Chapter Eighteen: Because of a Glimpse of Peach Blossoms

Zhou Yu did not answer Du Niang. Instead, he whispered in his heart, “Let’s stop for a while. I want to sleep.”
Du Niang did not press further and refrained from disturbing Zhou Yu. The green glow on his watch gradually dimmed.
Three hours later, Zhou Yu awoke. He summoned Du Niang again and resumed the electric stimulation, frightening Liu Yueming so much that she called Hua Queyue over.
The moment Hua Queyue entered the room, he immediately sensed something unusual in the air—not a scent, but a powerful aura of vitality. He strode quickly to Zhou Yu and placed his hand on Zhou Yu’s left wrist.
The instant his skin touched Zhou Yu’s, a barely perceptible current surged into Hua Queyue’s body, causing his fingers to tremble before he finally settled on Zhou Yu’s pulse.
After a while, Hua Queyue opened his eyes, looked at Zhou Yu, and asked in astonishment, “You’re recovering this fast? Though your meridians are still ruptured and shattered, your bodily functions have already improved greatly. The Hundred Herbs Pill is certainly a holy medicine for wounds, but its effects aren’t nearly this powerful.”
Zhou Yu naturally reached up to wipe the sweat from his face, propped himself up, and sat up, meeting Hua Queyue’s startled gaze. “As you know, all of us travelers possess unique abilities. Mine, it seems, is remarkable regenerative power.”
Hua Queyue still could hardly believe it. He looked to Liu Yueming for confirmation.
Liu Yueming nodded. “His recovery ability really is abnormal.”
As his eyes returned to Zhou Yu, a new gleam appeared in Hua Queyue’s gaze. His left hand trembled involuntarily.
After a long moment of contemplation, Hua Queyue asked Zhou Yu, “Can you stand up now?”
Zhou Yu smiled. “I can give it a try.”
With that, Zhou Yu slowly climbed down from the bed. Every movement was laborious; sweat drenched his forehead and back, and more than once he nearly fell. At last, gritting his teeth, Zhou Yu managed to stand, supporting himself against the bed’s edge. He rested for a while, then let out a long breath. “I’m standing.”
Hua Queyue had regained his composure. He placed his left hand behind his back and clenched it tightly. “Come, walk with me.”
The old man was worried about Zhou Yu’s condition and was about to object, but Zhou Yu stopped him with a look and a shake of the head.
Gritting his teeth, Zhou Yu wobbled after Hua Queyue out of the room.
“Does it hurt a lot?” Liu Yueming asked, watching Zhou Yu’s retreating figure.

The old man took out a wine flask, took a sip, then handed it to Liu Yueming. “Only he knows how much it hurts, for those whose meridians are completely destroyed—they’re all dead.”
“I know what pain you’re enduring.” Hua Queyue walked slowly ahead. “I truly admire your perseverance.”
Zhou Yu could not speak because of the pain, so he could only respond with a wry smile.
Sensing Zhou Yu’s silent suffering, Hua Queyue continued, “Your meridians are all ruined, and yet you survived. Your body has recovered so much in just one night—before long, you’ll be as healthy as any ordinary person.”
The logic wasn’t quite seamless, and Zhou Yu frowned slightly, fixing his gaze on Hua Queyue’s left hand, which was held behind his back, silently following along.
They passed through a long corridor, crossed a stone bridge, and came to a grassland. The green, tall wild grass was growing rampant in the spring, and the wildflowers scattered among the grass refused to be overshadowed, each striving to lift its head toward the sky for its brief moment of brilliance.
A gentle breeze blew by. A peach blossom petal, carried from who knows where, landed on Zhou Yu’s clothes. With trembling fingers, Zhou Yu picked up the petal and held it above his head, gazing through the sunlight at the infinite spring concealed in the peach-pink hue.
Hua Queyue had stopped and turned to look at Zhou Yu, bathed in sunlight.
Zhou Yu’s expression was utterly serene. He stared intently at the single peach blossom petal, his clothes and hair fluttering in the wind. In that moment, there was no sign that his meridians were destroyed; he seemed to have merged with the world itself, as if he had stood there since time immemorial.
Hua Queyue blinked and found the feeling persisted, so he stood silently, watching Zhou Yu. He knew Zhou Yu was in a rare and wondrous state, a spiritual insight that cannot be sought, only encountered.
In ages past, it is said that a sage achieved enlightenment upon seeing a single leaf on a tree. Zhou Yu, too, now sensed a fleeting clarity, but could not quite grasp that elusive feeling.
The wind rose and fell, clouds gathered and dispersed, the sun shifted and set.
Only when the evening glow dyed the western clouds crimson did Zhou Yu awaken from his reverie.
He slowly closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, a new light shimmered in their depths.
“What did you feel?” Hua Queyue asked.
“It feels good,” Zhou Yu replied.
“What feels good?” Hua Queyue pressed.

Zhou Yu, still holding the peach blossom petal, said, “This petal is lovely.” He shifted his gaze from the petal to the vast grassland before him. “This grassland is lovely.”
He turned to the west, where the sunset burned the sky red, and slowly raised his right hand to point at the evening clouds. “And this sunset is lovely too.”
Hua Queyue nodded quietly and let Zhou Yu continue, not interrupting. Zhou Yu had survived the utter destruction of his meridians and was recovering at a startling pace. Hua Queyue feared an extreme reversal and had brought him out for a walk, never expecting Zhou Yu to fall into a meditative trance because of a peach blossom petal drifting by. So, he stood by silently, guarding him.
When Zhou Yu woke from his insight, Hua Queyue questioned him, hoping to guide Zhou Yu to articulate and affirm his own realization.
Zhou Yu was in an extraordinary state. Though his meridians were shattered and even walking was difficult, he felt filled with strength—a spiritual strength. His heart felt utterly illuminated, all shadows and gloom swept away.
“This world is wonderful. Everything is wonderful.” Zhou Yu gradually regained his composure, the brilliance in his eyes slowly fading. “To be alive is a blessing.”
The setting sun cast long shadows of Zhou Yu and Hua Queyue, stretching across the slender green grass, dappled and fragmented.
Hua Queyue’s left hand, which he had been gripping tightly, finally relaxed. He let out a long breath, following Zhou Yu’s gaze to the blood-red sun sinking below the horizon, and praised sincerely, “It’s truly beautiful.”
The evening wind blew across the grassland, passing Zhou Yu and Hua Queyue, making the grass heave and sway. Zhou Yu watched the waves ripple through the grass, then glanced at the stillness of the grass around himself and Hua Queyue. He raised his head to look toward the direction from which the wind had come, his eyes growing deep and contemplative.
“There are always some people who prefer to eavesdrop,” Hua Queyue remarked.
At the far end of the grassland, Nan Fenglang slipped away, the wind serving as her eyes and ears...
Sensing her departure, Hua Queyue turned to Zhou Yu and extended his left hand, rolling up his sleeve for Zhou Yu to examine.
Zhou Yu looked at Hua Queyue’s left hand, and his heart clenched violently.