TRT -Extra Story 3

When Luo Cheng was born, the Weiyang Sect had just established itself as the foremost sect in the martial world. With external affairs stabilized, internal conflicts within the sect grew vicious. There were disputes over branch leaders, struggles for succession, and so on.

At that time, the leader of the Weiyang Sect was a woman—Luo Cheng’s mother. She was a peerless beauty but a hard-handed ruler. She practiced the Pure Yang martial arts and never married. She probably couldn’t even remember how many men she had been with, but she surely remembered her children, for there were only three. Luo Cheng never understood why such a free-spirited mother would have only three children. Back then, he didn’t yet realize that a woman could sleep with men she didn’t love, but wouldn’t bear a child for one she didn’t love.

Luo Cheng was the youngest son, with one older brother and one older sister.

His eldest brother, Luo Chuan, was five years older. Every gesture and movement marked him as the perfect heir, widely acknowledged as such. Cold-faced and reserved, he seldom smiled at Luo Cheng, leaving Luo Cheng unsure of him and somewhat intimidated.

His sister, Luo Shen, was only a year older than Luo Cheng. They played together from childhood and both practiced the Pure Yin martial arts under the same master, which made them much closer. Luo Shen was gentle and kindhearted, yet she was drawn to the decisive and ruthless Luo Chuan—something Luo Cheng would only learn much later.

Growing up in the shadow of his perfect brother, everything Luo Cheng did was inevitably compared to Luo Chuan, naturally leaving him feeling frustrated. Luo Cheng could never match Luo Chuan, which bred jealousy and resentment. When someone feels stifled in life, they generally react in one of two ways: either they curse the heavens and the earth, or they become carefree and indulgent. Luo Cheng, a refined young gentleman, could never do the first. So gradually, a consensus formed among people: the eldest young master of Weiyang Sect was a millennial martial genius, calm and composed, a man destined for great deeds. The youngest young master, however, was a reckless rogue, drifting into unconventional and disreputable paths.

At that time, Luo Cheng was a rogue, not yet a playboy, due to his mother’s influence. He disliked women. Ruthless in action, flamboyant in behavior, indulgent yet extremely harsh toward his own children, he could brazenly engage in impropriety with strangers in front of his five-year-old son! Due to the nature of the martial arts practiced in the Weiyang Sect, coupled with his mother’s defiance of morality and convention, many righteous sects described the Weiyang Sect as a cult, a sect of perverse practices, or downright indecent. Luo Cheng harbored deep resentment toward his mother and, by extension, felt little affection for women.

Despite this aversion, he still had to train, for martial arts were all they had in the martial world. Since Luo Shen was a woman, every time they practiced absorbing energy together, it was like a torment for them, filled with reluctance. Luo Chuan, on the other hand, never flinched and completed every task perfectly, as if he were fulfilling a mission. Over the years, the gap between Luo Cheng, Luo Shen, and Luo Chuan only widened.

When Luo Cheng turned eighteen, a succession contest was held. “Contest” was a euphemism—it was essentially sibling combat. Luo Cheng’s mother’s generation had over twenty children. When his mother and another Pure Yin martial artist emerged from the altar covered in blood, the floor was littered with corpses, those who had laughed and spoken cheerfully with them just yesterday.

By comparison, you were lucky. His mother’s gaze seemed to say that. Before sending Luo Cheng and Luo Shen into the altar, she said expressionlessly: only one may emerge alive, or I will personally kill the one who comes out later. That instant, eighteen-year-old Luo Cheng felt icy cold in the sweltering summer heat. Luo Shen, meanwhile, lifted her gaze to meet Luo Chuan’s distant stare—a look full of meaning that Luo Cheng couldn’t understand at the time.

Inside the altar, they confronted each other with swords for a long while. Neither struck first. Both were measuring the other, searching for other options, while memories of once-close moments flashed in their minds. Finally, Luo Cheng threw his sword to the ground and said: “Sister, I won’t kill you. Go out. I’ll hide in this altar for a few days, then quietly leave the sect forever. I’ll never appear in the martial world again.”

Luo Shen’s hand holding the sword trembled violently, her eyes wet with tears. Always gentle and kind, she preferred embroidery and flowers over the harsh martial world. Perhaps, in this moment, she felt even more helpless and unwilling than Luo Cheng did. Yet the next second, a cold sword pierced Luo Cheng’s left chest without hesitation.

“I… I want to live. I want to stand beside Brother Chuan… I’m sorry…” Luo Shen cried, her tears scattering across the merciless blade—a contradiction, yet strangely harmonious. Luo Cheng tried to brush aside the strands of hair falling across his sister’s face. She had always been undeniably beautiful, and her hair had always fascinated him with its cool, slippery texture. Even now, her beauty, fragile yet resolute, a perfect blend of delicacy and ruthlessness, made him unable to hate her. Seeing her face, eighteen-year-old Luo Cheng made a decision:

“Sister, you don’t belong in the martial world, nor beside someone like Brother Chuan. You’re too softhearted.”

Luo Shen slid from his arms, blood staining her beautiful teal robe. Luo Cheng threw aside his dagger, held her, and sat down. “Sister, you’re the purest. I won’t let the martial world taint you even a bit. I swear I will become the leader of the Weiyang Sect and change it! Alright?”

“But… Luo Cheng… unless you abandon martial arts… you can’t indulge in women… I can never… ever be with him… but I…” Luo Shen choked, blood flowing more fiercely.

“Sister… do you know? You’re the first woman I haven’t hated…” Luo Cheng held her, not attending to his own bleeding, murmuring absentmindedly.

“…Chuan…” Luo Shen’s last gaze toward the altar’s ceiling was soft, then she went silent.

Luo Cheng did not cry.

Back then, Luo Cheng was no match for Luo Chuan, so Luo Chuan became the leader of the Weiyang Sect, and Luo Cheng was sent to Busan Mausoleum. They met again three years later.

Luo Cheng trained diligently, far surpassing his former self. Luo Chuan, according to reports, rarely practiced martial arts, preoccupied with sect affairs. The newly enthroned Emperor Xi cleverly sought alliances with martial world powers, and Luo Chuan had recently been titled a prince and granted a residence in Qiuyue City. The Weiyang Sect flourished under his leadership. Luo Cheng smirked coldly at the thought of the elders’ faces if it were he in charge…

Luo Cheng did not expect to see Luo Chuan at Luo Shen’s grave. Luo Chuan was not there to pay respects, standing silently, hands empty, face expressionless. Luo Cheng pretended not to see him and finished his own tribute, then prepared to leave.

The night before the duel years ago, I told her your heart is unusual, on the right side. Luo Chuan suddenly said behind Luo Cheng, without even glancing at him.

Luo Cheng froze at these words—his brother had chosen to save their sister, not him.

Why tell me now? It goes against the principle of winning hearts… Luo Cheng sneered inwardly.

“I’m just letting you know. Hate me alone if you must…” Luo Chuan ignored his sarcasm.

Looking at Luo Shen’s quiet grave and Luo Chuan’s restrained, gentle gaze, a few stray petals drifted in the evening wind. Luo Cheng felt drained and meaningless. He turned, walked far away, then returned to coldly say to Luo Chuan: “Before she died, my sister kept calling your name. She regretted loving you.”

Luo Cheng didn’t know why he fabricated this lie. Luo Chuan merely nodded, then met his eyes and said: “If you want to surpass me and become the master of the Weiyang Sect, then become strong and show me.”

That moment, looking into Luo Chuan’s eyes, something shifted in Luo Cheng. From then on, he frequently visited the Weiyang Sect, and the Qiuyue City mansion became his personal residence. Unlike his mother, he gave every woman connected to him a proper title, and the Luo King’s residence filled with his consorts. Luo Cheng couldn’t help but be drawn to women with long, beautiful black hair—soft bodies, strong eyes, cunning hands. Feeling their hair slip through his fingers softened his rough heart, hardened from the martial world. He couldn’t help but be tender and considerate toward them.

The wisest Fifth Consort once calmly said, “I don’t want your pity, I want your love.”

Pity? Perhaps.

The boldest Ninth Consort once leaned on him with a sly smile: “You must have owed women in your past life to be unable to resist treating them well this life.”

True indeed. But even he didn’t know whom he was really trying to compensate for.

Women were either strong, weak, or forced to become strong out of weakness—none of which applied to Minmin. Luo Cheng had always believed she was subtly strong, masking her innate pride and stubbornness with chaotic outward behavior. Like the inner joy of dancing in the ancestral temple, fearless of heaven or earth, immune to power or deities; like her commanding gaze at the Luo King’s mansion banquet, full of pride that transcended the era; like her direct, unrestrained look that hid nothing and allowed no concealment in return.

Who knew how she came up with so many lively, chaotic schemes? She turned the vast Luo King’s residence upside down, and Luo Cheng began enjoying lingering there more.

Minmin didn’t have long, beautiful hair; hers was short, brisk, slipping through his fingers without lingering sadness, increasing a teasing sense of distance. Luo Cheng often touched it but still couldn’t hold her.

Such a woman didn’t need his pity; she brought him joy. She didn’t need compensation; she repaid his life. Even if she wasn’t Kanzaki, how could Luo Cheng let her go?

He liked her, he realized, because he couldn’t even force her. He hoped she would willingly stay by his side and grow to like him. Training could wait. Watching her sweet smile, flushed angry face, mischievous look, elegant dance—he longed to take her to bed, but she would cry in fear. She wasn’t a mission; she was his love. His brother was right—he was not ruthless enough.

The current instability of the Weiyang Sect wasn’t sudden. Qiuyue City was unsafe; Minmin was safer traveling with Luo Chuan. On the day the convoy departed, Luo Cheng began purging Qiuyue City. As he rushed to the Changle Headquarters, he wondered why Luo Chuan increasingly entrusted him with sect affairs. He suppressed the thought.

Changle City was more complicated, with internal traitors colluding with external threats. The elders resisted him, and cleaning up the sect was difficult. Amidst the chaos, Luo Cheng often thought of Minmin’s cheerful face, smiling unconsciously. Minmin was that kind of girl one smiled thinking of. Wherever he went, he carried a small poem, which included his name.

When news came that Luo Chuan’s convoy was attacked, Luo Chuan went missing, and Minmin fell off a cliff, the entire Weiyang Sect was shocked! Luo Cheng had never been so furious. Even the nagging elders were cowed by his aura. Investigations unfolded step by step; one gang after another was exposed. The sect’s dungeons filled with those implicated—every chilling night, a sect was wiped out. Who said Luo Cheng was merciful? Perhaps ruthless blood ran in him… The martial world trembled, and Luo Cheng was blinded by rage. Without news of Luo Chuan and Minmin’s safety, no amount of killing would suffice.

Yet the long-awaited reunion was only the beginning of sorrow, witnessing the woman he loved leave with another man…

“I won’t be used by you all again…”

“In your eyes, did I only approach you to use you?”

“…Isn’t that true?”

The man’s roar on the cliff was something he lacked confidence to echo.

Perhaps, he realized, he relied on Minmin more than she did on him.

Standing in the rain, Luo Cheng watched the man carry away a weary Minmin. He had thought she needed no pity, but now he understood she did—but not from him. The one worthy of her trust and to lean on wasn’t him.

Returning aimlessly to Xitai City, Luo Cheng didn’t know what to do. He collapsed on his bed, unwilling to manage the sect, alliances with the Fourth Prince, or anything else. All for one woman, he felt incapable of great deeds… He had once vowed to become the Weiyang Sect leader and change its cruelty. Now as the leader, what difference did it make? Blood on his hands was still abundant. Life in the martial world was never free—everything was nonsense.

“Luo Shen, I don’t regret killing you back then…” Luo Cheng murmured on the bed.

“If you don’t regret it, then don’t let me regret it either.” Luo Chuan said coldly by the door. “The sect reported that you took the Hunyuan Pearl and gave it to Minmin?”

Luo Cheng slumped, not looking at Luo Chuan, instead taking out a small poem and silently reviewing it. Memories of Minmin composing it returned:

A poetry contest with Lian You—each poem had to include the other’s name. Lian You wrote Luo Cheng, Minmin wrote Luo Wang effortlessly. Lian You struggled to include Luo Wang. Minmin laughed: “I couldn’t have written it either. Luo Wang has none, but Luo Shen’s verse exists…” Luo Chuan’s face darkened and he left quietly. At that moment, Luo Cheng realized he had always been the extra, the one left out among the three.

Minmin’s poem, rather than reflecting Luo Cheng and her relationship, inadvertently recalled Luo Cheng’s bond with Luo Shen:

Raise the cup to the eastern wind, let us face it together with calmness.

Beneath the hanging willows and purple streets of Luo Cheng in the east, we always wandered together hand in hand, among blossoms in bloom.

Gatherings and partings, so brief and bitter; this hatred endless.

This year’s flowers surpass last year’s in bloom, yet next year will be better—who will share them with me?

“Brother, I’m returning to Busan Mausoleum…”

“If you leave now, don’t come back, and don’t let me see you again!”

“Brother… actually, my sister kept calling your name before she died…”

“…I know.”

Luo Cheng was surprised to see his usually expressionless brother smiling—a confident, slightly sorrowful smile of a deeply loved man.

When will I have such a smile? Luo Cheng thought sadly.

Gatherings and partings, so brief and bitter; this hatred endless.

This year’s flowers surpass last year’s in bloom, yet next year will be better—who will share them with me?