Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wild Chapter Thirty-Six: The Light of Its Time

After the rain, the skies cleared.

The bright moon hung high above.

Such a rare, cloudless night—whether in the mountains or the villages—drew people out of their homes to breathe in the refreshing air and enjoy the gentle breeze and the enchanting nightscape.

Yet at this very moment, some were hiding deep within the forest, in an earthen cave.

To be precise, three individuals: Yu Ye, Zhong Jian, and a young man dressed in a Daoist robe.

This young man called himself Yan Chi, a disciple of North Qi Mountain, a prominent figure among the younger generation. Though he had narrowly escaped disaster earlier that day and could have left on his own, he chose instead to follow and hide here. Even when urged to go, he refused, insisting that he felt a brotherly bond with the two and would not abandon them. Once inside the cave, he continued chattering, recounting the upheaval at North Qi Mountain and his own misadventures—how he narrowly escaped harm, and so forth.

“My family had urgent matters, so I’d been back home for days. Upon hearing of trouble at North Qi Mountain, I hurried back, only to be stopped by two brutes. Fearing bloodshed, I dealt with them as best I could. After all, those who walk the Dao should hold compassion in their hearts. Who would have thought Brother Zhong Jian would intervene, causing further trouble? Luckily, I found a few horses in the forest—otherwise, you two might have been in real danger. And that mysterious master… I can’t say where he’s from, but his cultivation must be at least fifth level of Qi Refinement…”

The cave, dug into the earth beneath a hill in the forest, seemed to have once been used for gathering clay. Even now, the muddy water outside contained the shapes of unfinished pottery.

It was a cramped space, barely accommodating three people.

Zhong Jian, with a broken leg, lay slantwise, visibly exhausted, eyes half-closed—sometimes snoring, sometimes smiling. Yan Chi sat cross-legged beside him, still talking incessantly.

Yu Ye kept watch at the cave entrance, sword in his arms, silently vigilant for any disturbance.

He had spent the entire day searching and shouting, finally catching up with Zhong Jian. Having explained their predicament in haste, the two rode hard for ten miles, abandoned their horses, slipped into the woods, and hid in this earthen cave.

Yu Ye knew their situation was dire. Since the expert from Qizhou had failed to kill them, he would surely return to North Qi Mountain to inform Bu Yi. If Bu Yi came after them, only the cover of forest and cave could shield them from his spiritual sense and perhaps allow them to escape. It was this very tactic that had helped him flee Xuanhuang Mountain before. The more often one faces danger, the more adept one grows at survival.

But just how powerful was a Foundation Establishment cultivator?

He could not yet say.

All he knew was that such a being was like a mountain—so lofty one could only look up in awe, so imposing as to inspire reverence, so steep as to be utterly unreachable.

Yu Ye had fought with Qi Refinement experts before, forced by necessity into desperate battles, escaping death by a hair’s breadth. But he knew better than to challenge a Foundation Establishment master—he was self-aware enough for that. Still, he hoped that one day he too could become a mountain, a solitary peak…

Just as Yu Ye’s thoughts wandered, a glow suddenly lit the cave.

It was Yan Chi, who had taken a luminous pearl from his robes. Though faint, its light was striking in the darkness. Holding the pearl aloft, Yan Chi boasted, “This is a family heirloom—the Night-Luminous Pearl. Does Brother Zhong Jian like it?”

Yu Ye frowned and said softly, “Put it away.”

Zhong Jian stopped snoring, his eyes shining. Just as he was about to reach for it, Yan Chi tucked the pearl away.

The light vanished, the cave returned to darkness.

But Yan Chi’s voice continued ceaselessly—

“That master was angry, and yet we admired the pearl by night—what timing…”

Yu Ye could not hold back and interrupted, “I am not your brother, nor can I bear such a title. If your pearl draws enemies with its glow, would that not also be ‘perfect timing’?”

Zhong Jian interjected to mediate, “Enough, enough. He’s only sixteen, there’s no need for such formality. Just call him by name. Brother Yu, don’t mind him. We’ll follow your lead on the road ahead.”

“Brother Zhong Jian, why should we listen to him?”

“Don’t be fooled by his youth—he comes from Xuanhuang Mountain. He’s a cultivator…”

Yan Chi, though repeatedly rebuffed and scolded by Yu Ye, continued to call him “brother” with feigned warmth while nursing his own grievances in secret. Now, warming up to Zhong Jian, he grumbled under his breath—

“Hah, I’m not just from North Qi Mountain; I come from a family of Daoist cultivators. Besides, I too am a cultivator—who on North Qi Mountain hasn’t heard the name Yan Chi?”

Ever since learning Yan Chi was from North Qi Mountain, Zhong Jian had looked after him, overlooking his exaggerations and opportunism. Yan Chi, quick-witted and observant, naturally grew close to him.

“You’re a cultivator too—how far have you progressed?” Zhong Jian asked.

“I’ve mastered the Pill Method, talismans, divination—I’m quite adept at lightness skills and defensive arts, and I’d say my cultivation is not bad…”

“I’m asking about your Qi Refinement level.”

“He… He’s a Qi Refinement cultivator? How could I not have noticed?”

“No wonder, Yu Ye. You hold your head too high and talk too big—it’s insufferable. Back in the day, even if my master scolded me, I’d still have given you a beating.”

“Wait—Brother Zhong Jian, you were a Daoist too?”

“I was expelled from North Qi Mountain ten years ago.”

“Ah, no wonder we feel such a kinship! Senior brother, I salute you—ah, my leg…”

In the darkness, Yan Chi tried to salute, only to step on Zhong Jian’s injured leg, which drew a chorus of yelps and apologies. Even as they reconnected as fellow disciples, Yan Chi did not forget Yu Ye at the entrance.

“Senior Brother Yu, forgive my poor judgment—it’s hard to discern your cultivation.”

Yu Ye, exhausted from the day’s travels, longed for rest but found no peace.

“I’m not your senior brother…”

“We are fellow seekers of the Dao; let the worthy lead, and let the strong be respected. It is only right to call you ‘senior brother.’ Still, I wonder how far you’ve progressed—third or fourth layer? Surely not the fifth—you can’t use a flying sword!”

“First layer.”

“First layer of Qi Refinement? Ha…”

“What’s so funny?”

“No, no, I just mean—my ancestor also reached Innate level at sixteen, causing a sensation at North Qi Mountain and bringing honor to the entire Su Yan River region. But though he reached the ninth layer, he failed to establish a foundation and died. Surely you can’t surpass my ancestor…”

Yan Chi, usually glib and quick to please, now spoke with a hint of sarcasm, clearly feeling competitive.

Yu Ye, suddenly recalling something, asked, “Yan Shu—what is he to you?”

Yan Chi was startled. “You know my uncle?”

Yu Ye hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t.”

Yan Chi took no notice and boasted, “It’s nothing strange if you’ve heard of him—the Yan family of Su Yan River is famous within a hundred miles. As for my uncle…”

At this, he complained, “My uncle never let me have the Purple Ginseng Fruit our ancestor left behind, saying I wasn’t yet Innate and would only waste such a treasure. The Purple Ginseng Fruit is a legendary spiritual fruit—consuming it makes absorbing spiritual energy twice as effective, a rare treasure. Yet what happened? Our family was robbed, the fruit stolen, and the treasure lost to thieves. Even though my uncle sent word to me, it was too late. Who could have known that by going home, I would avoid the calamity at North Qi Mountain? As the ancients say: disaster and fortune are intertwined—how true!”

Yu Ye could not help but interrupt, “Do you know who the thieves were?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

“Feng Lao Qi.”

“And?”

“What do you mean?”

“Were there not more than one thief?”

“Feng Lao Qi and his accomplices are either dead or fled. Hmm, Senior Brother Yu, you seem interested—can you teach me a thing or two?”

Yan Chi perked up, delighted that Yu Ye had finally shown some initiative in conversation.

But Yu Ye got up and headed for the cave entrance, saying without looking back, “I’ll take first watch tonight. You two should rest.”

“Senior Brother Yu…”

“Never mind him,” Zhong Jian said. “Tell me about Feng Lao Qi—how did he die?”

“He didn’t die—he escaped…”

The two behind continued recounting the tales of Feng Lao Qi.

Yu Ye stopped in a clearing among the trees, taking a quiet breath—whether from luck or relief, his mood was difficult to name.

He had rescued Yan Chi, but did not like him. Zhong Jian, valuing their shared background, had allowed Yan Chi to stay.

Who would have guessed he was a member of the Yan family?

Bai Zhi had once said she’d informed the Yan family of Yu Ye’s background—that he was from Yu Village in Xingyuan Valley, and an accomplice of grave robbers. So when Yan Chi revealed his identity, Yu Ye had grown tense. But after questioning, he realized the Yan family knew nothing of his origins.

Thus it was clear—Bai Zhi had lied to him again.

Ah, Bai Zhi, Miss Bai—even after her disdain, her scheming, her manipulations, he could not help but respect her! He still remembered her smile as she taught him swordsmanship, her promise to help him enter the Daoist sect, to send him home and reveal Uncle Qiu’s whereabouts… all of it. She had once told him, “Ask yourself, have I not treated you well?” She had also said, “Don’t blame the world for being harsh or people for being untrustworthy—I too am not free to choose!”

Were all those words lies, or is this simply human nature? Now that Xuanhuang Mountain has been thrown into chaos—is she alive or dead?

He looked up. The moon was bright, the stars sparse, and the night was silent.

…

That same night.

North Qi Mountain.

Scripture Vault.

Torches flickered inside the cave.

By torchlight, three corpses lay on the ground.

Bu Yi and his two companions stood nearby, faces shifting with uncertainty.

A middle-aged man called Hu Laoda cowered behind them, head bowed, not daring to speak. Tasked with searching the mountains that day, he had only found the Scripture Vault around midnight, unfamiliar with the terrain. There he discovered the bodies: two were his own brothers, now dead. The third was a Daoist master—his death equally grisly.

Who would dare kill a master? Who could kill a master?

“Brother Bu, I suspect you already know who did this.”

Bu Yi’s companions were two middle-aged men.

One gestured. “Gan Song’s spiritual core was pierced straight through his lower abdomen by a sword. The wound is similar to Chen Qi’s—clearly the work of sword energy.”

The other agreed, “Chen Qi confirmed it himself: in the Great Marsh, only Yu Ye has cultivated sword energy. He’s fifteen or sixteen, wears Daoist robes, knows swordplay, and has at least first-layer Qi Refinement—he matches the youth I pursued today. But how could he have escaped Xuanhuang Mountain only to reappear at North Qi Mountain?”

Bu Yi stroked his beard and chuckled. “At first, I doubted Chen Qi, but now it seems that boy is not so simple after all.”

He had learned of the escape from North Qi Mountain at dusk, and pursued by sword for an hour, searching a hundred miles, but found only three horses—the quarry had vanished without a trace. It reminded him of chasing Yu Ye at Xuanhuang Mountain. Now, seeing the sword wound in Gan Song’s abdomen, this Foundation Establishment master finally regarded the mountain boy he had once seen as mere prey as a true adversary—and in time, he would regret this decision for the rest of his life.

“Hu Laoda, I’ll assign you more men. Search every corner of the Great Marsh for Yu Ye. Bring him back alive or dead—no exceptions…”