Chapter 78

After several days of bed rest, Su Ran rose and began moving about freely. To his satisfaction, he could already feel the steady flow of internal energy coursing through his body—the very strength he had lost before. Just as Mu Miefeng had predicted, everything had returned after the child's birth. The sheer depth of his restored power thrilled him, reigniting his eagerness to plunge back into the turbulent world beyond this stifling village. Yet, at the monk's insistence, he grudgingly delayed their departure for over half a month.

As for Roudan'er, Su Ran was astonished by how quickly the child had grown. He vividly recalled the wrinkled, squalling newborn he'd first laid eyes upon—now, barely a month later, the boy's face had rounded into soft, milky smoothness. Remarkably well-behaved, the child seldom fussed, and even someone as indifferent to children as Su Ran found himself inexplicably fond of the little creature. On more than one occasion, he caught himself preening inwardly—of course his son would be exceptional.

Ji Chun, meanwhile, had busied himself procuring supplies for the child. He'd also made trips down the mountain to consult with the old doctor and his wife, discussing their impending departure. By month's end, as planned, they packed their belongings and personally escorted the elderly couple from the city to the village. The transition was seamless; with arrangements settled in advance, the old doctor and his wife moved into their home with little fuss.

That noon, Ji Chun hosted a farewell lunch, inviting both the Liang family and the elderly couple. When the time came to leave, Su Ran—though itching to depart—lingered in the room, cradling Roudan'er for a final moment. His chest tightened as he watched Ji Chun murmur soothingly to the baby, their son's tiny fingers curling around the monk's thumb. Wordlessly, Su Ran reached out to pinch the child's plump cheek, then turned on his heel and strode out, his posture rigid with resolve. Sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford—not with the chaos awaiting him.

Ji Chun's heart ached as he handed Roudan'er to Liang Daosan. Leaving his month-old son behind was agony, but letting Su Ran face the dangers ahead alone was unthinkable. The baby's gummy smile as he was passed off felt like a knife twisting in his chest. Would the boy even remember him when they returned?

At the doorway, he and Su Ran stood shoulder to shoulder, bowing deeply to their makeshift family. "We entrust the child to your care," Ji Chun said, voice thick. "Thank you… and farewell."

"Travel safely," the old woman replied, cradling Roudan'er with tearful affection.

They had barely taken a dozen steps when the baby's wails pierced the air—a raw, hoarse sound from a child who rarely cried. Su Ran stiffened but didn't look back, his pace quickening. Ji Chun matched his stride, gripping Su Ran's cold hand in silent solidarity.

The waiting carriage at the village gate jolted them into the reality of their journey. Neither spoke during the bumpy ride, each lost in thought. These fleeting months of domesticity—of love confessed and a family forged—now felt like a dream dissolving at dawn.

Following Xue Yao's directions, they reached a bustling town, traded the carriage for horses, and rode westward. Along the way, they crossed paths with martial sects also bound for Xilongzhou, all hungering for a share of the brewing conflict.

Exhausted after days of travel, they stopped at a crowded inn one evening. Months of seclusion had left them starved for news, so they took a corner table in the lively main hall. Just as Su Ran, weary from the road, rose to retire, a phrase from the neighboring table froze him in place:

"The Demonic Cult."

He sank back into his chair, listening intently.

"—wiped out in Xilongzhou," a man was saying, slurping wine. "And their leader's gone underground. Cowardice, if you ask me."

Another snorted. "That demon's no fool. Di Mang won't rest till he's dead—mark my words. But since the new leader took over, we've heard nothing. Maybe the cult's finally finished."

Su Ran's fingers drummed the table, his expression darkening. The inn's clamor drowned out the lethal quiet settling around him, but Ji Chun felt it like a drop in temperature.

Gently, he covered Su Ran's hand with his own, gave it a reassuring squeeze, then stood with a pot of wine. Approaching the men, he filled their cups with practiced ease.

"May I ask which sect you honorable gentlemen represent?" he inquired politely.

One of the drinkers—a broad-faced man—looked up in surprise. "Xuanshuang Sect," he replied, raising his cup in salute. "Li Shi, at your service. You're a Shaolin monk, yes?"

"Yes, that's correct," Ji Chun replied, clasping his hands together in acknowledgment.

"May we ask where the Dashi is headed?" one of the men inquired.

"Westward," Ji Chun answered vaguely before turning the question back. "And your group?"

The men exchanged knowing glances and laughed. "Fellow believers on the same path," one said, leaning back in his chair. "Dashi, please don't let us disturb your evening."

With a polite nod, Ji Chun turned and followed Su Ran upstairs to their room.

Inside, Ji Chun sat quietly at the table sipping tea while Su Ran stood by the window, letting the night air cool his temper. After a long silence, Su Ran finally spoke, his voice edged with steel:

"The Xuanshuang Sect is nothing but a minor faction. How dare they slander my Demonic Cult? I shall slaughter them tonight—don't interfere."

Ji Chun sighed. Even after all this time, the man's thirst for vengeance hadn't diminished. Rising, he moved to stand beside Su Ran, gazing at the darkened landscape as he reasoned, "We can't afford distractions now. Causing trouble here would only delay our journey."

Su Ran's only response was a derisive snort. He turned abruptly, stalking to the bed to remove his outer robe. "Before Liuyun Manor ambushed me," he said through clenched teeth, "I saw our distress signals. When I investigated, it was Xuanshuang Sect dogs hunting my disciples. And now they dare sit downstairs gloating?"

"What's their background?" Ji Chun asked. Having grown up in Shaolin, he knew little of newer sects.

"Some upstart faction," Su Ran dismissed, tossing his robe aside. "Their men downstairs barely qualify as martial artists—killing them would be effortless." His jaw tightened. "What I don't understand is how our entire Xilongzhou branch was wiped out."

Ji Chun rested a calming hand on the windowsill. "Small sects parrot rumors. Their lives aren't worth our time. Reaching Xilongzhou is what matters." Privately, he knew vengeance wouldn't resurrect the dead—they needed firsthand information.

Su Ran inhaled sharply, unclenching his fists. Once, he would've slaughtered the men without hesitation. Now, he found himself weighing the monk's words. Ji Chun was right—this was pointless. The real battle lay ahead.

Rubbing his temples, Su Ran kicked off his boots and lay down. Ji Chun extinguished the candles and joined him. Only then, after days of travel, did their bodies finally unwind.

In the darkness, Ji Chun sensed Su Ran's wakefulness. He slid an arm around the other man's waist, his voice a husky whisper: "Can't sleep?"

"No." Su Ran's reply was taut as a bowstring. "Months away from the Jianghu, and everything's unraveling." The admission tasted bitter. Once, he'd been omnipotent, his network flawless, his reputation feared. Now, shadowy forces seemed to be maneuvering against him—and he was blind to their movements.

Ji Chun felt the tension thrumming through Su Ran's body. Heart aching, he pulled the man closer, rolling atop him to cradle his face. Memory guided his lips to brush Su Ran's in the dark. "Whatever happens," he murmured, calloused palm cupping Su Ran's cheek, "you have me. And Roudan'er. That's enough."

An image flashed behind Su Ran's eyelids—their son's round, smiling face. The knot in his chest loosened slightly. Win or lose, he'd fight. And if he fell... well, the monk had spoken truth. He had them.

Returning the kiss with a fleeting press of lips, Su Ran exhaled. "Okay."