Chapter 17: The One I Chose... Is You

Lu Fan gazed at the somewhat desolate middle-aged man, his brows arching ever so slightly. That familiar aura began to overlap with the hazy, spiritual figure he had seen in the preaching altar. Nie Changqing... So, it was him after all.

Ning Zhao stepped protectively in front of Lu Fan, her stunning face marked by a trace of solemnity. This disheveled butcher somehow instilled in her a sense of impending danger. A grandmaster? Yet something felt amiss—the man's blood and energy seemed overly stagnant. To think that within Beiluo City, there existed such a figure!

Yi Yue's delicate hand was already resting on the whip at her waist, her entire body taut. She was not as strong as Ning Zhao, and so her sense of unease was even more acute. The moment this weathered butcher glared, every pore on her body constricted, and even her blood flow felt like it had seized.

As for Ni Yu... she looked utterly defeated, slumped beside Lu Fan's wheelchair, eyes dim and lifeless. A few wrong turns had earned her consecutive punishments—no meals. She wanted nothing more than to slap herself. Why had she insisted on taking the lead when they passed that butcher shop?

Now she faced days without food. She feared she might starve. Young Master just praised my appetite as a blessing, and now he's ready to starve me to death... The Young Master truly was becoming crueler by the day.

Nie Changqing looked at Lu Fan, cradling the large-headed boy in his arms. Suspicion flickered in his eyes, the young man's words leaving him momentarily stunned. Though seated in a wheelchair, every word the boy uttered, though proud and arrogant, carried an air of calm inevitability.

"You're not someone sent by Daoist Sect?" Nie Changqing's raspy voice lingered through the marketplace.

"The Young Master is the heir of Beiluo City, with no ties to Daoist Sect," Ning Zhao replied.

Lu Fan sat in his wheelchair, a faint smile on his lips. One hand propped up his chin, the other tapping lightly atop the woolen blanket that covered his knees. He didn't look at Nie Changqing, but rather, let his gaze fall upon the large-headed child in the man's arms.

The boy's eyes were astonishingly clear—like a sky washed clean by rain, untainted by even a speck of dust. The moment their gazes met, even the self-proclaimed pure-hearted Lu Fan couldn't help but blush.

Perhaps Lu Fan's gaze was too intense. The boy shrank back timidly into Nie Changqing's arms.

"So, you're the Young Master of Beiluo. May I ask what business brings you to my humble shop?" Learning Lu Fan's identity, Nie Changqing's tension eased slightly. Still, he remained vigilant. After all, how could Lu Fan know he was an exiled disciple of Daoist Sect? He had hidden in Beiluo City for five years, changing even his name to Nie Rourong to protect Nie Shuang. No one should've known his whereabouts.

Yet Lu Fan had found him.

Thus, Nie Changqing couldn't be sure if this youth truly had no ties to Daoist Sect.

"What is his name?" Lu Fan asked with a faint smile, pointing at the boy.

Nie Changqing stiffened. He tightened his embrace around the child, pressing the boy's head into his chest, which reeked faintly of butchered meat.

"Young Master Lu, my son's name is not one you need concern yourself with," Nie said flatly, clearly rejecting the inquiry.

Lu Fan's smile slowly faded. His gaze turned serious.

"In this world, we are often at the mercy of fate. Do you truly think that concealing your identity guarantees you peace?"

"If not for yourself, then at least consider your son," Lu Fan said softly. "Will you let him inherit your cleaver, and live out a mundane life drenched in the stench of blood?"

Nie Changqing froze, surprised that Lu Fan would say such a thing. Yet he did not argue. He fell silent, gently patting Nie Shuang's head, a sorrowful look surfacing.

"To be a simple butcher... is that so wrong?"

"As parents, is it not enough to wish our children a life of safety and peace?" he murmured bitterly.

Lu Fan narrowed his eyes. Ignoring Nie Changqing, he looked toward the boy instead.

"Little one, tell me honestly—do you want to become a butcher?" he asked with a smile.

Nie Shuang turned his head and looked up at Lu Fan, his large eyes brimming with life and spirit. "No... I don't."

"Shuang'er…" Nie Changqing muttered in surprise.

The boy raised his head defiantly, his expression earnest. "Because Father doesn't like being a butcher. If Father dislikes it, then so do I."

The conviction in his voice made Nie Changqing's heart clench.

Lu Fan smoothed the blanket over his lap. "He's pure gold, yet you insist on covering him in dust."

"What you're doing... is a crime, do you understand?" he said softly.

Ning Zhao and Yi Yue were left speechless. Their Young Master, worthy of the Grand Preceptor's admiration, truly wielded words like jewels—every sentence profound and striking.

Even the previously dejected Ni Yu suddenly lit up.

"Ni Yu is also pure gold, and the Young Master insists on letting her gather dust—this is... this is a crime!"

Her flushed cheeks beamed with passion.

Lu Fan's mouth twitched. He glanced sideways at her. "Shut up. Speak again and I'll beat you."

Ni Yu shivered, quickly covering her mouth. Her Young Master's cold indifference was like an arrow through her heart. Tears welled in her eyes—she clutched her chest, stomping in frustration, sobbing uncontrollably.

Nie Changqing remained silent.

Only after a long pause did he rasp out, "So... Young Master Lu, is it my son you've taken an interest in? You wish to cultivate him?"

The large-headed boy stared at Lu Fan, eyes gleaming. He longed for the outside world. He yearned to soar like an eagle and grow strong enough to seek out his mother.

Lu Fan, seated in his wheelchair, appraised the boy with a glimmer of admiration. Then, slowly, he replied—

"No... it is you whom I have chosen."

The air froze.

The boy's bright eyes suddenly went blank. A sense of utter confusion washed over him. In that moment, he completely understood the despair of Lu Fan's miserable little maid.

Even Nie Changqing was stunned, unable to process what he'd just heard. A moment later, his face twitched.

"Young Master Lu... I... I already have someone in my heart. I must apologize."

Lu Fan: "???"

"This humble shop is closing early today... forgive me," Nie said. He then moved swiftly, pulling down the strings of hanging pork, tossing them into a bamboo basket, shouldered it, slipped on his straw sandals, and hurried off down the alley with the large-headed boy in tow.

Ning Zhao hesitated, watching their retreating figures. Her expression turned odd.

"Should I seize him, Young Master?"

Lu Fan leaned back in his wheelchair, stroking his fair chin, lips curled slightly.

"No rush. In time... he will understand my sincerity."

…

Rumble.

The weather changed in an instant.

Dark clouds surged from the horizon, casting a heavy, oppressive gloom. Raindrops began to fall, steady and cold, splashing against the earth and mixing with the rising heat of the soil.

Nie Changqing fastened a straw hat on Nie Shuang's head. Rain pattered against it like a drumbeat. Wiping his face, he hoisted the pork-laden basket and led Nie Shuang down the rain-soaked alley, their feet slapping against the waterlogged flagstones as they headed toward the dilapidated house at the end of the lane.

Suddenly, Nie Changqing froze.

The rain intensified, thunder cracking overhead. The misty curtain of rain blurred the world into a surreal haze.

At the far end of the alley, before the ramshackle hut, stood three figures clad in rain cloaks and straw hats. The rain veiled their forms in shadows.

"Shuang'er," Nie Changqing called, face devoid of emotion. He squeezed the boy's cold little hand tightly.

"When I say run, you turn and run. Don't look back. Do you understand?"

Nie Shuang, ever sharp, pressed his pale lips together and nodded.

BOOM!

A thunderclap split the sky.

Nie Changqing's voice…