Chapter 53: Chapter Fifty-Two: The Great Retreat

Just as spring arrived, the upper reaches of Wuchao River had not yet reached full flow, so Liu Xiaolou did not build a bamboo raft to descend the mountain—he walked the mountain path instead.

After descending Gan Bamboo Ridge, he did not head toward the village; since Luo Fu Sect members had been seen there, it was no longer safe to show his face.

Instead, he turned northwest, where a little-known path lay hidden—so obscure even locals avoided mentioning it—nestled beside a deep ravine, winding beneath dense forest, serving as an emergency escape route for the Wulong Mountain hermits.

As soon as he entered this path, Liu Xiaolou saw seven men ahead, carrying yokes and bamboo baskets on their backs, hurrying along—it was the famed Seven Heroes of Guzhang Mountain.

Liu Xiaolou was not close to them, but years ago he had accompanied his master to Guzhang Mountain and paid respects at their peak, so he called out from behind: “Greetings, seven elders!”

The Seven Heroes turned their heads, nodded to Liu Xiaolou, then continued on their way; the youngest, Seventh Brother, was the most enthusiastic, calling back: “You’re leaving too, Xiaolou?”

Liu Xiaolou quickened his pace and pointed in astonishment at the small table on Seventh Brother’s yoke: “Elder, you’re taking the table too? What kind of treasure is that?”

Seventh Brother laughed heartily and slapped the table: “Fine stuff! Carved from lightning-struck yellow sandalwood—later, I’ll have a metallurgist forge a few flying swords. This treasure can’t be left for Luo Fu Sect to seize; if they take it, we’ll be robbed blind.”

Sixth Brother turned around, grinning, and tapped the large porcelain jar strapped to his back; the jar rang out with a clear, sustained tone. He savored the sound, lifted his chin, and pressed on with renewed vigor.

Seventh Brother boasted beside him: “See that? That’s a good jar—has spirit-concentrating properties. The Zhou family used this very jar to raise spiritual fish; we tasted them—utterly exquisite! By the way, the incense burner in Fifth Brother’s arms was used by the Zhou family for sky sacrifices—it’s strange too…”

“The Zhou family of Dongting Lake?”

“Of course! Otherwise why would Luo Fu Sect have attacked them?”

“Hey, so you really did it? Was that Wang Laoda’s Hero’s Notice?”

“Didn’t you go? … Oh right, we didn’t see you then. Too bad—you missed out. The Zhou family isn’t some ordinary clan; they’re deeply rooted. They’re a major branch of Luo Fu Sect, and their garden’s full of treasures!”

“Why did Wang Laoda attack the Zhou family?”

“The Zhou family’s second son insulted Wang Laoda. Naturally, we brothers had to go seek revenge. This time, more of our Wulong Mountain men showed up than anyone else—we all made a fortune…”

“The Zhou family’s second son?”

“Wang Laoda said he was a low-level fool—pampered, perfumed, a dissolute playboy who bullied others with his family name and even slapped Wang Laoda. Could we tolerate that? Hah! None of us could. We gave Wang Laoda his revenge. But the brat vanished somewhere—we searched the whole estate and couldn’t find him…”

As they chatted, more figures descended from the hillside, joining the exodus.

One of them called out loudly: “Xiaolou! Xiaolou!”

Liu Xiaolou looked up, smiled, and stepped forward: “Left Clan Chief, long time no see!”

Zuo Gaofeng also carried a large bamboo basket covered with unshorn sheepskin—he hadn’t even bothered to inventory his belongings. He slapped Liu Xiaolou’s shoulder, sighing: “After we parted last year, I happened to meet Dai Sanren below the mountain. He accepted the Hero’s Notice—and asked about you. This time, everyone made a good haul; a year’s food and drink is secured. Where did you go after that? Why didn’t you return to the mountain? You could’ve joined us and made a fortune too!”

Liu Xiaolou asked: “Did you make more than what we got from Wei Brother’s job?”

Zuo Gaofeng laughed: “Of course not. Opportunities like that come once in a decade. Xiaolou, you’re getting picky, aren’t you? That won’t do—you must learn contentment… Ha! Have you still not slaughtered your big white goose?”

Liu Xiaolou patted the white goose trotting beside him: “I’ve grown attached. I won’t eat it. I’m keeping it as a companion—I plan to care for it till its last breath.”

More people joined afterward—Liu Xiaolou recognized Lingling Guest and Longshan Hermit. Lingling Guest had missed the Hero’s Notice again and couldn’t attend the Heroic Gathering, yet now he was fleeing his home, sighing all the way. Longshan Hermit had gone to the Zhou estate that day—he looked cheerful, clearly having profited well.

Most surprising to Liu Xiaolou was seeing Tan Ba—he too carried several large and small bundles, chatting and laughing as he descended the mountain. The Tan family was part of Wulong Mountain’s lineage, yet they’d always lived outside the mountain—why flee now?

“Tan Brother, what’s this…”

“Hah! Little Brother Liu, I couldn’t stand my family’s rules—I moved into Wulong Mountain this past Zhengyue and settled by Longma Waterfall. When you return, be sure to come drink with me—and you, Left Clan Chief, Lingling Brother, come too!”

“You’ve been driven from your home just because you moved here? I’m ashamed.”

“Why are you ashamed? You didn’t come away empty-handed from breaking the Zhou estate!”

“Hahaha, not that much—Left Clan Chief is exaggerating…”

By the time they exited Wulong Mountain, over a hundred companions had gathered. They bid each other farewell, wished each other well, and scattered in all directions.

Snakes have their paths, mice their burrows—everyone needs a sheltered haven, and none would gather conspicuously in one place.

Liu Xiaolou circled north, returning to Wuchao Town at the lower reaches of Wuchao River. He reached a quiet, dilapidated courtyard on the town’s southern edge, fumbled along the wall for a moment, found a rusted key, and unlocked the door.

With a creaking groan, the small courtyard appeared: three rooms to the east, north, and south, a western porch, and a central courtyard of one-tenth of an acre, where a foul, moldy odor hit him.

He hadn’t been here for nearly two years. The last time, he’d been with his master. He remembered his master saying he’d bought the place for fifty silver taels, lived there only three times—today was the fourth.

The white goose eagerly took charge of clearing spiderwebs and pulling weeds. Liu Xiaolou picked up a broom, equally caked in dust, and swept out the three rooms roughly—then settled in.

Luo Fu Sect was launching a major purge of Wulong Mountain—he didn’t know how long it would last. By other sects’ standards, it would take at least half a month, up to a month; if they found no one, they’d leave. For now, he’d be a law-abiding citizen of Wuchao Town—live quietly, cultivate steadily.

Liu Xiaolou went into town, bought necessities, hauled back two loads of firewood, cleaned the water jar, filled it, lit a fire, cooked a meal, and returned to cultivation.

Spring rain began again, dripping from all four eaves like a beaded curtain into the courtyard, pooling in the center rain basin. The white goose floated in the basin, lazily tucking its head and neck beneath its wings.

Amid the sound of rain, Liu Xiaolou gripped a spirit stone and began pushing toward the fifth acupoint on the Hand Jueyin Meridian—Jianshi.

He still had seven spirit stones left. Without interruption, he could cultivate for about three and a half months—but he didn’t know how many acupoints he’d manage to open.

The sixth? Or the seventh?