Lian Qingxue Clan

  The Lian Qingxue Clan was enveloped in peace.

  Everyone attended to their daily duties... some gathered lotus seeds from the pond, their laughter and cheerful chatter filling the air as their baskets overflowed with soft pink petals.

  Others, disciples preparing for a journey, loaded provisions of food and water for the road ahead.

  Within the clan’s grand library, Zao Yun and Ying Xia were diligently selecting scrolls and books to accompany them.

  The room exuded the faint scent of ink and aged parchment.

  Zao yun gazed around in awe, his eyes wide as he surveyed the seemingly endless rows of shelves.

  “Senior Brother… I can scarcely believe it. Did Master Xian Yong Ming truly author all these books himself?”

  Ying xia smiled, approaching with quiet pride.

  “Indeed. Every single volume. Master possesses profound knowledge of both spiritual and physical medicine. Each book here encapsulates his teachings... the most intricate details of healing, cultivation, and life energy.”

  Then, with a swift flick of his wrist, ying xia playfully tapped zao yun on the head.

  “Less talking, more working. Hurry and find the book before Master arrives... we must carry them out before he does!”

  Zao yun puffed out his cheeks in annoyance and glared at him but remained silent. He returned to searching the shelves, muttering under his breath.

  After a while, his fingers brushed against an unusual book... one without a title. Every other book in the library was meticulously labeled with its contents, but this one bore a completely blank cover.

  Zao yun glanced around. Ying xia had drifted to the other side of the room. Curious, zao yun quietly opened the mysterious book.

  And froze.

  Every page was utterly empty... not a single word, not even a speck of ink. He flipped through them faster and faster, his disbelief mounting with each turn. Yet, as he reached the very last page, something faint appeared... a mark, a name.

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  Before he could examine it, the book slipped from his grasp and closed with a soft thud.

  Behind him, footsteps approached... slow, deliberate, almost soundless. It was ying xia, curious to see what his junior was occupied with.

  Zao yun reopened the last page... and this time, he saw it clearly.

  A single name, inscribed in faded black ink: Han Wuang Shi.

  He had never encountered that name before.

  Before he could even whisper it aloud, ying xia suddenly covered zao yun’s mouth with his hand, his eyes wide with alarm.

  “Don’t. Never read that name aloud. And never... never... speak it again.”

  ---

  Some time later…

  Han Wuang Shi sat serenely in his chamber, cross-legged beside a low wooden table. He was preparing his guqin for the impending journey, his movements precise and calm... yet his expression betrayed no emotion. Neither joy nor sorrow was evident.

  In the corner of the room lay another guqin... white, pristine, untouched. As Han Wuang Shi’s gaze fell upon it, the mask on his face crumbled. Grief flickered in his eyes; his lips trembled. Tears welled up, tracing silent paths down his cheeks.

  He looked at the white guqin and whispered softly, as if to himself:

  “How long… how much longer must I remain alive? Only to see you again…”

  The room remained undisturbed. Despite holding the highest rank in the clan, Han Wuang Shi wore the plainest of robes, as if he had long relinquished the vanity of titles.

  ---

  Outside, near the lotus pond and behind the great willow tree, ying xia was still admonishing zao yun. The boy stood with his head bowed low, sulking as ying xia’s voice resonated through the quiet garden.

  “How many times must I tell you? Never touch anything here without permission! Remember that, and do not make me repeat myself!”

  Ying xia turned to leave, but zao yun’s voice halted him.

  “Wait. Why? Why is that name forbidden? And who does it belong to? If you do not tell me right now, I will say it aloud... right here!”

  Ying xia froze. For a moment, he contemplated walking away... but then sighed.

  “If I don’t tell him, this fool will actually do it…”

  Turning back, he spoke in a low, serious tone.

  “That name… belongs to Master Xian Yong Ming himself. He strictly forbade anyone from speaking it. They say if someone dares to utter it aloud, his sword will awaken on its own... and sever the speaker’s throat. That is why no one dares even whisper it. To everyone, he is known solely as Master Xian Yong Ming.”

  Zao yun fell utterly silent. He had not anticipated this. His heart raced at the realization that the forbidden name belonged to their own master.

  After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice quiet but trembling.

  “But… why? Why would he forbid his own name?”

  Ying xia sighed deeply, then gestured for zao yun to walk with him.

  “No one truly knows the actual reason. However, it is said… that long ago, Master defeated a man named Gu Zong in battle. And ever since that day, his name became a taboo. Beyond that, no one knows any more.”

  As they spoke, they observed from a distance that Master Xian Yong Ming was entering the library. Ying xia straightened his posture.

  “Come along. Master is ready. The journey to Mount Taylin begins now... we must not keep him waiting.”

  The two disciples bowed once toward the library, the pond’s ripples shimmering behind them.