"No, absolutely not." Chang Boning's attitude was resolute.

"The deceased was my fiancée," Feng Rugu said. "The character 'Feng' was written using my fiancée's skull as the brush stroke. Even if I didn't do it myself, I'm still inextricably linked to this matter."

"The betrothal letter has been returned."

"But the world doesn't know that."

Chang Boning said, "If that's the case, then you have even less reason to descend the mountain. Someone is deliberately forcing you to leave."

"My dear senior brother," Feng Rugu hung the cinnabar brush back on the brush rack and flicked the wolf hair brush suspended high on the rack with his fingertip. "There are quite a few astute individuals in the Daoist sects. Sooner or later, someone will realize that the murderer is targeting me. Prominent figures from various sects, Hanshan Temple, and the Lingyin Buddhist Temple have all lost disciples. If I don't descend the mountain soon to give an explanation, I'm afraid they will collectively storm up to Fengling to demand answers."

Feng Rugu's overly flippant manner when discussing human lives caused Luo Fuchun, the young man who had come to report the news, to frown slightly.

He had to interrupt them, "Master, the envoy from the Wen family..."

There was no need for him to say more. The silhouette of the Wen family's envoy returning through the rain had already appeared outside the Green Bamboo Hall.

Of course, they were not here to cause trouble.

The Wen family was still immersed in the grief of losing their daughter and had no intention of solving this murder mystery.

Although Feng Rugu and Wen Shen'er had no genuine feelings for each other, and the betrothal letter had only been returned a few hours ago, in their sorrow, the Wen family's first thought was still to have Fengling back them up and take charge of the situation.

By the time the envoys were comforted and it was agreed that Fengling would give the Wen family an explanation, the night was already deep, and the rain had not stopped.

Feng Rugu said he wanted to return to "Still Water Runs Deep" to rest. Chang Boning instructed Luo Fuchun to take good care of him.

Luo Fuchun acknowledged the order, held an umbrella, and escorted his master home from the side.

After his junior brother left, Chang Boning pondered for a while, then spread out a piece of paper and began to write a letter.

Having tended to flowers for many years, the faint fragrance of rhododendrons had long permeated his bones. As he wrote, the pages also carried a hint of that pure scent.

If it weren't for someone's scheming and his junior brother's insistence on descending the mountain, Chang Boning would not have wanted to use this connection.

But...

Sigh.

Once the letter was finished, Chang Boning folded it, swiped his finger horizontally, and the paper transformed into a crane-shaped flowing light that drilled out of the Green Bamboo Hall.

A ball of white light traveled through the rain and disappeared into the night.

"Still Water Runs Deep" was located in the back mountains of Fengling, tranquil and far from people. In the middle of summer, the grass and trees grew day and night, the scent of grass was pleasant, and the clear shadows brushed against one's clothes.

If it weren't for this annoying heavy rain and the untimely bloodshed, now would be a great time to admire the moon.

Luo Fuchun asked, "Master, do you want to send a message to summon Junior Brother Sang back?"

Feng Rugu said, "You send it."

...He knew it.

His master was too lazy to even pick up a brush, so how could he possibly descend the mountain?

Luo Fuchun was accustomed to this and inquired, "It will take some time for Junior Brother to return. Should I go down the mountain to find him, or wait for him to return to the mountain and then set off together with him?"

...Feng Rugu was not even considered as part of the group going out.

Feng Rugu glanced at him from the corner of his eye, the smile in his eyes enough to easily stir one's soul. "You decide, Fuchun."

Even though Luo Fuchun had a hundred dissatisfactions with this master, seeing his face, most of his anger dissipated. He bid him good night and left with a sweep of his sleeve.

He stopped at the corner of the corridor and watched Feng Rugu enter the bedroom, frowning and sighing softly.

Luo Fuchun's real name was not Luo Fuchun. He was the second son of the Xiao family from a newly rising Daoist sect.

Ten years ago, among the people Feng Rugu saved was his elder brother, Xiao Rang.

Luo Fuchun was grateful for the kindness and also admired Feng Rugu, so he came to Fengling to seek the Tao. After kowtowing and pleading, he was finally admitted into the sect. Then, after much persistence, he finally gained Feng Rugu's approval to become his disciple and entered "Still Water Runs Deep".

On the first day of entering the inner sect, he was filled with trepidation, but when he prostrated at Feng Rugu's feet, he forgot about everything else. He was so overjoyed that his knees went weak, and his whole body trembled.

Before him was the youngest sword master in the Daoist world. At the age of twelve, he used the Fengling sword technique as a foundation to create his own Guixu sword technique. At fourteen, he privately opened the Fengling sword furnace and used spiritual power to forge swords, obtaining two peerless extraordinary weapons. At eighteen, he was trapped in the "Forgotten World" where remnants of the demonic sect gathered, protecting over a hundred disciples for eighty-nine days...

One by one, each and every one of these were heroic deeds that could make young people's blood boil with excitement.

He heard Feng Rugu ask him, "What's your name?"

His fingertips were shaking. "Xiao Ran."

Feng Rugu held a small wine pot, took a sip of wine, and casually glanced at him. "Hmm. Then from today onwards, you'll be called Luo Fuchun."

Xiao Ran: "..."

At that time, the wine in Feng Rugu's pot was called "Luo Fuchun".

Changing his full name so casually...

Xiao Ran knelt on the ground as a chill crept from his heart to his fingertips.

After living in "Still Water Runs Deep", the more Luo Fuchun understood Feng Rugu, the more his heart grew cold.

Feng Rugu was lazy, outwardly warm but inwardly cold, had terrible taste, and loved luxurious things...

Because Feng Rugu had not descended the mountain for ten years, Luo Fuchun even had to go down the mountain to eliminate demons and monsters for money in order to support his master's daily life.

More importantly, in those ten years, Luo Fuchun had never seen him draw his sword even for a moment, so he had not been able to learn even half a stance of the Guixu sword technique.

Currently, all the progress he had made in sword techniques was what he had comprehended on his own while earning money to support his master.

The greater the expectation, the greater the disappointment.

Left with no choice, Luo Fuchun could only console himself: forget it, it was his own fault for stubbornly attaching himself to Feng Rugu.

Three years after he entered the sect, his junior brother finally joined, and as a result, he also had his name changed upon entry. He was given the name "Sang Luojiu", which gave Luo Fuchun a little twisted sense of consolation.

Back in his room, Luo Fuchun wrote a letter to his junior brother Sang Luojiu, who was out working to earn money to support their master, briefly explaining the situation on the mountain and urging him to return quickly.

As he put down the brush, he still felt stifled.

The matter of his master seeking a Daoist companion was strange to begin with. Now that the companion he personally chose had died, his master also did not seem to show any grief or reluctance.

...So, just like when he accepted himself and Luojiu as disciples, was it truly another whimsical decision, losing interest in the toy he wanted once he got his hands on it?

Luo Fuchun gripped the end of the brush tightly, his face growing even more unpleasant.

......

After closing the door, Feng Rugu picked up a marriage book from the neatly arranged desk.

Marriage books were naturally kept by each party.

The Wen family's copy had been returned, while Feng Rugu's copy was still in his hands.

He stared at the marriage book and spaced out for half an hour in the darkened room.

No one knew what he was thinking.

On the seventh day after Lady Wen's passing, Feng Rugu was in his bedroom, lighting a fire in a brazier.

In one hand he held the betrothal letter, in the other the paper gold and silver ingots he had folded himself. Comparing with the birth date and time on the letter, he silently recited while feeding the gold and silver into the flames.

Silver ash rolled onto his shoulders and hair, like a thousand piles of snow, but he didn't brush it off.

As he did this, his expression remained calm, without much grief or reluctance.

Outside the window stood Luo Fuchun, and Sang Luojiu who had just returned to the mountain.

Unlike Luo Fuchun's heroic and spirited looks, Sang Luojiu was a handsome and fair young man. He carried an iron sword on his back, about the same height as Luo Fuchun, wearing a soft, form-fitting robe. Due to the journey, it inevitably had a few extra creases, but still looked refined and beautiful.

He was quite worried: "These past few days, Master has kept himself shut in his room?"

Unable to see that face, Luo Fuchun could finally vent his dissatisfaction: "Perhaps he's sleeping."

Sang Luojiu glanced at him disapprovingly: "...Senior Brother."

"He's always been like this." Luo Fuchun snorted, "On the surface he seems to get along with everyone, but in fact he's cold-hearted, toying with the world. Of the thousands of people in this world, I don't believe anyone has truly touched his heart."

Sang Luojiu sighed helplessly: "Senior Brother, don't speak of Master like that."

Luo Fuchun scoffed, about to turn away, when he saw the door open.

Feng Rugu walked out from inside, brushing the ash from his shoulders: "Fuchun, Luojiu, pack your things, we set off tomorrow."

Luo Fuchun couldn't react, stammering a little: "Go, go where?"

"First to Wenshi Sect." Feng Rugu still held his bamboo pipe, taking a puff and exhaling some smoke, "Bring tobacco, cushions, the brush, ink, paper and inkstone I'm used to using."

With that, he made to leave.

Luo Fuchun never imagined Feng Rugu would really descend the mountain. Thinking he might see his master's heroic bearing, he was overjoyed for a moment, chasing a few steps after Feng Rugu's retreating figure: "Master, where are you going now?" Could it be to retrieve that pair of unrivaled weapons?

Feng Rugu held his pipe: "I'm going to sunbathe in front of Green Bamboo Hall."

Luo Fuchun: "..."

Feng Rugu turned his back: "Hurry and pack."

Ignoring Luo Fuchun's disappointment, Sang Luojiu knelt and bowed, respectfully saying: "Yes, Master!"

Feng Rugu went to sunbathe in front of Green Bamboo Hall again.

The sunlight in front of Green Bamboo Hall was really quite nice. He took a few puffs of smoke, the faint scent of bamboo in his nostrils, making even the sunlight on his body feel cool and refreshing.

Feng Rugu had a light dream.

In the dream, someone followed him step by step, their technique really not very skillful.

Feng Rugu couldn't help laughing as he caught the person out from hiding: "Didn't I tell you to wait for me nicely at the inn?"

The small white-clothed youth had his hair in a high ponytail, his bearing already showing a hint of charm and spirit, but he still clung to him, raising a hand to grasp his belt, not saying a word.

"I'm not going to abandon you. I've paid for the inn, wait for me..." Feng Rugu stroked his own face, about to say more but stopping himself. He patted the back of the youth's head, "Wait for me to finish the Eastern Emperor's sacrificial rites, then I'll have my second junior brother bring you up the mountain."

The hand gripping his belt tightened.

"You want me to bring him?"

The hand loosened a bit, as if in agreement.

"Alright. I'll come get him." When the youth smiled, his eyes were charming and affectionate, "But, when the time comes, don't you dare not recognize me."

The youth suddenly became nervous.

He always took Feng Rugu's every word to heart.

To set this eternally uneasy child at ease, Feng Rugu pondered for a moment, then pointed a finger at his own heart meridian.

His heart suddenly ached sharply, as if pierced by a sharp needle tip.

Fortunately it was only for an instant.

He cut out a bit of his heart's blood, holding it on his fingertip, smearing it into a red thread. Taking the youth's left hand that gripped his belt, he tied that thread of red on his little finger.

The youth put his little finger to his ear, hearing only the sound of a heartbeat, clear as it entered his ears.

Half-jokingly, half-seriously, Feng Rugu said: "Listen to this and imagine I'm still by your side accompanying you, so you can sleep well at night. As long as I'm still alive, I'll definitely come get you. When the time comes, I'll untie this for you."

"Foster father..."

Feng Rugu lightly tapped his lips with a finger: "Later when you enter Fengling, remember to call me Master."

In his light sleep, Feng Rugu vaguely heard footsteps.

These footsteps were a bit unusual, unlike disciples who cultivated Fengling's techniques, so Feng Rugu opened his eyes.

The first thing that entered his sight was plain white monk's shoes, and a white-gold monk's robe engraved with lotus patterns.

The person had a black wooden longsword on his back, fully carved with Buddhist verses. A string of olive pit prayer beads hung from his left hand, a wrathful Vajra carved on them, beard and hair complete. The prayer beads were a deep red, further setting off the purity and slenderness of his fingers.

His left little finger was tied with a red thread. At first glance it seemed to be string, but looking closely it merged into his skin, unclear if it was a birthmark or a scar.

Besides this, the person had no other superfluous adornments. His entire bearing was both stunning and cold, with only the natural red mole on his right earlobe adding a touch more color.

If Yan Jiangnan were here, he would surely sigh, with such good looks, why become a monk.

Feng Rugu suddenly sat halfway up, momentarily unsure if he was still dreaming.

But the person seemed to recognize him, bowing to him: "Lord Yunzhong."

Feng Rugu opened his mouth: "You..."

Before he could finish, the person had already passed him and left.

Feng Rugu lowered his head and found that he had slept with his collar wide open, perhaps especially eye-catching in the eyes of those in the Buddhist sect.

But he was too lazy to adjust it, casually resting a hand behind his head as he turned to watch the person's retreating figure.

With this movement, his originally half-concealed, half-revealed collarbones were now fully exposed.

A seventeen or eighteen-year-old young Buddhist monk accompanied the person. Watching the man enter Green Bamboo Hall and knowing his own status was insufficient, he stayed outside. Glancing over, he was startled by the scene of this man baring his chest, clothes in disarray. He silently chanted Amitabha several times before daring to ask: "Excuse me, are you Lord Yunzhong?"

Feng Rugu held his pipe, smiling without answering.

The young monk also knew etiquette. Realizing this person's generation was not low, he hurriedly bowed.

"Little monk." The person didn't dare chat, but Feng Rugu instead became friendly, holding his pipe and smiling, "What's your name?"

Inside Green Bamboo Hall.

Chang Boning, who usually didn't wear an eye veil indoors, unprecedentedly covered his eyes tightly while inside.

Seeing the person arrive, he politely greeted: "Master Ruyi."

The twenty-three or twenty-four-year-old youth had already cultivated a steady demeanor like ancient stone. His face was calm, with little expression. He bowed, fully performing the proper etiquette: "Lord Duanrong."

Chang Boning handed over a cup of flower tea: "Sorry for troubling Master Ruyi to make this trip. My request was clearly written in the letter: my junior fellow disciple Feng Rugu is going down the mountain to investigate the Tang sword murder case. He made many enemies in the demon sect in his early years. Taking only two disciples down the mountain, I'm afraid his strength may be insufficient. To prevent any mishaps, I ask Master Ruyi to take care of him."

"A Buddhist cultivator from Hanshan Temple was also killed," Ruyi spoke in a pleasing, cold tone. "As a monk protecting the temple, I also need to go to Wenshi Sect to investigate the murder. If Lord Duanrong trusts me, I will certainly take good care of Master Yunzhong."

"Thank you."

"There's no need." Ruyi slightly raised his eyes, and for a moment, there was some warmth in his cold gaze. "I will never refuse anything my adoptive father entrusts to me."

Chang Boning, who had just picked up his teacup, choked on a mouthful of water.

He pursed his lips and managed to say, "No need to be... polite."