Chapter Ninety-Two: Leaving Without a Farewell

It is often said that fine wine and fine food are the hardest temptations to resist, and that was truly no falsehood. The reason Shao Changchun resorted to such methods was nothing more than to coax Han Tanyi into taking the bait of his own accord. If Han Tanyi did so, then even if in the future grief or some other sorrow should drive him toward hunger, self-destruction, or any such desperate act, he would never be able to go through with it.

Seeing that he had finished the medicine, Shao Changchun naturally reined in his earlier mannerisms and handed him another chicken leg, along with the wine flask. Since matters had come this far, there was no longer any need for Han Tanyi to worry over propriety. Stuffing one’s face with meat and drinking heartily had always been a hallmark of the martial world, and now, under the brief restraint he had endured, that nature showed itself even more plainly.

The taste was still the same, yet somehow it seemed different. The wine was clear and crisp, as though not a trace of impurity remained within it, mellow and fragrant beyond measure. The meat, too, was tender and succulent, so that before one mouthful had even been chewed through, one already wanted another. All of that was familiar enough. What was different was that, once the two were mingled together, there seemed to be an additional delicate fragrance. This was not the style of the Homeward Tower. Indeed, it made the flavor fuller and more alluring at the first taste, but the original essence of the wine and meat was somehow dulled a little, and with it, some of their pure simplicity was lost.

“Did you add something to this wine?”

The feeling only grew more distinct as time went on, and Han Tanyi could no longer hold back the question in a low voice. Of course, there was nothing to hide or fear. If the other man truly meant to harm him, it would have been effortless; he could have simply struck without all this trouble. So even as he asked, his hands and mouth did not pause. He kept eating and drinking all the same.

Shao Changchun gave a faint smile in reply. “For you to taste even that much, it seems you know quite a bit about food and drink. Yes, I added a tiny bit, but nothing harmful. At the very least, it will help your injuries recover.”

At the mention of his injuries, Han Tanyi could not help but show a wry, awkward smile, and even his movements faltered for a moment.

The person he had trusted most had struck with such cold finality, while this youth, who seemed to have nothing to do with him at all, showed such concern. Was he supposed to feel grateful, or sorrowful? Even Han Tanyi himself could not quite say. In the end, there was no need to dwell on it. With that thought, the brief hesitation passed almost at once. Not to mention that the wine and meat before him were delicious; even if they had truly been bitter and hard to swallow, he would never have left them unfinished.

A flask of wine and more than half a chicken did not seem like much, but for someone who had not eaten for several days, it was far from enough. Yet before long, both were completely gone. With something finally in his stomach, the gnawing hunger eased considerably. Whether because he had lingered too long over the meal or for some other reason, Han Tanyi still felt a little unsatisfied.

A person who has lain down too long will eventually grow stiff all over, and Han Tanyi was no exception. So he remained seated and slowly let his gaze wander around the room, taking in the surroundings at last.

A ruined temple was still a ruined temple. No matter how prosperous it had once been, what remained now was only a scene of decay and collapse. Shen Wansan had seen this very clearly. Even the Buddha statue had fallen from its pedestal and lost part of an arm, leaving it without the least trace of majesty. It was a sight that could only stir a faint sense of regret.

Silence is itself one of the best forms of speech. Shao Changchun had not gone far. Night had already sunk deep, and after having busied himself all day, weariness had naturally caught up with him. Seeing Han Tanyi finish eating, the worry in his heart eased somewhat. Leaning back against the Buddha statue, he soon drifted into sleep.

Han Tanyi did not wish to disturb him, so he simply watched. In that moment, the dim firelight brushed softly over the other man’s face, and at the corners of his eyes and mouth there seemed to be a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Once again, Han Tanyi felt as though he had seen such an expression somewhere before. Yet no matter how hard he thought, he could not find the answer. Still, some instinct told him that the reason for the rescue he had been shown was surely not as simple as mere dislike for injustice, as Shao Changchun had claimed. Of course, there was no need to ask. If the other man wanted to speak of it, perhaps he already would have.

In this state, no one could say how much time passed. Ordinarily, as the night deepened, the cold would only grow harsher, but Han Tanyi could clearly feel warmth slowly rising through his body. The parts buried beneath the bedding had even become a little too hot to bear, and beads of sweat began to gather and run down his skin. If he pulled the covering aside and allowed the air of the room to seep into him, the mingling of the two sensations seemed, oddly enough, to make him more comfortable.

Needless to ask, he could guess the reason. Since Shao Changchun had added something, this must have been what he meant. And strangely enough, his body, which had been utterly exhausted before, now felt much better, whether because food had finally entered his stomach or because of that strange heat. Even his legs seemed filled with strength.

Even so, the motion of rising was still very slow. After all, the sword wound in his chest was no light matter; with even a slightly larger movement, pain would surge up plainly at once. But in the end, he still stood. Step by step, he walked toward where Shao Changchun was lying, took up a small quilt, and gently covered the other man with it.

Han Tanyi had always been that kind of person. He might forget a grudge done to him, but he could never so easily set down a kindness. Shao Changchun was no exception, and neither was the Daoist of Heavenly Secrets. But now that matters had come to this point, he did not know how to respond.

The quilt was long enough, while Shao Changchun’s frame was rather slight. Once it was laid over him, it even covered much of the Buddha statue as well. His breathing was slow and even, and at a glance one could tell that his martial cultivation was exceptionally formidable. His expression was likewise calm, as though he were sleeping very deeply. Perhaps it was because he had been through so much these past few days. Looking at that face of his, Han Tanyi somehow felt a trace of warmth deep in his heart, even stronger than the heat that now filled his own body.

There were still far too many doubts in the young man’s heart, too many things he had not yet understood. Yet at this moment, he did not wish to wake the other man. As he covered him with the quilt, he could only whisper silently to himself: Rest well. If we ever meet again in the future, or if I am still alive by then, I will make sense of it all.

Leaving without a word was his plan. For the Han Tanyi of this moment, it seemed the most proper course. He now had an inseparable connection to the Blue Lotus Sect, and that alone had already made him the sworn enemy of the entire martial world. As for that sleeping face—whether or not the man truly was Shao Changchun—if he stayed by Han Tanyi’s side, he would likely be implicated as well. Since the man had saved his life, Han Tanyi need not speak of repayment, but at the very least he ought not bring him any so-called misfortune.

More than that, this place was no longer safe. Shen Wansan’s words had been courteous enough on the surface, but if one truly took such courtesy for sincerity, that would only prove one’s own naivety. When you were his chess piece, of course he would court you at every turn, but the instant you became useless, those same words would become a death warrant. Besides, Han Tanyi understood clearly that he did not even have the qualifications to be a chess piece. In his heart, there had once been hatred, but the more than ten years of nurturing and instruction he had received were like a second birth to him. Without the Daoist of Heavenly Secrets and the Qilian Sect, the young Han Tanyi would likely have starved to death on the streets long ago. How could he have lived to this day? So he would take that sword strike as repayment of the life he owed Dao Tianfeng. From this day forth, he, Han Tanyi, would have nothing more to do with Mount Qilian.

“I have no choice, but you do, so I—”

He had only gotten that far when he abruptly stopped, the lines of his face filled with helplessness. He bowed slightly toward Shao Changchun. Though his injuries prevented him from bending very deeply, the meaning of the gesture was unmistakable. His gaze moved slowly around the room. Though this place seemed strange to him, he had still been here before. To leave with such firm resolve was never an easy thing.

A soft sigh slipped from the corner of his mouth.

The door was not far away, yet it still took him a fair amount of time to reach it. The instant he pushed it open, a chill wind came drifting in from outside. He opened it only a little and did his best to block the gap with his body, slipping out sideways for fear that the wind might wake Shao Changchun.

Outside was pitch-black. Even the crescent moon had somehow lost its luck and hidden itself within the clouds, not casting down a single ray of light. It was difficult to tell one direction from another, let alone find the road.

That scene was all too like Han Tanyi’s present plight. He had lost the identity of a disciple of Qilian, and even who he himself was no longer seemed certain. Let alone where he should go, or what he ought to do.

With every step he took forward, the sound seemed like a mockery of himself.