Chapter 73: Standing Alone

Those words seemed to stir up a distant memory in Zhao Hongxia.

Little Zhao Hongxia stood atop the high sea wall, wiping her tears, softly whimpering.

On the beach below the sea wall stood a man, head tilted up, arms outstretched, his face beaming with a warm smile.

“Xiao Xia, don’t be afraid, jump down—Dad will catch you, jump down…”

Then Zhao Hongxia closed her eyes and leapt down firmly, landing in a warm embrace.

“There, open your eyes—Dad told you he’d catch you, see? You’re perfectly fine now.”

“Mmm~.”

Zhao Hongxia hugged her father’s neck, smiling brightly.

“Xiao Xia, you must be braver from now on—when things go wrong, don’t cry, don’t be afraid, because Dad will always be by your side, protecting you…”

…

But then what happened?

When she was bullied, when she fell again and again—where was he?

When she went hungry, when darkness swallowed her—where was he then?

Now he comes to tell her not to be afraid, and she suddenly found it absurd.

She wasn’t afraid—not because of him, but because she had learned to be strong, to become powerful on her own.

She was no longer that little girl standing on the sea wall, crying and trembling, too scared to jump.

So—

Zhao Hongxia snapped back angrily: “Of course I’m not afraid—why would I be afraid…”

But was she truly unafraid? Of course not. Though she had recognized Lu Guanchang, she still felt a flicker of fear—after all, his appearance was far too bizarre.

Though it was broad daylight and the sun blazed outside, both still felt a chill run down their spines, their body hairs standing on end, a cold sweat forming on their backs.

“Xiao Xia, do you still remember me? I’m your… your…” Lu Guanchang’s voice grew quieter with each word.

“You’re Lu Guanchang. I know.” Zhao Hongxia cut him off bluntly.

“Ah.”

Lu Guanchang let out a deep sigh.

When his daughter received the letter written by Shen Siyuan, he had been right beside her—he knew exactly how Zhao Hongxia felt about him, so he wasn’t surprised, yet he still felt a pang of loss.

But Lu Guanchang didn’t know what to say either.

In the end, he could only utter three words, heavy with guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

But Zhao Hongxia showed no strong reaction—she merely stared at him coldly.

Lu Guanchang thought for a moment and said: “Can we sit down and talk?”

Zhao Hongxia continued to watch him warily, unmoved—but behind her, Sun Mahayana gently tugged at her hand.

He knew Zhao Hongxia well—he knew she still harbored anger, but since they had come to Haibin, she clearly wanted to hear what he had to say; she just couldn’t yet reconcile her emotions.

Lu Guanchang didn’t mind—he sat down beside them on his own.

Watching him lean on his cane, trembling and frail, Zhao Hongxia’s eyes flickered with a hint of pity—but it vanished quickly.

She wasn’t that little girl anymore. Over the years, she had weathered countless storms; though not hardened to stone, she was no longer easily moved.

“What do you want to talk about?” Zhao Hongxia asked, coldly.

“Don’t you wonder how I can ride the wind? Don’t you wonder how I can vanish and reappear…”

He knew how to draw people in—he instantly sparked their curiosity.

As he spoke, his seated body faded like a watercolor painting losing its pigment, dissolving swiftly—then reappeared moments later, still sitting there.

This finally fully ignited their curiosity.

Sun Mahayana even imagined a story in his mind: his long-lost father-in-law had retreated into the mountains, cultivated the Dao, and now descended to reclaim his wife and daughter.

Zhao Hongxia held similar thoughts—this would make her father’s image slightly less terrible, at least not someone who abandoned his family for another woman.

So both sat down beside him.

Sun Mahayana even asked proactively: “Would you like some tea?”

Zhao Hongxia’s circumstances were now quite good, so the hotel they stayed in was no ordinary place—it was a sea-view room, and the hotel provided tea service as well.

“No need to trouble yourself.”

Though Lu Guanchang said that, Sun Mahayana still brewed a pot of tea.

Lu Guanchang then began recounting what happened after Zhao Hongxia and her mother left.

He didn’t hide anything; his tone was calm—but Zhao Hongxia grew more and more disappointed as she listened…

This wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear.

So Zhao Hongxia sneered: “Do you know how we lived after you left?”

Lu Guanchang shook his head and sighed: “I know—it must have been hard. I’m the one who failed you both.”

“No, we lived well. Mom met Second Dad—her current husband. He loves her deeply, treats her and me well—we’re very happy…” Zhao Hongxia stared straight into Lu Guanchang’s eyes.

Lu Guanchang knew Zhao Hongxia was saying this deliberately to provoke him.

But he didn’t get angry—instead, he smiled gently: “That’s best of all. I failed you both. Knowing you’re happy eases my heart.”

Hearing this, Zhao Hongxia grew even angrier, her fury boiling over—she shot to her feet, ready to explode.

But at that moment, Sun Mahayana, seated beside her, reached out and pressed his hand over hers, shaking his head.

Seeing this, Zhao Hongxia quickly calmed down, letting out a bitter self-laugh: “We’re both past fifty now—I thought nothing could stir me anymore, yet seeing you still makes me angry.”

She spoke as if she was at peace, but she was still furious.

Lu Guanchang, hearing this, didn’t get angry—he chuckled: “Then let me tell you something that might cheer you up.”

He continued telling his story—and when he mentioned how he had fallen down the stairs and died accidentally, both of them widened their eyes…

Then he said that after death, he realized he’d worn a green hat his whole life, raising another man’s son—and the moment he died, the lover moved right into his house—they were gaping, mouths agape…

“Does that make you feel better now?” Lu Guanchang asked Zhao Hongxia.

Zhao Hongxia snapped back: “You deserved it.”

Lu Guanchang didn’t get angry—he nodded: “You’re right. I deserved it. This is my retribution.”

Hearing him say that, Zhao Hongxia fell silent.

“After I died, I couldn’t accept it. My soul drifted through the mortal world until, by chance, I met Master Shen. I begged him to help me meet you one last time—that’s how the letter came to be, and how we met again…”

Zhao Hongxia and Sun Mahayana were stunned—they had never believed that people truly became ghosts after death.

They marveled even more that such a powerful cultivator existed in this world—one who could make a ghost appear visibly before mortals.

“Do you know what reason I gave Master Shen when I begged him to let me meet you?” Lu Guanchang asked Zhao Hongxia.

“How would I know?” Zhao Hongxia still showed no warmth.

“I told Master Shen I couldn’t accept it—I’d spent my whole life working for someone else’s benefit. I wanted to leave everything to you…”

Hearing this, Zhao Hongxia’s already sour expression darkened further.

“So your only reason for wanting to see me was to claim your estate?”

Lu Guanchang didn’t deny it—he answered plainly: “Yes. That was my original intention.”

Zhao Hongxia immediately stood up and walked toward the room. At over fifty years old, tears welled in her eyes—her last lingering hope of her father shattered completely in this moment.

He always thought only of himself—even in death, he was no different.

Lu Guanchang wanted to call out to her, but before he could speak, Sun Mahayana asked: “So now you don’t think that way anymore?”

Zhao Hongxia, hearing Sun Mahayana’s question, paused—her steps slowing unconsciously.