On the seventh day after coming down the mountain, Fang Bu’ai returned to report in. He sat waiting in front of the little courtyard for Liu Xiaolou to come back.

While he waited, he spotted a big white goose peeking at him through the bamboo grove. Feeling playful, he drew his sword, made a hand seal, and spun up a strange, twisting sword flourish.

Fang came from the Pai sect, where most disciples were skilled in corpse control and insect driving, and neither he nor his master were exceptions. He knew the white goose and the black cat both had a touch of spirit in them, so he thought he’d have a little fun teasing them.

As his sword flowers whirled, they gave off a piercing sound that ordinary people could hardly hear. Before long, a few small snakes slithered out from the bamboo and circled the goose.

They were just common, harmless snakes. The poisonous ones had long since been cleared out by Big White. The goose didn’t pay them any mind, only tilted its head and stared at Fang Bu’ai.

Fang kept guiding the snakes closer with that shrill sound when suddenly a shadow flashed past. The snakes vanished at once, and the next thing he knew, the big white goose flapped its wings and charged straight toward him, moving fast.

Startled, Fang shifted his sword work, forming a cover against the goose’s rush. But the bird only beat its wings once, rose a yard into the air, and skimmed right over his head.

With a loud ga-ga, it dove into the grove and disappeared. At the same time, Fang felt a cool trickle across his face. Something sliding from his forehead down to the tip of his nose.

“What a beast,” he muttered. He touched his sword tip to a leaf, used it to wipe his nose and brow, then sat back down, unbothered, and went on waiting.

Liu Xiaolou came back in the afternoon. He collected the things Fang Bu’ai had turned in. A blackstone from Mo Mountain, a Springwater essence jade, giant toads from Dongting Lake. He gave some silver. “If you have the time,” he said. “make another trip to the Tianmen Mountain market. Go to Hongji Tavern and buy a jar of Bamboo Leaf Green. On your way back, pick up a bushel of spirit rice in Wuchao Town. The day after tomorrow I’ll be hosting Dragon Mountain Wanderer.”

None of this was difficult, just errands. Fang Bu’ai went down the mountain again and made it back by the following night. The next day, he set out once more, this time to Dragon Mountain, and brought Dragon Mountain Wanderer back with him.

When the banquet began, he carried with him the gourd of Bamboo Leaf Green and the big bowl of spirit rice that Liu Xiaolou had given him. He returned to Half-Pine Plateau, drinking with the sunset, dining under the stars and moon, until before he knew it, he was drunk.

The spirit rice was nothing special, but the gourd of Bamboo Leaf Green contained a surprising amount of spiritual energy. His true qi, which had long seen no progress, grew a little stronger. So he settled in to wait patiently for his next opportunity.

The following day, with mist rising all around, Liu Xiaolou strapped on a pack and the Three-Mystery Sword, and set off down the mountain on a long journey.

As usual, he stopped at Uncle Tian’s house for lunch, left a few taels of broken silver, took his pulse, and reminded him to take care of his health. “You need to keep up with the regimen I taught you. You haven’t been practicing this month, have you, Uncle Tian?”

Uncle Tian chuckled warmly. “Spring plowing’s kept me too busy. The rains were heavy this year, there’s been a lot to do.”

“No matter how busy you are, Uncle Tian, your health is the foundation. Things are better at home now, so hire a couple more hands.... Get up every day at the Mao hour (4:15 a.m.) and face northeast while practicing your energy-ingestion technique. You mustn’t slack off on the Four-Limb Strengthening Exercises my master taught you… And eat less heavy meat and fish. When you make tea, add a bit of bitter root.”

“I understand.”

“This time I’m heading south. I can stop by Xiushan on the way. Do you have anything you’d like me to take to Ah-Zhen?”

“Ah… wonderful… Last time she came back, she said she was craving pickled turnip, so I made some for her.”

“All right, put it in my pack.”

Western Xian was full of mountains, ravines, and forests, with little flat ground. The rains were heavy too, making travel hard. Toward evening, Liu Xiaolou ran into another thunderstorm. Sheets of rain poured down, streaming off his straw raincoat until he was soaked through, so he found a cave to wait it out.

When the thunder faded and the rain eased, he set out again, mud soaking his pant legs with every step.

By the mid-stage of Qi Refinement, especially after the sixth layer, he still couldn’t use true qi to dry his clothes outright, but he could quickly force the mud and water out of his legs and feet, so he wasn’t uncomfortable. When he came across gullies a few yards wide, he cleared them in a single bound. Wider ones, he bridged with vines. Sheer cliffs ten or more yards high, he scaled like a gecko. Dense thickets of thorns didn’t trouble him either. He simply leapt lightly across the treetops and passed over them.

He thought back to when he was only at the second or third layer of Qi Refinement, when traveling mountain roads was sheer hardship. Now, at last, he finally had some of the bearing of a true cultivator. So this was what people meant by “radiating immortal grace,” wasn’t it?

Travel itself was a fine form of cultivation. In leaping and climbing, he adjusted his breathing, letting his body grow more attuned to the lay of the mountains and rivers, unconsciously blending himself with heaven and earth.

By midnight, with storm clouds piled thick and the mountains pitch black, he found another crack in the rocks where he could shelter from the wind and rain. He startled a few mountain snakes from their den and caught one, roasting it over his fire for food.

By the hour of the Ox (1–3 a.m), muffled thunder rolled, lightning split the sky like silver snakes, and a sudden downpour came crashing down. The heat of summer was swept away. The sounds of rain and thunder echoed through the mountains. And just listening filled the heart with ease.

Liu Xiaolou dragged his fire pit a couple of feet deeper under the rock face. Slowly chewing the roasted snake, he sat quietly, listening to the rain.

Through the downpour, a figure suddenly rushed in. She glanced at Liu Xiaolou, hesitated, but the storm left him no choice.  She slipped under the rock crevice too, and went to the far end, leaving a good twenty feet between them.

By her appearance, she was a woman, her nose a little high, raindrops clinging to her long lashes. Her black clothes clung tight to her frame, the rain outlining her curves, giving her a striking, heroic air. She looked somewhat older than he was. If she hadn’t yet reached Foundation Establishment, she’d be in her thirties; if she had, it was hard to tell.

In the desolate mountains, when a woman was traveling alone, Liu Xiaolou knew better than to make trouble. He quietly drew out the Three-Mystery Sword, set it by his other foot, and kept eating snake meat while watching the night rain.

The woman sat down. Within moments, steam began to rise from her black clothes, and in the blink of an eye they were dry. That was a skill only someone in the late-stage of Qi Refinemnt could manage. Liu Xiaolou grew more alert, ready to activate his formation disk at any time.

She tilted her head back, watching the mountain rain for a while, then turned to look at him. The firelight lit one side of his face, and she froze. An Emei dagger appeared in her hand as she cried out in surprise, “Jing…”

Her voice cut off, because Liu Xiaolou had already turned his head.

She stood there stunned for a few moments. Then the dagger vanished from her hand, and she gave him a small nod. “Sorry. I mistook you for someone else.”

Liu Xiaolou smiled back and kept eating his snake meat. A fine layer of sweat was already gathering at the back of his neck.

The mountain rain came fast and went just as quickly. As the downpour eased, the woman rose and left at once. Liu Xiaolou let out a breath of relief, but he did not dare stay either. He left in the opposite direction.

Such is the way of chance meetings: no small talk, no robbery, no clash of pride. There was a brief scare, but in the end, they both went their own ways, safe and unharmed.

If there was anything that cheered him up, it was the thought that this female cultivator clearly didn’t get along with Jingzhao. So, it seemed not every woman fell for that guy after all.

After the heavy rain, morning broke with thick fog blanketing the mountains. Peaks disappeared into the mist, and you could barely see ten feet ahead. Liu Xiaolou slowed his steps, careful not to take any risks that might send him tumbling into a ravine.

Besides the hidden trail, he also noticed a layer of white mist, about two feet high, drifting along the ground. It was clearly different from the mountain haze above, gathering and dispersing like flowing water. This was the miasma that sometimes appeared in the mountains.

Most miasma carried no scent, but when it spread around you, if you happened to be asleep and it covered your nose and mouth, an ordinary person would almost never wake up again.

Travelers and children who wandered into the mountains and never returned were often found lying as if in a deep sleep. More often than not, they had fallen victim to the miasma.

For cultivators, though, the stuff was useful. It served as a primer in alchemy, and when added to an illusion formation, it made the hallucinations far more potent. So Liu Xiaolou took out a gourd, let the miasma flow inside, corked it once it was full, and tucked it into his basket with satisfaction.

By noon, the clouds had cleared and the fog had lifted. From ahead came the steady beat of drums. Following the sound, Liu Xiaolou came upon a group of Miao people singing and dancing around a cliffside. A few sturdy young men, wrapped in thick burlap, stood with long poles in their hands, gazing solemnly up at the sheer rock face.

They weren’t celebrating at all, but holding a ritual before battle. On the cliffside hung a beehive as large as a gourd, home to the mountain’s venomous bees. From time to time, a few of the creatures crawled in and out. Each one no bigger than a thumb, their bodies banded with rings of golden stripes. Just the sight of them was enough to make one’s skin crawl.

Liu Xiaolou’s heart leapt with delight as he pushed his way to the front. This was a treasure!