36 A bad time (1/2)
The halls of the Hidden Mist Manor were much more narrow than those of the Heavenly Sword Sect, but it was no less captivating. Tiny intricate details and paintings adorned each pillar and each crevice within the eaves. Wondrous scenes were immortalized within every wall, every nook and cranny of the Hidden Mist Manor; a past Sect Leader that ascended to the Heavenly Offices, a young master that defeated a Demon King, a maiden that was more beautiful that played the zither to charm a divine serpent. The last and first time Liu Sumeng had been here in his previous life was not for a pleasant cause and he hadn't the time to appreciate the charm of the Hidden Mist Manor.
They stopped in front of a large sliding door, painted red. Liu Sumeng stopped there, ”I'll wait outside,” he said. Yuan Xuelan glared at him but Peng Jipei was in agreement and pulled his cousin inside, letting the door slide close in front of Liu Sumeng.
And he was left alone. They were in the quiet on the side of the manor, Peng Jipei had explained earlier, so that his sickly mother would not be disturbed. Though a bit eerie, it was nothing so terrible that Liu Sumeng couldn't endure. In fact, it was the perfect time to unravel his chaotic mind and to go over his plans.
A few things were about to happen that Liu Sumeng only knew and understood through second-hand retellings from his previous life. Right now there was one person he wanted to help, and that was the current Hidden Mist Sect Leader, Peng Zhugen, Peng Jipei's older brother.
As though summoned from his thoughts, languid footsteps echoed towards him. Under the shade of the eaves, a tall man approached, face half-hidden behind a fan. His eyes were sharp, cold and shared nothing in appearance with Peng Jipei. Then again, Peng Zhugen was born from a different mother.
”I was wondering who was making all this noise in my halls,” his dawdled, chin tilted upwards. ”So Xiao Xuelan has arrived, I see. And didn't even come to greet me first.”
Liu Sumeng bowed respectably, ”Greetings, Sect Leader Peng. Forgive our transgressions. We were told that you were busy.”
Peng Zhugen clicked his tongue, ”Busy? What a pathetic and boring lie. But no matter. It is not your fault. I'm surprised that Second Young Master Liu has come here instead of participating in the Supreme Hunting Tournament.” His eyes narrowed with pointed suspicion.
Outside of the sparse few times Liu Sumeng met the man in his youth, he never quite got to meet Peng Zhugen in his past life. Though he never imagined that someone Liu Suye counted as a trusted friend could be so abrasive. ”The tournament is not so important,” Liu Sumeng said, ”there is something else I wish to confirm.”
The Hidden Mist's Sect Leader flicked his wrist and hummed, fanning himself slowly with his silver embroidered fan, ”If you have business with the Hidden Mist Sect, it is with I whom you shall talk to.”
”Of course.”
A satisfied smile lifted the corners of Peng Zhugen's lips, ”Good.” And with that, he sauntered off, leaving Liu Sumeng again in solitude.
…What an oppressive first impression, Liu Sumeng thought. But no matter, he would still have to find a way to help that person.
Meanwhile, incense was burning within the room with the red door. Spiritual lights flickered and floated leisurely around, keeping the energy within the room thick and full. Along was the incense, there was the sharp smell of medicinal herbs that made Yuan Xuelan want to gag.
Peng Zhugen pushed aside a sheer silk curtain. There were two people at the bed; a gaunt woman that lied upon a mound of sheers, her breathing frail and shallow; the other, a sullen-faced man checking her pulse and meridians. He was dressed in grays and greens, colors of the Wayward Wind sect. Though he was tall with a built frame and broad shoulders there was something soft about his visage that reminded Yuan Xuelan of a merchant's wife, sighing after a long day of embroidering silk cloths. The man took his time before looking up, ”Oh, hello Young Master Peng, Young Master Yuan.” He smiled in a way that was dull and hollow. And when they didn't respond right away he repeated, ”Hello.”
It took a moment for Yuan Xuelan to recognize him. Zhao Fanyu was never meant to become Wayward Wind's Sect Leader, but after the tragedy that took place several years ago, he became the last remaining survivor of the Zhao family. Yuan Xuelan bowed, ”Greetings Sect Leader Zhao.”
But Peng Jipei had little care for formalities rushed up to the bedside, pushing Zhao Fanyu aside as if he wasn't even there, ”Mother!” He knelt down clasped her thin, bony hand, ”Mother, can you hear me?”
Yuan Xuelan joined his cousin at the bedside as Zhao Fanyu stood and made way. He peered down at the woman lying there and didn't know if he felt more sadness, pity or disgust. Cao Hong's cheeks had grown sunken, her one full luscious hair now thinned and wiry. Once upon a time where she was a beautiful, feminine figure; the gentle and soft version of the crass and masculine Cao Sanmei. But now she was little better than a bag of brittle bones, about to wilt away. ”Auntie.”
She didn't respond, not immediately. And for a moment, Yuan Xuelan almost felt sick, scared, and remembered that terrible nightmare that haunted him; of a precious person beaten and still. Slowly, lashes peeled open and Cao Hong gazed upon her son and nephew with cloudy eyes. Even smiling seemed to drain her energy. ”Peng Huan. Yuan Zhang.” Her voice was scratchy and thin.
”Mother! How are you feeling?” Peng Jipei's hands wound around hers even tighter, and his eyes were bright and hopeful.
She could only smile at him, already exhausted from uttering their names. But who was more pitiful? Cao Hong who was so pathetic and weak she could hardly speak? Or was it Peng Jipei who scrambled for the medicine left on her bedside, heating it with a spell and forcing it upon his mother? ”Here, I got this medicine from the Wayward Wind Sect. For you.” He brought the gruel to her mouth with a wooden spoon, and even when she couldn't swallow and made a mess he persisted. He persisted like there was hope. Like there was a chance.
Yuan Xuelan looked away, feeling sick. He caught the Wayward Wind Sect leader standing awkwardly in the corner of the room, staring at nothing in particular. There was a time the Wayward Wind Sect was prominent and powerful and was known to be filled with skilled alchemists of the cultivation world. But now…well. It was said that Zhao Fanyu was doing his best to re-establish his sect. Yuan Xuelan wouldn't have imagined that meant wandering around selling his services like a desperate peddler. The way he smiled was haunting and unnerved Yuan Xuelan to his bones.
They stood there watching until the last of the gruel was emptied from the bowl. The majority of it was now dribbling down Cao Hong's chin and staining her chest. Peng Jipei tried as he could to wipe the mess clean. Yuan Xuelan gave Zhao Fanyu a questioning glance to which he received a shake of the head in response.
There really was no hope for Cao Hong, he seemed to say wordlessly. Which made sense why Yuan Xuelan had received no news from Peng Jipei on the matter. A mama's boy like him would never accept the reality of his mother passing.