Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wilderness Chapter 102: Kunsui Town

Above the open fields, a great river flowed steadily from east to west. This river was called the Kun River.

The river stretched dozens of yards wide, its surface rippling with endless waves. On the opposite bank, people lived by the water’s edge, their clustered houses forming a small town known as Kunshui Town.

Just across the water to the north lay a ferry crossing. Beneath a large tree by the dock stood a stone stele inscribed with four characters: "Ancient Kun River Ferry."

At this moment, the ferry had yet to return. Seven or eight people gathered under the shade of the tree, waiting. Some carried bundles on their backs, others bore goods on poles; men, women, and children of various ages and appearances. Among them stood a young man dressed simply in rough cloth and a straw hat, typical of a farmer’s garb, yet he led a strong horse by his side, setting him apart from the others.

“Pfft, the fare for a horse is as much as for five people!” one elder remarked.

“That young man doesn’t look like he’s wealthy,” another said.

“Maybe he’s just a hired hand running errands. As long as the owner can pay, it’s no problem,” a third added.

“True enough…” the older men murmured among themselves.

The ferry here could carry carts and horses across the river, but at a steep price. The fee for one horse equaled that of five passengers. Since the river wound for hundreds of miles, detouring was not an option; crossing by ferry was the only way.

Yu Ye stood apart, holding the horse’s reins, gazing at the scenery on both riverbanks, contemplating the journey ahead.

Since leaving Feixia Town, he had traveled by night and rested by dawn, unknowingly moving for over twenty days. Perhaps because he had not passed through large towns, often sleeping under the open sky, the journey had been smooth—no checkpoints, no troublemakers from the martial world. Yet, he remained uneasy about the situation in Beiqi Mountain.

Kunshui Town was a gathering point for those traveling north and south, bustling with various people. Here, he hoped to learn some news.

If he was to leave, he wanted to do so clearly and with a clear conscience. For the sake of the Daoist sects and the martial world of Daze, he had already done his best. He did not want turmoil to continue long after his departure.

Where to go next? Naturally, overseas.

Remaining in Daze offered no future for him. Cultivation required abundant spiritual energy, yet he could only obtain spirit stones by killing. The feud with the Qizhou cultivators required a more measured approach. Without uncovering the root cause and truth, continuing to fight was futile. He intended to travel abroad to uncover the secrets of the Yunchuan Sect. Only by venturing into a broader world could he go further and become stronger.

Mo Can had once said that Huazhou Town, to the south of Daze, had a seaport where one could sail overseas. Now, having traveled nearly halfway on his journey, just another month’s travel would bring him to the sea.

But first, the river had to be crossed.

“The boat’s here—”

A wooden ferry approached from afar.

About thirty to forty feet long, the ferry had a flat deck covered with wooden boards, capable of holding carts, horses, and large cargo. Three strong men manned the boat, all shirtless and barefoot, their bronzed skin glistening with sweat as they pushed the ferry along with long bamboo poles.

“Bang—”

With a dull thud, the ferry moored and lowered a plank. The waiting passengers boarded one after another.

Yu Ye followed at the rear.

His horse hesitated on the plank, slipping nervously, struggling to step aboard.

The crowd watched with interest.

“Ha ha!”

One man leapt off the boat, striking the horse’s rump with a bamboo pole. The horse, stung, bolted onto the ferry. Seizing the moment, the man steadied himself on the pole, jumped up and down, and shouted, “May the wind be favorable and the waters smooth—”

Applause and cheers erupted.

The ferry, pushed by bamboo poles, slowly pulled away from shore.

Just then, two men came running from a distance, shouting, “Boatman, wait—”

The boatmen ignored them.

Once the ferry departed, it was difficult to turn back, and even stopping required great effort.

The two men quickened their pace, swiftly reaching the riverbank. The ferry had already drifted over six feet from shore, moving downstream. Without hesitation, the two men leapt into the air, barely touching down on the water’s surface, skimming across it with light steps, and in moments, both had landed aboard the ferry.

“Excellent—”

The crowd cheered again.

Yu Ye’s eyes brightened, quietly nodding in approval.

Though these two had no visible cultivation, their agility was extraordinary. Their graceful, effortless stride atop the water was truly impressive.

They were middle-aged men, in their thirties or forties, with black beards and lean faces, each holding a long sword. After landing, perhaps understanding ferry etiquette, they did not scold the boatmen but instead looked toward the shore, urging, “Boatman, row faster.”

One moment they said “slow,” the next “hurry,” their contradictory behavior was strange.

The three boatmen remained unhurried, pushing the poles steadily. One shook his head with a smile, saying, “Safety first, gentlemen. The worst is crossing against rough waves and headwinds. We can’t just speed up or slow down on command. Please bear with us.”

The two men were not rude, so they relented but stared anxiously at the riverbank.

At that moment, a figure appeared on the shore—a middle-aged man who immediately spotted the two men on the ferry. The boat was already over thirty feet from shore, too far to catch with speed. The man raised a hand and unleashed a sudden beam of light.

The ferry passengers, unaware of the danger, watched curiously.

The two men’s faces changed dramatically. They quickly jumped off the ferry, plunging into the water with splashes.

The light shot straight toward the ferry.

Yu Ye stood beside his horse on the plank, watching the commotion with the others. The sudden turn of events surprised him greatly. At the instant the light appeared, he raised an eyebrow.

A flying sword!

The man on shore was a Qi State cultivator, likely one of the highest Qi State practitioners. It was said only twelve such experts remained in Beiqi Mountain.

Why was one here by the Kun River? And why chase after these two? The Southern Mountain was dead—how could they still act so recklessly, even resorting to murderous flying swords?

Questions flooded Yu Ye’s mind, but there was no time to ponder. Just as he prepared to act, the flying sword circled the river’s surface and swiftly returned. He lowered his straw hat and peered intently toward the shore.

The Qi State cultivator withdrew the flying sword and turned away, leaving.

The ferry drifted slowly toward the river’s center, where the current grew swifter. Suddenly, a whirlpool spun, turning the boat sideways. The three men pushed their poles with all their strength, the bow skewing sharply toward the opposite bank.

“Bang—”

The ferry finally reached the shore, and the passengers sighed with relief.

Yu Ye took out a silver coin and handed it to one boatman, then led his horse ashore. Two drenched men emerged from beneath the ferry—those same two who had jumped into the river, clearly having hidden under the boat to evade the flying sword.

Yu Ye did not hurry away but waited by the shore.

The two men approached, ignoring Yu Ye altogether, not even responding to his greetings, striding away without a glance.

Yu Ye shrugged helplessly and mounted his horse.

In these times, those with skill were often proud to a fault.

Yet Yu Ye remained unchanged—a simple country lad at heart. And surprisingly, Jiao Ying had said he had changed—that he had grown cunning and deceptive. How could that be? He was just a hunter, an ordinary mortal skilled at trapping beasts.

Once ashore, he reached a crossroads.

Beyond it, a paved street of blue stones cut through the town. On either side, shops and houses stood thickly. The bustling crowd, the endless flow of carts and horses, the lively calls of merchants, and the familiar scent of daily life washed over him.

Yet Yu Ye had no desire to admire the scene. His mind was occupied.

The two middle-aged men who had boarded the ferry were likely now in Kunshui Town. And the Qi State cultivator’s failed pursuit—there was no chance he would give up easily. After the fire at Beiqi Mountain, what else had transpired?

After a while, Yu Ye spotted a flagpole by the roadside ahead. A banner fluttered with the words “Danfeng Inn.”

Danfeng?

Heavenly Dan Peak?

Kunshui Town lay within the territory of Heavenly Dan Peak, a Daoist sect and one of the eight major sects of Daze. He had previously met Yu Xin and Meng Qingqing, disciples of Heavenly Dan Peak. Was this Danfeng Inn connected to the sect?

Yu Ye turned his horse’s head and entered the inn’s courtyard.

Inns across regions differed little—mostly varying in simplicity or luxury.

Once settled, Yu Ye entered the tavern, ordering a jug of wine and a bowl of meat, retreating to a corner to eat and drink alone.

The tavern faced the street in front and opened into the courtyard behind, with all doors wide open, allowing a cool breeze. As evening approached, seven or eight tables filled with patrons.

Yu Ye took a bite of meat, sipped the broth, then raised his wine bowl, his eyes watching keenly beneath his straw hat.

Among the twenty or so diners, many carried knives and swords—men of the martial world, loudly chatting in drunken spirits—

“Ah, brother, you don’t know. I just returned from Beiqi Mountain…”

“Everyone, my brother comes from Beiqi Mountain. Listen to his stories for a broader understanding…”

“Heroes from all over gathered at Beiqi Mountain, a truly grand event. Unexpectedly, a thunderbolt struck Xuanwu Pavilion, sparking a massive fire that burned the mountain. Over half of the thousand people perished, including many Daoist masters. I was lucky to survive the ordeal. That fire lasted half a month…”

The speaker had likely been to Beiqi Mountain but exaggerated the tale. His survival indeed gave him grounds to boast. Yet he knew little of the current state there, nor of the Qi State cultivators’ latest moves.

Yu Ye sipped his wine.

The bitter, spicy liquid burned warmly, fueling his restless thoughts, craving a cathartic release amidst the bitterness and heat.

As he savored the drink, his expression suddenly shifted.

A figure hurried into the tavern, heading straight for the inn’s courtyard. The man’s gray-white hair, light footsteps, and swaying sleeves looked strikingly familiar.

Yu Ye quickly set down his wine bowl and rose to follow.

Just then, the innkeeper called out, “Young sir, you haven’t paid for your wine—”

Yu Ye tossed a silver coin onto the table and turned to pursue.

The courtyard was already lit with lamps, but the old man had vanished without a trace…