Chapter Six: The Wild Cat

Though it was situated on the very edge of the Primordial Era, the Yuanwu Continent had once basked in an age of glorious prosperity. Cultivators could be found in every corner of the land, and methods of cultivation numbered in the thousands. Yet, as sects and schools gradually formed, the ranks of solitary cultivators dwindled, and obscure arts began to fade into oblivion. Now, the Yuanwu Continent was in decline. Those who noticed the harbingers of doom quietly prepared their own defenses against the coming calamity, each in their own way, but not one cultivator stepped forward to warn the common people of the approaching disaster destined to ravage the land.

In truth, even if they had spoken out, it would only have incited panic and chaos—there was no benefit. No one could leave the Yuanwu Continent for another land, after all.

Jiang Yulong sat on the stone steps at the door, watching the first ray of sunlight fall upon the mountain gate. Not far away, a hundred disciples of Maoshan Dao stood silently in the training grounds, practicing the most fundamental forms. Compared to him, his peers were somewhat lacking. He himself had begun to glimpse the threshold of the second stage of Qi Training. He believed that before the Youth Elites Assembly arrived, he would reach the fifth stage. At the fifth stage, one could become a core disciple of Maoshan Dao. As the grandson of the Law Enforcement Elder, Jiang Xingtian, he could have attained that status with a single word from his grandfather.

However, when Jiang Xingtian tried to bring him and his brother Jiang Pingchuan into the inner sect to enjoy richer cultivation resources, both refused their grandfather’s kindness. Jiang Xingtian wasn’t surprised by Pingchuan's refusal—after all, his heart was never set on the path of cultivation. But Yulong’s denial puzzled him. Everyone knew Yulong was obsessed with cultivation, yet this grandson of his turned down such a tempting offer, determined instead to earn his place among the core disciples through open competition and his own efforts.

“Brother, what are you thinking about?” Jiang Pingchuan stretched, walked out of the room, and sat beside Jiang Yulong. Yulong looked at his dazed little brother, ruffled his messy hair, then rose to fetch a basin of water. He wet a towel and began to wipe the fatigue from Pingchuan’s face.

Pingchuan pouted, reluctantly accepting his brother’s ministrations. Yulong put down the towel, sat cross-legged behind his brother, and began to tidy the little one’s hair. Pingchuan picked up a blade of wild grass, stuck it between his teeth, and hummed a tune in some unknown Sanskrit.

Hearing the Sanskrit chant, Yulong paused, then smiled. He finished braiding his brother’s hair and gave the back of his head a gentle pat.

“Pingchuan, you’d better take your cultivation seriously, or Little Flower won’t pay you any mind,” Yulong said with a grin, recognizing the incantation as Maoshan Dao’s very own marrow-cleansing and spirit-gathering formula.

But the little fellow didn’t know that what he was humming was precisely the scripture their grandfather always urged him to memorize. It must have been their grandmaster’s idea to teach it this way. As Pingchuan rolled his eyes at him, Yulong could only shrug in helplessness.

“Brother, you’re just as uptight as Grandmaster. I, Jiang Pingchuan, am a man of great ambition—how could I be held back by a village girl like Little Flower?” Pingchuan declared, feigning indifference, though he secretly checked his surroundings to ensure Little Flower wasn’t nearby before he could relax.

“You dare talk about Grandmaster? Are you itching for another lesson? By the way, Little Flower came looking for you yesterday—she wants to meet you at the meadow below the mountain at noon,” Yulong teased, raising his eyebrows.

Pingchuan blushed, glared at his brother, and quickly scampered down the mountain. Watching his little brother’s retreating figure, Yulong sighed, worry clouding his gaze. Suddenly recalling something, he tried to call Pingchuan back, but the little one had already vanished.

He’d forgotten to tell his brother that Little Flower’s father had learned about the kiss his brother had stolen the previous day—so the one waiting at the meadow was not Little Flower, but her father.

Pingchuan hummed a jaunty tune as he descended the mountain. His fellow disciples couldn’t resist giving him playful swats as he passed, and by the time he left the gates, his eyes were brimming with tears and he rubbed his sore behind, thoroughly disgruntled.

Lying atop a boulder by the mountain road, Pingchuan plucked the wild grass from his mouth and twirled it absentmindedly, rubbing his little stomach. He’d only grabbed a pastry from the table as he left, and now his stomach growled with hunger. Tossing away the wild grass, he rummaged in his clothes and produced a greasy cake, sniffing it with a look of pure bliss.

Just as he took a bite, his expression changed. Wariness filled his eyes as he slowly turned to look at the thicket behind him—he felt something watching from the undergrowth.

Seeing nothing amiss, he started to relax, but suddenly the grass parted. Snorting, he set the pastry down and leapt off the boulder, chasing after the darting figure in the forest, snatching up a stick from the ground as he ran, teeth clenched in pursuit of the unknown creature.

The forests of Maoshan were lush with ancient trees, evergreen through the seasons, their beauty hiding danger. Though this forest was within Maoshan Dao’s domain, and no true threats lurked here—at least, not for disciples at the first stage of Qi Training—Pingchuan’s reckless venture had put him in grave peril.

Deeper and deeper he followed the fleeing creature, the light fading, the forest growing dim. He slowed, gripping his stick tightly, body crouched, his large eyes darting warily about.

But now the thing he’d been chasing had vanished, and Pingchuan shivered in the gloom. He began retracing his steps, but as he turned, a pair of ghostly red eyes fixed upon him.

With a terrified wail, Pingchuan bolted through the woods, a deep growl echoing behind him. He leapt forward, not daring to look back, cursing under his breath as he ran.

At the forest’s edge, he slumped against a tree, panting heavily, his face flushed and his back drenched in sweat. Only once he’d caught his breath did he dare glance behind him. Seeing nothing amiss, he finally relaxed, rubbing his empty stomach as he headed back toward the boulder—only to let out another yelp. He dashed over to find his pastry devoured by a scruffy stray cat.

Furious, Pingchuan grabbed the scrawny cat by the scruff, glaring at it with righteous indignation. He was about to give it a stern lesson when the cat lazily lifted its head, meeting his gaze with those same ghostly red eyes. Pingchuan recoiled in fright, flinging the cat far away and collapsing on the boulder, watching it warily as it lay motionless on the ground.

After a moment, he hopped down and crept over to the cat, guilt gnawing at him as he realized it truly wasn’t moving. Kneeling beside it, he clasped his hands together in regret—his stinginess had led to the poor cat’s demise.

Sniffling, the little fellow gently picked up the cat’s lifeless body and started toward the village at the foot of the mountain, determined to find a proper resting place for it.

His earlier excitement had vanished, replaced by hunger and remorse. He trudged down the mountain path, crossing the plain to the riverside willow, where he laid the cat down and began digging a grave with a branch, oblivious to the way the cat—eyes narrowed and lips curled in mockery—watched him from behind, occasionally licking its paw. Suddenly, a glint of cunning flashed in the cat’s eyes, and it quickly feigned death once more.

“Well, if it isn’t Jiang Yulong’s little brother, Jiang Pingchuan. What’s this? Digging up treasures? Let Brother Feng have a look,” a mocking voice called out.

Behind him stood two youths, fourteen or fifteen years old, smirking as they watched Pingchuan dig. The one in green, with triangular eyes and a hooked nose, was Ma Huifeng, nephew of the Sword Sect’s master. At his side was Lu Jie, his lackey and fellow disciple.

These two idled their days away in the area. They recognized Pingchuan at once—just recently, Ma Huifeng and Lu Jie had been caught harassing village girls by Yulong and Pingchuan. Without a word, Yulong had given the pair a thorough thrashing. Though both were strapping lads, they’d never managed to break through the physical barrier into the Qi Training stage. Against Yulong, who had long since entered that realm, they were as helpless as babes.

“So, Pingchuan, have you turned coward now? Without your big brother, you’re such a sweet little thing. But when Yulong’s around, you bounce around more than anyone!” Ma Huifeng was irked when Pingchuan ignored him—this three-year-old brat had made them suffer often enough. Today, seeing Pingchuan alone, they’d made sure Yulong was nowhere in sight before daring to approach.

“Ma Huifeng, aren’t you afraid my brother will beat you so badly you’ll be picking your teeth up off the ground?” Pingchuan retorted, dropping his stick and standing tall, facing down the two older boys with a composure and presence that rivaled their own.

Ma Huifeng hesitated, pointing at Pingchuan, but for a moment found himself speechless. With a snort, he turned to leave, Lu Jie hurrying after him in confusion.

“Boss, did you forget? You’re a Qi Training stage cultivator now! There’s no need to fear Jiang Yulong,” Lu Jie whispered urgently.

Ma Huifeng paused, then slapped Lu Jie on the head. “What was I thinking, running away from Jiang Yulong like a turtle? I’m not scared of him at all!” He marched back toward Pingchuan, grinning, while Lu Jie followed, grumbling to himself about the injustice of being struck for trying to help.

“Hey, Pingchuan, don’t try to scare us with your brother’s name. To tell you the truth, I, Ma Huifeng, am a Qi Training cultivator now,” he declared, eyes full of challenge.

Pingchuan frowned—he hadn’t expected even a dolt like Ma Huifeng to reach the Qi Training stage.

“A Qi Training brat is nothing. Ignorant whelps, blind to the heights of the heavens and the depths of the earth,” an ancient voice suddenly intoned from beneath the willow.

The voice was deep and brimmed with unquestionable authority. All present felt a jolt in their hearts—though Pingchuan found the voice oddly familiar, Ma Huifeng and Lu Jie were furious, glaring at Pingchuan as if he were responsible. Everyone knew he was mischievous enough to try anything, but Pingchuan only shrugged, indicating he had no idea where the voice had come from.