Chapter Sixty-Five: A Mixture of Force and Persuasion

Just as Old Lady Sun was about to turn and leave, a fierce shout rang out from the sky. “Well, well, Zhou Jianwei! What did I tell you before I left?”

Zhou Jianwei had only just looked up when he saw Zhou Yi and Wu Qian standing atop the ridge of his house.

Zhou Yi and Wu Qian had just taken flight when a wave of unease swept over them. Calculating the date, they realized it was already June thirtieth—the very day the child destined to bear Zhou Dajiang’s soul was to be born.

Without a moment to lose, Zhou Yi rushed three hundred miles through the air, carrying Wu Qian. Had he arrived any later, the child would have perished before ever entering the world.

Seeing that it was Zhou Yi, Zhou Jianwei immediately dropped to his knees. “Immortal, I beg you, have mercy! Please save my wife and child!”

Originally, Zhou Yi intended to rebuke him. But seeing Zhou Jianwei kneeling and admitting fault—albeit with the hope Zhou Yi would intervene—he remembered that, whatever the cause, Zhou Jianwei was not truly a bad man. His heart softened, and with Wu Qian, he descended into the courtyard.

“Wait here for me. I’ll be out soon,” Zhou Yi said tenderly, gazing at Wu Qian with deep affection.

Wu Qian simply nodded sweetly, saying nothing more.

Inside, Zhou Yi found Zhou Jianwei’s wife lying in bed, soaked in sweat, her complexion a deep purple. Had he not arrived in time, the midwife would have been powerless to save her.

“You all, leave this to me,” he instructed the maids upon entering.

Zhou Yi planned to use his spiritual energy to hasten the birth. With only the midwife present, it would be manageable, but with so many maids in the room, too many eyes would hinder him.

After the four maids had withdrawn, Zhou Yi approached the bedside. “Do as you must.”

The midwife cast him a strange look. “No medicine?”

Zhou Yi smiled faintly. “There’s no time to lose. Let’s begin.”

He placed his right palm atop the crown of Zhou Jianwei’s wife’s head, at the Baihui acupoint, and gently channeled a stream of pale violet spiritual energy into her body. Both she and the child were exceedingly weak; only this energy could rekindle life for mother and child.

The infant, trapped too long in the birth canal, was on the verge of suffocation. Zhou Yi quickly sent a strand of spiritual energy to shield the child’s consciousness, ensuring safety, and left a trace more within the baby’s body, allowing the child to be born.

Though merely a wisp, this innate energy would be of immense benefit to the child. If left after birth, it would be acquired energy; now, it was innate, and the difference in effect was vast, though only a moment had passed.

Moments later, a baby’s cry rang out—just a single wail, then silence. The newborn tried to open its eyes, but was foiled by the amniotic fluid.

With great effort, the infant wiped the fluid from its eyes and looked at Zhou Yi.

In those eyes, Zhou Yi glimpsed a trace of ancient sorrow, a flicker of joy, and a hint of resignation.

Their gazes met for only an instant before the baby closed its eyes and wailed anew.

Zhou Yi understood—this was the sign of two souls inhabiting one body, and he was not surprised. He turned and left the birthing room.

“It’s a boy. Mother and child are both safe. You must raise him well. If I find anything amiss when next I return, don’t blame me for being harsh,” Zhou Yi warned, his eyes stern.

Zhou Jianwei, still overwhelmed with joy, hurriedly knelt again. “Immortal, you are our family’s great benefactor. I would never defy your wishes. Besides, this child is my flesh and blood—he will inherit all I have.”

Zhou Yi nodded. “Get up.” Then, turning to Wu Qian, he said, “Let’s go home.”

Wu Qian was the very picture of a devoted wife and had no objections.

As they were about to depart, Zhou Jianwei hurriedly called out, “Immortal, please grant my son a name!”

Without turning, Zhou Yi replied, “Call him Zhou Danjiang.” In his past life, Zhou Dajiang had been called Wuxihaji; Danjiang would serve as his name in this life—it was not truly a renaming.

Zhou Jianwei knelt in thanks once more, but when he lifted his head, the pair had already vanished.

With that bow, Zhou Yi and Wu Qian had already left Dunhua.

“Are you an immortal?” Wu Qian tilted her head, curiosity shining in her eyes.

Zhou Yi only smiled, saying nothing, and walked on. The tensions of the past days had finally eased. A gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of earth and freshness, with his beloved at his side.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the fragrance of flowers and grass. When he opened them, Wu Qian’s beautiful, untainted face filled his vision, and he could not help but pull her into his arms.

“I still have things to do. Once it’s settled, I’ll marry you—don’t worry, I won’t keep you waiting long,” Zhou Yi whispered softly.

Wu Qian shifted slightly, finding a more comfortable position in his embrace.

Clouds weave their intricate patterns, stars send secret sorrows, the Silver River quietly crossed,
When golden wind and jade dew meet, it surpasses all the encounters in the mortal world.
Tenderness like water, dreams of a perfect union, how could one bear to leave the magpie bridge behind?
If love can last forever, why need we dwell on each dawn and dusk?

It was the immortal poem “Magpie Bridge Immortal” by Qin Guan of the Song Dynasty, gently recited from Wu Qian’s lips, her meaning already clear. Lovers need no excess words; a single true word outweighs a cartload of empty ones.

As they lingered in each other’s arms, a sense of foreboding stirred in Zhou Yi’s heart. He dared not ignore it—for Wu Qian had no martial skills to defend herself, and for him to sense it, trouble must be near.

“Hold on to me—I’ll take you home,” Zhou Yi said gently.

Wu Qian obeyed, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. Zhou Yi, sensing her secure hold, summoned spiritual energy beneath his feet and soared through the sky with her.

By the time they arrived home, it was noon. After sharing a meal, Zhou Yi escorted Wu Qian back to her own home, finally at ease. With Baozi and Muchen there, no major trouble could arise.

“Amitabha, this humble monk arrives uninvited. I beg Master Zhou’s pardon.” The visitor was Xuhua. Though he spoke from a hundred paces away, in the next instant he stood before Zhou Yi.

“To what do I owe the master’s visit?” Zhou Yi greeted him with a cupped fist, indicating he was not of the Daoist fold.

“I came for one reason: to ask where my junior brother is now.” Xuhua’s voice was calm and unhurried, soothing to the ear.

“Who is this junior brother you speak of, master? Why do you ask me?” Zhou Yi’s suspicions rose; he guessed this was related to Zhang Zuozheng, for among Buddhist monks, Zhang Zuozheng was the only one he’d ever offended.

“Zhang Zuozheng and I studied under the same master—we are fellow disciples.”

Zhou Yi thought to himself that his guess was right; old enemies had found him. Seeing that Xuhua had descended from the sky, he must be one who had transcended tribulation. There was nothing to be gained by entangling with him, and he still had to travel to the capital for the three keys. He had no time to waste.

“He returned to the capital a few days ago,” Zhou Yi lied, hoping to avoid trouble.

“Master Zhou, you have already transcended tribulation—why bother deceiving this humble monk? Hand over my junior brother’s body and come with me to Wutai Mountain to await the abbot’s judgment,” Xuhua said, lowering his brow.

Lies were useless; if Xuhua could find Zhou Yi, he surely knew Zhou Yi had killed Zhang Zuozheng.

Seeing that soft words were useless, Zhou Yi steeled himself. “What if I refuse to go with you to Wutai Mountain?” he demanded, eyes blazing.

“Then I must offend you,” said Xuhua.

These past days have been dismal—so few readers. If any kind souls are reading, please send a flower or two for encouragement. It’s tough being a newcomer.