Hua Xianle

Chapter 71:

He really should have been resting. Unfortunately, rest was a luxury that Qingheng-jun could not afford at the moment. Ironic, given that the morning bells would have rung by this point if the remaining disciples didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, illuminating the damage done to Cloud Recesses. 

Their home was a mess, with burnt buildings everywhere and blood on their sacred grounds. The bodies of the elders and disciples who died in the carnage were lined up in halls once filled with the chatter of the guest disciples.

His remaining disciples were all mourning their Martial brothers and sisters who fought so valiantly to protect their home. They all looked up to him and he knew they needed him now more than ever. As a Sect Leader, he knew he needed to be strong to help his Sect stand again, but Qingheng-jun couldn't help but feel like he was unfit to be a pillar for them right now. Not when he was unable to protect the people that mattered to him the most. 

His A-Huan was missing, absconded by those accursed Wens for some nefarious purpose. He could only take solace in the fact that Wen Ruohan wanted him alive. Unfortunately, he had no idea if this was a blessing, or if his son would be suffering at the hands of the power-mad Chief Cultivator.

His wife, upon waking from having her injuries healed, kicked up a fuss at the news about their eldest son. She almost undid the work the healers did for her, fighting against them to run out and find their child. She cried and cried for her baby, and it took Qingheng-jun sending her into a restless sleep to stop her from hurting herself even more.

Qingheng-jun leaned against one of the few buildings still intact, wiping his face and attempting to catch his breath. His injuries were still throbbing and he felt like his legs were about to give out on him. Still, he had to be strong. He had to-

“Fuqin.”

Sect Leader Lan froze, a gasp escaping his lips as his head shot up. There, standing before him, was Wangji. He was untouched by blood or soot, healthy and whole. His own injuries forgotten, Qingheng-jun pushed himself forward, hugging his son tightly.

“Wangji!” he cried, tears welling in his eyes. “My son! You’re alive!”

“Mn,” Wangji let out, eagerly returning his father’s hug. “Hua Ying kept me safe.”

A laugh escaped the Sect Leader as he pulled back, tears running down his cheeks as he smiled. “That boy truly is a miracle. I doubt I could ever repay him for this.”

“There are no debts with Hua Ying.”

Qingheng-jun just nodded, still holding his son. Eventually, Wangji ushered him to sit down, holding his hand as he surveyed the damage.

“How bad?”

The Sect Leader grimaced. “We lost nearly half of the elders, and the healers estimate only about 30 will survive till sundown. As for the disciples, those guarding the borders were all slaughtered, but the children and juniors who fled to the back hills survived. Unfortunately, this means that most of our experienced cultivators are either slain or in no position to fight.”

“Muqin? Shufu?”

“Alive, thank the Gods. Qiren was put into a deep sleep to encourage healing while I had to put your mother under to keep her from going after Xichen.” Qingheng-jun rubbed his face, feeling like he aged a decade in the last few hours. “This entire situation is a nightmare…”

His son said nothing, just holding him and encouraging him to rest. After a moment, or maybe longer, footsteps approached Qingheng-jun. He looked up, seeing Hua Xianle standing before them. His eyes were red like he’d been crying and his normally smiling face was set in a grim, stoic expression. The prince gave a formal bow, one Qingheng-jun did his best to return.