Chapter 152: Thorn Thicket

Inside the portable dwelling, his wife breathed out steady, deep plumes of steam—she was still asleep.

Li Banfeng lay on the bed, counting each hole in his body.

Yu Zhaixiu's recovery ability was strong, but the ironworms' burrowing skill was even stronger; after a day's rest, Li Banfeng had not fully healed.

But today he had to go out.

It wasn't just the nature of a Traveling Cultivator—it was also fear of the unknown.

That sounds contradictory: aren't Traveling Cultivators supposed to roam unfamiliar lands?

It depends on how unfamiliar.

When Li Banfeng first got off the train, he at least knew the place was called Yaowang Gou.

Now he had no idea where he was—he'd only seen a wasteland before.

Leaving the key in such a place for too long made him uneasy.

Li Banfeng ate something, put on his bowler hat, and left the portable dwelling.

The key still lay on the wasteland, over twenty meters from the ceaselessly flowing "Ironwire River."

The wasteland was perfectly flat—no mountains, no trees, no grass, not even a single stone in sight.

In an environment with almost no reference points, people easily got lost.

But Li Banfeng knew how to walk back.

Walk upstream along the river—he'd reach familiar ground in no time at his pace.

He hadn't walked much in two days; his joints felt stiff. After running nearly three li, he was gasping, drenched in cold sweat.

Li Banfeng leaned on his knees, panting for a long time.

That's not right!

Even in the worst condition, a Level Two Traveling Cultivator shouldn't struggle to run three li.

And his current cultivation base is no longer just Level Two—during this new territory's development, he encountered Feng Daiku and the ironworms, gaining over half a year's worth of progress; he was nearing Level Three, yet even three li felt exhausting. This made no sense.

Li Banfeng opened his canteen, took a large gulp, and stared at the "ceaselessly flowing" Ironwire River as he walked slowly along its bank.

After walking another two and a half li, Li Banfeng stopped.

He couldn't go on—his legs felt like they were dragging thousand-jin shackles, impossibly heavy.

And he didn't even know which way to go.

He'd thought it was clear: walk upstream along the "Ironwire River" and he'd return to where he started.

But he hadn't anticipated the Ironwire River had tributaries.

Ahead, three tributaries converged into the river he now faced.

Which tributary should Li Banfeng follow back?

Judge by the width of the tributaries?

All three tributaries looked nearly identical.

The very thing Li Banfeng feared had happened—he was lost in the new territory.

Li Banfeng had heard Ma Wu say this: every survivor who'd ever gotten lost in the new territory gave the same advice—leave it to fate.

In the new territory, many common sense rules didn't apply; direction relied entirely on memory and intuition. If your intuition was right, you'd find your way out. If it was wrong, no one knew what would happen—because everyone with wrong intuition was dead.

What should he do now?

Li Banfeng calmed down and considered his options.

He didn't believe in intuition.

He decided to follow the leftmost tributary upstream. He'd been unconscious in the portable dwelling for twenty hours; the key had been dragged by the ironworms for exactly twenty hours.

Li Banfeng believed he moved faster than the ironworms. If he walked back twenty hours' worth, and found himself back in familiar territory, he'd know he chose right.

If he chose wrong, he'd turn back and try another—round trip would take forty hours.

Maybe fifty.

His current condition was odd—he might not even be faster than the worms.

Three rivers: if he picked wrong twice, it'd take at most a hundred hours. The last river had to be the correct one.

In the worst-case scenario, he'd walk no more than a hundred and twenty hours—sixteen hours a day, eight days to get out.

The portable dwelling had enough food; water was slightly tight. If he truly couldn't go on, he'd ask the phonograph for help.

It wasn't that he distrusted the phonograph—she was always asleep, and he didn't know when she'd wake. He couldn't forcibly rouse her after eating special food; he didn't know the consequences. If he waited until she woke and the water was gone, it'd be too late.

Besides, the phonograph had always stayed inside the portable dwelling—she knew nothing of the outside environment and could think of few solutions.

Even if his wife truly found a solution, discussing routes would inevitably reveal one thing: Li Banfeng moved at an abnormal speed. If she planned a five-hundred-li route and he completed it in three hours, that would raise suspicion—she'd deduce he was a Traveling Cultivator.

Of course, he could claim he'd been traveling nonstop—but she wasn't easily fooled. One slip-up could cost him his life.

But if things became desperate—say, more tributaries appeared—he'd have to seek his wife's help, even consider moving the phonograph outside.

Of course, his wife might not want to come out; he'd have to negotiate carefully.

Li Banfeng began walking along the leftmost tributary, gritting his teeth for over ten li—his legs refused to lift.

He checked his pocket watch: ten li had taken three hours!

Clearly, his physical condition was terrible.

Li Banfeng sat by the roadside to rest briefly.

Oddly, as long as he didn't walk, his stamina recovered quickly.

This must be the effect of being a Dweller—returning to the dwelling should restore him even faster.

Li Banfeng returned to the portable dwelling; his wife was still fast asleep.

Li Banfeng slept for over half an hour, regained his strength, and walked another ten li—his stamina hit its limit again.

When he had no strength, he returned to the portable dwelling to rest, ate something, then walked again.

Repeating this cycle, he covered dozens of li—until a thicket of thorns blocked his path ahead.

The thorns spread densely along both banks. Li Banfeng now had two choices: push through the thorn thicket, or re-enter the Ironwire River and charge forward along its surface.

He refused to enter the Ironwire River again.

But the thorn thicket didn't look any easier.

Each thorn had grown here for countless years—upper halves green, lower halves charred black, as if turned to charcoal.

Li Banfeng touched the thorns' spines, snapped off one—it could serve as his wife's phonograph needle.

He didn't have copper skin or iron bones—how was he supposed to get through?

With no choice, he drew Tang Dao.

Tang Dao stared at the thorns, stunned: "Master, you're not asking me to clear a path, are you? A sickle would suit this better."

"How big is a sickle?" A sickle ten centimeters long was clearly inadequate for such a massive thicket.

"Master, I can only strike three times. What state the path ends up in depends entirely on fate."

Tang Dao raised his blade to strike—Li Banfeng shouted: "Wait! Let me think which direction to cut."

Which direction could he cut?

Cut upstream, opposite the river—that's obvious.

Li Banfeng felt something was wrong. He stared at the direction directly upstream—and goosebumps rose on his skin.

There was danger here. He didn't yet know what kind.

After sensing for a long time with his "Seeking Auspiciousness and Avoiding Misfortune" technique, he chose a spot slightly to the left and ordered Tang Dao to strike with full force.

A large patch of thorns fell—but behind them were more thorns.

The cleared path was only two meters deep—disappointing.

There seemed to be no danger here, but this direction offered no advantage either.

Li Banfeng used his "Seeking Auspiciousness and Avoiding Misfortune" technique again—the most favorable direction remained slightly left.

What made this spot special?

Li Banfeng ordered Tang Dao to strike again.

This time, the cut reached over three meters deep—the thorns seemed softer.

He tested again with his technique—the same direction remained optimal.

Li Banfeng struck a third time, decisively—and this time, he saw a path.

Not one he'd carved himself, but an existing path within the thicket, stretching left and right.

Li Banfeng stepped into the thicket, looking left and right.

The path was narrow—just wide enough for two or three people to walk side by side. On both sides, thorns grew densely like a hedge, but none intruded onto the path.

This path might lead through the thicket—but which way should he go?

Left or right?

Li Banfeng pulled out the Threaded Earring and said: "You've feasted on my essence—now you'd better earn your keep."

Could the Threaded Earring detect direction?

No.

But it could detect changes in sound.

Within the thicket, only two sounds existed: the howling wind, and the "squirming" noise of the nearby Ironwire River.

Li Banfeng walked right along the path—the path was closer to the river; once he exited the thicket, he'd still be on the bank.

After walking a short distance, the path turned left.

After the turn, a fork appeared ahead—Li Banfeng continued choosing the path closer to the Ironwire River.

After five hours walking through the thicket, he encountered over a dozen forks—his only rule for choosing: always head toward the Ironwire River.

This journey was exhausting; every li he walked felt like he had been sprinting all day.

After walking more than three li, Li Banfeng sat by the roadside to rest for a moment.

Through the thread-connection earring, he could still hear the river's sluggish movement, proving he had not taken the wrong path.

He carefully observed the thorns on both sides, wondering why they did not grow onto the road.

Was it under some force's control, or did someone regularly prune them?

How could anyone possibly prune them?

Li Banfeng chuckled at himself, rose to continue, when suddenly another sound came through the thread-connection earring.

Huh~

A gust of wind rushed toward him.

The tone was high, the sound loud, proving the wind was fierce and coming fast.

Li Banfeng sniffed the air and caught a faint scent.

It was smoke.

Faint, but detected by his Hundred Flavors Perfection technique.

Smoke was drawing near, and the gale was drawing near.

Trouble! There might be a fire.

Li Banfeng pulled out his key, opened his Portable Dwelling, tossed the key into the thorn patch, and immediately shut the door.

Over half an hour later, Li Banfeng cautiously opened the door.

No danger outside—he quickly stepped out and retrieved his key.

The road was empty, only traces of ash remained.

Smoke curled from the charred roots of the thorns; sparks still flickered in places.

The key was hot—it had been scorched by the fire.

Had the thorn patch caught fire?

And now the fire was out?

This thorn patch is dangerous!

Ignoring his exhaustion, Li Banfeng sprinted swiftly along the road.

More than seven hours later, Li Banfeng smelled smoke again and hurried back into his Portable Dwelling.

This time he entered slightly late—he saw at the road's bend, a human head three meters in diameter, hairless but with complete facial features, eyes open, pupils rotating, spewing flame from its mouth as it slowly advanced along the road.

How was it walking?

How could a head without legs walk?

Beneath its neck, it seemed to have feet.

Li Banfeng dared not observe further; all living things on the road—including earthworms, flying insects, and even thorns that had overgrown—were reduced to ash by the flames spewed from the head.

Someone really was pruning these thorns—this head patrolled every road without pause.

Li Banfeng immediately threw his key into the thorn patch, and at that moment, the head opened its eyes and stared at Li Banfeng.

It had been a long time since it saw a living person—the head seemed deeply interested in Li Banfeng.

The moment the head looked at him, Li Banfeng felt his entire body ignite.

It was real—he began to smoke.

Without a second's hesitation, he slammed the door shut and retreated into his Portable Dwelling.

PS: This head's level is extremely high—could it also be a local deity?

(End of Chapter)