Chapter Thirty-Seven: South River City

The winter solstice had passed, and snow fell in thick, swirling flurries, blanketing Fly Peak in a vast expanse of white. Shen Yu walked casually along the narrow mountain path, letting the snowflakes settle upon him, then brushing them off his blue robe as he went.

Su Mo stood by the arched bridge, guiding Yang Liu in her cultivation. Though Yang Xiu’s aptitude was ordinary, her dedication was unmatched—she was the only truly diligent disciple on Fly Peak. Su Mo felt gratified; at last, the Abyssal Sanctuary had a disciple worthy of being a model. If everyone were as indolent as their junior brother, their master would surely lose his composure upon emerging from seclusion and retreat back into it.

Yang Liu respected this senior brother, who possessed no cultivation at all. She listened earnestly to his advice and carried it out with equal seriousness.

Footsteps sounded. Yang Liu instinctively turned and saw Shen Yu approaching, a cheer escaping her lips. Since autumn, Shen Yu had kept behind closed doors; today was his first time stepping out.

Smiling, Shen Yu said, “I’ve been here long enough; I’d like to go down the mountain for a look.”

Su Mo showed no surprise. “Go early, come back early. Remember to return before next year’s Grain Rain,” he instructed, adding, “Be careful.”

Shen Yu met his gaze and nodded.

Su Mo never considered the world below the mountain particularly dangerous; caution was needed only within the mountain, within the Daoist Sect itself.

For over two years, the bloodshed at Treasure Cliff had seemingly faded into obscurity. Yet both men knew the Daoist Sect was now too vast, filled with all sorts. Where there was a Yang Kaitai, another Zhang Kaitai would surely arise. Such matters, having begun, could not end so easily.

Shen Yu’s reason for keeping secluded after his injury was clear: Fly Peak was the safest place within the Daoist Sect.

Yang Liu gazed at Shen Yu, lips parted as if to speak, but hesitated.

Shen Yu said gently, “I’ll be back soon. Study that Daoist classic well; don’t be lazy or impatient.”

Yang Liu nodded vigorously.

Shen Yu smiled and ruffled her hair. Her face flushed, shy yet joyful—this was the first time Shen Yu had shown such affection since her arrival at the Abyssal Sanctuary.

Slowly, Shen Yu vanished from sight, his figure shrinking to a small black dot amidst the snowy expanse, until at last he was gone, leaving only a line of footprints traced evenly across the snow.

Worried, Yang Liu said, “Senior brother Shen Yu seems troubled. Is something weighing on his mind?”

Su Mo withdrew his gaze from the footprints. “He’s hidden it well, but you sensed it nonetheless. Your senior brother Shen Yu, yes, his heart is heavy.”

In front of the Ancestral Hall, the Azure Luan swept up a gust of wild wind and then settled gracefully amidst the swirling snow. Shen Yu, carrying a jug of spirit wine, stood before the enormous statue.

This spirit wine, called “A Cup Without End,” had been traded by Yu Wenwen from a cultivating family below the mountain.

Sitting cross-legged before the statue, Shen Yu spoke after a long silence, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. The snow comes earlier than in previous years, and I find myself remembering things anew.”

“The first time I met you was in weather just like this, I recall you often held a wine gourd in your hand.”

With each sentence, Shen Yu took a sip, finishing the wine quickly.

“The Spirit Wilderness Continent has changed so much; it’s nothing like our time.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Since awakening, I haven’t been able to fathom why this world has changed so rapidly. In just three thousand years, the spiritual energy has thinned so much. I thought you all would either ascend or establish your Daoist legacy as saints, yet strangely, there are no legends of you here—not even this statue’s origin is known.”

In the wind and snow, the young man murmured, “I came here seeking my intrinsic spirit treasure, the Celestial Profound, yet searched all of Treasure Cliff and found no trace.”

“To understand my origins, I must find it. I suppose there should be clues where I was born. I want to know—who am I? Am I the Celestial Profound’s spirit? Or the reincarnation of the Supreme Profound?”

“Afterwards, I will traverse this continent. Since you appeared in the Daoist Sect, someone below must know where you went. I’ll find out. Until next time, Zhang Xujing.”

The Azure Luan gave a clear cry, then soared skyward. The remainder of the spirit wine spilled like a thousand-foot waterfall, soaking the ground before the statue, soon covered by snow and erased without a trace.

The Daoist Sect lay in the southwest of the Spirit Wilderness Continent. Southward stretched the wilds of Nanman, the domain of the demon clans. At the border between the two, a winding, rugged river divided the continent’s two great powers.

South River City was built on the north bank of this river, belonging to the Great Li Dynasty of the human race. Here, not only did the border troops of Great Li defend the city, but martial officers from the Daoist Sect and the capital’s training grounds also held sway. Merchants flocked in, and the city offered taverns, pleasure houses, blacksmiths, cloth shops, carriage yards, and money houses.

Outside the western gate of South River City, a man in blue robes appeared at the city entrance—Shen Yu. From the Daoist Sect southward, he followed the official road without pause, as if every step was familiar.

It was, in fact, true.

Shen Yu was born here. At sixteen, he left for the Daoist Sect.

South River City was his home for sixteen years.

This frontier city was humanity’s vanguard, closest to the southern wilderness of the demon domain. Every so often, hordes of demon beasts would cross the river and attack the settlement.

As a result, the local folk were fiercely hardy. Ordinary people carried blades and spears, and even the beggars and rogues lounging on the streets wielded wooden clubs, their gazes fierce and predatory.

Every merchant and traveler seemed a potential quarry, ready to be robbed at any moment.

Shen Yu paid no mind. Entering the city, he made his way toward a secluded alley.

Filthy water coursed through muddy lanes, where cries of pain and pleas for mercy echoed, interspersed with men’s harsh curses.

Several scar-faced men surrounded a frail, white-haired old woman, apparently trying to seize something from her.

Upon seeing Shen Yu, the old woman sobbed and knelt, crying, “Young master, please save me. The money in this bundle is my grandson’s lifeline!”

A towering brute spat, “Where did this brat come from? Meddling in my affairs? You’re tired of living, aren’t you? Get lost, or I’ll slice you up!”

Yet as he spoke, his voice grew weaker.

The man Shen Yu never glanced their way, simply walked past, indifferent, and drifted away.

Utter coldness.

For a moment, the thuggish men exchanged bewildered looks, unsure what had happened.

But the old woman, collapsed on the ground, clung desperately to Shen Yu’s trousers as he passed, begging, “Young master, please, save me. My grandson is only seven; I sold everything I owned for this money!”

“You want me to save you?”

Shen Yu halted, turned, and said coolly, “You, a martial artist at the Initial Sensing Realm, beset by a few ordinary street rogues, need someone else to rescue you?”

His delicate features were impassive as he looked at the old woman, as if gazing at a corpse.

The old woman’s sobs ceased abruptly, her pupils contracted, and a nameless terror rose within her heart.

The next instant, frail as she appeared, she sprang at him, bony fingers curled into claws, reaching for Shen Yu’s head.

In a heartbeat, she was struck lightly and sent flying.

Her body convulsed, then lay still, lifeless.