Chapter 90: You've Always Feared Me

The child asked her, “Is a god without power still a god?”

Wen Jinge did not know. She only knew that everyone who met her for the first time would burst into laughter and call out, “Hahaha, Ninth Rank, Ninth Rank, only Ninth Rank left.”

Such people were thoroughly unpleasant.

Perhaps now, they should laugh at her for being an ordinary person instead!

But if an ordinary person can demonstrate swordsmanship surpassing the Second Rank, does that mean she has power or not?

Wen Jinge looked up at the sky.

The sun had risen, the heavens had cleared again, and the rainwater had quickly receded from the sandy ground. If not for the dew still clinging to the wild grass, no one would have known a thunderstorm had just passed.

“You can’t even answer that, and you want to be my master?” the boy clicked his tongue. As his stomach performed a rumbling dance, he could not resist the temptation of the honeyed brew and drank it down in one gulp.

For an ordinary person to drink such nectar was as meaningless as a pig eating ginseng fruit—unable to savor the taste—but its effects were undeniable.

The boy’s voice sounded much more complete, more like that of a normal child.

Wen Jinge let out a wistful laugh.

She had been in this world for about half a year. All this time, others had sought her out eagerly; this was the first time she had been refused. Perhaps, only this child saw her as a real person.

“A god remains a god—it’s just that returning to the pinnacle takes time.”

“Time?”

“Yes.”

“He’s merely forgotten the road home. Once he finds it, he can return.”

“Home…” the boy murmured, his voice trailing off. His arms hung limply by his sides, lost in thought. “Where is home?”

Unable to understand, he simply stopped thinking about it.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

The Demon Zither had returned. Who knew how much of its demonic energy it had imparted to Ah Cai? Judging by this, feeding Ah Cai was a long road ahead.

“Master…” Yang Wennan looked at the small figure in Wen Jinge’s arms with a complex expression. Was it possible his master had left just to save this child?

Ah Cai lay quietly to the side. Since the Demon Zither’s return, it had been docile, resting silently atop the coffin, still as death.

“Amitabha, how fortunate, how fortunate.”

“Monk of Joy and Sorrow, what did you see?” Wen Jinge frowned. Whenever the monk spoke, nothing good came of it. She intended to get to the bottom of it.

“This humble monk saw nothing.” The Monk of Joy and Sorrow lowered his gaze, standing aside like a living statue, as though he had witnessed countless years pass.

“If you saw nothing, then why open your mouth? Ah Cai does not like noisy people.”

A twitch flickered at the monk’s lips.

Ah Cai—such a name, only the Immortal Wen could address a coffin with such composure and sentiment.

The strangest person of this age.

He remembered what their master had said before defecting from the sect to his senior and junior: “Zhiyin, Zhilin, in all of the Mystical Sect, if ever demons run rampant, only one can withstand them. She is the one. No, henceforth, she is half a master herself…”

“Master, is it foolish to do something knowing it cannot be done?” Zhiyin had asked in confusion.

“To eradicate evil.” Their master had smiled gently. He was still young then, unable to grasp the weight of parting.

His master had spoken in the most casual tone: “Let it begin with our Hidden Sect!”

He didn’t fully understand. Then he heard, “A thousand-year plan cannot be ruined by one person’s departure.”

“Is it absolutely necessary?”

“Yes.”

“I understand.” Zhiyin pressed his palms together, noticing new white hairs in their master’s brow. “And who is this extraordinary one?”

“Wen Jinge, master of the Profound Cloud Sect! She is the most remarkable person of our age!”

“I will remember, and I, Zhiyin, will strive to teach diligently. Please, do not worry, Master.”

“From now on, in the Hidden Sect, you two shall have no other teacher but each other. Remember this.” Their master had repeated these words before leaving.

“Yes, Zhiyin understands. Henceforth, Zhiyin will cultivate virtue and vice, Zhilin will pursue joy and sorrow, to honor our master’s departure.”

He was still just a child then, and knelt when his brother did, unaware that this farewell would separate them by life and death.

Soon after, their master became a criminal in the Hidden Sect, consorting with demons, cast out from the order.

Yet he would never forget: their master had said that this remarkable one was the person to seek when they had nowhere else to turn.

Three years ago, the old master of Profound Cloud, Bu Suanzi, had grown frail. The head of Vast Peak had sealed the mountain, and only after three days of prayer did he permit entry.

The old master brought a disciple to the mountain to petition for apprenticeship. Half a year later, both emerged; Vast Peak was sealed once more, and the first disciple’s name was recorded under Lingxiao Peak, though instruction was given by the master of Ice Peak.

Such an honor was far beyond what ordinary disciples could hope for.

Another half year passed, and Bu Suanzi passed away.

The sect closed its gates in mourning for a year, yet two major events occurred.

First, the demonic clans surged forth—rumored to be the result of a broken seal. Except for medicine and artifact cultivators, all others of Profound Cloud went to reinforce the seal. Such a grand movement naturally drew opportunists.

Second, Vast Peak was unsealed, and Wen Jinge went to Blazing Heaven Gate. It was said that clouds of dust filled the gate that day, while the master of Vast Peak collapsed, unconscious.

This was all the monk knew. In his master’s eyes, the leader of Profound Cloud should have been Wen Jinge, yet now the master of Ice Peak had inherited the position. But that was unimportant—what mattered was the person Wen Jinge, not her title.

Wen Jinge regarded the dazed monk and, for no reason, cursed, “Truly a fool!”

“Master, who is this?” he asked.

“From now on, he is your junior brother.”

The child had fallen asleep—no name, no information to speak of. Wen Jinge knew nothing useful about him.

“Junior brother…” he murmured almost imperceptibly.

Was their master weary? Or merely annoyed with them? They hadn’t even graduated, and already a junior brother was assigned?

Had Wen Jinge known her disciple was thinking this, she would not have let it pass so easily.

Lu Wei rolled his eyes.

Wen Jinge’s tendency to favor the new over the old—what more could he say?

“Is it wise to keep a child picked up from the ruins?”

Just as he thought Wen Jinge wouldn’t answer, she sighed. “You’re asking me?”

“Who else?”

“Then why are you still alive?” The wind lifted her hair, her sash loose and untidy, her words tinged with a lonely, desolate chill.

Lu Wei stared, lost in thought, at her head.

The real one still had not returned.

This was Wen Jinge herself speaking.

He had met many people, but never understood what kind of person Wen Jinge was. Now, with this change, he understood her even less.

“What’s wrong with you?” He was no naive youth; he sensed something was off but was not angry.

“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Wen Jinge said coolly.

At this moment, she suddenly felt powerless. To be precise, the appearance of that god had unsettled her heart.

“Hm?” Lu Wei was puzzled. “Don’t you see me every day?”

“No.” Wen Jinge shook her head.

Her cold eyes swept over Lu Wei; in that instant, he seemed to see the burdens she carried—crowds and crowds of evil spirits, making even a demon lord like him shudder.

“You’re afraid of me; you always have been.”