Run as he might, Liu Xiaolou didn’t get far. After barely a li, he stopped and hid on a small hill by the roadside, waiting with eager eyes for the White-Robed Swordsman.

According to Yuan Ziqi, the Yun family’s three-month deadline hadn’t yet expired, so the White-Robed Swordsman wasn’t about to just give up and accept defeat. Even though Liu Xiaolou hadn’t found any more marriage challenge notices on him, chances were he still had some connections. For people from such powerful families, news of any internal matchmaking events might be unknown to outsiders, but the Yun family would definitely be in the know.

Now that he had finally found a way to sneak in on these gift-giving occasions, Liu Xiaolou wasn’t about to give it up so easily. If he didn’t squeeze every last bit of benefit out of it, wouldn’t that be a waste of a money-making scheme he had discovered? Just one more time, and he’d have enough to open the final acupoint in his Hand Jueyin Meridian.

He forced himself to be patient, and before long, the White-Robed Swordsman appeared on the mountain path. His head was bowed, lost in thought, and under the moonlight he looked rather lonely.

Don’t lose heart, Brother Yun, Liu Xiaolou cheered silently. I’m rooting for you. Keep at it. Your beauty awaits you just ahead.

Keeping his distance by about a hundred paces, Liu Xiaolou trailed after him all through the night. Judging by their course, they were headed southeast, though Liu Xiaolou had no idea which great household was the destination this time.

Two days later, they gradually entered another mountain range. Liu Xiaolou’s spirits lifted, and he quickened his pace, closing the gap between them.

Up ahead, a village came into view on a mountain plateau. Wisps of cooking smoke curled into the sky, and the sound of chickens and dogs carried through the air. The White-Robed Swordsman entered the village, while Liu Xiaolou stopped outside, eyeing it curiously.

It was a tiny place, with no more than a dozen households in all. Where could there possibly be a great family here?

After waiting outside the village for quite some time, the White-Robed Swordsman finally emerged. This time, unlike before, he had a bundle slung over his shoulder.

Liu Xiaolou kept tailing him as he headed deeper into the mountains. After crossing a ridge, they came upon a dilapidated, long-abandoned Daoist temple. Liu Xiaolou couldn’t tell how many years it had been deserted. The walls were half-collapsed, weeds choked the grounds, and the place was a picture of neglect.

He watched as the White-Robed Swordsman stepped inside, slipped into one of the rooms, and disappeared from sight. Liu Xiaolou didn’t dare get too close, so he circled around until he found a perfect vantage point. With a leap, he landed among the treetop branches and hid there, keeping a clear view of the swordsman’s every move.

From this high perch, the view was excellent. Before long, he saw the White-Robed Swordsman emerge from the shabby little room, start a fire at the doorway, and pull flatbread and jerky from the bundle on his back. Using dry twigs as skewers, he held the food over the fire to slowly roast.

Liu Xiaolou relaxed as well, climbed down from the tree, and prepared some food of his own.

That night, the White-Robed Swordsman rested in the ruined temple, a bright red campfire burning beside him. Liu Xiaolou, out in the open, had to endure the cold wind without daring to light a fire, and he truly suffered for it.

Several days passed with no sign of the White-Robed Swordsman moving on. After much thought, Liu Xiaolou finally left and made his way back to the small village outside the mountains. There, he spent a couple of silver taels at a farmhouse to get hot porridge and soup, which he devoured with noisy satisfaction.

While eating, he asked the farmer whether there were any immortal sects or wealthy families nearby. Sure enough, he got a definite answer: seven or eight li farther into the mountains stood the famous Shenwu Manor.

According to the farmer, the immortal masters at the manor had powers that could shake the heavens and earth. Each one capable of summoning wind and rain, and so on. Such countryside gossip was hardly worth believing, but it did confirm at least one thing: following the White-Robed Swordsman here had been the right move. His destination was almost certainly Shenwu Manor.

As for whether Shenwu Manor was hosting a marriage challenge, the farmer had been vague, most likely because he wasn’t in a position to know. In fact, it seemed no one in the entire village had the standing to know such things.

So Liu Xiaolou went back to the ruined temple, splitting his time between striking at the Zhongchong acupoint and keeping patient watch.

This time, the wait was long; more than ten days. Winter nights spent in the open, exposed to wind and rain, with food coming irregularly, it was a hard life, but Liu Xiaolou was used to hardship. He had never enjoyed an easy life, so enduring it was no problem for him.

One midday, just as a spirit stone in his hand crumbled to powder, he opened his eyes and peered through the gaps in the leaves toward the temple. Something felt… off.

His gaze passed over the collapsed wall and wandered between the two rooms. Then it suddenly fixed on the campfire that had burned for half a month. It was out.

The White-Robed Swordsman had left?

He quickly scanned the surroundings but saw no sign of him. A wave of regret washed over him. He had let his guard down. He was about to go check the temple in person when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a lone figure on the mountaintop to the northwest, white robes fluttering, standing alone at the cliff’s edge.

Liu Xiaolou let out a breath of relief and quickly crept closer. This time, the White-Robed Swordsman headed straight into the deep mountains, eventually reaching a gorge.

At the mouth of the gorge stood a stone stele, its color and texture blending seamlessly with the surrounding rock. Without hundreds of years of weathering, it could never have developed such a smooth, jade-like sheen.

Carved into the stone were the words “Shenwu Manor.”

Inside the gorge, rows upon rows of tiled roofs and layered eaves stretched out. No fewer than a hundred buildings of various sizes, climbing all the way up the hillside. At the very top stood a grand hall, and beside it a waterfall a hundred feet high poured down in a silver sheet. Strangely, no thunderous roar reached the ears; there must have been a sound-blocking formation in place.

To set up such a formation just to muffle noise, and to keep it running constantly, would cost at least several dozen spirit stones a year. That alone spoke volumes about the wealth of Shenwu Manor.

Liu Xiaolou nodded in satisfaction. He quickened his pace, catching up to the White-Robed Swordsman just as he was about to enter the gorge. With a hearty laugh and a cupped-fist salute, he said, “What a stroke of fate, Brother Yun! To meet again here. My respects!”

The White-Robed Swordsman fixed him with a steady look and said coldly, “Liu, you really are like a ghost that won’t stop haunting me.”

Liu Xiaolou grinned. “Now, what kind of talk is that? As they say, a fight or two is the start of true friendship. We’ve fought twice, so our bond is as deep as brothers! Tonight we must drink until we can’t stand. Come, come, let’s head into the manor first…”

He lowered his voice. “We’re standing at someone’s front gate, Brother Yun. Whatever you have to say, save it for later. If we make a scene here, it won’t be good for either of us, right?”

The White-Robed Swordsman shot him a fierce glare, then bowed his head and stepped into the gorge. Liu Xiaolou hurried after him, saying, “Last time at Great Wood Mountain, when you lost your post, it was me who spoke up for you and got you into the Li family’s Ink-Washing Hall. If you don’t want to thank me, fine. But is that any reason to keep me at arm’s length?”

What he meant was: last time I got you past the guards, if someone blocks the way this time, isn’t it your turn to return the favor?

The reminder turned out to be unnecessary. There was no one stationed at the gorge entrance, and the two of them walked into the manor without the slightest obstruction.

Liu Xiaolou had no idea whether Shenwu Manor was run like a clan estate or a master-disciple sect. He didn’t care either. All that mattered was getting the return gift in the end; knowing the details meant nothing to him.

When they reached a large residence within the manor, the White-Sword Swordsman finally met with one of the manor stewards. After a brief exchange about his purpose, the steward led them to a guest courtyard.

Not overstepping his bounds, Liu Xiaolou ceded the main room to the White-Robed Swordsman and took one of the side rooms for himself. He flopped into the soft bedding with a satisfied sigh, ready to wait for the evening banquet to begin.