Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wild Chapter Fifty-Three: Fellow Travelers on the Road

On the mountain path, the galloping horse gradually came to a halt. Its rider lifted his eyes to gaze into the distance. The sun was setting, and the evening glow had stained the horizon crimson. It was yet another twilight. Just yesterday at dusk, he had been in Que Ling Town; now, at this hour, he stood within the borders of the Luming Mountains, two hundred li away. Yet there still remained over a hundred li to reach Pingshui Town. Better to find a place to rest for the night and continue at first light.

Yu Ye dismounted, leading his horse forward in search of a suitable spot. Not far ahead, he found a hollow in the mountain, several dozen yards across; a stream ran through, and the grass grew lush and soft as velvet. He led his horse into the hollow, unloaded the packs from its back, filled his water flask from the stream and took a few sips, then pulled out two cakes and tossed them into his mouth. Afterward, he wandered the area with his horse, lost in thought over all that had happened on the journey.

Last night, Mo Can had spoken with him through the entire night. That silent, reticent man—perhaps, upon meeting a kindred spirit, or for some other reason—had unexpectedly opened his heart and spoken freely. In years and experience, Mo Can was a senior, but in mind and temperament he was also a worthy teacher and friend. Their all-night conversation had been deeply enlightening.

According to Mo Can, there was a hidden and unspeakable plot behind the foreign cultivators who hunted Yu Ye, destroyed Daoist sects across the land, and sought to win over the martial world. Yet Mo Can dared not guess further. He advised Yu Ye to leave the Great Marsh and seek his fortune in the Immortal Sects overseas. Otherwise, Yu Ye would waste his years in vain and inevitably end up trapped and helpless.

Mo Can’s suggestion made sense. But Yu Ye had matters of his own to tend to: he had to reach the Luming Mountains and Beiwang Village to fulfill Old Feng’s dying wish. What would come after, he could not spare the thought for now.

Yu Ye circled the hollow. It was a secluded place, quite hidden. He spread his raincloth on the grass and sat cross-legged, when suddenly he recalled something and pulled a bundle from his pack. Inside was a piece of white snakeskin, over a foot wide and more than ten feet long, already cleaned and neatly folded. This was the token of good will Mo Can had spoken of. Back in Xiangshui Village, Yuan Jiu had slain a white serpent. Mo Can had asked for the skin; at the time, Yu Ye had not understood why, never imagining that Mo Can wanted it only to give it to him. Mo Can, too, was of the Daoist order and skilled in talismans; seeing Yu Ye learning to draw charms, he had quietly taken note. The white serpent was a spiritual creature, and its skin was perfect for making talismans.

Yu Ye set down the bundle and reached into his robe. When he opened his palm, a self-mocking smile appeared on his lips. In his hand was a jade ring, gained from killing a man two days before—a storage ring. At last, he possessed a storage ring. He had once thought that robbing and looting were the acts of villains and had shunned rifling the dead. But now, not only had killing become second nature, he even found himself anticipating the spoils.

Did he not resemble a greedy thief? Shaking his head, Yu Ye gave the ring a wave. Before him appeared a small pile of objects: the belongings of the Qizhou cultivator he had slain. He had already examined the white jade token among them. There was also a jade slip, a dozen talismans, two bottles of pills, scattered gold and silver, a short sword, several sets of clothing, and three luminous spirit stones.

It was the spirit stones he sought. Yu Ye picked them up, unable to put them down. Everyone knew that spirit stones were rare in the Great Marsh, yet he had obtained them so simply. The two Qizhou cultivators he had killed both carried spirit stones.

With spirit stones, cultivation would yield twice the result for half the effort. There was hope yet for advancing his skills.

Yu Ye set aside the spirit stones and picked up the jade slip. Within was the “Yunchuan Sword Manual,” a method for refining and directing flying swords. Only with cultivation at the fifth level of Qi Refinement could one sustain the sword-riding art. The methods for refining and the incantations and gestures for sword control were profoundly intricate; without diligent study, their mysteries would be hard to grasp.

The twelve talismans appeared to be made from animal hide, their diagrams drawn in cinnabar. With his spiritual sense, Yu Ye found faint traces of magic power embedded within the red lines. What was magic power? The vital energy driven by incantations—this was magic power. Though formless, it existed because of the secret arts.

Clearly, the making of talismans required the addition of magic power. Next time he drew a “Break Armor” charm, perhaps he could try this method himself. Judging by the diagrams and script, nine of the talismans were “Fire Charms,” likely those he had previously experienced—remarkable in their might. The other three were “Wind Charms,” perhaps similar to the art of lightening the body; their true effect, he would have to test. Of the two bottles of pills, one was “Fasting Pill,” the other for healing, known as “Soothing Tendon Pill.”

At last, Yu Ye picked up the short sword. The last flying sword he had obtained had been seized by Zhong Jian under pretense of sharing the loot. Now, having acquired another, he took it for his own without a second thought. The silvery short sword was just over a foot long, the hilt and blade forged as one, its edge unsharpened, the grip just large enough for a single hand—nothing remarkable to the eye. Yet it could soar through the air, striking from afar; had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.

As Yu Ye gripped the sword, he could not help but circulate his energy. Instantly, a sword-light over two feet long burst forth from the blade. His inner force surged after it, almost beyond his control. Startled, he quickly let go, and the glowing blade vanished. Was his cultivation so weak that even a flying sword was beyond his touch?

With a helpless shake of his head, Yu Ye swept all the items—his own bundle, Old Feng’s animal hide map, and the snakeskin Mo Can had given him—into the storage ring. On his person, he kept only a longsword and water flask. The storage ring itself contained a space only three feet square—he had no idea how it was forged, like a sealed box that responded to his spiritual sense, allowing him to store or retrieve items at will. He slipped the ring onto his left middle finger, then reconsidered and tucked it away inside his robe. Should he encounter another Qizhou cultivator, they might recognize the ring; better to be cautious and avoid unnecessary trouble.

Taking a sip from his water flask, Yu Ye then sat down to meditate and steady his breath. Now that he had spirit stones, he was eager to cultivate. A night breeze swept by—cool and refreshing. Yet on that breeze, he thought he caught a faint whiff of wine and meat.

Yu Ye started in surprise. Under a sky full of stars, there was nothing strange about the hollow: only the stream’s murmur, the quiet whispers of birds and insects. The early summer night was tranquil and peaceful. Another gust of wind, and the scent of wine and meat grew stronger, accompanied by muffled voices.

He rose and looked around. The wind came from the southwest, from a ridge above. Yu Ye crossed the hollow and reached the base of the ridge. The thirty-foot-high slope was steep and covered with thickets, making it difficult to climb. Hitching up his robes, Yu Ye leapt upward, grabbing at the undergrowth for support, and in moments landed lightly atop the ridge like a great bird.

On the far side, by a pond, a campfire burned. Four men sat eating and drinking; not far off, a few horses were tethered by the road. They appeared to be a band of travelers, perhaps martial artists, resting for the night.

Fellow wanderers, but nothing to do with him. Yu Ye suppressed his curiosity and turned to head back, when he overheard their conversation—

“Senior brother, if we can’t find the Ancient Wood, how can we avenge our sect’s destruction?”

“If we find Chenqi of the Xuanhuang Mountains, we’ll find the Ancient Wood.”

“But Chenqi’s whereabouts are unknown.”

“We’ll find him one day.”

“There are only us brothers left from Beiqi Mountain. Now we wander the martial world, hunted by masters from Qizhou...”

“We have no quarrel with the Qizhou cultivators; why should they treat us so?”

“It’s said they’re searching for someone...”

Standing atop the ridge, Yu Ye listened, his mind in turmoil. These men were clearly the last disciples of Beiqi Mountain, determined to find Ancient Wood and Chenqi to avenge their sect. Did the destruction of their Daoist order also have something to do with Ancient Wood and Chenqi? While traveling with Zhong Quan and Yan Chi, Yu Ye had wanted more than once to inquire about Ancient Wood—after all, the man was implicated in the deaths of thirty villagers. But at the time, he hadn’t known where to start, and feared revealing his own origins. Later, everything happened in a rush, and the matter was set aside.

Yet Bai Zhi had once mentioned that Ancient Wood had already died at Chenqi’s hand. If that were true, no one would ever find Ancient Wood.

And Chenqi’s whereabouts were also unknown? Wasn’t Chenqi colluding with Bu Yi and the Qizhou cultivators?

As for the person the Qizhou cultivators sought—surely it was Yu Ye himself.

These Beiqi Mountain disciples, even while fleeing for their lives, still remembered to avenge their sect. Admirable, truly. Perhaps he should reveal himself, share the news of Ancient Wood’s death, mention Yan Chi and Zhong Jian, and ask for news in return.

Just then, one of the men continued—

“The person they’re after isn’t old—just a Qi-refining cultivator. He stole a treasure from an overseas Immortal Sect. The Qizhou masters are pursuing him to recover it, suspecting the Daoists of involvement, and have been going from sect to sect demanding answers.”

“So we’re implicated by him?”

“Exactly. If we meet him, he must return the treasure and pay for the destruction of our sect!”

“I heard his name is Yu Ye—a disgrace to the Dao!”

“Hmph, such a scoundrel! He’s beneath contempt...”

Yu Ye stood silent for a moment, then took two steps back and leapt down the ridge. In an instant, he landed back in the hollow.

He returned to his spot and sat down slowly, his brow deeply furrowed, his face bitter. He asked himself: he, who had nearly lost his life, forced to flee his home, his great vengeance still unfulfilled—how had he become the villain? The Qizhou cultivators’ slander he could ignore, but for these fellow victims from Beiqi Mountain to parrot the same lies, blaming him for their calamity while sparing the Qizhou murderers—wasn’t this the world turned upside down?

He had meant to show himself, but now he dared not.

Stifled, frustrated! Since the Winter Hunt in Spirit Flood Gorge, hadn’t he suffered enough—misunderstood, scorned, humiliated, bullied, and even threatened with death? He had borne it all. So why, tonight, did the injustice cut so deeply?

Was it the overwhelming strength of the Qizhou cultivators, leaving him feeling helpless and alone? Or was it that people, cowed by might, had lost all sense of justice and conscience, leaving one newly arrived in the world chilled to the bone?

If the world truly was corrupt and humanity lost, then instead of swallowing grievances, why not rise up and fight for the justice and fairness he deserved...?