83章 前塵「2」 - Crazy! Criticizing the Prime Minister for Being a Servant

Chapter 83: Past Mist "Part 2" After leaving the Sword Forging Pool, Ran Fan Yin returned directly to Rongku Pavilion. She cleaned herself up, rested briefly, and then hurried off to the headmaster's main hall. Hong Sheng Cen was in discussion with a few of the sect's core elders about sect affairs. Since their last meeting, Hong Sheng Cen's already aged face had grown even thinner, with an unhealthy pallor around his cheekbones and darkened lips that suggested he had been poisoned severely. Upon seeing Ran Fan Yin, Hong Sheng Cen said, "You’re back. Come, have a seat." After briefly conversing with the elders, Hong Sheng Cen dismissed them. Once the main hall doors closed, he began to cough softly, as though suppressing it for a long time, his body quivering slightly with each cough, his hand covering his mouth. Ran Fan Yin watched, her heart aching. Hong Sheng Cen was not just her master but like a father to her. She had been with him since childhood, learning to write and practice swordsmanship under his guidance. His genuine concern and patient teachings had echoed in her ears for years. Like Cheng Yun Huan and Jiang Yue, Hong Sheng Cen was her fellow sect brother and family. Now that he was afflicted with a potent poison, while it might not be immediately life-threatening, he might still pass away in three months. The master she always regarded as invincible, almost divine, was now showing signs of illness. Seeing this pained her, as his disciple. "Master, Brother Jiang Yue... has gone down the mountain," Ran Fan Yin’s throat felt dry as she spoke. "To where?" "The East Sea." Hong Sheng Cen nodded knowingly. "I’m aware. He couldn’t rest easy. Jiang Yue, although polite and obedient usually, becomes incredibly stubborn when it comes to things he holds dear." "Master, how is your health truly?" Ran Fan Yin couldn't help but ask. "Don’t worry, I won’t die just yet. With so many entanglements in Beifa, someone managed to strike me even while I sat in the headmaster’s hall. One can only imagine the risks our disciples face outside. Even if I were to die, I can't abandon Beifa as it is now." Ran Fan Yin felt as though something was stuck in her chest, making it hard to breathe. "But my body has indeed weakened considerably. I need to spend time each day dealing with the poison. With Cheng Yun Huan not here, sect affairs might be difficult to manage fully. Would you be willing to assist me?" Ran Fan Yin quickly agreed. "Of course." Hong Sheng Cen smiled faintly. "You are a good child. I knew you would agree. I have already instructed them. Some of Beifa's powers will transfer into your hands, and you might not find leisure." "Master, your words are too heavy. I will certainly do my best." "...I can see your face is pale and your energy depleted. You should be recuperating, but circumstances... alas, it’s pointless to say more. You must take care of your health. I will instruct them to send matters directly to Rongku Pavilion, so you needn’t keep running to the main hall." "Yes." After a few more words of advice, Hong Sheng Cen, looking increasingly fatigued, excused Ran Fan Yin and closed his eyes in meditation. Leaving the headmaster’s hall, Ran Fan Yin walked along the path, feeling as if her temples were about to explode, her eyes dry, burning, and sore. She was suddenly dizzy and bent over, coughing up a mouthful of dark blood. The bright red blood was stark against the white snow, startlingly bright. She knew her body well. Better than anyone. The residual poison from the magma wouldn’t kill her but continually tormented her already exhausted spirit, seeping into her weakened body—a condition that had built over a long time, not something that could heal in a day or be cured by a single pill. The sky began to snow lightly. She hadn’t brought an umbrella, and the fine snowflakes settled into Ran Fan Yin’s dark hair. She looked ahead. Initially intending to return to Rongku Pavilion, an unbidden thought moved her to change direction toward Hongfei Pavilion. The journey was long, and snow accumulated on her shoulders and hair. Upon reaching Hongfei Pavilion, a disciple greeted her with a “Master” and offered his umbrella. Ran Fan Yin didn’t take it, her expression unusually distant. She moved to the disciple’s quarters. Reaching Ning Song Wu’s room, Ran Fan Yin raised her hand to push the door, but hesitated, her hand suspended mid-air. After a long pause, she retracted her hand, her eyes reflecting some desolation as they stared blankly at the closed wooden door, watching it for a long time. The cold outside was intense, her sensitive ears reddened by the chill, and her fur robe had collected a new layer of snow. Long after even until night had fallen, she remained silent, neither sighing nor speaking, quietly turning to leave. She stood there for so long without touching the door. Ran Fan Yin’s light footprints in the snow vanished quickly under the heavy fall. Outside the quarters, everything looked as it had before her arrival, as if the extraordinary woman in white had never been there. Everything returned to calm. The days heal quickly; each day dawns with brightness, meals, and medicine, then night falls with sleep—no classes at dawn, no late-night sword training. It was too peaceful, so peaceful it was unsettling. Ning Song Wu spent her days lost in thought—sometimes staring at the ceiling, other times holding a medicine bowl idle for long periods, unable to recall what occupied her mind. Perhaps too much rest had dulled her mind. Cen Ran had her own matters to attend to, unable to remain at Ning Song Wu’s bedside all the time. Ning Song Wu turned her head slightly, seeing He Lan Mian Mian writing at her desk. After her health improved, He Lan Mian Mian moved back in. Ning Song Wu suddenly spoke. "He Lan Mian Mian." He Lan Mian Mian immediately looked up, smiling slightly. "Yes, Ning Song Wu? Are you thirsty?" "No." Ning Song Wu paused, then asked, "What time is it now?" "Rooster hour, it's already dark." "Oh..." Ning Song Wu fell silent. After a long pause, she spoke again, "How long since that day...?" He Lan Mian Mian didn’t understand, confused. "Which day?" "…The day Master returned." He Lan Mian Mian made an "oh" sound, carefully counting. "Including today, it’s been nine days." "Nine days… Hmm… Is Master busy?" "You still remember Master. Seeing you so leisurely each day, I thought you didn’t care if she didn’t come see you," He Lan Mian Mian chuckled lightly. "Master has been in Rongku Pavilion, quite busy. I don’t know with what." "Master… busy…" Ning Song Wu murmured softly, staring blankly. He Lan Mian Mian continued, "Yes, Sister Cen Ran mentioned to me that Master often stays up late, and that Rongku Pavilion has many affairs. Even when slightly free, Master heads to the Sword Forging Pool." Ning Song Wu listened in silence. "Sister Cen Ran also said Master has been coughing these days, looking worse and worse. A few days ago, Sister Cen Ran saw her cough up blood..." "What? Blood?" Ning Song Wu jolted upright, a look of shock on her face. "Yes, to see you, Master covered a seven-day journey in just three days, using light technique all the way without even riding a horse. She hadn’t rested when Senior Brother Jiang Yue left the mountain, leaving a pile of affairs moving to Rongku Pavilion. Gosh, you ungrateful disciple, you nearly forgot Master." Ning Song Wu’s mind buzzed, not comprehending He Lan Mian Mian's words. Master wasn’t only suffering from hand injuries but also a severe internal wound! Master couldn’t rest properly, and she even coughed up blood, while Ning Song Wu lay comfortably asleep?! Throwing aside her covers, Ning Song Wu sprang to her feet, her body wracked with pain. She didn’t care, grabbing a fox coat and stumbling out. He Lan Mian Mian tried to stop her but failed, exasperatedly stomping her foot. "Hey! What are you doing? It’s dark, and you're going out like this? Where are you going?" Ning Song Wu couldn’t hear He Lan Mian Mian. Her only thought was to see Master, immediately, not to shy away again. She longed for Master's presence more than anyone! Running hastily, Ning Song Wu fell several times in the snow, reopening wounds, bleeding through bandages, yet she paid no mind. Snow soaked her clothing, chilling her as it melded with the warmth of her body, slipping into her collar, making her shiver uncontrollably. Her back was searing with pain, sweat from excitement seeping into her torn wounds, making her want to dig out her back entirely. Dazed, nearly unconscious, her body driven by memory of Beifa's paths, she sprinted towards Rongku Pavilion. A night guard of Rongku Pavilion, spotting her staggering form, snapped awake from drowsiness, rushing to meet her— Ning Song Wu gripped the guard’s arm, her forehead drenched in sweat, muttering, "Master... Master..." "Master is inside, she hasn't slept yet. I'll take you to her." The guard, not daring to delay, assisted Ning Song Wu toward Ran Fan Yin’s hall. It was late now, and Ran Fan Yin was busy at her desk with sect matters. The candlelight created faint shadows on the paper as she paused, sipping tea from a cup nearby. Suddenly, an uproar sounded outside the door, which swung open unexpectedly, and a familiar small figure stumbled in, nearly tripping over the threshold. Ran Fan Yin hastily discarded her tea, causing the liquid to splash onto her hands, but her only concern was to rush forward and steady Ning Song Wu in her embrace. Ning Song Wu's eyes were as red as a small rabbit's, her hands tightly gripping Ran Fan Yin's robe at her waist. She was gasping for air, clearly still recovering from her fierce sprint. Instinctively, Ran Fan Yin soothed her by gently rubbing her back, her voice soft, "What brings you here? Are your injuries healed? Are you still angry with me?" Ning Song Wu could spare no breath to answer as she focused on catching her breath. She nestled her face into Ran Fan Yin's shoulder, wiping her sweat-dampened forehead against the fabric. Ran Fan Yin noticed something sticky on Ning Song Wu's back. Glancing at her palm, she discovered it was smeared with blood. Frowning, she asked, "Your wound has reopened. Why didn’t you tell me? Come, let’s get that treated." As Ran Fan Yin moved to gather medicine and bandages, Ning Song Wu sensed her departure and quickly clasped her arms around Ran Fan Yin's neck, drawing her face close. She didn’t want to communicate; she didn’t want to utter a word. This divine, serene visage was right before her, just two inches from her nose. She wanted to kiss her. The affection she felt was overwhelming; she adored her profoundly, hence the urge to kiss her. If she wanted to, why shouldn’t she? Ning Song Wu, on tiptoe, tremulously touched her lips to Ran Fan Yin's forehead. Ran Fan Yin remained in her bent-over state to accommodate Ning Song Wu's height, momentarily stunned, unable to react. Ning Song Wu's actions became more frenzied, her hands holding Ran Fan Yin’s flawless face, placing kisses as gently as falling snowflakes on her eyebrows, eyes, nose bridge, and cheeks. Ultimately, she lost track of where she was kissing, fully absorbed in drawing closer to Ran Fan Yin, her beloved master. She adored her beyond words. Suddenly, her lips brushed against an exceptionally soft spot, a sensation so delightful it felt like tasting a piece of the season's first snow—cool and sweet. Ran Fan Yin snapped back to reality, pulling the mischievous Ning Song Wu away with a look of astonishment, her fingers touching her unexpected lips. Ning Song Wu continued to breathe heavily, her gaze fixed intently on Ran Fan Yin.