Chapter 119: The Broken Spear

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When Qingshan awoke, rain had already begun to fall outside.

Summer rain was always so unpredictable, coming and going without warning.

Water streamed from the blue-green roof tiles, hissing as it fell.

The shower brought a touch of coolness to the sweltering mountain village, and by then Qingshan's drowsiness had long since vanished.

Only one person remained in the tavern: the middle-aged man, drinking in silence.

"Awake?"

The man did not even raise his head as he spoke.

Embarrassed, Qingshan nodded and asked, "Has that immortal left?"

The middle-aged man grunted in reply.

Qingshan keenly sensed that something was strange about the atmosphere. "Uncle, you seem to be in a bad mood."

The middle-aged man stretched lazily in his rocking chair. "Doing hard labor for nothing, and all because I brought it upon myself. How could I be in a good mood?"

Before the boy could ask anything else, the man gazed toward the horizon as though remembering something. With an indifferent wave of his hand, he said, "I used to think it was still too early to tell you, but I suppose the time has come. In the southwestern mountains of the Central Continent, there is a shabby place called the Dao Sect. It is very far from here. The place is small, but its reputation is not. If you want to cultivate, go there. Just mention Shen Yu's name. Consider it payment for all the years you've spent helping me here."

The man paused, then continued, "Of course, you don't have to go. You could travel throughout the Five Continents and Four Seas to temper yourself. Go wherever it's most dangerous. As long as you don't die, you'll have a chance to rise above the rest."

Qingshan froze.

For a boy who had once regarded even an obscure little sect in the town beyond the mountains with awe, he had no idea what the Dao Sect meant throughout the entire Spirit Wasteland.

He only felt that the middle-aged man, now suddenly so serious, seemed completely different. His entire bearing had changed, and there was an indescribable quality in his face.

Upright. Weathered. Almost... immortal.

Unfortunately, the very next moment, the boy took back all those thoughts.

The middle-aged man abruptly turned his head, reverting to his shameless old self. With a beaming grin, he said, "Well, how about giving that broken spear back to me? The Dao Sect has everything else in abundance—magical treasures of every kind."

Qingshan instantly hugged the spear to his chest and shook his head vigorously.

The man tried to bargain. "Then let me borrow it for a while? I promise I'll return it when I'm done!"

Qingshan eyed him suspiciously, watching him like a thief.

The man glared. "What? You're turning your back on me too? That broken spear used to belong to me!"

"But now it belongs to me."

Qingshan felt a little guilty, but still muttered, "I exchanged for it with my own ability. Why should I give it to you?"

The middle-aged man slapped his forehead, looking as though he mourned the boy's misfortune. Then he flung out his sleeve. "Get lost, you ungrateful brat!"

As though granted a pardon, the boy dashed outside into the heavy rain.

The middle-aged man watched his retreating figure, cursing and grumbling under his breath, yet his eyes were filled with relief and affection.

Once, he too had been young. With a spear in hand, he had been filled with heroic ambition, looking down upon the whole world.

"Senior Brother! Come take a look at the spear technique I just comprehended! It's earth-shaking—guaranteed to be more spectacular than those sword arts of the Sword Immortal City, and more powerful than the Dao arts and spiritual treasures of our Dao Sect! I've even thought of a wonderful name for it... Hey... hey? Senior Brother, don't leave! Show me a little support!"

"What? You want to borrow my spear? Old man! Are you out of your mind? A man's spear isn't something you can lend out just like that!"

"What do you mean, yours? I stole this spear through my own skill. Why should it be yours? It's mine!"

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"Wife, if one day the Dragon Palace of that old bastard from Cliff Sea is blasted open, or Song Nu is suddenly knocked from the walls of Azure Emperor City by a single spear, don't think too much about it. Your husband will simply have gone to avenge you."

The man reclined in his rocking chair, swaying gently.

His eyes narrowed as memories of the past rose to mind.

"Did I actually keep the promise I made back then?"

It had been so long that he could hardly remember.

...

Shen Yu walked along the village road without an umbrella, letting the rain fall freely upon him.

The water ran down from Qingshan's body, yet rather than soaking him through, it seemed only to accentuate his delicate, refined features.

Shen Yu returned to the house and used the brush, ink, paper, and inkstone he had found in the village earlier to write a letter.

Then, a streak of rainbow light flashed across the roof and vanished into the horizon.

A letter sent by flying sword.

After completing all this, Shen Yu's face grew even paler. He stepped outside and stood quietly in the small courtyard, surrounded by the fresh fragrance of wet earth.

The blade energy within him had grown even more violent, and stabbing pain had begun to spread through his internal organs.

Shen Yu's expression remained calm. He suppressed his injuries with spiritual power, not allowing the slightest change to show on his face.

The woman who wielded the blade, Li Moran, was one of the most accomplished killers in the world.

That was Shen Yu's assessment.

Whether it was the killing move she had unleashed above Thousand Willow City or the blade intent now grinding relentlessly within his body, everything proved it.

Such a person was dangerous. That was why Shen Yu had sent a letter to the Dao Sect.

...

The torrential rain continued until nightfall, and Shen Yu remained standing in the courtyard until darkness descended.

After a long while, he slowly exhaled, fatigue showing in his eyes.

From the southern end of the village came a furious scolding. Several oil lamps were lit, and the village dogs growled incessantly.

Before long, Qingshan arrived outside the house.

Shen Yu looked at the swollen handprint on the boy's face but said nothing.

"Immortal, I want to go to the Dao Sect, but my parents won't agree."

Qingshan sat on a mound of earth, looking rather dejected.

Shen Yu said, "While one's parents live, one should not travel far."

Qingshan let out another sigh.

Looking into the distance, Shen Yu said, "Cultivation is arduous. It is entirely possible that you will die before you even reach the southwestern mountains of the Central Continent."

Qingshan replied firmly, "I'm not afraid."

Shen Yu asked in return, "But are your parents not afraid?"

Qingshan fell silent. For a long time, he said nothing.

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...

After the heavy rain came brilliant sunshine.

Early that morning, the tavern opened its doors, to the astonishment of many villagers.

The pretty young woman with a ponytail from Aunt Wang's household stood at the tavern entrance, gazing mischievously toward the west. "Uncle, the sun has risen in the west today!"

The middle-aged man reclined in his chair and pretended to be surprised. "Oh? Qiao'er, you care about your uncle so much. Don't tell me you've taken a fancy to me."

"Not in your dreams."

The girl smiled, her teeth gleaming white, entirely unbothered.

Life in the mountain village was leisurely, and the girl had long grown accustomed to this sort of playful banter.

Besides, although the man was rather glib, in a place where the slightest rumor could spread throughout the entire village, no one had ever heard so much as a whisper that he had behaved improperly toward any woman.

By noon, the girl brought over a large bowl of white rice and a plate of stir-fried wild boar. The man made no ceremony of it and polished everything off in just a few bites.

While he ate, Qiao'er helped him sweep the floor and put things in order.

Watching her, the man grinned. "What, do you really want to be my wife?"

The girl was forthright by nature. "Sure. If you can get my father to agree, I have no objection."

The man looked down at his bowl and suddenly sighed. "What a pity. After all these years of eating your father's stir-fried wild boar, I simply couldn't bring myself to do such a thing. Your father is a crafty one."

Another burst of laughter and teasing rose from the little shop.

After lunch, the man shut the front door with a heavy bang and left the village.

Someone asked in surprise, "So early today?"

The middle-aged man strode forward without looking back. "Closing early today. Time to return to my old profession."

The villagers naturally knew what his old profession was. They also guessed where he was going, and shook their heads one after another.

"Call gambling what it is. What kind of old profession is that?"

Just as everyone expected, the middle-aged man went to the gambling house in the small town beyond the mountains. He gambled from the blazing midday sun until the evening glow spread across the sky.

At last, beneath the light of the setting sun, the man walked out of the gambling house. Feeling the few copper coins remaining in his pocket, he could not bring himself to feel happy.

"Old man, how much are these things?"

"One silver coin. Not a penny less."

The man had gone to a blacksmith's shop in town. Under the proprietor's contemptuous gaze, he rummaged through the merchandise and haggled relentlessly. In the end, he used his last seven copper coins to buy a rust-covered, broken spearhead. Before leaving, he badgered the blacksmith into finding him a wooden pole to serve as the shaft.

At that very moment, unbeknownst to anyone in the town, countless figures were hurtling through the sky several hundred yards beyond the town walls, speeding toward the mountain village deep in the wilderness.

The man had just staggered out of town, the broken spear balanced on his shoulder, swaying from side to side.

He gazed toward the horizon and softly hummed:

"See those shadows up ahead, all in disarray. Once I catch up to them, I'll slaughter every last one without delay."

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