Chapter 14: The First Sword to Immortality
Meng Zhifan waited on Cuiyu Mountain for ten days.
Rong Zhao had left plenty of food; seven or eight eggs could be gathered from the chicken coop every day, and fresh vegetables could be harvested from the garden for cooking. So he managed well enough.
With no mind for anything else, he sat by the door and began teaching the chirping spirit herb to speak.
Three more days passed.
He became restless.
Rong Zhao was always punctual and usually returned a day or two early.
Meng Zhifan walked down the mountain path, his mind was in turmoil, he nearly tripped over tree roots several times along the way.
He seemed to have a premonition.
He stopped at a corner; ahead lay a faint, open light indicating the end of the path.
His heart pounded wildly in his ears, faster and faster, as if it might burst right out of his chest.
Meng Zhifan frowned slightly.
What was he afraid of?
He pushed aside the bushes and stepped outside.
The stench of blood, masked by the vegetation, almost knocked him off his feet.
...Blood.
Blood everywhere.
The black-clad cultivator lay at the end of the path. Long hair obscuring his face, his exposed, pale fingers covered in mud, having clawed deep furrows into the ground. Just returning here seemed to have exhausted all his strength.
Meng Zhifan's pupils suddenly contracted, his mind going blank.
When he came to his senses, he had already stumbled and knelt beside Rong Zhao.
"Rong Zhao?" he murmured, trying to confirm if Rong Zhao was still alive, his fingertips hovering in mid-air, trembling violently, wanting to touch him yet afraid to. "Rong Zhao? Can you hear me?"
Rong Zhao lay motionless, covered in dust and dirt, blending into the earth.
Meng Zhifan finally felt his pulse.
It was weak, but it was still beating.
Meng Zhifan breathed a sigh of relief, then hurriedly pulled the man into his arms, brushing aside the disheveled hair covering his face: "Rong Zhao? Wake up, Rong Zhao?"
The cultivator's brows were furrowed, seemingly enduring immense pain even in his unconscious state.
Seeing that pale, bloodless face, Meng Zhifan's breath caught in his throat, and his heart belatedly ached.
"It's alright, it's alright now," his voice trembled as he gently smoothing Rong Zhao's brow. With utmost care and reverence, he carefully lifted Rong Zhao up, as if holding a fragile treasure, and turned to walk up the mountain. "We're going home now. We are going home, Rong Zhao."
-
Venerable Rong was badly injured.
The bloodstains had been wiped clean, and his clothes had been changed. He lay quietly on the bed, pale and haggard, even his lips were bloodless, as if they would break at the slightest touch.
Meng Zhifan couldn't open the storage bag, nor could he obtain any healing pills for cultivators. He was at a loss in the face of Rong Zhao's serious injuries.
For the first time, he hated the fact that he was just a mortal.
A moment later.
Meng Zhifan went to the kitchen and fetched a knife.
Before being imprisoned by the Chuyun Sect, the sect leader had said to his face that the Flesh-bodied Spirit Mushroom was a mortal who was born with spiritual power but could not cultivate.
Since he had spiritual power, he could heal cultivators.
Meng Zhifan heated the knife over the candle flame for a moment, then aimed it at his wrist, and slashed down. Fresh blood gushed out, dripping into the bowl, quickly filling half of it.
He bandaged the wound, picked up the bowl, and walked over to the bedside.
"Rong Zhao," Meng Zhifan lifted the bed curtains, secured them on the sides before leaning down to help him sit up, "It's time for your medicine."
Rong Zhao was unconscious as half a bowl of blood was poured down his throat.
With blood staining and smearing across his lips, his complexion appeared to improve significantly.
Meng Zhifan continued to feed him a bowl of blood every day, staying by his side without leaving for a moment.
This went on for three days.
Rong Zhao woke up.
He stared blankly at the space above him, only recognizing after a while that it was the silk canopy embroidered with mimosa blossoms, the one from Cuiyu Residence. After resting for a while to gather some strength, he slowly sat up, somewhat puzzled as to why his injuries had healed so quickly.
He subconsciously licked his dry lips, tasting a familiar metallic taste of blood.
Rong Zhao blinked. "Huh?"
"Awake?" Meng Zhifan entered just then, the worry that had been weighing on his brow finally dissipating slightly. "Want some water?"
Rong Zhao ignored him, focused on his thoughts, licking his lips and wiping them with his finger as he pondered.
He remembered.
This was the taste of Meng Zhifan's blood.
In that brief interval, Meng Zhifan had already poured warm water and held it to his lips. "Here, have a couple of sips to soothe your throat."
Rong Zhao snapped out of his reverie, turning away from the teacup. He grabbed Meng Zhifan's wrist and rolled up his sleeve. Sure enough, he saw the gauze wrapped around it.
He frowned unhappily, pursing his lips tightly, his grip tightening, almost breaking Meng Zhifan's wrist.
This trick again.
Time and again, eroding his Dao heart.
He should hate him.
Rong Zhao thought coldly. If it weren't for this mortal, he would never have ended up like this.
"I accidentally cut myself while cooking, it's nothing serious." Meng Zhifan casually pried open his fingers, pulled his hand back, covered the gauze with his sleeve, his eyes still gentle. "How's your injury? Why aren't you talking? Did you hurt your throat?"
Rong Zhao glared at him, thinking he should hate him.
Meng Zhifan leaned closer and touched his forehead: "No fever."
After checking, he kissed him: "It's good that you're back safe and sound. What do you want to eat? I'll make it for you."
Rong Zhao: "..."
Venerable Rong suddenly felt a sense of reckless resignation.
He struggled to get off the bed, grabbed the mortal's hand, and said, "Let's go."
"Where to?"
"I don't know." At this moment, Rong Zhao was still very weak, his long hair drooping on the ground, and he could barely walk. He stumbled and dragged the mortal out, "Many people are coming to kill me."
It seemed that his words had come true.
The barrier of Cuiyu Mountain suddenly shook, and then the entire mountain trembled slightly. The stones bounced and rolled on the ground, making a thumping sound.
"They're here." Rong Zhao held onto the door frame, gripping Meng Zhifan's hand tightly, his dark eyes flashing with a clear, cold light, "It's the Immortal Alliance."
Just a few days ago, the Immortal Alliance learned from Venerable Peng that Rong Zhao's cultivation level had dropped, and hurriedly gathered people to attack Cuiyu Mountain.
Rong Zhao's reputation was already very bad.
Once the banner of 'eliminating evil and slaying the wicked’ was raised, countless people followed suit, eager to take advantage of his misfortune and reap the benefits. After all, he was a Venerable One, and who knew how many coveted treasures he possessed?
He had nowhere to escape.
Upon hearing about the Immortal Alliance, Meng Zhifan said nothing, simply scooped Rong Zhao up in his arms, and ran towards the back mountain.
"Wait..." Rong Zhao was bewildered, clutching his clothes, "Where are we going?"
"There's a cave in the back mountain, let's go in and hide for a while."
...This was probably the best solution a mortal could come up with.
Rong Zhao quieted down, held in Meng Zhifan's arms, bouncing with each step as he ran.
-
The cave was deep and silent.
Rong Zhao leaned against the stone wall to rest, his gaze following Meng Zhifan's movements.
After a while, he said, "There's no other way out here. Come sit down, you are pacing back and forth, making me dizzy."
Meng Zhifan stopped searching for a way out in vain, sat down as instructed, and pulled him into his arms.
After a long silence, he suddenly said softly, "Rong Zhao, listen, it's raining outside."
"...Mm."
"I haven't brought in the clothes I hung out to dry this morning."
"Mm."
"The chickens are still running around in the mountains; I haven't had time to put them back in the coop."
"Mm."
"The window's open; the rain's about to blow in.”
Rong Zhao hummed many times.
Whenever he closed his eyes, he could feel countless chaotic spiritual energies, each carrying killing intent, like an endless downpour that refused to cease.
Once the Immortal Alliance found this place, he would be captured, his primordial spirit destroyed, his head severed and hung on the Immortal Alliance's banner; Meng Zhifan would be treated as a rare treasure for their Venerable, cut into countless pieces, refined into pills, and forever barred from the cycle of reincarnation.
The two of them would vanish into the world, forgotten by all, while those wolves who devoured human flesh and blood, thanks to what they had gained today, would advance rapidly in cultivation.
Why?
____
Rong Zhao closed his eyes briefly.
"Meng Zhifan." He seemed to have made up his mind, when he opened his eyes again, his voice was soft yet cold, "Did I never tell you why I insisted on having you as my Dao companion back then?"
Before Meng Zhifan could speak, he continued, speaking faster than usual, as if afraid he might change his mind: "Because I cultivate the Path of Ruthlessness."
"The Path of Ruthlessness...?" Meng Zhifan turned to look at him, as if he had a premonition, and unconsciously hugged him tighter, "Since it's the path of ruthlessness, then why do you need a Dao companion?"
Yes. Since it is the Path of Ruthlessness, why must one have a Dao companion?
This was a question Rong Zhao couldn't understand back then.
Until that day at Chilong Mountain, when his Dao of Ruthlessness was broken, his realm plummeted, and he barely escaped by exhausting all his cultivation and treasures, he finally understood.
Back then, he had taken a shortcut when he first embarked on the Path of Ruthlessness.
True cultivation of this path requires one to first experience the tenderness and moving power of love. Even with a thousand lingering attachments and ten thousand regrets, one still wields the sword to sever it, entering the path of ruthlessness with a heart that has known love, only then can one attain the Great Dao.
This was the true meaning of the final stage: severing all worldly ties.
Rong Zhao thought to himself.
Now, having tasted the experience of love , his Dao heart was utterly destroyed, and his realm had plummeted to the Nascent Soul stage. Seemingly, he was out of the running for ascension, but in reality, he was only one step away.
"The first sword to become an immortal is to first slay the one you love."
