Hua ChunMing y face-down on Yuan Xia’s bed, his tears soaking through the silk pillow.

  “It, it it it, it,” Shuang couldn’t keep his mouth shut, blubbering nonstop. Even if Yuan Xia couldn’t see his face, he could feel the excitement radiating from the boy.

  It what? Yuan Xia deadpanned.

  “It’s Hua ChunMing.” The fanboy excimed, choking as he bit his own tongue.

  Upon hearing his name, the man on the bed rolled over onto his side. His beautiful indigo eyes puffed up, and in his dazed irises, he looked like he’d lost the will to live. A couple seconds passed, and Hua ChunMing fixed his gaze upon Yuan Xia. A single tear leaked down.

  Hearing the drip drip of tears, Yuan Xia had more questions than patience. He walked over to Hua ChunMing, tugging on the drunkard’s arm threateningly until a gentle spark of electricity stunned him away.

  Since that didn’t work, Yuan Xia reached for the jar of osmanthus wine in his hands….

  A strong indigo aura enveloped the dorm. Hua ChunMing rose from the bed, his eyes glinting azure, his hair and robes floating up in the sheer force he emitted.

  Registering that incredible power, Yuan Xia lunged at Shuang’s waist. The two of them tumbled out of the open door, and as soon as Yuan Xia’s feet touched the ground, he grabbed Shuang’s wrist and ran.

  “What—What’s wrong?!” Shuang tripped along. As soon as they reached the end of the main branch, he pulled Yuan Xia back, just inches from falling off the edge.

  Unable to answer, Yuan Xia panted in pce.

  The murderous aura radiating from the inner disciple dorm calmed after a while, and a faint sob echoed from the distance.

  Yuan Xia felt a twinge of pity for running away. But he really had no choice: When a cultivator emitted that much power, it usually came with murderous intent.

  Murder… from Hua ChunMing? Did the Righteous Leader have the will to commit such a crime?

  Had Yuan Xia’s death driven Hua ChunMing to madness? Impossible; Yuan Xia didn’t think he was so important.

  “Let’s…” Shuang huffed out a word. “Let’s go back? Check it out?” Signaling at Yuan Xia, he pointed up at the dorm that Hua ChunMing had taken from them.

  Yuan Xia nodded with a gulp.

  “I didn’t know Righteous Leader Hua could cry so much.” On the way back, Shuang initiated a conversation, not expecting an answer yet rambling on in his trepidation. “Was he originally like this?”

  Being dragged along, Yuan Xia could feel a tremor run up Shuang’s arm. Yuan Xia wasn’t any better—his every step shook.

  But he knew the answer to Shuang’s question. Nodding imperceptibly, he let out a sigh.

  Yes.

  —

  The slightest skim of a foot on the surface of the clouds woke Hua ChunMing from his stupor. He turned to the two figures making their way towards him before putting his head back on the soaked pillow.

  Hua ChunMing had waited for well-over a century.

  When Yuan Xia toppled over Snow Valley’s cliff, he left a final yer of his life’s qi on the surface of the earring. Carefully scooping it up, Hua ChunMing brushed off the thick clumps of snow before secluding himself in his pagoda due to his deep misery. He took great care of the deceased Demon Lord’s earring, waiting for it to give him any signal that the only man who ever understood him was still alive.

  And, just a week ago, the yer of qi had reacted.

  In shock, the Righteous Leader finally left seclusion and announced his recruitment of all cultivators of every age.

  Had he rushed this decision? Of course. But at the time, Hua ChunMing had been on his 47th jar of osmanthus wine and accordingly “drunk” out of his wits—even though cultivators with golden cores couldn’t actually get drunk.

  Had he faced opposition? Of course. More-so from the stricter Orthodox Sects, whom Elder Jing had to appease to let the Righteous Leader’s decision even make it to the Council of Elders.

  After months of push-and-pull, Hua ChunMing finally got the approval to send his disciples, whose numbers dwindled by the day, to examine each and every cultivator who stepped through Heaven’s Law Sect’s stone archway.

  In others’ eyes, Hua ChunMing had gone mad with obsession. To Hua ChunMing himself, there was no going back. Once his sword pierced through the Demon Lord and he saw the first specks of blood, the intense guilt that ate at him grew stronger by the day, threatening to swallow him whole.

  But now, he could finally be free. Yuan Xia had returned.

  Hua ChunMing studied hundreds of reports as soon as recruitment began. Hundreds of people cimed to be the Demon Lord, and hundreds more tried to run away. Some even used their simir looks for immoral advantages, but not even one of them remotely resembled the original.

  One day, Hua ChunMing pulled open the folding screen to see a candidate disappear down the stairs. This candidate had a pure Heavenly root, and the way he stumbled as he ran resembled him too much.

  Hua ChunMing chased after, desperately catching Yuan Xia as he fell from the peak.

  But Hua ChunMing couldn’t believe his eyes. This Yuan Xia barely appeared fifteen years old.

  Despair struck him then, alongside a sorrowful thought: Perhaps he really had gone paranoid. Perhaps the only man he could ever acknowledge in this life had genuinely perished long ago. Perhaps… all of his efforts would end in naught.

  Hua ChunMing vowed to keep his distance then. But the more he thought, the less he could stay away. After all, the earring had reacted. Yuan Xia was definitely alive.

  Knowing he might just regain the only friend who up and died and left him behind, Hua ChunMing sacrificed his shame.

  After he barged tearfully into his inner disciples’ dorm, he wouldn’t find it strange if his two inner disciples resented him. Determined to restore his image, Hua ChunMing pushed himself off of the indigo bed.

  Dragging himself to the mirror, Hua ChunMing tugged his loose robes back over his shoulders. A dishevelled brute stared back, and half in disbelief, he scrubbed at his face. The tear stains faded with every swipe, but the scare he gave his poor disciples may never go away.

  He gnced at the single jar of osmanthus wine lolling in circles on the floor. Bending down to pick it up, Hua ChunMing noticed that his body felt quite a bit stiffer after he left his seclusion. Maybe even taller.

  He remembered Yuan Xia’s height when they faced off at Snow Valley. Yuan Xia was definitely taller then. But when Hua ChunMing imagined facing him now, he wondered if they’d be the same height.

  Another tear threatened to escape from his eye. Hua ChunMing sniffled, forcing it down.

  No more crying. He had to do his job now. And maybe….

  Hua ChunMing recalled those foggy white irises, spreading out like clouds over that one disciple’s shaking pupils.

  Just maybe, Hua ChunMing would find his reason to live again.