Chapter Eighteen: The Mysterious Flame

The word “taboo” from Shangguan Chuci’s lips instantly severed all the chaotic thoughts churning within Lu Chenyuan’s heart.

He had expected Shangguan Chuci to dismiss his words as absurd, or perhaps laugh them off, but never did he anticipate such a reaction.

He heard Shangguan Chuci sigh softly. The white jade folding fan closed slowly in her palm as she spoke:

“Brother Lu, do you know that in this world, the more outlandish a statement seems, the closer it often is to the bloody truth beneath the surface.”

“Common truths are for the masses, spoken to pacify the multitude. Yet what your master said—those words are like lifting a corner of the curtain in an age of peace, revealing the ghastly white bones hidden behind the spectacle.”

She paused, her bright eyes studying Lu Chenyuan in the lamplight, and continued, “Therefore, not only do I not find your master’s words hollow, I believe they might well be the true essence.”

At this, Lu Chenyuan’s heart trembled.

He had witnessed firsthand Shangguan Chuci’s cunning mind and ruthless methods.

Yet in this moment, her words felt like a warm current, quietly melting the icy vigilance around his heart.

To the world, his master’s words were nothing but drunken nonsense. He knew there was deeper meaning within, but it was as elusive as flowers in the mist—impossible to fully grasp.

He never imagined Shangguan Chuci could so easily pierce through the madness, discerning truth in what seemed deranged, wisdom in the outlandish.

This insight and tacit understanding was like the harmony of high mountains and flowing water, and for the first time, Lu Chenyuan felt a strange sense of admiration and closeness toward this enigmatic stranger.

Just as he was lost in these thoughts, Shangguan Chuci’s tone shifted, a playful smile curving at her lips:

“Brother Lu, since you’ve entrusted me with such a tremendous secret, according to the rules of the martial world, there must be give and take. Chuci ought to offer you something in return.”

Curiosity piqued, Lu Chenyuan looked up.

Shangguan Chuci merely smiled, saying nothing, fanning herself as she led him forward.

They passed through the bustling streets and entered a quiet, willow-shaded alley. The lanterns grew sparser, the crowd thinned, leaving only the songs of insects and the whisper of wind.

Under an ancient tree, Shangguan Chuci finally stopped and said, “I said before, if Brother Lu would exchange secrets, I would tell you the latter story of the heart’s fire.”

“Mundane fire, true fire, spirit fire—these are the three grades of cultivation known to the world, the three ranks within the path.”

She folded her fan and tapped its bones lightly in her palm, producing a crisp “tock” that sounded particularly clear in the night.

“But beyond these three ranks, there exists yet a fourth kind of heart fire. This fire does not fit within the three grades—it stands apart from the path. Its birth is mysterious, its formation strange, and its power beyond the imagination of ordinary cultivators. I call it—”

She pronounced each word deliberately, her voice not loud, yet carrying a peculiar, compelling force.

“The wondrous fire.”

Lu Chenyuan’s thoughts raced, and he replied at once, “I understand. As for how you, Lady Chu, came to know the secret of this wondrous fire, I suppose—that must be another secret, one I must trade for with yet another of my own.”

With these words, silence settled over the alley.

Shangguan Chuci was momentarily taken aback, clearly not expecting him to grasp the subtlety of her words so quickly and extrapolate from it.

Now, gazing at the youth before her, she saw a calm expression and clear eyes—gone was any hint of the awkwardness she saw when they first met.

In that brief quiet, the mutual testing and understanding between them fermented into something inexpressibly nuanced.

At last, Shangguan Chuci could not help herself and let out a laugh.

It was unlike her usual carefree, controlled laughter; instead, it carried the genuine delight of a young woman amused by something novel—clear and lovely indeed.

She seemed to realize her own lapse, hastily snapping open her white jade fan to shield half her face, leaving only a pair of eyes curved into crescent moons as she said,

“Brother Lu, you are remarkably perceptive, even quick to answer ahead of me.”

They walked on a while longer, reaching the crossroads near the Tideview Inn.

Lu Chenyuan watched Shangguan Chuci’s figure disappear around the second-floor gallery of the inn before finally shouldering his wine pouch and turning toward the back courtyard.

As he walked, he found himself mulling over Shangguan Chuci’s words.

“I call it the wondrous fire…”

He thought to himself, “She did not say, ‘As recorded in ancient texts,’ nor ‘As the sages have said,’ but ‘I call it…’”

“These five words—how arrogant, how utterly certain. Could it be… the fire she wields herself is that very wondrous fire, beyond the three grades?”

“Shangguan Chuci is a strange one. I know she is ruthless and cunning; we are not the same kind of people. Yet, somehow, being with her feels unexpectedly easy and free…”

He was still lost in thought when he looked up and saw, atop the crooked old locust tree in the backyard, a figure quietly sitting in the moonlight.

Clad in blue, she lounged upon a branch no thicker than a child’s arm.

One long leg rested carelessly on the branch, the other crossed over it with effortless elegance. She leaned indolently against the trunk, one hand propping up her chin, the other idly swinging a wine gourd.

The night wind stirred her robes, lending her an extraordinary, unrestrained air—mingled with a touch of languid freedom.

It was none other than his unconventional master, Situ.

A warmth filled Lu Chenyuan’s heart, and much of the gloom brought on by his recent troubles with cultivation dissolved.

He looked up with a laugh and called, “Master, I’ve brought your wine.”

With a flick of his wrist, the heavy leather wine pouch traced a graceful arc through the air toward the woman in the tree.

Situ didn’t so much as glance, but reached out and caught it smoothly, the movement as fluid as drifting clouds, untouched by the world’s dust.

She uncorked it, but instead of drinking, poured all the fresh wine into her ever-present vermilion gourd.

Lu Chenyuan was long accustomed to his master’s peculiar habit.

No matter the wine, she always insisted on pouring it into that gourd before drinking, as though only then did it become the unrivaled taste of the world.

Situ brought the gourd to her lips, tipped her head back, and took a hearty swig, satisfaction lighting her face.

Only then did her gaze fall upon the boy below, and she asked, seemingly offhand,

“Yuan’er, the heart method I taught you—has it become harder lately to suppress what’s within your body?”

Lu Chenyuan’s heart gave a start, but he did not conceal the truth. “Yes, Master.”

Upon hearing this, the figure on the branch seemed tinged with melancholy.

Situ rested her hand on the sheathed sword at her side and said softly, “Give me a little more time… Once this Tidal Dragon Gathering is over, I’ll find you a solution.”

The words were vague, but for some reason, Lu Chenyuan’s heart was gripped by a bittersweet ache. He hurried to say, “Actually, Master, my condition isn’t all that serious…”

But Situ broke into a carefree smile. “Silly child, what are you thinking?”

“I was just musing… If your body really fails, who will fetch me Autumn Dew White in the future? Who’ll roast those golden flatbreads for me?”

“So, you mustn’t let anything happen to you. I’m relying on you to look after me for a lifetime.”

Lu Chenyuan smiled at her words. “As long as you don’t cast me aside, Master, I’ll gladly serve you all my life.”

Situ only lifted the corners of her mouth and gazed at the waning moon, saying nothing more.