Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wild Chapter Forty-Seven: Lotus Blossom

The rain had stopped.

On the muddy main road, two carriages approached. Leading the way on horseback was Yuan Jiu, drenched and weary, yet his eyes remained cold and sharp, like a lone wolf hunting for prey.

The two carriages followed behind. The one driven by Mo Can was splattered with mud, a testament to the arduousness of traveling in the rain. Ji Yan’s carriage was in even worse shape—not only was the sheepskin lantern hanging from it half-collapsed, but the goods piled on top were all smeared with mud. Pan Yuan, sitting atop the carriage, was covered in filth from head to toe, looking utterly wretched and miserable.

Yu Ye, riding at the rear, was wrapped in a rain cloak. Though he appeared bedraggled, he wore a faint smile on his face.

Their haste to leave Xiangshui Village was prompted by Yuan Jiu’s guilty conscience. Mo Can, too, feared implicating Manager Kuang, so he urged everyone to set out at dawn.

Traveling in the dark was no easy feat, and to make matters worse, they were caught in a violent storm. They had barely covered a few dozen miles when Ji Yan’s carriage overturned. Pan Yuan was flung into the roadside ditch, his screams drowning out even the startled neighs of the horses.

That fellow had quite the pair of lungs.

Yu Ye couldn’t stand idly by—he helped drag out the carriage and unload the cargo. By the time they were back on the road, the clouds had cleared and daylight had broken. Only Pan Yuan, clutching his leg and cursing incessantly, looked truly pitiable. If there was any truth to the idea of karma, his fate was well deserved.

By midday, a large cluster of houses appeared ahead.

They had arrived at Caoben Town.

Yuan Jiu halted and raised his hand in signal. At the crossroads ahead, presumably marking the entrance to the town, five or six burly men stood, questioning passing travelers. Before the carriages could reach them, two knife-wielding men stepped forward to block their way.

Yuan Jiu sat atop his horse and said coldly, “What is it?”

The man blocking the road replied arrogantly, “Where do you come from? Where are you headed? Do you have any Taoists in your carriages?”

“These are the family members of Manager Kuang from Lishui. We’re heading to Que Ling Mountain to visit relatives. Move aside.”

“Oh?”

“Enough, enough. We’re all men of the Jianghu, no need for trouble…”

Though Yuan Jiu was a man of few words, he carried an unmistakable air of menace. Seeing that he was an escort for a family and clearly a fellow man of the martial world, the roadblockers, unwilling to provoke him, waved them on.

The group moved forward.

Yu Ye followed Ji Yan’s carriage toward the town, his gaze lingering thoughtfully on the men at the crossroads.

These men of the martial world were searching for Taoists?

Could they be Hu Laoda’s underlings, sent by Bu Yi, looking for him? Though Beiqi Town was seven or eight hundred miles away, Hu Laoda had managed to track him down to Caoben Town?

They didn’t seem to know his age or appearance.

On the stone-paved street, carriages and pedestrians bustled about. Shops lined the road one after another, their cries and calls weaving together in a lively tapestry. The town was even more vibrant than Beiqi, though its chaos hinted at the mix of characters found here.

At the crossroads, the carriages turned right.

On the gatehouse facing the street hung a sign: “Moyuan Inn.” Turning into the gate brought them into the inn’s courtyard. There were not only common rooms here, but also a row of private courtyards. Two attendants came forward to receive them and arrange the rooms. Ji Yan helped Pan Yuan out of the carriage, instructed the staff to wash the vehicles and horses, and searched for a doctor for Pan Yuan—making for a flurry of activity.

Yu Ye, carrying his sword and bundle, found his own quarters.

Manager Kuang had reserved a private courtyard named “Furong Garden,” the characters carved into the flowered tiles at the gate. Inside, corridors encircled a garden bursting with blossoms and light-filled windows. Four side rooms flanked the courtyard—Pan Yuan and Yuan Jiu took two on the left, Mo Can took one on the right, and Yu Ye shared the last with Ji Yan. The three main rooms were for Manager Kuang’s family. On either side, behind the wings, were pools and privies.

Spacious and elegant!

That was Yu Ye’s first impression upon entering.

His room, in the wing nearest the gate, contained two beds, a wooden table and bench, a clothes rack, a bronze mirror, a candlestick, a kettle, cups, and a wooden basin and ceramic jar for washing—everything one might need.

Luxurious and comfortable!

Yu Ye set down his bundle and sword, flopped onto the soft bed, and sighed again, looking every bit the country boy who’d never seen the world.

It was hard to blame him. In the mountains, a child was content with a bowl of rice and a patch of clothes. Only after leaving the mountains, witnessing the bustle of the world and the vastness of the land, did he truly understand the gap between wealth and poverty, the fickleness of human nature, and the difficulties of life.

He took off his mud-soaked robe and changed into a fresh blue one from his bundle, washed his face, and tidied his hair. When he was done, he carried his basin and dirty clothes outside. Just as he entered the courtyard, a neatly dressed middle-aged woman approached, reaching for his basin. He quickly dodged and said, “What are you doing…”

“Pfft—”

On the bench before the main house sat Cai’er, shaking with laughter. “Why so startled, freeloader?”

Yu Ye glanced at her, then replied seriously, “I’m washing my clothes. This lady…”

“Pfft—”

Cai’er couldn’t help laughing again. “Guests of Furong Garden don’t do their own laundry. This lady is the inn’s laundress. You should thank her!”

Someone to wash clothes for you?

The woman still held out her hands, smiling humbly.

“Oh, thank you, madam.”

Yu Ye finally handed over his clothes, took the basin, and returned to his room, feeling awkward and embarrassed.

Sigh, he’d made a fool of himself again!

Best to go out for some air. Staying in the courtyard with that Miss Kuang, who knew what sharp words she’d say next.

Yu Ye straightened his clothes and stepped outside again.

The more he tried to avoid something, the more it came to him.

“Freeloader!”

Yu Ye ignored her.

Then he heard, “Uncle Mo went with my father to collect debts, Ji Yan is with Brother Pan getting his leg treated, my mother is resting, so lunch is simple today. Here—”

Cai’er held up a bamboo box with a few pieces of osmanthus cake inside.

So she meant well!

Since lunch was simple, filling his stomach would suffice.

Yu Ye hesitated, then took two cakes, eating as he turned to leave. Suddenly, Cai’er giggled behind him, “Freeloader…”

“Cough, cough—”

Caught off guard, Yu Ye choked on the cake and coughed hard, glaring back. Cai’er sat on her bench, swinging her legs, head tilted skyward with an innocent look—though a sly smile still played at her lips.

“Hmph!”

Yu Ye snorted and hurried out of the courtyard. Sure enough, Cai’er’s laughter rang like silver bells behind him. He swallowed the cake hard, found the kitchen for a drink of water, checked on the horses in the stable, and finally wandered out to the street.

At midday, the street was quiet.

Yu Ye browsed the shop banners, eventually finding a sundries shop. He bought two thick sheaves of yellow paper, asked for wolf-hair brushes, bought a few, and tucked everything under his arm as he strolled on.

Baicao Apothecary?

He glanced at a shop’s sign and stepped inside.

An apothecary—he’d buy some cinnabar to keep on hand.

The shop had three large rooms facing the street, with a manager and attendants busy with customers. Shelves along the walls were packed with herbs and dried goods from the mountains, and a door led to the back courtyard.

“Young man, what can I get for you?”

An older attendant greeted him.

“Don’t mind me. I’ll take a jar of your best cinnabar.”

“Cinnabar… Certainly, just a moment!”

While the attendant fetched it, Yu Ye looked around.

This shop differed from the apothecaries he knew—there was no resident physician, nor any pre-made medicine; instead, bulk herbs were stacked everywhere. It looked more like a wholesaler’s warehouse.

“Heh, not many come to Baicao Apothecary for cinnabar.”

Someone chuckled, then added, “Are you perhaps a Taoist, buying cinnabar for talisman drawing?”

Yu Ye’s heart skipped. He turned slowly.

Not far away, a young man sat on a bench—about twenty-five or six, dressed in silk, with pale skin and refined features, bearing the air of a wealthy son but relaxed and amiable.

Yu Ye shook his head, denying it.

The young man smiled. “You can’t fool me, brother. The yellow paper, wolf-hair brushes, and your cinnabar—all for talisman work. But as I understand it, the overseas Immortal Sects use spirit beast hide and blood for making talismans. Drawing on yellow paper is beneath the notice of true masters.”

Yu Ye glanced at the paper and brushes under his arm, then at the young man, unsure how to respond.

The man didn’t look like a cultivator—how did he know about talisman craft?

Could he be an expert from Qizhou?

The attendant returned with a jar of cinnabar. “Baicao Apothecary deals in bulk herbs, not retail, but we won’t turn away a customer. That’ll be one tael of silver, please.”

“So expensive?” Yu Ye couldn’t help saying.

He’d bought a jar elsewhere for only two-tenths of a tael. This was dozens of times pricier.

The young man interjected, “Put it on my account, please.”

“No need!” Yu Ye quickly refused, fished out a silver ingot, paid the attendant, and hurried toward the door. But as he reached the threshold, he couldn’t help glancing back.

The young man didn’t seem to mind his abruptness. Smiling, he said, “Brother, perhaps we’ll meet again.”

Yu Ye nodded perfunctorily and left Baicao Apothecary. He no longer felt like lingering and retraced his steps.

He’d thought that by leaving Xuanhuang Mountain and Beiqi Mountain, he’d escape Bu Yi’s pursuit. Yet even in Caoben Town, peace eluded him. Men were checking travelers at the crossroads, and even a simple purchase revealed his secrets. He didn’t fear the martial world’s ruffians, but dreaded Bu Yi and the cultivators of Qizhou. If his whereabouts were exposed, he couldn’t hope to fight or flee. Better to stay cautious and avoid disaster than court trouble.

Like a startled bird, Yu Ye hurried back to the inn. He entered his room in Furong Garden, ignoring Cai’er’s calls, and shut the door, finally allowing himself to breathe.

The young man from Baicao Apothecary hadn’t followed—perhaps he’d misjudged him.

But no matter who that man was, it was his own lack of cultivation that was to blame. Other than sword energy, he had no means of defense. The unexpected acquisition of the Armor-Breaking Talisman had become his last hope for survival.

Jiaoying, oh Jiaoying, are there any cultivators in the world as pitiful and helpless as I?

Yu Ye cut yellow paper, mixed cinnabar, took up a wolf-hair brush, and continued drawing his Armor-Breaking Talismans. As for the outcome—who could say? Just like the road ahead…