Disembarking from the ship brought both relief and anxiety. The moment my boots touched solid ground, I knew I had only a few breaths to slip away unnoticed. My master's sharp eyes missed nothing, and I couldn't risk him discovering where I was headed next.
Blending into the chaos of unloading passengers and cargo, I pulled my hood lower and activated the Spirit Cloak technique to suppress my presence. The technique thinned my spiritual signature just enough to avoid detection, so long as I didn't draw attention. I moved quickly but subtly, weaving between crates and hurrying porters until I reached Li Yao's wagon.
Fortunately, the Dark Wind Master's focus had been entirely on Xiao Delun, who had waved with deliberate enthusiasm earlier. As expected, my master's attention zeroed in on Xiao Delun's carriage, unaware that Li Yao had traveled with us at all.
Inside the wagon, I tucked myself into a shadowed corner and adjusted the curtain just enough to keep watch. My heart pounded every time I glimpsed the Dark Wind Master prowling the dock, his piercing gaze sweeping the crowd with methodical precision. For several tense minutes, I remained perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe.
At last, he gave up—at least for now. He turned away with a frustrated sigh and disappeared into the crowd, likely assuming I was still hiding aboard the ship or somewhere nearby.
I didn't emerge. I couldn't.
Not even when I saw Ruan Yanjun's carriage being wheeled down from the dock. He and Huang Wen had already vanished by then, silent and swift as shadows. I watched them go from behind the curtain, my chest heavy with a strange sense of emptiness.
A few minutes later, Li Yao and I slipped away from the port. Xiao Delun remained behind to buy us time, offering a subtle wave of farewell as our wagon rolled off. He had volunteered for the delay with an impish grin and a reckless sense of duty, much to my reluctant admiration.
We traveled in near silence for hours, the steady clatter of wheels against uneven earth our only companion. At last, a modest roadside tea shop came into view—shaded, quiet, and popular among passing cultivators. We decided to stop and wait for Xiao Delun.
Li Yao chose to remain outside, perching at the edge of the garden wall like a hawk, eyes peeled for any hint of my master's approach. "I'll whistle twice if I see him," he murmured before I slipped inside.
The tea shop was alive with quiet conversation and the soft clink of porcelain cups. Several cultivators in plain but dignified robes occupied the wooden tables, their restraint and posture betraying their rank. I recognized the quiet bearing of sect leaders—even small sects held pride.
Curious, I approached a cluster of them. Their laughter had a familiarity I hadn't felt in a long time.
"We lead smaller sects," one of them said with a wry smile. He was middle-aged, his features weathered by hardship, but his tone was friendly. "Sect Leader Ruan doesn't see us as a threat, so he leaves us in peace. As long as we keep to ourselves and don't challenge his authority, he turns a blind eye."
I gave a small nod. "I understand. I lead a small sect myself—one that most overlook."
That seemed to strike a chord. Their wary politeness shifted into easy camaraderie, and soon, stories were flowing—tales of underfunded disciples, meager offerings, and the struggle of guarding one's legacy in the shadow of giants.
Strangely, I felt a quiet kinship with them.
When Xiao Delun finally arrived—winded, sweaty, and triumphant—he made a show of fanning himself as he slid into the seat beside us. "Escaped the beast," he muttered, grinning.
We moved to a quieter table near the back. As the server poured steaming tea, Xiao Delun leaned in with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye.
"I've got news," he whispered. "About that plant monster we fought."
I stilled, my hands tightening around the teacup.
"There's a mad herbalist who lives near the base of a mountain not far from here—half a day's journey at most. He's completely unhinged. Apparently, he's been dumping failed plant experiments into the river for years. Locals say the authorities tried to stop him, but his home is surrounded by this strange growth. Overgrown plants and roots that can't be cut down. No one's managed to break through."
The description sent a chill down my spine. A memory stirred of an old man Ruan Yanjun and I had encountered in the past. The strange behavior, the overgrown surroundings—it all seemed to align. Could this herbalist and that old man be one and the same?
"We need to check this out," I said, my voice steady with conviction. "If this herbalist is responsible for the chaos in the river, we can't ignore it."
Xiao Delun and Li Yao exchanged a glance—an unspoken agreement passing between them—before both nodded in affirmation.
"We'll go with you," Xiao Delun said, his voice resolute. "If the stories about his house being impenetrable are true, you'll need backup."
Li Yao flashed a grin. "And besides, we can't let you take all the credit if we pull this off."
Their loyalty—offered without hesitation—stirred something warm in my chest. I wasn't used to being followed, much less trusted, especially after the years of isolation and exile. Their willingness to face danger by my side was a quiet kind of reassurance I didn't realize I needed.
We agreed to find an inn for the night and set out at first light. The road ahead would be uncertain, perhaps even perilous, but for the first time in a while, I felt the stirrings of purpose.
As we walked together beneath the soft haze of twilight, I allowed myself a fleeting, foolish hope.
Maybe—just maybe—I would see Ruan Yanjun again.
But when we arrived at the nearest inn, the place was bustling with weary travelers and laughing merchants. Warm lamplight spilled from the windows, casting long shadows across the dusty road. I scanned the crowd with a quick, searching glance.
He wasn't there.
The disappointment settled over me like a quiet ache, unwelcome but expected. I turned away, chastising myself for even looking. There was no use in clinging to something that had already slipped through my fingers.
❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖
The next morning, we set out for the home of the mad herbalist. This time, we decided to take only Xiao Delun's wagon. To lighten the load, Xiao Delun left some of his trade goods in the stockroom of the inn, paying the owner extra for safekeeping. With fewer supplies weighing us down, we moved faster along the uneven, dusty road that wound through the countryside.
As the hours passed, the cheerful morning sun dimmed behind thickening clouds, and a dense, ominous mist began to gather along the path. The air grew heavier with every mile, carrying with it a sickly sweet odor that clung to our nostrils. Even the birds had fallen silent, and the trees stood unnaturally still, as though holding their breath.
By the time we arrived, the scene before us was nothing short of eerie. The herbalist's house—if it could still be called that—sat hidden behind a writhing wall of vegetation. Massive vines, gnarled and pulsing as though alive, had grown into a tangled fortress that completely encased the structure. Several peace officers stood nearby, a dozen of them forming a loose perimeter around the property. Their swords and spears were drawn, but it was clear from the frustration on their faces that their weapons had proven useless.
Every swing at the vines was met with resistance. The shrubs didn't simply block their attacks—they absorbed them. The cut tendrils quivered, regenerating with unnatural speed, hissing softly as though mocking their futile efforts.
It was just like the mutated weed that I had fought at the river the day before.
I stepped down from the wagon and approached cautiously, my eyes narrowing as I examined the barrier. Then I spotted something along the edge of the path. It was a peculiar herb. Its jagged leaves shimmered faintly beneath the mist, their dark purple hue marking them as something rare.
I immediately recognized it.
The Blackthorn Venomleaf. A dangerous plant. When refined with dark energy, its poison could break down even the most resilient organic material.
I knelt beside it, carefully plucking several leaves and pressing them into my palm. Drawing in a breath, I channeled my dark qi through my meridians, refining the venom into a highly concentrated form. The energy pulsed along my arm and into my weapon—this time, my sword rather than my usual bamboo staff. The blade hummed softly, its edge now coated in a faint, poisonous sheen.
With one swift slash, I cut into the nearest section of vine. Instantly, the thick tendrils recoiled and shriveled, crumbling into brittle black fragments that disintegrated underfoot. Encouraged, I pressed forward, methodically carving a pathway through the living barricade. Each cut with my venom-coated blade widened the gap, the oppressive wall of growth slowly giving way.
After several long minutes, I finally broke through, carving out a narrow entry wide enough for the officers to follow.
"We'll go first," one of the peace officers declared, nodding his thanks before leading his men forward.
We waited in tense silence, listening to their cautious footsteps fade into the courtyard beyond. But barely a minute had passed before they came fleeing back out, their faces pale with terror.
"Run!" one officer shouted breathlessly. "He's a monster! Don't go in there!"
Their panic was genuine. Whatever they had seen had shaken them to the core.