Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wilderness Chapter Fifteen: The Ways of the World

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Morning.

A tranquil mountain valley was suddenly filled with the bustle of activity.

More than a dozen men, each armed with sharp blades, searched through the dense woods of the valley. If one looked up, the cliffs shielded by the forest came into view. Atop those cliffs stood the Yan family's manor.

Beneath the trees, a man and a woman stood in conversation.

The man was Yan Shu, head of the Yan family. He appeared as though he hadn’t slept at all, a trace of weariness etched upon his grim countenance.

The woman wore her hair in a bun atop her head, clad in a thin, long robe with a cloth covering her face, her attire echoing that of a man. Yet her slender waist and clear, crisp voice revealed the distinctive charm of her gender.

"The world has fallen into chaos, outlaws run rampant!"

"As Miss Bai says, the thieves have desecrated my ancestors' tombs and killed several of my kin. They act with utter impunity!"

"Given this, how can we allow the criminals to escape?"

Miss Bai was none other than Bai Zhi.

She had come to the Yan household that day, declaring herself a traveler drawn by their reputation. Yan Shu, hearing she was a disciple of Xuanhuang Mountain and a companion of his ancestor, treated her with respect. The family had suffered repeated robberies, so he brought her to the scene, hoping for guidance from someone of her skill.

"Ah, did you see the horse dung and hoof prints?" Yan Shu sighed, gesturing, "The thieves prepared swift horses and fled south from here. I sent men to pursue them for dozens of miles, but they caught only one horse. The two criminals vanished without a trace."

On the clearing amid the woods, horse dung, fodder, and chaotic footprints could be seen. Amid the snowy, muddy ground, traces of blood were still discernible.

Bai Zhi stared thoughtfully at the bloodstains, then asked, "One of the fleeing thieves was quite young. What is his name, and where does he come from?"

"That young thief, despite his age, is no innocent. His accomplices confessed that no one knows his name or origins."

Yan Shu voiced another worry, speaking to himself, "The other one is surnamed Feng, called Old Seven, a notorious brigand fond of rare treasures. My ancestor's tomb was unknown to outsiders, yet he found it as if he knew it well, destroyed the grave, and stole the purple ginseng fruit from within. I fear my ancestor's old enemies are stirring trouble in secret, but I do not know who they are. Miss Bai, you come from the Daoist sects and possess great abilities—if you could offer your guidance, the Yan family would be eternally grateful!"

With these words, he bowed deeply.

Bai Zhi nodded slightly, murmuring to herself, "Purple ginseng fruit, I have heard of it; it can cultivate energy, ward off evil, and detoxify..."

Yan Shu, thinking his request had been met with a response, spoke truthfully, "I heard from my elders that the purple ginseng fruit comes from an overseas immortal sect, obtained for a great price by my ancestor. He left it for his descendants, since his own path to immortality was blocked. Alas, the Yan family’s offspring are dull and unworthy of cultivation!" He spread his hands in helplessness, then added angrily, "Who would have thought the sacred fruit hidden in the tomb would be stolen by thieves? I, Yan Shu, have shamed my ancestor!"

"Where did your esteemed ancestor cultivate?"

"North Qi Mountain."

"Oh..."

Bai Zhi had heard much about the Yan family’s history, but now, her attention was drawn to the young thief.

"Master Yan, forgive me!"

After a brief silence, Bai Zhi suddenly raised her hand in farewell.

Yan Shu was surprised and helpless, "Miss Bai, my request—"

"Do not worry, the thieves will not return."

Bai Zhi left without another word, not even looking back. After a few steps, she suddenly asked, "Was it said that the thieves’ hands and feet were shackled?"

Yan Shu, still lost, hurriedly replied, "The shackles were made of black iron, very sturdy, but the thieves were fierce enough to escape together."

Bai Zhi said nothing more, drifting away.

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A few miles north of the Yan family manor lay a hollow in the mountains.

Though close to the manor, the hollow was choked with brambles and piled with chaotic stones, the cold and frozen weather ensuring it was rarely visited.

At this moment, two people hid among the stones.

One was Old Seven Feng, hair wild, robe torn, smeared in blood, hands and feet bound with iron chains, sitting against a stone with his eyes closed, unconscious.

The other was Yu Ye, equally disheveled, but with his eyes open, silently watching his companion.

Recalling all that had happened, his heart was still unsettled, unable to find calm.

Yesterday, Old Seven Feng had suffered a severe beating. Yu Ye, feeling pity, cared for him. Unexpectedly, Feng woke suddenly, seized Yu Ye firmly, and declared, "Boy, escape with me."

Yu Ye was so shocked he could hardly speak. To dispel his doubts, Old Seven Feng explained everything—how he had scouted the Yan estate, how Jiang Xiong gathered the crew, and how Yu Ye was lured and coerced into the gang at their rendezvous point. At first, the break-in went smoothly, but disaster struck in the tomb, and the five were caught and tortured. Jiang Xiong, unable to endure, complained that Feng had been deceived and demanded the return of stolen goods, and so forth. Feng, unable to defend himself, simply ignored him.

Old Seven Feng knew that as long as no one confessed, their lives would be spared. But after the torture, only he and Yu Ye had not begged for mercy, suffering the worst injuries. The next day, the punishments continued; Jiang Xiong was fine, Lu Kai and Feng Er did not return, while Old Seven Feng was beaten savagely. Fortunately, his strength and feigned collapse saved him. Yu Ye was supposed to be next, but once again Jiang Xiong took his place. Thus Feng realized his suspicions had become a cruel reality.

Jiang Xiong had confessed.

Once he did, the Yan family would know the gang's backgrounds. The notorious Lu Kai and Feng Er were doomed. Yu Ye, whose origins were unclear, might survive a few more days. But Old Seven Feng, as the leader, would be hunted by both Jiang Xiong and the Yan family, for possessing stolen treasures from various places. He resolved to escape the dungeon, fearing he could not do it alone, so he enlisted Yu Ye’s help.

As Feng had guessed, Jiang Xiong slipped up under interrogation, knowing details he shouldn’t have. After killing Jiang Xiong, Yu Ye followed the plan...

Yu Ye shook his head at the memory.

To be a thief was no easy path: not only did one live by the blade, but also had to watch for betrayal.

Old Seven Feng killed without hesitation, yet despite his ruthlessness, he was not devoid of feeling.

Moved, Yu Ye’s mind drifted back to last night.

Old Seven Feng, battered and alone, fought desperately. Even at the brink of death, he urged Yu Ye to flee first. After falling into the dense woods, they found the hidden horse, but the chains prevented riding, so they sent the horse away alone. Their next destination was yet to be decided.

According to Old Seven Feng, the more perilous the place, the safer it would be. His worsening injuries meant he wouldn’t last long, so they needed a hiding place to reconsider their plans.

Thus, after leaving the forest, they didn’t go far but circled back in the dark, searching. At dawn, they stumbled into the stone pile, where Feng collapsed unconscious.

"Sigh—"

Yu Ye looked at the unconscious Old Seven Feng, the cramped space shielded by stones, the iron chains binding hands and feet, the tattered robes, and sighed softly.

Though they could hide for a while, the cold and hunger threatened them; if another snowstorm struck, their plight would worsen.

Should they seek another refuge after nightfall?

But with Old Seven Feng still unconscious, he couldn’t abandon him here. As for his injuries, he hadn’t allowed Yu Ye to check or ask, and his condition was surely dire...

"Oh—"

With a painful groan, Old Seven Feng opened his eyes.

Yu Ye scrambled to his feet to help.

But Feng shook his head and drew out a leather pouch from his chest. The effort made him gasp, his chest heaving, blood seeping from his waist and belly.

Yu Ye recognized the pouch.

Old Seven Feng had hidden a horse in the woods, with a pack tied to its back. He had retrieved this leather pouch from the pack, used a sharp blade to cut the horse’s rump, sending it galloping out of the woods. Then he stuffed the pouch into his chest, and now brought it forth.

With trembling hands, Old Seven Feng fumbled out a wine flask, opened it, and drank deeply. The hurried liquor spilled from his lips, dripped through his beard, and further wetted his blood-stained chest. The fresh crimson blossomed anew. After a moment, he tossed aside the flask, exhaling long, and even managed a faint smile. His lifeless eyes gained a spark of vitality.

Was his condition improving?

Yu Ye felt as if he’d glimpsed a rainbow on a rainy day, his spirits lifting. He glanced around, saw nothing amiss, and crouched down, asking expectantly, "How do you feel?"

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"Ha..."

Old Seven Feng laughed, the sound hoarse, his eyes growing sharp and deep, mixed with satisfaction, hesitation, resignation, and resolve—a gaze still hard to read. He paused, then said meaningfully, "You and I have been through hardship and death together, yet I still do not know your name."

"I am Yu Ye, from Yu Family Village in Xingyuan Valley. When this winter passes, I’ll be sixteen."

Yu Ye did not hide anything, stating his name and origin.

Old Seven Feng had helped him escape the dungeon, fought through enemies, and saved his life. Yet this same man had deceived him, forced him into the gang, and subjected him to torture, nearly killing him in the dungeon. Regardless of their past grievances, at this moment, they were indeed like brothers sharing life and death.

"Xingyuan Valley is hundreds of miles from here—why did you travel alone?"

"I..."

"Did your family suffer hardship, forcing you to seek a living?"

"Mm..."

"Enough!"

Perhaps Old Seven Feng wished to speak openly, but Yu Ye’s hesitant replies wore on his patience. Stifling his cough, he said, "Whether you believe me or not, listen: I, Old Seven Feng, though called a thief-lord, have not lost all conscience. Unless forced, I do not kill recklessly. This time, I was entrusted by another, only seeking the purple ginseng fruit in the tomb. But I did not know its value, and you ended up eating it. That you survived means your bones are extraordinary. I have met some Daoist friends and know a little of such things..."

He paused for breath, then suddenly said, "My home is in Beimang Village; I have a wife and young daughter. Can you deliver a message for me?"

A message?

Yu Ye didn’t know how to answer or refuse, but after a slight hesitation, he nodded in affirmation.

Old Seven Feng’s anxious gaze softened. He raised the leather pouch and said, "Open it—"

Yu Ye took the pouch and drew out several items. One was the small blade that had wounded the horse, about three inches long, entirely purple-black, heavy in the hand, without hilt or edge; another was a palm-sized piece of leather, painted with mountains and rivers, marked with characters; and some fragments of yellow-white stone.

"This sword came from an ancient tomb—not an ordinary item. I never found a buyer and always kept it with me. Because I always leave myself an escape, this was spared."

Did he mean the horse, or something else?

Mountain hunters were familiar with all sorts of blades. Swords, whether long or short, always had hilt and edge, even magical ones. Yet this odd little blade was also called a sword?

Yu Ye was puzzled, but Old Seven Feng continued, "This sword can cut iron and stone, might help us break the chains binding our hands and feet..."

Cut iron and stone?

Yu Ye scraped the blade against the chain on his ankle, scoring a shallow mark. Applying more force, the mark deepened. He was secretly amazed and tried it on Old Seven Feng’s chains.

Each chain was secured with iron locks. Breaking one ring would free their hands and feet.

Old Seven Feng’s breathing grew heavier, his words short and urgent—

"Don’t lose the map of Deer Call Mountain; it has secret marks. Find my hidden treasures, give a portion to my wife, and keep the rest as reward... tell her... cough..."

Yu Ye was busy, unable to reply, but then sensed something was wrong and stopped.

Old Seven Feng coughed violently, blood spurting from his mouth, chest heaving, panting, "Tell Wan'er’s mother... find a good family..." As he uttered the last words, it seemed he finally released all his burdens, his face relaxed into a faint smile, muttering, "I’m tired... I’ll sleep..."

His eyes remained open, a smile on his face, but he was silent, as if he really had fallen asleep.

Yu Ye stared for a long time, then slowly reached out and opened his robe.

On Feng’s chest and belly were two bloody holes. Two arrows had pierced him from back to front, their sharp heads faintly visible...

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