Chapter 2#
Chapter 2: Cultivation Partner#
Just after midnight, Feng Xianyu’s eyes snapped open in the darkness.
The candle had gone out at some point; pale moonlight poured across the bed, settling on his usually radiant face. Without disturbing anyone, Feng Xianyu rose swiftly, tore off a talisman paper, pushed open the window, and let the cold, still night air rush in.
He slithered out through the gap with remarkable agility, hooked the window shut with his foot, grabbed the eaves, and executed a clean, sharp flip—pat—landing lightly on the roof tiles like a swallow.
This illusory realm stretched endlessly, nothing but ghostly forests until the gray mist swallowed the horizon.
Feng Xianyu squinted, raised his hand, and grasped—a golden light shimmered in his palm as he pulled a five-foot golden bow from the void. He held it upright before him, his pupils instantly turning crimson, hooked his thumb onto the invisible string, drew it steadily back to his cheek, and released.
Whoosh—!
A golden spirit arrow formed and left the string in an instant, like a brilliant meteor streaking across the night sky, slicing through the pitch-black darkness ahead.
Feng Xianyu stowed the bow, leaped off the roof, and dashed toward where he had aimed. The red-trimmed-gold-edged outer robe tied around his waist flapped noisily in the wind.
Two breaths later, he landed. Several black-scaled venomous snakes lay cut in half, their stinking black blood pooled on the ground, and scorch marks from spiritual energy marred the grass. Nothing else.
Disgusted by the mess, Feng Xianyu didn’t approach. He glanced from a distance and thought: Could it be that his aim had gone bad?
“Hey!” he turned and raised his voice toward the silent woods. “What are you hiding for? I saw you!”
Still no answer.
Feng Xianyu finally lost patience. His smile faded, he nocked another arrow, aimed eastward, a cold glint flashing in his narrow eyes. “I’ll count down from three. Come out on your own—my arrows don’t have eyes.”
“Three.”
…
“Two—” he drew out the syllable, a reddish wave flickering in his eyes.
…
Just as his “One” was about to leave his lips, someone finally spoke: “Wait! I-I-I’m coming out! Immortal Master, please spare me!”
A moment later, the speaker timidly emerged from behind an eastern tree trunk, pale with fear, a simple hairpin and cloth skirt—a young woman.
Feng Xianyu blinked, relaxed the bowstring, and dispelled the spirit light from his eyes. The spirit arrow vanished.
“I-I’m called A Yue,” she said, gathering her courage. Then her gaze shifted past Feng Xianyu, and she saw something else, flinching and looking down, her fingers gripping her skirt tightly.
Before A Yue could lower her head, Feng Xianyu already caught that familiar pungent scent. His mind raced—this is bad—and he tightened his grip on the bow, then forced himself to steady his nerves and turn around, flashing a dry smile. “Hehe, Senior Brother, you’re awake too? When did you get here?”
Standing before him in spotless white robes was indeed Zhuo Yu.
—Another change of clothes! Though they looked similar, they were clearly not the same set. Did he this obsessed with changing clothes in his past life? Feng Xianyu couldn’t help wondering if Zhuo Yu’s dimensional pouch contained dozens of huge clothing trunks. Could it even fit?
Zhuo Yu didn’t answer Feng Xianyu’s question. He simply said calmly, “Your clothes.”
What?
Feng Xianyu blinked in confusion.
Zhuo Yu stepped forward, lifted the outer robe casually tied around Feng Xianyu’s waist, and gestured for him to look. Feng Xianyu glanced at A Yue’s hair bun and Zhuo Yu’s neatly fastened attire, then finally realized: he had been walking around half-dressed in front of a woman. He screamed internally and quickly ducked behind Zhuo Yu.
How improper!
Using Zhuo Yu as a shield, Feng Xianyu fumbled to put on his clothes. His two hands weren’t enough, so Zhuo Yu reached out to take his bow. Without thinking, Feng Xianyu handed it over—only then recalling that Zhuo Yu almost never carried things for him.
That reminded him of the strange dream from last night.
In the dream, he and Zhuo Yu were sitting together under a towering ancient tree. The sky was dark, and they were both leaning against each other, sleeping soundly, clothes torn and stained with blood. He was nestled in the crook of Zhuo Yu’s shoulder, Zhuo Yu’s hand resting on his shoulder, their sword and bow peacefully and intimately stacked together.
At the time, it hadn’t seemed odd, but now, waking up, Feng Xianyu felt that everything was off from start to finish.
When had he and Zhuo Yu ever relied on each other like that?
They had been cultivation partners for over a decade, true, but it was only because his father had made some inexplicable decision back then. Though they grew up together, there were no real feelings between them—at best, it could be described as “mutual respect.”
Feng Xianyu was lost in thought, while Zhuo Yu played the silent icicle. The scene fell into utter stillness, broken only by the ceaseless wind.
Ignored A Yue grew more frightened. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sniffled.
Finally dressed, Feng Xianyu stepped out from behind Zhuo Yu. He cleared his throat, softened his tone, and said, “Miss A Yue, my apologies for the offense. My surname is Feng.”
“Immortal Master Feng.” A Yue shrank back, warily studying them both.
Seeing this, Feng Xianyu quickly flashed a big smile.
He was naturally blessed with a charming face. Now properly dressed, the red robes accentuated his striking features. When not looking at someone, he seemed utterly carefree and dashing. But when his gaze met yours, it softened completely, as if bathed in moonlight, so focused that you felt like the only person in the world—impossible not to get drawn in.
Before Feng Xianyu could fully demonstrate his approachability, Zhuo Yu addressed A Yue directly: “Why are you here?”
His tone was frigid, his expression even worse—like he was facing an enemy. He seemed to come from a completely different world than Feng Xianyu. Feng Xianyu quickly shot him a sideways glance, signaling he should be gentler so they wouldn’t look like bandits. But Zhuo Yu’s expression didn’t improve; it only grew sterner.
Feng Xianyu massaged his forehead—this senior brother and ex cultivation partner was beyond saving. Not the least bit likable.
A Yue hesitated for a long time, her hands twisting her skirt. Feng Xianyu waited patiently, noticing a silver incense pouch tied at her waist, delicately engraved with intricate patterns—not an ordinary item.
“Are you two powerful cultivators?” A Yue looked up, her tone naive.
That was a tricky question. Feng Xianyu scratched his head and answered vaguely, “Uh… not extremely powerful, but not weak either. Just… moderately strong?”
A Yue clasped her hands together: “Your arrow, Young Master Feng, was so amazing! You killed all those stinky snakes with just a few shots!”
“I—I guess,” Feng Xianyu said, exchanging a glance with Zhuo Yu. He tentatively asked A Yue, “Miss, is there anything we can help with?”
“This place… this place belongs to a demon,” A Yue said.
Feng Xianyu nodded. “I know.”
“I—” A Yue finally made up her mind. “My husband is in the snake demon’s lair. He’s dying. I beg you two to save him!”
With that, she started to kneel.
Of course, Feng Xianyu wouldn’t let her actually kneel. He quickly reached out to support her.
From Zhuo Yu’s perspective—if he were to endure the piercing pain and open his eyes through his blurry eye veil—he would see Feng Xianyu putting on a show, frowning in feigned contemplation. A Yue looked up at him with hope, like the most ordinary mortal girl. At last, after what seemed like an agonizing internal struggle, Feng Xianyu reached a conclusion:
“Alright!” he said, as if making an enormous sacrifice.
Then he added, “But we need to go back to our camp first. I have many companions there.”
Zhuo Yu listened to their conversation with equanimity. He reached out to Feng Xianyu.
“What?” Feng Xianyu was puzzled, then saw his bow still in Zhuo Yu’s hand. “Oh, I almost forgot! Thanks for holding it for me, Senior Brother.”
He reached out to take it, but grasped only air.
Instead, his hand met Zhuo Yu’s.
Feng Xianyu: “?”
“I’m blind,” Zhuo Yu said, lowering his eyelids, the other hand still firmly clutching Feng Xianyu’s bow.
Feng Xianyu didn’t understand, but in front of A Yue and given Zhuo Yu’s usual credibility, he assumed Zhuo Yu had some plan. So he didn’t argue. He took Zhuo Yu’s cold hand and carefully guided him step by step back toward camp, as if truly leading a blind man.
“Lift your leg,” Feng Xianyu whispered to Zhuo Yu.
Zhuo Yu tilted his head slightly, said nothing, and obediently lifted his leg to step over a protruding tree root.
“Is this young master injured?” A Yue asked from behind.
Feng Xianyu wasn’t sure of Zhuo Yu’s intent, so he stayed silent.
Zhuo Yu gently squeezed Feng Xianyu’s palm and said flatly, “First seal the mortal eye, then open the celestial eye.”
A Yue was silent for a long moment. “What does the celestial eye see?”
“The dead, and the living ghosts,” Zhuo Yu replied.
Feng Xianyu’s body stiffened. He thought of his own reincarnation. Had such a thing ever happened in history? Was he, in Zhuo Yu’s words, one of the “dead” or a “living ghost”?
When Feng Xianyu had come, he had jumped through the trees and arrived in an instant. Now, because Zhuo Yu was pretending to be blind, the return trip took nearly half an hour.
All the Qingdu Mountain disciples were already up, frantically rushing around because they had discovered both senior brothers missing. At least they had the sense not to scatter far.
As soon as Feng Xianyu pushed open the door, they started chattering excitedly:
“Where did you two go?”
“When did you leave? We didn’t hear a thing.”
“Did you find something?”
“Why is Senior Brother holding Little Senior Brother’s bow?”
“Eh? Who is this young lady?”
…
Feng Xianyu’s temples throbbed again. He quickly cut them off: “Let me introduce you. This is Miss A Yue.”
As he spoke, he shot a glance toward Xiang Wan, who was at the back of the crowd.
Xiang Wan caught on. While everyone else was distracted, he quietly slipped to a corner and tucked the glass bottle containing the eyeballs—which Zhuo Yu had thrown to him earlier—into his dimensional bag.
A Yue made a graceful bow. When she raised her head, her eyes were full of tears.
Seeing Xiang Wan’s action, Feng Xianyu relaxed. He turned to the group and declared solemnly, “Miss A Yue’s husband has been captured by the snake demon and taken to its lair. His life hangs by a thread.”
Everyone: “?”
“This is a matter of life and death!” Feng Xianyu suddenly grew impassioned. “We cultivators seek to establish the heart for Heaven and Earth, to establish the mandate for the people, to continue the lost teachings of the sages, and to open peace for ten thousand generations! If the world is unjust, how can we seek the Dao? Now is our chance! Even if we have to go through fire and water, we must not hesitate—and this is just a mere snake demon! As they say, ‘Saving one life is better than building a seven-story pagoda!’”
Feng Xianyu’s tone was stirring, his words resounding as if a massive drum were booming behind him.
The disciples were dumbfounded.
Xiang Wan’s mouth twitched. He had never heard such talk. Little Senior Brother was spouting nonsense again. Wasn’t cultivation supposed to be for oneself only?