Unseen Immortal of Three Hundred Years

Wu Xingxue: "Who asked you? Me?"

Feng Huiming moved his lips and didn’t answer, but his face said it all.

Wu Xingxue turned to look at Xiao Fuxuan, confusion flashing through his eyes.  

But he rapidly turned back. Upon looking at Feng Huiming again, his expression was steady as a mountain. His voice remained quite composed, his tone unhurried, not revealing any surprise. 

Even that "Me?" from just then seemed to contain some other deep meaning. 

Feng Huiming swallowed, keeping his voice down to say: "Why ask when you know."  

Facing him with this expression, he knew for sure that he wasn’t lying—someone had indeed sought after him not too long ago and asked the same question.  

Who looked exactly like the current him?

Wu Xingxue touched his own face, calculations zipping through his mind. 

Xiao Fuxuan’s taboo name had been reported, so his face change had of course already been removed, but Wu Xingxue was different. He was still wearing the face Xiao Fuxuan had helped adjust. For this face to look exactly the same, it meant that it was the same face change Wu Xingxue had used back then.  

This bit in itself wasn’t difficult to guess.  

But thinking more deeply, this thing was actually quite problematic—

When he’d just entered the inn last night, the innkeeper said they’d checked out not too long ago. This was fine—after all, all Falling Flower Terrace was an illusion realm, and they’d happened to see themselves from centuries ago in the illusion realm. That was also just fine, though perhaps rather coincidental.

But now, Feng Huiming had again said "you clearly just sought me out an hour ago." 

At first glance, these words were precisely the same as the innkeeper’s. It was just that after the Wu Xingxue of centuries before had left the inn, he hadn’t yet removed the face change upon making a trip to the Feng Sect to detain Feng Huiming and interrogate him about the forbidden ground. 

Yet right after this poor guy was done being interrogated, he was seized by the current Wu Xingxue and Xiao Fuxuan, which led him to say these words. Even the timing had matched up just right.  

However, due to time and tide matching up just right, things got even fishier. Because Falling Flower Mountain Market was an illusion realm, but the Feng Sect was not, it ought to have been outside the illusion realm’s scope. 

Could events that happened within the illusion realm remain coherent with events that happened outside the illusion realm? 

Of course not. 

Or at least, they couldn’t match up this naturally.

Wu Xingxue pondered it over, and could only think of a single explanation: This Falling Flower Mountain Market was not an illusion realm, it was the real past! From the moment they stepped foot in Falling Flower Terrace, they’d been standing in the spot that existed here centuries ago.

Coming at it like this, whether it was the innkeeper or the Feng Sect, all their reactions made sense. 

From the innkeeper’s point of view, there really were two people who’d just lodged here for a night, and then came to stay a second night.  

And from Feng Huiming’s point of view, the same person had sought after him twice in the same day, to ask him about the exact same stuff.  

It was indeed odd, indeed worthy of causing him a mental breakdown.

Were he to give Feng Huiming a little more time and allow him to ponder it more carefully or probe some more, he could discover some dubious points—for instance, although he was the same person, his clothes weren’t at all alike. And, the hour before, this person’s body would have still carried an immortal aura. An hour later, how could he have become a devil?

As it happened, the current Feng Huiming hadn’t the time to ponder carefully, and Wu Xingxue wouldn’t allow him this margin.  

He exchanged a glance with Xiao Fuxuan, and resolved to strike while the iron was hot, before Feng Huiming came back to himself. Stroking the handwarmer, eyes half-lidded, he began the performance— 

"As I’ve asked you once, of course, there’s no need for me to waste energy asking again. You know well what I want to hear. Well, now we’ve got a few more spectators—" Wu Xingxue raised his chin, “Whatever you told me an hour ago, bring it forth once more, say it for them to hear." 

"You!" Feng Huiming’s complexion got even more unsightly. His lower jaw was drawn extremely tight, almost trembling. Glaring vigilantly at Wu Xingxue, he said hoarsely: "I’ve said everything I ought to have said, why must I say it again?"  

Wu Xingxue thought it over, then followed his words to say: "And why must you concern yourself over my reasons? Before, did I promise you that I’d only ask once?" 

Feng Huiming was exasperated. After a while, he let out: "No."

Wu Xingxue: “Then what of it."

Feng Huiming: "…"

Then what of what???

Feng Huiming was just about to open his mouth to argue, but heard Xiao Fuxuan moving his fingers to the side, raising his longsword from the floor to issue out a light ringing.  

Face taut, he looked over at Xiao Fuxuan. Tianxiu cocked his head to look at him, continuing off in a lowered voice: "If it’s the truth, what harm is there in repeating it a few times?" 

Feng Huiming: "…"

Tianxiu’s ink-black eyes stared him down, gleaming with cold light: "Or is this to say that you are unable to repeat it?" 

Feng Huiming’s expression instantly froze. 

Wu Xingxue caught the change in his eyes, and raised a brow.  

He’d always thought that the dignified Tianxiu would have already found it degrading and overwhelmingly difficult to pretend to be a bully once. He didn’t expect that this person who looked so coldly handsome and upright would actually be so multifaceted—

Not only did he kidnap these people, but he’d also even learned to force a confession and even say such bluffing words.

To the point that Feng Huiming’s frontline defense was scattered by just one sentence. His lips opened and closed, fundamentally unable to answer.

Wu Xingxue thought it over, and suddenly felt that this Tianxiu Immortal at his side was leagues apart from what people said of him. 

This "leagues different" Tianxiu Immortal glared his eyes over at him, then withdrew his gaze. 

Wu Xingxue: "?"

He tried to understand the meaning of that glance, and just couldn’t decipher it. 

But after a while, a rather queer thought flashed across. 

It was like… it was the first time Master Tianxiu had done such an un-immortal-like thing, and he hadn’t quite calibrated the scale, so he peeped over at him to check whether or not he’d gotten it right.  

Working out this point, Wu Xingxue truly couldn’t help himself, and glanced back at Xiao Fuxuan.

That coldly handsome face was just as intensely piercing as before, the oppressive air about him just as overwhelming. But the more Wu Xingxue looked, the more he thought… it seemed it really was as he’d thought.  

So, after looking at him for a while, he smiled.  

The smile flowed out from his lengthened eyes. Wu Xingxue was unable to cover it, so he simply didn’t.

Xiao Fuxuan seemed to sense it somewhat, and looked over at him, momentarily at a loss.  

As for Feng Huiming…  

Feng Huiming was nearly driven insane.

People were ever as such; they liked to use themselves to measure others. Had they a straightforward nature, they’d see no such twists and turns in others. Were they the type to overthink, they’d see thousands of bends and swerves in others’ thinking, all lit up in calculation. 

Especially if they were hiding a little something, held a little guilt at heart, they’d be even more like this. 

Right now Feng Huiming was just like this— 

Wu Xingxue and Xiao Fuxuan exchanged a glance.  

Feng Huiming thought: I must have just said something wrong, which aroused suspicion. 

Wu Xingxue had him say it again. 

Feng Huiming thought: He’s captured my weak point and wants to test me.

Xiao Fuxuan said that he shouldn’t be afraid to repeat the truth. 

Feng Huiming thought: This isn’t even a test, it’s outright mockery. 

And now Wu Xingxue smiled like that…

Feng Huiming—

Feng Huiming felt like he knew what he should do now. 

He suddenly felt that he was just like a little ant being toyed with, batted to the left and right, back and forth. In some people’s eyes, he was no more than a futile struggle abounding with clownish disgrace.  

With all these Feng Sect junior disciples present, dozens of pairs of eyes were on him. And Feng Shulan was also present, watching him all the same. 

He suddenly felt that this moment was too hard to bear.  

He originally ought to have been accustomed to this sort of attention—His rank in the Feng Sect surpassed that of just ‘Elder.’ Feng Sect’s sect leader had no children at his knee; he and Feng Shulan had both been taken in and raised by the family head. He’d come to the Feng Sect early on, much earlier than Feng Shulan. When he’d entered the gates, he wasn’t even eight years old yet. 

The Sect Leader had once said: “Eight years old is just the right age." 

Just enough to understand a few things, yet just enough not to understand too much. 

At first, Feng Huiming couldn’t figure out what that statement meant. Later on, after ten years, fifty years, nearly a hundred years, he’d finally, slowly come to understand. 

Just understanding a few things meant that he knew he wasn’t really related to the Feng Sect by blood, and knew the Sect Leader wasn’t his real birth father. So, later on, no matter how proud he was of himself, no matter how much care he received, he’d still know his place, know that he couldn’t rely on being pampered, and knew that whatever he gained should not be taken for granted.

And not understanding too much meant, a child of that age would always long for stability, long for attention, long for a place to call home. Even if he knew he was adopted, so long as the person who raised him was good enough to him, he still couldn’t help but be willing to offer his heart for them. 

In comparison, Feng Shulan was more self-reliant than him. 

She’d similarly been adopted, and outsiders all said she was the Feng Sect’s "little darling," but she’d never taken herself for a "daughter," only a "disciple" with somewhat deeper connections.

She wasn’t originally all that friendly, and the older she got, the colder she became. She’d no intention of participating overly much in sect matters, just received the title of "Disciple Hall Adept" and peacefully taught swordsmanship to junior disciples. 

In comparison, he knew far more.  

Very long ago, he thought that "learning a great deal" was a matter of the Sect Leader’s partiality. It was because he was naturally quite gifted, with decent roots, an excellent sprout, far above this "little sister" Feng Shulan. So, very many things that couldn’t be spoken to outsiders, the Sect Leader would tell him. Very many places where disciples couldn’t follow, the Sect Leader would take him. 

Over time, he’d become second only in the Feng Sect to the Sect Leader himself.  

Later on, whenever the family head found it inconvenient to appear, he’d act as the one in charge.

And even later on, even if the Sect Leader was present, he wouldn’t lose his esteem. It was just like… the Sect Leader got older and older, while he was just at the right age, so he gradually gained the ability to take over for him. 

Hence, over a long time, he became accustomed to receiving people’s attention.  

It was quite rare that a situation rendered him incompetent. A vast majority of the time, he could respond with ease, that he was nearly steady as a boulder, calmly assured of his supremacy.

It wasn’t until today that he suddenly realized… Other sects’ disciples who were just at their prime were numerous, neither near nor far, and Hua Sect with its good relations with Feng Sect also had quite a few, but, lacked any disciples just at their prime who were worthy of being the Sect Leader.  

Because they still weren’t qualified.  

He thought he was qualified, but in fact, it was only because he hadn’t met enough people, and had insufficient encounters with situations. All in all, his sword work was outstanding—but only in the mortal realm. 

Were he to come across a true immortal, he was nothing. 

An hour or so ago when that strange young man had soundlessly appeared in the library, Feng Huiming gripped the sword on his desk and thought: this person is indeed ignorant and cowardice. 

Without asking any questions, quick as lightning, he unleashed his sword. He saw that the other hadn’t even touched his sword, and thought: He dares to come into the Feng Sect’s treasured library with that slow of a reaction?

It wasn’t until he thrust his sword close that he finally realized something was off—

Because he found that the young man with the appearance of a wealthy young master had his eyes lowered, just looking at the tip of his sword.  

To relate it in words, the so-called lightning chop was not actually quick enough in that person’s eyes; he could even tell the trajectory of the sword tip.  

But Feng Huiming realized this a little too late.  

The next moment, he saw that young master’s brows and eyes slightly raising, meeting his line of sight.

In that instant, he felt that his sword tip was unable to pierce into any flesh, but rather seemed to have been swept up within a vast swirl, unable to enter and unable to retreat.  

Immediately afterward, a mighty, ocean-like pressure flooded out from that young master’s body.  

The hand Feng Huiming used to grasp his sword suddenly shook. Trailing veins distended from his fingers and rapidly spread out. 

Amidst the acute pain, he loosened his fingers and let out an anguished, muffled groan. His longsword clattered down and rolled in an arc around the floor. 

Deep red blood flowed down along his arm and dripped into a puddle on the floor.  

He distinctly felt his arm’s blood vessels rupturing in several places. At the same time, he distinctly understood that the other party was being lenient from start to finish…  

Because under the battering force of that mighty pressure, it was hard to say whether he’d still be alive. Just receiving this little injury was already exceptionally fortunate.  

That moment, Feng Huiming felt true fear.

Anyone who’d spent nearly a hundred years as heaven’s chosen son with few worthy opponents, upon one day realizing he’d turned out to just be an insect underfoot, would be incapable of bearing that blow.  

Not far from the library were quite a few disciples on their daily patrol. A little further out was his ‘little sister’ Feng Shulan.

As long as he wanted, he could immediately summon thousands of people to here immediately

But at the time, Feng Huiming alone didn’t raise the alarm.

For one, he figured it wouldn’t make a difference. For two… he’d long been looked up at, and didn’t want anyone to see him being unable to even hold onto his sword. 

Paralyzed, he just looked at the guest, and asked him: "Who are you…" 

But that person said: "Who I am is none of your concern. I’ve merely come to ask you a few questions.”

Feng Huiming replied: "…What questions?"

From start to finish, that person’s sword hadn’t moved from his waist. In his hand, he carried a mask engraved with threads of silver which scintillated fine as riven sparks under lamplight. Holding the mask’s edge between thumb and forefinger, he cocked his head to ask Feng Huiming: "Of the thousands of spirits in Falling Flower Mountain Market being bound, are you aware?" 

Feng Huiming froze at once, cold sweat dripping down.

Before he could reply, that person nodded his head to say: "Looks like you know. So I haven’t come to the wrong place."  

Feng Huiming opened his mouth: "I…" 

That person didn’t wait for him to finish before saying: "I’ll also ask you, those bound spirits were confined on forbidden ground, are you aware?"  

Feng Huiming’s throat stirred. 

That person’s pitch-black eyes stared him down. After a beat, he smiled. 

Feng Huiming suspected that person had changed his face, because although his facial features were pretty, they weren’t particularly outstanding. They didn’t match up with those eyes. 

As that smile melted into his eyes, it ought to have been quite good-looking. But, not reaching the tails of his eyes, the smile was not at all sincere, like an impenetrable fog.  

"Looks like you also know," that person said again.  

Feng Huiming’s mind swiftly turned, thinking on this person’s history, thinking on his purpose, thinking on… the longstanding cover-up in Falling Flower Mountain Market.

But the other party didn’t give him too much time to reflect. 

In just a single flash of his mind, that person was already standing before him.

This time, the mighty pressure overhead left him with no such "exceptional fortune.” The person said: "Those people in the Falling Flower  Mountain Market… Those thousands of the bound, were they assembled by your Feng Sect?"  

By the time Feng Huiming came back to himself, he discovered that he’d actually just subconsciously nodded his head and replied: "Yes…"