Let Us Drain the Cups in Our Hands

Su Yao looked at him and suddenly said, "Then I'll speak for you."

He then continued:

"Yang Xiu, you haven't let Golden Court down, you haven't let Jade Pure One down. You just chose a path that would allow you to continue when you had no other choice. This path wasn't easy, but you made it through. You're still walking it."

"You're avoiding me, not because you feel you've betrayed anyone, but because you're afraid I'll worry about you, afraid I'll be distracted by your affairs. You're afraid of putting me in a difficult position."

Yang Xiu did not deny it.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, most of the gloom in his eyes had dissipated, but a very faint bitter smile appeared on his lips.

"Brother Dao, you're right about everything. But do you know what the hardest part is?"

Su Yao didn't reply, he just looked at him.

"The hardest part isn't cultivating this method," Yang Xiu's voice lowered, as if speaking to himself, "The hardest part is that every time I think of you, I don't dare come. I'm afraid that if I come, I won't be able to help but give myself away. I'm afraid that if I give myself away, the way you look at me will change."

"What I fear more is—" he paused, "That the way you look at me won't change."

Su Yao's brows twitched slightly.

"If you change, I can still tell myself that they don't understand. But if you don't change, I won't even have that excuse. Then I'll just have to accept it myself."

After listening, Su Yao remained silent for a moment, then suddenly chuckled softly.

"Yang Xiu, you're a good person in every way, except you take yourself too seriously." He shook his head.

Yang Xiu was taken aback upon hearing this.

"You think that just because you've cultivated the techniques of True Martial Mountain, we have to look at you all over again?" Su Yao looked at him. "You're my friend, Su Yao's friend, not a friend of the Jade Pure One Daoist lineage. What you cultivate is none of my business. I recognize you as a person, not what kind of magical body you cultivate."

"If you think that I, Su Yao, make friends based on which school of magic you cultivate, then you Green Nuo as soon as possible and pretend I don't have you as a friend."

Yang Xiu opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a word for a moment.

Su Yao took out a wine pot from his Storage Bag, and then took out two jade cups. With a casual tilt of his hand, the amber-colored wine was steadily poured into the two cups without spilling a drop.

"Let's drink," Su Yao said. "We can talk about other things later."

Yang Xiu stared at the cup of wine, remained silent for a moment, and then reached out to take it.

"Good."

The two lamps clinked together, producing a very soft and crisp sound.

As the wine entered his throat, Yang Xiu put down his wine cup, closed his eyes slightly, and when he opened them again, most of the gloom in his eyes had dissipated.

"After we finish this pot, we'll stay on the mountain tonight," Su Yao said. "We'll leave tomorrow morning."

Yang Xiu looked at him and suddenly smiled. The smile was devoid of the self-deprecation and bitterness of the past, only the sincerity and joy of reuniting with an old friend remained.

"Good."

The candlelight flickered faintly inside the cave, and the aroma of wine slowly permeated the stone walls.

In the octagonal pavilion.

Night had fallen, and the snow began to fall again. On the stone table sat a pot of wine and two cups. Su Yao and Yang Xiu sat facing each other across the table, their golden robes and white gowns shining brightly against the snow.

When the wine was halfway through, Su Yao put down his cup and said, "Drinking alone is no fun. Let's play a drinking game."

Yang Xiu raised his eyes. "How can that be?"

"The topic will be a classic Daoist Gate text. I will say a sentence, and you will complete it with the next sentence, or provide its source. If you cannot complete it, you will be penalized with a cup of wine."

Upon hearing this, a hint of interest finally surfaced in Yang Xiu's eyes. "Brother, are you testing me?"

Su Yao did not answer, but gently tapped his wine cup on the table and slowly said:

"Heaven becomes clear when it is unified."

Yang Xiu continued, "The earth attains peace through unity. This phrase comes from Chapter 39 of the * Classic of Virtue and the Way *."

Then he picked up his wine cup, thought for a moment, and said, "The valley is full once it is full."

Su Yao continued, "All things arise from one. Chapter Thirty-Nine, not bad." He paused, his fingertip lightly tracing the rim of his cup. "Your turn."

Yang Xiu thought for a moment, then suddenly smiled slightly, "The highest good is like water, which benefits all things without striving."

Su Yao glanced at him, a hint of understanding in his eyes. Yang Xiu's words were clearly a dig at him—he cultivated the Rainbow Clouds Cultivation Technique, and this was advice to him not to interfere too much in Nanzhao. But now, the affairs of Nanzhao were no longer something he could simply extricate himself from.

"By dwelling in places that others despise, one is close to the Way." After accepting the invitation, Su Yao picked up his wine cup, took a sip, and then changed the subject, "Brother Dao, what secrets are hidden in this invitation?"

Yang Xiu didn't answer, but simply smiled and looked out at the flying snow. After a while, he suddenly said, "Brother Dao, do you still remember when we fought side by side in the Great Void?"

Su Yao glanced at him.

"Back then, you had just reached the Purple Mansion, and I had just emerged from seclusion." Yang Xiu's voice lowered. "You cultivated Rainbow Clouds, while I cultivated Profound Qi. Profound Qi governs tribulations, while Rainbow Clouds is akin to immortality."

He paused, then stopped talking, and slowly twirled the wine cup between his fingers.

Su Yao didn't ask any further questions, but simply picked up the wine pot and filled his cup.

There was a moment of silence in the pavilion. Snowflakes fell softly onto the eaves of the pavilion's corners.

"During my years in Green Nuo, every time it snowed, I would think of Golden Ao Mountain." Yang Xiu suddenly raised his head and looked out of the pavilion. "I think of you sitting alone in this pavilion. I think of Fellow Zilin practicing his sword under the osmanthus tree. I think of Zhang Ziyan running around over there. I think of Liu Yunhe shouting 'Master!' at the top of his lungs."

He paused, then chuckled.

"When I think about it, I really want to come back."

Yang Xiu picked up his wine cup, took a sip, and his gaze fell on the two osmanthus trees outside the pavilion.

"How many years have you planted those two trees?"

"It's been around for quite a few years," Su Yao said.

Yang Xiu nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

After drinking a few more cups, Yang Xiu suddenly raised his head and looked towards the distant mountain peak. On that peak, a figure in purple stood in the snow, holding a purple flute in his hand.

He stared for a long while before slowly speaking, his voice tinged with a hint of alcohol and an inexplicable sense of melancholy:

"Zilin Ying Qi skilled at the flute, Yingqi at the pipa, Xuan Yan the zither, and Brother Su at poetry. If I were here, how delightful it would be to drink and sing with Brother Su and Mo Li! Tonight should have been a night of drinking until we were both drunk. What a pity..."

He didn't finish his sentence, only letting out a very soft sigh that dissipated in the wind.

Su Yao followed his gaze and saw the purple figure on the mountaintop.

He didn't reply, but simply picked up his wine cup and gently raised it in that direction.

Yang Xiu also raised his wine cup and gestured towards the mountain peak.

"Respectfully, Fellow Zilin."

At the mountaintop, Zilin's flute music continued. Only her drooping eyelashes twitched slightly, and the corners of her lips curved almost imperceptibly.

Snow falls silently, the sound of a flute is faint.

There is a word cloud:

Snow blankets the Golden Ao a thousand white peaks; an old friend returns with wine. The cave entrance is deeply concealed, covered in old dust. The lamp wick bursts three times; the knot in my heart is untied in a single day.

Before the Osmanthus Pavilion, we raise our cups together, the sound of the purple flute echoing in the distance. Standing alone atop the mountain, my cheeks are streaked with snow. No need to speak of the past, let us empty the cup in our hands.