Chaosheng said, “No. These past days, I’ve been with Big Brother the whole time—no chance to go to the Gold Stone Bureau. Does it have to be Thunderstruck Wood?”
“You want to give him a weapon,” Xiang Xian took the Green Branch and examined it. “Of course it has to be the best. Keep whittling. It needs to be smooth to serve as the ‘core’ for a Magic Treasure.”
Chaosheng sat on the floor, blade down, propping the Wisdom Sword diagonally on his shoulder. He carefully worked on the Green Branch from Kunlun Mountain, stripping bark and leaves. Such a spiritual item from an immortal mountain, part of Jumang, couldn’t be shaped by ordinary tools—only the Wisdom Sword could do it.
Xiao Kun watched with envy, eyes fixed. Xiang Xian joined him in watching Chaosheng, who smiled at the corners of his mouth, looking very happy.
Wu Yingzong’s footsteps approached, and Chaosheng quickly stowed the Green Branch.
“I heard everything,” Baoyin laughed. “How will you bribe me to keep quiet?”
Chaosheng: “!!!”
Chaosheng hadn’t noticed Baoyin nearby at all. Wu Yingzong, clueless, looked at Baoyin, then the others, and asked, “What?”
“Come shopping with sister tomorrow,” Baoyin smiled ambiguously. “Sister wants to buy some things too. Deal?”
“Oh, sure.” Chaosheng thought Baoyin might take him to find Thunderstruck Wood and happily agreed.
Wu Yingzong was baffled but said after a moment, “Lord Xiao, Master, dinner is ready.”
The rain outside had lightened a bit. The innkeeper brought stewed beef, golden egg pancakes mixed with Dongting silverfish, various bean curd buns and veggie pockets, large plates of white noodles as staples, paired with the renowned Shihua Wine from the two lakes region. After the meal came Junshan Silver Needle Tea with four dishes of dried fruit and snacks.
Everyone went to bed, except Xiang Xian and Xiao Kun, who lingered alone after dinner.
Xiang Xian checked on his companions, chatting with each, and when he returned to the third-floor open hall, he saw Hulü Guang packing up, laying out a simple bed. In a playful mood, Xiang Xian sneaked up from behind to prank him.
This was Xiang Xian’s favorite mischief, usually aimed at Xiao Kun. After Xiao Kun grew wary from repeated ambushes, it became harder, so he switched to Hulü Guang.
Hulü Guang immediately raised a hand to block, Heart Lamp glow emanating from his palm. Seeing it was Xiang Xian, he dropped his guard, willingly letting Master tease him.
“Hey,” Xiang Xian said with mild surprise, “Not bad cultivation. Come, push hands?”
Hulü Guang said, “No… I can’t.”
Xiang Xian struck suddenly again. Hulü Guang guarded with his left and attacked with his right, pushing hands in long fist style, Heart Lamp flowing through his moves, faintly integrating Cultivation Base and martial arts.
Hulü Guang’s Heart Lamp was taking shape, but the issue was he couldn’t release it—the glow and power swirled in his palm, only effective when pressed against an enemy.
Xiao Kun: “Come drink tea. Stop fooling around.”
Xiang Xian withdrew his fists, patted Hulü Guang, and went to Xiao Kun’s side.
Outside, it was pitch black with light rain.
Xiao Kun gazed into the night, brows slightly furrowed. Xiang Xian knew he was still worried about Sa Luan’s whereabouts. Whittling the Green Branch with the Wisdom Sword, he said, “With Hulü Guang here, the Heart Lamp will dispel his Demonic Qi when the time comes. Relax.”
Xiao Kun said, “I’m just wondering what he went through after Mr. Ying took him away to harbor such deep hatred… Don’t mess with that branch. Shouldn’t you leave it for Chaosheng to make himself?”
“With his dawdling pace,” Xiang Xian said, “by the time Old Wu dies of old age, he might not finish. Better whittle it for him while he sleeps.”
Suddenly, Xiang Xian and Xiao Kun both sensed a powerful aura approaching the building.
“What is that?” Xiang Xian stowed the Magic Treasure and Wisdom Sword.
“Demonic Qi.” Xiao Kun said.
Xiang Xian leaned to the railing and looked out. The aura flashed and vanished. A man in a raincoat and conical hat, holding a staff, walked along the muddy lakeside road.
Xiang Xian glanced questioningly at Xiao Kun, who slowly shook his head. He didn’t know the man’s origins; the detection had been pure instinct.
“Any food left?” The man’s voice was deep and resonant, carrying up through the rain from below.
“We’re closed,” the waiter said while shutting the door. “Please come back tomorrow morning, sir.”
“Brother, where are you from?” Xiao Kun suddenly called from the third floor. “The roads are treacherous in this rainy night. Care to come up for tea?”
The man removed his hat, looked up, and replied, “If that’s the case, I’ll impose.”
He hung his raincoat and hat downstairs, drenched, and climbed to the third floor. With his steps, the water in his footprints evaporated on its own.
The newcomer was a tall man over forty, hair bound with sideburns, thick black brows, full forehead, nose like a gallstone—bearing the poise of a warrior. His wrists were thick, veins prominent on his hands, calluses at the tiger’s mouth, clearly versed in blade and sword. His gait was upright, posture straight, exuding the air of a great general.
The man said, “Nowhere else to stay. Thanks for sheltering me, young brothers.”
He nodded politely and sat by the table. Xiang Xian poured him tea, while Xiao Kun, following Song customs, asked, “How should we address brother?”
The man said, “I’m a few years older, surname Zhao, single name Long.”
Xiang Xian and Xiao Kun nodded and introduced themselves. Meanwhile, Xiang Xian’s mind raced, deducing the man’s identity.
In the late-night drizzle, the three fell silent. Zhao Long glanced at Hulü Guang on one side of the open hall, who had his hood and cloak covering his face, leaning in the corner—unclear if asleep.
“That young brother not drinking?”
“He’s asleep. He’ll guard later. No need to mind him.” Xiao Kun said.
