Chapter 11 - 11 7 Old Memories

11: Chapter 7 Old Memories 11: Chapter 7 Old Memories Zhao Rucheng, who came from a well-off family, bought a residence near the Taoist academy to live in by himself, with about a dozen servants attending to his daily needs.

He seldom stayed in the dormitory.

As for Du Yehu, once he touched alcohol, it took more than just a moment to deal with him.

Therefore, when Jiang Wang returned to the dormitory, he was struck by the realization that the usually noisy space was now quiet except for himself.

After closing the door, he instinctively glanced at the bed on the far left.

The bed had exceptionally neatly folded linens, indistinguishable from the other dormitory mates’ bedding in terms of quality.

At this moment, there was nobody on the bed, and there never would be again.

That was Fang Pengju’s bed.

He came from a wealthy background, but he was never squeamish or petty.

He shared meals and drinks with everyone without fuss.

Directly across from Fang Pengju’s bed was an empty one, piled high with luggage.

The beds on either side were thus arranged, with three on each side.

The second bed next to Fang Pengju’s on the left was the messiest in the dormitory.

The bedding was thrown together haphazardly, and scattered clothing served only as ornamentation.

With a closer sniff, one could even detect the scent of wine.

Under the bed, one would find rows upon rows of neatly arranged wine jars, which, compared to the living conditions of the bed’s occupant, were evidently well taken care of.

The first bed on the left was by the door, and thus belonged to Ling He—he was always responsible for opening and closing the door for everyone.

There were a few discreet patches on the bedding, but it was washed very clean.

The first bed on the right-hand side was Jiang Wang’s.

His bedding was on par with Ling He’s.

Despite having been away for a long time, the bed was still very tidy, obviously cleaned regularly by someone—perhaps Ling He, Zhao Rucheng…

or perhaps Fang Pengju.

The second bed to the right of Jiang Wang belonged to Zhao Rucheng.

His bed stood out in the dormitory, with bedding and sheets all from the high-end Yunxiang Pavilion, adorned with a canopy embroidered with golden thread.

It was a stark contrast to the simple conditions of Du Yehu’s place across from it.

Those who didn’t know him might find Zhao Rucheng difficult to get along with, but the truth was that he simply had high living standards.

Even if he only stayed in the dormitory occasionally, he wanted it to be as luxurious and comfortable as possible.

He even once splurged a fortune to try converting the entire dormitory into a top-tier luxury room—if it hadn’t been for a beating he received from Jiang Wang.

From the age of fourteen when he entered the outer gates of the Taoist academy until now, Jiang Wang had spent three years in this dormitory.

He was extremely familiar with every detail of the room.

All is changed with the passage of time.

Jiang Wang was silent for a while, then took off his shoes and socks, removed his outer shirt, and lay down on his bed.

He was very tired, very weary, but it was only now that he could finally sleep soundly.

Awake to face the matters at hand, but in dreams, wait for the skies to brighten.

Fenglin City was square and orderly laid out.

The City Lord’s residence was at the center, radiating out in all directions.

The East City was the domain of the Taoist academy, while the noble families were in the West City.

South City was mostly inhabited by commoners, and the merchants and rich traders mostly gathered in North City.

Seeing Jiang Wang emerge from the head’s quiet room unharmed, Ling He finally left the academy alone, carrying Fang Pengju’s body.

In life, Fang Pengju could call upon scores of friends, but in death, he was shunned by everyone.

He had acted despicably and maliciously; it was only right that he was despised.

Ling He didn’t feel indignant for him.

He just felt a pang of heartache.

He wrapped Fang Pengju’s body in his own outer shirt, which was old but very clean.

The journey from the East City to the West City was not too far for him, and the path to the Fang Family estate was familiar.

However, Ling He walked slowly, his steps heavy.

He was reluctant to let go.

Being the eldest, he should have taken good care of his four sworn brothers, but he had failed.

He still remembered the time they became sworn brothers by the banks of the Green Willow River, the radiant smiles of every brother.

The Green Willow River was a tributary of the Clear River, winding around the Ox Head Mountain, with its waters so clear that they could reflect a young face and a young heart.

That year they rode with swords, that year they held cups together in conversation, they sparred countless times, and on countless nights, they talked by candlelight.

They had agreed to ascend to the inner court together, to ride swords into the clear sky, and to transcend and become saints together.

Those memories, those…

promises.

Ling He had never imagined that such kindred spirits, bound by deep affection and weighty loyalty, would one day turn against each other in a life-and-death struggle.

How could this be possible?

He thought.

He couldn’t understand, but holding Fang Pengju’s cold body in his arms, he finally arrived at the gates of the Fang residence.

“What are you doing?” the gatekeeper stopped him and asked.

The estate of the Fang Family was imposing, reaching high into the sky.

“Oh.” Ling He, cradling Fang Pengju’s corpse, nodded slightly as a gesture of greeting, “Fang Pengju has passed away, I am returning his body to your esteemed house for burial.”

If no one claimed the body, the authorities would take it to the mass burial site for processing.

That was a place frequented by nefarious characters, where rest would be hard to find even after death.

But Ling He didn’t think it necessary to say this.

He wasn’t one to show off his merits, nor did he think this act was any kind of merit.

The gatekeeper’s face changed, and with a bang, he shut the gate tight.

A voice came from behind the door: “Take him away!

The master said he is not to enter!”

“Young man,” Ling He earnestly said, “please report to your master once more.

Peng Ju, after all, is of the Fang bloodline.

They may have spoken in anger; they wouldn’t ignore this.”

The gatekeeper seemed to hesitate for a moment, “I’ll ask again…

but don’t you take the chance to barge in!”

“You can be assured, young man.”

Holding Fang Pengju’s body, Ling He stood steadfastly in front of the Fang Family gates, listening to the footsteps hurrying away.

He lowered his head to the already cold face of Fang Pengju and said, “Peng Ju, look at the mess you’ve made.

Dead, you won’t have anyone to remember your good deeds, loathed by gods and spirits alike.”

A long while passed before the gatekeeper’s voice rose again from behind the door.

“The master says,” he began, emulating the tone of the master of the house, “he’s dead already, why bring him back?”

Ling He was stunned for a moment, then faltered, “The Fang Family is respectable, Peng Ju should have a proper burial.”

“The master has said, he already knows the cause of Fang Pengju’s death.

Such an unprincipled and dishonorable man is not of the Fang lineage!”

“But he is, indeed, of the Fang lineage,” Ling He said.

“You should leave!” The gatekeeper threw out a handful of knife coins through a crack in the door, “Keep troubling us and we’ll call the authorities!”

The clinking coins scattered across the ground, conspicuously enticing.

If used for a simple burial, they more than sufficed.

Anything extra was a gratuity.

This was the attitude of the Fang Family.

Ling He fell silent.

He stopped trying to say anything.

He was very poor, always had been.

He was in desperate need of money.

The only decent outerwear he had was wrapped around Fang Pengju’s body, while his undergarment was patched up in many places.

He stood in front of the grand, ornate gate of the Fang residence, like a poor relative turned away at the door.

He turned away with Fang Pengju’s body in his arms.

From beginning to end, he never once glanced at those knife coins.

That was the stance of Ling He.