Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wilds Chapter Fifty-Nine: Eradicate Evil to Its Roots

Luming Mountain.

Pingshui Town.

Yu Ye pulled on the reins and let his horse slow to a walk.

Having set out at dawn, he had not slackened his pace. By afternoon, he found himself once more at Pingshui Town, beneath the oppressive blaze of the sun. The heat did not trouble him, but his horse was panting, its coat slick with sweat.

He needed to find a place to rest, for the journey ahead was still long.

Over the past months, he had traveled from Xingyuan Valley to the Yan family in Suyan River, then to Xuanhuang Mountain, Tianmen Town, Beiqi Mountain, Beiqi Town, Lishui Town, Magpie Spirit Mountain, and finally Luming Mountain—covering three or four thousand miles in all. Now, even if he took a different route home to Xingyuan Valley, at least another two thousand miles awaited him.

Fortunately, his horse was strong. In half a month, he would return to Xingyuan Valley.

He had already decided: this time, when he returned to seek out Old Qiu, he would not alert the villagers. Truth be told, he still could not face the elders and townsfolk. Whether he would find Old Qiu remained uncertain. Yet he had to return, for the old man had named him, saved his life, and owed him a debt of rebirth. Moreover, the old man’s background was tied to Qizhou and was his only hope of finding answers to his questions.

Pingshui Town lay just ahead.

Beside the main road stood a familiar courtyard. As Yu Ye rode past, curiosity made him glance over.

It was Guan San’s house.

Guan San had once stolen his horse. When Yu Ye came to reclaim it, he was bullied by Guan San’s wife. The couple had two young children.

Now the gate stood wide open, a crowd gathered at the entrance. Through the doorway, inside the courtyard, lay a shrouded corpse.

Someone had died in Guan San’s house; if he recalled, the old mother had recently passed away.

But were there more than one dead?

He overheard the crowd’s murmurs—

“Ah, all five of them are dead. How pitiful, the whole family wiped out!”

“Relatives from the wife’s side came to handle the funeral, or else no one would even bury them.”

“I heard earlier the old mother died, but how is it that in just two days, Guan San, his wife, and the children are all dead too?”

“They say Guan San came into some unexpected fortune, ignored his dying mother, and went off gambling again. Then he ran into a gang of ruffians who pressed him about the source of his money. He claimed he had a brother—young, capable, with a fine horse and a sharp sword, a famous figure in the underworld—who had visited recently and gifted him a large sum of silver. In truth, he has no brother; he just loved to boast. So the gang took him home to find his ‘brother,’ and today the dreadful news spread…”

“Hush, disaster comes from the mouth. Watch your words, all of you!”

Yu Ye swung down from his horse and strode forward, parting the crowd to step through the gate, his face darkening, brows furrowing.

On a bamboo couch before the main house lay the body of the elderly woman, already reeking with the thick stench of decay. In the courtyard, four more corpses—Guan San, his wife, and their two young children. A layer of yellow earth had been hastily strewn about, but blood still seeped through in patches. The scene testified to a massacre of unspeakable brutality.

The entire family, exterminated.

Guan San had been a gambling addict and bully, his wife a shrew from the market. Though both were of poor character, Yu Ye had never quarreled with them. Even when he paid silver to redeem his stolen horse, it had been a matter he quickly forgot—considering it alms for the bereaved and the young children.

Who would have thought his kindness would lead to such a calamity?

Even if Guan San was a braggart, five taels of silver should not have drawn a slaughter upon his household. And what guilt had the two small children, to be butchered as well?

The “brother” Guan San described—a young man, mounted, bearing a sword—was none other than Yu Ye himself.

It was those few words that had brought disaster upon them!

Could it be that Jiang Xiong’s accomplices had come for him? After killing Jiang Xiong, Yu Ye had not searched thoroughly for fear of drawing attention, letting the others escape—perhaps they had now returned with reinforcements for revenge.

Yu Ye stepped into the yard.

“Who is in charge here?”

A middle-aged man came forward.

“I am the children’s uncle, may I ask—?”

Yu Ye took out two silver ingots. “Take these. Use them for the funeral.”

The man hastily accepted the silver.

“Who might you be…?”

Yu Ye did not answer, turning to leave.

The onlookers murmured in surprise,

“Could that be Guan San’s brother?”

“It must be—look at his horse, his sword, the silver he just handed out…”

Yu Ye passed through the crowd with a grim face, vaulted into the saddle, exhaled heavily, and rode toward the town at a measured pace.

He did not deny being taken as Guan San’s brother. The calamity that befell that household was, in the end, entangled with him. Yet the true villains were the underworld ruffians.

Pingshui Town nestled in a mountain hollow, with two main streets running east-west and north-south, a single inn, a few wine shops, and a dozen or so stores.

The heat of the afternoon had emptied the streets. Yu Ye rode around the town until he found an eatery still open. Dismounting, he went inside to rest.

The innkeeper, a middle-aged man, was tidying the stove; the mealtime rush had passed, leaving only half a basin of lamb offal soup.

Yu Ye tossed him a piece of broken silver and ordered the soup, then asked for a bucket of water and some mixed grain from the shop next door to feed his horse.

The innkeeper pocketed the silver with a cheerful smile and bustled about his tasks.

Yu Ye sat at a table by the street, sipping the hot lamb soup. The street remained deserted, but now and then, at a distant corner, he glimpsed two shifty-eyed men peering his way before slipping off.

Looking south, he could see Luming Mountain rising beneath the blue sky and white clouds, its summit shaped like a stag’s head, forever raised as if crying to the heavens—bearing witness, through the ages, to the changing tides of fortune and the shifting shades of human virtue and vice.

When the soup was finished and nothing had happened, Yu Ye lingered a while longer, then rose and bid the innkeeper farewell. He tossed the half-sack of leftover grain onto his horse’s back and led the animal through the town’s winding streets.

Leaving the mountain hollow of Pingshui Town, he crossed a stone bridge.

Ahead lay a mountain pass leading back to the road he had come.

Yu Ye glanced back at the town, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He did not mount, but instead drew his sword and walked alone toward the mountain pass.

Beyond the bend, the mountain path stretched onward, with sheer rock faces rising on either side, jagged stones and sparse trees beneath the blazing sun—a scene of utter desolation and silence.

Holding his sword in a reverse grip, Yu Ye pressed forward.

He had gone barely a dozen yards when, from above, came the sudden twang of bowstrings, followed by the thunderous crash of rolling stones and the snap of a giant net falling from the sky.

Yu Ye leapt forward, sword raised to shield his head, as arrows clattered down in a deadly rain and boulders smashed into the road behind him.

The net missed its mark.

Yu Ye stopped abruptly.

From the thickets and rocks, more than twenty men sprang out, shouting and closing in. In the blink of an eye, he was surrounded on all sides.

Yu Ye’s brows arched, his gaze sweeping coldly over his assailants.

This was a group he had half-expected, and yet did not know. The ambush—arrows, stones, a falling net—was ruthless and deadly, meant to end him without mercy.

“That’s the one! He killed Jiang Xiong!”

On a large boulder stood a man whose face still bore a kindly smile, but now he held a long blade.

Yu Ye looked at him and could not help but laugh—though his laughter was tinged with bitter irony.

This was the tea-seller he had met two days before. At the time, Yu Ye had thought him an honest man and had paid him generously for his tea. Who would have guessed he was Jiang Xiong’s accomplice? Clearly, Jiang Xiong’s sudden appearance, as well as Guan San’s family’s tragedy, had all been part of his doing.

People truly could not be judged by appearances.

And what blinded one to the truth was always one’s own eyes.

“Boy, what’s so funny?” the man asked, blade raised. “You may have some skills, but do you think you’ll survive today?”

Despite the failed trap, the overwhelming numbers left him confident. He had summoned more than twenty underworld experts—how could they fail to deal with a solitary youth?

Yu Ye’s eyes swept the group, and instead of answering, he asked, “Are you all Jiang Xiong’s accomplices?”

The tea-seller snorted. “I’m here for profit, not for any brotherhood,” he replied, then continued, “Let’s be frank. You killed Jiang Xiong, went to Luming Mountain, had your horse stolen by a thug—Guan San. You paid five taels of silver to redeem your mount, then made your way to Beimang Village. You must have found Old Feng’s treasure, though who knows where you hid it. I advise you to hand it over, or else…” He glanced around at his allies. “These brothers have come at my summons by blue-feathered message—they won’t leave empty-handed.”

His words made it clear: he had tracked Yu Ye’s every movement. Even if Yu Ye slew him, with so many people, the treasure could still be found.

The rumors of Old Feng’s hidden wealth had indeed spread widely through the underworld.

This “blue-feathered message” was a method used by underworld folk to communicate, sending trained birds to carry information over great distances in a single day.

Yu Ye stared at the tea-seller in silence, his brows lowering, his gaze growing colder.

His anger over Guan San’s annihilated family had already stirred a killing intent within him. Now, with the realization of the danger to Xiuzhen and Wan’er, that murderous resolve burned hotter and more absolute.

If these ruthless killers ever found the girls, the consequences would be unimaginable.

“Boy—” the tea-seller growled, impatient, waving his hand.

Five or six men raised crossbows, the rest brandished their blades, waiting for the order to finish off the youth trapped in their circle.

But Yu Ye struck first, throwing himself into their midst. Bowstrings twanged, arrows whistled like locusts. His sword flashed, weaving a net of gleaming steel. Blood sprayed, limbs flew. He vaulted upward, arrows glancing off his body, and with each sweep of his blade another man fell with a scream. Those who tried to flee were cut down without mercy. The encirclement collapsed instantly, men scattering in terror. Like a wolf on the hunt, Yu Ye chased them down—left, right, his sword flashed, and none who resisted could escape his speed or the sharpness of his blade.

In moments, the path and rocks were littered with corpses.

Yu Ye landed atop a stone, sword trembling with undiminished fury.

One, two, three… twenty-three?

He remembered clearly—there had been twenty-four assailants. Now only twenty-three bodies lay on the ground.

Leaping to the highest boulder, Yu Ye scanned the woods below.

There—a figure was fleeing at full speed.

Yu Ye swooped down, light as a bird, closing the distance in a few strides.

He caught up in seconds. His sword flickered, and the man tumbled, rolling several times before clutching his legs and howling, “Mercy… spare me…”

It was the tea-seller, his legs slashed open, blood pouring down.

Yu Ye landed beside him, flicked his cloak, and pressed his blade to the man’s throat.

“You… you’re a cultivator…”

“Have you been to Beimang Village?”

“No—I only heard there’s one village a hundred miles south of Luming Mountain. You were gone two days, so I guessed…”

“Where are your accomplices?”

“My men—you killed them all…”

“So there was still one who slipped through.”

“No, no, all my brothers are here…”

“The one who slipped through is you. Pay for Guan San’s family with your life—”

The sword flashed, foul blood sprayed.

Soon after, a raging fire swept the mountain path, consuming the bodies, blades, and crossbows, even scorching and cracking the very stones.

It was his first time using the Fire Talisman, not to defeat a mighty foe, but to burn the corpses and erase all traces.

To root out evil completely—to kill, to silence, to destroy all evidence—such ruthless action was born of bitter, bloody experience.