Chapter 172: Shizun Doesn’t Eat Children

The gales of the gun had stirred spread apocalyptic fire over most of

 Linyi. The cultivators who had come for the wedding fled on their swords

 in every direction, the merciless flames nipping at their heels. Any

 cultivator who depleted their spiritual energy lost the race and met their end

 swallowed by the inferno.

 The escaping cultivators overflew many of the villages clustered

 around Rufeng's lofty cities. These commoners from the upper cultivation

 realm were struck with horror when they saw the great fire slowly

 approaching from the direction of Rufeng Sect. The panicking families

 picked up to flee—but what means did they have to escape this

 conflagration bearing down like a flow of lava?

 "Dad!"

 "Daddy—Daddy!"

 The cries and shouts of the villagers rose as they passed over. Xue

 Zhengyong and the others expanded their weapons to their maximum sizes,

 and each pulled aboard a full load of commoners.

 Madam Wang murmured a continuous stream of comforting words.

 "Don't cry, all of you, don't cry. Slide on over and sit in the middle. Be

 careful, hold on tight to each other, don't fall…"

 But the iron fan couldn't be expanded any further, and there were too

 many in the villages who couldn't be saved. Kneeling at the front, Xue

 Zhengyong leaned over to grab another wailing child. But as he tried to pull

them up, the iron fan shuddered violently, unable to bear the additional

 weight. He had no choice but to let go and watch helplessly as that

 tearstained, hopeful face was swiftly flung far behind.

 Xue Zhengyong was a man of steely resolve, but he couldn't help

 howling in grief. "Why? Why? Because one man was treated unfairly, he

 must drag all these innocents to the grave?" He wept, tears rolling down his

 frank face. "As if this world isn't already enough of a mess? As if there

 aren't enough people who die in vain…?"

 Madam Wang's eyes were also reddened. She cradled a rescued child

 in each arm. Both children's parents had pushed them onto the iron fan but

 had been consumed by the flames before they themselves could climb to

 safety. The children sobbed in Madam Wang's embrace as she patted their

 small heads. What comfort could she offer them? She knew not what to say.

 She looked behind her. Out of the ten or so cultivators who had been

 following them, several had disappeared, having succumbed to the fires.

 Others had set out in a different direction altogether, like Chu Wanning and

 Mo Ran. She silently prayed for their safety, her eyes filled with tears.

 Not far away, Jiang Xi carried the still-unconscious Xue Meng, the

 fire's glow playing over his graceful features. His beautiful sword was ill

suited to carrying a heavy load and buzzed incessantly beneath his feet.

 Jiang Xi glared at Xue Meng disdainfully. He'd been tempted to throw this

 brat off into the flames several times, but when he saw Madam Wang's

 imploring expression from the iron fan, he gloomily pursed his lips and held

 him steady.

Xue Zhengyong was weeping as he tried to pull a younger and lighter

 child onto the fan. But however dearly he wished for it, his weapon had

 nothing left to give. He once again let go of a hand he'd grabbed, on the

 verge of breaking down. Still kneeling, he curled in on himself, the

 inadequacy of his own strength tearing him apart…

 At that precise moment, a rosy light flashed. Jiang Xi waved his

 hand, radiance shining from his sleeve, and lifted the girl Xue Zhengyong

 couldn't pick up onto his own sword.

 The buzzing sound from the resplendent Xuehuang grew even louder.

 Short-tempered, Jiang Xi stomped on the blade and snapped, "What're you

 complaining for? If you've got the balls, you can stop here and wait for the

 fire to burn you up."

 Sure enough, Xuehuang went silent. It sailed ahead with Jiang Xi and

 the other two passengers without another peep, though the slender sword

 really did look like it might break under the strain at any moment.

 Jiang Xi drew near to Xue Zhengyong and shot him a contemptuous

 glare. "What's a grown man like you crying about?" he said sharply. "If you

 can save them, then do it. If you can't, then don't. Why make a scene?"

 "Shidi…" murmured Madam Wang.

 "Am I wrong?" Jiang Xi sneered. Although he was handsome, the

 malicious curve of his mouth made him look terribly cold. "If you'd stayed

 at Guyueye instead of leaving with him, how would you be so feeble now—

 you can't even ride your own sword. If you weren't sitting on that fan, your

 heroic savior of a husband would be able to rescue someone else."

 Madam Wang seemed stung by these words. She lowered her face

 and slowly closed her eyes in silence.

Far in the opposite direction, Mo Ran had also expanded his sword to

 an enormous size. In addition to Chu Wanning, it now carried a full load of

 commoners from the upper cultivation realm.

 The refugees shivered and sniffled, watching blankly as their homes

 were swallowed by the sea of fire and burned to the ground. They closed

 their eyes and broke down in mournful sobs, their tears reflecting the

 flames.

 Mo Ran remained silent in this grave atmosphere. Unlike Xue

 Zhengyong, he hadn't sought out pointless struggles. He knew he couldn't

 carry any more, so he no longer looked down at the wailing, screaming

 villagers rushing by beneath him. His brow furrowed slightly. "The coast is

 up ahead. Shizun, where should we go?"

 "Can you make it to Flying Flower Isle?"

 Flying Flower Isle was the island closest to Linyi in the upper

 cultivation realm. Mo Ran nodded. "I'll make it. But I'm not too familiar

 with the East Sea, so I'll need to focus on navigating. Shizun, keep an eye

 on everyone and make sure they stay awake. It's crowded up here; if

 someone falls asleep, they might slip overboard."

 "Okay," Chu Wanning agreed.

 Mo Ran pressed ahead for more than two hours. As dawn glimmered

 pale on the horizon and the sun emerged in the east, they broke through the

 clouds and saw a modest ring-shaped island surrounded by sparkling, jade

green waters.

 At last, they'd arrived at Flying Flower Isle.

Although this island fell under the aegis of Rufeng Sect, it was

 remote and sparsely populated. Most of the residents were independent

 fishermen who lived off the sea, and there was only one family of any

 wealth. The islanders had anxiously spotted the huge fire engulfing Rufeng

 Sect as a bloody glow on the horizon across the raging surf. No one knew

 what had happened; many watched from their doorsteps, too afraid to sleep

 for fear that flames would soon blanket their own skies.

 By daybreak, that strange phenomenon hadn't reached their island—

 instead, a vast dark sword carrying a crowd of people touched down on a

 shoal. At its helm was a tall and dashing young man, his cheeks stained

 with streaks of dried blood as if he had endured a fierce battle.

 Flying Flower Isle had no cultivators, and its leaders were all

 ordinary people. Everyone was frightened by the sight—they didn't know if

 this man was friend or foe, or why he had come.

 "Aiya, why are their faces all sooty…" one of the villagers muttered,

 peering at the assorted crowd behind Mo Ran. "Must've come out of that

 big fire… Did they fly here from Linyi?"

 A broad-shouldered fisherman gathered his courage and approached

 the strangers. "Are… Are you all from Rufeng Sect?"

 "Sisheng Peak." Mo Ran passed the child in his arms to

 Chu Wanning. The toddler was too young to stay awake through the night,

 so Mo Ran had carried him in his arms the whole way to ensure he

 wouldn't be crowded off the sword. "There was some trouble at Rufeng

 Sect, and these…are all residents of Linyi. The apocalyptic fire was too

 powerful, and the sword could only carry so many—I couldn't save many

 of them, I…"

Mo Ran had babbled out half this explanation before he looked up

 and saw the fisherman's bewildered expression. He realized he was

 speaking too quickly. How would the residents of Flying Flower Isle know

 anything about apocalyptic fire or the limitations of sword-riding

 techniques? He pressed his lips together, then said gently, "I'm sorry, I'll

 explain the details later." He turned toward the exhausted, defeated crowd

 behind him. "Could you first get them some food and water?"

 One of the orphaned children had come close, helpless with panic. He

 slowly nudged Mo Ran's leg and reached up, tugging on the corner of his

 robe with a tiny hand. Mo Ran looked down and patted him on the head.

 "I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience," he said to the fisherman.

 Most of the islanders were kindhearted, and tea and food were

 quickly brought over. Mo Ran briefly summarized the story. They gaped in

 astonishment, staring blankly at the unbroken line of firelight on the

 horizon.

 "Rufeng Sect…burned down?" someone said incredulously.

 "Nangong-zhangmen is dead?"

 "He isn't dead—he was given a lingchi fruit and taken away," said

 Mo Ran.

 "What's a lingchi fruit?"

 "That's a…"

 Chu Wanning watched from the sidelines as Mo Ran patiently

 explained to the fishermen. He didn't step forward himself. He was

 perfectly aware that he looked uncaring by nature, his features chilled as if

 by frost. It would be far better to leave Mo Ran to handle the locals.

The child he held had begun to stir. On waking to find himself in the

 arms of this cold-looking stranger, he started and began to wail. Gone was

 all the docility he'd shown in Mo Ran's arms.

 Chu Wanning glanced over at Mo Ran. He was still engrossed in

 conversation with the locals, leaving Chu Wanning to fend for himself. Out

 of habit, he put on a stern expression and told the child, "Don't cry."

 The child's wails rose in pitch. "Daddy, Mommy…" he cried over

 and over. "I want my daddy; I want my mommy."

 "Don't cry." Chu Wanning stiffly tried to comfort him. "You—don't

 cry."

 "Wahhh! Mommy… Mommy…"

 With one hand occupied holding the child, Chu Wanning lifted his

 other to pat him on the head. The child jerked back, avoiding his touch. His

 face was bright red, covered in tears and snot as he wailed, "I want my

 mommy, I want my daddy. I wanna go home…"

 Chu Wanning was at his wits' end. He had never been in a position to

 comfort a child before and had no clue what to say. He racked his brain for

 ways to soothe the boy. But as he sank into thought, a crease formed

 between his brows, giving him the air of a sword forged of steel, dark and

 cold as ice. The miserably howling child happened to glimpse Chu

 Wanning's expression as he kicked and struggled. So terrifying was the

 sight that he instantly choked on his sobs, unable to make another sound.

 He bit his lip, great, round tears rolling from his eyes like a broken string of

 pearls.

 Suddenly, Chu Wanning remembered something. He untied his

 qiankun pouch with his free hand and pulled out a sticky rice candy. After

peeling off the paper wrapper, he handed it to the child.

 The child hiccupped. Eyes swimming with tears, he looked silently at

 Chu Wanning, then at the candy in his hand. Like most children, his mother

 had raised him on folktales. No few featured scary cultivators who snatched

 away disobedient children to feed them sleeping potions before refining

 them into pills of immortality. The child silently held back his tears and

 stared at Chu Wanning in terror.

 Chu Wanning stared blankly back, still holding up the sticky rice

 candy. He didn't get it. His phoenix eyes were slightly upturned, their ends

 long and slender. Such eyes were beautiful, but they appeared haughty and

 calculating when he wasn't smiling. Even with a slight smile, his eyes

 imparted the wildness of a thorny rose, prickly and arrogant. But most

 wouldn't appreciate such arrogance. Chu Wanning's face was handsome,

 but strangers naturally didn't find it likable, and especially not strange

 children.

 "Eat this." Chu Wanning had watched Mo Ran produce candy to

 pacify several children while they were on the sword. He was only

 following his example—he had no idea why this candy was unacceptable.

 The child pressed his lips closed. He hesitated, trembling, then slowly

 shook his head. He didn't want to be refined into immortality pills…

 "Don't you…" Before Chu Wanning could say more, the child broke

 down sobbing in fright, his cries so heartrending that everyone around them

 looked over. Chu Wanning hadn't time to react. Still holding up the sticky

 rice candy, he murmured, "…like sweets?"

 Between the sounds of his own sobs, the child misheard Chu

 Wanning's tentative question as Don't you look sweet? In his little brain, he

had come to the definitive conclusion that this cultivator wanted to refine

 him into pills—into very sweet pills of immortality, no less. He was so

 panicked he began bawling hysterically at the top of his lungs.

 Chu Wanning stood stiff as a board.