Ye Ning Was Crippled, and Grandpa Remained Silent?

The sun was about to set, and the dusky light fell along the horizon.

Ye An removed his iron-sand gloves and tucked them into his clothes before walking toward the rear courtyard. The door to the courtyard where the hall master lived was ajar. Ye An pushed it open and walked inside.

An oil lamp burned in the room. Its flame flickered in the breeze, stretching and shrinking the shadow on the wall.

Lin Shaoyun lay on the bed, his face pale and his lips utterly bloodless.

His right arm was wrapped in thick bandages from shoulder to wrist, and dark-red ointment seeped through from beneath them.

He had yet to wake. His breathing was shallow and hurried, as though he had to gather his strength for half a day before taking each breath.

Su Qing sat on a stool beside the bed, clutching a damp cloth and wiping Lin Shaoyun's forehead every so often.

Zhao Tieshan leaned against the wall, worry written across his face as his fingers tapped against his arm again and again.

The hall master, Su Yuanshan, was nowhere to be seen.

Ye An stood at the doorway and watched for only a moment.

He did not go inside, ask what had happened, or step forward to say anything.

Lin Shaoyun's pale face was etched into Ye An's mind.

Ye An was not cold-hearted. He simply was not a physician and could not treat injuries.

Ye An walked out of the martial arts hall. By then, the sky was pitch-black.

He had just stepped off the stairs when a figure rushed over from across the street, nearly crashing into his shoulder.

"Xiao An!"

Ye An froze for a moment.

The owner of that figure was actually his big brother—Ye Ping!

At that moment, he wore a half-worn gray robe. Its sleeves were not rolled up as they had been when he was studying, and dust stained the hem. He looked as though he had run all the way there.

Ye Ping's face was pale, his lips dry, and his eyes filled with urgency and panic.

What had happened? What could possibly have made his big brother come all the way to the martial arts hall to find him?

Looking at Ye Ping's flustered appearance, the suspicion in Ye An's heart kept growing.

For his big brother to be this frantic and personally run all the way here, something had certainly happened at home.

It was either their father or their second brother...

Impossible, impossible... Ye An repeated silently. Before he could ask, Ye Ping had already grabbed him by the wrist.

"Xiao An, something happened to Ah Ning! Hurry back and take a look!"

Ye An did not ask what had happened. He grabbed his big brother's wrist in return, and the two of them ran toward Willow Alley.

Ye Ping ran very slowly. He was not a martial artist, and his stamina could not keep up. In the end, Ye An carried his big brother on his back. It was faster that way.

Ye An pushed open the door and entered the courtyard. The lights in the main room were on, with two more lamps lit than usual.

The physician stood by the door, washing his hands. The water in the basin had turned scarlet. Ye An stared at it for a moment before walking into the inner room.

His second brother, Ye Ning, lay on the bed.

His right leg was wrapped in bandages from below the knee down. They had been soaked through with blood, so red they had turned black.

His left leg had no bandages, but it was twisted at an unnatural angle, like a broken branch. His face was even paler than Lin Shaoyun's, his lips purple, and his eye sockets deeply sunken.

Their father, Ye Shouzhuo, was nowhere to be seen.

After washing his hands, the physician turned around and stared straight at Ye An. He let out a heavy, meaningful sigh.

"The injured man's right leg has shattered bones and severed sinews below the knee. His left knee is dislocated, and the ligaments are torn. His life can be saved, but..." The physician sighed again and shook his head. "Most of his martial foundation has been destroyed. In the future, I'm afraid only one leg will be able to move when he walks."

Ye An's heartbeat abruptly stopped for a moment. He suddenly felt as though an invisible hand had seized his chest and was squeezing it so tightly that he could barely breathe.

Ye An did not shout or lunge forward to seize the physician by the collar and yell, "Heal him, no matter the cost!" That was how things always happened in television dramas, but this was reality.

Ye An took a deep breath and forcefully suppressed his emotions. Then he pulled out his money pouch, counted out twenty taels of silver, and handed them over.

"This is payment for the treatment. Physician, please accept it."

"Young Hero An, this..." The physician looked at the twenty taels of silver, then at Ye Ning lying on the bed. His lips moved. "I've already used everything I've learned in my entire life. There truly is nothing more I can do. I would feel ashamed to accept this silver."

"Take it." Ye An shoved the money into the physician's hand.

The twenty taels also included the cost of the treatment to come.

The physician glanced at the silver, then at Ye An's eyes. He did not refuse again. He accepted the money, shouldered his medicine chest, and slowly walked out.

As he left, he glanced back. "Young Hero An, if anything else comes up, this old man will certainly do everything in his power."

Ye Ping saw the physician out. Their footsteps sounded several times in the front courtyard.

The room fell completely silent. The oil-lamp flame flickered, casting Ye An's shadow onto the wall.

"Cough, cough..."

A soft, hoarse cough came from the bed. Ye Ning's eyes opened to a narrow slit, and his pupils shifted. He saw Ye An and Ye Ping standing on either side of him.

"I'm sorry... Big brother, Third Brother. I was reckless." Ye Ning's voice was as faint as a needle threading cloth. He had to use all his strength just to force the words out.

"Don't speak." Ye An had already forcibly stopped even the slightest tremor of emotion from escaping him. "Second brother, rest well. Everything will be fine."

Ye Ning looked at him and moved his lips, wanting to say something, but his body could no longer support a second sentence.

Ye An stood up, turned around, and looked at his big brother. Ye Ping's eyes were already red, and tears had begun sliding down his face.

"Where's Father?"

Ye Ping wiped away his tears, his voice hoarse. "Father went to find Grandpa."

Ye An's heart clenched violently. Grandpa—the old man who lived in the old house, spoke to no one, never went out, and never ate at the same table as his family. The old man who, no matter what happened at home, had never said a single word from beginning to end.

Father had gone to find Grandpa.

Ye An did not ask what Grandpa could do, nor whether Grandpa would intervene. He merely nodded. Then he walked out of the main room, stood in the courtyard, and looked toward the old house deep within the alley.

The light was on.

Ye Shouzhuo had never lost control like this in front of his father.

He stood inside the dimly lit room. The windows were covered with black cloth, and only a few strands of night light leaked through the gaps.

The old man sat in a wicker chair in the corner, eyes closed and utterly motionless. His hair was completely white, and the wrinkles on his face were deep as though carved by knives. His hands rested on the armrests, his fingernails long and yellow.

Ye Tiangang—his father.

"Father!" Ye Shouzhuo's voice echoed through the room, carrying anger suppressed for far too long. His voice cracked. "Do you know how your grandson is now? He was beaten half to death and barely survived! The physician said his path of cultivation has been severed! Not only that, even living as an ordinary person will be difficult!"

The old man did not open his eyes.

"You still won't act? You're still going to remain silent?"

Silence. Ye Shouzhuo had never lost control like this in front of his father.

He had known since childhood what kind of person his father was—not given to smiles or words, and indifferent to human feeling. His father had told Ye Shouzhuo to live as an ordinary person, not practice martial arts, and not involve himself in the martial world. Ye Shouzhuo had agreed. His father had told him to live quietly in Anping County and stop thinking about the capital. Ye Shouzhuo had agreed to that as well.

His father had told him never to mention the name of his second younger brother, Ye Pojun, again. Ye Shouzhuo had agreed to that too.

Three things in an entire lifetime, and he had agreed to all of them.

"You told me back then to live as an ordinary person, and I agreed." Ye Shouzhuo lowered his voice. He no longer shouted or roared; the words seemed squeezed from his chest, threaded with blood. "You told me not to mention my second brother's name again, and I agreed to that too. You told me to stay properly in Anping County and not think about too many things. I didn't understand, but I still agreed!"

He looked at the old man in the wicker chair. His eyes reddened, and his lips trembled.

"But this time, your son wants to rebel just once. I don't know what you're thinking. I only beg you... I only beg you to let Ye Ning... live as an ordinary person. An ordinary person is enough. Let him walk, eat, and stay alive. That's all."

After he spoke the final word, Ye Shouzhuo's tears finally fell. He stood there like a tree bent beneath the wind, no longer able to straighten his back.

For a long time, there was no response.

The old man did not open his eyes or speak. Even the rhythm of his breathing did not change. It was as though everything Ye Shouzhuo had said had nothing to do with him.

Ye Shouzhuo waited a long time—so long that he felt the air in the room had solidified. He lowered his head and looked at his hands, those callused hands that had worked an abacus for years. Then he suddenly laughed. He had given up. He was so disappointed that he no longer cared about anything.

"Fine."

"You're cruel enough." This time, Ye Shouzhuo did not even use an honorific.

He turned and walked out of the old house without closing the door.

Moonlight poured inside and fell upon the old man. It stretched his shadow against the chair until it was long, like a withered tree.

Ye Shouzhuo slowly walked away, and the sound of his footsteps faded into the alley.

After an unknown amount of time, the sharp sword beside the old man, wrapped in its scabbard, suddenly began to tremble.

The ringing of the sword was crisp and piercing. Every sound it made was like a living creature shrieking.

The scabbard shook, and the sword hummed within it, as though it were protesting Ye Ning's fate—or questioning its master.

Ye Tiangang did not move. He raised his withered hand, spread his five fingers, and aimed it at the doorway. The door closed by itself with a crisp click. Then he placed his hand on the scabbard. The sword's ringing stopped.

The room fell silent. Only the wind moaned through the window lattice.

"Alas..."

A long sigh. Something that had been suppressed for who knew how long, finally unable to be held down any longer. At that moment, it was as though a stone had been moved away from his chest, yet after it was gone, there was nothing inside.

Ye Tiangang sat in the wicker chair, utterly motionless.

Moonlight leaked through the gaps in the window and fell across his face.

His expression remained the same: silent, impassive, looking as though he cared about nothing.

Yet something seemed different. He could not say what it was. Perhaps beneath the stagnant waters, something had already begun to stir.

He closed his eyes, and the room once again returned to its usual calm.

But beneath that calm, something was quietly churning.

Ye An merely watched as his father walked out.

Ye Shouzhuo did not look at Ye An. The two passed each other without a word.

That day, the entire family fell silent.