Chapter 107: Chapter Ten: Farewell

When he opened his eyes again, daylight had fully broken.

Pei Ye sat up, turned to see that Liu Li and the black cat were gone, scratched his brow, and picked up the book to find Zhu Gaoyang. Zhu Gaoyang was still facing off against Zhanxin Liu Li, clearly desperate to own a famous sword.

But today was vastly different—when Pei Ye gestured, Liu Li obediently floated down and hovered before him.

“?” Zhu Gaoyang walked over, frowning and tilting his head at him, as if betrayed.

Pei Ye pushed Zhanxin Liu Li behind him and pressed the book against Zhu Gaoyang’s chest, smiling: “Teach for two hours, and you can touch it once.”

Pei Ye sat at the table, one hand resting on Liu Li to absorb dragon blood, the other holding a brush, scribbling uneven notes on a blank notebook.

Zhu Gaoyang glanced at it and felt dizzy—correct characters were ugly as if wrong, and wrong characters, made uglier, looked like other correct ones.

Had time permitted, he would have seized this boy’s education from the very beginning.

But now he could only endure the discomfort and continue explaining the Sword Scripture.

Yet no matter what, the boy’s learning attitude was impeccable, his insight unparalleled, and by the end he could infer one from ten and draw analogies across categories.

Thus, except for lunch and dinner, they remained in the side room, one teaching and one learning; after sunset, Pei Ye took his sword to the courtyard to practice and verify what he had learned, while Zhu Gaoyang sat nearby, propping his chin and watching Zhanxin Liu Li before him.

Having learned his lesson, he no longer reached for it with the “fervent affection” he’d shown yesterday afternoon; instead, his hands rested neatly before him, and Zhanxin Liu Li hovered at a cautious, safe distance.

After their brief time together, Pei Ye felt Zhanxin Liu Li was somewhat like a child—resistant to strangers’ touch yet curious about new friends.

Now that Zhu Gaoyang no longer showed such strong desire to get close, it was willing to listen to this stranger’s words.

After all, Liu Li reflects the heart—it mirrors the true nature of different hearts, and thus determines its attitude toward each person.

When Pei Ye finished practicing and returned with his sword, he heard Zhu Gaoyang asking: “Do you know any other famous swords? Do you know where they are? Can you introduce me to them?”

This routine lasted three days.

On the second day, the senior of Long Jun Dongting arrived in Fenghuai.

But only after Zhu Gaoyang finished teaching Pei Ye the “Introduction” on the third day did he depart, urged by his senior.

Due to his Mind Realm and Dragon Heart, he would temporarily leave Immortal Platform and return to Long Jun Dongting for treatment; how long this would last or what the outcome would be remained unknown.

Xing Zhi and Shang Lang, after completing handover with Immortal Platform, returned to the Divine Capital to report—Xing Zhi wrote a letter for Shang Lang to carry, then followed Zhu Gaoyang back to Long Jun Dongting.

“Write to me anytime,” the white-robed man leaned against the carriage, his hand reaching through the window to grip Pei Ye’s arm. “But better have someone write for you.”

“When will we meet again?” Pei Ye felt reluctant.

“No later than late spring next year. When the earth warms and rivers thaw, when hidden fish and flying birds test the opening of the Five Seas and Nine Provinces, I will surely come to the Divine Capital.”

Pei Ye nodded—early summer after next spring would be when the Martial Examination was held, precisely where he intended to fight for his chance.

But unlike Zhu Gaoyang of the Crane List, who held direct eligibility for the final stage of the Feather-Scale Trial, he was utterly unknown; with his current strength, even with full effort, he might not even secure qualification for the preliminary round.

“Fine, I’ll wait for you in the Divine Capital,” Pei Ye said.

Zhu Gaoyang smiled; his lips were still pale, but he gripped Pei Ye’s hand tightly in silence, like a sick crane bidding farewell to a young eagle.

One day I will cross Mount Tian again, and perhaps by then you will already rule the open sky.

They released each other’s arms.

Zhu Gaoyang was about to return to the carriage when a muffled voice called: “Brother Zhu.”

Zhu Gaoyang pulled his head back in, then poked it out again—Shang Lang stood beside the carriage, face grim.

“Oh, little Lang, hahaha,” Zhu Gaoyang leaned halfway out, patted his shoulder. “Work hard when you return to Longwu Army—get promoted to Sige. Next year I’ll come watch your Feather-Scale Trial—you’re no worse than Qin Shang!”

“Yeah!” Shang Lang perked up and punched Zhu Gaoyang’s fist; he hadn’t had a chance to speak much with Brother Zhu these past days and had felt neglected.

Pei Ye bid farewell to each of these comrades—briefly known but deeply bonded. Xing Zhi gave him a copy of “Recognizing Spirit,” an introductory text for sorcerers to sense spiritual force; if he had the talent, diligent practice according to this book might let him perceive spirit.

Xing Zhi added two pages at the end, writing out several simple spells by memory.

Zhu Gaoyang sternly warned him not to greedily pursue too many paths—even if he truly had sufficient inspiration, he must not let himself be consumed by spellcraft and neglect his martial cultivation.

Shang Lang was the most practical—he knew Pei Ye’s family struggled, lent him twenty taels of silver, and Pei Ye gave him an IOU, promising repayment upon reaching the Divine Capital.

Pei Ye had briefly possessed some money—the reward for slaying the villain—Chang Zhiyuan had allocated him thirty taels from his tight budget and even arranged a better courtyard for him.

But Pei Ye felt he would soon leave his homeland, so he declined the courtyard; though the silver could serve as travel funds, that day he passed through Chengxi and saw Meng Jiao’s young wife chopping firewood, drenched in sweat while cooking. He went in and chopped all her wood, then gave her most of the silver.

With the remaining silver in hand, Pei Ye reasoned that with his strong body and martial skill, he would never starve. He inquired after Cheng Feng’s residence and gave the money to the grieving parents who had lost their son.

When they finished speaking, the Long Jun Dongting carriage departed the small town. Shang Lang and the Longwu soldiers finished clearing the damaged houses, then mounted their horses, slung their spears, and waved farewell to Pei Ye as they rode toward Bowang Prefecture.

Pei Ye watched them leave, then turned into the autumn wind and returned to his small courtyard. The county office had become Immortal Platform’s headquarters; apart from Chang Zhiyuan, no one he knew remained—he naturally could not stay.

Those who never belonged here had all departed; the small town finally returned to its true self, and Pei Ye could return to his own life.

He pushed open his courtyard gate, approached the dilapidated old house, unlocked the door, and with a creak, opened it—the interior furnishings were unchanged, the smell identical to when he had left.

Pei Ye picked up two dry pieces of firewood, lit them, set a small pot on the stove, poured in well water and a handful of rice, and let it simmer.

He returned inside, rinsed a piece of pickled vegetable, sliced it, then pulled out a strip of pickled meat from the jar and, extravagantly, cut a thick slice three fingers wide to lay atop the rice.

No need to save for the New Year anymore.

Then, as usual, he practiced swordplay during the cooking time—except now no hoarse voice guided him, and when the rice was done, he no longer needed to serve himself a second bowl.

Today was the fifteenth day of the eighth month.

Thank you, Boss sen_tiger, for becoming the first patron of this novel!! These two days I’ll work hard to add an extra chapter—if I can’t, I’ll resume double updates and then add it!

(End of Chapter)