Chapter 32: This Is My Wife

Zhao Ti slightly narrowed his eyes, wondering if Duan Yu had come looking for him.

No one else could have found this cave beneath the valley in such a short time; it was almost certainly Duan Yu, following the old path, falling off the cliff, and ending up here.

Should I kill him to silence him?

Zhao Ti circulated his Qi, silently retracing his steps.

After circling several times, he entered the stone chamber where the jade statue stood, and saw Duan Yu standing before it, staring blankly.

Zhao Ti’s face was expressionless; he rubbed his chin, paused for a few breaths, then suddenly spoke: “Brother Duan.”

Duan Yu stood before the jade statue as if deaf, eyes fixed on it, muttering to himself, utterly dazed and entranced.

Zhao Ti rubbed his forehead, walked slowly forward, but Duan Yu still didn’t notice him; he had no choice but to cough loudly: “Brother Duan!”

“Ah…” Duan Yu jumped in shock, finally snapping out of it, looking at Zhao Ti with astonishment: “Zhao… Zhao brother?”

Zhao Ti frowned: “Why are you here, Brother Duan?”

Duan Yu flushed with embarrassment, remembering how he’d eavesdropped on the Liangliang Sword Sect’s male and female disciples making love—it was far from the conduct of a gentleman—and stammered: “Zhao… Zhao brother, is this your home?”

Zhao Ti nodded: “Yes, this is my home.”

Duan Yu’s expression brightened slightly, then froze, confusion and a flicker of hope mingling in his eyes: “Zhao brother—is the Immortal Sister your sister?”

Zhao Ti glanced at the jade statue and said: “Do you think we look alike?”

Duan Yu nodded eagerly: “Yes, extremely alike—like twins, indistinguishable!”

Zhao Ti burst into laughter, stepped forward, and lightly patted Duan Yu’s shoulder: “Brother Duan, to be honest, this jade statue is my wife.”

“Wife… what wife?” Duan Yu felt as if struck by lightning, his heart suddenly filled with a chaotic, agonizing mix of emotions.

“That’s my wife—my good woman, my old lady…” Zhao Ti smiled.

“I… I don’t believe it…” Duan Yu turned pale, staring at Zhao Ti: “Zhao brother must be joking—you couldn’t possibly live here. This valley has almost no supplies—how could anyone live here?”

Zhao Ti feigned anger: “Why not? I’ve always lived here. But when my wife gave birth, it became inconvenient, so we moved our whole family to Suzhou in the Great Song. If you don’t believe me, there’s still a baby’s cradle inside!”

Hearing this, Duan Yu became hollow-eyed and silent.

Zhao Ti had abandoned the idea of killing him, and didn’t want to see him like this. He was about to speak honestly when Duan Yu suddenly flushed red and blurted: “Zhao brother, if the Immortal Sister is your wife, then what is her name?”

Zhao Ti said: “My wife.”

Duan Yu stammered: “Wife… wife… I know Zhao brother is a gentleman, but please tell me her name.”

Zhao Ti frowned: “Is it proper for a gentleman to ask a man’s wife’s name?”

Duan Yu’s face turned even redder; he wished he could dig a hole and crawl into it, but could only stammer, unable to speak.

Zhao Ti shook his head, sighed: “But we’re all martial world folk—I’ll tell you, Brother Duan. If we meet again, you might even have to call her sister-in-law.”

Duan Yu blinked: “The Immortal Sister… sister-in-law?”

Zhao Ti laughed: “What Immortal Sister? Just a woman who spends her days adorning herself, painting her brows, and reading dead books.”

Duan Yu glanced at the jade statue, then at Zhao Ti: “Zhao brother…”

Zhao Ti said: “By the way, my wife’s name is Wang Yuyan. Remember to call her sister-in-law next time you meet. I won’t say more—I have other matters outside.”

“Wang… Yuyan.” Duan Yu murmured: “Such a beautiful name—the Immortal Sister truly has a beautiful name. Ah, Zhao brother…”

Zhao Ti ignored him, walking up the slanted stone steps beside the chamber—this was the hidden path leading out of the valley, as he remembered.

“Zhao brother… was what you just said true…?” Seeing Zhao Ti give no reply, and soon vanish from sight, Duan Yu’s heart sank terribly—he thought to himself: yes, yes, Zhao brother knows this place too well—he couldn’t have been lying.

He recalled Zhao Ti’s words, wondering whether to go inside and check for the baby’s cradle, yet hesitated—then noticed writing on the embroidered shoes beneath the statue. He bent down quickly to look.

On the inner right side of the shoe was embroidered: “A thousand prostrations, to serve and obey me.” On the left: “Obey my commands, a hundred deaths, no regrets.”

Duan Yu froze. What did this mean? Why had the Immortal Sister carved these words? Why hadn’t Zhao brother mentioned them?

But now his heart was filled with desolation—as if the vast world had no place for him, as if all things in the world had lost meaning, as if only dying alone and forsaken could bring him peace. He no longer cared. He knelt on the large mat and began prostrating himself again and again.

As he prostrated, his mind grew hazy: the Immortal Sister said a thousand—then I’ll do two thousand, three thousand…

The small mat before him was already worn through, its reeds exposed. As he banged his head, reed fibers flew everywhere; though thick, the mat gradually sank and thinned under his relentless pounding.

He didn’t know how many times he’d prostrated, but when his strength was spent, gasping for breath, he collapsed onto the ground.

Zhao Ti entered the hidden path and walked upward, turning three bends, unaware how far he’d gone—then faintly heard the roar of water, and felt a surge of joy.

He quickened his pace, reached the end of the tunnel, and saw a narrow cave ahead. Peering out, he saw raging waves, swift currents—it was a great river.

The riverbank’s cliffs stood sheer and jagged, towering—this must be the Lancangjiang.

He was now about ten zhang above the riverbank, but the slope wasn’t vertical—it could be climbed down.

Moments later, he reached the riverbank. All around were scattered rocks, no path at all. He shaded his eyes, scanning the area—but saw no sign of Zhou Dong or Su Da.

Zhao Ti thought for a few breaths, bent down, and stacked stones into a special pattern as a signal. Then he walked forward, leaving another mark every one or two li, until seven or eight li later, he spotted a wild peach tree. He walked over, picked the fruit, and ate until half-satisfied.

He continued onward, walking another dozen li, until he finally saw a path. Following it, he saw a rope bridge crossing the river. On a stone beside it were carved three large characters: “Good People’s Crossing.”

Zhao Ti frowned, thinking: on this side of the Lancangjiang, mountains stretched endlessly. Since he hadn’t seen Zhou Dong and Su Da along the way, it made no sense to linger. He’d already left signals—they knew he was safe and would follow.

He stepped onto the rope bridge. Below, the river surged like ten thousand galloping horses. His body swayed with the ropes, yet moved as lightly as willow branches in the wind, effortlessly crossing the river in moments.

On the other side, a path continued straight ahead. After walking about half an hour, he saw ahead a vast, dense black forest—thick, interwoven, covering the sky, dark and profound.