Chapter Eleven: Descending the Mountain
Two days later.
In Rong Kingdom, Wuchuan Prefecture.
A group of riders clad in black armor and mounted on black horses galloped along the official road, guarding a coffin at their center.
The formation was impeccable, their uniforms and armor gleaming. Even after riding dozens of miles under the sun, neither man nor horse showed the slightest fatigue—a testament to their rigorous training and formidable prowess.
“I’ve long heard that the soldiers newly cultivated in the Spirit Stable are extraordinary. Seeing them today, it truly lives up to the reputation. Junior Brother, observe carefully how their spines move when they exert force: like white toads guarding their breath, curling their heads and building their bellies. If ordinary warriors did this, they’d be covered in bruises by now.”
Behind the company of soldiers, two white horses followed at a leisurely pace, apart from the others.
On the white horses were two men. One wore a blue Daoist robe, with a sword strapped to his back; he gestured at the soldiers ahead, explaining their movements to his companion with great interest.
The other held a lacquered bow of six stones in his left hand, reins in his right, a sword at his waist, and wore a dark water-cloud patterned robe tied with a leather belt, accentuating his tall and striking figure—an unmistakable bearing of noble lineage.
Chen Heng, who held the bow, nodded indifferently.
He glanced in the direction Xue Zhi pointed, toward the soldiers, but his mind wandered elsewhere.
“Junior Brother, what is the matter? It’s not often you come down from the mountain—shouldn’t you be happy?”
Xue Zhi scratched his head. “Since we descended, you’ve looked unsettled, worried. What troubles you? Are you afraid Elder Yan will give you trouble? Don’t worry. The sect leader himself permitted your descent. Elder Yan wouldn’t dare deliberately oppose him in the open.”
“It’s not just Yan Feichen I worry about, but also…”
Chen Heng clenched the bow, shaking his head.
When he left the Azure Celestial Palace that night, he gathered a few belongings and, taking the coffin of his elder cousin, hurried down the mountain.
After three days of hard riding, they were now less than half a day from Lanliang City, where the Chen clan resided.
Yet unease still lingered in Chen Heng’s heart.
Would that woman really let him go simply because of a few words spoken by Chen Ying?
So easily?
When his predecessor first ascended the mountain, he had begged Yan Zhen countless times, every plea earnest, nearly as desperate as a cuckoo’s cry—yet in the end, he died in bitterness atop Little Gan Mountain.
People like them—could they truly be swayed by words?
...
“Enough. The knife wielder and the fish—overthinking only exhausts the spirit.”
Chen Heng spurred his horse, riding alongside Xue Zhi. “I haven’t yet thanked Senior Brother for the trouble of escorting me home.”
“No need for thanks between us. I was idle on the mountain anyway,” Xue Zhi laughed heartily. “You’ve just reached the fetal breath stage, separated from ordinary existence, but you lack experience in dueling and haven’t mastered any techniques yet. I, at least, am a cultivator at the sixth level of Qi training. Though my right hand is weak, any minor demon or scoundrel from the mortal world who comes along is as good as dead!”
“However, next year’s journey to the Nether Abyss—I won’t be much help. Don’t take it amiss.”
---
Xue Zhi said self-mockingly,
“You know I’ve always been timid and hesitant. I can’t help it, and I doubt I’ll achieve much in this life. But if I can live each day, read, and refine medicines, I’m content. As for places like the Nether Abyss, I simply lack the courage…”
“Senior Brother, you exaggerate. How could I ever blame you?” Chen Heng shook his head gently.
“But there’s something that’s weighed on my heart for a long time, something I’ve never understood.” Xue Zhi looked at him, hesitant, speaking with care.
“Please, ask.”
“Wasn’t it your cousin who advised Yan Zhen to trick you onto the mountain years ago? You once wished to kill him with one strike. Why are you now returning his coffin to the clan?”
“If he hadn’t pushed me aside, I would’ve been killed by Xu Hui’s sword aimed at Yan Zhen… And who could have known the pills Yan Zhen gave were death-inducing poison?”
In the memories of this body,
There lingered the scene of his cousin, before death, coughing blood, crawling on his knees with tears and apologies.
Xu Hui’s sword could cut through anything.
Not only Yan Zhen, but even the disciples accompanying her would have been swept up in his killing intent. Had his cousin not pushed him away, he would have died alongside Yan Zhen.
By that twist of fate, would Chen Heng have been reborn in the realms of the Nine Provinces?
“The past cannot be undone. Mother and he are both dead. I spent three years atop Little Gan Mountain. By now, what good does holding a grudge do?”
Chen Heng gazed quietly at the distant mountains, the mist dissolving silently in sunlight:
“He saved my life. I fulfill his last wish—nothing more.”
Xue Zhi stared at Chen Heng. This young man, whose features seemed carved by the gods, rode without expression, neither joy nor sorrow upon his face.
Everything from the past had drifted away like ripples on water.
Even Chen Heng
was no longer the man he once was...
“I see the Dao heart in you, Junior Brother,” he suddenly said. “That day, when I practiced swordplay, Elder Gu Jun declared he would take me as his disciple, saying just such words.”
“Elder Gu Jun? He is truly a gentle elder. Were it not for him granting me this company of soldiers from the Spirit Stable, I’d have worried about how to transport my cousin’s coffin.”
“Elder Gu…” Xue Zhi let out a bitter laugh. “He’s always been the best—a true follower of the Dao.”
The two fell silent.
Sensing the tension, Xue Zhi shifted his gaze to the bow in Chen Heng’s left hand. “You’re skilled in archery as well? This is my first time seeing it.”
“The gentleman masters all six arts. How could I not?”
---
Chen Heng smiled slightly. At that moment, the mountain forest to the left of the road rustled, and a robust white stag burst forth, its hooves flying.
“How fortuitous. Let me demonstrate for you, Senior Brother.”
Chen Heng drew his bow, full as the moon, effortlessly pulling to its limit.
Following memories of archery from his predecessor, he loosed an arrow like a shooting star. With the twang of the bowstring, the stag collapsed, its neck pierced clean through, blood gushing from the fist-sized wound.
The soldiers guarding the coffin cheered in unison; Xue Zhi praised enthusiastically.
Chen Heng lowered his bow and was about to retrieve the stag when the woods beside the road stirred again. Amid shouts and cries, dozens of brightly dressed young men and women appeared on horseback.
“It seems I’ve struck another’s quarry.”
Chen Heng reined in his horse, refraining from approaching, offering a courteous gesture of apology before urging his horse onward with Xue Zhi.
“Sister, the fawn we chased was killed!”
Among the youths, a lively girl with a short bow pursed her lips. “The man who shot the stag is so handsome, but I’ve never heard of him in Rong Kingdom. Sister, do you know who he is?”
“That’s Chen Heng from the Mystic Truth Sect. How… how was he allowed down from the mountain?”
At the head of the group rode a woman draped in a fox fur cloak, beautiful as a painting, her brows carrying a hint of boldness.
“Come! Perhaps he’s descended for that trouble concerning the Chen clan!”
She patted the girl’s head, turned her horse, and pursued in Chen Heng’s direction.
“Let’s catch up, and see how he handles it!”
...
...
Meanwhile,
In Lanliang City, Rong Kingdom, at the Chen clan residence.
In the main hall, a group of elders wore anxious expressions; no one spoke, and a cloud of gloom hung over the room.
“We must not hand over Xi’er. If we do, what becomes of the Chen family’s honor? The only option now is to bring out the relics of Chen Heng’s father!”
The clan patriarch, Chen Kuang, who had once achieved the highest honors in the imperial examinations but later resigned and returned home, rose to his feet.
He swept his gaze coldly across the assembled relatives, his long, graying beard trembling.
“Though his father was only a wandering Daoist, he possessed some cultivation. His relics should suffice to deal with the Daoist from Yangshan, right?”