Volume One: Dragon Rising from the Wilderness Chapter Forty-Two: The Freeloader

Noon.

The sun blazed high in the sky.

A small caravan of carriages and riders made its way down the shaded avenue. At the fore rode two men, Pan Yuan and Yuan Jiu. Pan Yuan was tall and powerfully built, with a fierce, wolfish air, his eyes roaming with brazen arrogance. Yuan Jiu, as ever, wore a blank expression, his eyes half-lidded as if perpetually weary, yet when he glanced back, the sharpness of his gaze was unmistakable—an eagle’s vigilance, a wolf’s cunning.

Behind them, the carriage bore Master Kuang and his family of three. Madam Kuang and her daughter rode within, while Master Kuang, unable to bear the close air, sat atop the driver’s seat, relishing the cool breeze. Beside him sat Mo Can, whose body bore the marks of old wounds—yet though crippled, he sat upright, his lone eye fixed steadily ahead, one hand resting on a whip, unbothered by the jolting of the cart.

Ji Yan followed behind, driving the wagon loaded with goods, a relaxed smile on his face. He was well used to the hardships of travel, having wandered far and wide for years; a journey of a thousand miles was, to him, but a matter of days.

Trailing alone at the rear was another rider.

Since leaving Lishui Town with Master Kuang’s party, Yu Ye had followed the southwest road. The carriage, drawn by a pair of horses, made quick time; by midday they had covered some sixty or seventy miles. No one paid him any mind, and he moved with them like an unnecessary shadow. Yet he cared little, content to observe the passing scenery in silence, at ease with himself.

It was the height of spring—sunlight bright, flowers vivid, the grass lush and green. The wild hills rolled by, a living painting. Even Madam Kuang and her daughter could not resist opening the window, losing themselves in the beauty of the season.

“Mother, what lovely weather…”

“It truly is.”

All along the way, mother and daughter whispered together, their voices clear even through the clatter of wheels and hooves—such is the utility of spiritual senses: the ease of overhearing the secrets of others.

Yu Ye, riding along, shook his head gently as his horse moved beneath him.

He disliked eavesdropping; what he heard was by chance, not intent.

From their conversation, he learned the young lady’s name was Kuang Xian, her childhood name Cai’er—“Amaranth,” after the leafy green. They journeyed to Que Ling Mountain to visit the family of Madam Kuang’s birth. The road was long and, fearing danger, Master Kuang had asked his acquaintance Zhong Jian to bring several men as escort. Zhong Jian, however, had not come, and Master Kuang was forced to find replacements. Pan Yuan and Yuan Jiu, staying at the Heji Inn, quickly took the job ahead of others, which led to some discontent—and finally, a bloody conflict with local toughs. Madam Kuang had complained, and Master Kuang regretted the trouble, but what was done was done; all he could hope for now was safe passage.

As for the boy who had arrived the previous night, the mother and daughter had not mentioned him. Perhaps a hanger-on who ate at their expense was not worth discussing.

“We’ll stop here—rest for a bit!”

At Pan Yuan’s shout, the caravan halted.

“Stable boy, see to the horses.”

Pan Yuan and Yuan Jiu dismounted and called out, “Master Kuang, bring out the food and wine!”

Ji Yan muttered under his breath but fetched fodder and two buckets of water for the horses. He then unloaded grass mats, a wooden table, and two boxes of food, setting them beneath the shade of a tree.

Master Kuang helped his wife and daughter down from the carriage, and they sat with Pan Yuan and Yuan Jiu. Before Master Kuang could offer, the two men had already seized the meat and pastries, devouring them greedily. Madam Kuang and her daughter took their own portions and ate without complaint.

Mo Can stayed by the carriage, quietly eating his own dry rations.

Yu Ye dismounted and made his way toward the shade, but before he reached the others, Ji Yan intercepted him, handing him a piece of dried meat and gesturing that he should rest elsewhere.

“Master Kuang—” Yu Ye began to protest.

Master Kuang had promised food and drink along the way; he would not be so easily brushed aside.

But Master Kuang, mouth full of pastries, nodded with a smile. “No need for ceremony—go on, go on.”

Pan Yuan laughed, his face full of scorn.

Cai’er, beside her father, cast a glance back, amusement flickering in her eyes.

Yu Ye stood stunned for a moment, then turned away, head down.

Back at the horses, one of them, still munching on fodder, nickered affectionately, shaking its mane and swishing its tail at him. Yu Ye smiled at last, sat beside it, and took a bite of the dried meat—savory and delicious.

“Brother Yu—”

Ji Yan approached.

“If this spot’s not to your liking, I can find you another…”

Yu Ye made to get up, but Ji Yan pressed him back down, handing him a pastry. “Brother, don’t be angry.”

Angry?

What for?

Ji Yan sat beside him, lowering his voice. “You, Pan Yuan, and Yuan Jiu are all retainers hired by Master Kuang, yet he treats you so differently. How can you not mind?”

So he’d noticed Yu Ye’s awkward position and came to offer comfort.

A few months ago, Yu Ye would have burned with anger at such slight—he’d have berated Master Kuang for unfairness. Now, he felt nothing of the sort. In fact, he could not even find a reason to be angry. Perhaps the hotheaded youth had finally grown up.

“Don’t blame Master Kuang,” Ji Yan continued.

He was in his early twenties, hair tied neatly, features clean, dressed in coarse blue jacket and soft boots, every detail tidy and sharp. His words were open and sincere, lively eyes flashing as he spoke.

“In wealthy households, retainers are ranked and treated accordingly. Master Kuang isn’t a great merchant, but even with only three retainers, he must keep up appearances. Isn’t that so?”

Yu Ye chewed his food in silence.

Indeed, among retainers were all sorts—some skilled, some mere swordsmen, some wandering knights, some thieves and ruffians. Each received the treatment his abilities merited. In Master Kuang’s eyes, Pan Yuan and Yuan Jiu were worth high pay; Yu Ye, perhaps, was nothing. Was he truly so useless?

“Last night, you stayed calm in crisis, showed restraint, made tough choices—that’s rare for someone your age.”

Such smooth words seemed beyond a mere servant.

“That’s what Master Kuang said. Yet he also wanted me to tell you: in the world, victory requires not only courage and wit, but also strength of arms and sharp blades. If you wish to turn back, he won’t blame you. For Zhong Jian’s sake, he’ll even give you travel money. What do you say?”

So, Master Kuang was using Ji Yan to send him away.

Yu Ye did not answer immediately, but asked, “Brother Ji, have you ever been to Deer Cry Mountain?”

“No, but I know of it. It’s two or three hundred miles south of Que Ling Mountain. Why do you ask, Brother Yu?”

Just then, Pan Yuan shouted again, “Boy, bring out the wine!”

Ji Yan muttered under his breath, “No inns for miles, what wine does he want? He’ll delay us for sure.” He cast Yu Ye a helpless look, brushed the dust from his clothes, and went to answer Pan Yuan’s call.

Before leaving, Pan Yuan had observed proprieties; on the road, he’d thrown them aside. He ordered Ji Yan about and shouted at Master Kuang. At every stop, he insisted on drinking. Madam Kuang and Cai’er retreated to the carriage to rest, leaving Master Kuang to play reluctant host.

Yu Ye finished his food and water, then searched Ji Yan’s wagon for a scrap of cloth, which he tore into strips. He removed his sword from his pack and wrapped the hilt and scabbard, covering the symbols of his sect.

No matter how Master Kuang hinted or advised, Yu Ye would not leave before they reached Que Ling Mountain. Yet he did not wish anyone to know of his affiliation, to avoid trouble.

The cloth-wrapped sword looked battered, its sharpness hidden.

Yu Ye slipped it back into his pack, then paused, his expression shifting.

A dozen yards away, someone sat beside the carriage, head bowed in sleep, a wooden stool beneath him. Yet a moment before, Yu Ye was certain—he’d been watching with his lone eye. When Yu Ye turned, the man quickly ducked his head, feigning sleep. But no movement, however subtle, could escape his spiritual senses.

Mo Can.

This was the crippled driver, one-eyed, one-armed, his face crisscrossed with scars—a man who bore the ironic name “Mo Can,” meaning “None Left.”

Yu Ye patted his horse, smoothing its mane and hugging its neck.

Human hearts are hard to fathom, far less simple than beasts. Show a horse a little kindness, and it will carry you a thousand miles.

He returned the leftover fodder to the wagon, then stood alone at the roadside, gazing into the distance.

In the afternoon sun, a mist veiled the verdant hills—a living energy seemed to rise and swirl in the air.

“Ha! Let’s move on!” Pan Yuan called out, sated and cheerful.

A brief rest had stretched to nearly an hour under his delay.

“Let’s go!” Master Kuang echoed, though his voice betrayed his weariness.

Ji Yan waved at Yu Ye, relief clear on his face.

Mo Can quietly put away his stool, climbed to the driver’s seat, and without seeming to move his arm, cracked the whip with a crisp snap.

The wheels began to turn. The caravan moved on.

Yu Ye rode at the rear as before, a spirit stone in his hand.

It was one of only two he possessed, its radiant luster faded, now chalky white. Its spiritual energy was almost spent, but it was still precious.

In the Great Ze, spiritual energy was scarce. No matter how hard one trained, without elixirs or spirit stones, advancing in cultivation was all but impossible. To this day, the Daoist sects of Great Ze had never produced a single Foundation Establishment master, perhaps for this reason.

But where could one find more spirit stones?

Yu Ye reached into his robe, and the stone in his palm became a jade slip.

The Supreme Spirit Talisman.

This was a secret art from the Yan family’s ancestral records, though much had been lost. Only the summary and talisman-crafting chapters remained intact, with an attached method for forging a single talisman.

According to the summary, there were seventy-two Supreme Spirit Talismans: for exorcising ghosts, dispelling demons, warding off misfortune, safeguarding the home, seeking wealth, ensuring offspring, and so on. It seemed little more than the common tricks of wandering Daoists, of little use to true cultivators.

That had been Yu Ye’s first impression. But reading it again, he changed his mind.

The lone surviving talisman was the Armor-Breaking Talisman, with detailed instructions—a spell for passing unseen through walls.

Invisibility and passing through walls—what sorcery was this?

It seemed more like a charlatan’s trick.

Yet the talisman-crafting chapter was extremely thorough. Skills are never a burden; why not study and experiment? If the Armor-Breaking Talisman truly worked, it would be a valuable means of saving his own life.

Just then, the caravan suddenly halted.

Yu Ye looked up.

He realized, at last, that this journey would not be as smooth as he had hoped…