Chapter 735

Pei Ye understood that this farewell held another meaning for her—it was a daughter bidding farewell to her mother.

She clung to everything here, eager to drive away the Yan Prince’s Mansion and solemnly entrust it all to the young man… for in her eyes, everything she saw was steeped in her mother’s tender affection.

She was composed of Shen blood and Lin blood; losing the Shen blood meant severing half her lineage, and thus cutting all ties to her mother.

Pei Ye raised his hand and gently embraced her shoulders.

“People aren’t bound by blood,” Pei Ye whispered. “Don’t be sad.”

“I have no blood tie to Elder Yue either. I didn’t learn his life story until the day he died, yet I never felt distant from him.”

“Because whenever I do anything, I think of him. Some things he taught me; others he never did or even mentioned—but strangely, when I think of him, I can almost see how he’d act.”

“Later, in the Divine Capital, I found not everyone liked Elder Yue. Zhu Zhezi was such a good person, yet he didn’t seem to like him much… but I couldn’t change myself.” Pei Ye gazed into the distance. “I think someone who grows up following and thinking of another carries that person’s essence. It can’t be changed.”

He paused. “Every time I think of this ‘unchangeable’ bond, I feel warmth and safety. When those who hate him also hate you, and those who love him also love you—even if you can no longer find his traces—you still sense that unerasable connection between you.”

“So ‘blood’ isn’t what binds people—‘path’ is.” Pei Ye whispered. “You’re not bidding farewell to her shadow; you’re choosing the same path she walked. Your bond has grown closer… If one day you can no longer see her shadow, perhaps it means you’ve walked ahead of her.”

Long silence followed. Pei Ye lowered his head and saw Li Xizhou leaning against his shoulder, quietly watching him.

The tear tracks on her cheeks had been wiped away by the water.

“Do you often think about things like this?” she asked.

“Often.”

Li Xizhou paused. “You didn’t kill Yong Ji in the Jiao Palace—does that weigh on you?”

“… ” Pei Ye said nothing, gazing at the flowing horizon.

“I should’ve killed him,” he said. “If I hadn’t overused the divine name, he’d have had a chance to kill me—and then I could’ve killed him.”

“Because you thought that’s how you’d walk the same path as Yue Muzhou?”

Pei Ye trembled slightly, turning his head to meet her eyes—so close, watching him quietly.

“... Yes.”

As if her gaze had laid bare his soul, Pei Ye revealed this softness for the first time. He lowered his eyes. “I never had the title of disciple to Elder Yue. He never spoke to me of anything, taught me only one sword… I think he didn’t care to take disciples. Maybe he saw me as family, but never considered ‘walking the same path.’”

“Since leaving Fenghuai, many have asked me about my master. I always answered I had none.” He spoke softly. “He was a lone wanderer, unbound by heaven or earth. Formerly, the Dao Head didn’t keep him; last year, I didn’t keep him either. He never sought to leave any ties behind… and I dared not call myself his heir.”

Pei Ye paused. “The only thing he entrusted to me was revenge against the Yan Prince’s Mansion.”

So he had indeed always valued this deeply. Not killing Yong Ji this time, though he showed no sign on his face, was hard for him to accept inside.

Li Xizhou looked at him. “But Yue Muzhou didn’t tell me that.”

“... What?”

Li Xizhou said, “Yue Muzhou always told me you were his beloved disciple and heir.”

Pei Ye stared at her, the woman’s face clean and earnest.

“W-when… In the Moon Palace, he said he’d never take a disciple.” Pei Ye was stunned.

Li Xizhou smiled. “Perhaps later, things changed… or he changed his mind for you.”

She tilted her head, as if recalling. “I showed you our first letter to each other. After that, we often wrote. At the time, I was lonely; knowing he and my mother were old close friends, I felt deeply drawn to him and asked him many questions. And every time he spoke of his own life, he always mentioned you.”

Pei Ye stared at her, dumbfounded.

Li Xizhou smiled. “What are you staring at?”

“What… what did he say about me?”

“What’s there to say about someone your age?” Li Xizhou laughed. “Just the same old clichés.”

“What clichés?”

“Let me think… He said you had first-rate character, upright appearance, valued righteousness over life, and would be an excellent friend…” Li Xizhou pretended to ponder. “He didn’t reveal anything about your bedwetting, though…”

“Just show me directly through [Qianxin].”

“But [Qianxin] doesn’t scroll up well anymore.”

“Why?”

Pei Ye frowned at the woman; she smiled back at him.

Two breaths passed; Pei Ye’s face slowly reddened.

He turned his head away.

A line of text appeared through [Zhiyi].

[Xizhou, I entrust Pei Ye to you. He is my only kin and beloved disciple. For over fifty years, I’ve been alone; after death, I’ll leave nothing behind except this child. For eighteen years, my fate has held only him, and his fate has held only me. When I die, he’ll have nothing left. Yue Muzhou bows in thanks.]

“This was his final message to me,” Li Xizhou said gently, watching the stunned boy. “I think whether you killed Yong Ji or even failed to avenge him won’t change your place in his heart.”

Pei Ye saw these words unexpectedly; his nose and eyes stung at once. He stared fixedly at the woman.

But Li Xizhou tilted her head, murmuring with a smile: “I really did scroll through so many pages.”

Still overcome with emotion, Pei Ye’s ears turned red again. He glared at her irritably: “Stop bringing it up.”

Li Xizhou smiled, lips pressed shut.

Silence fell between them. Then she whispered: “Why did you send me so many words? In little chunks like that?”

“… ”

“Huh? Say it.”

Pei Ye stared blankly into the distance, voice flat: “I suspect you saw them all—and just didn’t reply.”

“If I saw them, I’d reply,” Li Xizhou said gently, smiling.

“Well… not everything I wrote was true. Don’t bother reading.” Pei Ye turned his head.

Li Xizhou remained composed. “When I have time, I’ll read every single word carefully.”

Pei Ye glared at her again; she only smiled.

Silence settled between them, broken only by water brushing past their temples. Long moments passed before she softly grasped his wrist. “Pei Ye, I won’t mock you.”

“… ”

“I’ve always known that though others call you the Killing Star, your heart is sensitive and tender.” Li Xizhou whispered, gently holding his wrist. “I’m truly glad you’ve told me so much. I’ll treasure it always. Yue Muzhou once said you’d become my closest friend—I’ve always believed him.”

Pei Ye’s heart fluttered unexpectedly again. He turned away, muffled: “You alternate between deceiving me and being sincere—you make it impossible to tell truth from falsehood. That’s your specialty.”

Li Xizhou widened her almond eyes, as if deeply wronged. “I’ve never lied to you.”

Pei Ye turned back, meeting her beautiful eyes; his heart gave another soft leap. “You look like someone who lies.”

“... What does it mean to ‘look like someone who lies’?” she laughed. “What does that look like?”

“... Your look,” Pei Ye muttered. “Like you can see through everything.”

After he spoke, the woman fell silent. Pei Ye stared into her eyes—close, exquisite, faintly luminous. A ripple passed through them. She whispered: “I can be good too.”

Pei Ye lost his breath.

He bit his lip, voice slightly hoarse: “... I’m a little angry again.”

Li Xizhou blinked. “What?”

Before she could react, Pei Ye leaned down, pressing her against the tree behind her, covering her lips.

Only then did Li Xizhou recall his words: “If you’re still angry, I’ll kiss you again.” She was both annoyed and amused.

She lightly pushed his shoulder—but couldn’t stop him from pressing closer, so she gripped his clothes instead.

Though he claimed to be angry, there was no real anger in his kiss. His breath was close; he tested her lips gently, slowly, tenderly deepening the kiss.

The Shen realm was tranquil, the tree’s shade dark and still. He kissed her lips with awkward sincerity.

Li Xizhou came to understand him more deeply: though the boy was clumsy and awkward in emotion… he was never timid.

He had always been bold—bold in everything.