Chapter 51: The Human Heart? The Human Heart
As night deepened, the Su family’s courtyard lay still, so silent that even the crickets had ceased their song. Yet within the rooms of the Su residence, the atmosphere was in sharp contrast to the tranquil surroundings. Su Wenyan was engaged in cheerful conversation with a young boy, both smiling as they spoke.
They seemed to be discussing something delightful, for laughter rang out between them time and again. The boy asked, “Father, when will you take me out to play?”
Su Wenyan replied kindly, “When I finish my current affairs, I’ll take you hunting. I’ve heard the hunting grounds outside the city haven’t been visited in ages—surely there will be plenty of game.”
The boy hugged Su Wenyan, unable to contain his joy, and Su Wenyan smiled gently, embracing him in return.
Such is the nature of the world: where there is joy, sorrow also exists. Outside the window stood Su Fan, observing everything inside with clarity. He had intended to enter and ask for answers—why was he and his mother abandoned? Was it for riches and glory? Yet, witnessing the harmony and happiness within, Su Fan found himself unable, or perhaps unwilling, to go inside.
Su Fan walked unsteadily to the stone steps in the courtyard and sat down, pulling out the endless flask of wine given to him by Daoist Liu, and began drinking anew. Pain swelled within him, seeking release, but he had nowhere to vent it. Not only was he unable to avenge his mother, but he was forced to flee from their enemies.
Fan Ruoyu had also left without a word, and despite countless attempts, Su Fan could not find her. Now, seeing the person he had long regarded as his guiding faith—his father—had become someone else’s father.
All these burdens pressed upon his heart at once. Su Fan, in this moment, thought that death might offer more relief.
He continued to drink, though the night wind was cold. Cultivators should not feel the chill, yet Su Fan still shivered.
Suddenly, a heavy hand rested gently on Su Fan’s shoulder. His heart sank. It was Su Wenyan. Su Fan rose, intending to leave, but Su Wenyan quickly grabbed his sleeve.
Su Fan turned sharply and glared at Su Wenyan. Had any ordinary person met that gaze, they would have been terrified to death, their soul shattered by the murderous aura—a malice accumulated over countless killings.
Yet Su Wenyan’s expression remained unchanged. No matter how sharp a son’s gaze, a father could always embrace it with acceptance.
Su Wenyan forced a smile and said, “General Su, is there a reason you’re here?”
Su Fan laughed, a mocking laugh. “How many wives does Lord Su have?”
Su Wenyan’s demeanor darkened. “I have but one wife, the imperial princess. Is not your question somewhat abrupt, General?”
Su Fan pressed on, heedless. “How many children does Lord Su have?”
Su Wenyan’s gaze turned icy. “I have only one son, Nianfan.”
Su Fan involuntarily stepped back, murmuring, “Nianfan, Nianfan. Such a fine ‘Nianfan.’ Such a fine ‘only one wife.’ Such a fine ‘only one son.’”
Su Wenyan looked on, puzzled at Su Fan’s intent.
Su Fan continued, “Lord Su knows my name is Su Fan. Does this not stir a single thought within you?”
Su Wenyan suddenly glanced at Su Fan, speaking in a low voice, “Could it be…”
Su Fan cut him off. “You gave me this name. You’ve forgotten. You may forget me, but you must not forget Longshi Village, nor the one who waited for you all those years.”
Tears blurred Su Fan’s vision. How long had it been since he had suffered such pain, since he had vented so freely? Perhaps only before those closest to him could he behave thus. Even though the towering image of Su Wenyan had fractured in Su Fan’s heart, he remained his father—the bond of blood could not be denied.
Su Wenyan could not speak. He did not weep, but he continued to smile. When a child cries, a father can only smile, to offer hope. Yet his smile was steeped in sorrow, echoing the expression of Mo Hanfeng; all fathers beneath heaven are much the same. They express little with words, but quietly support their children.
Suppressing his guilt, Su Wenyan asked, “How is your mother?”
Su Fan suddenly smiled, his eyes red as if they would bleed. Coldly, he replied, “She’s dead. You will never see her again.”
Su Wenyan’s expression grew dazed, nearly collapsing. He trembled as he spoke, “Child, can you stay here with me?”
Su Fan answered coldly, “There’s no need.”
Su Wenyan said, “Whether you believe it or not, I was sincere to your mother and to you.”
Su Fan laughed loudly. “Sincere? Really? Do you still have a heart?”
Su Wenyan replied firmly, “I do.”
Without looking back, Su Fan turned to leave, uttering words that left Su Wenyan too weak to stand again.
“If you truly have a heart, then show it to my mother, show it to me.”
Su Wenyan had collapsed to the ground, lost in thought.
If your child asked you for your heart, would you give it to him?
The tavern opened early that morning, and Su Fan was its first guest. He sat in the corner, drinking from the endless flask.
The attendant was pleased; such a guest—drinking so much and paying triple the price—was a rarity, perhaps once in a lifetime. Yet today, he encountered two such customers—the second being Daoist Liu.
Daoist Liu sat across from Su Fan, eyes smiling, simply watching him.
Su Fan was unsettled by the Daoist’s strange demeanor; previously, Liu had barely spoken a word, let alone glanced at Su Fan. Now, he seemed quite interested.
Unable to resist, Su Fan asked, “Daoist, what does this mean?”
Daoist Liu smiled, “I find you rather interesting.”
Su Fan said nothing.
Daoist Liu continued, “A pity, a pity.”
Su Fan was puzzled. “What’s a pity?”
Daoist Liu lowered his head. “It’s a pity that Nameless has taken a liking to you.”
Su Fan showed a resigned expression, unwilling to joke with this odd Daoist; his mind was still occupied with many concerns.
The tavern grew busier and noisier as more people arrived. Su Fan kept drinking—perhaps this was how men drank.
After a clatter of hooves, three men entered the tavern, not to drink. They walked straight towards Su Fan, and he quickly noticed what the two behind them were carrying.
Su Fan felt his blood surging, dizziness engulfing him. What lay beneath the cloth?
He rose and darted before them, tearing off the brocade covering.
What appeared made Su Fan recoil, the blood in his heart threatening to burst forth.
Suddenly, a warmth washed over him. Turning, Su Fan saw Daoist Liu, gratitude in his gaze.
Daoist Liu had pressed a finger to Su Fan’s back, and, seeing Su Fan turn, nodded.
Su Fan stared at what lay beneath the brocade: a real heart, a human heart.
The man holding the heart spoke coldly, “This is Lord Su’s heart. He said he owed General Su and insisted this heart be delivered to you.”
The second man slowly uncovered another tray and spoke, “Lord Su has persuaded His Highness to ally with Luocheng. Here is the written agreement.”
Daoist Liu reached out, collecting the document with his spiritual sense, and stowed it away.
Then, Daoist Liu clasped his hands in salute and led Su Fan out of the tavern.
The wind at the street corner was strong; Su Fan had stood in it for a long time, while Daoist Liu continued to drink.
Suddenly, Su Fan formed a hand seal, vanishing in an instant.
The surroundings of the Su residence were now draped in white cloth, with paper offerings scattered everywhere.
Su Fan walked in heavily. The mourning hall was empty—just an ordinary coffin used by a common family.
Su Fan could not understand how, with his father’s status, it had come to this.
He had assumed Su Wenyan abandoned them for wealth and glory, but now, Su Wenyan had died with even less than an ordinary person: no friends to mourn him, no proper funeral.
Su Fan could not dwell on it, for he had already knelt before the coffin.
He bowed again and again—was it for his deceased mother, or for his faithless father?
The lid of the coffin was not yet sealed, as if someone was still waiting, perhaps for Su Fan to see one last time.
Su Fan beckoned with his finger and placed the heart inside the coffin. The lid closed with a dull thud.
A sigh echoed, and Su Fan stood up.
Daoist Liu looked at him calmly. “Let’s go back.”
Su Fan asked, “Back where?”
Daoist Liu replied, “Back to Luocheng. Nameless values you greatly.”
Su Fan said, “You seem to know him well.”
Daoist Liu answered, “We’ve known each other for several centuries.”
Su Fan gave a bitter smile. “Too bad I don’t care for storytelling.”
Daoist Liu laughed, “Nameless is certainly a persistent man.”
Su Fan said nothing, evidently in agreement.
Daoist Liu continued, “He’s the only friend I’ve had in my life.”
Su Fan’s smile faded, for he thought of someone—Xiao Lin, the friend who sought immortality with him and slew their master together.
Years had passed, and Su Fan wondered about his fate, feeling a pang of regret.
Daoist Liu’s smile disappeared as well. “I heard Nameless has prepared a great gift for you. Aren’t you curious?”
Su Fan replied indifferently, “Curiosity killed the cat.”
In truth, he was quite curious—he simply refused to admit it.