The Wind Rises

Ye Jingxuan fell silent for a moment. In that instant, Chu Shihan's body suddenly tensed, his fingertips already touching the icy hilt of the sword on his back—he had clearly sensed a fleeting trace of killing intent. Though faint, it was sharp as a blade.

Before he could draw his sword, Ye Jingxuan suddenly raised his head. The gloom in his eyes had dispersed, leaving only a hint of helpless teasing. "Senior Brother, how about you go practice talking to people?"

Noticing his softened attitude, Chu Shihan released his grip on the sword hilt. Rather than minding the jab, he pressed on even harder. "What kind of person was Eldest Martial Uncle?"

Seeing his stubborn expression, Ye Jingxuan suddenly smiled. After all, the sect leader already knew nearly all of this; there was no point in continuing to hide it.

He leaned back against the bamboo chair and looked toward the mountains beyond the courtyard, his tone carrying an indescribably complicated note. "I don't know."

He paused, unconsciously rubbing the plain-colored outer robe over his knee with his fingertips, as though recalling something—or weighing his words. "But if that person truly was Eldest Martial Uncle... then he was probably the gentlest, the most heartless, and the person closest to the very concept of an 'immortal' in this world."

Ye Jingxuan's hometown was an isolated little village hidden deep in the mountains. Its people had worshipped the "Peach Blossom Immortal" for generations, climbing the mountain to offer sacrifices every holiday and festival.

Even when war raged and famine spread beyond the mountains, this little pocket of heaven and earth had always enjoyed peace. In the villagers' eyes, it was all thanks to the immortal's protection. No one dared utter a single disrespectful word about the Peach Blossom Immortal.

Ye Jingxuan's parents,