Zhan Chun - Chapter 90
Yan Gandao chuckled and said, "I know what Father went to do. He sent a letter to Shu Jun through someone, intending to meet him. Isn't that woman always with Shu Jun? Besides, our Yan Clan and Shu Jun's father have a blood feud. Why bother with all this formality and meeting? Just kill them. My Qiufeng Clan should have found them by now."
Yan Yufei was then greatly surprised, "You sent people to follow and monitor the sect leader's every move?!"
"Don't put it so harshly. What do you mean by 'following and monitoring'? As the head of the family, Father naturally has to be extremely cautious in his actions. I'm just trying to share his burdens..."
Before he could finish speaking, Yan Yufei strode out of the bamboo grove and shouted after him, "Second Brother! Don't worry, I'll bring you those two heads!"
Yan Yufei turned a corner and quickly disappeared outside the courtyard gate.
After walking for a short while, he suddenly whispered, "Uncle Yin!"
A figure appeared silently in front of him, wearing a bamboo hat and slowly kneeling down. It was none other than Uncle Yin, whom he had not seen for a long time. He lowered his head and said, "I have already investigated, and what the Third Young Master said is basically true. The sect leader is currently in Jiangcheng, as are Shu Jun and Ge Yichun. The Third Young Master's Qiufeng Troupe is also gathering in Jiangcheng."
Yan Yufei clenched his fist tightly, and the muscles at the broken wrist contracted violently, causing a sharp, tearing pain that reminded him of the moment his right hand was severed from his body.
He spoke slowly, almost through gritted teeth, saying each word slowly: "Get ready, we're heading to Jiangcheng immediately."
A sense of pride rose within him. Ge Yichun, if he were to die, he could only die by his own hand. The most untamed eagle would not allow anyone else to lay a finger on it!
There was no one on the narrow mountain path, only the traces of burning remained. The ruins of the carriage were piled up beside the cliff, and it could be vaguely seen that it belonged to the sect leader.
Uncle Yin wiped his hand on the ground, sniffed it, and said, "...Young Master, it looks like someone poured lard on the ground and set it on fire."
Yan Yufei frowned and said in a low voice, "Third brother is being so reckless!"
He glanced at the few footprints on the edge of the cliff, then turned and walked away. "Go check the valley! She...she wouldn't have been killed so easily!"
Uncle Yin hesitated, then pulled his straw hat down further before climbing down the cliff with him to search for the person.
The mountain wasn't high; someone skilled in martial arts wouldn't die jumping down. Yan Yufei pushed aside the branches blocking his way, a strange anxiety gripping his heart, like being fried in a pan of oil—a truly unbearable feeling. He couldn't even understand why things had turned out this way. Occasionally, the thought of parting the dense foliage and finding her mangled, charred corpse would flash through his mind. What would he do then?
The area where his wrist was severed was not stimulated in any way, yet it was experiencing uncontrollable waves of pain, reminding him of his uncle's shame and his own shame of having his wrist severed.
Ge Yichun, how could you die like this?! So pathetically and so silently!
A series of light footsteps came from not far ahead. Uncle Yin moved with lightning speed and instantly blocked Yan Yufei's path, his two swords ready to be drawn.
The dense grass slowly parted, and with a soft snap, a dirty, blood-stained hand gripped a locust tree. Messy hair was disheveled in front of the face, and the clothes were tattered. The left hand was curled up at an odd angle in front of the chest.
She appeared before them like a wild little beast, cutting through thorns and brambles, looking utterly disheveled, yet her eyes shone with an astonishing brightness.
Uncle Yin frowned, about to draw his sword, when he heard Yan Yufei say in a low voice, "Uncle Yin, step back." He turned around and looked at him incredulously, opened his mouth as if to say something, but swallowed it back in the end and silently stepped aside.
Yan Yufei took two steps forward, staring at her intently. After a long while, he whispered, "Ge Yichun, you're not dead."
He felt extremely happy, and all his previous frustration and disappointment vanished in an instant.
A blinding white light filled Yichun's vision. She had lay at the bottom of the cliff for a day and a night before finally gathering her strength to set off to find Shujun. But she wandered through the mountains and forests for a very long time. Where was Shujun?
Trees, trees, trees—before her stood only one silent tree after another, and no one could tell her where Shu Jun was. The slender blades of grass rustled against her clothes, and she remembered so many nights when Shu Jun whispered secrets to her.
We will always be together, and live on for Yang Shen.
"You're lying..." Yi Chun thought to herself. "You died so easily? Are you still Shu Jun? If you're not dead, why did you disappear?"
She was almost completely exhausted, and with her last breath, she was about to faint again.
She pushed aside the branches and leaves that were blocking her view, and in the depths of the white light, she suddenly saw Shu Jun standing straight opposite her, smiling and waving, saying, "Xiao Ge, what happened to you and why are you in such a mess?"
Yichun let out a strange groan from her throat, jumped up like a rabbit, and pounced on him. Uncle Yin was taken aback and instinctively drew his sword, but his young master remained motionless, or perhaps he was stunned, letting her pounce on him and hug him tightly. Her dirty head bumped against his chest, and he trembled slightly, but still did not move.
"Shu Jun!" she whispered, gripping his sleeve tightly. "You bastard, you're still alive and well!"
Yan Ganfei stood there, stunned, looking down at her face, so grime obscured that only her clear, bright eyes made him realize this was Ge Yichun. Her eyes were filled with ecstatic joy, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, whispering, "You're alive and well!"
Before he could finish speaking, he went limp and truly fainted.
Yan Ganfei grabbed her collar, somewhat amused and exasperated, and lifted her up effortlessly. She was surprisingly light and thin. It was as if this person, who looked so fragile, had actually cut off her own hand with a sword.
He simply couldn't believe it.
Ge Yichun was powerful and could not be easily defeated. He had always had this impression of her. He had a vague memory of what her nose and eyes looked like, but whenever she came near, her scent would excite him, like the excitement of discovering a powerful opponent.
For some reason, he suddenly raised his sleeve and wiped her dirty face twice. So this was what she looked like—this nose, this mouth, these eyebrows. The blurry face in his memory was now completely replaced by the face before him—she was a woman, young, with someone she loved deeply. Apart from her martial arts skills and her heart that nothing could bind, she was no different from any other woman in the world.
“…Uncle Yin.” After a long while, he called out softly, “Let’s go back.”
Uncle Yin finally couldn't help but speak up: "Young Master... it's not appropriate to bring this woman back to the Yan Clan..."
Yan Yufei suddenly turned around, his expression very strange. His face was deathly pale, but his eyes shone with an eerie light, as if countless giant waves were crashing inside him, making it impossible for him to be still.
He whispered, "I said... go back."
Uncle Yin nodded silently, his throat trembled twice, and he turned and left first.
In recent years, Yan Yufei has often had a dream, which can't be described as a nightmare or anything else.
In his dream, he was merely an observer, yet his uncle's face, blurred for many years, was so clear. Deep in the courtyard, bathed in soft moonlight, his uncle sparred with someone, wielding a dagger. The person's figure was like a ghost, swift and elusive, the glint of the dagger like a fleeting starlight, short, sharp, and filled with murderous intent.
At first, he would call out anxiously from the side, but he soon realized that no one could hear him.
He could only watch helplessly as the howling starlight severed his uncle's right hand time and time again, the blood falling like rain, thick and dark red with a purplish tinge.
He would suddenly feel a void in his right hand, and when he looked down, he would find that his wrist had broken off at some point, and the muscles were contracting and spasming, causing him excruciating pain.
Yan Yufei gripped his wound tightly, his face deathly pale. He tried to scream out the pain, but no sound came out.
My uncle collapsed to the ground with a thud; a large hole had been pierced through his chest by a sword, and he was beyond saving. The moonlit courtyard suddenly transformed into a brightly lit spring garden, where the murderer, dressed in simple clothes with his long hair disheveled and draped over his shoulders, appeared.
He laughed loudly, flicked his sword back, and the wine cup on the table jumped up with a clatter, pouring the wine into his mouth without spilling a drop.