Daishan Turns The Wind Chapter 7

The Painter Case (7)

Feng Yuluo suddenly felt that the idea of feigning amnesia was utterly rotten.

Originally, the two of them had maintained polite conduct, and Shan Wuzhou, due to guilt, wouldn’t even show his face for ten days to half a month.

Yet, after failing his tribulation and faking his death, they had intimate contact repeatedly.

And now he was moving in?

What would people say? Did Shan Wuzhou still care about his future? Was the Patriarch still going to preserve his reputation in his later years?

His reputation was the last shred of dignity he had, and he absolutely couldn’t ruin it. So, he insisted that Shan Wuzhou sleep in the bed, planning to sneak out and sleep on the roof or in a tree once the younger man was asleep.

Shan Wuzhou dared not disobey the command, but when he sat down on the edge of the bed, the thought that this was where Feng Yuluo slept, and that the bedding still carried the scent of sandalwood from his body, made him stand up in a panic and retreat to the doorway.

Feng Yuluo was too tired to speak, but still asked what was wrong.

Shan Wuzhou was flushed, stammering that he wasn’t tired and would go do his evening practice first; the Patriarch should sleep.

This person was truly diligent, worthy of being a good disciple. But seeing Shan Wuzhou’s nervous demeanor, and then looking at the bed, Feng Yuluo suddenly realized the implication, becoming nervous and regretful himself. He said, “Then go.”

It was a close call; he was barely able to keep from stuttering in front of the man thanks to his cultivation.

Lying was dangerous. Now Feng Yuluo not only had to worry about Shan Wuzhou’s future and his own reputation, but also had to constantly remember not to expose his act.

After Shan Wuzhou bolted out as if his feet were on hot coals, Feng Yuluo slept restlessly for a long time, unable to fall asleep, afraid the man would suddenly return.

When he finally became truly tired, and the man still hadn’t returned, he guessed Shan Wuzhou was sleeping in a tree, and closed his eyes with relief.

In his dream, there were many fragments, scattered through crisscrossing branches, moving from the indifference of his twenties, to the recklessness of his sixteen, the starving ghost of his twelve, the mischievous monkey of his eight, the mimicking child of his three, and finally settling on the wailing infant in the swaddling clothes, that wrinkled, bluish little face.

Twenty years ago, Feng Yuluo curled his hair and plastered it to his head, preparing to start another day of pretense.

Ever since he raised his two disciples, Feng Yarui and Feng Lingyun, and was promoted to Patriarch, he only concerned himself with enjoying life and eating well. His disciples would handle everything; his daily routine was just fooling the other disciples and leading them into trouble.

Then he would stand by, laughing as the disciples stood in tearful punishment or copied scriptures—he was utterly lacking in virtue.

Today, things felt slightly different. When he pushed open the door, he sensed something unusual. After a moment of thought, he closed the door.

He was eight hundred and fifty years old, and his fate indicated a tribulation was coming. To survive, he should be cowardly when necessary; there was nothing shameful about it.

But the tribulation clearly didn’t want to let him go. His eldest disciple, Feng Yarui, banged loudly on the door, his voice so joyful it could scrape the sky: “Master! Come quickly, see what I brought!”

Feng Yuluo felt increasingly uneasy, thinking, please leave quickly. He wouldn’t dare accept whatever good thing you brought.

The eldest disciple continued to pound on the door.

Feng Yuluo cursed this unobservant disciple under his breath, and said in a pinched voice, “I’ll look in a couple of days.”

Unexpectedly, this change in voice frightened the person outside, who burst into tears with a “Waaah.”

Feng Yuluo was puzzled and shoved the door open, finding a child. Still in swaddling clothes, his face was blue, clearly born with deficiencies, abandoned and starved for several days, yet his crying still had such earth-shattering penetration.

He was destined for greatness.

The eldest disciple happily held and soothed the child, saying he found him in a ditch, that he possessed a natural spiritual root, was suitable for cultivation, and was bound to achieve great things in the future.

Feng Yuluo nodded and said yes, he would achieve great things, but first, feed the child something.

The second disciple, Feng Lingyun, flew in from the mountain hollow, holding a bowl of tiger’s milk, feeding it spoon by spoon, overjoyed: “He can eat and drink; he’ll be easy to raise.”

The baby was wrinkled, having been abandoned in a ditch for several days, suffering greatly from birth. An ordinary person would have perished, but the child’s eyes were bright. He gulped down the milk with such ferocity that he was clearly in for a tough life ahead.

Disturbed by this commotion, Feng Yuluo no longer felt that sense of panic. He gazed eagerly at the child, and his heart stirred: “Let me raise him. He can be my third disciple.”

This child had boundless prospects. Although he held the title of Patriarch, he actually had no spiritual root or magical power, relying entirely on the mountain’s spiritual energy and the spiritual pills his disciples offered. Life was too good, and he really wanted another excellent disciple.

The eldest and second disciples looked over simultaneously, their eyes full of refusal.

For many days, no matter how much the Patriarch pleaded, Feng Yarui refused to give in. He named the baby Shan Wuzhou and, while the child couldn’t speak, quietly held a master-disciple ceremony.

Feng Yuluo was so angry that he ignored this rebellious eldest disciple for three days.

Thinking back now, he regretted it. If he had been more forceful and taken the child to raise by his side, none of these later events would have happened.

His intuition had clearly warned him, the heavens had reminded him, yet he was still fooled by the child’s weak and harmless appearance. A “tribulation” is a “tribulation”; anyone who is arrogant or conceited must face their doom.

Speaking of which, that brat Feng Yarui regretted it even more, at one point being so anxious he banged his head against the wall. Hmph, what was he doing earlier? Serves him right.

Shan Wuzhou was different from others since childhood. Even among a crowd of three thousand disciples, wearing the same clothes and hairstyles and doing the same things, he could be spotted immediately, radiating spiritual energy.

Feng Yuluo remembered doing many annoying things back then, such as smearing ash on the child’s clothes, making him stand on the mountaintop to be exposed to the wind and sun, making him run five miles every day, and later making him wear a hideous carp pendant…

Perhaps the current situation was retribution for his own excessive mischief.

Of course, it wasn’t all teasing. What else was there… He was truly sleepy and couldn’t recall.

At this thought, the version of himself in the dream sighed deeply.

The strange thing was, he actually heard himself sigh. No, someone was sighing right next to his ear.

Standing by his bedside in the middle of the night—Feng Yuluo guessed it was Shan Wuzhou, which was the only reason he wasn’t scared into playing dead.

What was this brat up to now?

If a young man had too much energy, he could go earn some money at the docks!

Shan Wuzhou had been meditating on a stone, trying to calm his mind. He hated this version of himself. He had made up his mind, but…

When they sat down to eat together, when Feng Yuluo handed him good food, when he carried rice bags to earn money to get them an inn room, and when he let him sleep in the bed for fear of wronging him—this kind of ordinary life held a fatal attraction.

An infinite surge of regret swelled in Shan Wuzhou’s heart. He wished he could go back to noon and change his original vow.

But he couldn’t do that.

For the past seven days, he had been floating in the lava of purgatory. Fearing that further grief would cause him to suffer qi deviation and make things difficult for everyone, he finally sought a chance for reincarnation, which allowed him to slowly restrain himself. If he had to go through that again…

Shan Wuzhou felt the blood in his chest boil. The stone tightly wrapped in vines cracked, and poisonous buds sprouted. The outer vines instantly turned to ash, submerged in the boiling blood.

When exactly did things start to feel strange?

Shan Wuzhou desperately wanted to know when the thought first arose.

Across the entire Feng Mountain, three thousand disciples, all with different temperaments, universally loved the Patriarch. His slender body had carried thousands of burdens for his disciples; he was unrestrained and always led them into trouble.

Shan Wuzhou had been mischievous too, but he became sensible after the age of twelve, preferring to study and immerse himself in practice every day. He truly couldn’t understand where a nearly thousand-year-old adult got so much energy. The constant noise around him was maddeningly annoying.

Even though he stopped craving sweets after twelve, his Grandmaster still offered him candy one moment and a handful of loquats the next.

His Master, Feng Yarui, looked old from worrying about his elders and juniors.

The Grandmaster would trick disciples into skipping class, fishing, and roasting chickens. When Master came out to scold them, he would run away first.

He would lead the children to trespass on monster mountains, and when the monsters were too powerful, he would set off fireworks and call his disciples for help.

When young disciples, full of vigor, argued and fought, he would even fan the flames.

Shan Wuzhou witnessed such acts of immorality for twelve years.

Master Feng Yarui followed behind, cleaning up the messes, constantly nagging. Although he seemed helpless on the surface, he secretly indulged him, though he thought others didn’t know.

When things went too far, he would scold severely. The Grandmaster would then feign illness, pretend to be drunk, complain of exhaustion, or claim chest pain.

Master, having nowhere to vent his anger, would punish the disciples with extra practice and scripture copying.

The disciples felt terribly wronged.

Yet, the next time there was a mischievous idea, these same people would follow the Grandmaster again.

When Shan Wuzhou was eighteen, his studies and cultivation advanced significantly, but his mind became chaotic. Various thoughts tangled and fought, causing him immense pain. He became somewhat gloomy, often staring at the sky late at night, contemplating life.

He pondered a heap of meaningful and meaningless things, occasionally plunging into a vortex of consciousness, nearly suffering qi deviation.

The terrifying thing was that he actually became addicted to the feeling of being close to qi deviation. It allowed him a moment of clarity on the extremely dangerous edge between ice and fire.

The Grandmaster must have noticed his abnormality.

Once, Feng Yuluo took the adult disciples out drinking. When Master lectured him, he immediately swayed and claimed chest pain. Master, infuriated, cursed him, while the other disciples ran around the mountain, drunk and disorderly. Master then told Shan Wuzhou to look after the Grandmaster while he went to round up the children.

When Shan Wuzhou was confused about life, he deeply resented Feng Yuluo’s lack of seriousness. Seeing the drunk man, he even felt a bit of disgust, reluctantly fetching water to cool him down.

Who knew that Feng Yuluo, that bastard, was only pretending to be drunk.

Feng Yuluo peeked with one eye. When he saw his disciple leave, he immediately sprang to life, putting a wet cloth on his forehead and starting to tease Shan Wuzhou again.

He asked why he didn’t like to play at such a young age, and what he liked, promising to get it for him.

Shan Wuzhou scoffed at his messy, ghostly appearance. But confused about life, his mind was in turmoil, and he wanted to know the perspective of a nine-hundred-year-old on life.

So he asked if he had ever done anything bad.

The Grandmaster was self-aware about his bastardly behavior, asking if he ever did anything good all year, or if there was a day he wasn’t immoral.

Shan Wuzhou’s face darkened.

Feng Yuluo suddenly became serious, perhaps recalling something. In the tone of advising a child, he said that life wasn’t particularly special, and everything encountered was normal.

He told him to look at the mountain, saying many disciples were adopted, and originally had many bad habits. But what could be done? No one taught them. They changed after being mentored here.

Feng Yuluo propped himself up, patted his shoulder, stroked his head, his eyes gentle. Shan Wuzhou knew he thought he was sad about being an orphan, but that wasn’t the case.

Shan Wuzhou averted his gaze and asked if there was anything that still bothered him to this day.

The Grandmaster immediately froze.

Shan Wuzhou saw Feng Yuluo’s face stiffen, his eyes dim. He tried hard to pull up the corners of his mouth, wanting to smile, but couldn’t, remaining half-awkwardly suspended there.

In that instant, all his previous disapproval of the Grandmaster strangely vanished. The various irritations and resentments from days of fruitless contemplation on life also dissipated.

It was as if he had learned a certain mundane truth: everyone in this world commits mistakes they cannot forgive themselves for, and everyone has unanswered questions.

Shan Wuzhou didn’t press Feng Yuluo about what that matter was. But for those few days, the Grandmaster was uncharacteristically quiet. He ignored all the disciples’ instigations and would stand silently on the mountaintop alone for a whole day.

Master was worried sick, trying to probe him, but couldn’t find out anything.

A few days later, someone from down the mountain asked for help catching a demon. Shan Wuzhou volunteered to go.

He abruptly opened his eyes, breathing heavily. The stars twinkled across the sky, and his mind was equally chaotic.

Shan Wuzhou cautiously returned to the room. After waiting a while, he walked to the bedside, staring at Feng Yuluo’s face. After a long moment, he spoke.

“Grandmaster, I am very confused. Please give me some time.”

Shan Wuzhou leaned down and whispered, “Just give me a little more time.”

Feng Yuluo felt a pang of sorrow.

Shan Wuzhou looked at him, smiled, and then got up and left.

Feng Yuluo opened his eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to roll down. This wretched child, why was his fate so bitter? I’ll give you my good fortune, Grandmaster’s blessings, since I’m already old anyway.

Early the next morning, Old Li got up to tidy up. He wanted to heat the flatbreads but found someone had already done it. Shan Wuzhou had picked wild shepherd’s purse and stir-fried a plate. Old Li, shocked that a young man could cook, went to call Old Feng to wake up.

After eating, they were supposed to chop firewood. Feng Yuluo, having drafted his speech all night, spoke cheerfully, saying this place was quite boring, and since he wouldn’t be in danger, Shan Wuzhou should go out and enjoy himself.

Some things were better left unsaid. It was best if he left and never came back.

Young people should travel the world. When their eyes and hearts held the cosmos and the firmament, many small matters would be seen clearly.

Feng Yuluo was prepared for three rounds of refusal and insistence, calculating that since he had amnesia, he could still pull out the Patriarch’s authority when needed.

He had been too immoral recently and couldn’t handle it anymore. If this continued, his past would surely be exposed.

Shan Wuzhou said, “Alright.”

Feng Yuluo nearly fell off his seat. He ate his vegetables resentfully. Calculating people’s hearts was too difficult; he couldn’t guess what the other person was thinking at all.

Shan Wuzhou ate silently. The flatbread was heated just right, dry yet soft. The rich flavor melted into his stomach, generating a warmth that dispelled sadness but also stirred up greed.

Beside him, Feng Yuluo took a bite of shepherd’s purse and a spoonful of salty porridge, clearly satisfied with his cooking. Shan Wuzhou withdrew his gaze, thinking he needed to leave quickly.

Using the excuse of a cultivation mission, Shan Wuzhou departed after the meal.

Feng Yuluo went to find Zhao Zisheng again. She had already opened a painting studio in South Street, painting herself and taking in students for instruction.

Business was quite good.

He was there to ask about Yuanbao’s clone. When the illusion broke, he was focused on swinging his big stick for revenge and didn’t manage to catch Yuanbao.

Zhao Zisheng was surprised: “That was your demon, named Yuanbao? I don’t know. I was grieving and furious at the time. Suddenly, a mass of black energy rushed over and asked if I wanted revenge. I immediately said yes, without considering the consequences. Then, it was as you saw.”

However, there were no consequences. Afterward, Yuanbao asked her for payment—it wasn’t expensive, just a sunflower.

“I saw it liked eating sunflower seeds, so I bought five catties of roasted ones for it. It left happily.”

…It asked for a sunflower, five catties of sunflower seeds, and then left…

He needed to keep searching.

Feng Yuluo thought that people really do anything when they are emotional. Zhao Zisheng, desperate for revenge, agreed without hesitation when a mass of demonic energy offered help, not even fearing she might be dragged down herself.

Zhao Zisheng said she was truly fearless at the time. Thinking back now, she still didn’t feel afraid, perhaps she was naturally bold. She then asked why Shan Wuzhou hadn’t come. Learning that he had gone traveling elsewhere, she looked at Feng Yuluo’s expression and smiled, lowering her head.

She looked at the people inside and outside the shop, her expression peaceful: “I know why Yan Xin wanted me to open a painting studio. She wanted me to always be able to paint.”

Feng Yuluo smiled: “That’s wonderful.”

A woman brought her child for a lesson and chatted at the door: “Oh, look at your girl’s round face, how blessed she is. How about we arrange a child marriage? My son is very smart and will surely treat her well.”

“Right? The fortune teller also said my daughter has a husband-blessing face. Everyone loves her.”

The little girl stared at the painting, unaware of what the adults were saying.

Zhao Zisheng walked over and said to the adult: “She is also very intelligent. Furthermore, she doesn’t have a husband-blessing face; this is a noble face, one that only blesses herself.”

Saying this, she took the little girl’s hand and told her, “Our Yuan Yuan must bless herself.”

The little girl understood this time and nodded with a smile.

After they went inside for the lesson, the woman outside remained stunned, her face holding years of confusion and bewilderment.