Chapter 208: The Fisherman's Dream
“Twenty or thirty years ago, the villagers of Shutang and Zhengjiagou both lived up on the mountain. Wu Mountain is vast enough to sustain two villages—plenty of room,” said the speaker, one of Changfeng Village’s current village chiefs, Shu Yang.
“But no one knows when it started, some young men who went up the mountain to chop wood or hunt began saying they encountered something… some sort of ghostly maze.”
“Ai…”
“At first, we figured they’d been drinking and talking nonsense. But then more and more people said the same thing. Back in those days, Zhengjiagou was still run by the Zheng family. I consulted with them, and we sent the men from both villages, armed with tools, up the mountain to investigate.”
Song Yan listened to the old man’s account, as though hearing a tale of the supernatural.
“The result was that one young man from each village—Shutang and Zhengjiagou—died on the mountain.”
“Those who returned all said it was true: there were ghosts. At Wuzhi Plateau and Lotus Mound, they could not find their way out no matter how they tried—they were trapped, going in circles in that same area forever.”
“Some said it was a warning from the mountain spirits.”
“There was nothing we could do. We were common folk, generation after generation—how could we endure such torment? We had no choice but to negotiate with Changfeng Village down below. The two villages of Zhengjiagou and Shutang relocated entirely, settling at the foot of the mountain.”
“The original villages were abandoned.”
A look of reminiscence crossed the old village chief’s face. “Later, old General Xiao was stationed here. When he heard tales of mountain ghosts and demons, he went up the mountain to investigate…”
What followed was the storyteller’s version of General Xiao’s heroic exploits—his valiant slaying of the tiger demon.
“Although the tiger demon was destroyed, by then both villages had already settled down below. No one moved back up the mountain.”
Song Yan nodded. For mortals, such a large-scale village relocation was far too exhausting and costly.
Moreover, people and demons had both died up there.
The old village chief leaned on his cane and pointed with a trembling hand toward a precarious-looking thatched shelter. “That’s where the wandering herbalist stayed. Over twenty years of wind and rain—it hasn’t quite collapsed.”
“Luckily, our villagers are a lazy lot—no one bothered to tear down this old shack. Ha ha!”
Song Yan stepped forward. Wild grass grew thick all around, but one could still discern faint traces of former habitation.
This was the place where his grandfather had once lived?
He looked around, but truly could not see anything remarkable about it.
It was much like the thatched cottage on Green Mountain—far from the village below, a place where virtually no one would come.
Why had his grandfather chosen to live here? And why had he deceived him?
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the old village chief took his leave.
When Xiao Ju noticed Song Yan staring at the shelter in a daze, he quietly formed a hand seal. A faint spiritual glow flickered at her fingertips.
With a light turn of her wrist, years of accumulated dead leaves and cobwebs within the shelter were swept out one by one, piled neatly at a distance.
The rotting beams and pillars were reinforced with spiritual energy, just enough to provide shelter from wind and rain.
For reasons he could not explain, ever since coming up the mountain, Song Yan had felt overwhelmingly drowsy.
“Strange.”
Before, he had dismissed it as his imagination, but now his eyelids grew heavier by the moment, as though a thousand-pound weight pressed upon them.
He had not done anything unusual these past few days.
Could it be that tempering his body with the tiger demon’s essence blood, and then refining the sword spirit, had finally caught up with him?
He forced himself to walk into the shelter, took a meditation cushion from his Cosmos Bag, and settled it in a corner. Still in his clothes, he lay down.
Through drowsy lips, he murmured to Xiao Ju, “Xiao Ju, I…”
Before the words had left his mouth, he was already fast asleep.
Xiao Ju watched him, then quietly retreated to the doorway.
She gazed at the furrow between Song Yan’s brows, assuming he was troubled in spirit.
Hugging her sword case, she sat down on the threshold and thought, “Senior Song came all this way to find his ancestral home, only to find nothing. He must be terribly upset.”
Dusk deepened. The mountain wind slipped through the cracks in the thatched shelter, moaning like a lament.
…
“…”
Thump.
A faint sound reached his ears—like a small pebble dropping into a pond.
A warm breeze carrying the faint sweetness of flowers brushed past the tip of his nose.
Was this not winter?
Why was it so warm?
Song Yan opened his eyes.
“…”
Where was this?
Song Yan found himself beside an enormous lotus pond. Sunlight streamed down, brilliant and golden. Lotus flowers bloomed in a thousand postures across the water, their broad green leaves standing tall and elegant.
A figure in a straw raincoat sat at the edge of the pond, a fishing rod before him. He appeared to be angling.
Yet his hands rested on his knees, never touching the rod. Even as the fish in the pond tugged and bobbed the line, he made no move to reel them in.
Without warning, the raincoat-clad figure spoke.
“Where do you come from?”
“I… me?”
Song Yan was bewildered, but a strange sense of trance compelled him to answer honestly.
“I come from Qi Prefecture…”
“That pearl of yours—where did you obtain it?”
The pearl?!
A sharp alarm blazed through Song Yan’s mind. Was he speaking of the Twin Jade Pearl?!
Instinctively, he stepped backward—but found his feet rooted to the spot!
He regarded the figure before him with guarded wariness.
“What are you so nervous about…”
The figure remained seated, not even turning his head. He spoke in an unhurried tone. “I have no wish to harm you.”
“Had I wished to harm you, you would already be dead.”
“…”
Song Yan’s brow furrowed. His unease eased somewhat, though he remained cautious.
The Twin Jade Pearl was motionless, uninfused with spiritual energy—he had no idea how this person had detected it.
This individual’s depths were unfathomable.
“Answer my question. Where did you obtain that pearl?”
“…”
A peculiar sensation surged through him, and Song Yan found himself speaking the truth without thinking.
“I found it in the sect’s refuse grounds.”
The old man seemed puzzled. “Hmm? How would that clasp bead end up in a place like that…”
He seemed not to question the truth of the statement in the slightest.
“Who is the Sect Master?”
“Chen Linyuan.”
“…Sounds familiar. Never mind—it doesn’t matter.”
He suddenly laughed self-deprecatingly. “Whoever holds the pearl—that is whom I shall admit to the sect. Everything else is inconsequential.”
“…”
Song Yan did not understand. In his daze, he could not fathom what this man was saying.
“At the hour of the tiger tomorrow, come up to Wu Mountain Valley.”
The raincoat-clad figure finished speaking, and before Song Yan could ask any questions, he swept his wide sleeve.
The world spun violently.
Song Yan’s eyes snapped open to find himself still on the meditation cushions inside the thatched shelter on Wuzhi Plateau.
“…Hah.”
He let out a long breath.
His feelings were complex.
A dream sent from beyond?
That dream had been startlingly vivid. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel that warm breeze and the delicate scent of flowers.
A dream…
Within it, Song Yan had not once questioned the reality of his surroundings. All of his attention had been fixed upon that old man in the raincoat.
He recalled the old man’s words.
“Whoever holds the pearl—that is whom I shall admit to the sect. Admit to what…”
Pulling free from the dream, his muddled mind gradually cleared.
“The Sword Sect?!”
He jolted fully awake.
If a sect was connected to the Twin Jade Pearl, then without question, it had to be the Sword Sect!
His heart hammered, but he quickly forced himself to calm down.
The letter left by the Sword Sect’s master within the Twin Jade Pearl had stated that if he ever had the opportunity to advance to the Core Formation realm, he could enter the sect’s secret grounds on his own, formally become an inner disciple, and rebuild the Sword Sect.
But forget Core Formation—he had not even achieved Foundation Establishment yet.
Moreover, who exactly was this old man in the raincoat? Why did he know all this? A remnant elder of the Sword Sect?
Unlikely. If he were truly of the Sword Sect, he could simply take the pearl himself and find disciples on his own.
And from the tone of the raincoat-clad elder, he did not care who the destined inheritor of the Sword Sect’s legacy was, or what kind of person they might be.
He only cared that someone arrived and entered the sect.
Speculation would get him nowhere. He would know tomorrow when he went up the mountain.
This concerned the Twin Jade Pearl—arguably his most important treasure. Song Yan could not choose not to go.
“…”
He sat in silence, his mind turning to another question.
Would grandfather have known about all this?
Who exactly was he…
He glanced at the sky. It was roughly the midpoint of the hour of the ox—about time.
Xiao Ju was meditating and cultivating not far from where he sat.
Song Yan rose and walked out of the shelter.
“Senior Song?”
Xiao Ju had just completed a cycle of spiritual circulation. Sensing the movement, she opened her eyes and saw Song Yan about to step outside.
She hurried to stand, but Song Yan’s hand gently patted her shoulder, and he sat back down.
“Cultivate well here. I am going to Wu Mountain Valley. I will return soon.”
“Mm.” Xiao Ju nodded obediently.
She did not know what Senior Song intended to do, but since he had not said, it was best not to ask. She would simply do her part.
“Watch over Xiao He. Don’t let her wander off.”
Though the old man had shown no hostility, his origins remained uncertain. Xiao Ju’s cultivation was still shallow—for safety’s sake, it was better for her to wait here until he returned.
He had originally considered bringing Xiao He along, but she was still deep in slumber.
He knew little of the specifics of demon cultivation and feared that an abrupt interruption might harm her progress, much as a reversal of qi could severely damage a human cultivator’s foundation.
Having given his instructions to Xiao Ju, Song Yan immediately set off up the mountain.
When he had been at the shelter, the village chief had mentioned that the deepest reaches of Wu Mountain held Wu Mountain Valley.
Following the mountain path upward, he passed a vast, empty field. Song Yan felt a sense of familiarity.
“This place—why does it look so much like the lotus pond in last night’s dream…”
Only this field’s soil was dry and cracked, bearing none of the dream’s beauty.
He did not linger, continuing upward. He ignored the branching paths along the way and headed toward the cliff face leading to Wu Mountain Valley.
“This is it…”
The depths of winter had stripped the mountain bare. Beyond a few snow pines and plum blossoms, there was little left.
Beyond Wu Mountain Valley, even more distant peaks stretched into the horizon—places far beyond the reach of Changfeng Village’s folk.
This area had once been a mountain stream valley, but the bitter cold had frozen the brook beneath a sheath of frost and snow.
Not far away, a waterfall cascaded.
He climbed slowly along the frozen stream bed and soon ascended a low rise.
Without warning, he looked up and saw beneath a flat-topped stone cliff a youth seated cross-legged, dressed much as he was. And upon closer inspection, the youth’s features bore a certain resemblance to his own.
Song Yan wondered if this was some eccentric amusement on the elder’s part.
Undoubtedly not a mortal—and his cultivation level was impossible for Song Yan to gauge.
“I told you to come up the mountain at the hour of the tiger, and you actually timed it to the moment,” the youth said.
Even the voice was like his own, though the tone carried a sense of lofty condescension.
“You are the elder from last night?”
He had expected a white-haired old man.
But on second thought, this was surely the elder’s transformation technique. An old immortal taking on his own appearance was probably just for amusement—having not seen anyone in a long while.
“Asking what you already know,” the youth retorted.
Song Yan asked cautiously, “Elder, who exactly are you…”
“Who I am is none of your concern.”
The youth tossed over a small jade seal. Song Yan caught it carefully.
“Match this jade seal with the pattern on that stone platform, and a teleportation formation will send you into the sect.”
“Once you enter the sect, my pact with that person will be fulfilled, and I will no longer need to remain in this wretched place.”
“Yes.”
A teleportation formation…
Song Yan had never experienced such a thing.
But this elder did not appear to be a patient man, so he suppressed his curiosity.
Following the youth’s gesture, he spotted the stone platform in a corner of the valley.
He dared not be negligent and stepped forward briskly.
Sure enough, the stone platform bore a recess whose pattern was identical to the design on the jade seal.
Song Yan held the jade seal, aligned it with the pattern on the stone platform, and pressed it gently into place.
A perfect fit.
And yet nothing happened.
“Hmm?”
The youth’s brow furrowed, and then realization dawned.
“How is your cultivation so low?!”
To the raincoat-clad elder, whether it was Foundation Establishment or Qi Refining—both were equally insignificant ants.
He had not bothered to check this person’s cultivation at all.
The Sword Sect’s jade seal functioned much like a disciple token. However, to activate the sect-entry formation, one needed at least Foundation Establishment.
With the sect now abandoned and its formations unmaintained for a millennium, the threshold had dropped to the ninth level of Qi Refining.
But the young man before him still did not meet even that.
“Tch…”
Song Yan was about to ask the reason, but the youth suddenly raised his hand and swept his sleeve.
A wave of drowsiness—just as heavy as the previous night—crashed over him like a tide.
In an instant the world spun, the scene before him distorting and shattering like a reflection in water, while the sound of trickling water 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 all sides. In the distance, a waterfall plunged into a deep pool, mist churning and rising.
“This is…”
Song Yan stared into the distance, startled and uncertain.
The youth had at some point transformed back into the raincoat-clad old man, seated cross-legged on a rock by the pool—just as he had been beside the lotus pond in the dream.
“This is the true face of Wu Mountain Valley,” the old man said, casting his fishing line into the pool, where it sent ripples spreading. “Your cultivation is too low to enter the Sword Sect’s gates.”
“Hmph. This lord will have to exert some effort on your behalf.”
Hearing these words, the last lingering doubts in Song Yan’s heart dissipated like smoke.
It truly was the Sword Sect…
Before he could press for details, the old man suddenly swept his great sleeve, and the entire valley was engulfed in swirling mist.
Song Yan was struck with utter astonishment.
Upon closer sensing, these mists were spiritual energy—so dense it had coalesced into a near-physical substance!
“A hundred years or a thousand years within the dream—it is but the snap of a finger in the outside world.”
The mist surged toward him, and Song Yan felt his very soul begin to drift.
“Then cultivate well within this dream!”
A dream?
Amazement still gripped his heart, but now was not the time to ponder mysteries.
Song Yan sat cross-legged amidst the mist of condensed spiritual energy and began circulating the Qi Condensation technique.
With each cycle of breath and refinement of spiritual energy, the currents of qi around him gathered the flowing cloud patterns on his robes.
At first, he marveled at the wonder of cultivating within a dream and wondered why this elder would help him.
He occasionally distracted himself by wondering whether cultivation gained between dream and reality could be retained.
But then he reasoned that such powers were far beyond his capacity to imagine or comprehend, and such an encounter was a stroke of fortune one could not hope to seek out.
The raincoat-clad elder’s words—”it is but the snap of a finger in the outside world”—also set his mind at ease.
From that moment on, he devoted himself entirely and immersed himself completely in cultivation.