Chapter 63

The man said something else.

The caravan sheathed their blades.

Ruan Xuezong glanced warily a few more times. Seeing that the caravan had let go of their hostility, the two sides appeared able to peacefully share this oasis. He picked up the rabbit again and stepped aside. Taking out his indispensable fire starter for wandering the Rivers and Lakes, he lit a pile of dry stones.

The rabbit’s fur was brown, shimmering like gold under the sunlight. Tied beneath a tree, it opened its ruby-red eyes—wet and glistening—as it gazed at Ruan Xuezong. It clearly knew what was coming.

Ruan Xuezong picked it up again and fiddled with it in his arms for a moment. His technique for handling game wasn’t particularly skilled; it was clumsy and awkward. After all, he was a pampered young master from a great family. Before the players had arrived, his every need for food, clothing, shelter, and travel had been handled by the maids of Heart Washing Manor. And after the players showed up, he’d relied on them instead.

Seeing him like this, the young leader with the high nose and deep-set eyes—the one with Western Regions features—waved off his subordinates and sidled up beside Ruan Xuezong. With a grin, he pointed at the rabbit, then at himself, and launched into a rapid stream of jabber.

Language barriers were a real pain.

Ruan Xuezong met his gaze with a calm yet bewildered expression, pretending to understand. He made a bold guess: the man probably wanted the rabbit so he could handle the butchering.

“Thanks,” Ruan Xuezong said, handing it over.

Unfortunately, he’d guessed only half right. The man took the rabbit but didn’t produce some gem-encrusted golden dagger to skin and gut it, as Ruan Xuezong had imagined. Instead, he smiled, reached out a hand, and gently stroked the rabbit’s trembling fur—like a Western Regions folk who cherished small animals. It made Ruan Xuezong, who’d been roughly manhandling the creature, look like some bloodthirsty savage.

Then the rest of the caravan brought over some fine dried rations and sweet grape wine.

Ruan Xuezong blinked in confusion.

He’d achieved his goal, more or less. Just not quite how he’d expected.

After quenching the thirst and hunger from days of wandering the desert, Ruan Xuezong snapped off a wooden stick and sketched a quick diagram in the damp earth.

With water this abundant in the oasis, he figured a town couldn’t be far off. He lacked the players’ big map function and had no clue about his exact location.

“How do I get to the nearest town?” he wondered aloud. Realizing the caravan couldn’t understand him, he first drew a rough map with three mountains framing two basins. Then he handed over the stick and mimed the gesture of a person riding a camel.

The blue-eyed man gradually caught on that Ruan Xuezong was asking for directions. He chuckled and pointed toward the Heavenly Mountain Range. Ruan Xuezong’s eyes widened. Good grief—he’d been blown this far by the sandstorm. A few more steps, and he’d be smack in the territory of the Western Regions kingdoms and the Western Demonic Cult.

Ruan Xuezong furrowed his brow slightly.

He poked the stick into the sand a couple more times, betraying his troubled thoughts.

He turned his face just a touch, and his striking features—sharp as fresh snow—reflected perfectly on the lake’s surface. The water acted like a mirror, faithfully capturing everything: the distant snow-capped peaks, the pristine blue sky and white clouds purer than jade, and that breathtaking face, as if carved from snow and fine jade. The natural scenery blended seamlessly with the beauty, illuminating the vision of anyone who beheld it.

The man admired the sight for a moment before turning away. Soon, he led a sleek snow-white steed right up to Ruan Xuezong.

Ruan Xuezong had heard that Sweat-Blood Treasure Horses from the Western Regions were legendary. He had no idea what breed this white horse was, but its coat gleamed with luster, marking it as clearly valuable. When brought before this stranger, the horse snorted from its nostrils and pawed the ground restlessly, refusing to lower its proud head.

Still puzzled, Ruan Xuezong watched as the man spoke in a stern tone. Suddenly, the white horse calmed. Its hooves shifted from frantic agitation to reluctant tolerance, until it finally shuffled toward Ruan Xuezong with a aggrieved huff, nuzzling his hand.

Instinctively, Ruan Xuezong stroked the horse’s mane, unsure what to make of it all.

At the man’s command, countless guards vaulted onto their mounts. They positioned the white horse at the front, parallel to a black-maned steed.

Amid the caravan’s animated gestures and chatter—which Ruan Xuezong only sluggishly pieced together—he realized their intent: they were heading back to town too and inviting him to tag along.

It wasn’t a bad deal.

Ruan Xuezong thanked the kind-hearted Western Regions folk.

He had some silver on him and offered it, but the caravan members refused with firm gestures that needed no words.

The blue-eyed man rode a black-maned horse. His handsome face seemed naturally wreathed in smiles. Along the way, he talked a lot, but Ruan Xuezong couldn’t understand a lick.

Their one-sided conversation dragged on until they reached a bustling town. Shops lined the streets, and travelers thronged the avenues. The caravan resupplied quickly. Ruan Xuezong thought for a moment, then tore a strip from his clothing. With a leap of lightfoot skill, he hung it from the town’s highest point. Fluttering in the wind like a small white flag, it bore a single character: “Zong.” His hope was that the players would spot it.

After a brief stop, Ruan Xuezong noticed the caravan had gained a new member.

The man had a classic Central Plains face and bobbed his head obsequiously to everyone after pocketing a pouch of gold coins.

Ruan Xuezong guessed he was the translator they’d hired. Sure enough, the Central Plains man introduced himself as Zaren. He spoke fluent Western Regions tongue and could render it into Central Plains speech.

Zaren even kindly gave Ruan Xuezong a map, helping him figure out where he was. Ruan Xuezong had a decent sense of direction, but in the desert, endless yellow sands stretched in every direction. It was impossible to tell east from west.

The language issue was tentatively solved.

Zaren explained that the generous caravan leader was named Li Yu Heng. Ruan Xuezong ransacked his memory but drew a blank on the name.

Zaren was about to add that his employer had a mixed face and probably two names—want him to ask the Western Regions one?—when Ruan Xuezong cut in with a more pressing question. “What’s the latest situation in the Western Regions?”

The query hit like a forbidden nerve. Zaren shuddered. “Young hero, you sure know how to ask. This desert area’s never been peaceful. The Western Regions kingdoms are always at war over people, minerals, and trade routes. Demonic Sect forces are garrisoned here too—shady operators with ruthless methods. If you’re a Central Plains treasure hunter, best steer clear of those Demonic Sect folks. Don’t provoke them lightly…”

Lately, too many Central Plains folk had swarmed the Western Regions for treasure, hoping to fish in troubled waters. Ruan Xuezong’s appearance didn’t raise suspicions. The Demonic Sects had no way to handle the greedy outsiders short of periodic massacres in fits of rage.

Ruan Xuezong wanted to probe further, but Li Yu Heng spoke up. In a deliberate tone, he asked, “What’s your name?”

Ruan Xuezong blinked.

Zaren translated: “My employer is asking your name.”

Politeness demanded it, so Ruan Xuezong introduced himself. Zaren’s eyes lit up with instant admiration. “So you’re Manor Lord Ruan of Heart Washing Manor! Young hero, your exploits in the Central Plains have reached even these borderlands. Seeing you in person, your poise and bearing are unmatched under heaven. What an honor to translate for you—three lifetimes’ worth!”

The others looked baffled. Clearly, the Great Desert isolated them from Central Plains news.

“Ruan… Xuezong.” Li Yu Heng paused, struggling with the syllables at first. The handsome, refined mixed-blood Western Regions man seemed to have a knack for languages. After two tries, he pronounced it fluidly, his sharp brows still arched in amusement.

“Zaren, ask him: Do all Central Plains folk look this good?”

Zaren thought: Do I even need to answer that?!

But he’d taken the man’s coin, so he relayed the question. Seeing Ruan Xuezong’s startled look, Zaren smoothed things over. “Don’t mind him, Young Hero Ruan. Desert folk speak bluntly—no malice, just curiosity.”

Ruan Xuezong frowned and replied coolly, with a hint of displeasure, “I don’t want to answer that. The Central Plains has too many good-looking people. My looks aren’t anything special.” He wasn’t exaggerating. The Rivers and Lakes was a sprawling ensemble novel, teeming with handsome men and beautiful women. Ruan Xuezong was just one background villain among them.

Zaren was Central Plains-born, but raised on the fringes with middling skills. He wracked his brain on how to convey “not rare,” finally rendering it as: “Young Hero Ruan says he’s good-looking, but so are all other Central Plains folk. Beauties are everywhere there.”

Really?

The caravan stared, wide-eyed and skeptical.

Ruan Xuezong was the handsomest Central Plains man they’d seen. His youthful face was perfection itself—flawlessly terrifying in its beauty, hitting every aesthetic note. Yet according to Zaren, they were as common as desert pearls. It sparked instant curiosity about the Central Plains.

Li Yu Heng smiled faintly. Draped in wolf pelt, cradling the now-docile brown rabbit, astride his towering mount, he exuded wild nobility laced with refinement.

His keen eyes danced with a mild smile that somehow chilled Zaren to the scalp.

To Zaren, he said: “Ask him if he’ll come back to my country with me.” Unsure what Central Plains folk valued, he continued slowly: “If he agrees, I’ll send my army to hunt that so-called Grandmaster Treasure for him. If we fail, I’ll offer the kingdom’s rarest treasures. If he misses his homeland, I’ll build him a tower with rolled-up curtains here, so he can gaze toward it. I have no consorts—he’d be the only one… This outsider is my greatest find on this trip. Translate that well; my sincerity is genuine.”

The words packed a punch.

Sweat beaded wildly on Zaren’s forehead. He’d pegged the man as a mere caravan boss. Now, a beat after Ruan Xuezong, he realized who this was. Too late—he’d taken the coin. Those who took Demonic Sect money and failed to deliver met grim ends…

The caravan guards eyed him predatorily, hands drifting silently to sword hilts. No overt killing intent, just a quiet warning.

Zaren glanced desperately at Ruan Xuezong, who was studying the map. Oblivious to the exchange, Ruan Xuezong pulled out Qu Wangshu’s token to cross-reference the Western Regions kingdoms’ emblems.

Heart sinking, Zaren replied in Western Regions tongue: “My king, he won’t agree. He’s a righteous Central Plains hero—hates evil like poison. He’s slain countless Demonic Sect members. He has estates in Jiangnan, roots deep. He’s here for the treasure, not to settle in the Western Regions.”

The young leader said coldly: “Then make him agree.”

“I’ll try…” Zaren steeled himself for the suicidal task and prepared to translate. Just then, Ruan Xuezong deciphered the map and moved to take his leave.

Zaren panicked. “Wait, Young Hero Ruan! My employer says his kingdom of Yong is prosperous. The capital’s seen an influx of Rivers and Lakes folk lately, talking treasure leads. Stay a few days to scout it out.”

Ruan Xuezong glanced at the map. “Where’s Yong Kingdom’s capital?”

Zaren pointed it out. “Young Hero Ruan, I know why you’re here. But the Western Regions are riddled with kingdoms and Demonic Sects—alliances shift like sand. Better head to the capital for intel than bump around blindly.”

Ruan Xuezong noted it was a major hub: player respawn point, biggest carriage station. He had a plan.

“Then thanks for the hospitality. You Western Regions people are so welcoming,” he said, folding the map with a sigh.

Zaren froze. A thousand warnings bubbled up as Run! But after agonizing hesitation, he held his tongue. Ruan Xuezong was already fetching his horse. Sometimes, the moment for courage slips away forever.

Little did Zaren know, though Ruan Xuezong couldn’t speak the language, he had the guts to venture alone into the Western Regions. With his superior martial arts, he feared no demonic lair. And if things went south, he could outrun a sandstorm.

No sooner had the caravan departed than players spotted Ruan Xuezong’s white flag.

They erupted in excitement, like comrades reuniting after a thousand miles: “Aaaah, look at that flag! Zongzong’s been here!”

“No way—the tornado was that OP? Blasting him this far!”

“Family, check the map! Zongzong’s out of the desert. No way he’s going back—he’ll stick to towns. Closest nation’s Yong, in the West Continent. Rush there!!”

Meanwhile, Qi Hongxin—who carried a Demon Blade—spotted the flag too. His brows darkened as he swiftly tore it down.