Chapter 202: The Fisherman's Dream
“Twenty or thirty years ago, both the villagers of Shutang and Zhengjiagou lived up on the mountain. Black Mountain was vast enough to sustain both villages, more than enough.” The speaker was one of the current village chiefs of Changfeng Village, Shu Yang.
“But from some point onward, several young men who went up the mountain to gather firewood or hunt came back saying they had encountered something… a ghost wall, as it were.”
“Ai…”
“At first, we thought they had been drinking and talking nonsense. But as more and more people said the same thing, and since Zhengjiagou was still under the Zheng family’s leadership at the time, I conferred with them and sent the men of both villages up the mountain to investigate.”
Song Yan listened to the old man’s tale as one might listen to a folktale of the uncanny.
“The result was that one young man from each village—Shutang and Zhengjiagou—died on the mountain.”
“Those who returned all said there truly were ghosts. At Wuzhi Plateau and Lotus Burial Mound, they could never find their way out, no matter how they tried. They kept circling in the same place.”
“Some said it was a warning from the mountain spirits.”
“There was nothing to be done. We were common folk, generation after generation—how could we endure such tribulation? We had no choice but to negotiate with the lower village of Changfeng. Both villages relocated entirely and settled at the foot of the mountain.”
“The original villages were abandoned.”
The old village chief’s expression grew distant with memory. “Later, old General Xiao was stationed here. Upon hearing of the mountain spirits and demons, he went up the mountain to investigate…”
What followed was the tale of General Xiao’s valor in slaying the tiger demon—the kind of story a storyteller might recount.
“Though the tiger demon was slain, by that time both villages had already settled at the foot of the mountain. None of them moved back up.”
Song Yan nodded. For mortals, such a large-scale relocation of entire villages was an enormous undertaking.
Besides, people had died on that mountain. Demons had perished there as well.
The old village chief leaned on his walking stick and pointed with a trembling hand toward the dilapidated thatched shelter. “That is where the traveling physician stayed all those years ago. Twenty-odd years of wind and rain, and it has not quite collapsed.”
“Fortunately, our villagers are too lazy to bother tearing down the old thing. Ha ha.”
Song Yan stepped forward. Weeds grew thick on every side, though faint traces of past habitation could still be discerned.
This was where Grandfather had once lived?
He looked around, uncertain what he was supposed to find here.
It was much like his mountain cottage at Green Leaf Peak—far from the village below, where virtually no one ever came.
Why had his grandfather chosen to live here? And why had he lied?
After a few more pleasantries, the old village chief took his leave.
Xiao Ju noticed Song Yan staring at the shelter in a trance. She quietly formed a Dao incantation with her fingers, and a faint glow of spiritual energy appeared at her fingertips.
With a gentle twist of her wrist, the accumulated dead leaves and cobwebs within the shelter were swept out and piled at a distance.
The rotting support beams were also reinforced with spiritual energy, just enough to keep out wind and rain.
For some reason, ever since climbing the mountain, Song Yan had felt overwhelmingly drowsy.
“Strange.”
Before, he had dismissed it as his imagination, but now his eyelids felt heavier by the moment, as though a thousand pounds of weight pressed upon them.
He had not done anything unusual these past few days.
Could it be that refining his body with the tiger demon’s vital blood and subduing the sword spirit had taken their toll, manifesting now as exhaustion?
He forced himself to walk into the shelter, drew a meditation cushion from his Cosmos Bag, placed it casually in a corner, and lay down in his clothes.
His words to Xiao Ju came out slurred. “Xiao Ju, I…”
Before he could finish, he had already fallen into a deep sleep.
Xiao Ju, seeing this, quietly retreated to the doorway.
She gazed at Song Yan’s furrowed brow and assumed he was burdened by troubled thoughts.
Cradling her sword case, she sat down on the threshold and thought, “Senior Song came to his ancestral land full of hope, only to find nothing. He must be terribly upset.”
Dusk deepened. The mountain wind whistled through the gaps in the thatched shelter, producing a sound like mourning.
…
“…”
“Plunk.”
Faint sounds reached his ears—like small stones dropping into a pond.
A warm breeze carrying a hint of sweet floral fragrance brushed past his nose.
Was it not winter?
Why was it so warm?
Song Yan opened his eyes.
“…”
Where was this?
Song Yan found himself beside an enormous lotus pond, bathed in bright sunlight. Lotus flowers of every shape bloomed in the water, their green leaves standing tall and elegant.
A figure in a straw raincoat sat by the lotus pond, a fishing rod before him, apparently angling.
Yet his hands rested upon his knees, untouched by the rod. He let the fish tug and sway the line, making no move to reel them in.
Without warning, the rain-cloaked figure spoke.
“Where do you come from?”
“I… me?”
Song Yan was bewildered, but an inexplicable trance compelled him to answer honestly.
“I come from Qizhou…”
“That bead of yours—where did you obtain it?”
The bead?!
Alarm surged through Song Yan’s heart. Could he be referring to the Twin Jade Pearl?!
He instinctively took a step backward, only to discover he was treading in place!
He regarded the rain-cloaked figure before him with guarded eyes.
“Why so tense…”
The figure remained seated, not even turning his head. He spoke in an unhurried tone. “I have no intention of harming you.”
“Had I wished to harm you, you would already be dead.”
“…”
Song Yan’s brow furrowed. His anxiety eased slightly, though wariness lingered.
The Twin Jade Pearl had not moved, nor had he channeled spiritual energy into it. He could not fathom how the other had detected it.
This person was unfathomably deep.
“Answer my question. Where did you obtain that bead?”
“…”
An inexplicable feeling welled up within him, and Song Yan spoke the truth almost without thinking.
“I found it in the sect’s refuse grounds.”
The old man seemed puzzled. “Hmm? Why would that bead end up in such a place…”
He appeared to give no thought whatsoever to whether the answer was true.
“Who is the Sect Master?”
“Chen Linyuan.”
“Familiar-sounding… never mind, it does not matter.”
He suddenly laughed at himself. “Whoever holds that bead, I shall let them enter the sect. Everything else is of no consequence.”
“…”
Song Yan did not understand. In his current dazed state, he could not grasp what the other was saying.
“Tomorrow at the hour of the Tiger, come up to Black Mountain Valley.”
The rain-cloaked figure spoke, and before Song Yan could ask any questions, he swept his great sleeve.
The world spun.
Song Yan’s eyes snapped open to find himself still upon the meditation cushions within the thatched shelter on Wuzhi Plateau.
“…Hah.”
He exhaled long and deep.
His feelings were complex beyond measure.
A dream sent by another?
That dream had been vivid beyond ordinary. He closed his eyes, and it seemed he could still feel that warm breeze and the faint floral fragrance.
A dream…
Within the dream, Song Yan had never once questioned the reality of his surroundings. All of his attention had been fixed upon the rain-cloaked elder.
He recalled the old man’s words.
“Whoever holds the bead, I shall let them enter the sect, enter what…”
Pulling free of the dream, Song Yan’s muddled mind gradually grew clear.
“The Sword Sect?!”
He sobered in an instant.
If there was a sect connected to the Twin Jade Pearl, then it was undoubtedly the Sword Sect!
His heart surged, but he quickly suppressed the emotion.
Before, within the Twin Jade Pearl, a letter left by the Sword Sect’s master had stated that should he ever have the opportunity to advance to Core Formation, he could enter the sect’s hidden grounds on his own, formally become an inner disciple, and rebuild the Sword Sect.
But let alone Core Formation, he had not even achieved Foundation Establishment yet…
Moreover, who was this rain-cloaked elder, and how did he know all of this? A remnant elder of the Sword Sect?
Unlikely. If he were a member of the Sword Sect, he could simply take the pearl and recruit disciples himself.
Furthermore, from the rain-cloaked elder’s tone, he did not care who the destined inheritor of the Sword Sect’s Dao was, or what manner of person they might be.
He cared only that someone arrived here and entered the sect.
No amount of speculation would yield answers. He would learn the truth when he went up the mountain tomorrow.
This concerned the Twin Jade Pearl—arguably the most important treasure he possessed. Song Yan could not afford not to go.
“…”
He sat in silence, but another thought occupied his mind.
Would Grandfather have known of this?
What manner of person was he, truly…
He checked the sky. It was roughly halfway through the hour of the Ox. The time was nearly right.
Xiao Ju was meditating nearby, cultivating quietly.
Song Yan rose and walked out of the thatched shelter.
“Senior Song?”
Xiao Ju happened to have completed a cycle of cultivation. Sensing the movement, she opened her eyes and saw Song Yan about to step outside.
She hurried to stand, but Song Yan’s palm gently patted her shoulder, and he sat back down.
“Cultivate here diligently. I am going to Black Mountain Valley. I will return shortly.”
“Understood.” Xiao Ju nodded obediently.
She did not know what Senior Song intended to do, but since he did not wish to speak of it, she would not ask. She would simply do her part.
“Watch over Xiao He. Do not let her wander.”
Though the other party had shown no hostility, the rain-cloaked elder’s origins remained unknown, and Xiao Ju’s strength was still shallow. For safety’s sake, it was better for her to wait here until his return.
He had originally intended to bring Xiao He along as well, but she was still deep in slumber.
He knew little about the specifics of demonic beast cultivation and feared that interrupting her abruptly might harm her foundation—much as a human cultivator’s energy flowing in reverse could cause severe damage to their base.
After giving his instructions to Xiao Ju, Song Yan set off up the mountain immediately.
When they had arrived at the thatched shelter, the village chief had mentioned that the deepest reaches of Black Mountain were Black Mountain Valley.
Following the mountain path upward, he passed a vast, empty field. Song Yan felt a flicker of recognition.
“How does this place so closely resemble the lotus pond from last night’s dream…”
Only this field was dry and cracked, none of the dream’s beauty to be seen.
He did not linger, pressing onward and upward. He did not explore the branching paths along the way, but headed straight toward the cliff face that led to Black Mountain Valley.
“This is it…”
It was the depths of winter, and the mountain was barren save for a few snow pines and winter plums.
Beyond Black Mountain Valley rose even more distant peaks—places the villagers of Changfeng Village could not reach.
This had once been a mountain stream valley, but in the bitter cold, the creek lay buried beneath frost and snow.
A waterfall could be seen not far away.
He climbed slowly along the valley floor and before long ascended a low rise.
Lifting his gaze, he found beneath a flat-topped stone cliff a youth seated cross-legged, dressed much like himself. If one looked closely, the youth’s features bore a passing resemblance to his own.
Song Yan wondered whether this was some eccentric whim of the elder’s.
Undoubtedly not a mortal, and his cultivation was beyond Song Yan’s ability to discern.
“Last night I told you to come at the hour of the Tiger, and you actually calculated the time precisely.”
The youth spoke, and even his voice was similar to Song Yan’s own—though his tone carried an air of lofty condescension.
“Are you the elder from last night?”
He had expected a white-haired old man.
But on reflection, this was likely the elder’s transformation art. An old immortal taking on his appearance was probably just for amusement, having not seen another person in a long while.
“A pointless question,” the youth snapped.
Song Yan hesitated. “Senior, who exactly are you…”
“Who I am is of no concern to you.”
He casually tossed over a small jade seal. Song Yan caught it carefully.
“Place this jade seal against the patterns on that stone platform, and the teleportation array will send you into the sect.”
“Once you have entered the sect, my agreement with that person will be fulfilled, and I will no longer need to remain in this wretched place.”
“Yes.”
A teleportation array…
Song Yan had never experienced one before.
But the elder did not appear to be a patient man, so he suppressed his curiosity.
Following the direction the youth indicated, he spotted a stone platform tucked into a corner.
He wasted no time and strode forward.
Sure enough, there was a recess in the stone platform, its pattern and lines identical to those on the small jade seal.
Song Yan pressed the jade seal against the patterns on the stone platform, fitting it gently into place.
It was a perfect match.
Yet nothing happened.
“Hmm?”
The youth frowned, then realized something.
“How is your cultivation this low?!”
To the rain-cloaked elder, whether one was at Foundation Establishment or Qi Refining was much the same—all were ants.
He had not bothered to pay attention to this person’s cultivation level.
The Sword Sect jade seal functioned much like a disciple token, but to activate the sect-entry formation, one required at least Foundation Establishment cultivation.
Now that the sect lay abandoned and the formation had gone unmaintained for a thousand years, the threshold had fallen to the ninth level of Qi Refining.
Yet the youth before him still did not meet even that requirement.
“Tch…”
Song Yan was about to ask the reason when the youth suddenly raised a hand and swept his sleeve.
A wave of drowsiness, identical to what he had felt the day before, crashed over him like a tide.
In an instant the world spun, the scenery before him distorting and shattering like a reflection in water, while the sound of a babbling brook echoed in his ears.
When his vision cleared, Song Yan found himself standing in a valley he had never seen before.
Ancient trees towered on every side. In the distance, a waterfall plunged into a deep pool, its mist roiling and churning.
“This is…”
Song Yan gazed ahead in astonishment.
The youth had, at some point, assumed the form of the rain-cloaked elder, seated cross-legged upon a rock beside the pool—just as he had been by the lotus pond in the dream.
“This is Black Mountain Valley’s true appearance.” The elder cast his fishing line into the pool, raising a ring of ripples. “Your cultivation is too low. You cannot enter the Sword Sect’s gates.”
“Hmph. This lord must exert some effort on your behalf.”
Hearing this, the last of Song Yan’s lingering doubts evaporated like mist.
It truly was the Sword Sect…
Before he could inquire further, the elder suddenly swept his great sleeve, and the entire valley was engulfed in mist.
Song Yan was inwardly astonished.
Upon careful perception, he realized that these clouds of mist were actually spiritual energy—so dense it had congealed into something almost solid.
“A century or a millennium within a dream is but the snap of a finger in the outside world.”
The mist surged toward him, and Song Yan felt his soul begin to drift.
“Then cultivate well within this dream!”
A dream?
His heart still reeled with astonishment, but now was not the time to ponder mysteries.
Song Yan sat cross-legged amid the mist of condensed spiritual energy and began circulating the Qi Condensation Chapter.
With each breath he drew in and refined spiritual energy, the currents around him gathered the flowing clouds upon his robes.
At first, he marveled at the wonder of cultivating within a dream, wondering why this elder had chosen to help him.
Occasionally his mind wandered to the question of whether cultivation gained in this illusory realm would persist in reality.
But on second thought, such powers were beyond his capacity to imagine or fathom. This sort of fortune was something one could only encounter by rare chance.
The rain-cloaked elder’s words—”the outside world is but the snap of a finger”—had also set his mind somewhat at ease.
From that moment on, he devoted himself wholly and utterly to his cultivation.