Chapter Thirty: Awakening

Having made up his mind, Han Tan Yi’s pace quickened noticeably. Now, he had only one purpose: to press forward with all his strength. Yet, after barely a hundred steps, his determination wavered. If he kept walking like this, when would it end? What if the truth and illusion became indistinguishable—wouldn’t that be too absurd? But at this moment, was there any better way? The young man simply couldn’t think of one.

“You’re really just leaving me behind like this? You heartless man! How cruel you are!” Even as uncertainty gnawed at him, his figure continued advancing without pause. Lacking direction, without a destination, he resolved to keep walking relentlessly. If exhaustion finally overcame him, he would stop then and see if he could escape this illusion; it would be up to fate—he could only do his best. But if things were as simple as he imagined, wouldn’t that be too dull? Suddenly, Han Tan Yi felt a cold sensation behind him—not the wind, for not a breeze stirred—and only a voice, almost cursing, reached his ears. It was unmistakably Shui Linglong’s voice, causing the youth to halt, his heart shuddering.

He had known her for barely a day—less than half a day, in fact. If Han Tan Yi felt no attachment or guilt, he’d have no reason to care about her words. But he couldn’t let go; the accusation of cruelty unsettled him, as if he truly was as heartless as she said. As he stopped, he turned sharply, about to open his eyes, when Shui Linglong’s earlier words flashed in his mind, clearing his thoughts. He murmured under his breath, “These are all illusions, Han Tan Yi, you mustn’t open your eyes. Hurry, Han Tan Yi, hurry and go!”

“You never thought that a man like you, who claims to be so devoted, is just a liar. Even if you adore that Butterfly, do you not even have the courage to look at me? Sneaking away like this—what does it mean?” Han Tan Yi’s head turned back, and he tried to step forward, but almost simultaneously, the voice called out again. Even knowing it was just an illusion, the young man found it hard to take that step. Unable to stop himself, he responded, “You’re the one who watched me walk away—how can you say I’m sneaking off? I know you’re not real; you can’t deceive me!”

“I’m not real, it’s true. But if your heart didn’t wish it, how could I appear? You can deceive yourself, but not your heart. Come back, I like you, and you have feelings for me. Why must you leave? Isn’t this place good enough—bridges over streams, spring flowers and autumn fruits, ancient pavilions with gentle music—aren’t these better than the clamorous, treacherous world outside?” Her tone shifted suddenly; if before it had brimmed with resentment, now it was tender, gentle. A kind-hearted man cannot bear a woman’s sorrow, and whether it’s the bitter or sweet kind, no man escapes a woman’s soft appeal—Han Tan Yi was no exception. He stopped completely, not rushing to reply, seemingly deep in thought.

Indeed, she was right—the illusion sprang from his own mind. He didn’t care about the world’s affairs, and these past days hadn’t been so unbearable. Apart from the words “Blue Lotus Sect,” which instinctively repelled him, everything else was pleasant enough. At least, when he was with Shui Linglong, he felt happy, even free. The scenery was what he longed for. As for the disputes of the martial world, Han Tan Yi had no choice—he was only an orphan, picked up by the Sage of Destiny. As for Butterfly, her aloofness was alluring, but was that really what he wanted? Han Tan Yi didn’t know. At this moment, his heart surged with waves of emotion, his thoughts tumbling chaotically.

“You’re right—I do like Shui Linglong. She’s a good girl, and deserves to be liked. This place is nice, but it’s not my home. I must return to Qilian, where my master, my junior disciples, and all my childhood memories are. That’s my root. And Butterfly—even though she’s always indifferent to me, maybe it’s not her fault. If someone’s been alone too long, it’s natural to have a guarded heart. I believe that one day, things will change; she’ll accept me. As for Miss Shui, all I can do is apologize. This encounter was a mistake; once I leave, she’ll be free. I trust she’ll find a man a hundred or a thousand times better than me. Truly, she will!” At first, Han Tan Yi spoke calmly, as if his heart were steady. But as he continued, his tone grew heavier, his hand trembling slightly, as if to mask his embarrassment and force himself to believe his own words. The repetition of phrases was merely a psychological hint. Whoever faced such a woman and spoke thus would feel uneasy. In that moment, Han Tan Yi acutely sensed a brief but sharp pain—though fleeting, it was hard to bear.

“When you meet someone you like, don’t let them slip away. You really are a fool. Surely you don’t naïvely think I’d fall in love with you—that’s wishful thinking, absolutely impossible. I advise you to give up now!” Shui Linglong’s voice seemed to fall silent, perhaps pondering Han Tan Yi’s words. In truth, she was just an illusion—the real person reflecting on these words was Han Tan Yi himself. But almost at that moment, another voice sounded—although he hadn’t heard it for more than half a month, Han Tan Yi recognized it instantly, his face filled with shock he could not hide.

How could she be here? Impossible—this was still the Blue Lotus Sect, and she was on the rear mountain of Qilian. Confusion clouded Han Tan Yi’s mind—perhaps the shock made him forget he was in an illusion. It was understandable; his thoughts were already in disorder. Now, hearing such decisive words from Butterfly’s mouth, anyone would struggle to bear it; Han Tan Yi was no exception. He spun around abruptly, unable to keep his eyes shut any longer, his lips twitching as he forced out a few words: “Impossible. You’re lying. Impossible!”

It truly was impossible. Staring at the scene before him, Han Tan Yi froze. Shui Linglong, Butterfly—none of them existed. All that lay before him was this: on either side, towering cliffs soared into the sky; no matter how he craned his neck, their tops were hidden. How tall were they? The youth couldn’t guess—even more perilous than the great gorge below Qilian. Han Tan Yi had never seen such a sight—his face darkened as he realized what was happening.

He must not look back, but now it was too late. He tried to close his eyes, but they seemed beyond his control, opening wider instead, taking in everything around him. The twin cliffs were not stationary—they moved steadily toward him. What had been a broad road, wide enough for several people, was now compressed, growing narrower and narrower. If this continued, the cliffs would soon close in completely. Even with a few meters left, Han Tan Yi could feel the oppressive force bearing down.

Run—that was his only choice, a reaction born of instinct. He couldn’t see what lay ahead in the gorge; it seemed endless, shrouded in mist, obscuring his vision. He couldn’t let himself be crushed alive. The will to survive drove him to move faster than ever before, faster than at any point in his life. He summoned his spiritual power and pushed himself to the limit—within moments, sweat poured from him.

Yet even running so desperately seemed futile. The cliffs pressed closer, so much so that a slight misstep let him touch their walls—now barely a meter or two apart. Ahead, the gorge remained a blank white haze; nothing was visible, no exit to be found. After such strenuous effort, Han Tan Yi felt as if all his strength had been drained, each step forward a supreme effort. He gasped for breath, his legs aching and numb. If the exhaustion of his body could still be endured, the despair rising in his heart filled him with true terror.