Chapter Eighty-Four: Piercing Through

“Me?” There are some things that are not so easily spoken of. As soon as that word left his lips, nothing else would come out; indeed, he had once promised Shui Linglong to forget everything that had happened within the Blue Lotus Sect. As a man, integrity must come first—he would never betray his word. Besides, even if he were to speak, it was doubtful these people would believe him. Even he himself found it hard to believe. So, in this moment, he could only fall silent. To argue further would be futile, yet remaining so quiet gave the impression of tacit admission. In an instant, every gaze upon him turned cold, brimming with palpable hatred.

“My senior brother could never be such a person!” Qiu Wan’er felt this as well, but unlike the others, her thoughts shifted quickly. Staring at the dais, she murmured softly. She and Han Tanyi were close in age, having known each other for over a decade. They had grown up together—one might call them childhood sweethearts. Their bond as siblings was perhaps deeper than that between father and son. No matter what, all she could do now was believe in him. Even if the world turned against the young man, she would never believe he could commit such deeds.

In a flash, the sword gleamed—faster than anyone could have imagined. The long blade, which had been gripped in Han Tanyi’s hand, suddenly turned and fell into the hands of Dao Tianfeng. Under the sunlight, the sword’s brilliance was dazzling. The edge slashed downward with such speed that even if Han Tanyi had been prepared, he might not have been able to defend himself—let alone now, when his guard was down. As the sword pierced his body, instinct drove him to lean left from the pain, and the blade, following through, ran him through from behind.

“Master?” The scene came too suddenly—no one had foreseen it. Shock was written all over their faces as everyone stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide with disbelief. Of all, Han Tanyi was the most devastated. He had expected scolding or rebuke—anything would have been better than silence. But never had he imagined his so-called master would act so ruthlessly. Perhaps the blade had struck near his heart—or perhaps it was pain within his heart itself. His lips moved for a long moment, only to utter two words, as blood gushed onto the floor.

“I said, if he truly disgraced himself so, Dao Tianfeng himself would purge his own household!” Though his brow twitched ever so slightly, his face remained stony, cold as ice. Whatever Dao Tianfeng truly felt, his actions lent credence to his words. Of course, such ruthlessness played into Shen Wansan’s hands. He had gambled that Dao Tianfeng would be too sentimental to strike his disciple, and thus lose his claim to leadership of the martial world. But now, with things having taken this turn, he could no longer use this as an excuse to oust Dao Tianfeng—lest he be accused of kicking a man when he was down, which would serve him no good.

“Young man, who among us hasn’t erred? As long as one seeks to change, there’s always a way back. Elder Dao, you’ve gone too far!” With a soft sigh, Xiao Jinghao seemed full of regret. The long sword was still buried in Han Tanyi’s body, though Dao Tianfeng had let go. He spoke with cold detachment, but could not bring himself to pull the sword free. Yet that changed nothing. The blade’s presence merely slowed the bleeding; without timely treatment, death remained inevitable. And now, who would dare step forward to help such a man? The lotus emblem on his leg marked him as an enemy to the righteous martial world—any who aided him would be siding against all of Jianghu. That was no trifling matter to act on a whim.

Han Tanyi’s body swayed. With such a grave wound, standing was nearly impossible, yet he refused to fall. Partly out of unwillingness, partly from fear of death—he was still dazed, his gaze lost on the dais, then drifting below. They say that in the face of death, a man sees what he most cherishes. Now, he truly saw them: Shui Linglong and Hua Butterfly atop the high platform; beneath it, Qiu Wan’er’s face, faint and indistinct. All three wore expressions of sorrow, worry, even anger, but he could not tell them apart. His eyelids grew heavy, almost impossible to keep open. In that moment, he felt a voice echoing in his mind: “Is this really the end for me?”

Such a question is destined to remain unanswered. In truth, the word “death” frightens only the living. When one is truly departing this world, a strange serenity often descends—perhaps more beautiful than imagined. All those suppressed thoughts seemed to be released, and the people he had known gathered around him, all smiling, free of pain, as if welcoming him with open arms. As he reached toward them, it felt as though they supported him, and the body, light as air, drifted on the wind, almost as if flying. He could not say how long he floated—everything seemed endless.

“He’s awake! He’s awake!” An aged voice, trembling and anxious, came from an unknown direction. Suddenly, the light faded, and darkness closed in, following that voice. To Han Tanyi, darkness was never a good thing. All those smiling faces vanished with the sound, leaving a sense of loss that overwhelmed him, panic rising within. The pain in his body became more acute, as though something pressed upon his heart, sapping his breath and leaving him gasping for air—the suffocating sensation was sharp and clear, despair growing ever deeper. At last, it felt as if his whole body would explode. His eyes flew open, and his body jerked forward, as if to sit up.

Where am I? Am I truly dead? But hadn’t I already died? What just happened to me? I was standing—when did I sit up? Questions flooded in, leaving him completely at a loss. Still, for a moment, he felt relief—the suffocation gone, replaced by great gulps of air, as if to make up for what had been lost. The pain in his body was real and sharp, clearing his mind. He realized: I might still be alive. The dead feel no pain; those who feel pain still live. But I was atop the terrace at Mingyue Manor, master’s sword piercing me through—how am I here now? And it was midday—why is it now so dark, like nightfall?

“You had me worried half to death! You’ve been unconscious for three days—thank goodness you’re finally awake!” The voice was unmistakably a young woman’s. Han Tanyi’s heart jolted at the sound, and his gaze shifted to the speaker’s face. It was clearly a youth, his complexion strikingly pale even in the dark, with tear stains still visible, as if he had been crying. Han Tanyi recognized him—Shao Changchun, the master of East China Gate. But why was he here as well? Unconscious for three days—what had happened in that time?

He wanted to ask, but weakness overwhelmed him, and any movement only deepened his pain, his face contorting with agony. Compared to the despair in his heart, however, this pain was nothing, so he paid it little heed. Shao Changchun, on the other hand, seemed even more anxious. Suddenly, he turned as if to speak, and Han Tanyi noticed, not far behind, an elderly figure hurried forward.

“Now that you’re awake, there’s no great harm done. But that wound is deep—it will take time to heal. You must rest and recuperate. I’ll prepare some restorative medicine. Young master, come with me for a moment.”