Chapter 14: Secrets
Wei Lin’s breath came slow and steady as he focused inward, sinking into the rhythm of his own qi. The night was still, save for the faint crackle of the fire nearby. His awareness expanded—his senses sharpening as he pulled at the thread of energy coursing through him.
"Again."
The Talisman’s voice echoed crisply in his mind, clipped with mild exasperation.
Wei Lin exhaled, directing his qi inward once more. He had spent the past hour training under its guidance, trying to do the exact opposite of what felt natural. Instead of refining his soul to radiate power, he was learning to suppress it—to appear unremarkable, barely worth notice.
"Wrong again."
His concentration faltered. "What? I did exactly what you told me."
"Oh? You think pulling your qi inward is the same as making yourself unremarkable? Right now, you just look like someone trying very hard to pretend they’re not a cultivator. Any competent examiner will see through that in seconds."
Wei Lin scowled. "Then what am I supposed to do? I can’t just stop cultivating."
"Ah, and there’s the problem," the Talisman said dryly. "You’re still thinking like a normal cultivator. They build themselves up, make their presence known, become beacons of power. But a truly dangerous cultivator? They learn to vanish while standing in plain sight."
Wei Lin frowned. He reached inward again, forcing his qi to settle, trying to press it deep into his core—
"Stop that."
His control slipped, and qi flared outward in an uncontrolled pulse.
"And now you’ve just made yourself stand out even more. Brilliant."
Wei Lin gritted his teeth. "Then tell me what I’m doing wrong instead of just criticizing me!"
The Talisman sighed, its voice laced with something akin to reluctant patience. "Your qi is too rigid. You’re treating it like a rope, coiling it tightly so no one can see it. But anyone skilled in soul perception will still sense its density. That’s why it keeps slipping. Instead, you need to diffuse it—spread it evenly, like mist. Something too structured will always be noticed. But something indistinct? That fades into the background."
Wei Lin blinked. "Like mist?"
"Finally, he understands something. Yes, mist. Or think of it like a lake—calm, undisturbed. Right now, you’re trying to shove your energy into a box, when instead, you should be letting it blend into everything else around you. Try again."
This time, Wei Lin didn’t force his qi inward. Instead, he eased it outward—not in a way that projected strength, but in a way that let it seep naturally into the surrounding energy. He imagined it dissipating, like water soaking into the earth, until it was impossible to tell where his presence ended and the world began.
The fire crackled beside him. The wind stirred the leaves. And for the first time, he felt… unremarkable.
"Not terrible," the Talisman admitted, almost grudgingly. "With practice, you might actually pull this off in the trials. Keep it subtle, keep it imperfect, and you’ll have a chance of slipping past the Verdant Sky Sect’s examiners as just another average recruit. Tomorrow, I’ll begin teaching you how to suppress your elemental affinities.”
Wei Lin opened his eyes, feeling the faintest flicker of triumph.
"Oh, and Wei Lin?"
"What?"
"If you ever fail at this and get dragged into some elder’s personal faction because they see you as a prodigy, I will never let you hear the end of it."
Wei Lin let out a quiet breath and smiled inwardly. "Noted."
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The night air was still, save for the faint rustle of leaves overhead.
Wei Lin sat cross-legged near the fire, his breathing slow and steady, his consciousness drifting deep into meditation.
Chen Rui was supposed to be training too. Instead, he found himself watching.
Something about the way Wei Lin sat, his posture unwavering, his brows furrowed in quiet determination—it was uncannily familiar.
Li Feng used to sit just like that.
Chen Rui exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his temple. Damn it. Not now. Not again.
But the memory had already surfaced, dragging him back like a tide.
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Two Years Ago
The wind howled against the cliffs, carrying the scent of blood and burnt stone. His sword was slick in his grip, his arms trembling from exhaustion. Li Feng lay crumpled on the ground, struggling to breathe.
"Rui... You have to go."
Chen Rui gritted his teeth. "Shut up."
His body screamed at him to move—to carry Li Feng out of this hell—but he already knew. The Pavilion wouldn’t even try to save him.
They wouldn’t waste their precious resources on someone who was already dying.
“Leave him.” The martial uncle's voice had been cold, impassive. “He is no longer of use to us.”
Something inside Chen Rui shattered at those words.
No longer of use.
Li Feng had fought beside them. Trained beside them. He wasn’t just a weapon to be discarded.
His hands clenched into fists. But in the Scarlet Blade Pavilion, strength dictated worth. And the weak… were left behind.
A bloodied hand grasped his wrist, weak but insistent. "Don’t—" Li Feng coughed, crimson staining his lips. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Don’t do something stupid."
Something stupid. Like staying. Like fighting. Like throwing away his own life for someone who was already—
Chen Rui squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them again, Li Feng was already gone.
And the Pavilion? It never even looked back.
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Chen Rui sucked in a breath, yanking himself out of the memory. His pulse was too fast, his fingers still curled as if they were reaching for something—someone—he could never grasp again.
His gaze flicked to Wei Lin, still lost in his meditation.
For the briefest moment, the firelight flickered across his face just right, and it was Li Feng sitting there instead.
A sharp pang twisted in Chen Rui’s chest. No. Not again.
He looked down at his own hands. Once, they had been powerless to change anything.
But not anymore.
He turned his sword over in his lap, running a calloused thumb along the hilt. His weapon had always been his only constant, his only certainty. The Pavilion had cast him out for being weak. They had expected him to fail like Li Feng did.
They were wrong.
This time, he wouldn’t fail.
This time, he wouldn’t watch someone else get discarded.
Chen Rui exhaled slowly, forcing his grip to loosen, his eyes steeled with new resolve. The ghosts of the past weren’t going anywhere. The dead would not return.
But the living still had a future.
And he would make damn sure Wei Lin had one.
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As Wei Lin and Chen Rui fell silent, Mei Yan slipped away to seek solitude amidst the forest’s towering trees.
Reaching a secluded clearing, Mei Yan knelt and carefully extracted a delicate artifact from her satchel: a bird-shaped figure carved from shimmering jade and inlaid with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with qi.
A knowledgeable observer would note with surprise that this was a Heart-Messenger Luan, a rare treasure for long-distance communication that only wealthy sects might possess.
Mei Yan examined the artifact with a discerning eye, noting a dimness along one of its wings. “Still not perfect,” she murmured, reaching for a thin, needle-like tool from her pouch. Her fingers moved with precision, etching a fresh rune over the faded section. As she worked, she channeled a thin stream of qi into the bird, coaxing it to life. The artifact shimmered, and its tiny jade eyes glowed.
“Elder Zhao,” Mei Yan whispered. The bird fluttered its wings, its movements fluid despite its diminutive size. In a grave tone, Mei Yan tersely described the earlier ambush and the insignia on their weapons.
The bird tilted its head as if acknowledging her words, then ascended into the air. It glided silently, its jade form vanishing into the forest.
The message sent, Mei Yan sighed softly and sank down next to a tree. For a long while, she kept her eyes closed, breathing in the scent of untouched moss and damp earth.
When she opened her eyes again, there was uncertainty within them as a flicker of conflict crossed her face. With one hand, she reached into her satchel to produce a small bronze mirror, while her other hand came to a rest on her cheek.
After a brief moment’s hesitation, her fingers glowed with qi that spread outwards, gradually revealing the contours of an increasingly luminous mask covering her face. This Illusory Spirit Mask was an even more precious artifact than the messenger luan, requiring not only exceedingly rare ingredients, but also the combined efforts of an alchemist and artificer to refine.
The mask shimmered as she removed it, its surface cool to the touch.
As the disguise fell away, it revealed a face so beautiful it seemed to belong to a dream rather than reality. Her eyes, dark and luminous, held a wisdom and grace far beyond her years. Every contour of her face spoke of harmony, a balance that captivated without effort. Her skin carried the soft luster of untouched jade, her lips curved with a natural ease that needed no embellishment. There was no artifice to her beauty; it was effortless, like the bloom of a rare flower.
She traced a finger along the edge of the mirror, gazing at this all-too-familiar reflection. “Young sect master. The Verdant Sky Sect’s future…”
The words tasted heavy, weighted by expectations she had carried for as long as she could remember.
She sighed again. “What I’d give… to just be Mei Yan.”
Mei Yan. Just two words—a borrowed identity, a borrowed life. And yet, behind the mask, it was the only time she could truly breathe. No titles, no reverence, no relentless expectations—just a common disciple with no one to impress and nothing to prove.
A distant beast’s howl broke her reverie. She slipped the mask back on, her features shifting seamlessly into the forgettable guise she had worn since leaving Verdant Peak. Mei Yan tucked the mirror away and stood, her calm composure restored.
As she made her way back to the camp, her message to Elder Zhao lingered in her mind. The appearance of the sigil had confirmed the worst of their fears, and with her mother still in closed-door cultivation, she couldn’t remain away from the sect any longer.
But for now… she maintained her facade.
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Below is a translation of the chapter into Chinese (via ChatGPT).
以下是通过ChatGPT将本章翻译成中文。
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封天遗志
第十四章：隐踪
魏林缓缓吐纳，气息绵长而沉稳，心神内敛，沉浸于自身气机的流转之中。夜色寂静，唯有篝火微微跳跃，发出细微的噼啪声。他的感知逐渐扩张，思绪沉入丹田，牵引体内游走的灵息。
“再来。”
天命符的声音在他识海中回响，语气一如既往地冷淡，隐约透着几分不耐。
魏林微微皱眉，再次调息，将气息收敛内敛。他已按照天命符的指引修炼了近一个时辰，尝试着去做一件本能抗拒之事——不再凝练自身的气息，而是隐藏。他要让自己显得普通，平平无奇，不值一提。
“错了。”
魏林的心神微微一滞，几乎有些恼火：“我明明完全照做了。”
“哦？你以为单纯地收敛气息，就能掩盖自己的存在？如今的你，只不过是个拙劣地伪装成凡人的修士罢了。若遇真正精通神识探查之人，顷刻便可识破你的伪装。”
魏林神色一沉，沉声道：“那我该怎么做？总不能完全停下修行吧？”
“正是此处要害。” 天命符冷笑道，语气带着几分揶揄，“你依旧在以普通修士的思维来看待修行。寻常修士皆是筑基立威，汲取天地灵气，壮大己身，恨不得让世人皆知自身之强。然而，真正可怖的存在，往往能在光天化日之下隐匿自身，令旁人无从察觉。”
魏林眉头皱得更紧，再次调动体内灵息，尝试让其沉入丹田，收缩至极限——
“住手。”
下一瞬，他的控制稍有松懈，体内灵息竟瞬间涌动，四散而出，搅乱了周围的气机。
“……现在，你的存在感比方才更明显了。精彩至极。”
魏林脸色微变，咬牙道：“那你倒是告诉我错在哪里，别光在一旁冷嘲热讽！”
天命符悠悠叹息，语气中透出一丝不耐，却又带着几分勉强的耐心：“你的气息太过凝滞。你将灵息当成绳索，紧紧束缚，以为这便是隐藏。但凡是神识敏锐之人，都能察觉到其中的压抑与不自然。正因如此，你才总是失败。”
魏林眉头微动，思索道：“那我该如何收敛？”
“扩散，而非束缚。” 天命符缓缓道，“将你的灵息扩散至四周，使其如雾般弥漫，不留痕迹。任何过于刻意的东西，都会被察觉，而若是将自身气机化为虚无，便无人能轻易察觉你的存在。”
魏林眸光一闪，似有所悟：“如雾？”
“总算开窍了。” 天命符嗤笑道，“不错，就如山间晨雾，飘渺无踪，亦如静湖无波，平淡无奇。你现在的做法，无异于强行将水收缩成一滴，而非让它自然渗透于大地。”
魏林静下心神，这一次，他不再刻意将气息紧锁，而是缓缓放开，将灵息渗入四周，让它与天地灵气交融，而非抗拒。他想象自己如一滴水融入湖泊，如一缕雾气消散风中，让自身的存在渐渐模糊，直至彻底融于天地之间，消隐无踪。
篝火微微跳动，风拂林间树叶，夜色寂静如昔。
魏林缓缓睁开双眼，隐约感觉到了一丝不同寻常的变化。
“尚可。” 天命符的声音中带着一丝勉强的赞许，“若勤加练习，或许在入门试炼中，你真能瞒过翠天宗的考官，让自己看起来平平无奇。”
魏林微微一笑，心中隐隐生出几分成就感。
“明日开始，我会教你如何掩藏自身的灵根属性。”
听闻此言，魏林眸光微动，似有期待。
然而，天命符的声音再次响起，语气中透着一丝玩味。
“哦，对了，魏林。”
“怎么？”
“若你失败了，被哪位长老看出天赋异禀，强行收入门下，成为什么天骄亲传……呵呵，我定会日日提醒你，你是如何暴露的。”
魏林微微一怔，旋即失笑，轻声道：“……记住了。”
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夜色寂然，唯有微风拂过树梢，带起细微的沙沙声。
魏林盘膝而坐于篝火旁，气息绵长而悠远，心神沉入冥想之境，宛若磐石，不动不摇。
陈锐本该在修炼，但此刻，他的目光却不由自主地落在魏林身上。
那专注的神态，那紧锁的眉宇，那沉静如深海的气息……令他不由自主地想起了某个人。
李峰，也曾如此。
陈锐蓦地一震，抬手揉了揉眉心，似是要驱散某种突如其来的思绪。
该死，不行……不是现在。
可回忆，已如潮水般涌来，将他拉入过往的深渊。
两年前
狂风怒吼，卷起满地尘埃，血腥气与焦石的味道交织在一起，弥漫在空气之中。
剑柄在他掌中沉重如山，指间沾满温热的血液，手臂颤抖不已，几近失去知觉。
李峰倒在地上，胸口剧烈起伏，呼吸微弱。
“锐……”他的声音断断续续，染血的唇微微颤动，“你……快走……”
陈锐咬紧牙关：“闭嘴。”
他的身躯已然疲惫不堪，却仍旧支撑着自己站立。他想要将李峰背起，想要带他离开这里，哪怕只有一线生机……
可他知道，血刃阁不会救他。
他们不会浪费资源在一个即将死去的人身上。
“放下他。”
师叔的声音冷漠无情，如霜雪般刺骨。
“他，已无利用价值。”
那一刻，陈锐的心仿佛裂开了一个缺口。
无利用价值……
李峰明明曾与他们并肩作战，明明曾一同修行，一同浴血厮杀，为何如今，却成了一件可以随意丢弃的废物？
拳头紧握，指节发白，可在血刃阁，实力即是一切。
弱者，终究会被抛弃。
血迹斑斑的手虚弱地攥住了他的手腕，力道微不可察，却带着最后的坚持。
“别……”李峰剧烈咳嗽，血染唇角，他的声音轻若游丝，“别做……傻事……”
别做傻事。
别停下，别留下，别为了一个必死之人拼上自己的性命。
陈锐的指甲深深嵌入掌心，他闭上双眼，不愿看见那个结局。
当他再次睁眼，李峰已经气息全无。
而血刃阁，甚至连回头看一眼都没有。
陈锐猛地吸气，从回忆中挣脱而出。
心跳仍旧紊乱，指尖微微蜷缩，仿佛仍然想去抓住某样东西，某个人……却终究什么也握不住。
他抬眼望向魏林，仍然沉浸在冥想之中，神色坚定而沉静。
篝火微光跳动，那一瞬间，他仿佛看见了李峰的影子。
胸口猛地一紧，仿若一道隐痛穿心而过。
不，不可以。
他低头，看向自己的双手。曾经，这双手什么也改变不了，只能眼睁睁看着一切发生。
但如今，他已不再是两年前的自己。
他缓缓翻转长剑，手指摩挲着剑柄，粗粝的触感传来，让他的心境渐渐平静。
这柄剑，是他唯一不变的依靠，唯一的执念。
血刃阁当初遗弃了他，等着看他像李峰那样被淘汰，被遗忘。
他们错了。
这一次，他不会再失败。
这一次，他不会再眼睁睁看着另一个人被抛弃。
陈锐缓缓吐出一口浊气，松开了微微颤抖的指尖，眼底沉淀出坚定的光芒。
过去的亡魂不会再归来。
但活着的人，仍有未来。
他会亲手守住魏林的未来，绝不容许任何人，让一切重演。
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夜色如墨，林间微风拂叶，幽静无声。
当魏林与辰锐的交谈渐息，梅妍悄然起身，独自步入密林，寻觅片刻宁静。
她行至一处僻静的空地，缓缓跪坐，轻轻自包囊中取出一件精致之物——一只通体碧绿的鸟形玉雕，温润剔透，表面镌刻着繁复的灵纹，微微流转着淡淡的灵气。
若有识货之人见之，必会惊讶于其不凡来历。 传心鸾，乃是长途传讯的稀世法宝，唯有底蕴深厚之宗门方可炼制，寻常修士根本无缘一见。
梅妍凝视着玉鸾，指尖轻抚，一丝微不可察的暗淡浮现于羽翼之上。
“仍未臻至圆满……” 她低声喃喃，旋即从袖囊中取出一柄纤细如针的刻刀，熟练地刻画起新的灵纹。指尖轻引，一道灵力如游丝般渗入玉鸾之中，顺着纹络流转，使其重新焕发生机。
片刻后，玉鸾轻轻颤动，双目泛起微光，如同真实生灵。
“赵长老。” 梅妍低声唤道。
玉鸾振翼，灵气流转，栩栩如生。她神色沉凝，将白日里遭遇的袭击与敌方兵刃上的徽纹一一述明，语气简洁而凝重。
玉鸾微微偏首，仿佛在默然聆听，随即振翅一展，破空而去，碧色流光于林间一闪即逝，消失在无垠夜色之中。
传讯已毕，梅妍轻轻叹息，倚坐于一棵古树之下，闭目静息，任由林间泥土的湿润气息包裹周身，感受这片刻的宁静。
许久，她睁开双眸，微光映照下，眼底一丝迷惘转瞬即逝。
她伸手入怀，取出一面小巧的铜镜，另一只手则缓缓抚上自己的脸颊。
微微迟疑片刻，指尖灵光微起，淡淡的光晕自肌肤浮现，层层扩散，逐渐显现出一张隐匿于幻术之下的面具轮廓。
“幻灵面。”
此面具比起传心鸾更为罕见，乃是以秘法炼制而成，须得炼丹师与炼器师合力铸造，方可化形无瑕，隐匿真容，即便是高阶修士，若不细察，也难以识破其奥妙。
梅妍抬手轻揭，薄如蝉翼的面具散发着丝丝寒意，触感光滑如玉。
当幻象散去，一张绝世无双的容颜，缓缓浮现于夜色之中。
她的双目深邃而明亮，蕴藏着不属于年岁的沉稳与智慧。五官精致，线条柔和而不失灵韵，宛若天工巧夺，浑然天成。
她静静地望着镜中倒影，指尖缓缓掠过镜缘，呢喃低语：
“少宗主……翠天宗的未来……”
此语轻若晨风，却承载着太多沉重。
她闭上双眸，深深吐出一口气。
“若能……只是梅妍就好了……”
梅妍。
这两个字，承载的不过是一段借来的身份，一场短暂的假象。但唯有在这副伪装之下，她才能真正地呼吸。
没有敬畏的目光，没有沉重的期望，没有宗门的束缚。只是个再普通不过的宗门弟子，既不需证明自己，也无需承载他人眼中的未来。
远处，一声凶兽的嘶吼撕裂夜幕，将她的思绪拉回现实。
她收起铜镜，缓缓戴回幻灵面，熟悉的轮廓重塑，原本令人惊艳的容颜再度化作平凡无奇的梅妍。
她的眼神恢复平静，步履不疾不徐，回返营地。
可她心底清楚，方才送出的讯息，意味着最不愿面对的事，已成定局。
那枚徽纹的出现，证实了最不愿承认的可能。
她，不能再耽搁了。
但至少，在抵达翠天宗之前，她仍可以扮演“梅妍”——扮演一个毫不起眼的普通弟子。
