"What if he's tough? So what?"
A gentle voice rang out from the shadows.
A moment later, a man slowly stepped forward to the window.
He looked young, dressed in a scholar's robe of pale blue, his skin fair and features perpetually smiling—like a carefree student on an outing.
But despite the harmless appearance of this youth, a flicker of fear flashed in the eyes of the bearded man beside him. He lowered his head and flattered nervously, "Of course, Third Brother. With your unmatched wit, dealing with these kinds of people is nothing."
The young man gave him a sidelong glance and sighed, "It's not that I want to take on more burden, but what choice do I have? Winter's almost here. The lads in the stronghold are expecting their cut to stock up for the cold months."
"You know what it's like on the mountain. If we don't gather enough silver, the whole place might collapse next year."
He looked out the window. "Plenty are eyeing the loot on Niubeiliang Mountain—but whether anyone can actually pull it off is another matter."
"Let's first figure out who we're dealing with."
"Yes, Third Bro—I mean, Young Master!"
…
The drizzle lingered on, shortening the autumn days.
By the time Sha Lafei returned from the inn, the sky was already dim. Inside the broken-down main hall, flickering firelight cast shadows, and the aroma of cooking wafted through the air.
Sha Lafei sniffed the air, eyes lighting up. He quickened his pace and called out before even reaching the door, "Hey! You're starting without me?!"
"What's the rush?"
Li Yan sat on a stone block, polishing his Guanshan blade. "Mountain pheasants are fattest in autumn, true, but the meat's still a bit tough. Needs a longer simmer to be tender."
Ever since they hit the road, one thing they never lacked was meat.
Most travelers are in too much of a hurry to hunt, and even if they see game along the road, it's not easy to catch.
But for Li Yan, it was a different story.
His sense of smell was extraordinary—nothing nearby could escape his notice. Plus, he'd stocked up on throwing knives in Xianyang. It wasn't rare for him to suddenly flick a blade mid-stride and bag dinner.
The rich scent from the big pot had everyone's mouths watering, yet none dared lift the lid.
Li Yan was notoriously picky about food. If someone uncovered the pot too early and ruined the timing, they'd get a tongue-lashing.
Sha Lafei had no choice but to endure it. After setting down a wine jar and some side dishes, he sidled over to Li Yan and whispered what he'd learned.
Li Yan frowned. "The bandits are preparing to overwinter?"
Sha Lafei nodded. "That's my guess."
A young porter nearby asked curiously, "Why would they need to overwinter?"
Old Meng, the cart driver, couldn't hold back any longer. He poured himself a bowl of wine and, after a few satisfied gulps, narrowed his eyes and said, "You really don't know the ways of the world, huh?"
"Winter in the mountains is no joke—especially in Qinling. When the snow seals the peaks, they'll be freezing, starving, and cut off from everything. If the bandits can't loot anything, sitting tight up there would be madness."
"So every year around this time, they come down for a big score, split the loot, and scatter. Some visit their aging mothers, some shack up with their old flings in town, others head off to gamble or pawn goods…"
"Everyone's got their own business."
"Come spring, the bandit chiefs round them up again. If someone's missing, they get slashed. If someone dies in a clash, the rest gang up for revenge."
"Then it's back to blocking roads and robbing folks."
The young porter gaped. "Visit their mothers?"
Sha Lafei chuckled. "You think bandits are born from rocks? Course they've got mothers. Some even support whole families."
"Ever see a shady guy from your village suddenly 'go into business' out of town, only returning once a year with silver to spare? Might not be what it seems."
"…I see." The porter nodded in dawning realization.
The others all turned to look at Li Yan.
At first, the porters had assumed that the one calling the shots would be someone like Sha Lafei—seasoned in the ways of the martial world—or the calm, steady Wang Daoxuan.
But these past days had shown them that it was Li Yan who had orchestrated everything with precision. He'd completely won them over.
Li Yan pondered for a moment. "We'll decide when we reach Zhongnan Mountain. News of the Niubeiliang bandit troubles must've spread already—let's see how others react…"
Suddenly, his brows furrowed. He looked toward the door. "Someone's coming. Quite a few. Stay alert."
Sha Lafei quickly grabbed his blade and peeked outside. He shook his head. "It's those officials I saw earlier. They really did come!"
He relayed what he saw at the inn.
Li Yan didn't speak but turned to Wang Daoxuan.
Wang Daoxuan shook his head. "They're just fellow travelers. No harm in giving them a room."
This was their trio's usual dynamic.
Li Yan played the tough guy. Wang Daoxuan was the mediator. Sha Lafei navigated between the two—hard when needed, soft when called for, always leaving room for maneuvering.
Sure enough, just as they finished discussing, a middle-aged man named Feng Ping stepped into the doorway and cupped his hands. "Gentlemen, the wind and rain are fierce. Might we trouble you to spare a room?"
"No problem. We're reasonable folks."
Having made their decision, Sha Lafei took the chance to play the nice guy. He helped the porters shift items out of one room and even asked, "We've got hot food here. Want some?"
"Thanks, but no." Feng Ping responded stiffly with a formal bow.
Sha Lafei had only asked out of politeness. If they'd actually accepted, he'd have been annoyed. He shrugged and went back inside.
Once the other group settled in, Feng Ping personally helped an elderly man down from a sedan chair.
The old man was tall and portly, with long white brows and beard, eyes calm yet commanding.
"Madam, Young Miss, we've arrived," Feng Ping said, opening the curtain of another sedan.
From within emerged a dignified woman in white, helping a gray-haired older lady.
The group entered the side hall, dust thick on every surface. The old man sighed, "Traveling is never easy. Feng Ping, bring some chairs for the Madam and Miss."
"And send some pastries to our neighbors—show proper courtesy."
"Yes, Master."
Feng Ping first brought out two small chairs and a lacquered box, then entered Li Yan's room and bowed. "Thank you for your kindness. My master asked me to offer these pastries."
"Four Fragrance Confectionery?" Sha Lafei's eyes lit up. He took the box without hesitation. "How generous! Please thank your master for us."
"No need for thanks." Feng Ping gave a polite nod and left.
"Tsk, now that's class. Must be a wealthy household," Sha Lafei muttered as he opened the box.
The lacquer box, black with red patterns, was an elegant relic of Han craftsmanship. Inside, rows of colorful pastries were neatly arranged, pleasing to the eye.
"Four Fragrance Confectionery…" Sha Lafei sighed nostalgically. "These go for ten taels a box! Last time I tasted one was at some rich merchant's funeral in Chang'an."
Li Yan, who had tasted all manner of fine food in his previous life, wasn't impressed. He let the others divide the pastries, then went to lift the pot lid.
A wave of steam burst forth, and the aroma became irresistible.
It was just a simple stew: chopped pheasant meat cooked with pickled vegetables and a pinch of salt.
But with Li Yan's acute sense of smell and his precise control of timing and heat, even plain ingredients turned delicious.
The group couldn't wait any longer. Each grabbed a bowl, tore their dry buns into pieces to soak in the soup, and devoured it in silence, sweat beading on their foreheads.
After dinner, they turned in early.
Though the rain had delayed their journey, all were seasoned travelers who knew the road ahead would be tough. Rest was precious.
Only Wang Daoxuan and Li Yan remained by the fire.
They took turns—one meditated while the other kept watch.
Li Yan had the later shift. Once the others were asleep, he sat cross-legged, visualizing his internal organs. Bit by bit, he gathered spiritual light to his brow, entering a deep meditative state.
Soon, a figure formed in the white light at his brow.
After months of training, this figure—his spiritual avatar—had become more distinct. It looked like a Daoist deity, seated on a lotus platform, wearing flowing robes.
Its features were identical to Li Yan's.
This was the deity he had visualized.
From the start, he had the protection of a Da Luo Dharma Body. No spiritual light was wasted. With no battles draining his mind, his cultivation had progressed rapidly.
By the time they reached Mount Taibai, he would have enough strength to establish his inner temple.
To outsiders, his speed was miraculous.
Most cultivators, without an inner temple, lose spiritual light each night—like a leaky pool. Years are wasted just plugging the drain.
But Li Yan had no such issue. Even if his spirit were injured, the Dharma Body could take the damage in his place. He had no fear of setbacks.
Yet tonight, joy eluded him.
In his dantian, on the left palm of the Dharma Body, the mark of the Gou Die was becoming more pronounced—like a natural brand.
It came from the Underworld.
That mysterious realm, even the Tai Xuan Orthodox Sect treated with caution.
Now that he was a living Yin Messenger… would his secret be discovered?
As they neared Qinling, unease stirred in his heart.
Before he knew it, his nightly meditation ended.
Li Yan opened his eyes. Midnight had passed. The others snored softly around him, the fire crackling, but unable to dispel the autumn chill.
Seeing Wang Daoxuan now deep in meditation, Li Yan added some firewood and took a seat beside the fire.
But he didn't idle—he took out two books from his pack.
One: Manual of Pi Gua Fist.
Two: Rhythms of Qin and Han Drumming.
Both were gifts from the Spring Breeze Troupe's leader, Zhou.
The Cloud-Thunder War Drum was a magical artifact he carried daily. He'd been practicing drumming at fixed times, and his internal power had grown steadily.
But to wield it properly, random drumming wouldn't suffice. Spiritual focus combined with the right rhythm would bring out its true might.
As for the Pi Gua manual…
Recent battles had exposed his weaknesses.
He'd relied on Red Fist—close-range, agile, entangling strikes. It had served him well, especially with his father's training and his own experience.
But now, it wasn't enough.
Fighting a man who used Iron Wire Fist, he had to rely on tricks and mind games to win.
Also, he'd grown taller these past months—his technique had to evolve too.
Zhou Pan had long arms and used Long-Back Monkey Fist.
Li Yan chose Pi Gua.
It used open palms, excelled at mid-to-long range, and emphasized distance control—filling his existing gaps.
Combined with Red Fist's explosive strikes, its power would multiply.
Another reason: while he had trained with coiling force, now he cultivated thunderous Cloud-Drum Qi. His techniques needed to match—forceful and shocking, to eventually form his own fist intent.
By the fire on a rainy night, Li Yan read the manual, occasionally falling into thought.
Of course, this was just the beginning.
Changing fists was no small feat. Even he would need a master to guide him.
Chang'an was filled with experts. After this Qinling journey, he'd find a skilled Pi Gua teacher…
…
Unknowingly, the night passed.
Just as Wang Daoxuan predicted, the morning brought more drizzle, sparse but persistent.
Transporting a coffin in this weather was tricky. The body couldn't touch the ground, and even with tarpaulins, the coffin could still get soaked—risking a disastrous slip or crash.
They boiled water and made congee. A hot bowl with last night's leftovers warmed everyone, even in this desolate place.
Near noon, the rain finally stopped.
Li Yan and Wang Daoxuan stepped out to check the sky—just as their neighbors came into the courtyard.
The elderly man stroked his beard and looked at the mist-covered mountains. Smiling, he asked, "Feng Ping, do you know what road we're on?"
"The Qin-Chu Ancient Road."
"And its origins?"
"…I'm not sure, Master."
The old man looked into the distance. "Qinling divides north and south, one of the three great dragon veins. Built during pre-Qin times, it starts in Xianyang and stretches to the southern range—hence Zhongnan Mountain. Later, more roads connected Qin and Chu."
"Ah, I see," Feng Ping murmured.
The old man sighed, "Our ancestors carved roads through peril and hardship, bridging mountains and connecting lands."
"There's the Ziwu Road to Hanzhong and Bashu…"
"The Luogu Road heading south through Zhouzhi…"
"The Baoxie Road—legend says Emperor Yu carved it. Also Chencang, Lanwu, Yigu, and Xigu roads…"
"I've heard of Chencang—'a secret route through Chencang.'"
"Exactly. If our ancestors could do so much, what fear have I of mere setbacks? Once I return to Fengyang, I'll bide my time, nurture my descendants… Thirty years hence, who knows what might be?"
Hearing his cultured words, Wang Daoxuan couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration. "Such insight! We too are heading to Fengyang. May I ask your name?"
The old man paused, then smiled. "Since we share the road and the duty of escorting the dead, no need for secrets. I am Lu Kang."
Li Yan and Sha Lafei exchanged strange looks.
*(End of Chapter)*