Chapter 7: Memories of Old

Zhao Ru-cheng came from a wealthy background and had bought a house near the Dao Academy to live in. He had a dozen servants to attend to his daily needs and rarely stayed in the dormitory. As for Du Ye-hu, once he started drinking, he was not someone who could be dismissed in a short amount of time.

Thus, when Jiang Wang returned to the dormitory, he suddenly realized that the room, usually so noisy and bustling, was now left only to him.

After closing the door, he subconsciously glanced at the bed in the innermost corner on the left.

On the bed lay bedding that was folded with exceptional neatness and cleanliness; its material was no different from that of the others in the room. At this moment, the bed was empty, and it would never be occupied again.

This was Fang Peng-ju’s bed. He came from a wealthy family, yet he was never fussy or pretentious, eating and drinking with the others without ever being picky.

The bed opposite Fang Peng-ju’s was empty, piled high with luggage.

The remaining beds were arranged in rows of three on either side, ending there.

The second bed on the left, right next to Fang Peng-ju’s, was the messiest in the dormitory. The bedding was piled in a haphazard heap, and scattered clothes served only as accents; if one sniffed closely, one could still catch the scent of wine. If one looked under the bed, one could see rows upon rows of neatly packed wine jars. Compared to the environment the owner of the bed lived in, these jars were clearly well-cared for.

The first bed on the left was right by the door, so this was Ling He’s bed—he was always the one responsible for opening and closing the door for everyone. There were a few inconspicuous patches on the bedding, but it was washed very clean.

The first bed on the right belonged to Jiang Wang. His bedding was on par with Ling He’s. Despite not having returned for a long time, the bed was still very tidy, clearly cleaned by someone often. Perhaps it was Ling He, perhaps Zhao Ru-cheng... or perhaps it was Fang Peng-ju.

The second bed on the right, next to Jiang Wang’s, belonged to Zhao Ru-cheng. His bed was unique in the entire dormitory; the sheets and quilts were all high-end goods from Yunxiang Studio, and the small dormitory bed even had curtains embroidered with gold thread. It was a world of difference compared to Du Ye-hu’s across the way.

People who didn't know him well would probably think Zhao Ru-cheng was difficult to get along with, but in reality, it was just that his standards of living were too high. Even if he only stayed in the dormitory occasionally, he wanted it to be as magnificent and comfortable as possible. He had even once offered a fortune to renovate the entire dormitory into a top-tier suite—if not for the fact that Jiang Wang had beaten him up for it.

From the time he entered the outer sect of the Dao Academy at fourteen until now, Jiang Wang had spent three years in this dormitory. Every detail in the room was exceptionally familiar to him.

The things remain, but the people have changed; all is for naught.

Jiang Wang was silent for a while, then took off his shoes and socks, removed his outer robe, and lay down directly on his bed.

He was tired, very exhausted, but only at this very moment could he finally sleep with peace of mind.

One awakening floats upon worldly affairs, one dream awaits the height of the heavens.

The entire Fenglin City was square and neatly planned. The City Lord’s Mansion sat in the center, radiating outward. The East City was the territory of the Dao Academy, while the wealthy and noble families resided in the West City. The South City was mostly home to commoners, and the merchants and wealthy traders were primarily gathered in the North City.

Seeing Jiang Wang walk safely out of the Dean’s quiet room, Ling He left the Dao Academy alone, carrying Fang Peng-ju’s corpse.

When Fang Peng-ju was alive, he had a call and a hundred responses, with many friends; when he died, everyone loathed him.

His actions were despicable and vicious, so it was only right that he be loathed.

Ling He did not feel aggrieved for him, but he still felt a pang of heartache.

He wrapped Fang Peng-ju’s body in his outer robe; the robe was old but washed very clean.

For his pace, walking from the East City to the West City was not far, and the road to the Fang family mansion was very familiar. But Ling He walked very slowly, his footsteps heavy.

He couldn't bear to let go.

He was the eldest; he should have taken good care of his four sworn brothers, but he had failed to do so.

He still remembered the scene of the five of them swearing brotherhood by the Green Willow River, and he remembered the brilliant smiles of each of his five brothers.

The Green Willow River was a tributary of the Qing River, winding past Ox-Head Mountain; the water in the river was very clear. It could reflect young faces and young hearts. That year, they traveled with swords and horses; that year, they raised their cups to talk; they sparred countless times and spent countless nights talking by candlelight.

They had promised to ascend to the inner sect together, to ride swords through the blue heavens together, and to transcend the mortal and become saints together. Those memories, those... promises.

Ling He had never imagined that five people so like-minded and deeply bonded would one day turn against each other, facing one another in life and death.

How could this be?

He thought.

He couldn't understand it, but holding Fang Peng-ju’s cold corpse, he finally arrived at the gates of the Fang mansion.

"What are you doing?" the gatekeeper stopped him and asked.

The Fang mansion was very high, high in an aloof, superior way.

"Oh." Ling He held Fang Peng-ju’s corpse and bowed his head slightly in greeting. "Fang Peng-ju has passed away. I am returning his body so that your esteemed family may bury him."

If no one claimed the body, it would be taken by the authorities to a mass grave for disposal. That was the place the heretics of the Left Path loved to frequent; it was hard to find peace even after death.

But Ling He thought it unnecessary to say this; he was not a person who liked to claim credit, nor did he think this was any sort of merit.

The gatekeeper’s expression changed, and he slammed the gate shut. A voice came from behind the door: "Take him away! The Master says he is not allowed to enter!"

"Young man," Ling He said earnestly, "please, I beg you to report this to your master once more. No matter what, Peng-ju is of the Fang family bloodline. Perhaps they were just speaking in anger, and they won't truly abandon him."

The gatekeeper seemed to hesitate for a moment. "I'll go ask again... but don't you try to force your way in!"

"Please rest assured, young man."

Ling He held Fang Peng-ju’s corpse and stood firmly in front of the Fang mansion, listening to the hurried footsteps fade away.

He lowered his head and said to Fang Peng-ju’s already cold face: "Peng-ju, look at the mess you've made. Even in death, no one will remember your good deeds; you are loathed by gods and ghosts alike."

After a long time, the gatekeeper’s voice sounded again from behind the door.

"The Master says," he paused to compose himself, mimicking the tone of the Fang mansion’s master, "he's already dead, so why bring him back?"

Ling He was stunned for a moment before muttering, "The Fang family is a respectable household; they should give Peng-ju some dignity."

"The Master said he already knows the cause of Fang Peng-ju’s death. A person so devoid of benevolence and righteousness is no kin of the Fang family!"

"But he *is* of the Fang family bloodline," Ling He said.

"Get out of here!" The gatekeeper threw a handful of knife-coins through the crack in the door. "If you pester us again, we're calling the authorities!"

The knife-coins clattered to the ground, quite eye-catching. If used for a simple burial, it would be more than enough. The extra money was meant as a tip.

This was the Fang family’s attitude.

Ling He fell silent.

He no longer tried to say anything.

He was very poor; he had been poor since he was a child. He was very short on money; his only intact outer robe was wrapped around Fang Peng-ju’s corpse, and his undergarment was covered in patches. He stood before the magnificent Fang mansion like a poor relative who had been shut out.

He held Fang Peng-ju’s corpse, turned, and left.

From beginning to end, he did not look at those knife-coins once.

This was Ling He’s attitude.

What is the best way to greet mockery? We do not greet it; we abandon it. — Qing He Shen