3 Old Friends

Chapter 3

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Shen Yihan’s belated explanation only made things seem more complicated. “I meant that you traveled down the mountain and didn’t encounter any bandits—that’s a good thing.”

Yun Ran: “...”

He remained silent for a long moment. Shen Yihan couldn’t quite read his thoughts and was about to clarify further when Yun Ran asked, “...Did you make any progress during your seclusion this time?”

Shen Yihan was taken aback, then came back to himself and met Yun Ran’s gaze, which was calm and steady. Yet, after so many years of friendship, he knew that this was his friend’s way of showing concern, and his heart warmed slightly.

He cared about his friend, and his friend cared about him.

“There’s been no breakthrough in my cultivation level,” Shen Yihan smiled softly. “But I’ve gained many insights in my mindset, so it’s not without some harvest.”

Yun Ran looked at him, his expression growing somber.

The two had known each other since youth, spanning over a millennium now. Shen Yihan had been stuck at the late Nascent Soul stage for more than five centuries.

Cultivators were called cultivators because they had yet to attain immortality. In truth, they were merely humans with greater abilities and longer lifespans than ordinary mortals, but fundamentally still “human,” not “immortal.”

Being human meant bound by lifespan and constrained by the laws of Heaven—no exceptions.

Every advancement in cultivation brought immediate benefits. Setting aside the thickening of true energy, lifespan extension was clear: Qi Refining disciples gained one hundred years, Foundation Establishment two hundred, Golden Core three hundred, and Nascent Soul four hundred years.

Though their lifespans seemed far beyond those of ordinary people, they remained strictly limited by the laws of Heaven. Without breaking through these barriers, they could never cross that boundary and would inevitably face the day when their vitality ran out.

If Shen Yihan could not break through further, it meant he might only have a few decades left.

Yun Ran’s Adam’s apple moved slightly.

“...How is your mindset?” he asked.

“I think it’s better to be more carefree,” Shen Yihan pondered. “The Great Dao is subtle; everyone wants to ascend, yet in ten thousand years, those who’ve truly ascended can be counted on one hand—only a handful. Everyone has their own fate. If everyone could break through and tear through the void, cultivation wouldn’t be cultivation anymore. Perhaps my fate ends here. Rather than wasting years chasing a possibility I may never grasp, it’s better to live well, do what I want, spend time with brothers, friends, and disciples...”

He suddenly stopped himself, thinking it unwise to mention disciples. What if Yun Ran took this as a sign to take on disciples? That dream... he was almost certain it was a glimpse of the future.

Perhaps fate had its own design. As his lifespan neared its end, the Illusory Spirit Jade had given him a chance to glimpse the heavenly secret. The vision was oddly whimsical, but ultimately, if Shen Yihan’s life were to end now, extinguished like a dying flame, what he could not let go of in this world was only the Miaoyin Sect and his friend Yun Ran.

His sect was not a great or powerful faction in the cultivation world. The practices were not formidable, and the sect held no treasures that made others covetous—a rather ordinary sect.

Yet, through years of careful stewardship, Miaoyin Sect was far more prosperous than when his maternal grandfather passed it to him centuries ago. Though he had no partner or offspring, he had carefully chosen disciples like Zi Xu, who had excellent temperament, character, and talent. When the sect was passed on, even if Zi Xu was still young, there would be senior brothers and juniors to support him.

Shen Yihan was quite confident in the sect’s future.

As for Yun Ran, he had once also been confident.

No matter how things were in their youth, those were past matters. Now, Yun Ran was a hundred times stronger than him, his swordsmanship more refined. His cultivation appeared ready to break through the Great Perfection stage—it was only a matter of time.

His reputation needed no mention. Over the years, Yun Ran had traveled far and wide, punishing evil, helping the good, slaying demons and monsters. Not only in the cultivation world, but many mortals had grown up hearing tales of the “Unwritten Sword Venerable.”

If Shen Yihan had the abilities of those Buddhist cultivators from Qilan Temple, he had no doubt that sitting before Yun Ran now, he would see a shining halo of merit above his friend’s head the moment he opened his eyes.

Yet the Illusory Spirit Jade showed him this dream.

Shen Yihan was not one to meddle in others’ affairs, but for a close friend with whom he had grown up through hardships and joys, he could not watch idly as Yun Ran sank into a filthy quagmire.

Who could say what the full dream looked like?

How many good disciples would Yun Ran eventually have? What backgrounds did they come from? Was the dream incomplete?

It was best not to let Yun Ran take on disciples—this was the safest option.

At this moment, Shen Yihan fell silent, but Yun Ran did not notice the subtle change in his friend’s mood. His brow furrowed barely perceptibly as he remained deep in thought.

“You have lost the heart to improve,” Yun Ran said, piercing directly to Shen Yihan’s true state.

Shen Yihan did not deny it.

A brief silence passed between them.

Finally, Shen Yihan rolled up his sleeves, revealing a slender, pale arm. He lifted a translucent porcelain lidded bowl and gracefully poured a cup of golden, clear tea.

This was tea he had brought himself—mortal tea called Yunshan Cuiya. It required precise control of heat, water temperature, and quantity when brewing.

Mortal tea was unlike the spiritual teas used by cultivators, which were delicate and precious with many rules. Mortal tea offered only sweetness in color and flavor, without a trace of spiritual power. To cultivators like them, it was almost useless.

Most cultivators wouldn’t bother with such things, but Shen Yihan was passionate about it. In his youth, instead of focusing on slaying more beasts or eliminating evil spirits, he traveled far and wide collecting various mortal teas.

Perhaps it was a certain romantic streak in his nature. Shen Yihan also indulged in many other mortal pleasures—painting and calligraphy, gourmet food and fine wine, storytelling and opera. In short, anything that held no benefit for a cultivator interested him greatly.

Thus, despite not lacking talent, his cultivation had advanced at a snail’s pace over a thousand years.

Yun Ran, a sword fanatic, naturally had no interest in these matters but never complained.

When Shen Yihan invited him to appreciate calligraphy and antiques, Yun Ran listened silently to his friend’s endless chatter, unable to find anything to praise. After long hesitation, he would finally say “Very good.” At that time, his skill in focusing and storing energy was still immature, sometimes showing awkwardness that made Shen Yihan laugh heartily.

Later, when Shen Yihan offered him tea, he noticed Yun Ran had learned to drink slowly, savoring each sip, making it impossible to mock him for lacking elegance. Yet when asked for his opinion, Yun Ran always replied with the same two words: “Very good.”

It was as if no other adjectives existed in his dictionary, but his calm, serene expression had softened considerably.

Shen Yihan found he could no longer tease him and gradually lost interest in trying.

Yun Ran accepted the cup, lowered his gaze, and took a gentle sip.

Across a thousand years, he had, through his friend’s tastes, been somewhat immersed in this way. His long, pale fingers lightly cupped the tea bowl; his eyelids lowered so that his eyes were hidden beneath his neatly tied Daoist crown. His face was sharply handsome and finely chiseled, seated by a verdant wooden round window, like a tranquil and deeply meditative painting.

Leaning on the tea table, Shen Yihan propped his chin on his hand, watching him. He realized he had never paid much attention before—this friend was cold in demeanor, but truly a cold beauty.

No wonder he would attract the ill intentions of those little brats in the future.

“I’ve never had much heart for advancement—you know that,” he replied casually to Yun Ran’s earlier words, already pondering how to help his friend resolve future troubles. “...What do you plan to do with that young master He of Yingzhou?”

The topic easily shifted away from his own lack of ambition.

“When we return to Dengyang Peak, I will remove the soul-devouring seed from him, but his intelligence is damaged, and some memories are lost—it’s irreversible.”

Yun Ran had brought He Lanting back to Kunwu Sword Sect and had indeed come to see his friend first, without returning to his own Dengyang Peak.

“And then?” Shen Yihan asked. “The He family has been wiped out. You brought him back, but he has nowhere to go. How do you intend to place him?”

Yun Ran did not hesitate much; he had clearly thought this through during the journey.

“If he is willing, I will take him as a disciple.”

“Not appropriate,” Shen Yihan almost immediately rejected. “You haven’t taken disciples for years because heirs of the Dengyang Sword are rare. He is young, fatherless, burdened with blood revenge, and his character is unsettled. He’s not material for your sword intention. Moreover, the He family now has only this one surviving branch. If you let him inherit your legacy, it would mean the extinction of the He clan.”

These words had long been rehearsed in Shen Yihan’s mind, so they flowed naturally and righteously.

In fact, Yun Ran could accept He Lanting as a disciple without transmitting him the Dengyang Sword teachings.

In the dream, Yun Ran did exactly that.

But Shen Yihan’s firm opposition silenced Yun Ran for a moment, probably because he found Shen Yihan’s reasoning reasonable.

“The extinction of the He family will be widely investigated once your senior brother, the sect leader, learns of it. He, as the surviving He, is pitiable. I see he has excellent talent, so surely in time, those with ties to the He family will take him in. That would be much more suitable. Besides, if you accept him, passing on the Dengyang Sword would mean the He clan’s end. If you don’t, why not let him seek instruction elsewhere?”

This argument was indeed sensible.

Yun Ran responded with a “Hmm.”

That was an agreement.

In truth, Shen Yihan was just worried and anxious; he explained much but almost forgot that over all these years, Yun Ran had never opposed or disagreed with his requests and advice.

Perhaps he need not have explained so much...

Yun Ran would have agreed anyway.