Chapter 45 – The Long Night

Zhan Changfeng regulated her breathing and entered a state of stillness, no longer absorbing pure yin energy, focusing instead on cultivating the Six Senses.

She discovered that cultivation in the Way of the Dharma and cultivation in the Way of Martial Arts shared a certain resonance. Although the martial path tempered one’s own body and excavated the five elemental energies within, while the dharma path attuned itself to all things in nature and drew in the primordial energies of heaven and earth — at their core, both were about deepening one’s mastery of the ‘self’ and probing the secrets of the body and even the soul.

Zhan Changfeng didn’t actually care much about which path she cultivated. What she cared about was what was revealed through the process of cultivation. And what kept her interested in continuing was not power, but her conviction that beyond the body and the soul, there must be things she did not yet know, waiting for her.

The more she learned, the more humble she became before this universe.

The farther she traveled, the more she wanted to take this universe apart and examine it.

The unknown was forever the most fascinating thing.

And now, a key called ‘cultivation’ had given her the ambition to open the world.

Drip. Drip.

In the main hall, a drop of water rolled off the edge of the table and fell into her ears.

She opened her eyes, her gaze settling on the untouched food and dishes. Such a small waystation — and yet it seemed to harbor secrets.

The moon had climbed to the center of the sky. Every lamp in the waystation had gone out, making it feel like a lonely grave in the wilderness. A cold, ominous chill crept out in threads.

This chill was different from the cold brought by pure yin energy.

Pure yin energy was one of the highest forms of primordial energy between heaven and earth, representing pure ‘death.’ Its cold was a supreme and absolute deathly stillness.

But the chill permeating the waystation was like the flickering tongue of a venomous serpent — the chill of crisis and hidden thorns.

Was it a ghost, or some malevolent entity?

Outside the waystation, the sound of a flute gradually arose — mournful and plaintive, clinging and coiling, as if countless impossibly fine threads were winding around the heart, cutting into the flesh, suffocating.

Zhan Changfeng concentrated her will and forced herself to resist the influence. She had just, for a brief instant, lost control of her limbs — an impulse to follow the sound of the flute had seized her.

The scraping of chairs and tables, the creaking of doors opening — these sounds rang out one after another. In the darkness, this waystation seemed to have come alive.

Zhan Changfeng tilted her ear and heard someone descending the stairs, followed immediately by the front doors being flung open and the chaotic sound of footsteps.

Suddenly, she heard a child’s cry, “Master, Senior Brother — where are you going? Why won’t you take me with you?”

Hmm. There were others who weren’t affected?

Zhan Changfeng picked up her sword and stepped out. The doors to the rooms on both sides of the hall were wide open, the rooms empty — the carriage driver was gone too.

But a few doors were locked; she pushed at them and found they had been bolted from the inside. How were these people unaffected?

The flute’s sound was growing distant, almost inaudible.

Zhan Changfeng lingered no longer and gave swift chase.

The night air was frigid, thin mist blanketing everything. Looking ahead, she saw a line of swaying silhouettes walking toward the depths of the forest. The carriage driver was among them.

There was also a small figure clutching the hem of someone’s clothing nearby, murmuring something faintly.

Not knowing the full situation, Zhan Changfeng didn’t rush forward recklessly. She followed at a measured distance, neither too close nor too far, while fixing her attention on the direction from which the flute sound came.

The flute’s sound was extraordinarily ethereal, as if drifting from all directions at once, making it impossible to pin down its precise origin or distance.

The chill grew heavier, and the tall forest trees blotted out the night sky. If they went any deeper, it would likely be beyond anything she could manage.

But judging by the young girl’s efforts, waking the others was clearly no simple task.

Zhan Changfeng casually picked up a few pebbles and sent them whistling through the air. One by one, the figures in the line collapsed.

She waited ten breaths. The flute sound did not stop. So she stepped forward.

Zhan Changfeng felt for the carriage driver’s pulse, confirmed he was unconscious, then tipped a jug of ice-cold water directly onto his face.

“Pfft — cough, cough!” The carriage driver jolted upright like a carp leaping out of water, eyes on guard. When he made out that it was Zhan Changfeng, he wiped his face with one hand. “Young Master, how did we end up out here?”

“Try to wake them up. If it doesn’t work, don’t bother.” Zhan Changfeng had barely finished speaking when the jug was tugged out of her hand. She looked down — a child of three or four was gripping the jug’s strap, holding back tears with great effort, gazing up at her timidly. “Big brother… c-could I borrow this?”

“It’s empty.”

The child held back the tears, held them back — and then burst out wailing.

“…” Zhan Changfeng looked at the carriage driver. The carriage driver immediately jumped over to the linen-robed elder’s side. “Let me try smacking him — see if that wakes him up.”

Smack!

The master got hit?!

The child clutched the elder’s arm and trembled, staring at Zhan Changfeng and the carriage driver as though they were great demons. Even forgetting to cry.

Yet that smack did have an effect. The linen-robed elder groggily came to, wincing as the burning sting pulled at the corner of his mouth — but once he took in his surroundings, that sting was cast to the back of his mind entirely. “What on earth happened?!”

The carriage driver, seeing this worked, promptly grabbed the young disciple and raised his large, broad hand high.

“Hey, hey, good man, you mustn’t, you mustn’t!” The linen-robed elder lunged forward to stop him — he now understood very well why his face was so swollen.

The carriage driver glared at him. If it weren’t for His Highness’s orders, who would bother? “I need to wake him up.”

“Let me, let me!” The linen-robed elder gathered his qi and struck the young disciple firmly on the back, instantly jolting him awake.

“These people are…”

“Also from the waystation.”

Zhan Changfeng looked more carefully and found that the majority were the group of burly men from the main hall. “Wake them all up first. We can talk about the rest once we’re out of here.”

The linen-robed elder had of course heard the flute’s sound. His heart jolted, and he didn’t dare waste a moment.

“How did I end up here?”

“What in the world happened?”

Once people woke, confusion naturally followed. Zhan Changfeng had no intention of explaining. Seeing the last person had awakened, she gave a clean wave to the carriage driver and prepared to leave.

“Stop right there!” The leader among the burly men barked. “Not a single one of you is leaving — stay here and wait!”

At this, everyone was furious. They had inexplicably been subjected to this, and now you come at us with orders? What do you think you’re doing?!

“Don’t be so arrogant — who do you think you are?”

“Does this have something to do with you? Do you know something?!”

“What are you trying to do to us?!”

The leader’s bull-like eyes bulged as he produced a token. “The Bureau of Patrol is conducting an investigation. If you don’t want to die, shut your mouths — all of you!”

“You two, stay here and watch them. The rest, follow me!”

“Yes sir!”

Watching the group of burly men charge off into the depths of the forest, the crowd that had just been shouting fell silent.

The Bureau of Patrol?

No such institution existed in the Yin Dynasty.

This time, without Zhan Changfeng even needing to signal, the carriage driver turned to the linen-robed elder nearby. “Elder, what does the Bureau of Patrol do? Why does everyone listen to them so readily?”

The linen-robed elder did not answer directly. Instead, he asked, “What brings you two to this area?”

The carriage driver couldn’t answer that and looked toward Zhan Changfeng.

The linen-robed elder rubbed the back of his aching neck and also looked toward Zhan Changfeng. Though he had addressed the carriage driver, it was her answer he truly wanted to hear.

When he had woken, he found his own young disciple and the two of them — master and servant — were the only ones still standing. The servant’s neck was also swollen; no matter how he thought about it, the one who had truly saved them was this child who had appeared to stand idly by at first.

Thinking it over, this young master’s martial abilities were unfathomable — the pebbles he had thrown carried the imposing force of the martial path. And his aura, which flickered in and out of detection, seemed to belong to the dharma path.

Moreover, regardless of whether it was martial or dharmic cultivation, he had not been beguiled by the flute’s sound — that alone was enough to make anyone take notice.

The surroundings were very dark. Someone had lit a bundle of firewood, its flames swaying. Zhan Changfeng had noticed long ago that these people were not ordinary — power dwelled within them.

Connecting that to the sudden surge of travelers in Huangzhou, the Heavenward Path open at Mid-Autumn, and the aspiration of every cultivator — Cangyun Ravine — she said, “I came to seek the Way.”

The linen-robed elder wore an expression of exactly-as-I-expected. “Hmm — did your master or family never mention the Bureau of Patrol to you?”

“They died early. Never got around to telling me.” Zhan Changfeng found his words very interesting. Could it be that the mortal world was full of people who had come from Cangyun Ravine, or knew of it?

With that answer, the linen-robed elder felt it would be rude to press further. He said, “Cangyun Ravine and the mortal world generally forbid free passage between them. However, there are many people within Cangyun Ravine who have no heart for cultivation, or who gave it up due to insufficient aptitude. Those who wish to return to the mortal world to live an ordinary life opened a route, colloquially named the Heavenward Path.”

“The Heavenward Path opens every year on Mid-Autumn. Only on that day may cultivators from Cangyun Ravine carry a token to enter the mortal world, while cultivators in the mortal realm — or descendants of cultivators — may present their credentials to try their luck at the path of cultivation in Cangyun Ravine.”

“However, over time, the number of people with cultivation in the mortal world grew. To prevent them from causing harm to the mortal realm, the Six Institutes of Cangyun Ravine established the Bureau of Patrol specifically to handle matters concerning cultivators in the mortal world.”

(End of Chapter)