Chapter Eight: Willow

Emerald Bamboo Peak, the hour of the Goat.

Upon returning, Shen Yu saw Shang Yingluo waiting outside his door.

“I heard you beat them all with just a stick? What kind of stick was it?”

As soon as Shen Yu appeared, the young girl tugged at his sleeve, curious about the duel between the two peaks.

Shen Yu poured himself a cup of tea, answering lazily, “It was nothing special. The bamboo forest outside is full of them.”

The girl pressed further, “They say the stick is called a ‘silent club.’ Why did you hide it in your clothes?”

Shen Yu replied with a straight face, “To protect myself.”

Shang Yingluo was skeptical. “Are you sure it was for protection?”

Shen Yu nodded earnestly. “Of course. When fighting, a sudden blow with a silent club is just self-defense.”

He wasn’t making things up. Years ago, when he first began his cultivation journey, an old Taoist had struck him with a silent club, leaving him questioning his very existence.

“Cultivators in this world favor ornate immortal swords and treasures aglow with magical light—flashy and extravagant. But when it comes to fighting, simplicity is best, like the common folk: silent clubs, paving stones.”

That old Taoist left a deep impression on Shen Yu. Even after three thousand years, he remembered it well.

So, on his way back from the rear mountain of the Method Evolution Hall, he casually picked up a bamboo stick.

Shang Yingluo gazed intently at the delicate youth, puzzled by how someone so gifted always hid his talents from others.

Was there some secret he couldn’t reveal?

Shen Yu saw right through her thoughts. “I simply dislike trouble.”

Within the Taoist Sect, one of the legendary Nine Sacred Lands, those with exceptional talent drew relentless attention—and endless trouble. Shen Yu, being someone who preferred to avoid complications, had no reason to let others know more than necessary.

Suddenly, Shang Yingluo dove into Shen Yu’s arms and began tugging at his clothes.

“What are you doing?” Shen Yu asked.

With earnestness, Shang Yingluo replied, “I hate trouble too. Give me your silent club.”

Shen Yu sighed softly. “The trick with silent clubs is surprise. Now that everyone knows, it’s useless.”

Upon hearing this, the girl hopped down from him, visibly disappointed.

Shen Yu looked at her. “You’ve entered the Dao Realm, haven’t you?”

She had, long before the duel between the peaks, but claimed to be in seclusion out of fear that elders from the Four Halls and Seven Peaks might see through her identity.

Over the past year, Shen Yu had been surprised by her talent.

Shang Yingluo blinked, saying nothing, but her meaning was clear: What about you?

Shen Yu gently ruffled her hair. “I’m almost there myself.”

With a joyful leap, Shang Yingluo ran deep into the bamboo grove, her cheerful voice echoing from afar: “I’m off to find my own silent club first.”

...

The second year at Emerald Bamboo Peak.

Shang Yingluo became the first disciple to advance to the Dao Realm and was soon taken away from Emerald Bamboo Peak.

She had hidden her progress for a year, but in the end, it was discovered.

At her departure, she wept like a rain-soaked blossom, turning back at every step, pitiful and forlorn. Shen Yu couldn’t understand it—after all, they’d only be apart for a few months. Was it really necessary?

Even if they never met again, what did it matter?

To Shen Yu, all the joys and sorrows, the emotions of humanity, seemed unnecessary. Yet, seeing the girl’s tearful face, he suddenly felt… there was a certain charm to it.

This time, he made a point to remember her appearance.

...

Soon, Ye Zhiqiu, Liang Shi, Jiang Shaoqiu, and other talented disciples reached the peak of the ninth layer of Qi Refining, poised to break through to the Dao Realm.

Shen Yu remained as lazy as ever.

He rose late each day, fed spirit grass to a few rabbits, and in the evening watered his flowers.

The only difference was the way people now looked at him. No longer with disdain or contempt, but with a touch of reverence—and something else.

Shen Yu had become second only to Shang Yingluo at Emerald Bamboo Peak.

One day.

Seated cross-legged atop the cliff’s stone platform, Shen Yu closed his eyes, feeling the mountain breeze. The absence of the girl’s lively chatter felt unfamiliar.

The wind carried the fresh fragrance of zhilan flowers; his sleeves fluttered, and his presence seemed otherworldly.

Not far away, the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard.

The Taoist Sect revered nature, and most disciples preferred to linger among the mountains.

As their cultivation advanced, Mingjian not only taught basic techniques but also imparted Daoist arts, such as the art of controlling objects.

The purpose was to prepare them for the journey to Treasure Cliff.

Throughout Emerald Bamboo Peak, disciples could be seen carrying lanterns, shaking bells, or holding spirit-infused instruments, constantly practicing the art of object control.

Under the fading sunlight, the footsteps and the sound of objects slicing through the air gradually faded, leaving only a jade-green bamboo flute dancing in the air.

At the center of the peak was a graceful young maiden named Yang Liu, diligent in her cultivation but of average talent, still at the fifth layer of Qi Refining.

The sound of the bamboo flute’s flight continued into the night, slowly waning.

Half asleep, Shen Yu felt a chill, and soon, fat raindrops began to fall. He sighed.

Spring rain—always unpredictable.

He thought perhaps he shouldn’t sleep atop the mountain anymore; it was not only noisy but always left him drenched.

Getting up, he noticed a rain umbrella leaning nearby—green and delicate, clearly belonging to a woman.

After a moment’s thought, Shen Yu opened the umbrella and strolled down the mountain.

The next day, Shen Yu returned to the summit, placed the umbrella by the rocks, and once again reclined to nap.

...

Today, though, there was no rain.

The graceful maiden ran over, her cheeks flushed, hesitant to speak.

Shen Yu didn’t open his eyes, only nodded lightly.

The girl reclaimed her umbrella and resumed practicing the art of object control.

She was indeed diligent, training late into the night yesterday and returning early today. Yet, to Shen Yu, her technique had not improved at all—she was simply wasting her efforts.

At times, faint sobs could be heard from her.

Half a month passed this way. One evening, Shen Yu finally spoke to her for the first time.

“Carefully sense the changes in spiritual energy.”

Yang Liu stared at him, then suddenly understood, nodding repeatedly.

“Immerse your mind in the subtleties of heaven and earth’s spiritual energy.”

“Focus on energy, not objects.”

“You’re too impatient.”

“Forget the bamboo flute.”

“No, that’s wrong. Try again.”

He spoke calmly, without a ripple of emotion, yet the girl’s cheeks blushed with shame. To her, it felt as if her art of object control was worthless in his eyes, but she held back her tears.

Still, Yang Liu persisted instinctively.

She didn’t know why, but felt that if she chose to give up or complain now, he would never say another word.

Three days passed.

From initial chaos, Yang Liu’s control over objects became deft and fluid. The bamboo flute danced under her command with ease.

Even so, Shen Yu remained dissatisfied with her progress—she was still too clumsy.

Yet, Yang Liu, sensing her own subtle improvements, was delighted. Her regard for Shen Yu grew ever more respectful.

Mingjian had guided her before, and though he taught much, she always felt something was missing compared to Shen Yu.

The boy always seemed to spot problems in the smallest details and correct them in the most direct way.

Could Shen Yu’s grasp of Daoist arts surpass even Mingjian?

Thinking this, Yang Liu gently shook her head, laughing at herself.

“Is that possible?”