Chapter Sixteen: The Maiden's Wish, the White Horse and the Sword

After dinner, everyone returned to their rooms to rest. The relentless journey throughout the day had left them utterly exhausted. Fang Zheng occupied an upper room by himself, while the young girl stayed with Bi’er next door to Zhao Muwan.

Fang Zheng felt little fatigue. After bidding farewell to the others, he returned to his room, brewed a fragrant pot of tea, and savored its long-missed aroma as he contemplated his own cultivation. His abilities had grown deeper, his Purple Mansion Qi Sea fuller and more abundant. Basic skills such as inner vision, entering a meditative state, and seated cultivation were already familiar to him. Yet, after yesterday’s battle, he realized his means of confronting enemies were terribly limited. The bow, once his greatest reliance, was no longer suitable, and as for swordsmanship, he had only practiced the rudimentary unnamed sword art acquired from Old Shen, mastering little more than chopping, slashing, thrusting, and cutting. The Universe Sleeve was still a half-finished technique, useful only as a rudimentary “Star Absorption Art” against ordinary people. The reason he triumphed over the mountain bandits yesterday was because of the Universe Sleeve’s display, collecting the arrow rain with what seemed like a supernatural feat, scaring the bandits into fleeing. They had no idea that Fang Zheng, at that moment, was merely a hollow shell; had they fought desperately, perhaps he could have protected two or three with his strong physique and basic sword skills, but he could not have safeguarded everyone.

This world was vastly different from Earth. Though laws existed, their binding force was weak, especially for those who lived by the blade and risked their lives in the martial world. The events of yesterday had left Fang Zheng with a deep sense of urgency: for the sake of himself and the little girl, he had to grow stronger quickly. Although he recognized his own weaknesses, there was no effective solution at hand. The most promising opportunity lay in the distant Azure Cloud Mountain, thousands of miles away. Once there, he hoped to join the Heavenly Heart Sect, where arts and martial skills would no longer be a problem.

At this moment, Fang Zheng recalled the ring he had obtained from the black-clad man. He took it out and played with it in his palm. He could still remember the words spoken by the man: inside were cultivation methods, pills, spirit stones—the man’s promised gifts. Fang Zheng, however, had never touched them. Partly out of respect for this predecessor’s relics, but more importantly, he had his own considerations. The man had asked him to deliver the relic to the Heavenly Heart Sect, implying something of utmost importance, perhaps greater than his own life. And since he had only given Fang Zheng the ring, surely the item was inside. Who could say whether the man had set any traps within it? Even if there was no danger, if Fang Zheng used the items, would he still be able to join the Heavenly Heart Sect smoothly? The odds were slim. If, instead, he returned it intact, the sect would likely accept him in gratitude for his journey across thousands of miles. This was Fang Zheng’s true intention.

He put away the ring and began his cultivation, a nightly habit akin to playing with a phone before bed back on Earth. Two hours later, he finished and got up, ready to settle in for sleep, when he heard some movement from Zhao Zhong’s room next door. Curious, Fang Zheng held his breath and listened intently; the door creaked open, and Zhao Zhong quietly tiptoed down the stairs, heading out of the inn. Fang Zheng grew more puzzled; it was already midnight, the world silent and still. Zhao Zhong, leaving the inn so cautiously, seemed to be hiding something. Perhaps he had a secret he wished to keep from others? With this in mind, Fang Zheng followed, opening his own door and slipping outside. He decided to trail Zhao Zhong, for while he meant no harm, one must guard against others. If Zhao Zhong harbored ill intentions, given his place in the caravan, the others might be in danger.

Fang Zheng left the inn and, relying on his enhanced senses and skills as a cultivator, followed Zhao Zhong without being noticed. After about half an hour, Zhao Zhong stopped in a secluded alley. Fang Zheng concealed himself about sixty yards away, quietly listening.

“Commander Zhao, you’re becoming quite the big shot. Making me, Old Hu, wait in this godforsaken place—I’m almost frozen stiff,” a small, indistinct figure in the alley spoke rudely.

Zhao Zhong showed no surprise. “Hmph! Steward Hu, it’s easy for you to talk. You spend your years in the mansion covered in silk and jade, while I brave wind and rain, living with my head hanging by a thread, forced to be cautious every step lest I lose my life.”

“No need to complain to me,” the small figure replied. “It was the master’s idea to place you in the Zhao family, not mine. But as long as you retrieve that item, everything promised will be delivered. I called you here tonight at some risk because someone in the army wants to know about the young man and little girl traveling with the Zhao family’s young miss. They sent me to ask, so tell me everything you know.”

Zhao Zhong abandoned further argument. Yet he knew little of Fang Zheng’s origins, so he simply described their meeting and subsequent events in detail. Fang Zheng, listening, was even more bewildered. From their conversation, it seemed Zhao Zhong was a spy planted in the Zhao family by “Old Hu’s” master, seeking some particular item. Tonight, he had been summoned to help someone in the military learn more about Fang Zheng.

Fang Zheng did not know which army this referred to, but he guessed it was likely the garrison stationed at Shangjia Town, given the timing and location. As for the reason, Fang Zheng was at a loss—he had never interacted with anyone from the garrison. Their efforts to discover his identity meant they had some ulterior motive. He resolved to keep listening, hoping to learn more.

“That’s all I know. I have no idea why someone in the army would be interested in this man,” Zhao Zhong asked, piquing Fang Zheng's interest.

“Hmph! How should I know what the master is thinking? I only heard he’s curious about this young man’s origins. A sudden appearance of a cultivator must mean he has a sect behind him. In this vast world, only those hidden immortal mountains and divine islands can produce the likes of ‘immortals’ skilled in magic arts. Now he’s mingling with you mortals—naturally, it’s odd,” the mysterious Hu replied, merely speculating.

Fang Zheng’s heart stirred. Whoever was investigating him must have a purpose. If it was benevolent, they would have approached openly. If hostile, in Shangjia Town they could have acted directly, without such subterfuge. The fact that they hadn’t acted suggested some scruples. Therefore, Fang Zheng would need to consider his response carefully, perhaps even “brandishing the tiger’s skin as a banner,” using the name of the unseen Heavenly Heart Sect as a shield.

The conversation ended; Zhao Zhong retraced his steps, and the other departed swiftly. Fang Zheng waited a long while until he was certain there was nothing amiss, then returned to the inn.

The night passed without incident. The next day, Fang Zheng continued his routine of cultivation and breakfast. When he met Zhao Zhong, the man’s demeanor was unchanged, as cordial and polite as ever. At noon, Fang Zheng took the young girl for a stroll around the town, pausing for an extra look at the southern military camp.

“Brother, brother, there’s a weapon shop here! Let’s go in and pick out a fine sword for you. That wooden sword is so ugly and not sharp enough. Now that you’re a hero, you need a proper sword!” The little girl had been especially excited ever since she learned Fang Zheng was a cultivator, calling him a “hero” all day long and insisting he ride a white horse with a gleaming sword, saying that was the true style of a hero. She disliked Fang Zheng’s scraggly horse, and now even wanted to replace the wooden sword she had crafted herself.

“You silly girl, ‘Early Bud’ is made by your own hand, a gift to your brother. How can you dislike it now? White horses and swords are just stories. Besides, your brother’s skills are nothing to boast about—certainly not heroic.”

“But Grandma said so, and the storyteller in the village did too. If those are made up, what does a real hero look like?” The little girl blinked inquisitively at Fang Zheng, her expression adorably earnest.

“A true hero serves the country and its people! Only those who devote themselves to the nation and its people deserve the title,” Fang Zheng answered, borrowing a phrase from a novel he had read back on Earth, recalling the ancestors who had made great sacrifices for their people in times of war. They certainly embodied the word “hero.”

“Oh, then brother will surely become a real hero one day! But first, we have to buy a proper sword,” the little girl replied, only half understanding, quickly turning her attention back to the sword.

“What about ‘Early Bud’? Do you want to throw it away?” Fang Zheng teased her, eager to see her reaction.

“…If it’s thrown away, so be it. It’s not very pretty anyway,” she replied, her excitement waning as she heard the phrase “throw away.” After all, it was her only gift to Fang Zheng, made by her own hands, and held special meaning.

“Don’t worry, your brother doesn’t need a new sword. ‘Early Bud’ is the most precious sword, a gift from you, and I’ll treasure it always. How could I bear to throw it away?” Fang Zheng comforted her gently, regretting his earlier joke.

“But it’s not sturdy or sharp, and it’s ugly… Do you really like it?” she asked, a little aggrieved, feeling her homemade, ugly wooden sword unworthy of Fang Zheng.

“It will become sharp, and it will grow stronger—until it’s indestructible, famed throughout the world, and the greatest sword of all,” Fang Zheng said with a smile. These words were not mere comfort; he now knew of the weapon-crafting arts in the cultivation world. With the right skills and materials, even a rotten piece of wood could be forged into a peerless weapon.

“Really, brother? I hope to see that day soon…”