Renegade Immortal Chapters 13-15: A Mysterious Bead, A Sudden Homecoming, and the Elder's Suspicion
The life of an honorary disciple in the Heng Yue Sect was one of quiet, relentless toil, punctuated by the occasional, unthinking cruelty of those with a sliver more authority. For Wang Lin, the boy deemed to have no spiritual roots, this existence had become a familiar rhythm of predawn awakenings, endless trips to the mountain spring, and the silent endurance of ridicule. Yet, unknown to all, a secret nestled against his chest—a simple, cloud-patterned stone bead—was beginning to unravel the fabric of his mundane world, sending ripples that would eventually reach the ears of the sect’s elders.
The first ripple manifested not with a bang, but a withering. In a secluded courtyard garden, Elder Sun, a man whose title held more respect among honorary disciples than actual power within the sect’s hierarchy, stood frowning over a patch of spiritual herbs. His wrinkled face, usually placid with the boredom of managing trivial requests, was etched with confusion. Before him, a cluster of precious Blue Heart Grass, vibrant and healthy just that afternoon, now lay limp and desiccated, as if all moisture had been violently sucked from its veins. Even the hardy purple Moonlace flowers beside it showed signs of premature wilting.
He knelt, fingers probing the soil. It was damp, perfectly tended. The blight was not in the earth, but in the plants themselves. A sudden, unnatural decay. His mind, sharp despite his relegated position, began to turn. The garden was rarely disturbed. Today, only one visitor had come through: that honorary disciple, Wang Lin, applying for a leave to visit home. A boy with no discernible talent, a piece of background noise in the sect’s grand symphony. Could it be? The thought seemed absurd, yet the coincidence was stark.
Without a word, Elder Sun’s sleeves flicked. A rainbow light erupted beneath his feet, carrying him aloft from the courtyard. He cut through the evening air toward the assignment hall for honorary disciples, a place he seldom deigned to visit. His arrival was like a thunderclap in a quiet valley.
“Which disciple here is in charge?” His voice, deep and imbued with an authority these disciples rarely heard directly, echoed in the hall.
The yellow-clothed disciple in charge—Disciple Liu, with his weasel-like face—scrambled forward, his heart plummeting into his stomach. He prostrated himself, kowtowing repeatedly. “Elder! This disciple is in charge! How may this lowly one serve?”
“Do you have Wang Lin’s registration?” Elder Sun demanded, his impatience barely veiled.
Disciple Liu’s blood ran cold. Wang Lin? That piece of trash? His mind raced through every instance of bullying, every sneer, every extra bucket he’d forced upon the boy. Panic painted his face pale. “This disciple… has… has Brother Wang Lin’s registration!” he stammered, instincts for self-preservation kicking in. “Brother Wang loves to learn and is always serious with his work! This disciple… this disciple has always looked to him as a role model!”
Elder Sun almost snorted at the transparent flattery. In his heart, he held a bitter understanding; this nervousness was the only form of respect his hollow title usually commanded. He cut off the groveling. “Which yard does Wang Lin live in?”
“At… at the northern Earth Division’s yard…” Liu managed.
Before he could finish, the elder was already a streak of light heading north. Disciple Liu remained on the floor, his intestines twisting with regret. He vowed then that if Wang Lin returned, he would treat him like a precious ancestor. Anyone personally sought by an elder, for good or ill, was not someone a mere chore manager could afford to offend.
Elder Sun descended upon the Earth Division yard. It was quiet, empty. Consulting the registry, he found Wang Lin’s room and entered. The only occupant was a burly boy named Zhang Hu, snoring thunderously on his bed, dead to the world. The elder’s sharp eyes scanned the sparse room. Nothing seemed amiss, but the air felt… ordinary. Too ordinary.
“He left very quickly,” the elder muttered to himself. A flicker of suspicion solidified. “Hmm, I’ll inspect him once he is back.”
Meanwhile, Wang Lin was experiencing a freedom he had never known. The Immortal Travel Talisman affixed to his leg was a marvel. A stream of comforting warmth filled his limb, gathering at his feet into a dazzling white light that made him look like a character from an immortal legend. The mountain path flew beneath him. The fresh, cold air whipped past his face, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Wild creatures, sensing the radiant energy, shied away into the undergrowth. For the first time since arriving at the Heng Yue Sect, Wang Lin felt a surge of unadulterated joy. He was going home.
He traveled through the night, sustained by sips of the mysterious dew from his gourd, which replenished his energy miraculously. By dawn, he had cleared the mountains. By afternoon, he was navigating a bustling town, using a few spare coins to buy simple gifts—a length of sturdy cloth for his mother, a pouch of strong tobacco for his father. His heart beat with anticipation.
When he finally saw the familiar outline of his village against the fading light, a wave of emotion washed over him. But the scene at his own home was not the quiet one he remembered. A red flag with the character for “Longevity” fluttered proudly. Wagons were parked outside, and the hum of a crowd filled the air. It was his father’s birthday, and the family had gathered.
His arrival was nothing short of spectacular. A flash of white light, and he materialized before the gathered relatives. For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, a chorus of exclamations erupted.
“Second brother! Wang Lin came back! Just look at how handsome this kid is! He looks just like an immortal!” “Isn’t it just so? Even the Immortals messed up! They must have regretted it and took him as a disciple after all! Our Wang family will depend on these children!” “My old eyes failed me!” boomed the family’s third eldest uncle, his face a mask of newfound admiration. “What part of him can’t compare to Wang Zhuo and Wang Hao? A dragon amongst men!” Even his fifth uncle, who had been particularly cutting in his past assessments, waded forward with an apologetic smile. “This kid has always been smart. I hope you don’t hate your fifth uncle. I apologize to you.”
Wang Lin watched the sea of changed faces, the kindness that had been so absent before now overflowing. He felt a cold snort form in his heart, but it was quickly melted by the sight of his father pushing through the crowd.
“Tie Zhu!” his father exclaimed, grabbing his arm, his eyes wide with surprise and concern. “Why did you come back? Didn’t I tell you to stay at the Heng Yue Sect? Don’t always worry about home.”
Wang Lin looked at his father. The deep wrinkles of worry seemed to have softened. He looked happier, lighter. “Dad, don’t worry. All disciples get three chances to visit home a year. Once your birthday is over, I’ll head back.”
His father’s chest swelled with pride. He turned to the relatives, his grip on Wang Lin firm, and called out, “Wife! Look who is back!”
Wang Lin’s mother emerged from a knot of chattering female relatives. Her eyes found her son, and she rushed over, her hands fluttering over him, her voice a torrent of questions about his health, his eating, his life.
The warmth that enveloped Wang Lin in that moment was a tangible thing, a balm on the unseen wounds inflicted by a month of derision and isolation. At the birthday feast, the praise continued unabated. Relatives drank and made bold proclamations about restoring his father’s inheritance, about betrothing daughters, about the glorious future of the Wang family. Through it all, Wang Lin’s parents glowed, their faces radiant with a happiness he had seldom seen.
That night, in the quiet after the guests had left, his parents sat with him, their eyes full of anticipation. “Tell us, Tie Zhu,” his father said. “How is life at the sect? Are you learning the immortal techniques?”
Looking into their hopeful faces, Wang Lin did something he never had before: he lied. He painted a picture of popularity, of diligent study, of kind senior brothers and fascinating lessons. He described, in vague but impressive terms, the feeling of channeling energy. He weaved a beautiful fiction, and they listened, captivated, awestruck by the destiny of their son.
As he spoke, a fierce, silent resolution crystallized within him. For them, he thought, watching the joy his words brought. For this look on their faces, I will endure the ten years. I will endure the buckets, the ridicule, the loneliness. It is only ten years.
He stayed for two precious days, savoring the simple comfort of home. On the third morning, the entire village turned out to see him off. He activated the talisman, the white light enveloping his feet, and with a final wave, he sped back toward the mountains. Long after he was out of sight, he could still hear the echoes of their farewells.
He returned to the Heng Yue Sect near midnight. The sky was a cauldron of boiling black clouds, throbbing with the promise of a storm. Slipping into his room, he found Zhang Hu still lost in his symphonic snoring. Wang Lin lay in bed, but sleep eluded him. The contrast between the warmth of home and the cold reality of his dormitory was too stark.
A brilliant flash of lightning lit the room, followed by a crack of thunder that shook the very walls. In that momentary glare, Wang Lin’s hand went to the stone bead in the hidden inner pocket of his shirt. On a whim, he took it out, lighting the small oil lamp to examine it.
His breath caught. He rubbed his eyes and leaned closer. The cloud patterns etched on its surface… they had changed. He was certain. Before he left, there had been five distinct clouds. Now, there were six.
A thrill of mystery and unease shot through him. What did it mean? He stored the bead away, extinguished the lamp, and eventually fell into a fitful sleep as the storm broke in earnest outside, rain lashing the windows.
He was awakened not by noise, but by a profound, invasive cold. His eyes snapped open. The room was illuminated in strobic flashes of lightning, revealing a scene from a nightmare. The air was thick with a dense, freezing mist. Every surface—the table, the floor, the walls, the beds—was soaked and glistening with moisture. Yet, he himself was completely dry, save for a damp patch on his shirt over the bead’s pocket.
He turned to Zhang Hu. His blood ran cold. His roommate was shrouded in a cocoon of white mist. His clothes were soaked through and stiffening with frost, his lips were blue, and his teeth were clenched in a rigid, silent chatter. His breathing was shallow, weak.
“Zhang Hu! Zhang Hu!” Wang Lin cried, scrambling from his bed to shake the larger boy. There was no response, only the terrifying weakness of his breath.
Panic seized Wang Lin. He had to get help. He turned toward the door, but then stopped, his hand touching his own dry clothes. The contradiction was too glaring, too strange. Why was he spared?
A terrible, fascinating suspicion dawned on him. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the stone bead.
The moment it left the cloth, the room seemed to inhale. Every water droplet, from the tables to the walls to the very mist in the air, trembled. The white fog around Zhang Hu coalesced into shimmering beads of liquid. In the next flash of lightning, Wang Lin saw them—thousands of tiny, crystal-like droplets—all suddenly orienting toward the bead in his palm as if drawn by a powerful magnet.
Terror overrode curiosity. Wang Lin hurled the bead across the room and threw himself to the floor. The bead clattered into a corner. The droplets changed trajectory mid-air, streaking through the gloom to silently merge with the stone. It was a silent, voracious absorption. Within moments, the thick mist was gone. The surfaces were dry. The bone-chilling cold vanished.
Cautiously, Wang Lin stood up. Zhang Hu’s color was returning, his breathing deepening into the rhythm of normal sleep. The storm outside was abating, moonlight beginning to fracture the clouds.
With a trembling hand, Wang Lin retrieved the bead from the corner. He carried it to the window, using the moonlight to see. His heart hammered against his ribs. The clouds had increased again. There were now seven.
Awe and fear warred within him. The bead didn’t just collect dew; it could violently drain moisture from its entire surroundings. Zhang Hu had nearly been frozen to death. The only reason he, Wang Lin, was unaffected, he reasoned, was because he had consumed so much of the dew-laden water. The bead’s power was real, potent, and dangerous.
He dared not experiment further, not here. When dawn’s grey light finally crept into the room, Wang Lin was already awake, planning. As he moved to leave, Zhang Hu bolted upright with a strangled cry.
“Water! Water! The thirst is killing me!” He stumbled to the water container, fumbling with it, but it was empty. He stared at his crumpled, dry bedding, then at Wang Lin, confusion and fear in his eyes. “Wang Lin, when did you come back? This… did a ghost do this?”
Wang Lin forced a calm smile. “I don’t know. When I got back, it was already like this. You could ask the other disciples.” He paused, letting the implication hang. “But if this gets to the elders, you’d have to explain everything. They might interrogate you.”
Zhang Hu paled and shook his head vigorously. “Forget it! I won’t ask. Interrogation means punishment. No, no.”
Seizing the opportunity, Wang Lin left quickly. A light rain was still falling. He could feel a faint, pulling sensation against his skin where the raindrops landed; the bead, in his pocket, was subtly active. This was untenable. He needed to hide it, somewhere far from prying eyes and potential accidents.
Taking a deserted path, he made his way to the eastern edge of the sect grounds, to a secluded spot where he had once hidden a gourd. The early morning was quiet. Making sure he was utterly alone, he dug a small hole and buried the mysterious, dangerous stone bead. He covered it carefully, marking the spot in his memory. A sigh of temporary relief escaped him. He would retrieve it when the weather cleared and he could better understand its nature.
His next destination was the chore house, to resume the dreary cycle of his duties. He had barely reached for a bucket when a familiar, unctuous voice called out.
“If it isn’t Brother Wang!”
Disciple Liu scurried forward, his weasel-face arranged in an expression of overwhelming enthusiasm. To Wang Lin’s astonishment, Liu snatched the bucket from his hands. “How was your trip home? Are your parents doing well? Your senior has missed you on these days you were gone!”
Wang Lin was stunned. The face, the tone—it was a perfect mirror of his fawning relatives. But what game was Liu playing now?
“Brother Liu, my parents are well. You don’t need to worry,” Wang Lin replied cautiously.
“Brother, from now on, you don’t have to wake up so early!” Liu proclaimed, puffing out his chest. “That business about ten vats a day was just a joke! You’re too serious! From now on, one vat is plenty. Go eat when the food is served. If anyone troubles you, just tell your big brother!” He clapped a familiar hand on Wang Lin’s shoulder.
The sudden, drastic shift from bully to benefactor was too much. Wang Lin’s mind raced. “Big brother… is there some matter you wish for me to attend to?” he asked, probing.
Liu’s face contorted into a mask of hurt. “Little brother, how could you be so cold? You are my little brother, I should care for you! Your issues are my issues!” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “By the way… Elder Sun came looking for you a few days ago. Now that you’re back, it’s best to go check in with him.” His eyes were sharp, watching for Wang Lin’s reaction like a hawk.
In that instant, Wang Lin understood. The elder’s visit. Liu’s panic. This obsequious performance was all born of fear—fear that Wang Lin had some connection to an elder, and fear of retaliation for past mistreatment. Wang Lin decided to lean into the misunderstanding. He let a hint of arrogance color his expression, giving a slight, dismissive snort, perfectly mimicking Liu’s own past behavior.
The effect was immediate. Disciple Liu’s heart sank. His worst suspicions seemed confirmed. This “trash” had indeed caught an elder’s eye. Thinking of his own precarious position, Liu gritted his teeth. He reached into his robe and pulled out a piece of yellow paper—an Immortal Travel Talisman.
“Little brother,” he said, forcing the talisman into Wang Lin’s hand. “A little gift. You have to accept it. If you don’t…”
Wang Lin didn’t let him finish. He took the talisman, a valuable commodity for an honorary disciple. “Thank you, senior brother. This little brother doesn’t want to be arrogant,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “but the elder is waiting. We’ll catch up next time.”
“Of course, of course! The elder is more important!” Liu nodded vigorously, a mix of envy and relief on his face.
As Wang Lin walked away from the chore house, his calm exterior belied a churning mind. Elder Sun. Why? The only unusual event was the withering of the herbs during his visit. Could the elder have connected that to him? A cold knot formed in his stomach. Could it be about the bead? He ran through the possibilities. He had no wealth to bribe, no talent to attract patronage. Offending an elder by ignoring a summons was not an option. The bead was safely buried. He had nothing on his person to incriminate him.
Steeling himself, Wang Lin made his way to Elder Sun’s courtyard. He announced his presence. The same white-clothed youth who had processed his leave appeared, looking surprised and slightly annoyed.
“What, you have to visit home again?” the youth quipped.
Before Wang Lin could answer, a sharp, imperative voice cut from within the courtyard, ringing with an urgency that made the white-clad disciple jump.
“Quickly, bring him here! Without delay!”
The disciple’s mouth twitched. He gave Wang Lin a long, thoughtful, and now decidedly less contemptuous look, then gestured for him to follow. The walk through the courtyard felt longer than before. The air was still, heavy with the scent of damp earth and… something else. A faint, lingering trace of decay?
They arrived at the elder’s residence. The white-clad disciple left with one last backward glance. Wang Lin stood before the simple wooden door, took a deep breath to quiet his nerves, and pushed it open.
The scene that greeted him was the same tranquil garden, but emerging from a side room was Elder Sun himself. The old man’s wrinkled face was stern, his eyes unusually bright and penetrating. They swept over Wang Lin with a cool, analytical intensity that seemed to strip away layers, searching for secrets hidden beneath the humble exterior of the honorary disciple’s robe. The weight of that gaze was immense, filled with unasked questions and a suspicion that had taken root days ago, beside a patch of mysteriously withered Blue Heart Grass. Wang Lin met the gaze, his own face a careful mask of respectful confusion, while inside, his mind worked furiously, preparing for the interrogation he knew must come.