Chapter 64: Chapter 64: Reigniting the Flame

CHAPTER 64

Reigniting the Flame

RUAN YANJUN

From the moment we left Baixu City for Zhaoyun, the weight of everything—my plans, his despair, and the relentless stirrings of my demonic core—pressed heavily on me. The carriage swayed rhythmically as it trundled along the uneven road, but I could barely focus on anything but the raging fire within my chest. My core, dark and wild, pulsed with an intensity that begged for release.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the pain into submission. Luo Fan, oblivious as always, sat by the window, lost in his own thoughts. His hand gently stroked the silk scarf tied around a bamboo stick—a relic of his past, of him. Of Jinjing.

The sight grated on me.

Another sigh escaped me, unbidden. Every passing day, Luo Fan sank deeper into a state of quiet resignation, and it was infuriating. He knew he was dying. He knew the poison in his body would consume him if he didn’t fight. Yet he made no effort to resist it. He wasn’t even angry anymore.

For this, I had only myself to blame.

I had shielded him too well. I had cushioned his fall at every step, borne his burdens alongside him, and unknowingly stripped him of the fire that had once defined him. He was no longer the ambitious prodigy of the Ethereal Frost Sect. He was a shadow of his former self, content to drift along because he trusted I would catch him if he faltered.

This wasn’t the Luo Fan I wanted.

“A-Fan,” I called, striving to keep my voice steady despite the irritation simmering beneath.

He turned toward me, his expression shadowed with weariness, his gaze heavy. “Lord Ruan,” he replied, his tone devoid of any spark, flat and listless.

I leaned forward slightly, studying him intently. “Back when you were in Frost Mountain,” I began, my words measured, “what drove you to pursue the pinnacle of cultivation?”

He blinked, startled by the question. His fingers paused on the silk scarf before he looked away, staring down at the bamboo stick.

“My master,” he said softly. “He wanted us to bring honor to the sect, to elevate its status. I pushed myself so others would stop belittling us.”

“What else?”

“To protect the empire, of course,” he added.

I tilted my head, watching him closely. “What about yourself? Did you want it for your own satisfaction, or was it only ever about others?”

“Ethereal Frost disciples don’t achieve things for themselves,” he replied, his tone clipped, defensive. “We do it for the glory of the sect, for our master, and for the righteous people.”

I scoffed inwardly. Such noble words. How much of that idealism still lingered in him, I wondered?

“Then why aren’t you fighting to regain your cultivation?” I asked, my voice low. “Why have you given up so easily?”

He hesitated, his brows knitting together. “I just… I just don’t see it happening.”

“Is that truly it?” I pressed, my tone sharpening. “Or have you lost faith in what you once thought worth fighting for?”

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His silence answered more than any words could.

I let the quiet stretch between us, studying him as he avoided my gaze. He had lost so much—his sect, his master, his lover, and his sense of purpose. Betrayed by those he trusted, he had buried his hope alongside his ambition.

“You’ve seen the suffering around us,” I said after a long moment. “The villages burned by marauding barbarians. Families torn apart by war and corruption. Are they not worth protecting?”

He flinched, his hand tightening around the scarf. “It’s not that simple,” he muttered.

“Isn’t it?” I countered. “Or have you convinced yourself that they’re beyond saving because it’s easier than trying?”

He sighed, his eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside the carriage window. "For years, I thought cultivators like us were the people's only hope," he began, his tone weary and reflective. "In Frost Mountain, we were taught that our role was paramount, that we were the protectors of peace. I believed that. I thought I was special, that the weight of the world rested on my shoulders." He paused, his fingers tightening around the bamboo stick. "But after I was banished... I realized how naive I was."

I leaned back, watching his profile as he spoke. There was something in his voice—a bitterness that ran deeper than mere disillusionment.

"The world is vast," he continued. "People are stronger than I thought. They have their own ways to survive, to protect themselves. They don't need us. In fact..." He let out a hollow laugh. "It's often cultivators who are the source of chaos. We're not as special as they made me believe."

"Is that so?" I asked, my tone carefully neutral. "Then why do people hail grandmasters as gods?"

He shook his head. "That's just their delusion. They don't know what they're idolizing."

I laughed softly, though my chest tightened with frustration. "What about when a dark cultivator—a devil, as you righteous ones love to call us—attacks a village of ordinary people? Are you saying you wouldn’t protect them?"

He hesitated, but only for a moment. "Like I said, the world is vast. If I can’t do it, someone else will. I’m not the only cultivator alive. There are others, more powerful than me. The loss of one person doesn’t really matter—not to the martial arts community, not to the world."

I narrowed my eyes, my fingers curling into fists. His words grated against me like sandpaper. "So that’s it," I said, keeping my voice low, measured. "You think the loss of Grandmaster Wei Fan was inconsequential?"

He gave me a faint, bitter smile. "Aside from my master losing face and the Ethereal Frost Sect changing leadership, has there been anything else? Has the world stopped spinning because of my fall?"

My jaw clenched. He was wrong—so wrong—but he was too far gone to see it. I could no longer teach him the skill I had once crafted specifically for his master, the technique that would have elevated him beyond anyone's reach. All of that was lost because of his apathy.

"I believe there are forty-seven grandmasters across the continent," he continued, his voice calm, detached. "I was the forty-eighth for a brief moment before my name was crossed off the list. In a few months, or a few years, someone else will rise to take my place. No one will remember my name."

His words cut through me, sharp as a blade. He spoke them with such finality, as though he’d already resigned himself to the oblivion he believed awaited him.

The fury that boiled within me was almost unbearable. His apathy, his utter lack of ambition—it was maddening. He had reduced himself to a relic, content to let time erode him into nothingness.

If I left him like this, he would fade away, content to live as an ordinary man, to let his once-brilliant light dim until it was extinguished entirely. No. That wouldn’t do.

I leaned back, my mind churning. Abandoning him wouldn’t be enough. He’d only welcome the freedom, using it as an excuse to drift aimlessly, letting the winds carry him to oblivion. No, I had to break him first.

I would have to strip him of his ease. I would have to thrust him into a situation so dire, so unbearable, that he would have no choice but to fight. He would need to claw his way out of the abyss, to rediscover the strength he had buried so deeply within himself. Only then would he realize his worth, his potential.

I studied him carefully, his beauty still as arresting as the first day I saw him. Even now, disheveled and battered by life, he carried an elegance that made him seem untouchable. I could ruin him if I wanted. I could strip away everything—his pride, his dignity, even the very essence of his soul.

But even demons have their boundaries.

A smirk tugged at my lips. I wasn’t one to act on reckless whims. Every move I made was deliberate, calculated to perfection, ensuring it served a greater purpose. I didn’t bite off more than I could chew, no matter how tempting the morsel.

“A-Fan,” I said softly, letting my voice drop into something almost tender, “you may think the world doesn’t need you. But soon, you’ll see just how wrong you are.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze drifting back to the window. But in his silence, I saw a crack—a small, fragile opening.

Luo Fan didn’t see it yet, but he was standing on the precipice of his own rebirth. And I... I would be the one to push him over the edge.

If I had to tear his world apart to rebuild him, then so be it. For his sake—and mine.