Chapter 201: Why Did Grandfather Deceive Me
Looking at Xiao Ju’s earnest expression, a strange thought flickered through Song Yan’s mind.
Xiao Ju’s slow cultivation was partly due to her poor spiritual root aptitude, and partly due to poverty—she lacked sufficient cultivation resources.
Yet her temperament and character were without flaw.
Perhaps she was too kind, but personality could be tempered.
He lightly stroked his chin, pondering a certain possibility.
“Should I let Xiao Ju try the Sword Planting Method?”
The Sword Sect had fallen into decline, and he himself possessed only scraps of its legacy.
This small bit of knowledge—one more person knowing it or one fewer—hardly mattered, did it?
“After all, wait a little longer…”
After deliberation, Song Yan decided to wait until after his own Foundation Establishment before making any decisions.
What he had gone through before was a last resort, a desperate gamble—and who knew how much luck had played a role in that success.
Once he succeeded in Foundation Establishment, he would be able to stand guard nearby.
That way, he would avoid ruining someone else’s Dao path and accumulating karmic debt, which would in turn create problems for his own state of mind.
Besides, Xiao Ju was only at the third level of Qi Refining—not yet at the stage where she could perform Spirit Severing and Sword Planting.
He resolved to wait until she reached the fourth level of Qi Refining or above before making further plans.
He had never once entertained thoughts of rebuilding the Sword Sect. The Eastern Abyss Sect had, on the whole, treated him well. There was no need to establish his own faction.
More importantly, he simply lacked the strength to do so.
The two sat in silence, each lost in thought.
Since consuming the tiger demon’s inner core, Xiao He had been sleeping for increasingly long stretches.
She had been lively for a few days while aboard the boat, but now she was fast asleep once more.
…
The last rays of the setting sun painted the river in hues of evening glow. A crimson cloud-patterned grain boat lay moored on the water.
Cloud Creek City—the Prefect’s Manor.
Zhao Huaizhen stood outside the manor, flanked by a retinue of servants. His expression showed fatigue, though he forced himself to remain alert.
He had no idea what had gotten into these past few days.
First, a cultivator from the Eastern Abyss Sect had come to inspect the affairs of the Profound Abyss Sect’s enshrinement—and had uncovered a scandal involving their patron consorting with a tiger demon.
That, at least, had been manageable. These were matters of the immortal sects, and had little to do with his governance of the city.
He had barely seen off that visitor before yet another arrived.
No sooner had the previous immortal departed than his servants brought urgent news: the Second Prince, for reasons unknown, had arrived in Cloud Creek City aboard a grain transport vessel from the capital.
Word had come that the prince had not come straight to the Prefect’s Manor upon disembarking. Instead, he had gone sightseeing first, accompanied by a young woman who looked as ethereal as a celestial maiden.
“None of them are easy to deal with…”
He sighed inwardly.
It was true that he, Zhao Huaizhen, craved power and wealth. Countless people longed for the chance to rub shoulders with these immortal cultivators and high officials, but could never obtain such an opportunity.
Yet to have them arrive one after another like this left him breathless.
At least it was only the Second Prince. If it had been some other high official, this hasty preparation might well have offended them.
Just as his nerves were fraying, a delegation arrived at the Prefect’s Manor.
At its head walked the very same young man in the python-embroidered robe whom Song Yan and the others had seen at the docks.
Zhao Huaizhen hurried to the manor gate and bowed deeply. “Your Highness graces us with your presence—this humble official failed to welcome you at the gate!”
The Second Prince had not come with great fanfare. He brought only two personal bodyguards and… a fair-faced young woman—truly a minimalist entourage.
The Second Prince waved his hand, his manner languid. “No need for formalities, Prefect Zhao. I have come merely to relax. There is no need for such ceremony.”
As they walked and talked, they entered the reception hall and took their seats.
Zhao Huaizhen stole a glance at the prince’s expression and ventured carefully, “Your Highness must be weary from the journey. Perhaps you would care to retire to the flower pavilion? A modest feast has been prepared…”
He had originally meant to mention that dancing girls awaited in the pavilion, but upon noticing the beautiful young woman standing nearby, he swallowed the words.
“Prefect Zhao, back in the capital, you and I were something of acquaintances. There is no need to be so stiff.”
Only then did Zhao Huaizhen breathe a sigh of relief.
“…The feast is quite unnecessary.” The Second Prince stretched lazily, his gaze sweeping over the manor grounds. “I am tired today. Let us rest early.”
“I have heard that Cloud Creek boasts a scene called ‘Mist and Rain upon the Spring River.’ Tomorrow I intend to go out and see it.”
His gaze fell upon the young woman who had remained silent throughout, and he grinned. “Hey! Fairy Maiden of the Xie family—might you honor me with your company tomorrow?”
The young woman sat in robes white as snow, her dark hair simply bound. Her expression was serene, and an otherworldly air emanated from her brow.
Her pale face still held a trace of youth, unadorned by cosmetics, her skin smooth as congealed cream. At the prince’s words, she did not reply but merely nodded.
“Your Highness, this humble official is blind—might I ask who this young lady is…”
The Second Prince smiled. “Prefect Zhao, do not underestimate her just because of her youth. This is none other than Immortal Master Xie Chan of the Hanging Sword Mountain immortal sect.”
“Ah!”
Zhao Huaizhen’s expression shifted to one of alarm. He hurried to bow again, but Xie Chan stopped him with a gesture.
She shook her head. “Prefect Zhao, there is no need.”
The Second Prince lounged in his seat, eating fruit presented by the servants. “Prefect Zhao, the capital is in chaos these days. My brothers are all scheming and fighting over the matter of selecting an heir. The struggle is quite fierce.”
“Since a grain transport was bound for Cloud Creek City, I recalled you. So here I am—to stay for half a year or so and avoid the storm.”
He pointed at Xie Chan. “Fairy Maiden Xie happened to be descending the mountain for a journey, and she escorted me here along the way.”
Xie Chan nodded. “The Xie family once received a favor from Your Highness. Escorting me here is a trifle unworthy of mention.”
“So that is how it is.”
Zhao Huaizhen wiped the sweat from his brow. Both of these guests were reasonable people, and his anxiety eased considerably.
He had long known of the Second Prince’s character—the young man despised political maneuvering and had no interest whatsoever in the struggle for succession.
It seemed he had truly come here simply to relax.
“This humble official will prepare quarters for you both at once.”
“Speaking of which, the timing is rather unfortunate. An immortal master from the Eastern Abyss Sect who came to inspect the enshrinement affairs has just departed. The Star-Plucking Manor has not yet been properly tidied, so Immortal Master Xie will need to stay in another villa for the time being.”
“That is of no consequence.”
Xie Chan had been hardened by hardship from a young age. After entering the Hanging Sword Mountain, she had devoted herself wholly to the Dao. Whether she stayed in a villa or not was of no concern to her.
However, Zhao Huaizhen’s words had caught her attention.
An immortal master from the Eastern Abyss Sect?
“Prefect Zhao, might you know which immortal master visited these parts not long ago?”
“Oh, it was Immortal Master Song Yan of the Eastern Abyss Sect,” Zhao Huaizhen replied honestly.
Song Yan?!
Xie Chan’s eyes, normally still as water, suddenly brightened. She raised her head and looked toward the Prefect. “Is this true?”
Zhao Huaizhen was bewildered. He was merely a lowly mortal prefect—would he dare lie to an immortal?
Before he could answer, the Second Prince glanced sideways at her, the corner of his lips curving. “Does Miss Xie know this Immortal Master Song?”
Xie Chan pressed her lips together, then nodded. She continued, “Prefect Zhao, do you know where Immortal Master Song went?”
“This humble official only knows he boarded a boat heading north toward Linzhou. As for his exact destination…” Zhao Huaizhen frowned apologetically. “How an immortal conducts his affairs—this humble official would not dare inquire.”
“Linzhou…”
Xie Chan murmured to herself.
Years ago, she had followed Grandfather Xie Xing to the Hanging Sword Mountain for the selection of immortal seedlings. Both she and her brother Xie Chuan had been accepted into the sect.
Ever since entering the sect, she had been searching for news of the person who had saved her family all those years ago.
Song Yan.
At first, she had found no information at all. It was only after the affair at Changping had concluded that the name Song Yan began to circulate among the great sects.
For many people, discussions about Song Yan were merely passing gossip.
But for her, Xie Chan, it was something else entirely.
The Second Prince ate his fruit, his movements noticeably slower now, as a vague sense of unease stirred within him. Throughout the entire journey, he had never once seen this immortal maiden’s face display such an expression.
This Song Yan…
What manner of person was he?
Sure enough, after a moment of silence, Xie Chan suddenly rose to her feet. “Your Highness, now that we have arrived in Cloud Creek City, there should be no further danger. I must take my leave.”
The Second Prince raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is the fairy master going to pursue that Immortal Master Song?”
Xie Chan nodded.
She did not know what she intended to do, but she felt she must see him—the man who had saved her life all those years ago.
Even if she missed him, even if there was only the slimmest hope.
The Second Prince was silent for a moment. A trace of melancholy flickered through his eyes, but he still managed a smile. “Miss Xie belongs to the immortal sects. I am but a mortal—how could I dare to burden an immortal?”
He waved his hand, affecting a carefree air. “Go, then. Do not delay on my account.”
Xie Chan did not linger a moment longer. She left behind a single word—”Take care, Your Highness”—and departed.
The Second Prince rose to see her off, but the girl beneath the twilight did not once turn back.
Watching Xie Chan’s figure recede into the distance, her fine robes rippling in the wind, the lazy smile still hung upon his face—yet it could not conceal the loneliness in his eyes.
Hah…
The young man laughed at himself. “The paths of immortals and mortals diverge… I was a fool to harbor such fantasies.”
“However…”
“Without a spiritual root, is it truly impossible to cultivate immortality?”
…
Returning Cloud Inn—the night passed without incident.
The next morning, Song Yan intended to leave the city and travel to Changfeng Village.
He had barely descended the stairs when he spotted Wu Dou waiting outside the entrance, a horse-drawn carriage parked beside him.
“Good morning, young master! Have you had your morning tea?”
Upon seeing Song Yan emerge, Wu Dou hurried over, bowing respectfully, pastries clutched in his hand.
They appeared to be local delicacies of some renown.
Wu Dou noticed Song Yan’s gaze falling upon the carriage and quickly rubbed his hands in explanation. “The young master gave more than generous silver. I thought the road to Changfeng Village was long, so I took the liberty of hiring a carriage.”
The sum he had received was far too generous for merely guiding the way and offering introductions. If that was all he did, the money would weigh heavy on his conscience.
“This driver is an acquaintance of mine. He knows the roads well, and his horse is strong. I guarantee a swift and steady journey.”
Song Yan gave a slight nod.
The loose silver he had tossed over the day before was indeed excessive for a guide, but he had not expected Wu Dou to be so thorough in his arrangements.
“That will do. Thank you, brother.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Song Yan nodded to Xiao Ju, and the two of them climbed into the carriage.
Wu Dou sat beside the driver, and the two chatted in the local dialect.
It had to be said—Song Yan’s persona as a martial wanderer saved him a great deal of unnecessary trouble.
Even if someone saw his lavish spending and harbored designs of robbery and murder, they would have to weigh whether they possessed the strength to succeed.
The carriage set off.
Wu Dou called from the front, “Forgive this lowly one’s boldness, young master, but it seems to me you did not come here for the legend of General Xiao.”
Song Yan acknowledged this with a murmur and offered a casual explanation. “My grandfather’s family originated from Changfeng Village. This visit is something of a return to our ancestral land.”
“So that is how it is.”
Wu Dou said nothing more.
Though Song Yan appeared easygoing, he had no desire to risk annoying his benefactor for no reason.
Xiao Ju occasionally stared out the carriage window in a daze, imagining the world beyond what little scenery filtered through the curtain.
“What was Senior Song’s grandfather like?”
After bouncing along the rugged mountain road for the better part of a day, the carriage finally came to a halt before a village nestled in a mountain hollow.
Changfeng Village was smaller than he had imagined. Several dozen households were scattered across the hillside, their grey-tiled, earthen-walled houses arranged in uneven clusters.
At the village entrance, an old scholar tree leaned crookedly on its trunk. Beneath it sat several old men smoking pipe tobacco. When the carriage stopped, they all turned to look with puzzlement in their eyes.
In the distance, several farmwomen bent to plant rice seedlings in the terraced fields. The occasional bark of a dog only deepened the village’s silence.
Their arrival felt almost… intrusive by comparison.
Stepping down from the carriage, Song Yan walked forward and cupped his hands toward the old men beneath the tree. “Honored elders—have any of you heard of a man named Song Ying?”
“He was a villager here. He lived here some twenty-odd years ago before departing. Where did he used to reside?”
To his surprise, one of the pipe-smoking elders shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Our Changfeng Village has families surnamed Shu and Zheng, but the surname Song…”
He turned to the man beside him. “Say, how come I’ve never heard of that?”
The man he addressed gave the same answer. “Song Ying? Never heard of him.”
The old men exchanged glances and shook their heads one after another.
Song Yan was taken aback. This scene felt eerily familiar.
He had already harbored suspicions.
Unwilling to give up, he walked along the village paths and knocked on every door, from one end of the village to the other. He even roused the village schoolteacher from his home, yet every answer was the same.
“There is no such person here.”
Xiao Ju held her sword and followed quietly at his side.
Wu Dou spoke up. “Young master, could it be that your elder remembered wrongly?”
“That should not be.”
Song Yan shook his head.
It was not until they passed the village ancestral hall and encountered the old village chief, leaning on a walking stick, that things changed.
The old man squinted and thought for a long while. Then suddenly he uttered an “Oh!” Before he could speak, Song Yan’s face had already brightened with hope.
“You mean that traveling physician who carried a medicine case? I remember, I remember.”
“But he was not a villager here…”
Not a villager?
“Twenty-some years ago, he did come here. He set up a thatched shelter at Wuzhi Plateau and stayed for half a year, treating many illnesses among the villagers.”
“That man was an odd sort. He would often talk to himself facing the cliff. Then one day he simply vanished… Why? Is he a relative of yours?”
Song Yan drew a deep breath.
To receive such a strange answer left his mind anything but calm.
“Why did Grandfather deceive me?”
How strange. Even if he meant to deceive him, he should have said the ancestral land was Changfeng Village—not Wuzhi Plateau.
What exactly was on Wuzhi Plateau?
He pondered for a moment, then turned to Wu Dou. “You have worked hard, brother. You may return now. I wish to stay here for the night.”
Wu Dou was puzzled but nodded nonetheless.
He climbed back into the carriage and departed.
The old village chief, having nothing else to do, led them toward Wuzhi Plateau, where the “thatched shelter” stood.
Though advanced in years, the old man had spent his life working the land and did not walk slowly.
Song Yan asked about the village’s history, and the old chief answered every question without reservation.
From these questions emerged something strange.
Changfeng Village, it turned out, had been formed by merging two villages that had once existed higher up on the mountain.