Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wild Chapter 39: Arrogance

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Several burly men emerged from the shade of roadside trees. Each carried a sharp blade, their faces fierce and intimidating.

The man in the lead reached out to block Yu Ye’s path, casting a scrutinizing gaze up and down. “Boy, how old are you this year? Ever been a Daoist? And where exactly do you think you’re going?”

Yu Ye was forced to halt, utterly taken aback.

Yan Chi had warned him that Boss Hu was scouring the area for Daoists. These men, no doubt, were under Boss Hu’s command. Yet Yan Chi hadn’t mentioned there would be a checkpoint at the crossroads. He was familiar with this place, surely he would know. And Zhong Jian, always so well-informed, hadn’t mentioned it either—instead, he’d urged Yu Ye to set out quickly, as if hurrying him straight into the jaws of danger.

Still reeling, Yu Ye glanced back at the road behind him.

So many things had turned out contrary to his assumptions—what he thought he understood proved false, and what he doubted came to pass.

“Boy, are you deaf or what?” the interrogator barked again.

Yu Ye looked around, replying with a feigned calm, “How could I be a Daoist? I’m just out to visit a friend. Gentlemen, I’d be grateful if you let me pass.”

Though the road was close to the town’s main street, the presence of these men kept passersby either hurrying along or giving the area a wide berth.

“You don’t sound local.”

“I’m traveling, just passing through.”

“You’re not covered in dust, your clothes are clean, your boots are new. Do you look like someone who’s been on the road?”

The man pressed, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s.

Yu Ye frowned in silence. He’d grown up rarely wearing new clothes, and this rare chance to dress freshly had brought him nothing but trouble.

The man’s suspicious gaze settled on the saddlebag. He reached out, grabbing at the sword hilt sticking out.

Yu Ye’s blue-steel sword, though tucked into the saddlebag, still showed its ornate hilt and part of the sheath—anyone with an eye for weapons would know this was no common blade.

The man drew the sword in one swift motion. As the blade shimmered, cold light flashed menacingly. He nodded, “As I thought, a Daoist weapon.”

Instantly, the other men surrounded Yu Ye, their sabers and swords pressing against his throat and back.

Yu Ye froze where he stood, feigning fear. Slowly, he let go of the reins, but played dumb: “Who exactly are you looking for, sir? Is this about Daoists?”

With the road so close to town, the bystanders stared in shock at the scene, the street beyond still bustling as usual.

“He’s not from around here, is he?” one muttered.

“Just traveling,” Yu Ye insisted.

“You’re too clean for someone on the road. Your boots are fresh, your face shows no fatigue—hardly the look of a wanderer.” The man was relentless.

Yu Ye grew quiet, his brows knitting.

The man’s eyes fell to the sword; he grabbed it and drew it from the saddlebag. The blade gleamed, the craftsmanship obvious.

He sneered, “Clearly a Daoist’s sword!”

The men closed in, weapons pressed to Yu Ye’s throat and back.

Yu Ye stood stiff, as if terrified, and slowly loosened his grip on the reins. He feigned confusion: “Who is it you’re seeking, exactly? Someone from the Daoist sect?”

“Heh!” The man pointed the blade at Yu Ye with a cruel smile. “I’m looking for a fifteen or sixteen-year-old Daoist boy who’s caused havoc at Xuanyang Mountain and Beiqi Mountain, slaughtered countless Daoist disciples. There’s a bounty on his head from Beiqi Mountain, and every man in the martial world has been urged to kill him. You’re about his age, shifty-eyed, full of lies, and carry a Daoist’s sword. I’d like to know—are you him?”

Yu Ye’s expression turned cold, his eyes uncertain.

The man, triumphant, ordered, “Go quickly to the east end of town and report to the Daoist master—I’ve found him!”

Another man sheathed his saber and dashed off toward the town.

At the east end of town, another checkpoint awaited. But what Daoist master would be among a band of thugs?

Yu Ye’s brow twitched; suddenly, a flash of blue light flickered over him. With a thundering burst, the blades pressed to his chest and back were swept away. The man holding the sword stumbled back, forced away by a surge of power. In a single motion, Yu Ye snatched back the sword, flicked his wrist, and the blade spun—cold flashes swirling. Blood spurted, and the four men surrounding him fell with blades to their throats.

The man retreating in shock was pierced through the throat by another stroke.

Unfinished, Yu Ye leapt into the air, flung his sword—like an arrow loosed from a bow, it shot toward the fleeing man.

The man running toward town had made it dozens of yards before collapsing. The sword pinned him to the ground, its hilt quivering.

Yu Ye landed, strode over, and yanked the sword free, a gush of blood splattering the earth.

Almost simultaneously, the five men he’d slain toppled to the ground.

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Yu Ye flicked the blood from his blade, spun lightly, and returned to his horse. Sheathing the sword, he vaulted into the saddle. The horse pawed the ground, circling once. He glanced over the corpses, the stunned faces of onlookers, and the busy street beyond, then spurred his horse and rode away.

...

“Murder! Murder!”

At the Delightful Arrival Inn.

Yan Chi rushed into Zhong Jian’s room, excitement in his eyes. “Six dead at the west end of town!”

Zhong Jian, seated with his bandaged, broken leg stretched stiffly, leaned forward eagerly. “Were they Boss Hu’s men? Who killed them?”

His two brothers stood nearby, equally attentive.

Yan Chi gestured: “All six were Boss Hu’s men, slain by Yu Ye. Boss Hu has made an enemy for life—he won’t let this go!”

Zhong Jian asked, “Was the master from Qizhou present?”

“The Qizhou master was at the east end of town. By the time he reached the west gate, Yu Ye was long gone. Now he’s gathering men to chase after him.”

Yan Chi grew more animated as he spoke, praising, “Senior Brother Zhong, your eye for people is sharp indeed—Yu Ye is ruthless when pushed, killing six in the blink of an eye!”

Zhong Quan and Zhong Yi exchanged glances, struggling to picture a youth slaughtering six men in public.

“Ha!” Zhong Jian stroked his thick beard and laughed. “He claimed he wasn’t a killer—only because he’d never been forced to the brink. Now look at him—killing as easily as eating or drinking.”

“Yu Ye has drawn Qizhou’s expert away. Let’s seize the chance to leave Beiqi Town.”

“Yes, have the carriage and horses ready at any moment!”

“Senior Brother—” Yan Chi, suddenly uneasy, said, “If Yu Ye figures things out later, even if he doesn’t blame you, he’ll blame me. What if he turns on us? I thought him naive and easy to guide, but I never imagined he could kill so mercilessly!”

“No matter,” Zhong Jian waved a hand, unconcerned. “He’s inexperienced—he needs to taste the world’s danger. I’m helping him, really. But you may have to part with that family heirloom pearl.”

“Not just the pearl, but the family’s secret manual as well.”

“A secret manual?”

“A jade slip passed down in my family—I don’t know what it is, just said it to sweeten the deal. Now I’m starting to regret it…”

...

Stars filled the sky.

A cool night breeze blew.

Yu Ye sat on the grass in the woods, wolfing down braised meat. His pack lay beside him—just a raincloth, blanket, sword, and bundle. His horse, relieved of its burden, grazed by a pond a few yards away, flicking its tail and snorting contentedly.

He ate a chunk of meat, drank some water, stretched, and let out a satisfied belch.

He’d left Beiqi Town at dawn, ridden hard all day, and only stopped after nightfall, covering nearly a hundred miles. Judging by the horse’s pace and the distance, he’d reach Lishui Town by midday tomorrow.

He hoped the escort mission would go smoothly, with no more mishaps. Afterward, he’d head to Luming Mountain to deliver Feng Old Seven’s belongings to his family—fulfilling the old man’s last wish would ease his heart.

But today’s ambush had not been an accident—it was a setup.

He wasn’t supposed to encounter Boss Hu’s men, nor did he want to kill, even hesitating until the last moment. Yet once events unfolded, he was swept along, unable to hold back—if he’d spared those men, Qizhou’s expert would have caught up, with unthinkable consequences.

Did he resent Zhong Jian for the deception and manipulation?

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What use was anger or hatred now? Better to be moving on his own, coming and going at will, than cowering in an inn waiting for enemies to come knocking, then fighting a bloody escape. By drawing Qizhou’s expert away, he was also giving Zhong Jian a chance to slip away. Perhaps that was his intention all along. As a wandering swordsman, Zhong Jian lived by the blade and made foes everywhere—if he weren’t shrewd, cunning, and keenly aware of human nature, he’d never have survived this long.

Still, Yu Ye hadn’t expected to kill six people in a row. He’d hesitated, even felt pity, but once his sword moved, he’d been decisive, ruthless, unrelenting.

Was it Yu Ye himself who had changed, or were those men simply deserving of death?

Or had the world changed, grown darker, more dangerous?

Perhaps neither he nor the world had changed. Rather, these were the growing pains of youth, the confusion of facing an uncertain future. He’d stepped out of his mountain village and into the tangled affairs of the Daoist world. The storms unleashed there were far beyond his current understanding. This conflict might sweep across the great marshes, engulf Qizhou, and shake even distant lands—far beyond what he could imagine today.

As for what would come next, that was a question for another day.

Boss Hu’s men had clearly been after him. They hadn’t named him outright, but their words had shocked and angered him.

What had that man said? A fifteen or sixteen-year-old Daoist, who had brought disaster to Xuanyang Mountain and Beiqi Mountain, slaughtered countless Daoist disciples, and was now wanted by all.

Yet he knew Xuanyang and Beiqi had been destroyed by Bu Yi. How had he, Yu Ye, become the scapegoat?

Clearly, Bu Yi, unable to find Yu Ye after his accomplice was killed, had pinned the blame on him, spreading rumors to set the martial world against him.

Why such underhanded tactics? Was it truly just for revenge?

And why would a Qizhou cultivator come to stir up trouble in the marshes? Did he already know Yu Ye’s background—could this be related to Chen Qi? If Chen Qi had sided with Bu Yi, what had happened to Bai Zhi?

Yu Ye had been on the move all day. Now, belly full and cooled by the night wind, he should have been at ease, like his horse. Yet an uneasy restlessness gnawed at him.

He reached for his water flask and took a sip, his mind still in turmoil.

He picked up a wine jug—small, palm-sized, weighing about a pound. It was a gift from Zhong Jian, along with his provisions. Would the wine ease his worries? He might as well try.

He took a swig, and the fiery liquor burned his throat, making him cough violently. A wave of heat rushed through his chest—he couldn’t help but gasp and blow out the fumes.

What a strong wine, what a powerful kick!

Yu Ye set the jug down, his belly still burning. Shaking his head, he felt a bit lightheaded.

Enough—perhaps he was too young for wine, especially for the bitterness and fire within it. Learning to kill was, after all, not difficult. Learning to drink, on the other hand, was not so easy.

He gathered his breath, circulating his inner energy to dispel the discomfort from the wine in an instant.

From his coat, he drew a lustrous pearl and a jade slip.

The pearl glowed faintly in the night—clearly a treasure. The jade slip was just five inches long, obviously broken.

This was Yan Chi’s luminous pearl and the secret manual, thrust into his hands as he left the inn, supposedly as a deposit for a future exchange of techniques. Looking back, Yan Chi’s “kindness” was anything but simple.

A secret manual?

He immersed his spirit sense into the jade slip.

Supreme Talisman…

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