Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wild Chapter Thirty-Two: Deceiving Others, Not One’s Own Heart

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After leaving the iron-chained suspension bridge, Zhong Jian, limping along, led Yu Ye to a pile of ruins. According to him, this had once been the Sutra Repository of Mount Beiqi, now reduced to nothing but a heap of charred wood. Though sorely disappointed, he did not give up. Instead, he guided Yu Ye along a mountain path to a secluded spot veiled by dense undergrowth.

Pushing through the thick brambles and grass, they came upon a sturdy wooden door, heavily shut, overgrown with vines and secured with a rusty iron lock.

Yu Ye drew his sword and broke the lock, slowly pushing open the door.

Behind him, Zhong Jian took a torch from a niche in the stone wall, lit it, and exclaimed with delight, “Ha! I remembered correctly. This is the Sutra Cave. When the Sutra Repository was later built, the cave was converted into a storeroom. Now, as I hoped, it remains untouched.”

By the torch’s dim light, they saw the cave—spanning more than thirty feet across—filled with all manner of goods. The Daoist sect of Mount Beiqi had been annihilated, and its pavilions and towers reduced to ashes. The Sutra Cave, hidden away, had escaped the disaster.

Yu Ye, as if only just realizing, remarked quietly, “No wonder you brought such a large cart. You came prepared!”

“Alas, we lost several brothers. What a pity,” Zhong Jian said, placing the torch back and collapsing to the ground, grimacing in pain. “Ah, it hurts terribly. There might be some herbs here for mending broken bones. Brother Yu, would you mind finding a few for me?”

Yu Ye nodded and began searching. On the left side of the cave were piles of salt, lamp oil, grain, and cloth; on the right, herbs, ironware, swords, and blades. At the very back stood a row of wooden racks holding some boxes and a heap of scrolls.

Carrying his sword, Yu Ye moved to the herb pile, eyeing it skeptically. “Which herbs are good for broken bones?”

Zhong Jian answered, “Stretching Grass, Bone-Piercing Herb, or Chicken Blood Vine, Turmeric, Sappanwood—all of these will do. Fetch two splints and some rope as well.”

“What does Stretching Grass look like?”

“Ah… It’s said that medicine and Dao are one. As a skilled Qi refiner, how can you not recognize herbs?”

“It’s not that I don’t know them, but these have been stockpiled for years—they’re withered, tangled, and coated in dust. They’re not easy to identify. Let me look again—”

Yu Ye scratched his head, thoughtful. Raised in the mountains, he knew a few common herbs, but those were ordinary, found everywhere. The herbs here were likely much rarer, hence unfamiliar.

The ancient texts passed down to him by the Flood Dragon Shadow did mention various herbs, formulas, and medical treatments, even distinguishing between ordinary herbs, spiritual herbs, and alchemical ingredients, with detailed explanations of their properties and uses. For example, what common people called herbs were much like what cultivators called spiritual herbs in name, but their efficacy and spiritual energy differed vastly.

After pondering, Yu Ye picked out a handful of herbs, went outside, and chopped two branches and some vines. Placing everything before Zhong Jian, he indicated, “Cinnamon, Chicken Blood Vine, Bone-Piercing Herb—they all help heal bones and invigorate the blood.”

“Indeed, indeed,” Zhong Jian nodded. “If you find Stretching Grass, Wild Ginseng, Turmeric, or Chicken Blood Vine, the effect would be even better!”

“It’ll have to do,” Yu Ye replied.

“What do you mean, ‘have to do’? Are you planning to eat them raw? Shouldn’t you decoct them into a medicinal broth?”

“I chewed them raw for three months,” Yu Ye said, recalling his days in the Cliffside Cave with a hint of bitterness.

He rolled up his sleeves and felt Zhong Jian’s broken leg, pressing suddenly, making Zhong Jian cry out in pain. Seizing the moment, Yu Ye stuffed a handful of herbs into Zhong Jian’s mouth, then used two branches as splints and quickly bound the leg with vines. Only then did he dust off his hands and say, “I’ve set the bone straight and splinted it with branches. As long as it’s immobilized, you should be fine.”

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Zhong Jian spat out the chewed herbs, preparing to shout again, but suddenly realized the pain had subsided. In surprise he said, “Brother Yu, your medical skills are effective, if a bit rough…” Then, casting a glance at the splint on his leg, he stared, “I’ve heard of setting bones with willow branches, but are these… pine branches?”

“Pine branches… should work too…” Yu Ye mumbled with some guilt, turning away.

He had pieced together the bone-setting technique from medical texts and mountain lore, managing to mend Zhong Jian’s leg and even channeling a bit of Qi to ease the pain. Unable to find willow branches, he had used pine instead. As for the result, he was far from certain.

Yu Ye circled the cave and found an iron cauldron. He carried it outside, scrubbed it clean, filled it with stream water and rice, and set it by the cave entrance. He chopped up some wood, doused it with lamp oil, and lit a fire.

Zhong Jian slumped on the ground, looking weary, but as he watched Yu Ye busily working, concern crept onto his face.

“What are you doing, Brother Yu?”

“Cooking.”

“Boss Hu may have come up the mountain. Aren’t you afraid the smoke will draw him here?”

“It’s raining and foggy outside. I’m not worried.”

Yu Ye stoked the fire, noticing Zhong Jian’s pallor and shivering. He fetched a few mats for warmth. When the food was ready, he ladled rice into two bowls, sprinkled in some salt, and they shared the meal. Then he washed the cauldron again, filled it with water, added herbs, and set it to simmer.

Though he had chewed raw herbs for three months, he still brewed a medicinal broth for Zhong Jian. Having suffered himself, he saw no reason to inflict that hardship on another.

At Zhong Jian’s suggestion, since this had once been the Sutra Cave, there might be valuable texts left behind worth searching for.

Yu Ye walked to the racks at the back of the cave.

On the racks lay four dust-covered stone boxes. Opening them one by one, he found only two jade slips. The white slips were seven inches long, less than half an inch wide, and an inch thick—ancient and weathered in appearance, yet perfectly smooth to the touch.

Yu Ye tucked them into his robe.

Beside the stone boxes was a pile of scrolls, also dust-covered. Brushing them off revealed a variety of materials: some made from animal hide, others from bone or bamboo.

Yu Ye unrolled a few at random.

The writing on the animal hides was blurred with age, but the characters on the bone and bamboo were still legible: treatises on astrology, divination, Daoist philosophy, medical texts, and so forth.

Soon, all the scrolls were laid out before Zhong Jian.

Though exhausted to the point of drowsiness, Zhong Jian perked up at the sight of the scrolls, exclaiming with excitement, “Centuries of Mount Beiqi’s legacy, all here!”

Yu Ye had little interest in Beiqi’s heritage and sat aside, studying the jade slips.

The slips bore no writing or markings. He pondered over them for a long time but could not discern their purpose.

Glancing up from his reading, Zhong Jian caught sight of the slips and exclaimed, “Jade tablets…”

“Jade tablets?” Yu Ye repeated.

“They serve the same function as scrolls and books—perhaps containing cultivation methods. Try to read them and tell me; I can hardly wait!”

“But scrolls and books can be written on—these jade slips have no words.”

“You… as a Daoist and a Qi refiner, you don’t recognize jade slips? These are tools for cultivators, meant to be read with divine sense. Brother Yu, you’re not toying with me, are you?”

Yu Ye, not bothering to protest, focused his mind on the jade slip.

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His divine sense was newly formed and not yet skillful. He tried several times and saw nothing. The more anxious he became, the less progress he made. Taking a calming breath, he closed his eyes, and as his mind focused, the white jade slip seemed to vanish, replaced by a vast array of unfamiliar mountains, rivers, towns, and villages—so many that he could not take them all in, easily spanning a million miles. The boundless landscape was rendered in detailed ink, vivid and lifelike, with countless flashing characters. One line stood out: “Geographical Map of Yanzhou.”

“Brother Yu?” Zhong Jian, noticing his silence, asked, “What did you see? Tell me plainly.”

Yu Ye opened his eyes, his divine sense dissipating. After a moment’s pause, he said, “A map. Of Yanzhou.”

Zhong Jian was surprised. “Did you see it clearly?”

“I’m certain. Yanzhou.”

“I’ve heard there’s a territory called Qizhou—Qichuan—across the sea to the south of the Great Marsh, but never of Yanzhou. Even the elders of Beiqi never mentioned it…”

More puzzled, Zhong Jian speculated, “This jade slip must have been found by an ancestor of Beiqi by chance. Since no one knew of Yanzhou, they saw it as useless and left it here.”

Yu Ye held up the jade slip. “Should I return it?”

“I’m no longer a disciple of Beiqi. There’s no need,” Zhong Jian replied, waving him off. He looked at the scrolls before him and laughed with delight, “What use is a map to me? I want the centuries-old legacy of Beiqi Mountain!”

Yu Ye considered taking out the other jade slip but decided against it. In his village, it was said one should deceive others but not their own conscience. Since there was no talk of returning it, there was no need to insist. Seeing the fire under the cauldron dying, he added more wood, picked up his sword, and said, “Your leg should be fine now, and the medicinal broth will be ready in an hour. I must be on my way—”

“What? You’re leaving?” Zhong Jian was caught off guard. “Boss Hu could arrive at any moment. Why leave now, and where will you go?”

“This cave is well hidden. Boss Hu may never find it. You have food and shelter—rest and recover. As for me…”

Yu Ye smiled. “We had an agreement, didn’t we? Do you remember, Brother Zhong?”

“Of course I do!”

Zhong Jian vowed earnestly, “You accompanied me on this trek to Beiqi, so I will accompany you to Mount Xuanhuang!”

Yu Ye gave a bitter smile. “That was not our agreement at all.”

“But a promise is a promise, is it not?”

Zhong Jian waved his hand. “A promise not kept is absurd; keeping one is a matter of principle.”

His eloquence and feigned ignorance were truly remarkable.

Yu Ye had no choice but to speak plainly. “You owe me a favor, don’t you?”

“I would never forget it.”

“In that case, why not repay it now?”

“Ah…”