Volume One: Youthful Encounters in Subtle Times Chapter 127: The Depths of Chen Yuan’s Heart

No one heard these words, of course. If the Netherbeast did not wish to be found, then after the Daoist had transformed into the Way, no one in the world could track its trail.

As far as the mortal realm was concerned, the only being the Netherbeast feared was the Daoist. It had assumed that once the Daoist had passed into the Way and Heaven’s Gate Town had become a place devoid of the Dao, it would mean there was no longer anyone left in this place—or in the world—for it to fear. It believed it could then run rampant and do whatever it pleased.

The Netherbeast had witnessed the Daoist’s transformation with its own eyes, and the mortal realm was now entirely devoid of the Daoist’s aura. Just as it prepared to live a life of carefree indulgence according to its grand plans, it remained unaware that a hidden danger was silently drawing near.

Li Yu and his companions had been hiding in the shadows, quietly observing everything. Ever since Chen Yuan’s Dao-inflicted wounds were healed by the Daoist, his years of patient accumulation had allowed his cultivation to rise with every passing moment. Protecting Li Yu was no difficult task for him, and with the Daoist’s secret concealment, no one could possibly discover them.

The Daoist’s original intent had been for Chen Yuan to take Li Yu and Shen Tang away. Although he knew that, given Li Yu’s temperament, the boy would never leave obediently, he still did not want Li Yu to witness his transformation into the Way, fearing it would leave a chasm on his future path of cultivation. The Daoist’s worry was simple: he feared that when Li Yu eventually transitioned from the mortal state into the realm of the Dao, the memory of that day would create a mental barrier, casting unnecessary obstacles upon his path.

Yet, he had underestimated Li Yu’s stubbornness. It was not that he hadn’t considered that Li Yu would refuse to leave, but he had not expected that Li Yu would insist on witnessing every moment of what transpired. Consequently, he had no choice but to protect Li Yu and keep his presence hidden from those with ulterior motives.

When all matters concluded, Lu Ming and the others emerged from the shadows one by one. Before they appeared, no one could have known where Li Yu was. The Daoist had been even more meticulous; even from Lu Ming, he kept Li Yu’s hiding place concealed, preventing Li Yu from being exposed to the public eye because of him.

So, where was Li Yu at this moment?

The Daoist’s departure was a settled fact. Li Yu knew his strength was insufficient to change anything, so all he could do was engrave the faces of everyone present that day into his heart. Once he had seen the Daoist through the final stretch of his journey, he had Chen Yuan take him away.

On the journey back, Chen Yuan did not employ any supernatural abilities. Although everyone’s cultivation had plummeted, it did not mean they were truly safe. Knowing they were still protected by the barriers the Daoist had set, Chen Yuan used his magic to stabilize them and make them easier to move with, then escorted them away on foot.

Li Yu walked back in silence, head bowed. He had arrived the night before; after the events of the day, the vibrant night had faded into the desolate twilight of another evening. A sea breeze blew from the distance, fluttering the hem of Li Yu’s clothes and rustling the withered trees and yellowed grass. Beneath the fading glow of the setting sun, even though Li Yu said nothing, Chen Yuan could feel that the boy had lost his spirit.

That he could still walk normally, still act like a person, was likely only because he had promised the Daoist he would live well. He was holding onto that single breath, forcing himself not to sink into boundless despair.

Ever since Chen Yuan saved Li Yu in Heaven’s Gate Town, he had been observing him from the shadows. He knew that although the child was thin and small, he possessed a remarkably strong heart. He was calm, rational, composed, and reserved; every movement and every word he spoke contained hidden depths and deliberate patterns. At first, he had paid attention to Li Yu only because he could not get close to the Daoist, so he had chosen to observe the person closest to him instead.

He had not expected that Li Yu alone would spark such deep curiosity and interest within him.

Setting aside the faint, lingering sword intent upon Li Yu, there was the matter of him being mistaken for a demonic cultivator—a claim Chen Yuan entirely dismissed. Beyond those born as demonic cultivators, there were those who walked the path by borrowing the power or bloodline of demonic creatures. Although Li Yu possessed dragon energy and was perceived as a half-dragon, the disciple of the Daoist could never be so simple.

The path of a demonic cultivator usually culminated in atavism—cultivating into the legendary divine beasts of antiquity. But no matter how much one regressed to ancestral forms, the truth remained that one was a demon. Yet, what is the spirit of all things? It is humanity. Only humans can touch the most profound, the most primal Dao. Humans are not born powerful like other races, possessing innate supernatural abilities for self-preservation, but they possess a talent that no other race has: the ability to perceive the various paths of the Dao, even the most ethereal Heavenly Dao.

Heaven is fair. Since it did not grant us strong, innate bodies or the power to command the winds and rain, it gave us a heart and soul capable of comprehending the Dao. Half-demons are the same; they are born with bodies stronger than those of ordinary mortals, but in doing so, they lose the potential to attain the deeper Dao.

A man as formidable as the Daoist—setting aside his unknown primordial Dao—possessed such manifest strength that it was destined for his successor, the one to carry his mantle, to be human. Only a human could comprehend the Dao, inherit his will, and become the Sword-Bearer of the mortal realm.

Even without considering the Daoist’s perspective, looking at Li Yu himself, Chen Yuan could not believe he was a half-demon—let alone a half-dragon, which was rare even among the demon race.

From Li Yu’s conduct, it was clear he had not grown up pampered in silk and satin, nor had he carved out a place for himself in the mortal or demon worlds through brute force. If one observed closely, one would see that Li Yu always deliberated carefully, leaving room for maneuver. He endured when he could, never easily offended others, and never rashly placed himself in danger. Such habits only suggested that Li Yu had lived his life walking on thin ice, ever cautious. Had he not been circumspect and deep-thinking, he would likely have faced countless perils.

How could such an experience belong to a half-dragon?

Never mind a half-dragon; even a being with a mere trace of dragon blood would develop an overbearing and arrogant personality. This was tied to the temperament brought by power, and even more so to the nature hidden within dragon blood: the refusal to bow, the refusal to admit defeat, and the lack of fear of bloodshed.

After two years of observation, Chen Yuan finally concluded that Li Yu could not possibly be a half-dragon. This only deepened his curiosity. What was the reason the Daoist made everyone believe Li Yu was a half-dragon? If Li Yu was not, then who was he? Or rather, besides being Li Yu, who else was he that was worth the Daoist going to such great lengths to divert everyone’s investigation elsewhere?

The Daoist’s schemes were truly seamless. The Dragon God Technique—a secret never taught to outsiders—combined with the Daoist’s own Dao used to fill in the details of Li Yu’s aura, made anyone who probed Li Yu firmly convinced of his half-dragon identity. Had Chen Yuan not been influenced by his own past habits and spent two years carefully scrutinizing Li Yu’s identity, he would likely never have harbored any doubts.

At this moment, watching Li Yu, Chen Yuan felt a sense of unease in his heart.

Although the Daoist had claimed he was entrusting Li Yu to Chen Yuan because their fates were intertwined, Chen Yuan himself had felt a genuine appreciation for the boy’s talent. That was why he had intervened on the sea to resolve a bit of trouble for him, and later even taught him how to cultivate the Dragon Pearl. Yet, in retrospect, Chen Yuan realized that with the Daoist’s insight and ability, how could he not have known about the dangers Li Yu faced? How could he not have known about the Dragon Pearl? Most likely, the course of events had been entirely within the Daoist’s control.

Li Yu was the bait, and Chen Yuan was the fish. The Daoist had been fishing by the abyss, waiting for Chen Yuan to take the hook of his own accord, thereby creating a causal connection that led to Chen Yuan becoming Li Yu’s guardian.

As he spent time with Li Yu, Chen Yuan felt a growing sense of pity. He had inquired into Li Yu’s past and learned some things. But people are like this: if a person or an event has nothing to do with them, no matter how tragic, they might sigh once or twice, but they feel no personal connection.

It was different now. Li Yu had stepped into his life. He had seen the boy watch the entire ordeal with red-rimmed eyes and restrained composure, remaining steady and unruffled. It made him wonder if he, too, had encountered similar things in the past, and if he, too, had faced them with such chilling indifference?

These things remained unknown. All Chen Yuan knew was that the boy before him was not truly as fine as he appeared. He chose to lick his wounds and bear the pain in silence.

The road was long, but even the longest road has an end. When they returned to the "Again-One Pavilion," the sky had turned completely black. In the past, Heaven’s Gate Town would have had lights glowing for a long time after nightfall—a sign of waiting, or a family chatting together. But now, almost no lights were lit. One-third of the town’s population was gone, and the lights of those homes had naturally been extinguished. The remaining residents, filled with sorrow and unable to face the reality, had long since shut out all the light.

As Li Yu entered Heaven’s Gate Town, he looked up and saw this scene. He etched these images into his heart and walked step by step back to the Pavilion. When he saw the plaque hanging above the entrance, and the couplets he had written for the New Year still flanking the door, his heart truly began to ache.