Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty-One: Mountain Journey

He tied several green vines together, forming a rope about seven or eight zhang long, secured one end to a nearby tree trunk, and gripped the other in his hand; Liu Xiaolou leapt down, and when he was still about ten zhang above ground, the vines reached their limit—he let go of them, aimed for a protruding rock, landed on it, used the rebound to leap downward again.

The next leap, his foot landed on a decaying old tree root, which snapped instantly, causing Liu Xiaolou to plummet straight down.

After ten years of cultivation, he remained calm; his hands curled into claws, scanning for anything within sight to grip—a blade of grass, a stone, a crack in the rock—and after several such grabs, his peripheral vision caught the ravine floor below, estimating it was now less than four or five zhang away; he flipped midair and plunged into the stream, splashing water everywhere.

He had jumped off cliffs too rarely—his landing posture was wrong, his buttocks hit first, and he winced in pain.

Liu Xiaolou rubbed his buttocks, regained his composure, and continued onward; after a few steps, he began to climb.

With his cultivation level, climbing was far easier than descending—though slower, it was steadier; after a quarter-hour, he reached the old pine at the cliff’s summit, channeled true qi, and flipped himself up.

Looking back, such a treacherous place felt as level as ground to him; pride swelled within him.

Just as he felt proud, a green vine suddenly flew across from the opposite side, wrapped several times around a branch of the old pine beneath him, then tightened taut.

A figure stepped onto the vine and drifted over, wearing a conical hat that obscured his face; he glanced at Liu Xiaolou and said, “On your way?” Without waiting for an answer, he moved on.

Liu Xiaolou let out an “Ah!” as he watched the figure’s graceful departure, then looked at the vine now forming a rope bridge, slapped his forehead—his earlier pride vanished.

He turned to continue, but after only a few steps, the hat-wearing stranger ahead stopped and scrutinized him with suspicious eyes; Liu Xiaolou instantly went on alert, channeling true qi, preparing for combat.

Don’t think just because you can build a rope bridge I’m afraid of you—I’ll fight you if I have to!

“Liu younger brother?” the man suddenly spoke, then laughed heartily: “The night’s too dark—I nearly didn’t recognize you! It really is you!” He removed his hat.

Liu Xiaolou was stunned: “Left Cliff Lord? This really is... quite the coincidence...”

The man was Zuo Gaofeng, another hermit of Wulong Mountain, whose cultivation cave lay in Banmu Gorge, seventeen or eighteen li from Liu Xiaolou’s Qianzhu Ridge, separated by five or six major mountains—they rarely met.

In the past, encountering Zuo Gaofeng usually meant ignoring each other, at most a nod; but after being swindled out of his gift by Wei Hongqing half a year ago, they had bonded through shared misfortune.

“It’s been half a year—how have you been, Liu younger brother?”

“Thanks to Left Cliff Lord’s blessings, I’m getting by.”

“What are you heading to at this hour?”

“I’m visiting a friend in Xiangdong. And you, Cliff Lord?”

“Left I’m visiting relatives in Shimen. To meet you tonight—what a coincidence, ha ha.”

“Truly fate, ha ha.”

“Then let’s travel together.”

“I humbly accept your offer!”

Thus, the two traveled together, crossing Mount Wuling.

The mountains were indeed thick with insects and snakes; they encountered many along the way. Zuo Gaofeng, at Qi Refining seventh layer, was four levels higher than Liu Xiaolou; together, ordinary beasts posed no threat. But a single iron-head silver-ringed snake they stumbled upon in the forest was truly dangerous—if Liu Xiaolou had faced it alone, he’d have been in trouble; with Zuo Gaofeng beside him, one lured the snake forward while the other struck from behind, and after a short struggle, they subdued the venomous spirit snake.

The snake’s gallbladder went to Liu Xiaolou, who swallowed it without delay—it was the most spiritually potent part. As soon as he swallowed it, rich spiritual energy surged through his body, refined into true qi, then surged straight to his eyes, gathering at the Jingming point, instantly opening the acupoint.

Jingming was an acupoint on the Foot Taiyang Meridian, which Liu Xiaolou had not yet cultivated; he never expected a snake’s gallbladder to open it—joy and unease warred within him: would this affect his future cultivation of the Foot Taiyang Meridian?

Liu Xiaolou carefully recalled his scripture—this act seemed perfectly acceptable—and finally relaxed.

The rest of the snake’s body went to Zuo Gaofeng, who packed it into his satchel behind him—he planned to craft a magic treasure from its skin and sinews.

Both obtained what they needed, and both were delighted.

By noon the next day, a fierce tiger appeared before them; the two stood facing the beast for a long while.

“Left Cliff Lord, this tiger seems unusual? Have you ever seen a tiger this large? And its tail is so long...” Liu Xiaolou whispered.

Zuo Gaofeng’s expression turned grave: “Indeed unusual—I can’t yet discern its true nature.”

Liu Xiaolou asked: “What should we do?”

Zuo Gaofeng replied: “We must deliberate carefully... but never show weakness.”

As they discussed, the tiger suddenly whipped its tail—*crack!*—cutting a tree as thick as a bowl clean in half.

Liu Xiaolou gasped, drew his Sanxuan Sword and spun it before him in a flurry of blades; Zuo Gaofeng simultaneously drew his hand axe, gestured toward the tiger, and roared loudly: “Hoo! Hoo!”

Liu Xiaolou slashed sideways with his sword, channeling true qi—the blade sliced through another tree of similar thickness; Zuo Gaofeng hacked wildly at surrounding vines, his axe-blades flashing, leaving the area in ruins.

Amid mutual intimidation, the tiger slowly retreated, leapt onto the treetops, and vanished after a few bounds.

Both were drenched in sweat.

After this encounter, they became even more cautious on the path ahead.

Darkness fell earlier in the mountains; even as the sun still slanted on the peaks, the forest had already dimmed. The two walked side by side, each watching one side, alert for unseen dangers.

Unfortunately, they focused too much on distant trees and neglected their feet—suddenly, Zuo Gaofeng roared as a massive net burst from the soil, snatching him up and hoisting him high.

Zuo Gaofeng struggled violently in the net, hacking at the ropes with his axe—but the net was no ordinary thing; the ropes refused to break.

Liu Xiaolou rushed to rescue him, but a shadow leapt from the trees—a black cloth masked face, wielding an iron rod, smashing it toward Liu Xiaolou: “Take this in the dark!”

The blow was heavy and powerful, its wind force fierce, faintly shimmering with divine energy—indicating the attacker’s cultivation was at least mid-Qi Refining, likely fifth or sixth layer.

There was no time to dodge; Liu Xiaolou gripped his sword hilt tightly, pouring true qi furiously into the blade, dropped to one knee for support, and thrust upward with all his strength.

“—Break!” the attacker roared again, the rod slamming directly into the Sanxuan Sword.

Liu Xiaolou felt his palms explode with pain, his body sinking violently—the sword dipped downward, nearly brushing his scalp; his left foot and right knee sank three inches deep into the soft earth!

No matter how humiliating, he had blocked the blow.