Chapter 33: Learn from One Setback

“Wait, why are you riding back the way we came?”

As Feng Xue was reflecting on himself, Liuyunxi suddenly let out a startled cry; hearing this, Feng Xue replied with surprise:

“You know the way?”

“Of course I do! If I didn’t recognize the route after going back and forth once, I’d be an idiot!” Liuyunxi scoffed; Feng Xue smiled inwardly but still explained:

“I don’t know this area at all, and I don’t know where to go, so I just followed the railway.”

“But you’re on a dirt road now!” Liuyunxi’s occasional display of ignorance made Feng Xue want to laugh; he offered a brief explanation:

“The railway isn’t for walking—it’s for trains. And the only train station I know is right next to Gangdu. So if we circle around Gangdu, we’ll hit the railway again. Then we just follow it the opposite direction—we’re bound to find a big city.”

“Don’t understand.” Liuyunxi replied simply. Feng Xue wasn’t surprised; he didn’t bother explaining what a train was—after all, she’d see one soon enough…

“Woooo—”

Sometimes fate just works out like that: at that very moment, a distant whistle echoed. Feng Xue pedaled harder, the Liuxian-brand bicycle straining under human power, racing toward the sound…

Of course, even if the bicycle were a demon, it couldn’t catch a train. Feng Xue didn’t care—he’d seen the tracks, and that was enough.

Riding slowly along the railway, Feng Xue found the journey too dull. He pulled out two candles and stuck them on the handlebars, planning to ride while practicing his Qi output.

He wasn’t afraid of falling—he’d already trained “Rapid Chanting” to six characters per second. Before he hit the ground, he could make Liuyunxi turn into a cushion.

But…

“Hot wax is dripping on me!”

As the candles burned, Liuyunxi protested. Feng Xue merely replied dryly:

“Your hands are made of iron—what are you afraid of, heat?”

“Heat isn’t the issue—it’s just uncomfortable! Wouldn’t you hate sticky stuff clinging to your head?” Liuyunxi grumbled, though she wasn’t truly angry. Her complaints were just a stance: she was signaling she “didn’t agree to repayment this way.” Conversely, Feng Xue’s constant violations of her wishes—his discomforting actions—were also chipping away at her debt.

But this couldn’t be thought about too deeply. If the Spirit of Human Destiny mistook it for tacit consent, things would get very messy.

Fortunately, Liuyunxi was at least a cultivator—she still had the ability to clear her mind.

Unaware he was unintentionally helping Liuyunxi with her heart-training, Feng Xue simply stared at the two candles, continuously adjusting his Qi output.

He’d bought the spirit ghost, but to begin practicing Spirit Taming Art, he needed at least the ability to cast the Lightning Invocation—otherwise, he couldn’t even get the spirit ghost to recognize him as its master.

Thus, practicing while riding, his speed was naturally slow. Two hours passed, and they’d covered less than ten kilometers. Spotting a distinctly classical roadside stall, Feng Xue slowed and approached.

As he drew closer, an old man sitting beneath a canvas awning, smoking a pipe, came into view. With no station in sight, Feng Xue was surprised. After checking from over his shoulder and confirming the man had only about ten years of Yu Shou left, he stepped forward:

“Old man, you set up a stall out here—do you even get customers?”

“You—” The old man opened his mouth as if to retort, but seeing Feng Xue pushing a sleek little bicycle and dressed in fine clothes, noting his pale skin and lack of sunburn, he changed his tone:

“Ahem, Young Master, you may not know—though the railway is convenient, it’s made of cast iron. Some scoundrels might try to steal pieces to forge into knives and swords. Even common folk might think of turning it into hoes and spades.

“It might happen only once a month or so, but when it does, forget retrieving the stolen metal—if a train comes along, it’s dangerous. You know, these days, anyone riding the train has status. So this road needs patrols. If anything happens, someone must be there to report it.

“But stations are over a hundred li apart. Setting up barracks every few miles is impossible. Giving each patrolman a bicycle? Even less likely. So they all agreed: just set up stalls along the way. That way, the patrolmen get a drink of tea. You’ve traveled far, Young Master. Rest here awhile. I’ve got nothing else, but a bowl of hot tea I can offer.”

“I see.” Feng Xue nodded silently, but didn’t lower his guard.

After being tricked by the rickshaw driver, Feng Xue had learned not to underestimate anyone. Now, thinking carefully, he sensed something deeper.

The old man’s words were simple, but they were a hint. What he said was true—but this job wasn’t something an ordinary person could take on. Forget wild beasts and bandits in the wilderness; just collecting money from the patrols alone required skill. His words weren’t just about having connections—they were a warning: soldiers who knew him frequently patrolled this road.

Thinking this, Feng Xue pulled out a few copper coins and placed them beside the old man’s tea table, feigning casualness:

“I am indeed tired. I’ll take your offer and rest here awhile.”

The old man glanced at the coins, scooped them into his palm, and his eyes darted as if weighing something.

Just as he was about to ask if Feng Xue wanted hot tea, the young man waved his hand—suddenly producing a steel thermos.

He unscrewed it, and steam rose from the water inside. The old man’s pupils shrank—he immediately abandoned any further thoughts.

Seeing the old man subdued, Feng Xue nodded inwardly. In this world, the existence of Xuan cultivators wasn’t secret. Showing he was different helped avoid trouble. Now that he had the Pot of Heaven pouch, he no longer carried a bulky, attention-drawing bag—this should reduce some danger.

Of course, Feng Xue knew not everyone was fooled. In Pingan County, armed soldiers feared a well-dressed commoner. But in Gangdu, street thugs who saw rich people every day dared rob them. There were surely bandits who’d attack even cultivators—and fools who thought cultivators were just magicians.

“In short—caution is best.”

Feng Xue muttered to himself, brought Liuyunxi close, closed his eyes, entered meditation, and extracted just enough Qi to envelop his body before resting.

He’d spent most of yesterday riding. Even though his body had soaked in Yuan Qi for three straight days, he now felt so sore he could barely walk without waddling.

It was amusing, really: though the Yuan Qi was drawn from his own body, soaking in it slightly strengthened him—a kind of reverse meter (Note ①).

(End of Chapter)