Chapter Forty-Six: A Thread of Fate—Where You Exist, I Do Not

"What happened after that?" The two members of the Li family spoke in unison.

Pu An truly had a penchant for dangling stories before them. Were it not for his formidable backing, they would have cursed him out long ago.

"Li Du entered the sect with his wife; both of them possessed extraordinary talent. The root of Li Du's decline lies with his wife," said Pu An, glancing anxiously out the window, as if fearful of being overheard, betraying a deep wariness toward that woman.

"Did Li Du fall into despair because his Dao companion died?" Li Lin ventured.

In tales such as these, that was usually how things unfolded—a devoted husband, ruined by his wife’s untimely demise, never recovers.

"Nonsense. She’s alive and well—she’s none other than the current head of the Spirit Treasure Pavilion." Pu An lowered his voice considerably as he spoke. If that woman ever found out he was speaking ill of her behind her back, he would not survive to see another day, no matter who interceded.

Clearing his throat, Pu An began his account in earnest.

Within the flickering candlelight, shadows danced across their faces, casting their expressions into a shifting chiaroscuro.

The Li family’s expressions flickered as vividly as the flames—first confusion, then shock, and finally terror.

"How fickle the human heart, how quickly old friends grow distant. Li Du’s life has been truly hard," murmured Li Mingyou. Though she had never thought highly of Li Du, she could not help but sigh after hearing the tale.

In truth, the facts were simple. Back then, the one whose name none of them dared utter had encountered a bottleneck in cultivation. The temple faced an existential threat; disaster loomed. At that time, Li Du’s wife happened to be an ideal vessel, capable of alleviating that master’s difficulties.

For a master to covet his disciple’s wife was a scandal of the highest order, an affront to all propriety and human decency. To even suggest such a thing would have shattered the sect’s unity. The venerable Daoist himself would have been too ashamed to show his face; the matter was thus dropped.

But no one expected Li Du’s wife to make her own move. One night, she braved the biting wind and searing lightning, step by arduous step, to reach the secluded retreat where the venerable Daoist cultivated in isolation.

What transpired thereafter, none could say for certain. All that was known was that her cultivation advanced by leaps and bounds, while Li Du’s spirit withered, and he remained unable to break through to the Spirit-Nourishing stage.

A hundred years had passed since then; only a handful knew the truth of what had transpired. Both the founder and that woman bore guilt, while the awkward figure of Li Du faded into obscurity.

Many, however, had guessed the truth. Though Li Du and his Dao companion were considered a pair of prodigies, it was apparent to the discerning that she was somewhat his inferior. Much depended on Li Du’s support—even to the extent that he gave up his own resources to aid her cultivation.

Yet the woman was nothing if not ambitious. She seized her opportunity with both hands and soared in a single bound.

"Don’t let this story spread," Pu An warned. "I’m only telling you to keep you cautious—if you overstep, it could draw unwanted attention."

"Of course," Li Mingyou replied. "This will remain buried in our hearts." She understood the gravity of it. After so many decades, nothing should be dredged up again. Li Du’s end was near; this secret would be buried with those involved. No one would champion the cause of a dying practitioner at the lowest stage.

"We’ll see what happens when the Netherworld opens again. Let him survive a few more months."

The Netherworld was a place of dire peril—legend had it that it was a fissure leading directly to the underworld. It opened once every sixty years, bringing both danger and opportunity. One of the Eight Stewards, Dian Yu, had, during the last opening, captured a Cold Crow of the Yellow Springs, which greatly advanced his cultivation and earned him promotion—setting a record for the fastest rise. Most of the sect’s shadow crows were descended from that very bird, and thanks to Dian Yu’s fortune, three or four Spirit-Nourishing Daoists had since emerged.

The journey into the Netherworld was treacherous; to call it a one-in-ten chance of survival was no exaggeration.

...

Spring was in full bloom. The grass grew lush and orioles darted through the air. Peach blossoms burst forth on Medicine Mountain, painting the sky as if ten miles of rouge-tinted clouds had descended.

Lu Qian walked up the mountain, serene of heart, wrapped in a gentle fragrance, his mind calm and at peace.

Li Du, as ever, wore a composed expression and natural bearing, gazing at the golden temple atop the distant peak.

"You’ve returned?" Li Du did not turn his head. "I assume you’ve found the Fire Seed?"

"I have."

With a soft whoosh, a pure white flame blossomed in Lu Qian’s palm, raising the temperature several degrees.

"I also reached the mid-stage of Qi Refinement," Lu Qian added, deciding it was time to reveal the truth. In fact, he had broken through long ago, but had kept silent, not wishing to draw attention.

He had been in the sect less than two years, yet he had already reached mid-stage Qi Refinement and become a first-grade alchemist—undoubtedly a prodigy. But there was still much to do, and he could not afford to be disturbed, at least not before he finished absorbing the essence of the fish-dragon’s blood.

"Oh?" Li Du’s face remained impassive, though his beard quivered, betraying a flicker of genuine emotion. He had not expected so many surprises from a disciple he had taken in almost casually. It was almost beyond belief.

"The path was fraught with peril, every step a struggle for survival," Lu Qian reflected. His journey had been anything but smooth—every moment filled with danger, never a chance to rest, while others cultivated in peace.

"Not so," Li Du said with a smile, then grew solemn. "The path to immortality is one of contention and struggle. Destiny hangs by a thread—it’s either you or me. There’s no leisurely stroll, no unhurried ease. The higher you climb, the harder it becomes. There’s no room for comfort or carefreeness."

"Sometimes you must seek cultivation in stillness and hardship, but at times you must find it amidst chaos and fierce conflict," Li Du declared, growing ever more impassioned, his hair bristling with fervor. In that moment, his gaze shone like a sword drawn from its scabbard, sharp and cold.

Then, as suddenly as a punctured bellows, he slumped down, all the fight gone. "This is the lesson of a lifetime. If only I had understood it sooner."

With age comes wisdom, and often resignation. After a moment, Li Du composed himself and returned to his usual, unremarkable appearance—the ordinary old man once more.

In daily life, he would lose his temper at servants and compete with his peers, but only before Lu Qian did he reveal his true self.

"Understood, Master." Lu Qian bowed deeply. Li Du’s words struck him like a thunderclap, a revelation that resonated to his core.

"Go study the three prescriptions I gave you—they will benefit you greatly. The Netherworld will open soon; you needn’t come to the pharmacy for now."

"The Netherworld?" Lu Qian asked, puzzled.

"In simple terms, it’s a secret realm. Many will enter—not just those of our sect," Li Du explained.

Only after a lengthy explanation did Lu Qian truly understand. No wonder the Hall of Enforcement had been so empty lately—everyone was secluded in their abodes, conserving strength and preparing for the coming event.

Lu Qian took his leave.

"Remember, what matters most is courage. When life and death hang in the balance, it’s not cultivation or background that decides your fate, but who seizes that sliver of opportunity," came Li Du’s parting words, drifting in the air.

Perhaps he spoke to the wind, or to Lu Qian, or perhaps only to himself.