CHAPTER 71

  Light in the Dark

  LUO FAN

  When I opened my eyes, the blinding white light above me made me think I had left the mortal world. It was so bright that it felt otherworldly, as though I had stepped into the realm of immortals.

  I blinked slowly, my breath caught in my throat. Was I alive, or was this the afterlife?

  “You’re awake?” a low, resonant voice spoke, shattering the silence.

  I froze. For a fleeting moment, I thought I recognized the voice. Could it be... him?

  “Lord Ruan?” I whispered hesitantly.

  “My name is Mo Wenyan,” the voice replied gently. “I am the abbot of this monastery.”

  Relief washed over me, mingled with confusion. For a moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I was relieved beyond measure that it wasn’t Ruan Yanjun. I couldn’t bear to see him again—not after everything. If he had been the one to save me, he would have used it as another chain to bind me, another reason to exert control over my life. The thought made my chest tighten.

  No. From this moment forward, Ruan Yanjun would no longer exist in my thoughts. I still felt the ache of betrayal, but I didn’t want to waste any more energy on him. He wasn’t even worth my hatred.

  As my vision adjusted, the light softened, and I turned toward the source of the voice. A tall figure with a serene expression and a shaved head came into view. His robes were pristine white, and his posture exuded an air of calm authority.

  I tried to sit up to greet him properly, but pain flared in my chest, forcing me to stop mid-motion.

  “Don’t move just yet,” the abbot said, his tone soothing but firm. “Your body is still recovering. Rest for a few more days before attempting anything strenuous.”

  I glanced around at my surroundings. I wasn’t lying in a bed but on what seemed like an altar, cushioned with a simple mattress. The room itself was small, modest, and open to the sky above. The sunlight streaming down created a warm, golden glow that seemed to pulsate with energy.

  “What is this place?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

  “This is where I meditate,” Abbot Mo replied, his gaze steady. “The energy here is potent with light essence. It’s an ideal place for you to strengthen your light core. Yours was nearly extinguished when your dark core went out of control.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. “So you know?”

  He sighed, folding his hands in front of him. “I know who you are. You are Wei Fan, once known as the Divine Mage of Kan Empire.”

  His words left me breathless. My identity was a secret I had worked hard to bury. “You know who I am?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said with a small smile. “No one else knows you’re here, and I have no intention of revealing your presence.”

  Relief flooded through me, and I exhaled shakily. “Thank you, Abbot Mo. And… thank you for saving my life.”

  “We are both light cultivators,” he said simply. “It is only natural to help each other in times of need. But I do have one question for you.”

  I met his gaze, my heart pounding. “Please, ask.”

  His expression remained calm, but his eyes were piercing. “How did a dark core end up in you?”

  I averted my gaze, shame prickling at my skin. “It was implanted by someone.”

  “Ruan Yanjun?” he guessed, his voice tinged with curiosity.

  I stiffened. “You know about him?”

  He nodded. “I happened to be near the marquis’s estate when I heard about a ‘beautiful man’ being delivered there. The gossip was… unsettling. They said that Ruan Yanjun had grown tired of his ‘toy’ and gifted him to the emperor. The emperor, in turn, wagered him in a gambling game with the marquis. The marquis won and claimed his prize. When I heard these vile rumors, I couldn’t ignore them. I stayed near the mansion, observing, and I found you just in time—falling from that cliff.”

  His words struck me like a blow. The humiliation burned anew, and my hands clenched into fists. The idea that I had been treated like a pawn, a mere object to be gambled away, was unbearable.

  “Didn’t the guards pursue you?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

  “No one saw me,” he replied with a faint smile. “The marquis’s men were too focused on retrieving you to notice me. I was able to spirit you away before they could react.”

  I sighed heavily, the weight of my predicament pressing down on me like a stone. “Abbot Mo,” I said, my voice tinged with exhaustion, “as soon as I can walk, I have to leave this place. I’ve mutilated the marquis, and I’m certain he won’t rest until he sees me dead. I don’t want to drag you or this monastery into my troubles.”

  The abbot smiled softly, his expression calm and reassuring. “Don’t worry about me or the monastery. I brought you far from Donghai. For now, they’re still searching for you there. Should their efforts lead them here, I will know in advance.”

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  His confidence gave me a small measure of comfort, but it wasn’t enough to ease the knot of anxiety in my chest.

  “Abbot Mo,” I hesitated, afraid of what his answer might be, “do you not disdain me for having two cores? One of them... so dark?”

  He shook his head slowly, his serene expression unchanged. “Like you, I follow the righteous path. Disdain is a negative emotion, one I strive to avoid. Besides,” he continued, his gaze kind, “this isn’t your fault. You didn’t choose this path, nor did you seek to disrupt the balance within you. It was forced upon you.”

  The kindness in his voice lifted a burden I hadn’t even realized I was carrying. “Lord Ruan implanted the dark core in me while I was asleep,” I admitted, the memory still searing with resentment. “I never consented to it. When I confronted him, he claimed he did it to prove a theory. In other words, he used me as an experiment.”

  The abbot remained silent for a moment, as though carefully weighing his words. Finally, he nodded. “I have heard that Sect Leader Ruan has long been fascinated by the concept of dual cores. I also know he attempted to implant a light core within himself once, but his dark core was too strong. It devoured the light core almost immediately. That failure must have driven him to find another candidate—someone with a weakened light core where a dark core could thrive. You were, unfortunately, the perfect choice.”

  “That’s what he told me,” I muttered, bitterness lacing my words. “But why? What could he possibly hope to gain from this? Why did it have to be me?”

  Abbot Mo’s calm demeanor didn’t waver. “Sect Leader Ruan is unpredictable, even among those who know him well. His motives are often unclear, even to his closest allies. But,” he added gently, “you are fortunate. Whatever his purpose, you’ve escaped his grasp. You are free now. From this moment forward, your choices are your own.”

  Free. The word rang hollow in my mind. I didn’t feel free. Not with this dark core within me, threatening to consume everything I had fought for. “I want to get rid of this dark core,” I said firmly, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “If there’s a way, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  The abbot’s expression grew somber, and his sigh carried the weight of truths I wasn’t prepared to hear. “The dark core inside you is no ordinary creation. It comes from a demonic core, a power older and more malevolent than any of us. Not even a grandmaster could disintegrate it.”

  My breath caught, my hope slipping through my fingers like sand. “Even if it’s still at level two?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

  He nodded, his gaze unwavering. “Even so. The core is a part of you now, intertwined with your very essence. Even if we found a way to suppress or remove it, it would only grow back. Worse, its resurgence would destabilize your light core. The imbalance would lead to repeated qi deviations. The strain would be unbearable, and eventually, it would kill you.”

  His words struck me like a blow. My lips parted, but no words came. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the world, but the weight of my frustration and despair pressed harder.

  “Wei Fan,” Abbot Mo began softly, his voice breaking the stillness of the meditation chamber.

  “Call me Luo Fan,” I interrupted gently.

  He smiled and nodded. “Luo Fan, then.”

  A moment of silence passed between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he sighed. “Since you cannot go back to the way things were, why not accept your situation? You now have two cores. Instead of torturing yourself, holding back your progress, and struggling to rid yourself of one, why not nurture them both?”

  The suggestion made my chest tighten. “Abbot Mo, it’s not that easy,” I replied, my voice firmer than I expected. “And I have no intention of nurturing a dark core. It’s against my principles.”

  He tilted his head, his serene expression never wavering. “Luo Fan, nurturing a dark core does not necessarily make one evil. You can always find an alternative, a way to use it for good.”

  I shook my head stubbornly. “If you were in my situation, what would you do?”

  “Exactly what I’ve suggested,” he said without hesitation. “Unless I had a solution to remove it safely, I would accept things as they are. We cannot turn back time to undo the things we regret. Life is about moving forward and finding ways to repair the damage. That is the essence of living.”

  I clenched my fists, the weight of his wisdom pressing down on me. I had no comment. How could I? His words made sense, but my heart rebelled. Accepting the dark core felt like surrendering to everything I had fought against. I would rather lose both my cores and live as an ordinary man than carry this contradiction within me.

  Sensing my inner turmoil, Abbot Mo continued. “Luo Fan, do you know there was once a sect that practiced dual-core cultivation?”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “A sect?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Though they were few in number, they were exceptionally strong. And they weren’t inherently evil. They may have been indifferent to the world at times, but they recognized their duty to help those in need. When calamities struck, they offered aid, donations, and helped rebuild communities. They never turned away the hungry, and when the world was threatened, they stood as its protectors.”

  I leaned forward, intrigued despite myself. His words painted a picture I hadn’t considered before. A dual-core cultivator as a force of good, not evil. A glimmer of hope flickered in the darkness of my thoughts.

  “So you see,” he continued, “they may not have been friendly or open, but they were not wicked. In many ways, they were heroes. You could be the same.”

  I tried to picture someone who was indifferent yet noble, detached yet righteous. Despite my efforts, one image intruded in my mind—Ruan Yanjun.

  I quickly shook my head, banishing the thought. No. I could never emulate someone like him. I had no intention of becoming a copy of that arrogant, manipulative demon.

  But when I thought more deeply about Abbot Mo’s description, I realized Ruan Yanjun didn’t truly fit it. He wasn’t just indifferent—he was inherently selfish, driven by his own desires and goals. Whatever good he had done was incidental, a byproduct of his own ambitions. Righteousness was the last word anyone would use to describe him.

  “Does this sect still exist?” I found myself asking, unable to suppress my curiosity.

  “Unfortunately, their numbers have declined over the centuries,” he said, his tone tinged with sadness. “Dual-core cultivation is devastating to the body and mind. Many of their disciples ended up destroying their own foundations to escape the suffering, rendering them unable to practice martial arts ever again. Finding someone capable of handling the balance between two opposing cores is exceedingly rare. Over the years, their numbers dwindled until they nearly disappeared. As far as I know, you might be the only one of your kind left today.”

  My breath caught in my throat. The idea of being so utterly different, so isolated, was terrifying. “That… makes me feel like an outcast,” I admitted quietly.

  Abbot Mo shook his head. “You are not an outcast, Luo Fan. You are unique. And while it may feel like a burden now, your uniqueness gives you the opportunity to forge your own path.” He paused, a small smile softening his features. “One of their temples still exists to this day.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Where?”

  “It’s located on Guidao Island, a remote island south of the Xianru Empire,” he explained. “The sect is known as the Storm Surge Sect. It’s little-known to most, but I believe a small number of priests still reside there. It’s said that they guard ancient texts and teachings of the sect’s past dual-core grandmasters. You might find someone there who shares your condition, someone who can guide you. And even if no one like you remains, the wisdom in their library could help you find the balance you seek.”

  The hope in his words was infectious, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I allowed myself to believe that there might be a way forward. A path where I could live without being consumed by my inner conflict.

  “You truly think they can help me?” I asked, my voice trembling with newfound hope.

  “I believe so,” he said firmly. “And if not, they will at least point you in the right direction.”

  I nodded, finally seeing a ray of hope for the first time. It felt like several doors had opened before me, each offering a chance at redemption.