Volume One: Youthful Encounters in Humble Times Chapter 139: The Transformation of Li Yu

Even the darkest night must eventually pass, giving way to a glorious tomorrow.

Li Yu knew in his heart that his master could no longer hold on. He had originally assumed his master would at least endure until he was brought back to Youyi Temple, but looking at his master’s current intentions, it seemed he had no plans to take him back.

Daoist Lin produced a jug of wine from nowhere. He brought Li Yu to a cliff overlooking the sea, sat down, and gazed at the rising morning sun, gesturing for Li Yu to join him.

He took a sip of wine and passed the jug to Li Yu. "Drink with your master," he said.

Li Yu had tasted wine before, but only in small sips, and the Daoist had never allowed him much. Perhaps because this was their final farewell, the Daoist did not stop him.

Li Yu took the jug and drank silently. The liquid stung his throat and tongue; it was not pleasant, but he swallowed it without a word.

Watching Li Yu, the Daoist couldn't help but smile. "Not good, is it?"

Li Yu nodded. "It tastes terrible."

The Daoist patted Li Yu’s head. "Wine is not inherently good, but more often than not, people drink it not for the taste, but to swallow their own bitterness, joys, and sorrows along with it."

"Master, are you feeling bitter now?" Li Yu asked, his heart heavy.

Daoist Lin took another long drink, his gaze drifting somewhere beyond the horizon, as if looking into a distant, unknowable future. "There is so much beauty in this world that I have yet to see. How could I not feel bitter?"

Li Yu didn't know how to respond. Even though his master’s true self had already passed into the Dao, the fact that this final remnant of his consciousness was about to vanish was equally hard to accept.

Daoist Lin understood his thoughts. "Don't be sad. Let me be the sad one. In the future, you must see this vast world for me. See what lies beyond the stars, what our world truly is, and what the Great Dao itself is. You have so much left to do. While I am sorry I cannot find these answers myself, I am also relieved that I will no longer be burdened. I have placed all my weight upon your shoulders; all the hardships to come are now yours."

Li Yu remained silent, not knowing what to say. The Daoist continued, "Once this is over, take Shen Tang and leave Tianmen Town. It is no longer a place for you to live. Soon, the three major sects will arrive to establish their teachings, and neither sect will be suitable for you."

...

As the time passed, the Daoist rambled on about the details of opening the heavenly portals and other matters he wanted Li Yu to keep in mind. His final instruction was, "Little Fish, I have hidden a letter behind the portrait in the main hall. If you ever have the chance, help me ask the Lord of the Imperial Palace two questions."

With this final task entrusted, the Daoist had nothing left to say. The burdens in his heart were lifted.

He looked toward the horizon and began to hum a folk ballad from Tianmen Town—a song the fishermen sang as they headed out to sea. The song spoke of the repetitive, mundane, and trivial nature of their daily lives, which together formed an ordinary existence. Yet, these people were not ordinary; they were warriors who faced life head-on, pouring all their strength into their journey, even when the days were dull, tedious, and filled with hardship.

Listening to the humming, Li Yu seemed to see the struggles and tribulations his master had endured during his youth while seeking the Dao. No matter how many dangers and trials he encountered, he had never retreated.

And so, the last trace of the Daoist’s consciousness vanished into the sunlight, without a sound.

Perhaps all true departures are silent.

At the moment the Daoist vanished, Li Yu, who sat on the cliff, also vanished.

But in Youyi Temple, Li Yu awoke.

As he opened his eyes and saw the empty seat across from him, two lines of tears fell uncontrollably. He knew that his master had truly departed forever.

This technique was known as the "Two-Body Connection." It allowed one to possess two identical bodies in different locations—one holding all the cultivation and strength, the other carrying the essence and karma. It was the most practical of all shadow-body arts, allowing the user to mislead observers while the true self retreated to a distant place. The two were connected yet entirely separate. The only drawback was that when the technique ended, one body would vanish, transferring all its experiences back to the other.

Li Yu could clearly feel the Nether Beast restrained within his sea of consciousness.

After this ordeal, he had refined his consciousness into a meditative image projected into his sea of consciousness. He watched the beast trapped at the bottom of the sea, listening to its mockery of his master’s death and its angry, resentful cursing, but remained unmoved.

After a while, the Nether Beast noticed that Li Yu’s gaze was not filled with the anger it had expected. There was not even a ripple of emotion—only a cold, ruthless detachment, as if it were nothing more than a weak ant.

The beast felt a sudden, chilling fear. It was then that it understood the hidden meaning behind the Daoist’s earlier words.

It had only ever seen such a gaze in the eyes of the Heavenly Dao when its soul first awakened. It was a look that regarded all living things as mere straw dogs, devoid of warmth or feeling. It was an ice-cold sensation that penetrated to its very core, something it had never felt anywhere else, not even when facing death.

Li Yu was indeed a dangerous person; the beast finally confirmed this. Its voice slowly weakened, and it dared not interact with him again.

Li Yu watched it for a moment longer, then, finding it no longer interesting, he vanished from the space.

Only then did the Nether Beast dare to exhale. "That damned Daoist Lin was a monster, a freak. I never expected the little disciple he took in to be even worse. None of them in that lineage are any good. I’ll wait and see if his ending is any better than his master’s!"

It shuddered, pursed its lips, and sank into the depths. Whether it continued to curse Li Yu in its heart was a secret only it knew.

Li Yu emerged from his meditation. In fact, the first thing his master had asked of him was to use his gaze to intimidate the Nether Beast immediately upon waking.

At first, he hadn't understood how his own strength could intimidate such a creature, but his master had told him, "Some people are born with a gaze that carries an invisible pressure—a power inherent to their soul. You have never formally cultivated, and you possess no spiritual energy, but you do not realize how lethal your gaze can be."

He hadn't understood then, but now, he began to grasp it.

Sometimes, a gaze filled with killing intent is not the most lethal. The most lethal gaze is one of utter indifference. All living beings in this world are sentient; they are born with emotions, and even a cultivator who reaches the peak of the fourteenth realm cannot escape the karmic weight of their feelings.

But Li Yu was different. Deep within his gaze lay a form of ruthlessness. Perhaps that was why the Daoist had noticed him in the first place.

For the sentient beings of this world, when they encounter someone who is naturally devoid of emotion, they feel an instinctive, deep-seated fear.

It was true that Li Yu was often lively and vibrant, but that was merely his exterior. Whenever he faced a major trauma, that warmth—that human side—would be stripped away, revealing his truest nature: a state of utter detachment.

A ruthless Li Yu could accomplish things that others would not even dare to imagine. Escaping the Li family of Tianshan was one such thing; seeking vengeance for his grandmother all alone was another.

And now? Although his master had died by his own choice, was it not also brought about by the persecution of others? They were not the executioners who killed Daoist Lin, but they were the indirect catalysts of his death.

Would Li Yu truly let this pass? No one knew what he would do. He only knew that he must live well, for only by living well could he possess the infinite possibilities of the future.

And so, when he composed himself, opened the door, and stepped out, he saw a different world.

The first to sense the change in Li Yu was Shen Yuan, who had come to find him. He saw the shadow of Daoist Lin in Li Yu, yet the cold, detached aura was even more pronounced than it had been in the master.

Daoist Lin had appeared to be a free spirit playing through the mortal world, but at his core, he was cold and sharp. Over the years of living with him, Li Yu had unknowingly internalized these traits. Now, having faced his master’s death, his temperament had undergone a fundamental shift. Though Li Yu was standing right before him, feeling him felt as though he were far away, drifting among the clouds.

Shen Yuan thought to himself, "Could he have entered the state of 'Heart's Mirror' at such a young age?"