Chapter Thirty: The Forbidden Summit (3)

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Late at night is always the time when one’s mind runs the most. He had been sleeping soundly, but thanks to Jinghua’s racket, Gu Zhiheng found himself wide awake. He reclined against the bed, idly chatting with Jinghua, the conversation drifting in and out.

“Sir, when will you finally take me as your disciple?” What if he ran off one day—wouldn’t that mean he’d be waiting in vain for the rest of his life?

“When you can count properly, recognize all the characters, and write them too.” By then, perhaps half a year would have passed. Maybe at that time, he’d be hidden away in some remote valley in the northwest or some out-of-the-way village. Or perhaps by then, he might not even be around anymore.

He laughed to himself—what was he thinking? How could he just die like that? By then, he’d have completed many tasks, gathered many things. The record book of spirits and monsters would be half-filled with entries.

“Then I’ll wait for you for three years. If you’re not back by then, I won’t ask to become your disciple anymore.” Three years would pass quickly, and by then, he could follow his hero on the path of cultivation.

“You brat, are you going to sleep or not? If you don’t, dawn will be here soon!” He was exhausted—how could this kid still be so energetic?

“Sir, the spirits of Mistbrow Mountain all rest during the day and come out at night.” How could his idol forget something so basic? Grandfather said that the man before him had once been formidable—the ruler of Mistbrow Mountain. Not just Mistbrow Mountain, but even spirits outside these mountains were no match for him. For years, he had been like a sovereign, and if he hadn’t naively trusted people, he wouldn’t have ended up like this.

But he didn’t mind. In his heart, this man would always be the greatest, most heroic figure.

“You forget, I live out in the world, not like you.” Why did this child have so much to say!

Ah, staying up late was making him lose his looks—he couldn’t outshine that cold-blooded Mo Han anymore. Soon, he’d be losing his appeal when he walked down the street. Staying up late was truly a killer.

“Sir, will you compete with Grandpa and the others again tomorrow?” If so, he’d definitely go and cheer for his idol.

He was, after all, his hero.

“I will, though I’m not sure when. Just follow your grandfather.” The more time he spent with this kid, the more he found him not so bad after all.

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He was a bit talkative, but not a bad sort.

Joking aside, with a tongue like his, the kid could easily be a top salesman one day.

“Go to bed now. If you won’t sleep, go read a book. There are some on the desk!” The noise was unbearable—he was tired, sleepy, and hungry all at once.

So much energy spent, yet not a bite to eat.

After shooing Jinghua away, Gu Zhiheng finally lay down and slowly drifted back to sleep.

Jinghua, still illiterate, could only flip through the pictures in the book, turning page after page.

Before long, Gu Zhiheng’s steady breathing filled the room. Jinghua tiptoed over and pulled the blanket up over his future master. Nights in the mountains were cold—he didn’t want his hero catching a chill.

Unlike himself—after becoming a spirit, he didn’t care much for temperature, hot or cold.

...

“I slept well last night. How about you, Aran?” Chen Yuan stepped into the courtyard to breathe in the fresh mountain air, finding it far superior to that of the cities.

“That outfit looks good on you. I bought it a long time ago.” Chu Xingran had changed into a pink outfit that set off her fair skin.

After Ye Zheng’s accident, the place had lain deserted for a long time, until Chen Yuan regained her human form and began restoring it. She’d lived here ever since Ye Zheng had dug her out of the earth, right up until she became a spirit.

She only truly left when she met Chu Xingran. It was then that she finally became part of the mortal world.

She rarely returned, and when she did, it was only to tidy up the courtyard and check for any damage to the house.

It was thanks to Chen Yuan’s care that, after centuries, the place was still habitable.

“Why isn’t Ninth Master up yet? He went to bed early last night!” Suddenly realizing Gu Zhiheng hadn’t appeared, Chen Yuan turned to ask Chu Xingran.

“He’s up. I heard him moving around when I left the house.” He’d always liked to sleep in as a child, and adulthood hadn’t changed that.

Mo Han was the earliest to rise, having taken a walk outside and brought back some food. His expression was grim—perhaps he’d encountered some unpleasant business or someone he disliked.

Life in the mountains was hard, and with only spirits for company, food consisted of nothing but wild fruits.

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The three of them could do without food, but Gu Zhiheng needed to eat—his body was not what it once was.

“I told you black suits you. Why are you wearing white?” Jinghua eyed the white robe in Gu Zhiheng’s hands with disdain. It didn’t suit him at all.

Black was his hero’s color—majestic and mysterious.

“What do you know, you little brat? I’m wearing this one whether you like it or not.” Gu Zhiheng was so annoyed he could have kicked Jinghua out.

“If you don’t wear black, I won’t play with you anymore!” Failing that, he’d just cry and see what happened.

“Fine, fine! Black it is.” Gu Zhiheng, exasperated, changed into a black robe, the kind worn in ancient times.

Had it not been for Jinghua’s near tears, he’d have worn the white one embroidered with bamboo.

The two of them bickered their way out of the house, Gu Zhiheng’s attire stunning the three in the courtyard, as well as the suddenly appearing child. The three adults looked on in astonishment.

Chu Xingran nearly burst into tears. In this getup, Gu Zhiheng was the spitting image of Ye Zheng the first time she met him.

It was then she’d first fallen for Ye Zheng.

“Who are you? Why are you in my hero’s house? Are you bad people?” Jinghua hid behind Gu Zhiheng, poking his head out to interrogate the trio.

“Be good—they’re practically family. Mind your manners.” Gu Zhiheng ruffled Jinghua’s hair and pulled him to his side.

“This is Jinghua, Grandfather Orchid’s grandson. He arrived last night.” Gu Zhiheng didn’t explain why Jinghua had come, only when.

Jinghua wasn’t too interested in the three adults suddenly present in his hero’s home, though he did recognize them vaguely from his grandfather’s registry.

The young man with decent cultivation was heir to the Black Serpent clan.

The one in green was an earth dragon, with about five hundred years of cultivation, though not much of a fighter—a real pushover.

The woman in pink, he couldn’t quite place, but her cultivation matched the Black Serpent’s—she must be a formidable aunt.

As for his hero’s cultivation, he couldn’t sense a thing—it was as if a mist shrouded it, impossible to see through.