Outside Tingchao Town, a small skiff cut through the shattered gold of the setting sun. The oars stirred the salty sea breeze, carrying the scent of a full catch toward the shore.
Gu Chengming sat cross-legged in the middle of the boat. Dressed in a green robe with an empty waist, he looked like a failed scholar from a humble family, possessing none of the aura of a sword cultivator.
In truth, flying here on his sword would have taken only half a day, yet he deliberately chose the slowest path.
Firstly, because Lord Fubai would surely be paranoid after his heavy injury; the moment a single strand of sword qi drifted from the sky, he would likely scurry back to his lair in the Dragon Transformation Pool. Secondly, Tingchao Town sat on the border between Daqian and the East Sea, and Gu Chengming wasn't sure who actually held authority there.
If he ran into a group of masters from the Honglu Temple who prioritized the 'big picture of diplomatic relations,' he wouldn't be investigating a case—he'd be the one under investigation.
Gu Chengming's appearance was perhaps too striking, as the boatman kept stealing glances at him.
"Young master is so young. Why would you think of coming to a small place like ours?" the old boatman asked, unable to contain his curiosity as he rowed.
Gu Chengming had prepared his excuse. He cupped his hands and said, "An elder in my family entrusted me to find a distant cousin in the East Sea."
"Oh? Which family?"
"Surnamed Li."
The old boatman hummed in acknowledgment and didn't pry further. There were many people named Li in Tingchao Town. For a scholar, having convoluted family ties was common.
In the town, there were many old men who enjoyed being difficult, liking to catch scholars from the city and ask them obscure questions. If the other party stuttered or couldn't answer, they would sneer, "And you call yourself a scholar? What kind of scholar doesn't even know this?"
But he didn't like doing such annoying things.
Just as he thought this, the floorboards jolted.
A small head poked out from the cabin, looking to be about ten years old. Two small braids bobbed as she clutched half a bitten sugar cake.
Seeing an extra person on the boat, she froze for a moment, then stuffed the sugar cake into her sleeve and ran over to Gu Chengming.
"Grandpa, Grandpa! Did this brother come from far away?"
Her eyes darted from Gu Chengming to the old boatman, finally settling on her grandfather's face with an expression that seemed to say: 'Grandpa, Grandpa, this brother is so handsome.'
The old boatman laughed at her gaze. "This is my granddaughter, Nannuan. She's quite a handful."
The little girl immediately changed her demeanor. She folded her hands in front of her and gave Gu Chengming a half-bow, looking just like a refined lady from a play, but her eyes were darting around, lacking even a drop of a refined lady's temperament.
For some reason, the little girl liked Gu Chengming at first sight. Her personality was lively, and she began chatting with him about everything under the sun.
Born by the sea, the little girl was very familiar with sea birds. Every time one flew past, she would introduce it.
"That's a seagrass duck; the tip of its tail is black!" "That one with the fast-flapping wings is a white-bellied shearwater!" "And that... that one is called..."
The old boatman coughed from the stern. "Nannuan, don't disturb the guest."
The little girl stuck out her tongue but moved half an inch closer to Gu Chengming. Gu Chengming didn't mind and said he was actually quite interested in these things, leaving the old boatman with no choice but to shake his head helplessly.
Encouraged by the support, the little girl took out a small handkerchief bundle and unfolded it, revealing three pieces of pastry that were clearly soft from being kept close to her body.
"This is for you." She picked the most intact piece and handed it over. "Grandpa says pastries are sweet and should be given to important guests."
It seemed the little girl lived a quiet life and enjoyed chatting with strangers from outside.
However, a gift could not be taken for nothing. Gu Chengming took a common pine nut from his sleeve and said with a smile, "Then I shall give you a gift as well."
The little girl leaned in. In her wide eyes, the pine nut sprouted, grew, and unfurled, blooming into a tiny white flower.
At its peak, the flower turned into a breeze and dissipated, leaving only the pine nut in his palm.
The little girl stared blankly for a long time before suddenly shouting, "Wow! Big brother is an immortal!"
"Just a small trick to make a living in the world. Nothing impressive."
The old boatman looked over, his hand on the oar pausing slightly.
Having lived this long, he had seen his share of strange things and performers on this sea. He had seen tricks involving hidden mechanisms, wind, or light, but the flower between this young master's fingers had truly grown from the pine nut.
The old man didn't expose it, merely resuming his rowing with a squinting smile. "Young master's skill is truly formidable."
Gu Chengming smiled back. The little girl didn't care about the details, tugging at Gu Chengming's sleeve and asking to see it again, only sitting back properly after the old boatman coughed twice.
The sky was turning dark when the boat reached the shore. The old boatman carried the little girl onto the pier first before waving Gu Chengming over.
The pier wasn't large. Piles of fishing nets and several conch cages were stacked on the damp stone slabs. In the distance, lanterns at the wine shops and tea houses were just being lit, tinting half of Tingchao Town in a dim yellow glow.
"Does the young master have a place to stay?" the old boatman asked while unloading the boat.
Gu Chengming shook his head.
In the old boatman's eyes, this scholar clearly had nowhere to go. If he stayed at an inn, Tingchao Town had been unsettled lately. The places in the east of the town were a mixed bag, and there had even been reports of foreign guests losing their money pouches in the middle of the night. This young master looked frail and might suffer if he stayed there.
Moreover, it was rare for Nannuan to be so close to a stranger. The old boatman stroked his beard. "If you don't mind, you can make do in my humble shack for a couple of days until you find your relatives."
"This..."
The little girl's eyes lit up instantly.
"Big brother, stay with us! We have salted fish!"
Gu Chengming weighed the options for a moment and then readily agreed. "Then I shall trouble you, Old Master."
The little girl cheered, jumping up and nearly tripping over a rope at her feet.
...
The old boatman's residence was at the end of an alley on the west side of town—a small two-entry courtyard with morning glories climbing half a mud wall and an old osmanthus tree in the yard.
The house was small but kept clean.
Gu Chengming was settled in the west wing.
After setting down his luggage, the little girl scurried to the stove like a rabbit to wash her hands. The old boatman showed Gu Chengming the bed and the clothes rack, reminding him to close the windows when the night wind picked up.
Seeing that there were only two people in the family, Gu Chengming asked with some hesitation, "Your daughter..."
The old boatman seemed to see what Gu Chengming wanted to ask and smiled. "Her mother passed away early. She was a widow in town and died during childbirth." The old man paused. "The child isn't my biological granddaughter... but after all these years, she's no different from one."
Gu Chengming acknowledged this and didn't ask further.
Before long, the little girl poked her head out from the kitchen and called them to eat.
On the table in the main hall were salted fish, green vegetables, and a small jar of rice wine. The old boatman poured him a bowl. "Young master, don't mind the crude brew of the countryside."
Gu Chengming accepted it politely. His gaze swept around casually, but it stopped on the wall directly opposite the door.
A painting hung there. The scroll was common plain silk, but the brushwork was quite exquisite.
In the painting, a white-clad swordsman hung in mid-air, her long hair tied with a blue ribbon. Her white robe was stained with a few drops of blood, and the long sword in her hand pointed diagonally at the ground. Beneath the sword was a Jiao-beast that had been cut into two.
Why did this look so familiar?
Gu Chengming looked closer.
Wait!
Isn't this our Elder Yu?
Before Gu Chengming could react, the old boatman brought over a plate of peanuts. Following his gaze and seeing Gu Chengming's curiosity, he explained, "Over ten years ago, two Jiao came from the sea and ravaged three coastal villages. The soldiers came twice but gained no advantage. The masters from the Honglu Temple were diligent, though, running over to discuss compensation with the village elders."
"They called it compensation, but they just handed out a few copper coins to the families of the dead and dismissed them."
"Then came this immortal." The old boatman pointed at the painting. "She dropped from the sky. I don't know which sect she was from, but she cut those two Jiao to pieces in a single hour."
Gu Chengming came to his senses, remembering that back in the capital, Elder Yu had mentioned an incident in the East Sea during a casual conversation—likely here in the Tingchao Town area.
He had heard it and forgotten it back then, but looking back now, the karmic connections of the world were truly wondrous.
"Grandpa." After gnawing on a fish bone, the little girl pushed her bowl aside and went to the old boatman's side, standing on her tiptoes. "Will that immortal sister come back again?"
The old boatman stroked her head. "Maybe she will, maybe she won't."
The little girl lowered her head in thought, then suddenly looked up. "Then, when I grow up, will I be able to see that immortal sister?"
The old man smiled. "Then let's wait until Nannuan grows up a bit more."
Night soon swept over the horizon, shrouding this remote coastal town in thick ink.
Coastal families slept early. Once the bustle of the daytime marketplace dissipated, only the sound of waves crashing against the reefs remained, one after another, like the slow, heavy breathing of the town.
The old boatman cleared the dishes and prepared a guest room in the west wing for Gu Chengming before taking the little girl to the inner room to rest.
...
During the night, Gu Chengming tossed and turned on the creaking wooden bed for half an hour.
Reasonably, this was a good place. The sea breeze was fresh and salty, and though the spiritual energy was shallow, it was even and pure. Yet, he simply couldn't sleep.
【Red Dust Phantom Step reminded: Chengming, if you have nothing to do, you can investigate the north of the town. The lights there haven't gone out since the Hour of the Dog, and every hour or two, carriages depart from there for the pier.】
Gu Chengming sat up. In such a small town, what could be worth transporting back and forth in the middle of the night?
Thinking it might be related to the Jiao race, Gu Chengming put on his clothes and rose. The corridor lamp under the eaves was dim, and very light snoring from the little girl's room mixed with the sound of the tide.
Gu Chengming didn't use his scholar disguise but changed into a straw raincoat, making himself look even more inconspicuous.
【Red Dust Phantom Step is very satisfied with this outfit】
At the end of North Street was a government office with a sign hanging at the door: Honglu Temple, Tingchao Branch.
Gu Chengming crouched on the roof of a closed cloth shop opposite, the eaves' gutters filled with salt crust.
Over the next half hour, he watched two carriages drive out of the side gate one after another.
The carriages were covered with thick oilcloth. Occasionally, a corner of the cloth would lift, and Gu Chengming used his divine sense to probe inside, discovering that hidden within were small children with curled-up bodies.
Gu Chengming took a deep breath, suppressing the fire in his chest.
Once the carriages left, he circled to the back of the office and landed at the base of a collapsed old wall near the kitchen.
The light in the kitchen was still on. A middle-aged official in a grey-blue robe was buried in documents, with a stack of newly written gift lists beside him.
Gu Chengming narrowed his eyes and leaned in half an inch, seeing all the characters on the paper clearly.
"Gifted to the East Sea Diplomatic Mission: several Auspicious Offerings."
Below was a dense list of names, hometowns, and ages. The handwriting was neat. He scanned down.
"Female, ten years old, Alley 7, West Lane, grandfather is a boatman."
Gu Chengming stared at that line until the official inside muttered to himself, "This one from the boatman's house has been named three times. Let's send her tonight; the diplomatic mission is pressing hard."
A murderous intent finally flickered in Gu Chengming's eyes.
The situation was now clear. Lord Fubai was heavily injured, and the Jiao race hadn't produced a new Sixth Realm in a century, leaving their foundation unstable. If the old Jiao continued to rot like this, he wouldn't even make it to the next Dragon Transformation Pool opening, let alone keep his life.
Thus came the blood sacrifice. The blood of young boys and girls was the purest, and to transport living people openly, they needed the cover of a government office.
The phrase 'the big picture of diplomatic relations' was being used to this extent for the first time.
However, this was clearly a dilemma for Gu Chengming. If he acted, he would surely alert the enemy... but at a time like this, how could he weigh the pros and cons?!
If he watched these children being taken away, he wouldn't need to practice the sword anymore!
At least this batch tonight had to be stopped. It would be best if the Honglu Temple couldn't tell that an outsider had acted.
Of course, if they did find out, he would just kill them all.
...
The pier was about a mile down from the main road, after one more turn.
The tide rolled with white foam under the moonlight. A three-masted cargo ship was moored on the outer side, its mast lamps hung low, and its hull sat deep in the water. Two suspicious shadows could be seen on the gunwale, their scales faintly shimmering—clearly not human.
A Honglu Temple official in a green robe stood at the bow with his hands behind his back.
Gu Chengming crouched behind a stack of cargo at the pier. He had originally intended to sneak onto the ship to find out exactly how many children were inside, but just as his toes left the ground by half an inch, a sword light slashed down from the cliff behind and to the side.
Someone had moved before him.
Gu Chengming stopped his mid-leap and pressed himself against the cargo, looking up.
When the green figure on the cliff landed, his robes hadn't even settled, and he staggered slightly—he was a youth.
He was only sixteen or seventeen. His scabbard was worn, his clothes were old, and there was a fresh scab on the webbing of his right hand. The sword light had directly sliced open the oilcloth, and five or six children inside saw the light again. The oldest was about nine, and the youngest only reached his knees.
The youth leaped toward the children and shielded them behind him.
At the same time, the two Jiao-beasts on the deck shimmered with scales and crashed heavily onto the deck, each letting out a low, threatening growl.
The youth held his sword across his chest, showing no fear.
Gu Chengming stared at that face, stunned.
The moonlight wasn't very bright, but it was enough to see his features. For some reason, he felt a sense of familiarity.
After a long while, he realized—wasn't this the youth from Xuande Neighborhood whose grandfather had been trampled to death by a Jiao-beast?!
Back then, Gu Chengming was just a fledgling junior banner of the Night Guard Division. When he struck that sword, he hadn't thought about what he might plant in someone's heart. Seeing an old acquaintance under the moon tonight felt as if someone had quietly continued the account on the other end of time for him.
The two Jiao-beasts on the deck were already impatient, pouncing off the ship one after the other.
With a flick of their scaled claws, seawater crashed onto the stone steps. The youth gritted his teeth and raised his sword to meet them, stabbing into the scale gap under the left Jiao-beast's jaw. His spiritual energy vibrated, releasing a small puff of water vapor.
The level of this strike was definitely high for the First Realm, Ninth Level, but against the Second Realm, Middle Stage, the gap in cultivation was enough to negate everything.
The Jiao-beast hissed and whipped its tail. The youth was thrown two zhang away, his back crashing heavily into the cargo, causing a small portion of the wood to collapse.
The youngest of the children finally couldn't help but burst into tears.
The youth wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and climbed back up, his sword still held steadily.
Gu Chengming tapped his knuckles against his sword hilt. Red Dust Phantom Step had already quietly activated. Even the slight sound of the sword leaving its scabbard at his waist was smoothed away by the technique.
A sword light cut out from the shadow of the cargo, following the extension of the youth's sword trajectory.
If the youth practiced the sword for ten more years, gained ten more years of mental fortitude, and faced ten more years of opponents, this would be the sword he himself would strike.
Gu Chengming struck it for him.
The sword light skimmed across the deck, cutting into the neck of the Jiao-beast on the left and piercing through the throat of the one on the right.
Before the two Second Realm Jiao-beasts could see where the sword light came from, their bodies suddenly froze. Jiao blood sprayed onto the mast, dyeing half the sail red.
The tide rolled, and the two Jiao corpses collapsed heavily, crushing half of the gunwale.
The youth stood frozen, his sword still raised, the tip trembling slightly, as if the strike had indeed come from his hand.
At the bow.
The green-robed Honglu Temple official hadn't moved, his hands still behind his back.
He had been waiting for the two Jiao to finish off the youth before ordering the sailors to inventory and crate the 'gifts.' He had done this kind of work for the Honglu Temple for over twenty years, handling at least eighty or a hundred 'big pictures of diplomatic relations,' and had never seen an accident.
The scene before him was clearly a massive accident.
He opened his mouth but didn't have time to shout the word "Rebellion!"
The youth used his sword to prop himself up and slowly stood. He looked up at the two Jiao with severed necks on the deck, then at the green-robed official at the bow. Realizing something, murderous intent finally began to burn in his eyes.
"Sir," the youth's voice was raspy as he spoke, "have a safe journey!"
The green-robed official opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.
He had spent his life accustomed to saying, "The crime of offending diplomatic relations is enough to exterminate three generations," but tonight, the words stuck in his throat.
The youth stepped onto the ship's deck, and his sword light rose again.
He made this strike himself.
Though his sword trembled, the green-robed official had no cultivation to resist.
The moment the sword tip entered his chest, his eyes widened. It seemed that until his final breath, he couldn't believe that a mere youth at the First Realm, Ninth Level truly dared to strike a seventh-rank official of the Daqian Honglu Temple.
A small patch of light red floated on the water at the bow.
The other children, who had been locked in the bottom of the hold, poked their heads out, trembling at the sound.
The youth panted with his sword in hand and glanced back at the empty air.
Gu Chengming stood in the shadows, motionless. Red Dust Phantom Step worked perfectly; all that could be seen was the ordinary night and the sound of the tide.
The youth saw nothing, but he knew the strike from earlier was far beyond his level. Someone had helped him tonight.
He held the worn long sword across his chest, bowed toward the sky, and silently said a word of thanks.
Then he turned and walked into the depths of the night.
The sea breeze skimmed over the outer side, catching the sail half-stained with Jiao blood. The green-robed official lay sprawled on the deck, his eyes wide. Blood dripped from the gaps in the gunwale into the sea, mixing into that small patch of light red before being diluted by the next wave.
The youth walked away without looking back.
...
Gu Chengming crouched behind the cargo, watching the trail of blood spots extend into the night, his temple throbbing.
You kid... you didn't do any cleanup at all.
Blood was everywhere, not to mention the youth's footprints—from the deck to the gangplank to the reefs, every step was a bloody print. Even a blind dog could follow this trail, not to mention the two Jiao corpses on the deck, the blood-soaked sail, and the children curled in a ball in the hold.
Gu Chengming sighed. Red Dust Phantom Step activated quietly as he glided out from the shadow of the cargo. The children only felt a cool breeze on their faces, and when they opened their eyes, a scholar in a straw raincoat stood before them.
"Don't be afraid." Gu Chengming's voice was low as he tapped the forehead of the leading boy. The boy's eyelids grew heavy, and he fell backward. The others were the same, all knocked unconscious in an instant.
After settling the children, Gu Chengming began to clean up the mess.
The Jiao corpses were too large, so Gu Chengming simply used sword qi to shatter the two bodies and threw the pieces into the deep sea.
He channeled a strand of true essence into the blood-soaked deck, and as water vapor rose, the bloodstains faded significantly. He used his sword light to shred the sail, cutting away the blood-stained half and throwing it into the sea.
The remaining half of the sail couldn't catch the wind and fluttered twice before hanging limp.
Gu Chengming looked down at the Honglu Temple official. The corpse lay face-up with a bloody hole in its chest. With a flick of his sword tip on the official's robe, a copper waist plate rolled out. The front was engraved with 'Honglu Temple,' and the back had a string of duty numbers.
Gu Chengming picked it up, glanced at it, and tossed it away. The copper plate traced an arc and vanished into the dark waves without a sound.
Distant sea birds perched for the night were startled by the movement, circling twice before landing back in their original spots.
When Gu Chengming glided back to the small courtyard at the west end of town, the corridor lamp under the eaves was still lit. The lights in the old boatman's room were out, and the little girl's light snoring could be heard through the door—soft and delicate, like a cat treading on cotton.
...
Over the next few days, Gu Chengming began gathering information in Tingchao Town.
By day, he mingled in the marketplace, and by night, he released his divine sense to scan the coastal defense line inch by inch.
However, the old Jiao-dragon was more cunning than imagined. After the entire East Sea Diplomatic Mission was wiped out, the water beneath the surface became like a stagnant pond, with not a single word leaking out.
And since the incident at the pier that night, the Honglu Temple branch had doubled its night patrols. Gu Chengming faintly felt that the commotion at the pier had indeed alerted the enemy.
Lord Fubai was already heavily injured, and now that he sensed things weren't right on shore, he would surely push his hiding skills to the limit.
As True Monarch Liuyun Suyu had said, the sea eyes connected to the outer realms, and everywhere beneath the surface was Jiao territory.
If he tried to search forcibly, even turning the East Sea upside down might not reveal a Jiao that refused to show itself.
He told himself not to be impatient, but in truth, how could he not be?
Gu Chengming lay on a cliff, his head pillowed on his arms, staring blankly at the starry sky.
The sea breeze, carrying a salty, fishy scent, rushed into his collar, making the hem of his green robe flap loudly. In the distance were fishing fires, small dots of light swaying with the waves like someone had scattered crushed gold on the sea.
Suddenly, laughter came from below the cliff. Gu Chengming turned his head.
On the shallows below the cliff, an old fisherman was crouching by the reefs, tidying his fishing net. About seven or eight paces away sat a child, about seven or eight years old, with a bowl cut and pants rolled up above his knees, revealing tanned little legs.
The child was clutching a crooked willow branch with a piece of thick cotton thread used for sewing soles tied to it. The end of the line had no hook, but a bent iron nail, and a single grain of white rice was hanging squarely on the tip.
The old fisherman stopped tidying his net, turned to look at the willow branch, then at the grain of rice, and laughed so hard he slapped his thigh.
"Little one, what are you fishing for with a grain of rice?"
"Fishing for fish," the child said without looking up.
"I've fished my whole life and never seen anyone use rice as bait!" The old fisherman doubled over with laughter. "Are you hungry? Why don't you just eat the rice!"
The child ignored him, solemnly flicking the willow branch into the waves. The tip hit the water, creating a small ripple that was quickly smoothed by the tide.
Seeing that the child didn't respond, the old fisherman shook his head and went back to tidying the tangled fishing net.
The waves crashed against the reefs—shua, shua, shua.
Gu Chengming also shook his head and looked away.
After the time it took for an incense stick to burn, Gu Chengming was still pondering what to do next when a "Huh?" suddenly came from below the cliff.
He looked down. The crooked willow branch actually sank slightly. The child jerked the rod, and the branch bent into a bow. The iron nail broke through the water, the grain of rice gone, but not even a single fish scale was caught.
The child looked at the bare iron nail without getting angry. Instead, he took another grain of rice from his pocket, hooked it on, and flicked it back into the water.
But this time, there was movement beneath the surface. Several small fish, the size of a palm, swirled in the shallows, competing for the food, their silver bellies flashing.
The child's hand tightened on the willow branch, appearing a bit flustered.
Just then, a sea bass weighing about a catty darted out from the deep water, pouncing straight toward the small fish. The spray in the shallows was kicked up two feet high, crashing against the reef and splashing the child's face with seawater.
The child spat out the salty water, but the willow branch in his hand was dragged down by the bass, bending into a full bow. The thick cotton thread creaked and finally snapped.
The bass fell back into the water, flicked its tail, and vanished into the depths of the waves with a swirl.
The old fisherman watched, dumbfounded.
On the cliff, Gu Chengming looked at the child's stubborn back, and a flash of inspiration suddenly struck him, as if many things were being connected.
A grain of rice couldn't catch a big fish, but it could lure small fish. Small fish fighting for food could attract a sea bass, and a sea bass pouncing could turn the entire shallows into a boiling pot.
His thoughts suddenly became clear, and the frustration of the past few days vanished in an instant.
He stood up abruptly and laughed loudly.
"Why do I need to find the Jiao?"
The laughter startled the seahorses by the cliff.
"I should make the Jiao come find me!"
With a wave of his sleeve, a strand of spiritual energy was injected into the sea area below the cliff.
The child had just pulled out a new piece of thread and was about to tie it to the willow branch when the spool in his hand suddenly tightened and was violently sucked into the waves.
He instinctively grabbed the end of the line and was nearly dragged into the water. He hurriedly hugged the reef at his feet, his eyes wide as he looked at the sea.
The seawater had exploded into activity. Schools of silver-white fish, like an overturned river of stars, swarmed from all directions toward the spot where the grain of rice had been. Countless fish competed to leap out of the water, their scales reflecting the moonlight like flying shards of glass, pitter-pattering against the surface.
The old fisherman's newly tidied fishing net didn't even need to be cast; the fish jumped into it themselves.
The child stared blankly at the scene. The willow branch in his hand was pulled taut, and fine root hairs suddenly sprouted from the branch, drilling into the cracks of the reef. Then, a fist-sized white flower bloomed at the tip.
The petals were thin as cicada wings, trembling slightly in the sea breeze. The center of the flower held a drop of dew, glistening and about to fall, reflecting the starry sky as if the entire night sky had been gathered into that single drop of water.
The fishing net in the old fisherman's hand dropped completely.
His mouth hung open as he looked at the flower, then at the swarming fish, then back at the flower. After a long while, he squeezed out a sentence:
"Holy mother... what did he put in that rice?"
...
Three days later.
Three miles outside Tingchao Town, there was a nameless creek. During the dry season, it was barely two zhang wide and shallow enough to walk across. But during the midsummer storms, muddy water from the mountains would surge down, and the mouth of the creek would swell to ten zhang wide, with white willow roots and wild reeds all submerged.
Now, however, it was the dry season after the Autumn Equinox.
The creek was thin, and where it entered the sea, it was merely a winding vein of water, squeezing through the gaps in the reefs and merging into the East Sea as thin as a silver thread.
The reefs at the creek mouth were perfectly situated, one on the left and one on the right, pinching the outflowing water channel into a natural funnel—wide on the outside and narrow on the inside.
When the tide receded, the seawater flowed in, and when it rose, the creek water flowed out. The two currents tangled into a mass of white foam at this reef beach, shua-shua-ing loudly.
Gu Chengming stood before this white foam for half an hour. Behind him stood the old boatman, clutching an old bamboo pole. Gu Chengming had asked for it early that morning, saying he wanted to "catch a fish to go with some wine."
The old boatman had pulled a piece of old stock that had been gathering dust for three years from the base of his wall. The bamboo segments were yellowed and the tip was cracked; it was even too shabby to hang clothes on, yet Gu Chengming treated it like a treasure.
He took the bamboo pole, looked it over twice, and nodded. "A good pole."
The old boatman laughed. "I'm glad the young master likes it."
Arriving at the creek mouth, Gu Chengming surveyed the terrain and walked straight to the reef at the river mouth. He crouched down and pulled a piece of driftwood about two feet long from a crack in the rocks. It had been soaking in the sea for who knows how many years, being grey-white all over, but it was still sturdy when tapped.
Seeing him hold that rotten piece of wood as if it were an ancestral jade tablet, the old boatman finally couldn't help but ask:
"Young master, how exactly do you plan to catch this fish?"
"The willing will take the bait."
The old boatman was quite helpless, thinking to himself that young people nowadays always liked to say mysterious things.
Gu Chengming smiled, naturally guessing what the old boatman was thinking. He laid the driftwood horizontally across the narrowest part of the river mouth, wedging both ends into the reef gaps. He pressed it with his hand, then took a small dish of cinnabar from his sleeve and began to write with it.
With a turn of the brush, the Zhou Rites Heavenly Rectifying Art circulated, and a strand of noble qi seeped into the grain of the driftwood along with the cinnabar, finally forming two characters.
"Dragon Gate."
As the brush strokes settled, the two characters on the driftwood glowed with a faint red light in the sun, as if they had been branded there.
The old boatman looked at the two characters and wanted to say something, but limited by his knowledge and vocabulary, he finally squeezed out, "Young master's calligraphy is truly good; you will surely catch a good fish."
Gu Chengming set down the brush and smiled at him. "I'll take your blessing, Old Master."
After the boatman left, Gu Chengming sat alone by the reef. He didn't act immediately, merely using the cracked bamboo pole to make a few strokes in the water, testing the depth and flow.
The tides at the creek mouth were two-way. When the tide rose, seawater flowed in, and when it receded, the creek water flowed out, forming a natural cycle at the position of the "Dragon Gate."
He chose this spot for this very cycle.
Gu Chengming took a deep breath, spiritual energy surging around him as the Unfettered Freedom Art quietly activated.
This art was best at faking auras. Back when he pulled the Abyss Pillar at the Hunyuan Sect, it could even mimic the Founding Grand-Patriarch's aura perfectly.
What he needed to fake now was merely the thing a Jiao-dragon desired most in its life.
The aura of a Dao Throne.
To be precise, it was a lingering afterglow of the "unborn Dao Throne" that had been swallowed by the Laboratory of Love earlier.
Gu Chengming drew that strand of aura from his meridians, wrapped it around his fingertip, and gently tapped the water surface.
The moment he touched the water, the entire creek trembled slightly, and a thin mist of sediment was stirred up from the bottom.
Gu Chengming rose and placed the cracked bamboo pole on one end of the "Dragon Gate" driftwood, the tip slanted out over the wood, hanging about three inches above the water.
A cracked old bamboo pole laid horizontally beside a piece of rotten wood inscribed with "Dragon Gate," pointing straight toward the sea. If a passerby saw it, they would probably think some lazy fellow was napping in the sun and hadn't noticed his rod had fallen into the water.
Gu Chengming brushed the dust from his hands, looked around, and found a blue stone on the north side of the creek mouth. With his back against the mountain wall and facing the sea, he sat down, his view perfectly crossing the "Dragon Gate" and taking in the entire shallows.
He took a flask of wine from his sleeve. The sun shifted westward inch by inch.
A layer of fading gold light dyed his green robe.
Above the distant mountains, a lone crane flew south; high in the sky, clouds rolled and unfurled.
The change began at nightfall. When the moon first rose, the shrimp were the first to arrive.
Many green-shelled shrimp were hidden in the mud and sand at the creek mouth. After dark, they came out to feed, moving up with the tide. A few larger ones, as they swam, somehow deviated from their original path for some reason and gathered toward the driftwood.
Shrimp have no wisdom; they will crawl into any gap they see.
A shallow groove had happened to be washed out by the current beneath that driftwood, connecting front to back. The green-shelled shrimp crawled through it in a daze and were tumbled out the other side by the current. When they emerged, their shells had an extra layer of fluorescence, which only revealed a hint of silvery-white like scales when held up to the moon.
Then came the fish. The common mullet and mudskippers of the creek mouth followed the shrimp. They were smarter than the shrimp and knew to swim around, but the current tonight was a bit strange, so a few of them dizzily swam under the driftwood.
The scales of the fish that emerged also had that layer of silvery-white fluorescence. Their fins were even more unfurled than usual, and they swam with thirty percent more vigor, as if they had drunk some tonic soup.
Then came the crabs. Green-shelled crabs were dumber than shrimp and fish, but bolder. They crawled sideways along the reef cracks. When they reached the driftwood, they were swept in by that strange current and tumbled out the other side, spitting bubbles, their entire aura suddenly changed.
Normally, if fish, shrimp, or crabs wanted to transform, they would need at least several hundred years of cultivation and to open their spiritual wisdom before they could step onto the path of demon cultivation. Yet these aquatic creatures, which hadn't even opened their wisdom, gained a trace of true dragon aura just by swimming under a piece of rotten wood with characters on it?
If a cultivator saw this scene, their jaw would probably drop.
However, the natural creation was fake. The strand of aura faked by the Unfettered Freedom Art was more than enough to fool these fish and shrimp, but it would be a bit difficult to deceive a Fifth Realm Jiao-dragon.
But its strength lay in its "purity." After all, this strand of Dao Throne aura did indeed come from a real unborn Dao Throne. It was like a fake seed whose appearance, aura, and feel were identical to a real one; it could sprout and bloom when planted in soil, but it simply wouldn't bear fruit.
But the Jiao-dragon wouldn't know.
The Jiao-dragon only knew that the East Sea Dragon Transformation Pool opened once every hundred years, producing only one strand of Dao Throne root each time, for which countless dragon sons and grandsons fought. And this "wild Dragon Transformation Pool" that had popped out of nowhere had a Dao Throne aura ten times purer than the Dragon Transformation Pool's. Gu Chengming didn't believe it could resist.
...
Deep in the East Sea.
Dragon Lair.
Lord Fubai's secret chamber was nestled at the bottom of a sea trench. On the Jiao-dragon's back was an old wound extending from its neck to the base of its tail. The flesh was turned out, the scales were shattered, and the pale white bone could be seen deep within the wound—it was left from the battle at the Hunyuan Sect, which had nearly cut it in two.
Lord Fubai had been lying on this ice bed for over a month, and its injuries showed no signs of healing. It knew the only way was the Dragon Transformation Pool.
But the next opening of the Dragon Transformation Pool was at least thirty years away. With its current condition, whether it could last until then was questionable.
Lord Fubai lay on the bed with eyes closed, every breath pulling at the wound on its back, the pain making its eyelids twitch.
It was thinking of the Dragon Transformation Pool... it had been thinking of the Dragon Transformation Pool its whole life.
Among the Jiao race, only those who condensed a true dragon body could be called "Dragon Lord." The rest, regardless of their cultivation or age, were merely called "old Jiao" by outsiders.
Although it had proclaimed itself Dragon Lord, it had actually sat in the position of an "old Jiao" for thousands of years. During those thousands of years, it had watched two true dragons emerge in the clan and then die in various calamities. The Dragon Transformation Pool had been emptied round after round, yet it was always one step away.
What was it missing? Naturally, a Dao Throne.
The key to the Dragon Transformation Pool was never the pool of spiritual liquid, but the Dao Throne roots that surged from the sea eye at the bottom. That manifestation of the Great Dao's creation was taken into the Jiao-dragon's body, using bloodline as a guide and spiritual liquid as a medium to shed the Jiao body and condense a true dragon bone structure.
Thinking of this, Lord Fubai only felt the wound hurt more. It had intended to continue using light sleep to fight the long night, but it suddenly sensed something.
It was a message from the bottom-level shrimp soldiers, saying a strange thing had happened on the shallows.
Lord Fubai's brow twitched as it sent out a strand of divine sense to investigate.
—River mouth, driftwood, leaping the Dragon Gate.
It sneered and withdrew its divine sense.
I don't know which reckless rogue cultivator is playing tricks.
Thinking a piece of rotten wood with two characters on it can pass for the Dragon Transformation Pool? It had seen such clumsy tricks no less than ten times over a thousand years. Every time, some ignorant fools would use a fake Dao Throne to lure it out. What a joke.
The Jiao's eyes closed again as it resumed its light sleep.
After the time it took for an incense stick to burn.
It opened its eyes again. Those shrimp and crab soldiers were continuously sending messages to the Dragon Lair. More and more fish and shrimp were swimming under that driftwood, and more and more aquatic creatures were gaining the "true dragon aura." That aura was spreading with the ocean currents, slowly seeping from the river mouth toward the deep sea.
Lord Fubai sent out another strand of divine sense.
This time, it investigated more carefully.
That strand of "Dao Throne aura" had somehow spread from the fish and shrimp into the seawater. The entire water vein entering the sea was soaked in that aura, as if an invisible layer of something had dissolved in the water.
Without a doubt, this truly was the aura of a Dao Throne.
Lord Fubai's eyelids twitched as it sat up from the bed.
Why were the Dao Throne roots of the Dragon Transformation Pool purer than elsewhere?
Because the Dragon Transformation Pool connected to the sea eye, and the sea eye connected to the outer realms, which were the channels through which Dao Thrones "fell." The Dao Throne roots in the Dragon Transformation Pool were, to put it bluntly, bits of residue leaked from the outer realms, filtered by the sea eye, washed by spiritual liquid, and settled over a hundred years—only then did they have that "purity."
But at that broken river mouth, there was nothing underneath. No sea eye, no spiritual liquid, not even a decent array. How could it produce a Dao Throne aura purer than the Dragon Transformation Pool's?
Unless it didn't come from below, but was put in from the outside.
Who could "put" Dao Throne aura into the water?
Lord Fubai's heart jumped.
Someone who could release such an aura was no ordinary person.
It wasn't a trick a rogue cultivator could perform, nor a means a common cultivator could muster.
After the battle at the Hunyuan Sect, it had hidden in the deepest sea trench of the East Sea, almost completely concealing its aura. It knew that among the cultivators up there, there were several who were not to be trifled with, perhaps hoping it would come out for a breath of air.
Is it a trap?
Lord Fubai lay back on the ice bed and closed its eyes, taking a deep breath.
It was an old Jiao that had lived for a thousand years; what kind of situation hadn't it seen? It could wait for the Dao Throne roots of the Dragon Transformation Pool for thousands of years... waited for thousands of years...
It opened its Jiao mouth, and a low roar escaped its throat.
But the East Sea was its territory, the sea area it had occupied for a thousand years. If it didn't leave the water, who could harm it in the slightest?
Even in the worst-case scenario, if something truly happened, couldn't it just dive into the Dragon Transformation Pool's dwelling?
The Dragon Transformation Pool connected to the sea eye, the sea eye connected to the outer realms, and the outer realms connected to the Four Seas. Once it entered the Dragon Transformation Pool, forget those cultivators who set the trap—even a Sixth Realm True Monarch couldn't catch it.
Besides, it might not be a trap.
Perhaps an ancient Dao Throne had reappeared, perhaps a Sixth Realm True Monarch had fallen, or perhaps... the heavens had taken pity on this old Jiao that had waited for thousands of years.
The hundred-zhang Jiao body occupied the Dragon Lair, its scales grey-white and covered in old scars. The wound on its back was even more shocking in its true form, the scales at the edges shattered and turned outward, revealing the dark red flesh beneath, but it didn't care anymore.
The Dao Throne aura was still flowing out, strand after strand.
Lord Fubai truly couldn't endure it anymore. It flicked its Jiao tail, and the black ice rock at the top of the Dragon Lair was violently smashed, creating a large hole. The fragments fell like stars toward the bottom of the stone chamber.
It passed through the gap and rushed into the depths of the sea trench, following the direction of that aura, soaring toward the sea surface.
...
On the sea surface.
The moonlight was like white silk.
The tide at the river mouth was rising, the seawater carrying mud and sand inward. The undercurrent beneath the driftwood swirled with foam, shua-shua-ing loudly.
The moonlight on the water surface was stirred into fragments, drifting here and there. The tide that was originally flowing from east to west suddenly paused for a moment, as if it were being sucked in by somewhere below.
Then, the surge came.
A three-zhang-high wave crested from the sea, white foam rolling, carrying seaweed and crushed crab shells, pouncing straight toward the river mouth.
Beneath the surge was a massive shadow, its grey-white scales hidden in the shadow of the seawater like a moving reef island. The moment the wave hit the reef beach at the river mouth, the entire shallows trembled.
The fish, shrimp, and crabs that had been attracted by the Dao Throne aura earlier scattered in a panic, fleeing in all directions for their lives.
The surge stopped twenty zhang before the "Dragon Gate," and the water surface exploded.
A hundred-zhang Jiao body rose from the sea, the seawater on its scales turned into a sheet of shattered silver by the moonlight. The old wound on its back was still bleeding, appearing like a winding crimson canyon in the moonlight, extending from its neck to the base of its tail, but those Jiao eyes didn't care to look at anything else right now.
It only saw one thing.
"Dragon Gate."
On that piece of driftwood laid horizontally between the reefs of the river mouth, the two characters written in cinnabar glowed with a dark red light under the moon.
In the undercurrent beneath the driftwood, strands of silvery-white aura were emerging, purer than anything it had smelled in its thousands of years by the Dragon Transformation Pool, as if the Dao Throne was right there, within reach.
Lord Fubai's Jiao pupils suddenly dilated, and all its suspicion and caution were completely cast aside at this moment.
The hundred-zhang Jiao body moved against the current toward the driftwood. The wave whipped up by its Jiao tail was higher than the reefs on either side, and the seawater beneath it was torn into two white streaks. The moonlight fell on its scales, grey-white and silver intertwining, like a giant water column rising from the seabed and pouring toward the river mouth.
The Jiao leaps from the abyss.
The momentum truly felt as if it were leaping the Dragon Gate.
Lord Fubai even felt that the old wound on its back no longer hurt. Its Jiao body stretched to the limit in mid-air, its front claws reaching out, its Jiao mouth wide open, straining with all its might toward the Dao Throne aura surging beneath the driftwood.
The wind rushed into its Jiao mouth, the cool water hit its scales, and the moonlight cast its shadow onto the shallows of the river mouth.
Enough, after thousands of years, it's enough!
The moment Lord Fubai's Jiao body crossed the driftwood, it raised its head, and what was reflected in its Jiao eyes was no longer moonlight and seawater—
But a person.
A green robe, an empty flask, and a cracked old bamboo pole resting by his knee.
The person was sitting on the blue stone directly above the "Dragon Gate," his legs hanging naturally, his toes less than three feet from the Jiao's head.
The moonlight shone from behind him, casting his shadow onto Lord Fubai's face, blocking out most of the moon.
It was Gu Chengming!
He looked down at the Jiao-dragon frozen in mid-air and said softly with a smile:
"Finally, I've reeled you in."
Rate on N.U.
