A Guide to Self-Rescue in the Cultivation World - Chapter 14

The sunset was like molten gold liquid, gently flowing over the peach branch Zhou Suyao leaned on, and also over the freshly snapped peach branch in Eldest Senior Brother’s hand. Wood shavings silently fluttered down, highlighting the steady, focused precision of his movements.

The light cut through his downcast eyelashes.

Golden.

It wasn’t the warm gold of the melting sunset, nor the bright gold reflected off a carving tool. It was a very pure, cold, gold pupil that felt like the chill of a winter blade.

Zhou Suyao felt her bl00d surge to her head in an instant, only to freeze into ice the next.

Her heart hammered wildly, slamming against her ribs.

But this very pain told her the devastating truth: the emotionless deity she had seen in the illusion, the one with the golden eyes that looked down on everything, remaining indifferent to the Demon Race’s genocide, and cold to the common people, was not a figment of her imagination.

She bit down hard on her lower lip, slowly backing away, but a sharp snap betrayed her as she crushed a fallen peach branch underfoot.

The sound exploded in the dead silence of the peach grove like thunder.

The figure by the stone table paused. The peach branch hung in mid-air, the surrounding time seized by an unseen hand.

Zhou Shenyuan slowly turned his head.

The twilight was deepening.

Half of his body was already engulfed in shadow.

But his eyes were even more blinding than before in the fading light, shining like a pure golden radiance from an opening heavenly gate, stabbing directly into her own.

He saw her. He saw her panicked state, her ashen face, and the disbelief etched in her alarm.

The air seemed to condense instantly, turning into stiff, heavy stone that pressed down hard on Zhou Suyao’s chest. She froze, her hands and feet feeling colder than they had on the altar. She couldn’t even move a finger.

These secrets, like an invisible iceberg, instantly collapsed before her, threatening to crush her to pieces.

The him she saw in the illusion by the lake a hundred years ago, the him who sealed the flower meridian when she was near death on the altar, and the him she could least accept, the one who remained utterly indifferent during the massacre of the Demon Race.

It was him.

It was always him.

Everything she saw was him.

Was it?

The color drained from Zhou Shenyuan’s face, too. He looked paler than his own simple robes, appearing as if he were at his absolute limit, yet still desperately clinging to the protective, gentle mask of “Eldest Senior Brother.”

But in the instant those golden pupils were revealed, that mask had already shattered piece by piece in Zhou Suyao’s eyes, leaving only the ancient, unchanging, cold divinity underneath.

He sighed, almost inaudibly, extremely softly and slowly. The sigh carried a monumental weight, causing the peach branch in his hand to tremble slightly, and a few petals drifted silently down.

A breeze blew through, and the entire peach grove rustled in response, as if echoing that silent sorrow.

His fingers tightened instinctively around the flower branch, his knuckles white from the excessive force, even trembling slightly, uncontrollably.

The resilient peach branch quivered in his grip like a candle in the wind.

But when he spoke, all emotion vanished. All that remained was a calculated, almost exhausted composure.

“Suyao? Is something the matter?”

His voice was still the low, slightly hoarse sound she knew.

She couldn’t detect any deviation.

Zhou Suyao’s heart pounded in her chest. She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but found her throat too dry to make a sound. She looked at the face that, in the shifting light and shadow, seemed utterly calm, and for a terrifying second, she felt again that maybe her initial suspicion was just a mistake.

She instinctively took a few steps back. This time, her feet crushed soft, fallen blossoms.

“Nothing.” She laughed, waving her hands repeatedly, trying to hide the undisguised panic in her eyes. “I just… came to see Eldest Senior Brother. Are you feeling better…?”

In the areas swallowed by shadow, Zhou Shenyuan simply watched her. His gaze rested on her pale face, deep enough to pierce her forced calmness.

After a moment, he slowly tugged the corner of his mouth, offering a very faint smile. It was a smile tainted by an undeniable complexity.

“Much better.”

That quiet “much better” fell like a silent petal into the mud, failing to create any ripple, yet chillingly quiet.

It was enough to sink Zhou Suyao’s heart entirely.

Those silent, golden eyes, calm yet filled with despair.

What exactly… was her Eldest Senior Brother?

The last rays of the setting sun burned out in his eyes, but they could not dispel the ancient chill within, which pricked her painfully, needle by needle.

Under his scrutiny, any emotion she felt was nothing more than a drop in the ocean, insignificant and meaningless.

If her emotions were merely a drop in his ocean, what about others?

The Demon Race, the… most ordinary of Human Dao cultivators.

She could only stare at those eyes, desperately trying to find a trace of “Eldest Senior Brother” there.

The one who would play chess with her, who would helplessly lift her by the scruff of her neck, who would always smile and hand her osmanthus cake begged from the villagers at the foot of the mountain… Eldest Senior Brother.

But she couldn’t find him.

None. Not a single trace.

The eyes were the same eyes, and the face was the same familiar person. But everything was fundamentally different.

The warm, dependable sibling affection, the shared laughter and scolding, the life-and-death trust, all were as fragile as thin ice under the sun, instantly collapsing into dust.

She could never go back.

“Eldest Senior Brother… what happened to your eyes…?”

Refusing to give up, she opened her mouth again, asking softly.

The question sounded desperately hollow.

“My eyes?” Zhou Shenyuan replied slowly. “It’s just an old injury that hasn’t healed, leading to a spiritual power imbalance… Don’t worry.”

Spiritual power imbalance?

Zhou Suyao felt she was about to laugh out loud. If she hadn’t been gripping her palm tightly, she probably would have.

Living two lifetimes, she had never heard of a “good person’s” spiritual power imbalance turning their eyes a vibrant gold. If such “imbalances” granted such immense power, she’d gladly take a few hits to see if she could also “imbalance” herself into a heaven-defying genius!

Such a clumsy excuse was one that even Wangcai wouldn’t believe.

She instinctively retreated two steps. The soft peach petals beneath her feet made a strangely subtle sound, intensifying the chaos in her mind. Countless questions flooded to the surface.

“A hundred years ago, when the Demon Race was annihilated, why did you stand by? Why did you turn a blind eye?!”

“Why were you so coldly silent when Ning Qinggui was being refined?! Are you a coward… or are you simply born that cold and heartless!”

“Why were you able to so easily seal the Three-Path Meridian Flower? Was it to stop Xuan Yangming, or… did you have another goal?”

“How many secrets are you still hiding? What was your real purpose for infiltrating the Path to Immortality Sect?”

“Who are you!”

These questions, choked with bl00d and tears, were trapped in her throat, scorching her remaining reason. She wanted to scream, to accuse, to tear away the layer of hypocrisy on his face. Yet, when she looked up and met those calm, unwavering golden eyes, she felt all her strength drain away, leaving only endless despair and helplessness.

“Suyao.” Zhou Shenyuan spoke again, his voice still clear as clashing jade, gently breaking the suffocating silence. He set down the peach branch and the carving tool. His tone carried a deliberate slowness, as if every minimal movement cost him immense spiritual effort. “Your injuries are barely healed… It’s not good to stand in the wind for long. Go back and rest quickly.”

It was a dismissal.

So gentle, yet so absolute.

He slowly turned his body, no longer looking at her, leaving only an aloof and silent profile. Zhou Suyao stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. A chill rose from the soles of her feet. She knew staying any longer was pointless.

Eldest Senior Brother wouldn’t explain, not now, at least.

Those golden eyes were an invisible chasm, separating them, instantly severing the six years of sibling affection and trust they had shared.

She opened her mouth, but in the end, not a single word emerged.

Then, she spun around, almost staggering, and fled.

She dared not look back.

Behind her, Zhou Shenyuan slowly turned and watched her stumbling retreat for a long time.

His gaze was bottomless, complex, and unfathomable.

It seemed to pierce through the distance of space and the passage of time.

It wasn’t until much later that he slowly crouched down, picking up a damaged, oil-stained peach blossom with an almost clumsy movement.

The blossom had been trodden upon during Zhou Suyao’s frantic escape. Its petals were scattered and broken, its edges curled and stained with mud, its stamen crushed. It had completely lost its blooming elegance, left only with wretchedness and misery, lying quietly in his palm.

He stared at the flower for a long time again.

After a while, he slowly raised his hand, channeling spiritual power to restore the peach blossom to its pristine, undamaged state.

He then tucked the flower into his robe pocket.

Twilight deepened, the last trace of daylight vanished, and the peach grove fell into a hazy gloom.

He stood alone by the stone table, his figure appearing even more solitary in the darkness. He raised his hand, picking up the unfinished peach branch from the table, his movements tinged with an almost imperceptible tenderness.

But the tenderness came and went quickly.

He slowly lifted his head, looking up at the pale white moon in the sky, and let out a faint sigh.

“The time… is not yet right.”

The voice was so low it was like a dream, carrying an unspeakable heaviness of one who understands fate yet is tightly bound by it, and…

…a trace of undetectable exhaustion.