Wei Xun had no idea why he had lingered so long. The atmosphere in the great hall and the old monk's ceaseless, murmured account seemed to possess some mysterious power, dragging him into the mire of forty years ago and refusing to let him escape.
Although Tanlin had repeatedly urged him not to "tread the same disastrous path," Wei Xun could see nothing in the story worth taking as a lesson. Yuan Xu had been murdered, his remains utterly destroyed, whereas Baozhu had suffered that ordeal from the very beginning-and survived it.
Leaving aside Pang Liangji, the sixth disciple, the twelve people in their entire lineage could not muster even one set of nine clans between them. Each had their own misery, and Chen Shigu's experience hardly seemed anything new. He had fallen prey to his inner demons because he had no outlet for his rage. Had he taken his revenge that very night, perhaps the whole affair would have been put behind him long ago.
Wei Xun raced back to the Guest Hall and immediately spotted Baozhu kneeling at the edge of the pond, her body bent low and her arm stretched out as she tried to pluck a lotus. No matter how she reached, she could not get it, and she looked about to tumble into the water.
"You'll end up a drowned rat!" he called with a laugh, stopping her. He sprang onto the ornamental rocks in the middle of the pond and asked, "Which one do you want?"
Baozhu pointed at her target and called, "The one whose seedpod has just started showing!"
Wei Xun reached out and snapped off the lotus, then leaped back to shore and handed it to her, still beaded with dew.
Baozhu had just finished bathing, and warm moisture still rose