Chapter 1: A Mortal in a Mortal Land, A Fairy Encounter at Flying Flower Terrace (I)
by GideonBoom—
A thunderclap shook the heavens, and a torrential downpour instantly engulfed the night.
It was the end of the Hour of the Dog, yet Yellow Leaf Village was devoid of a single lamp. The silence was eerie, broken not even by the barking of a dog.
A young man spurred his horse forward, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. His green robes were already soaked through, leaving him looking utterly disheveled.
Before they even reached the village, the spirited steed refused to go any further. It snorted restlessly, its nostrils flaring—it had clearly sensed danger.
The young man did not urge it. Instead, he immediately focused his Internal Energy into his ears and eyes, concentrating to probe the surroundings. In an instant, he caught a faint, lingering scent of blood amidst the rain.
Ever since Cult Leader Lan Yulang of the Heaven-Seizing Cult had annihilated Returning Cloud Villa five days ago, the entire martial world had fallen into turmoil. From Gusu to Luzhou, the traces of the Demonic Cult’s atrocities were visible everywhere. Worse still, many disciples of the righteous sects had been poisoned by the heretics and met untimely deaths.
Could it be that this small village has also…
“Ah—!”
Lost in thought, the young man was startled by a piercing scream from nearby. He immediately drew the longsword from its sheath on his back, leaped from the reins, and soared into the air, treading upon the raindrops as he rushed toward the source of the sound.
The stench of blood grew stronger with every step. The youth narrowed his eyes. Just as he landed on a rooftop, a dark, spherical object hurtled toward him from below. He reacted instantly, swinging his sword to parry the attack. A dull thud echoed as the sword’s qi shattered the black sphere, spraying a viscous white fluid across the back of his hand.
It was a severed human head.
CRACK—
Another bolt of lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating the scene below. In the courtyard lay several corpses—men, women, old and young—none spared.
Standing beside the bodies were a man and a woman, their forms as ghastly as demons.
“Oh? Someone came to help!” the woman chirped. Her tone was coy and playful, yet it sent a chill down the spine.
The youth struck out with a silent wave of sword qi. The woman spun away, and the strike pierced the ancient elm tree behind her, leaving only a wisp of smoke to vanish into the rain.
Stunned by the newcomer’s immense Internal Energy, the woman’s composure shattered. “Which hero are you?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “State your name!”
The youth remained silent. With a flick of his wrist, his blade gleamed with a cold, lethal light.
The rainy night was pitch-black, and the youth’s bamboo hat obscured his face. Beside him, the man grew impatient. “Playing tricks… Kill him!”
The words had barely left his lips when the two assassins launched themselves forward, their bodies a blur of qinggong as they closed in on the youth. Yet after only a few exchanges, they realized this was no ordinary opponent. His swordplay shifted with dizzying speed, as if he had mastered the techniques of a hundred different schools. His style was impossible to identify, and they knew that even fighting together, they might not stand a chance.
The man was forced back step by step, his defenses crumbling under the youth’s sword-qi, which was as tangled and relentless as a mess of hemp. Realizing defeat was certain if the fight continued, he threw out their reputation as a bluff. “There is no benefit in making enemies of us, the Yin-Yang Twin Fiends. You should surrender now!”
The youth replied with a single, utterly indifferent word: “Oh.”
The sheer arrogance of that one syllable was infuriating.
The man and woman before him were the Yin-Yang Twin Fiends, assassins whose very name struck terror into the hearts of the jianghu. They belonged neither to the Demonic Cult nor the Martial Arts Alliance; they were simply mercenaries who sold their blades to the highest bidder, ignoring good and evil, fearing neither righteousness nor heresy.
Hearing the slight lilt of youth in his voice and witnessing his utter contempt, the Yin-Yang Twin Fiends were driven to a murderous rage. They unleashed their signature techniques, striking simultaneously at the youth’s unguarded openings.
Yet no matter how fierce their strikes, the youth neutralized them all. After a few more exchanges, the Yin-Yang Twin Fiends were stunned to discover that the techniques he used to counter-attack were identical to their own.
The Yin-Yang Twin Fiends had roamed the martial world for years, rarely meeting their match. Who could have imagined they would be so utterly humiliated by a mere slip of a boy? Though they seethed with indignation, they had already revealed their signature moves and yet couldn’t even touch the hem of the boy’s robes.
The woman was thrown back seven steps by the youth’s sword qi. When she finally landed, she stumbled another three steps back, unable to find her footing.
The man instantly moved to her side, pressing his palm against her back to secretly channel internal energy into her. He whispered, “This boy’s cultivation method is incredibly strange. He actually stole our techniques in just a few moves. For him to possess such a skill of ‘Grafting Flowers to Trees,’ he must be connected to the Canglan Pavilion. It’s best we don’t drag this out.”
The Central Plains Martial World was dominated by five great clans, and the Canglan Pavilion was one of them.
The woman knew the youth’s background must be formidable and dared not provoke him further. She nodded in agreement. They each threw a few concealed weapons, and while the youth was parrying them, they swiftly retreated.
The rain continued to fall, and the village returned to its deathly silence.
Wen Jin leaped from the roof with his sword in hand, landing before the body of a woman. She still held a four- or five-year-old boy in her arms. A single sword strike had pierced both mother and child, their blood already washed away by the rain. They had long since lost all signs of life.
He slowly crouched down and removed his bamboo hat. The downpour immediately lashed his face, forming droplets on his thick, dark eyelashes that trembled and fell away.
Wen Jin covered the child’s body with his hat, his eyes brimming with pity.
Suddenly, the faint sound of breathing reached his ears. The young man scanned his surroundings and discovered a survivor beneath an eave ten feet away.
He rushed forward, his gaze fixing on the man. He was struck with horror—the stranger was covered in sword wounds, blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth. His face was so smeared with gore that his features were unrecognizable.
After a moment’s hesitation, Wen Jin gently grasped the man’s wrist, then checked his legs, only to find that the tendons in all four limbs had been severed. Without a second thought, Wen Jin carried the wounded man inside the house.
The dwelling was rudimentary, lit only by a single, flickering lamp. Wen Jin sealed the man’s xuanji, jiangtai, and jinquan acupoints—the three major blood vessels—and fed him the hemostatic pills he carried. Then, he brought a basin of clean water and began to wipe away the blood from the man’s body.
The night wind, heavy with moisture, seeped through the wooden windows, causing the lamp’s flame to dance.
As the bloodstains faded, a strikingly handsome face was revealed.
Perhaps Wen Jin had never expected such a mangled body to harbor such beauty. He stared, momentarily entranced, before shaking himself out of his reverie and returning to his task. Noticing a stubborn smudge of blood at the outer corner of the man’s left eye, he gently wiped it with the damp cloth. When the stain refused to budge, Wen Jin leaned in closer, only to realize it was a small, vermilion mole.
The dim light of the lamp was insufficient to illuminate the entire humble room, yet it caught the golden bells dangling from the man’s left wrist, making them gleam brilliantly.
In his haste to save the man, Wen Jin had overlooked the bells. Now, seeing them clearly, he couldn’t resist a curious poke. When the bells remained silent, he stopped fiddling with them.
After finishing the basic cleaning, he ventured out into the rain, intending to find a physician in the village to treat the man’s wounds. To his horror, he discovered that the entire village had been slaughtered—even the livestock had been butchered.
The scene was a charnel house, a sight too gruesome to bear.
Amidst the carnage, he noticed that some of the dead wore strange attire, unlike the dress of the Central Plains. He lifted their robes and, as he suspected, found tattoos of poisonous insects etched into their skin.
The Heaven-Seizing Cult!
This heretical sect, from its Cult Leader down to its outer disciples, all bore tattoos of the Five Poisons.
Wen Jin pondered for a long time, then turned back into the thatched cottage. He took several sets of clean, coarse linen clothes from the host’s cupboard, shedding his own wet garments as he thought—
The bloody massacre in Yellow Leaf Village was undoubtedly linked to the Heaven-Seizing Cult, but why were the Yin-Yang Twin Fiends here?
Were they accomplices of the Demonic Cult, or were they exacting Heaven’s punishment on behalf of the Martial Arts Alliance?
His mind churning with unresolved questions, Wen Jin did not sleep all night.
As dawn broke, the rain ceased and the wind died down. He carried the unconscious, grievously injured man away from the village, arriving at a nearby town to seek medical aid. However, the town’s physicians all recognized the bizarre nature of the man’s wounds, which clearly pointed to some martial arts conflict. Unwilling to invite unnecessary trouble, they all refused to treat him, shutting their doors to the two men.
Left with no other choice, Wen Jin could only purchase a few bottles of medicinal powder for external wounds from an apothecary.
Just as he was leaving, the apothecary called out to him, “Young sir, a moment.”
Wen Jin turned and cupped his hands in greeting. “What can this old man do for you?”
The apothecary said, “Your friend’s body is covered in external wounds, his meridians are completely severed, and there is an extremely yin-cold poisonous qi within his body. It seems he has crossed paths with some formidable figure. Young sir, you should seek help at Fengyue City in Jiangling. Fengyue City is one of the five great families of the Central Plains Martial World, renowned for their medical expertise. They will surely be able to treat this young gentleman.”
After a brief pause, the physician spoke again. “It’s just that… we are in Luzhou, and Jiangling is a thousand li away. I wonder if your friend could…”
Wen Jin caught the hesitation in the man’s voice. “I will do my best,” he replied.
He had a heavy burden to carry on this journey and could not afford to be delayed. Besides, he was a complete stranger to this man. He had already done his utmost by rescuing him from that mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. Why should he waste any more of his time and energy on him?
Yet Wen Jin could not bring himself to abandon a dying man, especially since he was the sole survivor of Yellow Leaf Village and might know some secrets. After much deliberation, he decided to make the trip to Fengyue City.
Fengyue City was located in Jiangling Prefecture. If he had spurred his horse and traveled day and night, he could have reached it in just ten days. But now, Wen Jin was transporting an unconscious patient. He had no choice but to slow his pace, stopping to ask for medicine from every physician he encountered along the way, yet all his efforts had been in vain.
Five days later, as evening approached, a heavy rain began to fall.
The Qingming Festival had just passed, and the spring rains were flooding the middle and lower reaches of the Yangtze River. Wen Jin drove his carriage into a dilapidated Mountain God Temple. He carefully lifted the man from the carriage and gently laid him down on a pile of dry grass at the base of the statue.
The dilapidated temple had long been shrouded in dust, its four walls draped in thick cobwebs. Even the clay statue of the Mountain God was so badly damaged that its true features were now unrecognizable.
Wen Jin gathered several broken beams, using dry grass to kindle a fire that gradually dispelled the damp, piercing chill seeping into the temple.
Lightning flashed like daylight, and thunder rolled as the rain outside intensified.
The man had been unconscious for days, unable to eat. Every four hours, Wen Jin dissolved a spoonful of cane syrup in hot water and carefully trickled it into his mouth. Though most of it spilled out, it was enough to sustain a glimmer of life.
Now, he scooped another spoonful of cane syrup into a cup of water and set it by the fire to warm. Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves drew closer. Wen Jin strained his ears, discerning the approach of ten riders.
With no way to know if they were friend or foe, nor their strength, it was too late to extinguish the fire and flee. He could only wait and see.
“Brothers, there’s a ruined temple ahead! Let’s take shelter from the rain!”
“The Canglan Pavilion is hunting us. We must remain cautious.”
“Why is there a carriage parked at the entrance?”
“Tsk. It seems someone has been waiting for us.”
The words had barely fallen when the sound of blades being drawn sliced through the rain, their points aimed sternly at the Mountain God Temple.
Yet, after waiting for a long while without the slightest sign of movement, the ten hooded figures in black grew impatient. They dismounted one by one, weapons in hand, and closed in on the temple.
Rain poured down in torrents, the wind howled, and the small Mountain God Temple was now enveloped in a suffocating aura of murderous intent.
Creak—
Just then, a gust of wind blew open the partially closed temple doors. The black-robed figures seized the opportunity to enter, their gazes drawn to the blazing firelight. There, seated insolently at the feet of the divine statue, was a youth in green robes, his black hair tied high. He was casually stoking the fire before him, the flickering flames illuminating his crimson lips and white teeth, his face as fair as polished jade.
Though the youth possessed a feminine beauty that made him seem fragile and vulnerable, a longsword with a jade tassel lay at his feet—a clear sign he was a skilled martial artist. Behind him, lying on a bed of straw, was a man in white, his body gaunt and skeletal, unconscious.
The attackers’ eyes gleamed with malice, yet they dared not make a rash move. Their leader stepped forward and asked, “How should we address you, young swordsman?”
Wen Jin ignored them, tossing another few logs onto the fire.
The uninvited guests, infuriated by his arrogantly nonchalant attitude, could no longer contain themselves. One of them roared, “Brat! You’re treating us with utter contempt! Do you have a death wish?”
Wen Jin paid him no mind. He picked up a ceramic cup and stirred it gently with a wooden spoon. The sugarcane syrup dissolved quickly in the hot water, releasing a faint, sweet aroma.
He shifted back a few inches, scooped a spoonful of the sweet liquid, and carefully fed it to the unconscious man.
“You little shit, you’re dead!” A black-robed man, driven to a frenzy by Wen Jin’s actions, lunged forward, his blade raised to cleave through both of them.
In a flash, the black-robed man’s peripheral vision caught a glimpse of a string of golden skull bells on the unconscious man’s wrist. His heart hammered in terror, his expression twisting in shock—
The Flying Frost Pomegranate Fire!
This was the sacred relic used by the Heaven-Seizing Cult’s successive leaders to control the Hundred Venomous Insects! The martial world might not recognize it, but the Cult’s own disciples trembled at its very name.
His mouth fell open in astonishment, but he only managed to utter a single syllable—”Lan”—before a sudden chill seized his throat. Blood sprayed from his neck, and he collapsed, dead in an instant.
Before the others could even register what had happened, Wen Jin had already sheathed his sword. His tone carried a hint of youthful arrogance: “Has no one ever told you that trespassing on another’s territory is impolite?”
The black-robed assassins finally realized this young man was a formidable fighter. They scattered, encircling him. Their leader demanded, “We have no grievance with you, Young Master. Why resort to such ruthless methods?”
Wen Jin looked up, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You were the ones trying to kill me, yet you accuse me of being ruthless. How truly audacious—the villain playing the victim.”
The leader’s eyes nearly split with rage. Just as he was about to strike, Wen Jin asked another question: “You Heaven-Seizing Cult demons, why are you slaughtering innocents and massacring all of Yellow Leaf Village?”
The leader froze, then asked in return, “How do you know our identity?”
Wen Jin rose and used his scabbard to lift the robes of the dead man, revealing the toad tattoo on his shoulder.
Though these men wore cloaks to conceal their attire, the silver ornaments jingling as they moved were unmistakable—they were the silver decorations worn by the Miao people of the Qianxi Wumeng Tribe.
With their identities exposed, the leader dropped his pretense, his voice turning inexplicably sinister. “We obey Cult Leader Lan’s command to bathe the Central Plains Martial World in blood. What is a mere village to us?”
Wen Jin’s gaze darkened. “What connection do the Yin-Yang Twin Fiends have to you? Why have they appeared in Yellow Leaf Village? Are you here to slaughter innocent villagers, or is there someone else you’re hunting?”
The black-robed leader paused, then sneered. “Worry about yourself first. The Heaven-Seizing Cult’s business is none of your concern!”
The moment the words left his lips, the cultists in the temple launched a coordinated assault on Wen Jin. Their palm strikes, laced with poisonous miasma, struck directly at his unguarded openings.
The Heaven-Seizing Cult’s mastery of poison and gu had long been a source of dread throughout the martial world. They unleashed their lethal techniques, determined to kill the meddlesome youth.
Wen Jin slowly raised his hand, preparing to use “Grafting Flowers to Trees” to absorb the poison and redirect it back at them. But at that exact moment, the ethereal chime of a bell rippled through the temple—a sound as fleeting as a gentle breeze.
Suddenly, the nine black-robed cultists froze. Droplets of blood began to seep from their ears, noses, mouths, and the corners of their eyes.
The next instant, a series of muffled thuds echoed through the air as the black-clad figures exploded simultaneously. As they fell, their flesh and blood decayed with terrifying speed, leaving only bleached white bones in their wake.
Wen Jin frowned, taking two steps back as the blood-soaked ground stained the soles of his boots.
The murderous aura vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Silence returned to the Mountain God Temple, broken only by the crackle of the flames and the howling wind and rain outside.
The bell chimes from moments ago had been too eerie, descending heavily through the curtain of rain as if to crush the Demonic Cult heretics.
Wen Jin rushed out of the Mountain God Temple but sensed no traces of anyone nearby. Though he was a newcomer to the martial world, he knew of the masters who currently held sway. Yet, a killer who could strike with the sound of bells was unheard of.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. He turned back into the temple and approached the white-robed man lying amidst the pile of withered grass.
The man remained unconscious, showing no signs of waking. Wen Jin knelt beside him and lifted his left hand. Around the wrist, a string of golden skull bells glimmered with an eerie light in the flickering flames. Each skull held a rice-grain-sized golden bead in its mouth—a design that would surely chime with the slightest movement.
Yet, when Wen Jin shook the man’s wrist several times, the golden bells remained silent.
He gazed intently at the stranger for a long moment before murmuring, “Just who are you?”
[ Author’s Note ]
The story has begun!
This novel is set in a martial arts world with a very niche theme. I hope you all enjoy the story~ If you can leave plenty of comments to warm up the atmosphere, it would be even better. I will transform into a donkey grinding a millstone and write furiously!
Also, a quick word: the tropes in this book are quite varied. If you encounter “7-shaped” or unhealthy love dynamics, please don’t be surprised…
FOOTNOTES:
Hour of the Dog (戌时, Xūshí) is a traditional Chinese timekeeping period corresponding to:
7:00 PM – 9:00 PM
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