the first time in his life, temporarily setting aside his grudge about this person tarnishing the Sect Master’s reputation. “As long as we find the person selling the painting, we can definitely learn clues about the real culprit. Xi Jue…”

 

…His brother’s Xiangwen being sold publicly was so tragic and pitiful. His collapse and madness was already restraint to the extreme, understandable.

 

The methods didn’t need to be so harsh.

 

Sheng Jiao turned a deaf ear and suddenly asked: “Who are Xi Qingfeng’s parents?”

 

Xi Jianlan, who was crying fiercely, stiffened.

 

Sheng Jiao asked again: “How old was Xi Qingfeng, what was his surname and given name?”

 

Xi Jianlan: “…”

 

“What was his Xiangwen?”

 

“…”

 

Finally, Sheng Jiao said coldly: “You don’t remember who Xi Qingfeng was at all.”

 

Xi Jianlan: “…”

 

Damn you.

 

——————–

 

Author’s Note:

 

Juan Xunfang: ??????????

 

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