Volume One: The Dragon Rises from the Wilderness Chapter Seventy-five: When the Moon Reaches the Heart of Heaven

A gentle breeze stirred, and the mist dispersed.

The moon hung at zenith, casting its lonely light over the lake.

Yu Ye drifted atop the water, his body rising and falling with the waves.

He had been swimming for two or three hours—though he had long since left behind the Spirit Jiao Valley, the shore remained elusive, and at last he had to stop and rest.

Just then, he was alone in the water, the moon high above, as if adrift beyond the dust of the mortal world, lost beneath the vastness of the sky. For a time, he forgot the path he had traveled in this life, and could not see where the road ahead might lead. He felt abandoned, trapped in solitude and ceaseless motion.

Yu Ye gazed up at the heavens, resignation in his eyes.

He disliked being carried by the current, yet was always at its mercy.

This great lake must span hundreds of miles, and it was all too easy to lose one’s way. Yet he could not keep drifting; if dawn came, he would risk exposing his whereabouts.

He recalled the ancient texts on constellations: on clear autumn and winter nights, the Morning Star blazes in the east, Sirius dwells in the south.

But which in the sky above was the Morning Star, and which was Sirius?

The Spirit Jiao Valley he’d come from lay due north…

Suddenly, a splash broke the silence.

A fish, over ten feet long, leapt from the water, the spray sparkling like scattered silver.

Yu Ye twisted and lunged, grabbing the fish’s tail. Startled, the creature plunged for the depths, but he held fast, letting himself be pulled rapidly through the water. Unable to shake him off, the fish thrashed ever more wildly, then vaulted high above the surface again.

Under the bright moon, across the shimmering lake, a great fish soared through the night sky with a youth clinging to its tail, before crashing back and cleaving the waves, heading straight toward Sirius.

Whether Sirius or the Morning Star, the direction was southeast, and he had not lost his way.

Childlike delight seized Yu Ye; he clung to the fish, bursting through the water's surface, plunging into the depths, roaming freely between sky and lake.

But just as he reveled in this freedom, a huge net dropped from above. The fish struggled desperately to dive, but Yu Ye was suddenly tangled in a mass of cord, unable to break free, and found himself slowly hauled upward.

With a loud splash, he broke the surface, and heard laughter—

“Ha! This time the net wasn’t empty—caught a big one!”

Following the voices, he saw a small boat floating on the lake, a fishing lantern hanging from its prow, and two men—a young man and a middle-aged one—hauling in the net together.

The big fish had long since escaped; in the net, aside from a mass of flopping small fish, there was only a living, breathing man.

Yu Ye felt awkward and tore at the net.

With a ripping sound, the net broke, and the little fish, saved from death, scattered, splashing across the lake's surface.

Taking advantage of the moment, Yu Ye sprang upward and landed lightly at the stern of the boat.

“Good heavens, a ghost!” cried the middle-aged man, petrified.

“Damn it, that net cost me good money just the other day…” The young man scowled, more pained for his ruined net than frightened, and under the glow of the lantern, looked Yu Ye up and down. “Father, that’s no ghost—it’s a living man!” he snapped, eyes widening in anger. “Who are you, hiding in the water and ruining my net?”

Yu Ye surveyed the boat and the two men, then raised a hand in apology. “Please, don’t be angry! I fell into the water by accident and was dragged here by a giant fish. Thank you both for rescuing me.” He fished out a silver ingot and tossed it into the boat, adding, “I broke your net, so of course I must pay for the damage.”

The young man, in his twenties, was broad-shouldered and rough-featured, dressed in short clothes. He snatched up the silver, a greedy smile lighting his face.

The middle-aged man resembled him, though shorter and darker, with an honest, kindly air. He nodded amiably at Yu Ye as he gathered up the ruined net, grumbling under his breath, “Gan, why’d you take so much silver from the man… it’s more than enough…”

“Mind your own business, Father!” snapped the young man, Gan, stashing the silver away. He seized a bamboo pole, plunged it into the water, and pushed off. “Good haul tonight—let’s go home!”

“Hold tight, young fellow!” the older man called, joining his son with another pole at the stern. As he pushed the boat along, he smiled at Yu Ye. “I’m Gan’s father—just call me Old Lu. We live in a village by Black Dragon Lake. It’s the season for fat fish and plump crabs, so my boy and I come out at night to cast a few nets. Gan’s usually an idler, but these past few days he’s…”

“Father, you’re rambling again!” Gan chided impatiently.

Old Lu shook his head and fell silent.

“Would you mind giving me a lift to shore? I’ll be on my way as soon as we land,” Yu Ye said, making conversation but careful not to get in their way. He sat quietly at the stern, secretly taking out a map scroll.

It was a map of the marshes he had obtained a few days earlier. It showed Star Origin Valley, Spirit Jiao Valley, and of course, Black Dragon Lake. Black Dragon Lake lay southeast of Spirit Jiao Valley, spanning over eight hundred miles. Following the lakeshore north for several hundred miles would skirt around Spirit Jiao Valley.

How vast Black Dragon Lake was! Had Bai Zhi lost her way as well?

Regardless, once ashore, he would first look for his mount.

The boat, about twenty feet long, was piled with fish, shrimp, nets, spears, and other gear. A waterproof fish-skin lantern hung from the prow, casting shimmering ripples on the lake as the bamboo poles stirred the water.

The waves lapped ceaselessly—a distant shore was near…

Suddenly, Gan bellowed a greeting at the top of his lungs. Lights appeared along the shore—a cluster of fishing lanterns. He raised the lantern and shook it, flashing a triumphant grin over his shoulder.

“We’re home!”

As the boat slowed, turning sideways, it drifted gently to the bank, joining a row of other moored fishing boats.

Yu Ye leaped ashore and clasped his hands in farewell. “Farewell, Uncle!”

Old Lu hesitated, sighing as if wanting to say more.

Yu Ye also raised a hand to Gan. “Thank you, brother—farewell!”

Gan, surprisingly affable, jumped ashore first. “Let me see you off!”

Yu Ye followed, climbing the stone steps to the bank, but halted abruptly, brows arching.

Ahead was a dock, with several rows of reed huts nearby and open wilderness beyond. Yet a group had been waiting for some time. As soon as Yu Ye appeared, more than a dozen men brandished torches and long knives, quickly surrounding him and Gan.

At the same instant, a flare hissed into the air.

A signal fire!

Signal fires and carrier birds—both hallmarks of the martial world!

A burly man among the crowd called out, “We’ve been ordered to watch this place. Anyone suspicious must be captured and handed over to the Daoist master. Boy, you must be from Spirit Jiao Valley. Lucky for us this fisherman helped—otherwise, we’d never have caught you tonight…”

Now he understood.

Bu Yi, having failed to kill him and Bai Zhi, had not given up, but instead gathered martial artists to guard the only escape route from Spirit Jiao Valley—here, at the lakeshore. Lacking enough men, they’d enlisted the fishermen’s help, and sure enough, he had been netted and the signal fire sent. Once Bu Yi arrived, his fate would be sealed.

Yu Ye was still weighing his options when a shout rang out behind him—

“I’ll kill him! The reward is mine!”

It was Gan, the very man who had pulled him from the lake and brought him ashore, now brandishing a fish knife and lunging viciously.

Yu Ye spun and retreated, his sword flashing.

A cold arc sliced the air—a spray of blood burst forth. Gan clutched his throat, eyes wide in shock, staggered a few paces, then crashed to the ground.

Yu Ye paused, sword in hand, a strange pang in his heart.

A short distance away stood Old Lu. As Gan fell, he too collapsed in grief, his face streaming with helpless tears.

Yu Ye felt a sting in his chest. He turned and vaulted away, cutting down several of the martial men as they tried to block him, then seized the moment to break through the encirclement. In a few leaps, he vanished into the night.

Shortly after, a figure riding a sword swept down to the dock, hovered briefly, then raced off in pursuit…

Dawn broke.

The morning was hazy, the wilds silent.

Yu Ye peered cautiously from a hollow in a tree, scanning his surroundings.

Last night had been perilous.

He had long suspected the Lu family’s intentions, but had no choice but to feign ignorance to reach the shore. Then, everything happened at once. He dared not hesitate—he fought his way out, fleeing into the wilderness. There was nowhere to hide, but he had spotted the tree hollow and crawled in. He had barely caught his breath when Bu Yi flew overhead, sword beneath his feet.

That man was in such a hurry, he never noticed. Or perhaps he simply couldn’t imagine his quarry would hide in a roadside tree.

But luck like that would not come twice.

Now, with daylight brightening, this place was no longer safe. Seeing no one nearby, Yu Ye quickly left his hiding spot.

He traveled north, ever wary—ducking out of sight at the slightest sign of movement, circumventing strangers, and, when night fell, running at full tilt.

The night passed swiftly.

Another dawn arrived.

By afternoon, a familiar forest appeared ahead.

Yu Ye plunged into the woods, flinging himself against the trunk of an ancient tree to halt his momentum, then collapsed to the ground, panting.

From the previous morning until now, he had rested only briefly, running for twenty hours straight—covering three or four hundred miles.

This was the forest north of Spirit Jiao Valley, where his and Bai Zhi’s mounts had been left.

He had braved danger and exhaustion to circle half the valley and reach this place—not just to recover his mount, but for another reason.

If Bai Zhi’s horse was still here, it meant she was in trouble. If not, she had already come and gone. Her claim of scouting ahead had been a pretext. If her horse was gone, he needn’t worry about her, nor make a needless journey to Lingjiao Town.

He popped a few pills into his mouth, drank a little water, and headed deeper into the forest.

Though secluded, the woods were not large—he circled them in no time.

At last, he stopped in a clearing.

There, on the ground, were traces of horse dung and hoofprints, with a scattering of hay. Clearly, Bai Zhi had kept the mounts here. But at this moment, both horses were gone…