Chapter 79: Each Person’s Way of Living

"Don't generalize everyone," Wu Yue shook his head. Perhaps it was because he had seen too much of the world's indifference; the Red Sleeve Fairy, once renowned for her chivalry, had grown increasingly extreme. Wu Yue glanced at Red Sleeve: black robes, black veil, black hair, gripping the Thunder Staff, as if she had never let it go. Ever since she had tasted its power, Red Sleeve seemed obsessed with this magical artifact. Luckily, Wu Yue never demanded it back; otherwise, bloodshed might have ensued.

"Do you really think that old Taoist has good intentions? There could be poison inside for all we know."

Wu Yue lifted the lid of the box, gazing at the twelve precious pills within. His options were few; these pills merely presented another choice—perhaps even a rather good one. His current state was dire, even worse than when he first arrived in this world. The body was like a house, the soul its resident. Before, it was only that the inhabitant's voice was too loud; now, the voice remained loud, but the house, though grand, let in drafts everywhere.

Wu Yue picked up a pill, placed it in his mouth—slightly bitter. Red Sleeve stood by, not stopping him, for it was unnecessary, and indeed pointless. The pill dissolved instantly, a sensation both warm and cold rising within him. A damaged major acupuncture point was wrapped in energy, and severed meridians revived like withered branches sprouting anew. Wu Yue took another pill, softly exhaling a turbid breath. When his eyes opened, he appeared fully restored.

"How do you feel?" Red Sleeve seemed calm, but inside she was anything but. Her feelings for Wu Yue were complicated: he was her hope for vengeance, yet also her only companion—not a friend, but a companion. On the long road of life, she was nearing its end, and in this final journey, he was with her. The Blood Curse was not an unsolvable spell; true hopelessness and apathy were the real dead ends. What is death, if not being unknown to the world, and the world unknown to oneself?

"A patchwork, nothing more," Wu Yue replied. Indeed, these pills, which seemed to possess life-restoring power, were only superficially splendid. If Wu Yue lived quietly, like an ordinary person, with these twelve pills he might have decades ahead. But he would not, could not, because someone did not wish him to die; so he refused death, in stark contrast to Red Sleeve.

Watching Red Sleeve grow colder still, Wu Yue sighed. "Honestly, I'm not good at comforting others, nor do I care to try. I believe each person's life and death is their own choice, and we must learn to respect that. But seeing you now, I feel you are squandering yourself, and it makes me envious."

"Actually, I understand you. It’s probably because your master died. You grew up with your master, had few friends, no close kin. So you sought a purpose—revenge. This way of living feels wrong to you, even exhausting."

Every patient of the mind learns psychology well; as a long-standing guest of the sanatorium, Wu Yue was its star. Yet sometimes, what a woman needs is not to have her heart dissected, but to be given a shoulder, an embrace, a place to weep. This, Wu Yue had yet to learn.

"I must have revenge, no matter what." This was Red Sleeve’s obsession, her only support.

"But you should cure your Blood Curse as well."

"I already have a way." Wu Yue failed to notice the wounds on Red Sleeve’s palm, deep and numerous.

Wu Yue said no more; truthfully, there was little between them beyond mutual need. Red Sleeve required Wu Yue to aid her vengeance; Wu Yue needed Red Sleeve as a reliable ally.

Zhuge He was always satisfied with his life. He knew he was different: once a rural boy, only fortunate enough to be enlightened by his master, thus embarking on the path of cultivation; his master had even bestowed his own surname upon him—He. This made him feel distinct from the other disciples. His parents might have grumbled, been displeased, but that didn’t matter. If they couldn’t give him the life he wanted, they shouldn’t hold him back.

Those who had once seemed lofty—village head, district chief, or even the county magistrate—now appeared laughable, so fragile. With a mere lift of his hand, he could end them, yet the thought never crossed his mind; laziness, and a distaste for blood, restrained him. Such was the divide between immortals and mortals.

Though his cultivation had stagnated at the early Core Formation stage for years, it mattered little; he already had three centuries of life ahead, and even with bad luck, two hundred years would not be amiss. He had once aspired to pure Daoism, but only after entering this world of cultivation did he realize its hardships—thousands seek the Dao, but how few attain it?

Better to enjoy life. Especially after returning home several years ago, seeing childhood friends and neighbors with hair gone white, while he remained young and vibrant. The astonished, fearful glances directed at him were a pleasure.

Though his master was but a Mortal Transformation cultivator, not famed across the Immortal Spirit Realm, he held some renown in the southern regions. Small sects and rogue cultivators greeted him as equals.

Yet life was not without its irritations. Some people, particularly disciples of great sects, with their lofty gazes, always reminded Zhuge He of his origins, stoking an inexplicable anger.

This time, his master had brought him along to the Black Curtain City auction. Rumor had it every attendee was extraordinary: renowned cultivators, or fearsome demon lords. He felt honored, like a pauper suddenly wealthy, stepping into the upper crust's banquet.

But this pleasant experience was marred by two individuals—or rather, one in particular—who made him feel as if he’d swallowed a fly.

Clad in remarkable attire, with a faint smile, the man bore the same expression as those arrogant sect disciples: seemingly amiable, yet keeping all at a distance. Beside him stood a woman, her features obscured, but Zhuge He sensed she was a peerless beauty, her cultivation no less than his own. Such a woman, he thought, must have been compelled by status to serve that man.

"Relying solely on birth!" The more Zhuge He dwelled on it, the angrier he became, though he dared not express it. Even when his gaze occasionally met that detestable man's, he forced a smile. These people were beyond his reach.

When his master, Jade Jade, successfully acquired the Nine Aperture Lotus Heart, Zhuge He deliberately glanced at that man. Sure enough, a flicker of emotion crossed his face, and Zhuge He felt a breath of satisfaction. There was no time to savor it, though, as his master hurried him away.

Those two, at that moment.

Wu Yue was somewhat delighted as well, having finally resolved his dilemma between the Nine Aperture Lotus Heart and the Primordial Purple Qi Technique; now, unexpectedly, he could have both. Excellent luck.

PS: Updates are resuming, and all owed chapters will be made up. I am about to unveil the first grand scene! Which author has the boldest imagination? Feel free to guess.