Chapter 733: The Name Of The Most Powerful Person

Translator:Nyoi-Bo Studio

Editor:Nyoi-Bo Studio

When Fan Xian decided to through the narrow passage beneath the snowy mountain, the three-person group erupted into the fiercest argument since their reunion at Wudu River. The source of the fighting was their differing opinions. The three of them knew very well why Fan Xian had to return to the Temple, but Haitang and Thirteenth Wang knew that this time it would be a great risk. They had just managed to escape from the Temple. The blind master who, for some reason, had attacked Fan Xian, had not directly killed him. If Fan Xian returned again, who knew what would greet him?

Haitang and Thirteenth Wang were both concerned about Fan Xian's life and death. A reality that complicated their emotions was the fact that the Temple did not seem to care about their lives and deaths. The Temple only tried to keep Fan Xian in the temple forever.

They didn't know whether it was summer or autumn, but the wind and snow in the extreme north gradually began to pick up. The air was filled with more and more coldness. It made one's heart tremble. Haitang was wrapped in a thick fur coat. Her bright but tired eyes were open wide as she tried to persuade Fan Xian. "These few months, Thirteenth Wang and I have not done anything. We haven't been able to help you at all, but we can't just watch you go to your death."

Fan Xian's right hand was wrapped tightly around a wooden stick that helped him walk. Hearing Haitang's words, he didn't react at all. His expression was calm.

"I think we should head south as quickly as possible, regardless of whether we go to Shangjing or back to Dongyi. We should bring either the Qing Mountain sect or disciples of the Sword Hut to investigate the Temple again. Presumably, we would also have a better chance of rescuing that master." Thirteenth Wang wasn't sure of the true relationship between Wu Zhu and Fan Xian, but he knew Fan Xian cared a lot about that Great Grandmaster. He could not understand why that Great Grandmaster did not have even a sliver of courage to break through under the pressure of the Temple's might and had even stabbed Fan Xian once.

Thirteenth Wang's suggestion was actually very practical. Since Fan Xian knew the way to the Temple, had prepared for a number of years, and had the experience of this trip, once they returned to the south, if they wanted to go north again and bring along some powerful helpers, it would not be a difficult matter.

After Fan Xian heard Thirteenth Wang's words, his eyes narrowed together. A sense of coldness, like the temperature of the air, enveloped the faces of his companions by his side. Word by word, he said slowly but with unusual firmness, "Don't forget the oath you swore before we entered the snow plains. Other than the three of us, no one else can know the whereabouts of the Temple!"

Thirteenth Wang's expression changed slightly. He closed his mouth because this was something he and Haitang had promised Fan Xian. He still didn't understand why Fan Xian had the courage to re-enter the Temple but seemed to feel a boundless fear and anxiety about the whereabouts of the Temple leaking into the world.

"Thirteen, help me up the mountain. You'll wait at the foot of the mountain and think of a way to take the snow hounds and move the camp to this side." Fan Xian drew his gaze back from the snowy mountain that pushed into the sky. With his eyes slightly wet, he looked at Haitang wrapped in a fur coat and quietly said, "Wait at the camp for our return."

"I'm not going up the mountain with you?" Haitang asked with some surprise. What could be seen of her face outside of the fur was bright red from the cold.

"Earlier, you two said that you hadn't been of much help during this trip to the Temple," Fan Xian said with a self-mocking smile. "In reality, I would have died long ago in the snow and ice if I didn't have you two, so don't say such things in the future. I'm going up the mountain this time to defeat my uncle. Regardless of whether it's you or Thirteen, neither of you will be able to have any impact on this battle."

He then said, slightly apologetically, "This isn't very polite, but both of you know that uncle of mine is truly too powerful."

Haitang and Thirteenth Wang didn't say anything. Fan Xian continued calmly. "If I didn't need someone to help me, I wouldn't even want to bring Thirteen. When we go up the mountain in a bit, you'll wait at the foot of the mountain and be ready to meet us. The moment things go wrong, we will leave the mountain quickly. But, there is no need to be overly worried. According to the rules of the Temple, other than me, as long as two leave the boundaries of the Temple, they will not actively attack you."

"If I'm waiting to meet you, how long should I wait at the foot of the mountain for you two?" Haitang asked. A faint light swirled through her eyes while a different emotion blinked in her heart. In this wilderness enveloped by wind and snow, humankind's martial powers seemed weak. In comparison, the things in Fan Xian's brain were more worth relying on.

"Three days. Thirteen will be responsible for contacting you. If I tell you two to leave…" A faint sense of worry suddenly appeared in Fan Xian's eyes, making him very much like a delicate youth who could be blown away in a gust of wind. "You must immediately leave. You have to inform my wife and children that something happened to me."

Haitang and Thirteenth Wang sank into silence at the same time.

…

…

Strangely, the further up the mountain they went, the weaker the wind and snow became. The Temple buried deep within the mountain range was right above them, but all traces of it were covered by the sky, ice, and snow. Coming for the second time, they were old friends so knew the path. Fan Xian held the wooden stick in one hand while the other rested on Thirteenth Wang's shoulder. He climbed up the snowy mountain with great difficulty. Without using too much time, they came to the straight limestone path.

Thirteenth Wang he carried a large urn on his back, which looked very heavy. During these few months, he had been honing his body in the extreme cold of the ice and snow. His energy and determination had reached an extreme, so he did not even notice such a burden. Fan Xian glanced at his figure. His eyes lit up slightly, which he quickly restrained. He coughed a bit then said, "Even just to bury your teacher at the Temple to complete his final wishes, we would still have had to make this trip."

Thirteenth Wang was silent for a moment. He then said, "There is no need to comfort me. If it was just for this matter, I could have come alone. You seem to have offended the immortals of the temple with your very existence. Going with you actually makes it more dangerous for me."

Fan Xian smiled and scolded, "You heartless bastard."

"Teacher's final wish was to have his ashes scattered on these stone steps…" Thirteenth Wang suddenly sighed, looking at the stone steps in front of him rising into the sky.

Fan Xian was silent for a moment. He then shook his head. "The Sword Saint believed that this was a god realm and wanted to be placed on these stone steps. You and I have both entered the temple. We know that this is not some god realm. Are you still going to do as he asked?"

"Then, what should we do?" Thirteenth Wang asked.

"Carry it up. Listen to my instructions later," Fan Xian replied.

Ever since that snowy night a few years, when the newly graduated Thirteenth Wang had been sent by his teacher, Sigu Jian, to the Qing Kingdom and Fan Xian's side, he had grown used to listening to Fan Xian's instructions. Although Fan Xian saw him as a friend, Thirteenth Wang didn't have much awareness of being a buddy. Perhaps it was because he couldn't be bothered to think about too much complex stuff, or perhaps because he was focused wholly on the sword, but he handed all the mentally taxing things to Fan Xian. When Fan Xian said to listen to his instructions, naturally, Thirteenth Wang would do so. Carrying the heavy urn of ashes and supporting the heavily injured Fan Xian, they climbed step by step into the mountain.

After climbing for an indeterminable amount of time, the long stone steps finally reached an end. The solemn gray eaves, black walls, and majestic Temple once again appeared before the eyes of mortals. Although this was the second visit, Thirteenth Wang still could not stop excitement bubbling up inside him at seeing the true appearance of the Temple.

Fan Xian's emotions were calm, but there was some trembling in his chest. He began to cough violently. The sound of his coughing echoed disrespectfully around the platform in front of the Temple, bouncing far into the mountain range and snowy valleys.

Thirteenth Wang glanced at him nervously, thinking, Since we are here to steal someone, we should have some sense of secrecy rather than such impetuous behavior. It's as if Fan Xian isn't worried if the Temple knows there are people outside.

Fan Xian coughed for a long time. He coughed until his body curled up like a shrimp. He almost ripped open the wound on his chest again. It took a long time before he slowly straightened up. He narrowed his eyes slightly and looked coldly at the large sign at the top of the Temple and the letters on it maintaining a silence that made one's heart tremble.

The Temple knew there were people outside. Presumably, it knew that one of the targets it wanted to wipe away, Ye Qingmei's son, a fellow peer of the god realm, Fan Xian had come to the Temple. What made Fan Xian feel slightly uneasy was that the Temple's silence seemed a bit strange. He couldn't help but think of the attack Uncle Wu Zhu had purposely shown mercy in.

It was not silent for long before the corners of Fan Xian's lips twitched slightly. Staring at the thick and dark door of the Temple, he took a deep breath and ruthlessly spat out a word, "Smash!"

…

…

There were very few mortals who knew the whereabouts of the Temple and even less who had been to the Temple. At least within the last few hundred years, probably only Sorcerer Boer from the west and Ku He and Xiao En from the east had visited. Even Boer's wife, Fubo, had not had an opportunity to travel to the Temple. In the imagination of the people, regardless of who came to the Temple, presumably they would be respectful. No one would think that someone would smash open the Temple's door.

Breaking through the door to gain entry was the action of a gangster. Although whether or not the thick door of the Temple could be smashed open was another matter, Fan Xian's word demonstrated that he wasn't afraid of angering the Temple. It was probably because he knew the Temple was a dead thing and did not feel the same emotions of joy and anger or sorrow and happiness as humans did.

Thirteenth Wang didn't hesitate. With a huff, he single-handedly lifted Sigu Jian's ashes to his side and released the zhenqi in his body to circulate. With a whoosh, he smashed the brown-colored urn of ashes ruthlessly forward.

With a smash, the urn of ashes shattered into pieces against the thick door of the Temple, sending up a spray of dust. Occasionally, there were even a few pieces of bone that had not turned to ash flying outward.

The dust from the ashes gradually dispersed. The thick doors of the Temple had not been smashed apart. There was only a deep mark that appeared rather wretched. What was particularly eye-catching was that beside the mark, there was a bone embedded deep in the door like a sword.

Thirteenth Wang's lips were slightly dry. His eyes were fixed on that piece of bone. He thought that even though his teacher had died, his remains were still filled with sword intent.

Naturally, this was the perplexed feeling that arose in him as a disciple. As Thirteenth Wang watched Sigu Jian's ashes scatter on the door of the Temple and the stone platform, he grew excited for some reason. The last sliver of fear and nervousness in his heart disappeared into somewhere unknown.

Fan Xian suddenly laughed and said in a raspy voice, "If your teacher could know that his bones could smash against the door of the Temple, his soul might dance through the air in joy."

The two young men both understood Sigu Jian's thoughts very well, which was why they smashed the ashes against the door of the Temple. They knew that this would certainly align with the thoughts of the Great Grandmaster who acted with impunity.

Thirteenth Wang finally laughed.

Now, the only thing that needed to be considered was that since the door of the Temple had been smashed, the Temple ought to have some kind of reaction. Thirteenth Wang took the wooden stick from Fan Xian's hand and bent his waist slightly with his eyes focused on the door of the Temple ready for a fight.

Fan Xian raised his right hand to stop his movement. With a not-quite-there smile on his face, he silently waited for the Temple's reaction. He had long shaken of everything relating to fear or winning and losing. Haitang and Thirteenth Wang believed that he was taking a risk in returning to the Temple, but he didn't think so. When it came to the Temple, he had miscalculated once and had almost died. He didn't think he would miscalculate again. After all, the present Temple only had Uncle Wu Zhu, one person. As long as they could wake up Wu Zhu, what was the Temple?

The Temple reacted quickly. The heavy doors only opened a sliver. A streak of strange and terrifying black light floated out from inside like a black flash of lightning and the arrival of night. In an instant, it crossed the space and time distance and came to a stop in front of Fan Xian.

Cloth clothing, black ribbon, and a metal rod in hand. The rod shot out, splitting the air with a whistle. No one was able to block such a terrifying attack.

Fan Xian could not, Thirteenth Wang could not. Even if Sigu Jian was alive, he could not. Besides, the Sigu Jian among the three of them was nothing more than a few shattered bones on the ground covered in ash.

The absolutely emotionless metal rod that carried only a touch of coldness abruptly stopped as it almost reached Fan Xian's body. To return to absolute calm at such a speed was a terrifying strength. Fan Xian only looked calmly at this familiar relative in front of him, at this unfamiliar and extraordinary warrior, the guard of the Temple, and asked, "Are you very curious?"

It was uncertain if it was because Wu Zhu recognized this mortal in front of him as the target the Temple needed to wipe out or because Fan Xian said such a strange phrase, but Wu Zhu's metal rod did not shoot out. It only stopped at Fan Xian's throat.

The point of the metal rod was not very sharp or contain any fearsome zhenqi. It just steadily maintained a small distance from Fan Xian's throat, not quite touching him. Only a tremor was needed in the hand of the person holding the metal rod for Fan Xian to die of a split throat.

To the side, Thirteenth Wang watched nervously. He finally believed Fan Xian's words. In front of this strange plain-clothed Grandmaster, no one could help Fan Xian in any way. The only person who could help Fan Xian was himself.

It was as if Fan Xian could not see the metal rod beneath his chin. He just looked at the Uncle Wu Zhu in front of him. He smiled warmly and quietly said, "I know you're very curious."

"You are very curious about why, that day when you knew I didn't die, you would rather betray your instinctive obedience to the Temple and let me leave the Temple." Fan Xian's shuttered slightly. His gaze was warm.

"You are very curious about who I am. Why you can't remember my existence. But, looking at me, I feel very familiar and close." Fan Xian's eyes were very lively.

"You are even more curious about how I managed to dodge your certainly fatal attack. You are an emissary of the Temple, and I am a mortal of the world, a target the Temple must wipe away. Why do I understand you so well?" Fan Xian spoke slowly as he looked at Uncle Wu Zhu's indifferent face.

"Of course, please believe me that no one else in this world knows better than me what you are the most curious about right now. You're curious about why you feel this sense of familiarity and closeness. You're most curious about why you feel curious!"

Seven continuous sentences about being curious came from between Fan Xian's thin and pale lips. There was not a single pause or any hesitation. There was only an angry spraying forth of words and intimidating questioning. There were only words that pointed straight at the cold heart hidden by the black cloth.

After the seven sentences, Fan Xian immediately felt an exhaustion attack his body. He couldn't help but cough.

After he finished coughing, his eyes were even brighter and his hope was even greater. No one knew that Uncle Wu Zhu's metal rod was so close to the soft bone of his throat that if he even moved a sliver, he would bleed immediately, much less coughing violently.

The reason he wasn't dead after coughing was because the metal rod in Wu Zhu's hand was precise to an unimaginable extent. It moved with the shaking of Fan Xian's body, followed the back and forth movement. To be able to make such adjustments in a split second was incredible.

At first, Thirteenth Wang kept eyes on Wu Zhu's hand. When he realized that he couldn't do anything to make a difference before the blind man, he began to nervously watch Fan Xian's body. When Fan Xian coughed, half his heart went cold. Immediately after, he realized Fan Xian was still alive. This truth made him involuntarily admire Fan Xian to the utmost. He finally understood where Fan Xian's confidence when he disregarded his and Haitang's opposition came from.

But, was Fan Xian not nervous at all? Was he not worried at all that he would be killed by this blind-folded blind man? Thirteenth Wang didn't believe that because he clearly saw Fan Xian's hands trembling slightly behind his back.

Thirteenth Wang retreated back a few steps toward the stone steps, putting more distance between him and the other two. He had seen Fan Xian's hand gesture and was also worried that his existence would upset Fan Xian's plans and make the blind master realize something was off.

Fan Xian was not completely relaxed. He stared intently at the black cloth covering Uncle Wu Zhu's eyes, trying to see the endlessly spinning question in his heart through his expression. After a moment, he realized that this was all in vain. Uncle Wu Zhu's face was still just as indifferent as ever. The aura between his brows was still just as unfamiliar.

Ongoing iciness could not be called familiarity. Wu Zhu had only ever smiled at Fan Xian a handful of times in his life. Now, Wu Zhu's indifference in front of the Temple was truly unfamiliar.

Fan Xian's heart sank slightly. His body followed it. Rather naturally, he sat down right in the shallow snow in front of the Temple's door completely uncaring about the metal rod at his throat that could kill him at any moment.

Remarkably, Wu Zhu followed him in sitting down in front of the door to the Temple. It was as if he was just a single person sitting alone like he was blocking the peeping gaze of the world and the ancient whistling wind and snow.

The metal rod remained extended in Wu Zhu's hand. It was as steady as his forearm. Stopping at Fan Xian's throat, perhaps he could hold it for 10,000 years and not feel tired.

But, Fan Xian felt tired, especially since Uncle Wu Zhu sat coldly but still did not speak. Perhaps there was some warmth in the heart in that icy shell, but it had not yet warmed up. This truth made Fan Xian feel tired. He didn't know if he could awaken this closest of close family.

Throughout his life, he was the best at battles of the heart. Naturally, his two best battles were the ones in which he targeted Haitang and the Emperor. In the end, Haitang had fallen to him while the powerful Qing Emperor could not rest easy wrapped up by Fan Xian's intentions. Even though the father and son had quarreled, it still left wounds all over the Emperor's heart and made him wish for it to just shatter as to find peace.

Coming to the Temple again to try and wake up Uncle Wu Zhu was, without a doubt, the most authentic battle of the heart. It was also Fan Xian's most difficult battle of the heart in his life because Uncle Wu Zhu was not a mortal. From his body to his thoughts, he was not mortal. He was a legend. He was icy coldness. He was a program. Most importantly, he had forgotten everything. He had even forgotten Fan Xian and his mother.

Wu Zhu sank into an unchanging silence, bringing further difficulty to Fan Xian's attempt. Without conversation, how could he know of the changes in the other person's thinking? How could he take an opportunity to push in and aim straight for the heart? Was he to watch the other person's expressions? Observe the color of his face? But, what expressions has Uncle Wu Zhu ever made?

"You've been washed clean." After a long silence, Fan Xian sighed with great sorrow. "You're the Temple's legendary figure. You're clearly at an even higher level than the old man in the temple. How could even you be washed clean?"

In Fan Xian's opinion, Uncle Wu Zhu, who had feelings, his own thoughts, and a sense of self, had always been a living person. Naturally, he was much more advanced than the old man in the Temple who controlled everything but still could only follow the bullsh*t four established laws. It seemed like the Temple had some method of control that no one knew about over the emissaries it sent out. Otherwise, Wu Zhu would not have become a robot lacking in humanity, although Wu Zhu's sense of humanity had never been particularly strong.

"My name is Fan Xian. I said that the other day. Although you've forgotten, I want to tell you a story. This story is related to you and me. I hope you will remember something. Of course, even if you start remembering, perhaps you will not be able to break the lock on your soul. But, we have to try."

"At least, you don't want to kill me. That is probably something instinctual in you, isn't that good?" Fan Xian followed the pin-straight metal rod and looked into Uncle Wu Zhu's icy face. He wanted to smile but almost cried instead. Forcefully taking in a deep breath, he calmed his emotions and began to speak, "A long time ago, a rather pretty little girl lived with you in this Temple. Do you still remember?"

The tip of the absolutely steady metal rod in Wu Zhu's hand moved back and forth with Fan Xian's deep breath. It was incredible, yet it stuck to Fan Xian's throat as if the movement of his throat when he spoke also accompanied the movement of the metal rod. Such a movement was very small, not even visible to the naked eye.

Fan Xian did not acknowledge just how much Uncle Wu Zhu remembered. Calmly and sincerely, he continued narrating the story relating to Wu Zhu. With the little girl that led him in escaping the Temple, they went together to Dongyi and saw an idiot. They did some things and then went to Danzhou where they met a group of idiots and a eunuch idiot. Then, what happened after…

The snow in the sky fell down slowly, bringing a sense of holiness and sorrow to the area around the Temple. Perhaps the elder in the Temple was endlessly encouraging Wu Zhu's action through some soundless method while Fan Xian's occasional cough, occasional silence, and unusually raspy and tired voice seemed like the complete opposite order, making Wu Zhu maintain his present pose, sitting without moving at the door of the Temple.

Gradually, white snow covered their bodies. Wu Zhu was clearly closer to the eaves of the Temple, but there was more accumulated snow on his body. Perhaps it was because his body temperature was comparatively lower.

The temperature grew colder and colder. The snow on Fan Xian's body melted and flowed down his fur coat. The coldness seeped into his body increasing the frequency of his coughing. However, his words did not break as he continued to speak without rest about the past, about everything concerning Wu Zhu.

"The image on that carriage always seemed to be in reverse…" Fan Xian coughed and used a corner of his sleeve to wipe away some snot that had turned into icy shards. Although he was wretched, the light in his eyes did not weaken. He knew that this battle of the heart was against the Temple's control of Uncle Wu Zhu, so he couldn't relax.

"In Danzhou, you opened up a junk shop, but business was not very good. It often closed. Your face was always icy cold so, of course, no one wanted to give you business."

Fan Xian smiled forlornly and continued in a raspy voice, "Of course, I was willing to give you business. Although I was still young at that time, you often prepared good wine for me to drink."

As he spoke, Fan Xian seemed to return to the childhood of his second life. Life in Danzhou at that time seemed rather dry and boring. His grandmother treated him with kindness amidst severity and was unwilling to relax on his homework. The people of Danzhou also didn't give him an opportunity to spread his wings. He could only desperately cultivate the Tyrannical martial method, follow Sir Fei everywhere to dig up corpses, work hard to memorize the Overwatch Council's rules and details of implementation, and defend against being assassinated.

However, it was, after all, the happiest days of his life in both lives. It was not only because the Danzhou sea breeze was refreshing, the tea flowers all over the mountain were beautiful, Sister Dong'er's gentleness, and the four serving girls' charms and agreeableness. The biggest reason was because of that junk shop. The icy blind young servant in the junk shop, the yellow flowers on the precipice, and the education by the rod.

As Fan Xian spoke, he became lost in thought, remembering how he sneaked to the junk shop to drink when he was young. Uncle Wu Zhu always sliced up daikon for him to eat with his alcohol and did not care that he was only a few years old. Involuntarily, a glimmer of warmth rose to the corners of his lips.

Just like as if he was performing a magic trick, Fan Xian dug out a daikon from his swollen fur coat and brought out a cleaver. He then began to slice up the daikon on the steps. The steps in front of the Temple doors had experienced tens of thousands of years of wind, frost, ice, and snow, yet it was still very smooth. Although it was a bit hard to use as a chopping board, it did give off a special crispness.

The cleaver seemed to fly. Before long, the crisply frozen daikon had been sliced into potato strands of about equal thickness and smoothed flat across the stone.

As he was chopping the daikon, Fan Xian did not speak. Wu Zhu tilted his head and looked calmly at the cleaver and daikon in Fan Xian's hands through the black cloth. It was as if he didn't understand what was happening in front of his eyes.

If Fan Xian could survive, presumably chopping daikon in front of the Temple would be the most arrogant act of his life. It was more arrogant than jumping off from the palace walls to kill Qin Ye, charging into the Royal Palace to slap the empress dowager, or entering the Palace alone to assassinate the Emperor.

Wu Zhu still did not seem to remember anything. He was only curious about Fan Xian's pointless action. Fan Xian lowered his head and sighed. Tossing the cleaver to one side, he pointed at the daikon in front of him and said in a faint voice, "Back then, you always said that my daikon strands weren't well cut. What do you think of them now?"

Wu Zhu straightened his head and remained silent. A powerful coldness grew in Fan Xian's heart. He suddenly wondered if everything he was doing was in vain. No matter what he did, it would not wake Uncle Wu Zhu. Was Uncle Wu Zhu was already dead and would never come alive again?

The world was very cold, and the Temple was very cold. It was as if Fan Xian had not felt it until now. A shiver ran through his body.

He suddenly gritted his teeth tightly, to the point that blood seeped out from the side of his mouth. He stared intently and angrily at Wu Zhu and only calmed after a long time. In a dark voice, he roared, "I don't believe this nonsense! Don't put on an act! I know you remember!"

"I know you remember!" Fan Xian's voice was extremely raspy. Continuously speaking had damaged his vocal chords. "I don't believe you could have forgotten all those years of interaction on the precipice. I don't believe that you would forget the night when we spoke of the chest, spoke of my mother. You smiled then, did you forget?"

"What about that night in the rain? You lured Hong Siyang out of the Palace and later you boasted to me that you could kill him. We stole the key back, opened the chest, and you smiled again."

Fan Xian coughed violently and cursed, "You clearly can smile, why pretend to be so dead here?"

Wu Zhu still did not move. The metal rod in his hand also did not move. It was still pointed right at Fan Xian's throat. The snow continued to fall coldly. Other than Fan Xian's voice, no other sound could be heard in front of the Temple. Gradually, the light faded. Perhaps it was already night or the cloud cover had grown gradually thicker, but the snow above Fan Xian's head stopped.

A rustling sound rang out. Thirteenth Wang's head was covered in sweat as he set up a small backup tent behind Fan Xian. He then pushed it over Fan Xian's head to cover him. Fortunately, the door of the tent was between Fan Xian and Wu Zhu, so it did not brush against the steady metal rod.

The snow was growing heavier. Thirteenth Wang was worried about Fan Xian's health. He went through great trouble and sped back to the campground as fast as possible to grab the small tent to block the snow from Fan Xian. It was no wonder that he was so out of breath.

Perhaps Fan Xian knew, or perhaps he didn't, because he was only staring unblinkingly at Wu Zhu with spiritless eyes and talked desperately with an ugly raspy voice. Fan Xian was not a chatterer, but he had probably talked more today than his entire life.

After Thirteenth Wang finished doing everything, he glanced at the two strange people at the door of the Temple with a complicated expression. He then sat again on the stone steps covered with snow.

Truly, only three idiots could do such a stupid thing.

…

…

A day and a night passed. The metal rod in Wu Zhu's hand did not leave Fan Xian's throat for a day and a night. It seemed that even he didn't know why he didn't want to kill this chatty mortal in front of him.

Fan Xian didn't stop talking for a day and a night. It seemed that even he didn't know. His saliva had dried up long ago. The food and water Thirteenth Wang had handed him had been put aside by him. His saliva dried, and then more was produced. After his vocal chords were damaged, his voice became raspy to the point that the flecks of saliva were dyed a pink color. His throat began to bleed. His voice reached a point that it was difficult to hear what he was saying, and his talking speed became slower than an elder who was just about to die.

Thirteenth Wang listened for a day and a night by the side of this strange pair of people. At first, he listened intently because through Fan Xian's bloody and tearful denunciation to Wu Zhu, he heard the truth of many situations in the land. He learned of many powerful and magnificent figures, and he learned about Fan Xian's childhood and youth.

When Fan Xian began to repeat his life story for the third time and took out the cleaver for the fourth time to make the motions of slicing up daikon to try and make Wu Zhu remember something, Thirteenth Wang couldn't bear to continue listening.

He hugged his knees and sat by the stone steps looking at the strange but beautiful scene far away from the mountain ranges. Unconsciously, his finger brushed together the ash scattered at his side, which were Sigu Jian's remains.

When Haitang came to the door of the Temple, this was the scene she came up. She saw three idiot-like people. Thirteenth Wang was sitting in a daze on the stone steps playing with his teacher's ashes while Fan Xian sat like a small god from rural places in front of the opening of the small tent, continuously speaking in a raspy and difficult-to-hear voice about blurry and difficult-to-understand things like he was reading an imperial edict. Wu Zhu had the metal rod extended and was not moving at all, very much like a statue. Furthermore, this statue was covered in snow and didn't have a glimmer of life.

The metal rod sat between Wu Zhu and Fan Xian like it was separating two completely different worlds that could not come into contact. Regardless of whether it pushed forward or was pulled back, perhaps everyone present would feel better about it. Yet, it was this icy steadiness between the two of them that made one feel endlessly uneasy and pained.

One person could not bear to leave, but the one that couldn't bear to be left still did not understand. There was nothing more painful than not understanding.

With just one glance, Haitang knew what had happened this one day and one night. A forlornness surged into her heart. It was not until now that she was certain that, for Fan Xian, there were actually many things more important to him than his life.

"He's gone crazy." Haitang stared in a daze at the clearly unhealthy red flush on Fan Xian's face. She heard his raspy, slow, and blurry voice, and looked at the white snow on Wu Zhu that had been dyed red with spittle. She felt a sharp pain in her heart.

Thirteenth Wang stood with unusual difficulty and looked at her silently for a moment. He then said, "Everyone's gone crazy. Otherwise, why did you not listen to his words and come up?"

"I just thought that since he was going to die, I had to see him die," Haitang said, glancing at Thirteenth Wang with her head slightly down.

"He can't hold on for much longer. His injuries never recovered, and that day he was pierced right through and lost too much blood. Even going through the icy plains to return south was already a difficult matter. Furthermore, he is very uncaring about this life to come and make an attempt."

Thirteenth Wang turned and stood shoulder to shoulder with Haitang, looking at the unknowing and unfeeling Fan Xian still endlessly trying to wake Wu Zhu. Calmly, he said, "He's talked for a day and a night and has been frozen for a day and a night. If this goes on, the only end is death."

"Can you persuade him to leave? It looks like the blind master has not obeyed the being in the Temple's order to kill him," Haitang said.

"It would be good if he killed him, then you won't have to be like me last night, endlessly listening to his hopeless voice." Thirteenth Wang suddenly smiled and said, "But, I feel great admiration for Fan Xian. It's very rare to see someone go to such extremes."

Haitang looked at Fan Xian's pale face with the flush of red, his wan, sallow, and tired face. She looked for a very long time. Suddenly, her body trembled slightly. A spirit brighter than this mountain range and snowy valley rose in her eyes.

Thirteenth Wang suddenly felt a ripple next to him and stared at Haitang with wide eyes.

A mouthful of blood sprayed out and struck against the black cloth that was right in front of Fan Xian. It dripped down the icy snow on the cold face. It appeared particularly startling.

Wu Zhu still didn't move. With great difficulty, Fan Xian wiped away the blood at the corners of his mouth. He knew that he was at the end of his strength. A feeling of hopelessness rose in him. The family across from him was still unfamiliar, cold, soulless, and dead.

Fan Xian couldn't hold back a shiver. He suddenly thought of the fact that Uncle Wu Zhu had long been responsible for passing on the torch for the Temple and had walked through the world for tens of thousands of years. There were probably tens of thousands of years of memories in his mind. Perhaps this one day and one night, him coughing up blood and repeatedly narrating those memories, for this shell that was as cold as the snow mountain, they were only very normal memories, including memories of his mother Ye Qingmei.

Yet, he wanted to use these very normal stories to awaken a person who had seen countless things and had countless memories. What a childish and absurd thought. Thinking of this, Fan Xian's hopes crumbled to ash. A sense of helplessness appeared in his eyes.

His face became slightly warped and appeared particularly distressed and unclear. To the never moving Uncle Wu Zhu across from him, he roared in a raspy voice, "How could you forget me? Have you gotten addicted to memory loss? At least you remembered Ye Qingmei last time. How could you have even forgotten me this time?"

The metal rod was right in front of him, hovering at the crucial part of his throat. Fan Xian's entire body was rigid and trembling. He sank into a death-like silence because he had lost his voice. He couldn't say anything more. He voice began to tremble more and more violently. The hopelessness in his eyes had long turned into flames of anger that came after insanity.

He stared intently at the black cloth on Wu Zhu's face. A sinister and ruthless expression suddenly flashed across his face. He then leapt toward him.

Fan Xian's body had long been frozen rigid. Although he tried to leap, in reality, he just toppled straight as a board toward Wu Zhu's position with his throat crashing right toward the metal rod.

The tip of the metal rod retreated quickly. However, Fan Xian still fell down. He fell viciously, so the metal rod in Wu Zhu's hand could only retreat until there was nowhere to go. Then, it could only be let go to allow Fan Xian, who had been frozen into a popsicle, to fall in front of him.

Fan Xian stretched out a hand and ruthlessly grabbed one corner of Wu Zhu's clothing. The accumulated snow fell with a rustle. He stared into Wu Zhu's eyes. Although he could not speak, the viciousness and confidence in his eyes announced a truth, You don't want to kill me! You can't kill me because although you don't know who I am, I am still part of your instinct, part of your living heart.

"Come with me," said Fan Xian, who had suddenly become very spirited, to Wu Zhu, who had released the metal rod and was thinking deeply with his head down.

Fan Xian's desperate lunge had finally pushed aside the metal rod between him and Wu Zhu. The two worlds were as close as they could get, and Fan Xian had raised his request.

Wu Zhu was silent for a long time. There was still no expression on his face. "I don't know who you are."

"When you know nothing, follow your heart," Fan Xian said.

"What is a heart?" Wu Zhu said.

"Feelings," Fan Xian said.

"Feelings are just something humankind uses to lie to themselves and to numb themselves. In the end, the lie can only last a moment," Wu Zhu said.

"Life is just many one moments, one moment plus one moment," Fan Xian said. "If it can last a moment, it can last a lifetime. If the lie can last a lifetime, how can it be a lie?"

"But, I still don't know who you are. I also don't know who I am," Wu Zhu said.

"You don't need to know who I am, but if you want to know who you are, you need to come with me. I knew you would be curious. Curiosity is an emotion only humans have. You are human. Only humans hope to know what is on the other side of the mountain, across the sea, what are stars, what is the sun," Fan Xian said.

"What is on the other side of the mountain?" Wu Zhu asked.

"You need to go see for yourself. Since you want to know what is outside the Temple, you have to come with me," Fan Xian said.

"Why do these words sound familiar… But, I still don't know," Wu Zhu said.

"Do not be at a loss. Only a flash of lightning is needed for a clap of thunder to burst from one's eyes! Do what you want. If you are not sure for a time, follow your heart and leave this godforsaken temple," Fan Xian said.

"But the temple…"

This conversation did not actually happen. At least, between Wu Zhu and Fan Xian, who had fallen into the snow, there was no such conversation. In reality, after Fan Xian said those three words, the two of them only looked at each other in silence. Wu Zhu then bent down with great difficulty, picked up Fan Xian, and put him on his back.

It was just like how the young blind servant carried that infant many years ago.

Fan Xian felt the icy cold back in front of him and that this back was unusually warm. The expression on his face was indifferent because it was impossible to display what he was feeling. He wanted to cry, and he wanted to laugh. He knew that Uncle Wu Zhu still did not remember anything, but he knew that Uncle Wu Zhu was willing to leave this broken down temple with him.

So, he wanted to cry out in joy but could not make a sound. He wanted to sob but was huddled in a ball from the cold. He could only cough desperately, endlessly coughing up blood.

Then, Fan Xian saw Haitang and Thirteenth Wang. The two most powerful young warriors in the world were pale-faced. The light in their eyes was scattered. It was as if they had just experienced the most terrifying incident in the world. What made one's heart trembled the most was that the two of them were both shaking like they were about to lose control of the fear in their hearts.

What was it that made Haitang and Thirteenth Wang like this?

Thirteenth Wang looked at the scene in front of him and knew that Fan Xian had won. But, there seemed to not be a sliver of joy on his face. There were only lingering fear and a shallow regret. His entire body trembled like Wu Lao'er. He looked at Fan Xian and said in a dry voice, "We smashed up the Temple."

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