The room Li Xin ntioned wasn’t anything fancy—just a small pavilion tucked inside the garden, maybe two hundred steps from the artificial rockery. By the ti they sat down and lit a lamp, the jagged outline of the rocks outside had already lted into the night.
Distance really does take the edge off. The farther he was from that eerie fake mountain, the lighter Li Xun felt inside. With the servants gone to make tea, the pavilion was now quiet, just the two of them.
Li Xin’s gaze lingered on him again—assessing, curious, even a bit hopeful.
That look made sothing stir in Li Xun’s chest. The heat shot through him, pushing him to his feet so suddenly that Li Xin flinched in surprise.
Before he could react, Li Xun shook out his sleeves and dropped to his knees. "Unfilial son Li Xun… greets Father.” His voice was low, but firm.
Li Xin visibly drew in a sharp breath. He quickly reached out and grabbed Li Xun’s shoulders. “Daoist Li… this…”
The title—so polite, so distant—hit Li Xun like a slap. A part of him wanted to just stand up and leave.
But things had already co to this. There was no backing out now. He looked up and t Li Xin’s slightly startled eyes, just as the pavilion door creaked open and soone stepped in with a smile:
“Heard Father was entertaining a guest…”
The words cut off abruptly.
Li Xun turned to see Li Cong—his younger brother by two years; the appointed heir of Prince Fu’s household—standing frozen in the doorway, his gaze frozen on the hand Li Xin still had on Li Xun’s shoulder.
The pavilion fell into a beat of dead silence.
Then Li Xin’s voice, tinged with irritation, broke the stillness, “What are you doing here?”
Li Cong didn’t flinch. His cool eyes, calm as autumn water, flicked over Li Xun. The smile faded, but his composure didn’t falter. “I heard Father and Daoist Li were having a chat, so I brought so fine tea.”
He raised a delicate tea pouch as proof. Li Xin had no retort for that. But Li Cong didn’t stop there. He tilted his head slightly and asked, lightly but with a sharp edge: “What play are you two putting on in here?”
It was a soft jab, but sharp enough to peel away even Li Xin’s dignity.
Li Xun stayed quiet, while Li Xin hesitated for a heartbeat—then returned to his usual calm.
He looked at Li Cong and shook his head slightly. “You ca at just the right ti…”
He seed like he wanted to move his hand off Li Xun’s shoulder, but stopped midway. Then, with a long sigh, he continued, “co greet your elder brother.”
That single line stunned Li Xun, and left Li Cong completely reeling.
For soone like Li Cong—raised and trained by Li Xin himself to be the model heir—it was no easy thing to suddenly believe this mysterious-looking Daoist was his flesh-and-blood older brother.
Still, he handled it admirably. Faced with this near-impossible truth, the first thing he said was: “What on earth is going on?”
A fair question. Even Li Xin wanted to know the full story. Both father and son turned to look at Li Xun.
But to Li Xun, those stares weren’t anything warm or nostalgic. What he saw was pure, ice-cold rationality.
Without hard evidence, who would believe him? A single kneel, a vague sense of familial connection—none of that would cut it.
He was claiming the place of the rightful eldest son of a royal household. Not sothing you prove with sentint alone.
These thoughts flashed through his mind like lightning, then settled.
He took a deep breath and stood—he wouldn’t let himself look weak in front of his younger brother.
Standing tall, he towered over Li Cong by a full head. His body, tempered by years of training in the mountains, was lean and strong—far more robust than Li Cong, who’d grown up sheltered in the comfort of the palace. Though he wore a plain Daoist robe and lacked the young heir’s regal attire, he carried an air of quiet clarity.
Li Xin’s gaze flicked between his two sons for a mont before going still. His face remained unreadable.
Li Cong, a little less composed, kept glancing over at this “brother,” clearly still asuring him.
Li Xun ignored the scrutiny. After gathering his thoughts, he began recounting his life story—from the age of eight to the present—clearly and thodically.
He held back certain details, of course. With the two Wanderers still watching in the background, there were things best left unsaid. And places like the Tongxuan Realm were too strange for mortal people to grasp—those had to be brushed over.
Still, despite all the edits and omissions, he told it well—cleanly, coherently.
He said that when he had been eight, he had been taken as a disciple by Blood Wanderer and sent to Lianxia Mountain to learn the Dao. Many years passed, filled with countless trials and challenges, until recently, when he ca down the mountain to visit his master aunt, Yin Wanderer—and by sheer coincidence, got the chance to reunite with his kin.
As for the suffering, the blood, the unspeakable things he’d done—he glossed over those, not just to save face, but to avoid the great taboo of “using emotion to mislead people.” Still, the feeling was complicated.
His story took no longer than it takes to burn a stick of incense.
Nine years of life, in a blink. How could re words convey the twists and turns of that journey?
Li Xun’s cleverness lay in how he had briefly glossed over his years on the sect, yet vividly and richly portrayed the mont on the mountain path when he was rescued by the old consort, only to cover his face and flee from the scene.
That part, at least, was sothing Li Xin already knew. With that as an anchor, the rest fell into place without needing tears or theatrics. A far stronger argunt than begging for sympathy.
By the ti he finished, Li Xin was visibly moved. When Li Xun began sharing childhood mories in perfect detail, Li Xin’s eyes shone as he reached out and gripped his arm tightly. “Xun’er! You really are Xun’er!”
Now would be the ti to cry, right...?
Li Xun had ant to squeeze out a few tears, but suddenly realized with so embarrassnt that, in this mont, it wasn’t quite so easy.
“Is it really... my elder brother?”
Li Cong's voice carried genuine wonder, making the question unexpectedly touching. And more importantly, it gave Li Xun an out—he could set aside the awkwardness of not being able to cry and respond like a proper older brother.
“So young Cong has grown up this much already…”
But fate clearly wasn’t planning to let this family reunion stay warm and fuzzy for long. A distant clack of the night watchman’s clapper echoed faintly through the garden—a signal, almost as if arranged in advance. The three n, stirred by the sound, each settled their emotions and stepped back from a scene none of them were really built for.
Their eyes t—six in all—and an unspoken tension passed between them.
Then Li Xin broke the mont. “You’ve got a cruel heart, son." His voice calm, neither harsh nor gentle. "The old dowager consort has thought of you constantly these past years. If you’ve the ti, you really should go visit her. And your mother… don’t forget her either.”
After Li Xun nodded in acknowledgnt, Li Xin shifted the tone abruptly. “This ti, since you’ve co down from the mountain... are you planning to return?”
Li Xun stiffened—but only for a second. The air inside the pavilion seed to thicken all at once, pressing down on him like a weight.
Forced to speak, he began carefully, “this ti, I’ve co down by my master’s orders...”
The words were vague, hollow—intentional placeholders. anwhile, he watched his father and brother closely for any flicker of reaction. Li Xin remained as composed as ever, but Li Cong’s eyes sparkled—clearly, he was doing so calculating of his own.
What was going through Li Cong’s mind, Li Xun couldn’t tell. He wasn’t even sure what he himself was really thinking anymore.
So he hedged: “While I’m down here, I’ll be following Aunt-Master and Master’s guidance. Whether I return depends on their plans. Most likely... I won’t be going back. I suppose this gives a chance to fulfill so filial duties.”
When he said the words “not going back anyti soon,” he caught it—just a flash in Li Cong’s eyes: a flicker of wariness, of distance. It vanished almost imdiately, but it was there.
From that point on, the conversation shifted. No more family warmth, no more sibling affection. Li Xin started pressing for information on the two Wanderers.
Li Xun didn’t want his family making any foolish moves out of ignorance—but under the watchful eyes of the two wanderers close by, he couldn’t speak too openly either.
After a bit of ntal maneuvering, he began describing the two Wanderers’ personalities and usual behaviors, using a language mortal could accept, based on both his own experience and the many rumors he’d heard on the sect.
Of course, the Forced Dual Cultivation part about Yin Wanderer was completely left out. He also adjusted the tiline to make things more believable. For anything sensitive, he took the Spring and Autumn Annals approach—subtle wording that carried implications only the astute could grasp. His father and brother were clever n; they’d surely catch on.
This explanation actually took more effort than recounting his own life story. Li Xin kept interrupting with detailed questions, dragging the whole thing out.
And just as Li Xun was emphasizing the danger posed by the two Wanderer, a sound rang out.
It was soft—barely noticeable—but it jolted him like a thunderclap. Under his father and brother’s surprised stares, he forced a smile: “My masters… are calling .”
Without waiting for a reply, he excused himself and rushed out of the pavilion, heading straight for the garden’s rockery.
His pace was lightning fast—within monts, he’d left Li Xin and Li Cong far behind. When he reached the base of the fake mountain, he saw Yin Wanderer waiting there with a faint smile, her whisk resting on her arm. The fine silken threads shimred gently, still swaying.
That faint sound just now—it had co from the whisk’s brush.
Five paces away, stood Blood Wanderer. Arms behind his back, he stared coldly at Li Xun, his blood-red eyes gleaming in the dark, enough to make one’s heart seize.
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