In the room, Qiu Bujun slowly helped Ning Ye up, tears streaming down his aged face.
"You and I have never met, but I have always known of you." He spoke softly. "Senior Brother liked you best. He mentioned you to me often, his words full of delight, yet he was also vexed by how greedy you were for too much and how fond you were of play, unwilling to seek the Great Dao."
Ning Ye lowered his head. "This disciple disappointed Master."
Qiu Bujun shook his head. "You never disappointed him. Not before, and not now."
As he spoke, he placed a pair of withered old hands on Ning Ye's shoulders and looked at the terrible scars on his face. "Dispersing your cultivation, ruining your face, sacrificing yourself for vengeance... If Senior Brother's spirit is watching from heaven, he must be both gratified and heartsick. Only, those children..."
At those words, Ning Ye could no longer hold back his tears. They slid down his face once more.
How many times had he awakened from dreams at midnight, thinking back on the past, his heart wracked with pain, yet unable to speak of it? He could only tell himself to be strong, to grit his teeth and live on—to scheme, to take revenge, to kill, to cultivate, to make his heart harder than steel, to bid farewell to tears and weakness.
Yet he was human, after all. And humans had their fragile sides, the soft places in their hearts—places he had desperately suppressed, with no outlet and no relief.
That was why Ning Ye could only obsessively contemplate his plans for revenge, using one enemy's head after another to fill the abyss of hatred within him.
Until this moment, before Qiu Bujun, Ning Ye no longer needed to hide.
He