Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Three Selves

Having acquired the sixth Tourmaline Cauldron, Leng Bingyan was in an exceptionally good mood. With the four cauldrons already in his possession, he now had five in total, save for the fourth Pulao Cauldron, which remained missing. To have gathered so many in such a short time, Bingyan felt more than satisfied.

Upon returning to the modest inn he had reserved, a place of medium size and unassuming appearance, Bingyan felt a sense of comfort he could never find in a luxurious five-star hotel. Those grand establishments, for all their refinement and indulgence, seemed to draw invisible lines between people, chilling the warmth of human interaction. Here, in this homely inn, he felt at ease, the sense of equality and familiarity soothing to his spirit.

Lying on the soft bed, he took out the newly obtained sixth Tourmaline Cauldron, turning it over in his hands. Its antique form, the golden hue that flickered with occasional flashes, drew him in the more he looked at it. If not for the need to reestablish the Nine Provinces Barrier, he would have been tempted to keep it for himself, a treasure for his own collection.

He summoned the power within him, and his spiritual sense spread outward—one kilometer, two kilometers, and farther still. After several minutes, Bingyan withdrew his senses, a peculiar smile curving his lips, mingling both satisfaction and frustration.

He was pleased to have located the next cauldron—the seventh Pi Xie Cauldron—especially since it wasn’t far; a short flight would suffice. What disturbed him was the word that now echoed in his mind: the Holy See. The next cauldron was at the very headquarters of the Holy See, and that was troublesome.

Bingyan had no desire to make enemies of the Holy See. Their faith in the God of Light—Jehovah—was not his own, but faith is a personal freedom; one has no right to question another’s beliefs. Yet, discovering that the seventh cauldron lay within the Holy See’s headquarters was an unwelcome complication.

He did not want enmity with them, yet trouble had come knocking all the same.

The Divine Dragon Cauldron of the Nine Provinces was a prize he would not relinquish, but for it to appear in the Holy See’s headquarters? That could only mean the Holy See, like the Knights of the Round Table, regarded the cauldron as a sacred relic.

He’d already perceived the value of these sacred artifacts from how highly Gladheid prized them. If he were to go to the Holy See and request the Divine Dragon Cauldron, would they comply? Would they not see him as a troublemaker?

What a bother! Bingyan shook his head in irritation. At worst, he would have to steal it, slipping in unnoticed and leaving no trace. The thought brightened his eyes: it seemed he was destined to play the villain more than once.

At that moment, Bingyan’s spirit stirred.

“Come in. Don’t stand at the door,” he said, his voice cool and calm, directed at the room’s entrance.

Moments later, the door opened and a handsome Englishman entered. After closing the door, the man gave Bingyan a respectful bow and said, “Young master, I am Klu Malkavi, the steward of the Malkavi Clan of the Blood Race. Upon learning of your arrival in England, our clan leader sent us to find you. We discovered you were staying here and I am to invite you to reside at our estate.” He paused, then added, “My name is Klu Malkavi.”

The ‘clan leader’ Klu referred to was once the head of the family, but ever since Ruth ascended to the rank of the Golden Emperor among the Blood Race, the clans had united under a single leader. Family heads became ‘clan administrators,’ but no longer wielded supreme authority.

The Malkavi Clan was one of the thirteen great bloodlines of the Blood Race, active in Britain. In fact, the Blood Race’s origins lay in England, and the Malkavi Clan was second only to the foremost Brujah Clan, ranking as the second most powerful.

In England, their influence was virtually unchallenged. Bingyan was not surprised they had found him—they certainly possessed the means.

But to move to their estate was another matter to consider.

“Klu, is it?” Bingyan asked. At Klu’s nod, he continued, “I’m quite comfortable here and don’t wish to trouble you. Besides, I may be leaving England as soon as tomorrow.”

No sooner had Bingyan spoken than Klu replied anxiously, “Young master, you are the one whom our Blood Race serves. Now that you are within our Malkavi territory, if we were to neglect you, not only would our administrator hold me accountable, even our great clan leader would not forgive us easily. Please, do us the honor of staying at the estate.”

This was reasonable, and Bingyan nodded in understanding.

Sensing an opening, Klu pressed on, “Forgive me for disturbing your rest at such a late hour, young master. If we cannot ensure your comfort, it would be a dereliction of our duty as subordinates, so I must insist…”

Bingyan waved a hand, cutting off Klu’s speech. He was not naïve, and he understood Klu’s predicament.

It seemed there was no escaping a visit to the Malkavi estate. Otherwise, with Klu’s persistence, Bingyan would find no sleep tonight.

“Lead the way, then,” Bingyan said softly.

Klu, who had been preparing to continue his entreaties, brightened instantly, hurried to gather Bingyan’s few belongings, and escorted him to a long, sleek Rolls-Royce.

Bingyan settled into the car without fuss, and they drove into the night. After about half an hour, they left the city behind; the stars sparkled brightly above the countryside roads.

He watched the night sky for a long time, and before he knew it, the car had entered the estate grounds—a vast property, on par with the Smith Family estate where Ruth resided.

No sooner had Bingyan stepped out than he was startled by the crowd awaiting him. Led by Malkavi himself, nearly the entire Malkavi family was present to greet him—a sight as imposing as it was overwhelming.

“Young master, please follow me.” Malkavi respectfully cleared a path for Bingyan. As they walked together, the assembled blood kin made way, closing ranks once they had passed.

On the walk, Bingyan exchanged idle conversation with Malkavi, who now possessed the strength of an imperial-level Blood Race, equivalent to a cultivator who had mastered separation of spirit from body.

Like Smith, Malkavi now appeared in his forties, but beneath the surface, his aura radiated a depth only time could bestow. Seeing this, Bingyan felt an unspoken pride; after all, it was he who had made this transformation possible.

Malkavi was not ungrateful. He knew what he owed to the figure beside him, and upon learning of Bingyan’s arrival in England, he had dispatched his subordinates to find him, then gathered the entire clan to greet him at the gates.

After a lengthy conversation, Malkavi led Bingyan to a specially prepared bedroom—lavishly decorated, the finest room in the entire estate, surpassing even Malkavi’s own.

With farewells said, Bingyan lay on the bed, lost in thought: memories from childhood, from recent days, all mingling together. His fate had been turbulent and unsettled, filled with both sorrow and joy, with both ruthlessness and resolve…

Unawares, his eyes grew heavy and he drifted into sleep.

He found himself in a dim, bewildering place—no sunlight, only darkness.

“Is anyone there?” Bingyan’s clear voice echoed in the void. Silence. Time passed with no sign of life. Fear crept into Bingyan’s heart; he tried to teleport away but was horrified to find his abilities gone.

It was as if he had become his old, uninitiated self—no cultivation, no martial skills. The fear within him swelled.

“What’s this? Afraid, are you? So you really are a little girl.” A cold voice came from all directions. Bingyan looked around frantically but saw no one.

He retorted loudly, “That’s nonsense! I’m a boy, not a girl!”

Once more, silence. Just as Bingyan began to wonder if the voice had vanished, it returned—a wild, unrestrained peal of laughter. Bingyan clapped his hands over his ears, but as an ordinary person now, he could not bear the sonic assault.

When the laughter ceased, the voice said, “You’re not a girl? Do you think you can fool anyone?” Bingyan was about to protest when he glanced down and, to his horror, saw that he now wore the form of Lingyu—a girl’s body.

He stood there, dumbstruck, unable to reply.

“You freak, you monster!” the voice spat, striking at his heart. “I am not a freak!” Bingyan protested, but the words were weak and powerless.

“You are!” the voice insisted. “I know you best, you can’t deceive me!” The space warped, and a figure appeared; as the mist cleared, Bingyan saw—the figure was himself, or rather, his former male self.

“How about now? Do you still think you’re a man after seeing me? You’re nothing but a girl—a monster who changed from male to female!” The “Bingyan” struck mercilessly. Tears welled up and slipped down Bingyan’s face, uncontrollable. Why was this happening?

“Tsk, tsk…” The male Bingyan clicked his tongue and said, “Were you ever this weak before? You are no longer me.”

“I…” Bingyan faltered, lost for words.

The space twisted again, and another figure appeared—this time, the female Bingyan. She seized the male Bingyan by the ear, scolding, “Look what you’ve done to her! You were supposed to guide her, and instead you bullied her and made her cry!”

“That’s not it—I was only trying to toughen her up!” the male Bingyan protested, his attitude changing abruptly.

The female Bingyan snorted, unconvinced, then approached Bingyan, gently helping her up. “Don’t cry, he was only joking,” she said kindly, her voice a soothing breeze. Bingyan felt her spirits lift, but wondered—was it really just a joke?

“Of course it was…” the male Bingyan said with a smile. “How could I truly want to frighten you? You are me, after all—or rather, the fusion of me and her.” He gestured to the female Bingyan at his side.

“There’s nothing to worry about. We brought you here only so you could fully accept yourself,” the female Bingyan said softly, casting a glance at her male counterpart.

Bingyan’s fear had faded, but she was still puzzled. “Fusion…accept myself? I am myself—why should I need to accept anything?”

“Have you really accepted yourself?” asked the female Bingyan. “If you had, why would there be three of us here?”

Bingyan was stunned. Indeed, why?

“In the end, you still haven’t truly accepted yourself…”

This chapter is four thousand words…