Chapter 2: A Wrong Person in the Wrong Place, Meeting the Yunmeng Immortal at Flying Flower Terrace
by GideonThe next morning, the rain ceased, and the sky cleared.
The firewood that had burned all night gradually died out, leaving only a wisp of blue smoke to drift away.
The events of the previous night had piqued Wen Jin’s curiosity about the man’s identity. Yet, the man’s meridians were completely severed, he had been unconscious for days, and there was no trace of internal power remaining in his body. It was utterly impossible for him to have summoned the bell’s chime and slaughtered the bodies in an instant.
Then who could possess such a skill to kill invisibly?
Wen Jin pondered the scene of carnage before him, but his thoughts yielded no answers. He could only suppress his doubts for now, prioritizing the man’s rescue.
Four days later, the carriage arrived at a ferry crossing twenty li outside Yingdu City. Wen Jin stopped at a nearby teahouse and ordered two jin of braised beef to sate his hunger. Shortly after, a sigh drifted from behind him—
“Sigh… I heard the Heaven-Seizing Cult has arrived in our Jiangling. I fear another bloodbath is upon us.”
“Is the news reliable?”
“My younger cousin is a disciple of Fengyue City. The information is naturally reliable!”
Wen Jin frowned. He recalled the words of the Demonic Cult disciple who had broken into the Mountain God Temple that night—they were acting on the orders of their cult leader, Lan Yulang, to bathe the Central Plains Martial World in blood… Could the demon’s next target be Fengyue City?
Soon, someone else voiced the same question: “Returning Cloud Villa, one of the Five Great Families, has already been wiped out by Lan Yulang. Could he be planning to strike Fengyue City next?”
Another person chimed in, “The Southwest Demonic Cult has long harbored ambitions to conquer the Central Plains. If Lan Yulang truly intends to do so, then Fengyue City won’t be the only one. I fear Canglan Pavilion, Crescent Moon Pavilion, and Huaguang Temple will all fall as well.”
The Canglan Pavilion, Crescent Moon Pavilion, and Huaguang Temple he mentioned were three of the Five Great Families.
“That demon is ruthless and his methods of killing are brutal and perverse. If even the Five Great Families cannot stop him, won’t the entire martial world be plunged into a sea of blood?”
“What’s there to fear? At worst, we’ll stake our lives and perish together with those heretics!”
“The Demonic Cult has committed countless atrocities, not even sparing the old, the young, and the women who lack the strength to bind a chicken. Truly hateful! If I, Qin Xiang of the Guihai Single Saber, ever encounter them, I will tear them limb from limb!”
“Well said, Great Hero Qin! Since ancient times, evil has never triumphed over righteousness. That fiend Lan Yulang is utterly devoid of conscience; sooner or later, he will reap what he has sown and die a miserable death!”
The teahouse was bustling with noise as the crowd chimed in, their voices filled with hatred for the Demonic Cult.
Wen Jin had finished his meal and was about to pay the bill when another conversation caught his ear. “Fengyue City holds a three-day free clinic every month. With all the chaos caused by those demonic heretics, I doubt the clinic will open this month.”
Another customer countered, “Not necessarily. City Lord Feng Qiya is still in secluded cultivation, so the city is currently managed by his eldest son, First Young Master Feng Shulou. Young Master Feng is known for his benevolence and kindness; he wouldn’t easily suspend the free clinic.”
Feng Shulou…
A blurry figure instantly flashed through Wen Jin’s mind.
A moment later, he stepped out of the teahouse, climbed onto the driver’s seat, and drove his carriage forward.
The midday sun beat down mercilessly. A gentle breeze carried waves of heat, making him feel drowsy.
Wen Jin yawned four or five times in a row, his eyes welling with mist as he struggled against the overwhelming fatigue.
After fighting it for a long time, the drowsiness only grew heavier. He finally gave in, took off his bamboo hat, and leaned against the carriage door to nap.
In his half-asleep state, a bone-chilling cold brushed past his spine, jolting him wide awake.
The carriage rattled along the official road, its surroundings devoid of any human trace. Yet, a chill as piercing as killing intent had inexplicably struck Wen Jin’s back—a truly strange occurrence. His gaze sharpened. With the hilt of his sword, he swiftly lifted the carriage curtains, only to be met by a wave of frigid air that billowed from within the cabin and washed over his face.
This cold…
It was emanating from the unconscious man!
Wen Jin slipped into the carriage and checked the man’s pulse. He was stunned.
The man’s body was as cold as an ice cellar, his pulse fluttering erratically, as if he might slip away at any moment. Wen Jin recalled a physician’s words: the man harbored an Utmost Yin Cold Qi within his body. Could the cold poison be flaring up?
Seeing the man teetering on the brink of death, Wen Jin immediately sat cross-legged, lifted the man’s arm, and pressed their palms together, channeling his Internal Energy.
Born with a Pure Yang Saint Body, Wen Jin had cultivated Internal Martial Arts since the age of three. His Internal Energy was vast and potent, more than enough to suppress the cold poison.
Yet, after half a cup of tea’s time, only thirty percent of the chill had been quelled.
As the man’s breath grew weaker, Wen Jin acted without hesitation. He unfastened their robes and pulled the man tightly into his arms, pressing his chest against the man’s scarred back. He began to channel the Pure Yang Qi from his heart through the technique of “Bearing Yin and Embracing Yang.”
After another half-cup of tea’s time had passed, the backlash of the Utmost Yin Cold Qi left Wen Jin shivering, his lips turning blue. Yet he had barely managed to suppress the man’s internal poison.
Trembling, he set the man down and began to dress. Suddenly, he felt a sharp gaze piercing his face. Turning his head, he saw the man had awakened at some unknown point and was staring at him with an icy glare.
“You… you’re awake…” Wen Jin hurriedly pulled on his clothes, explaining, “Brother, you were gravely injured and unconscious for days. When the cold poison flared up again, I used my internal energy to suppress it. Beyond that, I did nothing improper. Please, do not misunderstand.”
The man stared straight at him, offering no reply.
Wen Jin gave a wry smile and began to tidy the man’s clothes. “My name is Wen Jin. May I ask yours, Brother?”
The man remained silent, but the ice in his gaze had thawed.
Assuming the man was still weak and uncomfortable from his ordeal, Wen Jin pressed no further. He drove the carriage into Yingdu City, where they would rest for the night before continuing their journey.
Though the man briefly regained consciousness, his severe injuries soon plunged him back into a coma. Even when he occasionally opened his eyes, he never spoke. No matter what Wen Jin asked, he remained silent, meeting every question with a mute, impassive gaze.
—His name was unknown, his surname a mystery, his origins a complete void. Much less could Wen Jin learn from him about the tragedy that had befell Yellow Leaf Village, drawing the attention of the Yin-Yang Twin Fiends—top-tier assassins of the martial world—and the Demonic Cult’s massacre.
Two days later, they successfully arrived at Jiangling Prefecture.
With Fengyue City now within reach, Wen Jin finally felt a sense of relief. He pulled the carriage to a stop beneath a willow tree and addressed the man. “Brother, your meridians are severed and your internal injuries are critical. At this point, only the healers in Fengyue City can save your life. However, I have a grave mission to attend to and can no longer care for you. I must leave you here, in Fengyue City, for the renowned physicians to treat your wounds.”
The man’s expression remained indifferent, though a flicker of wariness lingered in his eyes.
Wen Jin guessed his concerns and offered a reassuring smile. “Rest assured, Fengyue City is a righteous sect; they will never harm you. I share a friendship with the Young City Lord, Feng Shulou. He is a man of great kindness and exceptional medical skill. He will surely find a way to cure you.”
The man gazed at him silently, leaving it unclear whether he had taken any of the words to heart.
Wen Jin rested his hands on his hips and sighed. “I am, after all, your savior. We are about to part ways—do you have nothing to say to me?”
Finally, the man’s thin lips parted, and two words escaped them: “Take care.”
His voice was as cool as autumn rain—faint, yet carrying a bone-deep chill that was almost imperceptible.
“Wow~ So you can talk!” Wen Jin feigned astonishment, clapping his hands with a hint of sarcasm. Seeing that the man had finally broken his silence, he seized the opportunity. “Brother, do you remember what happened that night? And who inflicted those wounds upon you?”
The man fell silent once more.
Having been met with such cold indifference time and again, even Wen Jin’s usually mild temperament began to fray. He yanked open the carriage curtain, leaned forward to grab the reins, and spat, “Bah—you stubborn bastard!”
Suddenly, the man’s voice drifted from within the carriage: “Lan Xiangru.”
Wen Jin froze, turning back. “What?”
“My surname is Lan. My given name is Xiangru.”
At the end of the hour of You, just as dusk fell, the blood-red setting sun cast its light upon the banners bearing the character Feng atop the city walls, bestowing a solemn and majestic air.
Eight disciples, armed with black Judge’s Pens, stood guard beneath the city gates. Their gazes swept the surroundings, their expressions vigilant, as if warding off some unseen threat.
Today marked the mid-month free clinic. After the last group of commoners seeking medical aid had been sent on their way, twilight had already descended. Two disciples placed a spear-fence across the gateway before joining the other six to heave the great gates shut, preparing to drop the locking bar.
“Wait!”
Just as the gates were about to close, a young man’s voice rang out from the distance.
The eight disciples all looked up, following the sound. They saw a youth in green robes, wearing a bamboo hat, driving a carriage at full speed. The dust kicked up by the wheels tore through the gathering night.
Moments later, the carriage screeched to a halt ten feet away. The youth leaped from the driver’s seat and hurried forward, cupping his hands in a respectful salute. “A friend of mine is gravely injured and his life hangs by a thread. He urgently needs the care of your city’s renowned physicians. I beg you, senior brothers, show us some leniency and let us enter the city at once.”
His manner was humble, his features handsome; he did not look like a man of ill intent. One of the gate guards was about to let them through when another intervened. “The free clinic has already concluded, and it is late. Young brother, please come back another time.”
Wen Jin said, “A life is at stake. I cannot wait until next time.”
The gate disciple replied, “Lately, members of the Demonic Cult have frequently posed as patients to infiltrate the city and commit atrocities. Several of our fellow disciples have already met with tragedy. We are strictly following the Deputy City Lord’s orders: after the city gates are closed, we must maintain a strict vigil. No one is allowed to enter or leave Fengyue City. This matter concerns the survival of the martial world; please, young brother, do not make things difficult for us.”
Wen Jin did not argue with them. After a moment’s reflection, he actually turned and walked away.
The disciples were all stunned. They thought to themselves, This kid is willing to leave so easily. He must be a Demonic Cult spy! Now that his plan has been exposed, he can only flee in panic! They quickly lifted the wooden bar and dropped the bolt to seal the city, lest they attract more members of the Heaven-Seizing Cult.
At the critical moment, a jet-black scabbard wedged into the gap of the gate, forcibly halting its closure.
The men looked up and saw the youth had returned, grinning at them. “Big brothers, long time no see~”
The gate disciples stared blankly for a long moment before they finally realized: the kid had taken their words “come back next time” literally and was playing them for fools!
One of them, enraged by the insult, spat out a curse—”Brat, you’re asking for a beating”—and swung his Judge’s Pen to attack Wen Jin.
The city gate stood slightly ajar. As the pen-tip’s sharp, piercing energy swept toward him, Wen Jin dodged with his sword still sheathed, feigning alarm as he clutched his chest in mock terror.
The attacker, seeing the youth’s handsome features, dismissed him as a mere “embroidered pillow”—a pretty face with no substance. Eager to teach him a lesson, he leaped from the city gate and engaged Wen Jin in a fierce skirmish.
Fengyue City’s martial arts were renowned throughout the jianghu. The disciple had been certain his cultivation would be enough to crush Wen Jin, leaving him broken and begging for mercy. Yet the youth proved more slippery than an eel, flawlessly evading every lethal strike.
The seven remaining Fengyue City disciples quickly realized the youth was playing a purely defensive game, clearly concealing his own sect’s techniques. After several exchanges, Wen Jin remained utterly composed, while their companion’s form had already grown riddled with openings.
The others dared not slacken their vigilance. Exchanging glances, they drew their pens and joined the fray, launching a coordinated assault.
Fengyue City championed Confucian scholarship, and its disciples wielded Judge’s Pens as their primary weapons. Their techniques focused on striking acupoints to seal meridians; however, if an opponent’s assault grew too fierce, they could draw the hidden swords from within the pens to deliver a killing blow.
Wen Jin’s relentless evasion only served to heighten the provocation. Enraged by his arrogance, the disciples drew their flexible swords one after another, determined to force him to reveal his sect’s true martial arts.
“Young brother,” one man said, “we mean you no harm. Please, leave at once!”
Wen Jin raised an eyebrow. “I will give you ten moves while my hands are empty. If you can injure me, I will leave of my own accord.”
Another man roared in fury, “How dare this brat be so arrogant! Why are we reasoning with him?”
Wen Jin picked up the man’s words and replied, “Then show me what you’ve got.”
At his words, the crowd’s fury reached its peak. They immediately split into eight directions, forming a formation that trapped him in the center.
This formation was based on the principles of the Eight Trigrams Formation, an unparalleled choice for trapping enemies. Even a master from a great clan would not dare to take it lightly.
The disciples channeled their internal energy into their swords, sealing the Life Gate and leaving their opponent no chance of escape.
Yet, in a flash, the youth’s figure blurred, and he darted away like a swimming dragon! The eight disciples were instantly dazzled, seeing only several afterimages flickering before their eyes. Before they could even react, they felt a numbness spread across their shoulders. Their Judge’s Pens clattered to the ground, the metal striking the earth with a series of sharp clangs.
Wen Jin had used his scabbard to strike the pressure points of all eight men, leaving them frozen in place, unable to move. Their faces flushed crimson with shame and humiliation, rendering them unable to utter even a single insult.
Wen Jin held his sword and cupped his fist in a salute, saying to them, “Forgive my offense.”
The commotion from the fight quickly drew the attention of the city’s inhabitants. Soon, a young man in black robes emerged from the city gate, flanked by several guards. The disciples who had been defeated by Wen Jin all turned to look at the newcomer, their faces flushed with shame. “Young City Lord…”
Feng Shulou’s gaze swept over the weapons scattered across the ground. He then ordered his men to unseal the disciples’ acupoints. “What happened?”
One disciple pointed a finger at Wen Jin, his jaw clenched in fury. “This brat ignored the city’s rules and forced his way into Fengyue City! We tried to reason with him, but he refused to listen, so we had to fight!”
Most visitors came to Fengyue City seeking medical treatment.
Feng Shulou suspected there must be a misunderstanding. He studied the young man in green standing a short distance away. The youth stood as straight as a bamboo stalk, his face as smooth as polished jade. His peach-blossom eyes, dark and spirited, hinted at an underlying sense of righteous integrity.
After a moment’s thought, Feng Shulou cupped his hands in a formal salute. “I am Feng Shulou. My disciples were poorly trained and lacked proper discipline. If they have offended you, Young Hero, I hope you will be magnanimous.”
Wen Jin took off his bamboo hat, a wide grin revealing two pointed canines. “Big Brother Feng!”
Feng Shulou stared at those familiar canines, then studied the young man’s face more closely. A smile broke across his lips. “Xiao Jin?”
Wen Jin nodded. “It is I.”
The crowd exchanged bewildered glances.
Wen Jin immediately explained his reasons for coming. After listening, Feng Shulou addressed the disciples outside the city gate. “Young Hero Wen comes from a prestigious family and is a childhood friend of mine. What just happened was a misunderstanding; do not take offense.”
Turning back to Wen Jin, he added, “Follow me.”
Wen Jin quickly leaped onto the carriage driver’s seat and drove into Fengyue City.
The night wind in Jiangling lacked the gentleness of Jiangnan; as it brushed against his face, he could still feel the lingering chill of late spring.
At that moment, Feng Shulou was in the West Courtyard taking Lan Xiangru’s pulse. Not wanting to disturb him, Wen Jin waited quietly in the flower hall, finishing the two plates of pine-yellow cakes sent by the maidservant.
Half an incense stick’s time later, Feng Shulou arrived at the flower hall. Wen Jin wiped the cake crumbs from the corner of his mouth and rose to greet him. “Big Brother Feng, can Brother Lan’s injuries be cured?”
Feng Shulou replied, “Reconnecting severed tendons and vessels is no easy feat. My medical skills are shallow, and I dare not attempt such a diagnosis. I can only temporarily treat your friend’s superficial wounds. The rest must wait until my father emerges from seclusion before a decision can be made.”
His words were tactful, but Wen Jin still understood the unspoken meaning.
It seemed Lan Xiangru’s injuries were indeed too severe, even for the young city lord of Fengyue City to handle.
A flicker of worry crossed Wen Jin’s face, casting a shadow over his usually bright expression.
Seeing this, Feng Shulou quickly tried to reassure him. “Don’t worry, A-Jin. Since he is your friend, Fengyue City will do everything in its power to save him.”
“Thank you, Big Brother Feng.” Wen Jin breathed a silent sigh of relief, then changed the subject, cupping his fist in a gesture of respect. “I have urgent business to attend to and must set out early tomorrow morning. I will not be able to pay my respects to Uncle Feng in person. Please forgive my lack of propriety.”
“Since it is urgent business, I will not pry,” Feng Shulou replied. “Take care of yourself. I will certainly pass on your regards to Uncle Feng when he emerges from seclusion.”
Wen Jin gave a sheepish smile and scratched his head awkwardly. “I have one more request. About Brother Lan—”
“Young Lord!”
Before he could finish, a disciple rushed up the stone steps and bowed outside the hall. “Young Lord! The guest in the West Courtyard has suddenly fallen ill. His body is ice-cold, his breath is faint, and we fear for his life!”
Both men in the hall froze. Before Feng Shulou could even speak, Wen Jin was already racing toward the West Courtyard.
The courtyard was brightly lit, but the maid who should have been attending to Lan Xiangru was now waiting outside the door, trembling. Wen Jin burst into the room like a whirlwind, with Feng Shulou following close behind. The moment they entered, they both shuddered from the wave of bone-chilling cold that greeted them.
Lan Xiangru’s face was as white as paper, his lips a bruised blue, his eyes tightly shut. He had clearly fallen into a coma again.
Wen Jin grasped his arm, calling out repeatedly, “Brother Lan!”
Feng Shulou finished checking his pulse, his expression changing abruptly—
A surge of Utmost Yin Cold Qi had condensed within this man’s internal organs. It seemed like poison, yet was not; it seemed like a curse, yet was not. It was more like…
Wen Jin, standing beside them, suddenly interrupted his thoughts. “Big Brother Feng, please save him!”
Feng Shulou harbored doubts, but he had no time to ask questions. He said, “I will try using the Origin-Drawing Needle to see if I can draw the Cold Qi out of his lungs and viscera.”
This Young City Lord’s medical skills were renowned throughout Jiangling; no matter how difficult the ailment, he could cure it with a single dose of medicine. Yet, after a round of acupuncture, not only was Lan Xiangru’s crisis not averted, but the Cold Qi had instead accumulated in his extremities, unable to disperse. His hands and feet gradually turned a bruised purple.
Feng Shulou had never encountered such a strange illness. He dared not continue, so he could only withdraw the silver needles and stuff a pill into Lan Xiangru’s mouth. “His Qi channels are damaged; the Origin-Drawing Needle cannot draw the Cold Qi out through his limbs.” He then turned to the maidservant outside the door and ordered, “Go and fetch City Lord Ji immediately!”
Seeing Lan Xiangru’s condition worsen, Wen Jin had no choice but to resort to his old method. After removing their outer robes, he helped Lan Xiangru sit up, then embraced him from behind, channeling the Pure Yang Qi from his own heart into him.
Feng Shulou knew that Wen Jin possessed the Innate Pure Yang Saint Body, a rare constitution encountered once in a century, which was powerful enough to suppress this Utmost Yin Cold Qi. He immediately understood Wen Jin’s intention and turned away to avoid intruding.
After about a quarter of an hour, the sound of footsteps approached from a distance. It was Deputy City Lord Ji Yuanfeng, who had rushed over.
The chill in the room grew more intense. Wen Jin still held Lan Xiangru tightly, refusing to let go. White steam rose from both their heads, and even Wen Jin, with his Pure Yang Saint Body, trembled uncontrollably from the cold.
Feng Shulou could not bear to see him suffer such agony. Just as he was about to speak, the unconscious Lan Xiangru suddenly furrowed his brows. The meridians on his face surfaced, forming a blood-red net that was grotesquely terrifying.
The Young City Lord warily gripped the Judge’s Pen at his waist, waiting for the right moment to strike.
A few breaths later, two crimson floral patterns gradually condensed over Lan Xiangru’s heart, resembling peonies in full, gorgeous bloom.
In an instant, they vanished completely.
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