Chapter Seventy: Because You Are Father and Son

“I may be afraid, I may tremble, but if I had retreated at that moment, or even stayed silent, I would have lost. I would have lost to myself and despised myself. Of course, when you appeared, Eleventh Brother, I truly breathed a sigh of relief.”
Yu Daoyi let out a deep breath, recalling the earlier scene. He realized he had been gambling with fate—if he had made a mistake, the consequences would have been unimaginable.
If it had come to that, he would have had to draw forth that little book from his sea of consciousness. That thing was sturdy enough to withstand a Foundation Establishment attack, and then dispersing and escaping might have been the best course.
As time flowed backward and vision blurred, Eleventh felt as if, at a certain moment, a figure overlapped with the person before him.
“You are someone I brought back from the battlefield. If a single misjudgment on my part were to cause you harm, I would regret it for the rest of my life. So this time, let me stand forward. Stay behind me, follow closely—you will be my shadow, the shadow beneath the light.”
That man had once said the same to him, so he willingly became a shadow, a shadow that could only move in darkness. It was merely gratitude, nothing more.
In a moment of daze, Eleventh gazed at this youth who so resembled his ‘father’. Though the appearances were entirely different, the tone and expression were strikingly similar.
So similar that memories buried deep in his mind surged forth, vivid as if yesterday.
...
“Come back soon. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Inside the felt tent, the dim firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows. Unknown wild animal pelts adorned the small room, lending it warmth. A mother gently caressed the face of a young boy.
Perhaps due to her northern heritage, the mother was broad-shouldered, her face rough, yet her movements were gentle and slow as she repeatedly reminded her child.
Reflected in her eyes was reluctance, worry, maternal love—a parting that grew ever farther.
Outside, the wind howled; inside, the fire burned bright.
“Alright,” the boy replied with a smile, saying nothing more.
...
In an unknown canyon, the biting wind lashed at faces like sharp knives.
The fires of war raged, slaughter unending. Beneath a heap of debris, among a handful of survivors, a boy barely ten clutched a rusty, broken blade, panting heavily.
Not a single part of him was uninjured—his body was battered, his skin torn, and the beast-hide armor he wore was shredded as if hacked dozens of times. Perhaps, having his limbs intact was fortune amidst misfortune. His young face was twisted with ferocity and resolve.
He gazed at the battlefield, his vision blurred, his face pale save for the wind-burned flush. As thousands of enemies charged, horses screamed, soldiers roared, his small body trembled, but he refused to retreat a single step.
Behind him was a tribe, a nomadic group living in the northern cold, their homes made of felt tents. In several tents, lights glowed, and anxious faces peered out, showing worry, concern, hope—these were his family, the reason he would not retreat.
...

“Eleventh Brother? Eleventh Brother?” Yu Daoyi called softly to his own shadow.
“Hm?” Eleventh returned to himself, shaking his head, his shadow rippling on the ground.
“Nothing, you just fell silent all of a sudden. I thought you’d left my shadow…”
Yu Daoyi suddenly felt odd, speaking to his own shadow, especially when that shadow shook its head…
“Young Master,” Eleventh said abruptly.
“What is it?” Yu Daoyi asked.
“You really resemble him—your father.” This time, Eleventh’s words were deep and certain.
“Resemble? What do you mean? Am I as unreliable as he is?” Yu Daoyi laughed, unconcerned.
“Resemble! Very much! Because you are father and son!” Eleventh, hidden in his shadow, responded with conviction.
“Well, that’s true, haha.” Yu Daoyi burst out laughing, as if hearing something delightful.
“But, Eleventh Brother, why are you in my shadow?”
“First, it’s your father’s command—I won’t show myself unless absolutely necessary. Second, it’s because of my cultivation method,” Eleventh explained slowly.
“So all those years, whenever you hid in my shadow, you knew everything I did?” Yu Daoyi suddenly thought of something.
“Youthful vigor, I understand. Don’t worry, I won’t speak of it,” Eleventh’s solemn voice uttered words that made Yu Daoyi blush.
“Eleventh Brother, I have no idea what you’re talking about! You’d better not say anything! Or I’ll accuse you of slander! And could you kindly leave my shadow now?” Yu Daoyi, face red, spoke seriously.
“Ahem, from now on I’ll refrain from appearing unless necessary. Your father only asked me to protect you two—I won’t do anything extra. And Second Young Master probably learned of me for the first time; please explain to him.”
As Eleventh finished speaking, Yu Daoyi saw his shadow fade, no longer deep as before—Eleventh had left his shadow.
“Damn that old man! Stubborn Brother Yuanfang! All of them talk big without feeling the pain!”
Yu Daoyi gritted his teeth, watching Eleventh depart without a sound. In the end, he gained nothing. He didn’t believe Yuanfang couldn’t contact his old man—though he didn’t know whose power was greater between that old man and Bai Li Mo, surely they could get him out. If not, at least they could come in to protect their beloved sons.
Footsteps sounded, and Yu Daoyi looked up to see two budding flowers, already quite developed. He looked forward to the day they would bloom.
Song Qiuling saw Yu Daoyi gazing up at her with a foolish grin and suddenly felt offended, her temper flaring.
“What are you staring at?” Song Qiuling snapped.
“I’m admiring the flowers,” Yu Daoyi replied calmly.

“Where are the flowers?”
“Two big flowers right in front of me—I’m making an effort to appreciate them!”
“Well, are they beautiful?” Song Qiuling gritted her teeth as he stared fixedly at her chest.
“Quite impressive!” Yu Daoyi took a deep breath.
“So, have you finished admiring them?” Song Qiuling clenched her fists.
“No, let me gaze a little longer.” Daoyi, drooling, had no idea what nonsense he was spouting.
… He had been looking at the sky above the back mountain too much lately. Where did this young girl get such brute strength?
“Ah!” Song’s signature shoulder throw!
“I’m an injured man!” Daoyi, pitifully wedged into the earth, shouted loudly.
“No worries, the Crimson Blood Fruit will heal you,” Song Qiuling said coolly, her voice clear and cold.
A long silence followed. Song Qiuling carried Yu Daoyi on her back, saying nothing, while Yu Daoyi, stuck in the earth, remained speechless.
After a pause, Song Qiuling seemed to hesitate for a long time before speaking, her voice barely audible: “You don’t need to blame yourself for me and Song Cheng.”
“What? What are you mumbling about?” Yu Daoyi rubbed his back, struggling to stand.
“I said! You don’t need to worry about anything!” Song Qiuling, blushing slightly, snapped.
“Worry? Worry about what?” Yu Daoyi looked confused.
“You! I’ll say it once! If you don’t get it, forget it!”
Seeing Song Qiuling stomp her foot in anger before turning and leaving, Yu Daoyi smiled quietly.
Night fell, and the sky turned pitch-black. Unlike previous nights, this darkness was absolute—no moon, no stars. Only the firefly-like insects behind the mountain emitted a faint glow; nothing else pierced the gloom.
Fortunately, as cultivators, they need not fret over the absence of firelight. On a clearing, a bonfire ignited by magic burned slowly, dispelling the darkness that would otherwise swallow everything.