Chapter 129: Side Story 4: The World of Bu Sa

To push yet not be repelled, to press yet not respond, to sense yet not move, to be firm and stagnant yet not flow, to coil and hold yet not disperse—this is called non‑action.

Seal its opening, close its doors; blunt its edge, untangle its chaos; harmonize its light, blend with its dust. This is called Xuan Tong.

Bu Sa stood in the boundless dense jungle, his aloof, obsidian‑dark eyes rarely showing a hint of doubt.

He tapped the blood‑siphoning blade with his fingertip; the cold metal no longer bore the searing heat of boiling blood. The fresh cut in his palm vanished without a trace.

His memory still lingered on the haunting twilight crimson of Duanmu Cliff. To shatter the sole demonic obstruction in his heart and to transcend the innate Wu Wei realm, he returned to the only place that had ever left him with fear and weakness.

The blood‑siphoning blade, the setting sun like blood; the hellish scene of that day replayed in his mind over and over. His brimming inner breath began to boil, uncontrollable fear and murderous intent surged in his heart, his consciousness gradually slipped from his will's grasp, until his palm burned like a branding iron and a dazzling white flash instantly snatched his awareness.

When he came to again, he found himself inexplicably in this dense jungle, surrounded by towering trees he had never seen—stout roots, luxuriant trunks, needle‑shaped leaves. The faint twilight filtered through the gaps, illuminating the shrub‑covered ground.

A gust of wind rustled the conifers, occasionally accompanied by faint rustlings of creatures in the underbrush and a weak… human breathing.

Bu Sa frowned, sheathed the blood‑siphoning blade and headed toward the source of the breathing, startling many flying insects and snake‑ants, yet no creature dared come within half a foot of him.

After counting a few breaths, Bu Sa surveyed the scene, his pupils narrowing slightly. So few things in the world ever move him to surprise, yet the current sight genuinely exceeded his expectations.

In the dim light, a child under a meter tall sat against a mound of earth, dagger in hand; his left arm was drenched in blood, soaking most of his clothing, a gruesome sight against his tiny body.

Not far away lay a beast over a meter long, resembling a wild boar; its eyes were already milky, head blood coagulated, devoid of any life force.

Bu Sa's arrival made the wounded child suddenly alert; he sprang upright, turned his head toward him, the dagger's cold glint firmly gripped, his pale, delicate face looking especially fragile in the dark, yet his eyes were steady and unflustered.

He was a boy whose beauty was suffocating—under five years old, features not yet fully formed; other children might be called cute, but he was genuinely exquisite.

Not dazzlingly gorgeous nor sharply striking, but a warm, gentle beauty that seemed to embrace all heaven and earth, crystal‑clear and translucent.

However, Bu Sa's mind was poor in concepts and adjectives for beauty; even if the boy's looks were a few points more handsome, it could not move him. What he cared about more was the boy's rare azure eyes, vast and distant, like an endless blue sea and sky.

The boy stared at him for a while, seeing him remain still, and couldn't help but speak softly: "Uncle, are you COSPLAYing?"

Bu Sa heard this, a vein at the corner of his forehead twitched involuntarily; the tone felt damned familiar.

"Where is this?" Bu Sa asked coldly.

The boy blinked, glanced at his clothing and the knife at his waist, and murmured: "Uncle, I'm lost in these mountains, have been walking for several hours, I don't know exactly where I am now."

Bu Sa frowned, about to speak, when a cold flash in his eyes made him suddenly bend down, snatch the boy up, and slash the knife from his hand in midair.

A "shhh—" sound rang out as a snake, cut in two, fell to the ground; the colorful half‑body twisted and quivered beside the mound.

The boy glanced at the terrifying venomous snake on the ground; his already blood‑pale face grew even whiter, and instinctively he reached out, clutching Bu Sa's neck tightly, burying his head between the collar, his body trembling uncontrollably.

After cutting the snake, Bu Sa intended to toss the boy aside, but the child's small body pressed against his chest was icy, exuding a heavy scent of blood, still suppressing tremors from fear; his grip on the boy's collar hesitated, and instead he single‑handedly cradled the frail body, saying coldly, "The snake is dead."

"Hmm." The boy buried his face against Bu Sa's chest, emitting a faint, shy, hoarse voice, "I wasn't afraid of snakes before."

Bu Sa didn't grasp the boy's bravado or shame, replying lightly, "If you're not afraid, let go."

The boy's tiny body quivered; the hand around his neck loosened, then tightened again, his voice low as a mosquito, "But I'm injured now."

Before Bu Sa could answer, the boy lifted his head; his deep blue eyes flickered weakly as they stared at Bu Sa, and he whispered, "Uncle, a few days ago I came here with my father on a trip and got lost. Now I'm injured, my father must be frantic… Could you take me to the nearest town?"

Bu Sa glanced at the boy's wounded back; the thin, odd garment was torn, blood soaking a large swath of fabric, its original color barely visible. The torn edge merged with the exposed wound, flesh and blood blurred, looking grotesquely feral.

The boy's body still trembled slightly, whether from repeated peril or the night's chill wind, but his azure eyes remained steady, never showing panic even when fear flickered.

Bu Sa frowned; those uniquely colored eyes involuntarily reminded him of Qi Ran and Bing Yi, and made the usually aloof him unable to ignore the boy.

He abruptly tore off his tattered outer coat, wrapped the boy's frail, cold body, and, meeting the boy's startled gaze, said coldly, "Which direction should we go?"

No further words were exchanged; after the boy indicated a direction, Bu Sa hoisted him and sprinted that way.

The dark figure darted through the dense, gloomy forest like wind and lightning; the rushing wind brushed his ears, yet the boy felt no cold. Wrapped in a tattered garment, he was tightly shielded in a not‑warm embrace.

The boy had been wandering for over a dozen hours, plus injury and fright; even with his early wisdom, he was now exhausted. This man in odd garb exuded a strange killing aura, his attire bizarre, his origin unknown, yet his cool embrace, reminiscent of his foster father's aura, oddly soothed him, and within moments he fell into deep sleep.

Bu Sa sat beside a babbling creek, watching his palm go blank, while the boy lay asleep beside him on a soft cushion of licorice.

Since meeting the boy, his left palm had been faintly warm; just now, when he inadvertently touched the semi‑coagulated blood on the boy's wound, the warmth surged into scorching heat, and a faint image of a purple butterfly fluttered its wings within his palm.

Bu Sa knew this was the gift—an Essence Butterfly—obtained during his sea adventure with Qi Ran and Bing Yi, when they passed the island nation of Chuyu. What puzzled him was that the Essence Butterfly had never manifested on its own for years; now this warmth must mean something. And the purple light he saw before fainting at Duanmu Cliff—could that have been caused by the Essence Butterfly?

His deep inner breath circulated naturally within, a cool, subtle aura instantly enveloped his body, making him feel as if he merged with the natural air, and the scorching in his left palm naturally subsided.

Body and mind tranquil, encompassing heaven and earth; spirit and qi harmonious, meeting the trigrams Kǎn and Lí. To push without being repelled, to press without responding, to sense without moving, to be firm and stagnant without flowing, to coil and hold without dispersing—this is called non‑action.

Innate Wu Wei is already the highest realm attainable by mortal martial paths. Yet, is it truly the ultimate peak?

Having witnessed the vast, rolling seas, the splendid and mysterious magic, the water‑veil gate that reaches the heavens, and countless wonders that render one insignificant, Bu Sa's perspective can no longer be confined to the peaks set by predecessors. He wishes to see clearly how far he can go, how high he can climb.

Not for any cause, any person, nor for ambition or desire, he simply wishes to explore the highest summit of the martial path. He will strive with all his might, but will never abandon everything or use unscrupulous means for this goal.

Yet, where exactly lies the key to breaking this shackles?

Bu Sa was lost in thought when a cacophony of footsteps erupted; it wasn't just one person, and faint, intermittent shouts echoed, seemingly calling someone's name.

"Uhh…" the boy muttered low as he woke from his dream, raising a hand to rub his eyes, but felt a tearing pain from behind, and let out a soft gasp.

Bu Sa gave him a cold stare, showing no intention to help, and said lightly, "Many people are coming from afar; they're probably looking for you."

The boy startled, pricked up his ears and listened carefully for a moment, hearing nothing; a hint of doubt rose in his heart, though his face showed none. After waiting longer, faint voices indeed reached his ears, his heart rejoiced, and his face suddenly relaxed.

Yet, a moment later, he looked at Bu Sa with a mix of puzzlement and reverence, saying, "Uncle, my father said my senses are far keener than others', but I didn't expect you to be even stronger."

Bu Sa, looking coldly at the babbling creek, rose to leap away, but the boy clutched the hem of his garment urgently and asked, "Uncle, are you leaving? I haven't repaid the debt of your saving me…"

"No need!"

The boy fell silent for a moment, then looked up sincerely, his azure eyes sparkling in the dawn's faint light: "Uncle, thank you! Also, I… I'm called Xiao Bingshuo; if you ever go…"

The boy lowered his long lashes, seeming shy and embarrassed, his voice growing ever softer—how could Bu Sa possibly not hear it with his keen ears?

His eyes widened suddenly; the ever‑calm face finally showed surprise: "Xiao… Bing… Shuo?!"

The boy, startled by the fierce aura radiating from him, flinched and involuntarily released his hands.

From afar, the calling voices grew nearer; if Bu Sa paid slight attention, he could hear them clearly—they were shouting—Bingshuo.

"Damn it!" Bu Sa lunged forward, about to speak, when his left palm suddenly burned hot. Then, amid a burst of dazzling purple light, the boy, his face full of shock, fainted, and Bu Sa watched his own body become increasingly transparent and thin, eventually vanishing into the morning's thin mist.

Heaven, earth, beings, the void brimming… harmonize its light, blend with its dust. This is called Xuan Tong…

Bu Sa snapped his eyes open; a low, rhythmic chant still echoed in his mind, and he frowned, murmuring softly, "Xuan Tong? What is Xuan Tong?"

"Bu Sa—?!" a familiar shout rang in his ear; no amount of shock could mask the warm, clear, transparent feeling.

Bu Sha came to his senses, his gaze slowly falling on the person before him, and he instantly froze in place.

The youth before him had delicate, picture-perfect features, a warm and jade-like temperament, and a pair of deep, crystal-clear blue eyes that seemed to hold the most brilliant starlight in the world—wasn't that just the childhood version of Xiao Bing Shuo he had seen moments ago?

"What's going on?" Bing Shuo sat opposite him, still holding a book, his face full of shock, clearly startled by the sudden appearance of this person, "You also play with time‑space travel?"

Bu Sha flexed his scorching palm, about to speak, but he heard Bing Shuo let out a low cry, his hand touching his forehead that emitted a faint silver glow, where a butterfly‑shaped image flickered in and out of view.

"Soul Butterfly?" Bing Shuo pressed his palm to his burning forehead, gazing at Bu Sha's left hand that likewise radiated purple light, and whispered, "Can you first tell me what exactly is happening?"

Bu Sha glanced at the oddly shaped room—its walls were snow‑white and smooth, the floor tiles polished, the space tiny yet holding four beds; beneath the beds stood even more peculiar desks, chairs, and cabinets, plus countless things he had never seen before.

This made him ever more certain that he had arrived in the world belonging to Bing Yi and Bing Shuo—a world he did not particularly long for, yet one he had at least been curious about.

Bu Sha furrowed his brows, looking at Bing Shuo whose expression was unfriendly yet whose eyes showed worry, he fell silent for a moment before finally speaking: "I went into qi deviation while practicing, and then I ended up in this world."

"Qi deviation?!" Bing Shuo exclaimed in shock, then a faint anger rose in his eyes, "Bu Sha, your obsession with martial arts is normally no problem, but if you rush for results, stray from the natural Way, and lose the state of non‑action…"

"No." Bu Sha lightly cut him off, paused, then added, "I haven't rushed for results. My innate non‑action has already reached its peak—if you don't advance you retreat, and I… will not retreat!"

"Alright, you won't retreat." Bing Shuo looked at the stern black‑clad assassin and could hardly believe it, "But Bu Sha, no matter what exploring the pinnacle of martial arts means to you, you shouldn't recklessly endanger yourself; this time you were lucky to have the Soul Butterfly protecting you during the space‑time jump—though I still can't fathom why it happened. But you should know, if anything were to happen to you… how heartbroken they would be."

Bu Sha furrowed his brows again, turned his face away coldly, and said, "I know."

Bing Shuo chuckled, about to speak further, when he suddenly heard several males talking and shouting downstairs; he knew they were his dorm mates returning, and their purpose was precisely to find him, who was hiding in the dormitory to slack off.

He looked at the oddly dressed Bu Sha, wondering how to get him to avoid detection, when suddenly his forehead, which had just cooled down, flared hot.

Immediately afterward, he widened his eyes as Bu Sha's whole body was enveloped in a burst of purple light, his form growing ever more thin and transparent, as if he might melt and evaporate into the air at any moment.

Bing Shuo vaguely guessed what was happening; seeing Bu Sha's calm, composed expression, he felt regret that their brief reunion was over, yet he wasn't overly worried.

Suddenly recalling the words Bu Sha had muttered upon appearing, a flash of insight struck his mind, and he loudly and quickly declared, "To advance yet not go, to press yet not obey, to feel yet not move, to be solid yet not flow, to coil yet not scatter—this is non‑action. To block the exchange, to close the gate; to dull the edge, to resolve confusion; to harmonize the light, to blend with the dust—this is mysterious unity. Bu Sha, remember: a realm greater than merely accommodating or following nature is to be one with nature, to embody nature. Heaven and earth are you, you are heaven and earth, harmonizing light with dust, the Grand Dao's mysterious unity."

Bu Sha slowly opened his eyes amidst the blood‑tinged sunset; the spring evening breeze carried a hint of coolness that brushed his cheeks and hair, giving him an incredibly vivid sense of his body.

He sat up and gazed at the darkening horizon; the scenery on Duanmu Cliff remained unchanged, his black tattered outer robe still fitted him, the Blood‑Drawing Blade gripped in his right palm, the laceration on his left hand still raw, bearing a faint ache, without heat or purple light.

Everything felt like a dream, or perhaps it truly was just a dream—within the dream a day passed, yet opening his eyes it was only a fleeting moment.

Bu Sha furrowed his brow, tightened his grip on the Blood‑Drawing Blade, and echoed in his mind Bing Shuo's parting words: "A realm surpassing mere accommodation or following nature is to be one with nature, to embody nature. Heaven and earth are you, you are heaven and earth, harmonizing light with dust, the Grand Dao's mysterious unity."

His inner qi flowed naturally, full and overflowing yet warm and gentle, like the highest good that is water; no longer did he sense the domineering boil. Although the distance to the Grand Dao's mysterious unity was still great, Bu Sha knew he had already touched the threshold for breaking through his shackles.

Bu Sha closed his eyes, gathered his inner energy, rose, and sprinted swiftly down Duanmu Cliff.

The world of martial arts was wondrous and marvelous, yet it was merely his interest, not his whole life; he thought, whether or not that was a dream, Bing Shuo was right—he had not returned to the Snow Pear Garden for far too long, and those two would surely worry about him.

It was time to go back, for no matter how far he walked or how high he climbed, he could never forget the way home.

(End of chapter)