Chapter Three: The Swallow Does Not Return

The woman smiled faintly and said, “You’re lucky to have met me. Otherwise, you might wander for months and still never find the entrance to the mountain.”

Shen Lian witnessed a scene that left him speechless. From the precipice above, the girl in purple robes descended, step by step, as though an invisible stairway had formed in the void beneath her feet.

In front of her was emptiness, behind her was emptiness, and in the distance the cliffs rose sheer and unscalable. The girl’s face betrayed neither sorrow nor joy; her robes fluttered in the air, her black hair streaming. She was no immortal, yet surpassed immortals in grace.

In a mere moment, as Shen Lian stood stunned, a clear and pure fragrance wafted toward him, clean and bright, conjuring in his mind the image of a cloudless night sky.

The girl stopped in the air above him, about ten feet away, and pointed her slender, pale finger at him. Suddenly, Shen Lian felt something unusual beneath his feet—a cloud formed out of mist, lifting him gently into the air.

It was only later he learned the technique she used was called the “Minor Celestial Cloud Forbiddance.”

In the blink of an eye, he was high above the ground, and the ethereal Azure Profundity Mountain before him took on a more solid, real appearance.

Amid drifting clouds and deep twilight, one could truly feel the vastness of the sky and sea.

Riding on a cloud—this was the domain of immortals in myth and legend. Shen Lian, experiencing it for the first time, found himself ever more drawn to the wondrous arts of those who sought the Way.

Before he could reflect much further, he was gently set down; the cloud vanished, and his feet touched solid earth.

In the distance lay a bustling little town, thronged with people.

When Shen Lian turned to look for the girl, she was already gone, her fragrance and presence melted away like mist.

He understood then that the girl must be one of the immortals of Azure Profundity, to possess such powers. He could not help but envy her effortless comings and goings—this, truly, was the marvel of seeking the Way to immortality.

At the entrance to the town, a boundary stone bore the words “Nanke Town,” carved deep and bold. Each stroke spoke of ages past.

Though called a town, it held even fewer people than a village.

From what he could see, the town had but a single street.

Ordinarily, a place like this would rarely see any outsiders, yet the townsfolk, upon seeing Shen Lian—a clear stranger—showed no particular excitement.

Shen Lian was quietly on guard. In a world much like Earth’s ancient past, most people were born, lived, and died in the same place, never venturing beyond their homeland.

Such is the pull of one’s native soil.

Therefore, when a stranger appears, it should naturally arouse curiosity.

Curiosity is human nature; he refused to believe these people were all so detached from desire.

There weren’t many people on the street—perhaps thirty or forty in all, half of them children from a few to a dozen years old.

Whether adult or child, they regarded Shen Lian as though looking at a man doomed to die. No one came forward to greet him, and Shen Lian did not initiate conversation either.

He soon noticed that everyone here had some martial training—he could even spot one or two who had practiced the Divine Foot Scripture.

The Divine Foot Scripture combined motion and stillness, and since Shen Lian cultivated his own energy with this method, it was easy for him to recognize.

Perhaps this was why the mysterious girl in purple had asked about his family background.

However, Shen Lian’s mastery of the Divine Foot Scripture had already penetrated the Eight Extraordinary Meridians—a rare achievement, and when he deliberately suppressed his aura, it would go unnoticed by most.

In truth, though everyone here practiced martial arts, none had reached the level of opening the Eight Extraordinary Meridians as he had.

In Daoist texts, opening the Governor and Conception Vessels was known as “laying the foundation”—the true beginning of cultivation.

Even with an exceptional method, reaching this step is difficult; if one fails to do so before middle age, the chances only grow slimmer. Back then, had Yang Xuan in his blue robes not faced a life-or-death crisis, unlocking his potential, he might never have broken through and taken the first step on the path.

Apart from scattered houses, there was only a single inn in the town, the only place to find lodging.

This Shen Lian had learned after some observation.

The inn was called “The Swallow Never Returns,” but there were no couplets posted at the door.

Shen Lian entered, and a waiter came up to greet him warmly. “What would you like to eat, sir?”

“How do you settle the bill here? Will this do?” Shen Lian produced a gold leaf—after all, gold was precious everywhere.

“These days, for guests from outside, food and lodging are free,” the waiter said with a smile. He appeared to be in his thirties, a towel draped over his shoulder, with thick calluses across his palms. In the wider world, those hands could have made him a formidable figure, yet here he was, merely an innkeeper’s assistant.

“And why is that?” Shen Lian asked calmly.

The waiter laughed heartily. “I’m afraid if I told you, you’d lose your appetite.”

“My appetite is always good—please, say on.”

“Well, the boss says you’re all as good as dead, so if we didn’t at least give you a good meal, it’d be too cruel,” the waiter chuckled.

“So that’s it. Since I am doomed, you might as well bring out your best food and wine,” Shen Lian replied with an easy smile.

The waiter did not answer immediately but suddenly reached out to pat Shen Lian’s shoulder. His fingers crooked slightly in a masterful grappling move; such skill spoke of decades of practice.

Yet Shen Lian calmly sidestepped, letting the attempt pass harmlessly by.

The waiter was slightly startled, then laughed it off, “I just saw a bit of dust on your shoulder and thought I’d brush it off for you—no harm meant.”

Shen Lian gently dusted his own shoulder and said coolly, “No need to trouble you. Just bring me some food and wine, if you please.”

The waiter spread his hands and invited Shen Lian to choose a table, then went to fetch the wine.

The inn’s main hall was not small; several people were scattered about the room.

Most were dressed in fine materials, their demeanors and bearing quite out of the ordinary.

These guests had divided themselves into several groups, each at their own table.

Those sitting alone, like Shen Lian, were clearly individuals without companions.

The grouped guests cast occasional, appraising glances at the solitary ones.

Counting himself, there were four people sitting alone, and five tables where people gathered in groups.

Most were of similar age to Shen Lian, with a few middle-aged men among them. These older men either had pronounced temples or eyes shining with inner light—clearly, all three were top experts of the martial world.

According to Zhao Ye Liuyun, no one under the age of twenty could enter Azure Profundity unless under rare circumstances.

These young men and women, then, were likely scions of martial families or hidden sects like Immortal Flight Island, all drawn by word of Azure Profundity’s recruitment.

Those who sat alone likely found their way here by chance or opportunity.

With more than a month left before Azure Profundity opened its gates, a subtle current of competition had already begun to flow among them.