Chapter Four: The Old Man

The tunnel was narrow and exceedingly low. Given the man's tall and slender build, he was forced to crawl forward, and as he moved, he noticed the marks on the walls were not made by sharp tools, but rather seemed carved out by some creature with claws.

He traveled about fifty paces, then turned right for ninety more, and finally ascended for another fifty.

Calmly, the man calculated in his mind, estimating each pace by the distance from his elbows to his toes as he crawled, using this to deduce the approximate length of the dark passage and where it might lead. Soon, he arrived at a conclusion.

Most likely, it led to another cell within this Celestial Prison.

Raising his eyes to the black square brick overhead, he hesitated not at all, pushing it aside without any precaution, and climbed out from the tunnel.

“This is the last flat peach borne by the final tree in Cloud Coil Garden. It blossoms once every ten years, bears fruit once every hundred, prolongs life, and dispels stubborn maladies and pain.”

Before the man could properly survey his surroundings, he heard an obsequious voice nearby. In front of him was a delicate porcelain plate.

Upon the plate rested a peach, rosy and fragrant.

The man looked toward the source of the voice—a senior.

The old man appeared scholarly, with few wrinkles and a pair of black, upturned mustaches above his lips, a well-groomed glossy goatee below, clearly cared for regularly.

Yet more striking than his face was his attire.

He was dressed in a deep yellow, wide-sleeved silk robe, cinched with a belt of jade and gold, collar and cuffs embroidered with golden thread.

This was not at all the garb of a prisoner.

“The task you entrusted to me is nearly complete...” The old man folded his hands within his sleeves, bowed his head slightly, and spoke softly to the man.

The man glanced sideways to take in the environment. Only when he saw the black cell door did he confirm this was indeed a prison cell, not a chamber of some noble family.

“You are Number Sixty-One,” the man said slowly.

“You may call me Number Sixty-One, or as before, by my name: Duan Lingqi.” The elder who called himself Duan Lingqi raised his bright eyes, a hint of confusion in his gaze as he looked at the man. Upon seeing those calm, pitch-black eyes, he quickly bowed his head again.

“And what do you call me?” the man asked, gazing steadily at the elder. Though his words were questions, his tone brooked no doubt, more like commands than inquiries.

“...Respected One?” Duan Lingqi was uncertain what the man meant by this. After pondering, he cautiously glanced at him and hesitated before asking.

“Not a title, but my name,” the man replied calmly.

“Your name...” Duan Lingqi's confusion deepened. He had never heard the man reveal his own name, so naturally he did not know it. Could this be a test?

The thought made Duan Lingqi anxious. Perhaps he had failed some task and angered this master.

Fortunately, Duan Lingqi was never one to abide by rules. From a certain letter, he had ‘accidentally’ broken the seal and read its contents, seeing the signature at the end.

Su Yuanbai.

“Su Yuanbai...” Duan Lingqi spoke the name slowly, watching the man’s expression, ready to change the subject at a moment’s notice.

“My name is Su Yuanbai?” the man asked quietly, a rare note of uncertainty in his tone, no longer the calm command.

“Your name can be whatever you wish it to be. If you wish, Su Yuanbai is yours. If you wish, you could be the Supreme, the Highest, the True Emperor as well,” Duan Lingqi replied ambiguously and flatteringly, uncertain if Su Yuanbai was truly the man's name.

He did not mind flattering the man before him; after all, his life was always in this fellow’s hands.

The man seemed uninterested in Duan Lingqi’s praise, but in this world, anyone who heard the titles Supreme, Highest, True Emperor would feel a tremor in their heart.

That tremor could be fear, or awe, or reverence.

But perhaps because the man had lost his memory, his face remained calm, tinged with confusion, as he pondered whether Su Yuanbai was truly his name.

For now, he had no choice; he needed a name.

Thus.

He was Su Yuanbai.

“So what task did I entrust to you?”

To Duan Lingqi's dismay, this trial was far from over. The man looked at him again, and his steady voice sounded like a distant funeral bell, each toll bringing Duan Lingqi closer to death.

“You instructed me to deliver a letter embroidered with heavenly fragrance to Dream Mountain, and place it in the hands of the first person I met there,” Duan Lingqi replied respectfully, after a brief consideration.

“And what was written in the letter?” The man who now believed himself Su Yuanbai asked reflexively, but quickly realized a courier would not have read the letter’s contents. Just as he was about to change his question, he noticed sweat pouring down the elder’s forehead.

The sweat was so profuse it seemed a small rain had fallen.

“Your abilities are indeed as vast and unfathomable as the mighty sea. I did not open the letter out of curiosity, but because along a stream in Qiyue County, Ning’an Prefecture, I encountered a mad little beggar.

He tricked the letter from my hands, and as I struggled to retrieve it, I happened to glimpse its contents as the pages fell—purely by accident!” Duan Lingqi continued to flatter, then distanced himself from blame, finally declaring with certainty.

Su Yuanbai regarded the elder in silence. He cared little whether the man had read the letter; after all, he could not recall when he had ever asked Duan Lingqi to deliver it.

Su Yuanbai was silent, and Duan Lingqi dared not speak further. Who knew whether his words had convinced the man?

Yet Duan Lingqi had not fabricated everything; he had indeed encountered a mad beggar in Qiyue County, Ning’an Prefecture, who had tricked the letter from his hands.

But the letter’s contents—he had opened it the moment he left the island and reached the mainland.

After all, who could say if this was a death warrant?

“In order to fulfill your command, and since I remembered the letter’s contents, even without the letter in hand I proceeded to Dream Mountain.

Yet, after circling the mountain—from peak to slope to caves—not a single soul appeared.

Of course, I do not question you, only worry whether your years in the Thunder Prison have been long, or perhaps the names of places have changed with dynasties and the passage of time, causing me to go astray.”

Duan Lingqi broke the silence, seizing on an important topic, afraid that the man’s next words might claim his life.