Why do I have so many masters?-Chapter 445 - 113: The Only Person With White Hair (Two in One)_3

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Wang Anfeng opened his mouth and said,

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"Feibai, this place is at least a hundred miles from that city."

His voice was a bit feeble; at that moment, he felt that anything he said was so pale.

Hong Feibai nodded in silence, pulling the carriage and the young girl on it, stepping onto the steep mountain road and onto the official road. Snow had fallen on the ground, and as far as the eye could see, everything was blanketed in white. He was very familiar with the destination that Ma Hongkuo’s drawn route pointed to, almost without the need for any memory or thought.

It was there, before that street, he met his junior sister, and then was taken in by his Master.

Under the third Chinese parasol tree inside the old street, he received his sword.

Every year, he would spend three months of time there.

"Hey, little beggar, what’s your name?"

"I am your grandpa!"

When they first met, Hong Feibai, who spoke with a Fufeng accent, spat out a string of profanities and stole a five-year-old girl’s meat bun, then ran off faster than a dog.

Lurking under an old locust tree, he wolfed down his food, and when he looked up, he saw a young man leading an exquisitely pretty little girl.

He thought he had seen a ghost, the meat bun stuck in his throat, almost choking him as his eyes rolled back.

"From today on, you are my Daddy’s disciple, my junior brother..."

"No, I’m not."

"You... you’re being dishonest!"

"Hah, it was me who first served tea to signal entry into the sect, and me who first paid respects with incense to our Master’s ancestors. This is called the rules of the Jianghu, do you understand... what have you done, huh?"

"I... I, I was held by Master."

"Ha?!"

"Why are you swearing again..."

"Grandpa does what he wants, so what, planning to tell on me to your Dad again?"

"You... if you keep this up, I, I will..."

"You will what, huh?"

"I’ll cry for you to see!"

Within a few years, Hong Feibai was transformed from a street-fighting ruffian who cursed all the time, to someone who practiced Inner Strength and swordsmanship, knew poetry, rites, and propriety, and felt his scalp tingle whenever he saw the girl cry. If anyone dared to bully her, he had to beat them up fiercely in return.

Among the disciples of his generation, he was the last to experience Qi sensation, yet he was the fifteenth to step into the Ninth Grade.

The fourth to possess Eighth Rank Inner Strength.

The first to step into the Eighth Rank Realm was the Sect Leader’s own grandson, proclaimed a genius, who later bullied the girl. Feibai, carrying his sword, went knocking on their door. One against thirteen, he sent himself and those thirteen sorry fellows to the infirmary. At that time, he sat on the bed with a battered face, the most injured of them all, but managed to boast to his weeping junior sister, successfully turning her tears into laughter.

Light fell on the girl’s cheeks, dazzling his eyes.

He thought that was his greatest expectation in life...

His past had been filled with sunshine.

Now that sunshine was sealed inside a gloomy coffin; his past and memories all carried in the carriage. As the carriage moved, it creaked and groaned. Snow fluttered down from the sky, shaking and shimmering until he went gray, but after all was said and done, it just came down to one person alone.

If growing old together with someone comprised his entire world, then missing one person meant not just losing half a world—that was a child’s calculation. What kind of child’s play could there be in an adult’s world?

The world should be vast and endless, with countless sceneries, yet only one person is left to grow old.

That city was over a hundred miles away from the official road below the Heavenly Sword Sect, precisely one hundred and thirty-seven miles.

Hong Feibai walked for ten hours.

His shoulders were blistered from the rough rope; the blisters had burst, staining his clothes with blood, but his steps remained steady.

The city guards were dumbfounded, making way for him, as the news traveled far and wide in advance.

Arriving at the old street, he cast his gaze downward, counting the bluestone bricks, counting exactly forty-seven of them. Beside him stood a tall Chinese parasol tree, where startled birds chirped loudly, flying into the courtyard across the street.

The courtyard gate swung open, and several disciples clad in blue and white Sword Robes rushed out. Their steps halted, they looked at the disheveled Jianghu Swordsman.

Struck deep in their hearts, a multitude of emotions surged, leaving only disbelief as they almost whispered:

"Big, Big Senior Brother..."

"It’s Big Senior Brother!"

One of them stood dumbfounded for a moment, then turned and ran back into the inner courtyard, while the others came forward to greet him. Instinctively, some wanted to loosen the ropes on his body, while others wanted to take over the carriage, yet no one could so much as budge the Swordsman’s fingers, nor could anyone unwed the thick rope used for tying livestock.

Hong Feibai stood upright, his gray robe tattered. His hair was tied back in a ponytail, his eyes silent.

Silent yet piercing.

Like the Zhan Lu, ranked seventh among the Famous Swords.

Wang Anfeng stopped three hundred meters away; he carried his zither, his right hand still holding that battered iron sword like any ordinary Jianghu traveler. He stopped in his tracks and sat at a nearby tea stall, quietly observing the unfolding events.

He had accompanied Hong Feibai for a hundred and thirty-seven miles.

But this was where he stopped.

PS: Today’s chapter is a two-in-one of 4800 words. The plot ahead needs careful consideration, including reflecting on the inadequacies of the recent storyline, correcting the outline. I hope for your understanding...

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