Xuanyuan disciples never showed their true faces, but Deng Yideng could recognize these few at a glance. All i…
Xuanyuan disciples never showed their true faces, but Deng Yideng could recognize these few at a glance.
All it took was a call of "brother," and they'd gather. Sometimes they swapped stories, sometimes they traded a few moves, anything was better than rotting at the gate.
Once, sitting together, one of them suddenly blurted out an idea: what if they ditched the cult robes and went roaming the Jianghu together? Wouldn't that be freedom?
Another clamped a hand over his mouth at once. Rules were ironclad here. To leave meant cutting off the antidote. Certain death. You don't just blurt that out.
A third nodded slowly. If such a thing were ever to happen, it would take careful planning.
Deng Yideng looked at the brothers before him and, all at once, memories of his old drifting days came flooding back. It felt like a lifetime ago.
He slapped his thigh, "Count me in."
After that, he wasn't sure when it started, but every so often, someone would be missing from their group.
Deng Yideng knew exactly what that meant.
In the end, the last two clapped him on the shoulder, told him to keep watch, and said they'd try again.
Deng Yideng returned to his post at the gate. He slacked off, dozed, and skipped stones, but he refused to budge a single step.
He's waiting for his brothers to come home.