Chapter Twenty: Why Not Sing and Stroll at Leisure

After a night of cultivation, when Shen Lian finished his practice, all he could hear was the patter of rain. The sound of rain is a spontaneous symphony of heaven and earth; different people can hear different melodies within it.

Shen Lian not only heard the rain but also the sound of Lu Shouyi’s breathing. With each exhale, it was like the wind brushing against the window lattice. There was no need to guess—Lu Shouyi had already entered the path.

Standing now at a lofty vantage, Shen Lian quickly deduced the reason. Last night, Lu Shouyi’s spirit had been exhausted and his body feeble, reaching a critical threshold.

“When the body is weak, qi moves freely; when the heart is dead, the spirit awakens.”

Last night, when Lu Shouyi retired to rest, letting things take their course allowed the lingering true qi in his body to circulate naturally. With his mind spent, distracting thoughts could scarcely arise, and thus his spirit was enlivened.

This only worked because Lu Shouyi hadn’t completely fallen into a dead end—otherwise, it would have been futile.

The pursuit of cultivation is truly unpredictable: sometimes what you seek is attainable, sometimes it eludes you, and sometimes, without seeking, you attain it.

Shen Lian shook his head and smiled, leaving the side courtyard. He stepped into the drizzling rain. In the distance, the sky was misty; nearby, the bamboo forest was deep and tranquil.

Originally, Shen Lian had intended to head to the Taiwei Pavilion, but because of the rain, and having not yet explored the scenery of Qingliang Peak, he went straight into the bamboo forest instead.

“Why heed the sound of rain beating through the woods? Why not sing and stroll at leisure?”

With a long, unhurried howl, Shen Lian shook loose countless bamboo leaves. They fell around him, still wet with rain. Yet as they neared within a foot of him, they slid aside, as if an invisible, smooth shield protected him.

No one knew how vast this bamboo sea truly was, nor how deep it extended. Yet Shen Lian walked slowly through the rain.

He had no particular purpose—only a wish to walk, to see the mountain’s sights.

Perhaps few had ever come here; there were no real paths, the ground was soft, and soaked through by rain. An ordinary man would be caked in mud by now.

Shen Lian let his qi flow from the soles of his feet, so that any mud or water that tried to touch him would be repelled. He remained spotless, as if freshly dressed.

Shen Lian was not afraid of dirt, but he was unwilling to let himself be sullied.

To emerge from the mire unstained—why mingle with the dust? This had always been his way, both in thought and in action.

The human body’s acupoints beneath the feet are the hardest to control, yet there are many and they are sensitive.

Channeling true qi to the soles was far harder than merely walking, but Shen Lian persisted, expending both energy and qi.

And yet, he was not the most extravagant. Suddenly, in the wind and rain of the bamboo forest, he saw a clearing—spotless, without a trace of rainwater.

On this rainy day, the ground showed no sign of water or wind, as if this place had been set apart from heaven and earth, or perhaps favored by heaven, untouched by wind or rain.

In the clearing stood a table and a burly man with a bushy beard, just like the famed gallant heroes of northern Yan and Zhao—one glance and you could not help but praise his bearing.

There was wine on the table but no cups. The wine poured in a thin stream from the jug straight into the man’s mouth.

After a swig, the bearded man saw Shen Lian and laughed heartily, “Boy, come drink with me!”

It seemed that no one truly enjoys drinking alone—unless he simply can’t find anyone to join him.

Apparently, the man had not found a drinking companion and so called out to Shen Lian at first sight.

Whether demon or man, he was of Qingxuan. If human, he was either a brother or a master to Shen Lian.

Boundless Qingxuan seemed unguarded, but no outsider could enter easily—indeed, it was almost impossible.

Not to mention the hidden wards throughout the mountain, Zhang Ruoxu’s Heaven-Earth Mirror alone could scan all of Qingxuan Mountain without omission.

Should any trace be overlooked, there would be no hiding, whether in the sky or beneath the earth.

The clearing seemed wrapped in an invisible membrane. Shen Lian sensed the flow of primordial energy—not chaotic, but following some arcane rhythm.

He stepped forward and entered, meeting no resistance, as if stepping into a bubble—only this great bubble did not burst.

A little wind and rain followed him in, but not much.

The bearded man smiled. “Well done, boy. Your spirit and qi are so solid.”

“You know me?” Shen Lian asked.

“You drank my wine for two months. What do you think?” The man’s beard was thick across his chin and cheeks, his body imposing—even as a bandit, he would terrify foes without drawing a blade.

“You’re Yan Bugui?” Shen Lian was surprised that the tavern owner from the small town was here on Qingliang Peak. What was his connection to Qingxuan—or was he a disciple all along?

“Does that surprise you?”

“Not really. You’re just as your name suggests—a true man of the rivers and lakes.” Shen Lian glanced at Yan Bugui, his beard and his name making him smile.

“I am a man of the jianghu—what’s strange about that? Someone insisted I take up cultivation; I couldn’t beat him, so I came to the mountain. Who knew it would be so dull? So I opened a tavern in Nanke Town. But there’s something else I should tell you.” Yan Bugui looked at Shen Lian, who had come before him, traced a few strokes in the air, and then pointed to Shen Lian’s side with a smile.

Shen Lian looked down. Next to him, a wooden stump had appeared—just the right height for a stool, as if it had grown from the earth itself.

He understood—Yan Bugui’s strokes had moved the primordial energy, channeling a force of growth into the earth, and the wooden seat sprang forth.

The wonders of Daoist arts truly broadened Shen Lian’s horizons.

“What is it?” Shen Lian sat down as invited.

“The wine you drank was actually just water—from an old well, infused with a spirit talisman. The spring water thus tasted like fine wine.” Yan Bugui smiled.

“That’s even better—wine’s flavor but no harm to the body. And I suspected it wasn’t real wine,” Shen Lian replied earnestly.

“Marvelous! Come, let’s drink.” Yan Bugui pointed, and a stream of wine flew out, coiling in midair before he swallowed it in one gulp.

The world’s primordial energy was as if raised and tamed in his home, at his command.

Shen Lian could not guess Yan Bugui’s cultivation—he only sensed it was unfathomably high, and not only that, but there was something more to it beyond mere power.

“This wine is real. I offer you a cup,” Yan Bugui said after finishing his drink.

Shen Lian did not use any force or special technique to draw the wine, for if Yan Bugui was jesting or meant to trip him, it would be too embarrassing to fail. So he simply took up the jug and poured the wine into his mouth—at first, it was warm and mellow, but then it turned to fire, seeming to ignite the true qi within him.

He activated the “Natural Mind-Locking and Spirit-Focusing Canon of Supreme Clarity,” and his spirit, hungry and eager, coursed through his meridians, devouring the flames within.

[Author’s Note: Thanks to Shihuanshimeng, Yang Zhengze, and Zhouchuan from Earth Village for their support.]