Volume One: The Turmoil of Yan and Yun Chapter Sixty-One: Radiance After the Rain (Part Three)

A breeze swept by, carrying the freshness after the rain.

Dugu Zhe’s words drifted away with the wind, unanswered and unacknowledged.

Feng Qi thought to himself, wasn’t the answer to this question already clear?

Dugu Ling’er mused, who else but a fool would ask such a thing?

Both sides felt a hint of awkwardness, all except Dugu Zhe.

He looked at Dugu Ling’er, then at Feng Qi, his expression dark and grim.

Feng Qi glanced at him sidelong, coughed twice, and said, “Elder Murong’s body is barely cold. Shouldn’t the Crown Prince pay his respects?”

Only then did Dugu Zhe recall that Murong Chengzhang’s death was, in some measure, connected to him. He hurried toward the Murong family estate in Jizhou, but after only a few steps, he turned back and took Dugu Ling’er by the hand.

As they passed Feng Qi, Dugu Ling’er made a face at him.

Just as she always had.

He watched her quietly, a gentle smile on his lips.

Yet something was different.

Dugu Ling’er caught that smile, paused in surprise, then quickly turned away, not daring to look again.

The figure in red vanished around the corner.

In Feng Qi’s ear, Xue Wuhen’s teasing voice rang out, “I always thought you had feelings for that little girl. After all these years of feigned anger, you couldn’t restrain yourself any longer?”

Feng Qi was not surprised that his elusive, ethereal master would suddenly appear, but this journey south—even without meeting the Crown Prince—was a perilous venture. With his master’s love for talent, he would never let Feng Qi go alone.

Yet he shouldn’t have transmitted his voice.

Unless it was something that had never happened, all would eventually be revealed.

He clearly possessed the Sword Token; even separated by thousands of miles, his master could appear in an instant. Why, then, did he need to follow him so closely?

“I understand your doubt, and I know roughly what you and Dugu Chao’s boy are plotting. But I haven’t always been following you.” Xue Wuhen’s voice was unusually solemn. “The Sword’s Secret Order mandates that the peak masters of Wuhen Peak, Qianren Peak, and Chasing Moon Peak go north to Yanbei. I’ve come by to see you on the way.”

Three peak masters converging on Yanbei?

Feng Qi’s gaze dimmed.

He could not recall when it began, but wars no longer relied on strategy, formations, numbers, or the quality of soldiers.

True battles depended solely on which side possessed the stronger cultivators.

So the Demon Lord was able to sweep through the heartland of the Divine Dynasty, only to fail miserably and lose everything.

So the demon clans, whose influence in the Divine Dynasty was deeply rooted and impossible to eradicate, vanished entirely after Dugu Feiyun descended upon Wolong Island in the south, leaving only the region of Weishui.

The top cultivators of the Snowcloud Sect heading north proved that the barbarian invasion was not a problem easily solved—at least not by Yanbei’s military alone.

Across the vast distance, Feng Qi seemed to see corpses and rivers of blood atop the eighteen passes of Yanbei, where his kin and friends lived, where he was supposed to protect the people and the land.

He could not fathom why Xue Wuhen had come here in person.

Let alone that this was merely the prelude to war—even if battle truly erupted, with the three barbarian armies gathering beneath the Wind Command Pass, the Grand Ming Duke, Ming Duke, and the priests of the major tribes had arrayed their formations, tens of thousands of barbarian warriors sharpening their blades, about to lay siege—he could not return to Yanbei.

Thus, Xue Wuhen’s visit could not be simply to inform him.

Why, then?

While pondering, someone entered his sight.

The arrival was abrupt, for Feng Qi clearly saw no one there moments before.

Yet he felt no discomfort; it was as if the person belonged there.

The newcomer had sword-like brows and bright eyes, a face carved with distinct lines, expressionless and calm. He wore a spotless sword robe, a silver crown atop his head, with a small sword uprightly inserted, fixing his hair with meticulous precision.

By his attire, Feng Qi could only surmise he was a disciple of the Snowcloud Sect.

But with such immaculate style, the newcomer should be from the Wuhen Sect.

Among Snowcloud disciples... how many warranted the master’s personal guidance, and deserved to be summoned here?

It must be the Sword Carriers of each peak.

But only one had come.

From the faint aura of sword intent about him, Feng Qi respectfully cupped his fists and bowed, “Greetings, Senior Brother.”

The newcomer sidestepped slightly, declining the salute.

Feng Qi blinked, straightened up. “Did I mistake your identity?”

The man replied, “I am indeed Mu Linhan.”

Feng Qi asked, “Then why do you refuse my greeting, Senior Brother?”

Mu Linhan replied, “You are the Sword Carrier. On Wuhen Peak, none but our master is qualified to accept your bow.”

He paused, then continued, “In the entire Snowcloud Sect, there are few who can accept your salute.”

Feng Qi was momentarily stunned.

From his side, Xue Wuhen’s mischievous laughter sounded, and he left with only one remark: “Get acquainted with your senior brother. I’m off to the north.” No more words followed; surely, at the moment he said this, he was already far away.

Feng Qi was silent for a while, then asked, “Senior Brother, what is your current cultivation realm?”

Mu Linhan answered, “Insightful Upper Realm.”

Feng Qi fell silent again, then asked, “May I ask your age, Senior Brother?”

Mu Linhan considered for a moment, finally gave an uncertain answer, “Perhaps... twenty-one?”

Feng Qi was mildly shocked.

In ancient times, none had greater talent in cultivation than the old emperor; at nineteen, he reached the Insightful Upper Realm, breaking through while observing the tides at dawn, setting the record for the fastest illumination in history.

To achieve the Insightful Upper Realm at twenty-one, Mu Linhan was undoubtedly a genius; even in the whole Snowcloud Sect, few could surpass him among his peers.

If the old monk of the Zen Sect’s claim about the three great Buddhist heirs was true, perhaps there was a chance to test it.

“Junior Brother, since you’ve decided to step into another world, don’t judge matters with your former perspective.”

Feng Qi recalled the Sandstorm Festival, when the Demon Suppressing Dao Child Ming Cheng subdued the Third Elder with a single move.

Breathing beneath the same sky, cultivators were indeed far superior to the mundane; aside from the royal family, so-called aristocratic clans were but a joke to cultivators.

Thus, a question arose: in the world of cultivators, how many geniuses like this existed? As numerous as the stars, or as grains of sand?

“You need not belittle yourself. Master said, with your talent, one day you’ll stand alone at the summit.”

Feng Qi was startled, thinking this prescient ability felt oddly familiar.

Two hearts in Zen, a single point of clarity?

“Yes, Master said you also possess that insight, so I made a special trip to Mount Song to seek Zen teachings.”

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