Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wild Chapter Twenty-Nine: Kindred Spirits

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Are they from the Wayfarer Sect?

Yu Ye gazed at the five men standing before the door, remaining silent for a moment.

The burly man at the head of the group, his earlier arrogance replaced by caution, continued, “Young friend, I see you’re dressed in a Daoist robe—surely you are a disciple of the Wayfarer Sect. Are you, by chance, from North Qi Mountain?”

Yu Ye looked down at the Daoist robe he wore and the sword in his hand. Suddenly, enlightenment struck him, but his brow furrowed slightly, and he still did not reply.

The Wayfarer Sect was unknown to ordinary people. To recognize the robe, infer his origin, and even mention North Qi Mountain—this was no ordinary man.

Moreover, Bai Zhi had once told him that the ancient tree that plagued Yu Family Village was a disciple of North Qi Mountain.

A dry chuckle escaped the burly man’s lips. “Young friend, my intentions are harmless. I travel far and wide and enjoy making new acquaintances, that is all.”

“Oh?” Yu Ye’s thoughts stirred. “I am an outer disciple of Xuanhuang Mountain.”

He had never liked lying since childhood. But suffering constant tribulations had taught him the bitterness of hardship and the perilous depths of human nature. Now, as he fabricated tales, his face revealed neither guilt nor discomfort.

“Xuanhuang Mountain?” The burly man seemed surprised. “The Wayfarer Sect of Xuanhuang Mountain has long ceased to exist. Young friend, do you truly not know?”

“Ah...” Yu Ye was momentarily taken aback. He raised his hands and said, “I have been traveling for many days and know nothing of this. Would you be so kind as to enlighten me, Brother Zhong? I would be most grateful!”

His demeanor and bearing were much like those of a true Daoist disciple.

The burly man’s laughter grew more at ease. He turned to his companions and said, “Young friend, there’s no need for you to yield the guest room. The five of us will make do here for the night.”

Yu Ye demurred, “Brother Zhong—”

But the man waved him off. “I’m weary from the journey. We’ll talk more tonight.”

He urged the attendant to unlock the guest room and went off with his companions to rest.

Left in the hall, Yu Ye could only turn and return to his own room. He shut the door behind him, walked to the bed, and sat down.

The Wayfarer Sect of Xuanhuang Mountain no longer exists?

To say it “no longer exists”—by definition, it was gone, vanished, and would not return.

Though he’d previously speculated as much, this nonetheless caught him off guard. Xuanhuang Mountain was the very heart of the Wayfarer Sect—yet it was simply gone? What of Chen Qi, Bai Zhi, and their master, Madam Hong?

Could this Zhong fellow simply be speaking nonsense? He’d shifted from brashness to ingratiation, then to evasive answers—perhaps he harbored ulterior motives.

Who exactly was he?

Yu Ye glanced at the sword in his hand, a glint of resolve in his eyes.

No matter what or whom he faced, he would find a way to deal with it. Relying on the Seven-Killing Sword Aura, he could even stand his ground against Chen Qi.

But alas, his cultivation was insufficient to wield the sword aura at will.

Now, without the aid of elixirs, how would he improve his cultivation?

He sighed. He’d hoped to seek advice from Jiao Ying, but she remained silent.

The surge of ambition that had just risen in his heart quickly dissipated.

He set the sword aside, sat cross-legged, closed his eyes halfway, and began to regulate his breathing.

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Since his cultivation advanced so slowly, he had no choice but to make up for it with diligence...

Knock, knock—

Someone rapped at the door.

Yu Ye opened his eyes from meditation.

The room was dim, dusk had already fallen.

Qiangzi, the attendant, entered, lit the oil lamp by the door, then set a bamboo basket on the wooden table at the foot of the bed. With warmth, he said, “Brother Yu, it’s time for dinner.”

“Thank you!” Yu Ye stretched out his legs, rose, and offered his thanks.

“It’s thanks to you that I’m here today. I should be the one expressing gratitude.” Qiangzi waved his hand and withdrew, smiling. “Please enjoy your meal—let me know if you need anything!”

Inside the bamboo basket was a steaming bowl of fragrant mutton soup and three golden, crispy cakes.

Yu Ye picked up the soup and drank, not forgetting to take a hearty bite of the cakes. For months, his mouth had scarcely tasted oil or meat; he was either hungry or subsisting on dried fruit and herbs. Everyday meditation and cultivation had nearly made him forget the taste of meat. Yet now, at this inn, with both soup and meat, and such delicious flavors, his hunger was instantly awakened.

While he was eating with relish, someone else knocked on the door.

Knock, knock—

It was Zhong. He stepped into the room. Despite his rough, bearded appearance, he was not actually very old—just past thirty. He was worldly, composed.

“Hmm... Brother Zhong?” Yu Ye greeted him, but made no show of politeness, continuing to eat and drink heartily. In no time, only half a cake remained in his hand, and the soup bowl was nearly empty.

Zhong stood with arms folded, somewhat awkward.

“Brother Zhong, what brings you... hic...” Yu Ye finally swallowed the last piece of cake, remembered to ask his visitor’s purpose, but was overcome by a hiccup. He rubbed his belly, sighing in contentment.

“No one’s fighting you for food—why so anxious?” Zhong grumbled. “I’d meant to invite you for a drink, but you’ve already eaten your fill. Never mind—” He turned to leave, but Yu Ye hastily called after him, “Brother Zhong, forgive my rudeness—please, have a seat—”

The room was sparsely furnished, nowhere to sit.

Zhong glanced around, walked to the bed, but instead of sitting, picked up the sword at the head of the bed and drew it with a metallic ring.

Yu Ye’s expression changed.

“So you really are a disciple of Xuanhuang Mountain.”

With a flick of his wrist, Zhong returned the sword to its sheath.

Items from the Wayfarer Sect all bore distinct markings. This steel sword, too, was engraved with the insignia of Xuanhuang Mountain. Clearly, Zhong had been testing Yu Ye’s background, and by his skillful handling of the sword, he was well versed in weapons.

“My name is Zhong Jian. I was once an outer disciple of North Qi Mountain.”

Having revealed his name, Zhong Jian smiled at Yu Ye. “So it seems we are both men of the Way.”

Yu Ye was caught off guard, and in imitation of Daoist etiquette, cupped his hands and said, “Brother Ji, I am Yu Ye—my apologies for any disrespect!”

“Your name is Yu Ye?” Zhong Jian waved his hand. “I am no longer a disciple of North Qi Mountain, so there’s no need for such formalities. It’s just that when I saw you in Daoist robes today, I felt compelled to strike up a conversation.” Here, his manner suddenly turned angry: “All I did was get into a fight that ended in bloodshed, and they expelled me—what, is North Qi Mountain some sacred Daoist land? Their disciples have colluded with powerful men, pillaged, burned, and killed—why single me out? Bah, now I roam with my brothers and have my freedom!”

A “youxia” is a knight-errant—one who values friendship, is unafraid of risk, or dares to use force.

No wonder this man was so familiar with the Daoist world and so well informed; once a disciple, he now roamed the world, disillusioned.

“Brother Zhong, I have a question.” Yu Ye seized the chance. “You say Xuanhuang Mountain met with misfortune—is it true?”

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“Heh, I was just about to tell you.”

Zhong Jian had regained his composure and sized up Yu Ye. “You seem quite young—likely haven’t learned much yet. Since the Wayfarer Sect of Xuanhuang Mountain is gone, why not follow me? Drinking and feasting daily—would that not be delightful?”

“Can you tell me more of what happened?”

“A few masters from Qizhou came and destroyed the Wayfarer Sect of Xuanhuang Mountain.”

“What became of the disciples?”

“Most were killed. The rest scattered like birds and beasts.”

“What were the names of these masters?”

“I once heard my senior mention the leader was called Bu Yi. He could fly on his sword, kill from a distance—he was invincible throughout the Great Marsh!”

“Did your senior know this man?”

Zhong Jian glanced back, closed the door, then spoke gravely: “After Bu Yi destroyed Xuanhuang Mountain, he went on to wipe out North Qi Mountain. My senior barely escaped with his life and met me by chance while fleeing. From him I learned that Bu Yi isn’t likely to stop. The other six Daoist houses may not escape the same fate. All have heard the rumors and are sending their disciples away.”

“The other six houses?” Yu Ye couldn’t help but ask, “There are so many Daoist sects in the Great Marsh?”

Zhong Jian looked him up and down, suspicious. “Do you really know nothing? The way you eat, you hardly seem like a pure-hearted Daoist…”

Yu Ye grew uneasy and quickly interrupted, “I joined late and have little experience. Don’t think me a Daoist—just a country bumpkin.”

Zhong Jian grinned. “Heh, I suppose I prefer being a country bumpkin myself. To be honest—”

He stroked his chin, considered, and continued, “There are eight Daoist houses in the Great Marsh: Xuanhuang Mountain, North Qi Mountain, South Qi Mountain, Purple Cloud Mountain, West Cloud Mountain, Red Crow Peak, Celestial Pill Peak, and Dragon Scale Peak. Of these, Xuanhuang and North Qi were the most renowned; the rest are lesser-known. As I said before, with the current chaos, there’s great opportunity. My brothers and I plan to visit the mountains tomorrow—to see what we might find, and perhaps pick up a few spoils. You’re welcome to join us, and later I’ll take you to Xuanhuang Mountain—what do you say?”

At last, Zhong Jian revealed his true intent: to loot while the houses were in turmoil. When he spoke of “traveling together,” he meant to recruit Yu Ye as an accomplice. Since Yu Ye claimed to be a Daoist disciple, Zhong Jian naturally wanted him to lead the way—familiar with the terrain, the venture would be that much easier.

Yu Ye remained silent.

“Well? Have you made up your mind?” Zhong Jian pressed impatiently. “If you’re not a Daoist disciple, I wouldn’t bother with you. North Qi Mountain’s legacy spans centuries, with countless techniques and elixirs—whatever we find will be worth more than years of your own cultivation.”

“Brother Zhong!” After a hesitation, Yu Ye spoke. “I’d like to join you and see the world, but I must first go to Deer Cry Mountain—I simply cannot spare the time…”

“What business do you have at Deer Cry Mountain?”

“Oh, have you been there before, Brother Zhong?”

“What if I have, what if I haven’t?” Zhong Jian stared at Yu Ye, his gaze sharp and appraising.

“I was entrusted to go to Deer Cry Mountain, but I don’t know the way. Could you point me in the right direction?”

“And why should I do that for you?”

Yu Ye, still hopeful, was caught off guard by the question. He thought for a moment, then said helplessly, “It seems I have no choice but to make a trip to North Qi Mountain…”

Zhong Jian turned to leave, waving his hand. “It’s settled—dawn tomorrow, we set out.”

“But I meant…” Yu Ye wanted to say more, but Zhong Jian had already vanished. Only the oil lamp by the door flickered in the gloom, mirroring the shifting uncertainty on Yu Ye’s face. He shut the door, blew out the lamp, and paced the room in the dark, replaying his conversation with Zhong Jian in his mind. Not until night deepened did he return to the bed and sit cross-legged…