Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wilderness Chapter Thirty-Three: The Martial World
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Yu Ye did not leave.
He sat cross-legged, cradling his long sword, eyes half-closed, his expression calm and indifferent.
He was sixteen now. His untied, wild hair draped over his shoulders, lending a sense of untamed vigor to his still youthful features; his thick, dark brows and tightly sealed lips gave him an air of steadiness and reserved maturity.
A yard away, Zhong Jian sat with legs splayed, leaning against a wooden rack piled with belongings, his soaked clothes still clinging to him, looking exhausted and disheveled. At this moment, he had to put aside his usual slick demeanor and recount an old story with grave sincerity.
This story concerned a man.
Feng Seventh.
Zhong Jian was certainly not Feng Seventh, nor did he know him, but he had heard of his famed name and the tales surrounding him.
In his youth, Feng Seventh roamed the sacred mountains seeking teachers and the path of cultivation. Due to his unruly nature and penchant for brawling, he was expelled from sects time and again, eventually drifting into the world of wanderers.
The world of wanderers—rivers, lakes, and seas. It also refers to all corners of the land and the secular common folk. Talented people hide away; poverty abounds in the world of wanderers.
Unable to retreat from the world to cultivate, he could only choose the life of a wanderer.
When Feng Seventh first entered this world, relying on his martial prowess, he fought injustice, defended the weak, and quickly made a name for himself. He gathered a band of wandering knights, living each day in cheerful indulgence. Generous and free-handed, he lavished gifts and supported his family, but eventually found himself short on funds. So he turned to his friends in the path, selling his collection of sect treasures, always profiting handsomely. Thus, he discovered a shortcut to wealth, began plundering wealthy households and excavating ancient tombs, and finally became a notorious bandit chief. His actions were secretive; though many feared him, there was no hard evidence, and so he rampaged unchecked.
It was because of his infamous reputation that wandering knights liked to use his name to intimidate rivals. This was why Zhong Jian called himself Feng Seventh today, but unexpectedly, his scheme backfired when he encountered Leader Hu.
Wherever profit is found, followers abound.
Leader Hu did the same as Feng Seventh. When trouble struck Beiqi Mountain, he seized the opportunity for plunder. Zhong Jian dared impersonate Feng Seventh to compete for spoils, so Leader Hu naturally wanted him dead. Unexpectedly, Yu Ye intervened and saved Zhong Jian, leaving him indebted.
“I’ve told you the truth about Feng Seventh and his story. Many start well, few end well. No one has seen Feng Seventh these past two years; perhaps he met with misfortune.”
At this point, Zhong Jian forced a bitter smile.
He had originally thought Yu Ye was a naive youth, easy to manipulate, but in the end, he reaped what he sowed. Now, not only must he explain Feng Seventh and Leader Hu’s backgrounds, but he also had to help Yu Ye reach Deer Cry Mountain.
Repaying this brother’s favor, it seemed, would not be easy.
Zhong Jian clenched his fist and thumped his chest, sincerely declaring, “Brother Yu, just listen: once we leave the mountain, I’ll arrange it immediately—you’ll head for Deer Cry Mountain. Rest assured, I will not break my word!”
Yu Ye opened his eyes.
Though he appeared to be meditating, he had listened closely all along.
What Zhong Jian said about Feng Seventh was mostly true, and his speculations were reasonable. But he could never guess that Feng Seventh was already dead, buried by Yu Ye himself in some wild, lonely mountain.
As for whether Zhong Jian’s promise could be trusted, that remained to be seen. As long as sincerity was shown, Yu Ye had patience enough.
Yu Ye lifted his robe and got up, walking to the iron cauldron. The fire beneath had died, but the medicine broth steamed hotly. He ladled a bowl and handed it to Zhong Jian—
“Take the medicine.”
“Thank you!”
“Glug, glug—”
Zhong Jian drank it all in one go, then grimaced and spat repeatedly. The medicine was not only bitter and unpleasant, but filled with herbal dregs.
“When do we go down the mountain?”
“Pah—”
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Zhong Jian spat out the dregs, looked at Yu Ye, and answered, “As soon as we avoid Leader Hu, we can go down the mountain.” He pointed at the pile of scrolls before him and said with difficulty, “Brother Yu, how shall we take all these manuals?”
Though expelled from the sect, he still strove to preserve its legacy.
Yu Ye suggested, “Leave them here for now. We can come back for them another day.”
Zhong Jian refused, “If they’re lost, there’ll be nothing but regret!”
“What then?”
“Dozens of scrolls—no more than a hundred pounds. If you ask me, better for brother Yu to bear the burden.”
“I’m carrying you, and now I have to haul a hundred pounds of scrolls as well?”
“That method would work…”
“Shh!”
After a brief time together, they had grown familiar with each other’s temperaments. Zhong Jian knew Yu Ye was youthful yet mature, skilled but compassionate, easy to talk to; Yu Ye had seen Zhong Jian’s brutish arrogance and shrewd cunning, and always kept his guard up when dealing with him. As they conversed, Yu Ye suddenly gestured for silence.
At that moment, footsteps sounded outside the cave—sometimes hesitant, sometimes hurried. Suddenly, with a bang, the iron cauldron at the entrance was knocked over, clattering and rolling into the cave.
The entrance dimmed as two figures barged in, one after the other.
Zhong Jian’s eyes widened.
Yu Ye reached for his blue-steel sword.
The intruders were startled as well.
Two men, drenched and panic-stricken, one wielding a long blade, the other holding a crossbow, both at a loss and seemingly trapped, glancing at each other.
“Leader Hu’s men!”
Zhong Jian recognized them and urgently said, “Brother Yu, don’t show mercy—”
He was urging Yu Ye to kill them, lest Leader Hu and more enemies be drawn in. Otherwise, the scripture cave would be lost, and the manuals would never be taken away.
Yu Ye understood the stakes, but could not bring himself to kill. Faced with two strangers with whom he had no grudge, he simply couldn’t do it.
As he hesitated, a sudden flash of light shot past the entrance.
The two men, caught between escape and advance, were instantly pierced by the light, staggered forward, looked incredulously at the bloody holes in their chests, and fell dead to the ground.
Zhong Jian’s face changed in shock, “Killing from afar… flying sword…”
Yu Ye remained composed, though his eyes twitched and his face grew grave as he gripped his sword tightly.
Just as Zhong Jian said, after the light killed the two men, its fierce momentum suddenly abated, revealing a short sword, hovering in midair.
A flying sword!
A flying sword that kills from afar!
A flying sword that only a master of Qi Refining could wield!
“Heh heh!”
The entrance dimmed again as a man entered, laughing. He was a middle-aged, plain-looking man, hands clasped behind his back, muttering to himself, “I knew it—there’d be survivors on the mountain.” He stepped over the two corpses, shook his head, and said, “Looters, trying to profit from chaos—courting death.”
Yu Ye and Zhong Jian, one standing with sword in hand, watching the man’s every move; the other slumped on the ground, staring at the hovering flying sword above.
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The middle-aged man’s gaze settled on Yu Ye. He nodded, “A disciple of the sect—cultivation is no easy path. If you want to live, go to the Black Tortoise Pavilion.”
He clearly mistook Yu Ye for a disciple of Beiqi Mountain, but his words carried a subtle threat.
Go to the Black Tortoise Pavilion, and you’ll live?
Where is the Black Tortoise Pavilion?
Yu Ye appeared frightened, dared not speak, and shuffled toward the exit. Two corpses blocked the way, beside them lay a crossbow, already loaded and ready to fire. He paused, focused, and glanced back.
His spiritual sense revealed a faint aura enveloping the middle-aged man. Compared to Bai Zhi, this one’s cultivation was slightly stronger.
The man, believing Yu Ye to be cowed and obedient, ignored him and turned to Zhong Jian, sneering, “A mere wandering knight, daring to snatch fire from the flames?”
He lifted his right hand and beckoned; the hovering sword suddenly reversed its direction.
Zhong Jian had been watching the sword above; seeing it turn, his face hardened, and he lunged, rolling toward the man with a roar, “Dead either way, I’ll fight to the end—”
A mortal, facing a cultivator’s flying sword, had no hope of escape or survival.
Desperation was his only option.
As Zhong Jian threw himself in, a crossbow flew toward him; he grabbed it, drew the string, and fired an arrow with a snap.
The middle-aged man, wielding his flying sword to kill, was met with a frenzied counterattack. To him, it was nothing but the futile struggle of a trapped beast. But the sudden arrow, fired at such close range, caught him off guard. He was forced to activate his true energy for protection. With a bang, the arrow struck his thigh and was deflected, but his protective aura shattered completely. As he flailed, a fierce killing intent came from behind. He hurriedly drove his flying sword to defend, furious, “You dare ambush me—”
The ambusher was Yu Ye.
When the man entered the cave, Yu Ye knew he faced a formidable enemy. No matter that the man claimed he’d spare his life, Yu Ye dared not trust him. So he feigned obedience, secretly plotting his move. Zhong Jian’s desperate attack provided an opening. Yu Ye kicked the crossbow toward Zhong Jian, who used the arrow to break the man’s protective aura. Yu Ye then drew his sword and lunged.
Ambush?
To hunt a wild wolf, one must dig pits and set traps.
To face a powerful foe, any means must be used.
Yu Ye lunged at the middle-aged man, sword aimed at his back. The man reacted swiftly, arm raised, summoning the sword light that had been aimed at Zhong Jian to turn and flash toward Yu Ye.
A flying sword—swift as lightning.
Since Yu Ye had already struck, he would not retreat. Both hands gripping his sword, he swept it fiercely to meet the incoming blade.
“Clang—”
A blast rang out, light flashing.
Yu Ye felt a surge of force crash over him; his arms shook and he could not hold on. His sword flew away with the blade light, and he staggered backward, barely able to stand.
The middle-aged man grinned savagely, “Heh heh, so you’re a first-level Qi Refining cultivator—my apologies—”
Unable to stop his momentum, Yu Ye slammed into the stone wall behind. The rebound sent him stumbling forward, but he suddenly pushed off the ground, sprang up, and formed a sword seal with his fingers, shouting, “Kill—”
The man calmly guided his flying sword, ready to finish off the Qi Refining novice who had fooled him, but Yu Ye charged suicidally and flicked out a burst of invisible sword energy. The man was startled, blurting, “Sword energy, you are—”
But before he finished, his abdomen burst with a bloody hole. He staggered back two steps, his face full of shock and disbelief, then his eyes rolled back and he fell stiffly to the ground. His flying sword, now masterless, crashed to the floor—
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