Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wild Chapter Twenty-Eight: Tianmen Town

Morning.

Yu Ye walked along a narrow mountain path.

After resting two or three hours, he felt much more refreshed, though the morning dew had soaked his Daoist robe, leaving his once-elegant figure a little less ethereal.

It should be early spring by now. Looking around, he saw the mountain wilderness draped in green, lush grass and thriving trees, wildflowers blooming—everywhere, the world was bursting with life.

He remembered his first journey from home, setting out in the harsh chill of winter; now, journeying alone once more, he was greeted by a landscape transformed by spring. He had changed too, from a mere mountain youth into a first-stage Qi Refining cultivator. As for what might come next, he had made no plans. For now, he was determined to visit Luming Mountain and fulfill a promise he had made to Old Feng the Seventh.

At the end of the path lay a dirt road, rutted with cart tracks, stretching east and west to unknown places.

Yu Ye paused, scanning the distance, scratched his head, and then set off westward.

Three or five miles on, a few thatched huts appeared ahead.

Yu Ye quickened his pace.

The huts stood beside the road under an ancient tree. No one else was in sight, only an old man in tattered clothes sitting on a stone at the threshold, his clouded eyes scrutinizing Yu Ye.

Yu Ye approached and gave a respectful bow. “Elder, do you know the way to Luming Mountain?”

“Oh, are you here to buy wine, young man?” The old man seemed not to have heard clearly, and muttered to himself, “Three coins for a jar, help yourself.” Yu Ye followed his gesture and indeed saw several earthenware jars of wine piled inside.

“I’m not here for wine, nor do I have money. I’m looking for Luming Mountain—could you point me in the right direction?” Yu Ye raised his voice.

“Luming Mountain?” The old man heard him this time, but looked bewildered. “This is the Tianmen Mountain region. Never heard of any Luming Mountain.”

Yu Ye could hardly blame the old man for his ignorance—he himself had never heard of Tianmen Mountain. Many people spent their whole lives within a hundred miles of home. And the vastness of the Great Ze, said to stretch ten thousand miles in every direction—no one could possibly know all its places or names.

Still, he would not give up so easily. There must be a village nearby where he could ask again.

Yu Ye nodded his thanks and continued down the dirt road.

After turning past a small copse, he came to a fork. To the right, a mile or two away, a village was visible, smoke rising from cooking fires, the crow of roosters and barking of dogs faint in the air.

Ahead on the road, a horse-drawn cart stood at a tilt, with a man crouched beside it, muttering curses under his breath.

Yu Ye approached.

The cart was stacked with wine jars, and, likely due to the weight, one wheel had sunk into a rut. Not even the combined effort of horse and man could free it.

Seeing the problem, Yu Ye offered warmly, “Uncle, would you like a hand?”

The carter, a burly, middle-aged man with a thick beard and an open shirt, sweat streaming down his face, looked back at Yu Ye. Noting the youth, sword at his side, he asked with curiosity, “Who are you?”

“I…” Yu Ye realized his attire was unusual for these parts and hesitated before replying, “I’m seeking relatives, just passing through.”

“With a sharp sword to seek relatives?” the man asked, suspicion in his voice.

“Oh, a gift from a friend, only for self-defense.” Fearing misunderstanding, Yu Ye quickly set his sword aside and gripped the wheel with both hands, indicating, “Uncle, let me help you push.”

“No need to show off,” the man replied, unconvinced, but he still went to the horse’s head, took the reins, and shouted, “Heave-ho!”

Yu Ye exerted his strength, lifting the wheel directly. The horse pulled, and with a rumble, the cart rolled free.

“My, what strength you have!” The man stopped the cart, clearly impressed. With the wine jars, the cart weighed several hundred pounds. He had been about to fetch help from the village, not expecting the problem to be solved so quickly.

Yu Ye dusted off his hands and retrieved his sword.

Since he began cultivating, he had noticed his strength increasing, but to lift a heavy cart so easily still surprised him.

“What’s your name, and where are you off to find family?” the man asked, now in good spirits.

“I am Yu Ye,” he replied, seizing the chance to add, “I’m looking for Luming Mountain. Could you tell me the way?”

“Luming Mountain?” The man thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

Yu Ye’s disappointment was plain.

But the man continued, “I’m headed to the inn at Tianmen Town to deliver wine. Folks from all over pass through there. You might as well come along and ask around—you might get your answer.”

Yu Ye’s eyes brightened, and he quickly nodded.

The man secured the ropes on the cart and, after a final check, called, “Hop on!”

The cart was drawn by a single horse between two shafts, with room for two up front. Yu Ye scrambled up to sit beside the man, grateful. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“We country folk aren’t so formal,” the man replied cheerily. “Call me Old Xiao.”

He cracked a whip with a sharp snap. The horse tossed its mane, flicked its tail, and pulled the cart on with a steady rumble.

“So, where’s your home?” Old Xiao asked, making small talk. Yu Ye relaxed his guard.

“Yu Family Village.”

“Did you eat before setting out? It’s more than twenty miles to Tianmen Town, and we won’t arrive until midday. Better eat something to keep up your strength—there’s plenty of food and drink on the cart.”

Old Xiao handed Yu Ye a piece of dried meat from his pocket, then grabbed a wine jar himself, broke the seal, and took several hearty gulps, exhaling with satisfaction.

“My wine-making skills came from my father. The grain wine I brew is well-known around here. My father’s old now, so I run the business.”

“I met an old gentleman selling wine earlier,” Yu Ye remarked.

“Haha, that’s my father. He sells wine by the roadside to pass the time. Here, have a drink—”

Yu Ye’s stomach was empty, but he did not want to accept a stranger’s generosity too lightly. He hesitated over the dried meat, but Old Xiao pressed the wine jar into his hands.

“I have no money, and I don’t drink,” Yu Ye protested.

“You helped me with the cart, so I owe you. And what man doesn’t drink? Are you looking down on Old Xiao, or is my wine not good enough?” Old Xiao was a forthright man.

Yu Ye had no choice but to take a sip. The fiery taste burned his tongue, making him gasp and cough, a picture of discomfort.

Old Xiao roared with laughter and drank deeply himself.

Yu Ye could only smile ruefully.

Drinking was a favorite pastime among mountain hunters. As a child, his father had teased him into tasting strong liquor—the burning, bitter heat was unforgettable. Perhaps because he had yet to come of age, he still disliked alcohol and could not appreciate its taste.

Yet just a sip of wine was enough to break the ice between strangers.

Old Xiao proved not only straightforward but talkative. As he drove, he regaled Yu Ye with stories of wine making, his dealings with the innkeeper at Tianmen Town, and so on.

Yu Ye relaxed, wolfed down the dried meat, and, sword in his lap, took in the spring beauty of the countryside. Old Xiao’s laughter mingled with the clop of hooves and the rumble of wheels all the way.

By noon, the cart rolled into Tianmen Town.

A hundred households, an east-west street, a dozen or so shops—this was Tianmen Town in its entirety. Compared to Lingjiao Town, it was much livelier.

Old Xiao stopped at the east end of the street, delivered more than ten jars of wine to two taverns, then drove to the west end and halted before an inn marked with Tianmen Town’s banner.

This was the town’s only inn. Three street-facing shops served as taverns and reception; beside them, a yard gate led to the back, where the stables and guest rooms were.

The innkeeper and staff came to help, carrying all the wine jars inside.

Yu Ye didn’t idle, but pitched in with the unloading.

The innkeeper, a man in his forties or fifties known as Master Jia, was a close friend of Old Xiao and arranged a meal for both Old Xiao and Yu Ye. After lunch, Old Xiao, eager to return home, entrusted Yu Ye to Master Jia’s care for two days before leaving town alone.

Master Jia, loyal to Old Xiao, immediately ordered a room prepared for Yu Ye.

In the inn’s rear courtyard, Yu Ye stood at the door of his room, taking in his surroundings.

The so-called guest room was a plain stone house with only a bed, bedding, and a wooden table.

To the right were six similar rooms, housing four or five guests—some elderly, some women and children. If he asked them for directions, they likely wouldn’t know of Luming Mountain either.

On the left was the courtyard wall, with the stables and latrine beyond. Near the gate were the kitchen and well. One servant was chopping wood, a woman was washing utensils. Several large trees shaded the yard, making it pleasantly cool.

Yu Ye glanced back at his sword lying on the bed, shut the door behind him, and walked over to the servant chopping wood. “Qiangzi, take a break. I’ll chop some firewood.”

The young servant, about sixteen or seventeen, wiped sweat from his face and laughed, “Since when do guests chop wood?”

Without another word, Yu Ye took the hatchet, rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a log, and set it on the ground.

Qiangzi, embarrassed, called, “Aunt Wu, what do you think?”

Aunt Wu, a woman in her forties, didn’t even look up from her washing. “He’s Old Xiao’s guest. Let him be. And don’t think of slacking off—go wash the pots and sweep the floor.”

Qiangzi nodded and ran off.

Chop, chop—the hatchet rose and fell, splitting the logs. Yu Ye grabbed another and continued.

He felt guilty living and eating for free at the inn, so chopping wood was a small way to repay the favor.

Soon, all the logs were cut. He stacked the firewood neatly, called for Aunt Wu, drank a few gulps of water from the well, and washed his face.

Just then, a group of travelers arrived in the rear courtyard: five people on four horses and a large single-shaft cart drawn by two horses.

Qiangzi hurried out to greet them.

A burly, bearded man leapt from his horse and shouted, “Boy, open up three rooms, bring two jars of strong wine and ten pounds of meat. My brothers and I will stay the night and leave at dawn.”

Qiangzi, busy with the horses, replied, “Honored guests, only two rooms are left.”

The man tossed a large piece of silver. “I want three rooms, are you deaf?”

Qiangzi caught the silver, flustered. “I’m sorry, but there really aren’t any more rooms…”

The man’s eyes flashed with anger.

His companions came over, all armed with blades and swords, swaggering and intimidating.

Aunt Wu dropped the basin she was rinsing and hurried into the kitchen.

Other guests scattered away.

Yu Ye finished washing his face, dried his hands, and looked up. “Qiangzi, let these gentlemen have my room.”

Qiangzi hesitated, “That might not be proper…”

“I’ll sleep in the kitchen. Please wait a moment, gentlemen,” Yu Ye said, walking straight to his room to fetch his sword.

Helping others helped himself and allowed the inn to earn some silver—why not?

The burly man eyed Yu Ye up and down, then exchanged glances with his companions.

Yu Ye entered, retrieved his sword, and came out.

The burly man and his group approached, and the man greeted him with a bow. “Young brother, are you of the Daoist sect?”