Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wilderness Chapter Thirty-Five: Divination

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Yu Ye lay prone in the grass atop the cliff, inwardly astonished. Yet beneath his shock, he couldn’t help but whisper thanks for his luck.

Though he dared not lift his head, that single upward glance had shown him the scene below the precipice. Five or six corpses sprawled across the mountain terrace—Hu the Elder’s men. Hu himself and the remaining companions knelt, begging for mercy. Among those on their knees, several wore Daoist robes, presumably the surviving disciples of Mount Beiqi. Had Yu Ye arrived earlier, his fate would surely have been the same.

What left him in awe was not Hu the Elder’s plight, but the three men standing tall. Especially the middle-aged man at their head—Yu Ye couldn’t make out his features or guess his cultivation, but the aura he exuded was unmistakable: a presence that inspired terror and despair, as if with a gesture, he could decide life or death.

Bu Yi?

A master of Foundation Establishment?

Nine times out of ten, this was the renowned expert of Qizhou—Bu Yi! After destroying Xuanhuang Mountain, he swept through Mount Beiqi, and for some reason had now returned. Clearly, he had another purpose.

Whatever his intentions, should he send men down the mountain to seal the roads and have Hu the Elder search the hills, the outcome was clear. Yu Ye had killed Bu Yi’s companion, the one called Gan Song, and with a Foundation Establishment master capable of flying on his sword—even escaping this calamity with Zhong Jian seemed impossible. Death was all but certain.

Fortune! Fortune that he had come to reconnoiter and learned of Bu Yi’s movements ahead of time. If fate did not utterly abandon him, perhaps he could flee Mount Beiqi. Life or death now rested with the heavens.

Yu Ye did not dare hesitate, slipping quietly down the cliff.

He did not know the true power of a Foundation Establishment master's spiritual sense, but he knew it could not pierce stone and trees—he’d tried it himself before, and was confident in this. After sneaking down, he rushed back the way he’d come, moving so swiftly he was like a wisp of blue smoke through the rain and mist…

Before long, the Sutra Repository Cave appeared ahead.

A figure darted inside, calling urgently: “Quick, we must go!”

Zhong Jian sat on the ground, hacking at a length of wood with his blade. The three-foot stick had been shaped into a crutch. Suddenly, a figure burst in, wind curling around him. Zhong Jian raised his longsword in alarm, only to see Yu Ye had returned. He grinned, “Why such hurry—”

But before the words were out, he was snatched up.

“My crutch! My sword! My crossbow—” Zhong Jian cried.

Yu Ye hefted him and bolted outside, ignoring the protests, only pausing to grab the crossbow and arrows. In a flash, they were out of the cave. Only then did Yu Ye ask urgently, “Is there a shortcut down the mountain?”

“Ah…” Zhong Jian, realizing the gravity of the situation, thought quickly. “If you mean a shortcut, there’s an old abandoned path on the far side, but it’s been years; I can’t quite recall—”

Yu Ye dashed straight for the path he’d taken up.

His elders had said: in the mountains, take the familiar path, never the unknown. Even if Mount Beiqi had another way down, he dared not risk it. At least he knew this route; if he could reach the base before the Qizhou master, there was hope.

Within moments, they crossed the iron-chain suspension bridge.

Past the Spirit Platform and its hundred-foot drop, a stone stairway wound down the mountain.

It’s said: climbing up is easier than going down. Though descending was less effort, the thick rain and mist made the twisting steps appear to hang in midair, their end unseen. The slick stones threatened a deadly fall with the slightest misstep.

Yu Ye dared not be careless nor slow. He picked his spot, leaped down several yards, landed lightly with his toes, and used the momentum to spring to another rock. Repeating this, he descended dozens of yards in moments. Zhong Jian, usually bold, now clung to his back in silence…

After about a quarter of an hour, they finally reached the foot of the mountain.

Below, the rain had stopped, and the landscape was clear.

Follow the path to the right, and you’d reach the main gate of Mount Beiqi, which led straight to the main road and a nearby grove.

Yu Ye, carrying Zhong Jian, ran for the gate. No pursuers appeared—he had, it seemed, beaten the Qizhou expert to the punch.

In an escape, decisiveness and seizing the initiative were key; that, Yu Ye had learned well.

But—there were people at the steps below the gate.

As Yu Ye neared, he stopped dead.

Three men stood there: two burly fellows holding long knives to the chest of a young man. The two, fierce and intimidating; the young man, clad in Daoist robes, trembled in fear, paralyzed.

Not the Qizhou master!

Yu Ye breathed easier, not slowing, intent on dashing through the gate and fleeing far away.

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But the three suddenly cried out—

“Thief, halt—”

“Hero, save me—”

Yu Ye paid them no heed.

The two brutes were Hu the Elder’s men, left to guard the gate, unaware of the carnage above. Otherwise, they’d have been scared witless. The young man was likely a disciple of Mount Beiqi, though how he came to be trapped here was anyone’s guess.

“Twang—”

The bowstring sang; an arrow struck the forehead of one knife-wielder, felling him instantly.

Zhong Jian had acted. Though unable to walk, perched on Yu Ye’s shoulder, he wielded the crossbow without mercy toward Hu the Elder’s men. He muttered grimly, “Avenging my brothers…”

The other brute, fierce as ever, seeing his companion fall, raised his blade and charged with a roar.

Yu Ye swung his sword, knocking the long knife aside with a clang. Seizing the moment as the man staggered back, he dashed forward with Zhong Jian. The young man, stunned, did not move.

“Go—!” Yu Ye shouted.

“Ah…” The young man started, then bolted.

He seemed timid, but could run swiftly—clearly versed in light-footwork techniques. Even carrying Zhong Jian, Yu Ye could barely keep up. As they ran, the young man gestured, “Sirs, there are horses hidden in the woods ahead—”

The grove was barely a few hundred yards away. In moments, they arrived.

Yu Ye paused at the forest’s edge, glancing back.

The brute he’d repelled hadn’t pursued, but instead shouted curses—until suddenly he toppled over mid-rant. A sword’s gleam spun, and a figure burst from the gate.

A Qizhou cultivator—a master of sword-flight—had arrived, though a step too late, yet still in pursuit!

Yu Ye dashed into the woods.

The cart and horses they’d left earlier were still there—a sign that fate had not abandoned them.

The young man had already leapt onto a horse, ingratiatingly saying, “The horses’ owners are dead, sirs—take whichever you please!”

Zhong Jian grunted.

Yu Ye seized a horse, hoisted Zhong Jian onto its back, handed him the reins, and smacked the animal’s rump. Neighing wildly, the horse shot from the woods. Yu Ye mounted another.

But as he tried to ride, the horse spun in circles, nearly throwing him.

What was wrong?

Hadn’t he ridden before?

He had—once, with Jiang Xiong leading, which left his backside sore. And another time, blindfolded and bound by Bai Zhi, forced to lie atop a horse for seven days.

But alone? No, never.

He suddenly remembered he’d never truly ridden a horse himself; only his light frame kept him from being thrown. Grabbing the mane, he squeezed with his legs and shouted, “Beast, go—”

With his cultivation, his strength far surpassed the average man. All his might now pressed into the horse. In pain, it whinnied and bucked through the forest. Perhaps sensing its rider’s will, or unable to resist, the horse finally bolted out.

The Qizhou master was thirty yards behind, seeing two on horseback fleeing, and a third just leaving the woods. Raising his hand, his sword gleamed.

Yu Ye charged onto the main road, urging his steed. A blade of sword-light shot toward him, fast as wind or lightning, close behind in an instant.

Yu Ye’s spiritual sense reached only ten yards or so—of little use, but enough in a crisis. Sensing the danger, he shoved his sword into the saddlebag, drew it in reverse, and swung backward.

Clang!

A thunderous crash; his arm ached from the force, as if struck by a thousand pounds.

Yu Ye sprawled onto the horse’s neck, barely keeping hold of his sword—just managing to block the attack.

Strange. This Qizhou master’s cultivation was strong, yet his sword’s force was somewhat weaker.

Yu Ye glanced back.

The flying sword hovered a few yards behind, but a ball of flame now sped ahead.

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The fireball was over three yards wide, rolling through the air in broad daylight, crackling ominously—a bizarre and terrifying sight.

Riding, Yu Ye had nowhere to dodge, and his sword could not ward it off. He cursed inwardly, but refused to await death passively, focusing his dwindling energy to shield his body.

Boom!

A wave of searing killing intent surged, but before it reached him, the fireball exploded and faded.

As the flames died, the sword-light struck again.

Yu Ye swung his blade in defense.

Clang!

Another thunderous impact, brutal in force.

Yu Ye leaned forward, sword in hand, muttering to himself as he glanced back.

This blow was fierce, yet weaker than before. Was the enemy holding back, or had he himself grown stronger?

He saw the Qizhou master now lagged over forty yards behind, chasing desperately, but even his speed could not match the madly galloping horse. His sword, still circling a few yards away, now seemed weaker, less threatening.

Ah—so a cultivator’s sword and spells depend on their cultivation and spiritual sense. At great distance, their power wanes accordingly.

Understanding this, Yu Ye relaxed.

Sure enough, as the horse sped up, the Qizhou master gradually halted and recalled his sword.

But just then, a voice rang out clearly: “Boy, I didn’t expect Mount Beiqi to have a disciple like you…”

“Huh? Who’s speaking?” Yu Ye exclaimed in surprise.

Not the Jiao Shadow, but a man’s voice.

“Hmph, this is mental transmission. Boy, what is your name?”

So spiritual sense could transmit speech?

The techniques Jiao Shadow had taught him were profound, yet none included such magic.

Yu Ye, lying low on his horse, looked back.

The Qizhou master had stopped, watching him from afar, clearly using mental transmission, eager to learn his name.

“I…” Yu Ye almost blurted out ‘Yu Ye from Yu Family Village,’ but caught himself. “I won’t tell you…”

“Hmph!” With a cold snort, the master turned and left.

Yu Ye snorted as well, feeling elated.

Escaping Mount Beiqi had been no small feat—courage and cunning were both essential, as was a measure of luck.

A master was not invincible; by playing to one’s strengths, the weak could overcome the strong. As long as the horse ran fast, pursuit would fail.

But could a horse outrun a Foundation Establishment master flying on his sword?

Yu Ye’s relief lasted but a moment before anxiety returned. He shouted, “Brother Zhong—”

Though Zhong Jian’s leg was broken, he could still ride, and had set off ahead, now dozens of yards in front. The young man was even more at ease, looking back with a smile. “Ha! Brother, your skills are impressive, but your horsemanship leaves much to be desired!”

Yu Ye, anxious and frustrated, was left speechless.

I’m only sixteen; you’re in your twenties—who are you calling brother? First time riding, and you want to talk horsemanship?

On the muddy road, clods of earth flew.

Three horses raced, one after the other.

A rainbow arched high across the sky…