Chapter Thirty-Three: The Gatha

That very afternoon, Liu Lanzhi announced to everyone in the Miao family that Che Wuyou was her junior disciple, openly declaring that no one would be allowed to bully him from then on. She made it clear that if anyone dared to trouble Che Wuyou in the future, it would be tantamount to opposing her, and she would no longer stand idly by—even if she had to resort to force, she would not hesitate.

With Liu Lanzhi’s bold declaration, the Miao family disciples were thrown into an uproar. It was the first time she had ever acted so assertively, and the cause of this high-profile stance was none other than Che Wuyou. After the initial commotion, an unusual silence descended—even Yang Cheng’s faction kept their opinions to themselves. Yet everyone knew Yang Cheng would not let the matter rest…

After this incident, those seeking to trouble Che Wuyou became fewer by the day, and life in the Miao family gradually became more comfortable for him. Still, there were some senior brothers who, for various reasons, continued to make things difficult for him. True to her word, Liu Lanzhi always stood firmly before Che Wuyou, unmoved by anything these senior brothers said—it was clear she was determined to protect him completely.

Many senior brothers found this infuriating. For the sake of an outsider, Liu Lanzhi was willing to stand against so many of her own kin. Was Che Wuyou truly worth such devotion? Their anger, however, was powerless against her. Firstly, Liu Lanzhi was growing older and ever more accomplished in her cultivation; even her senior brothers were wary of her. Secondly, she was the heir personally chosen and trained by their master. The master might not have stated it outright, but anyone with eyes could see that Liu Lanzhi’s control over the Miao family was only a matter of time.

With so many frustrated in the face of Liu Lanzhi’s resolve, Yang Cheng’s faction could no longer sit still. If Liu Lanzhi continued unchecked, her authority in the Miao family would become unshakable. Led by Yang Jian and Han Feng, relying on their advanced cultivation, they decided to take action that very afternoon. “If you want to protect him, then so be it. Let’s see how you fare when we all move against him together.”

Yang Jian himself had long disapproved of his elder brother Yang Cheng’s patience. Were it up to him, he would have already seized an opportunity to teach Liu Lanzhi a lesson, to show her how unwise it was to contend for the leadership of the family. After all, if the future heir were publicly humiliated, what face would she have left to inherit the position?

This was the perfect opportunity. If Liu Lanzhi stayed out of it, so be it—but if she intervened, he had plenty of ways to draw her into a confrontation. As her senior brother, he would then give her a proper lesson in why the clan rules demanded respect for one’s elders.

Both sides mobilized, with Che Wuyou at the center. In terms of numbers and strength, Yang Jian’s group had the clear advantage. Despite this, Liu Lanzhi’s small band showed no fear or hesitation. Their master’s support was clear—they represented the orthodox line, the future rulers of the Miao family. Why should they fear these “heretics”?

Miao Shilin had always taken a hands-off approach to his disciples’ affairs—after all, competition bred progress. But this incident had gone too far. The leading disciples were openly vying for the position of clan head, engaging in public duels without the slightest restraint. If word of this spread, the Miao family’s reputation would be ruined. Furious, Miao Shilin not only fined both sides valuable spirit crystals and pills, but also sentenced all participants to half a year of hard cultivation by the Lanzhi River.

Thus, before the duel could even begin, it was smothered in the cradle. Faced with their master’s wrath, neither faction dared take further public action, and their rivalry was forced underground.

Freed from constant harassment, Che Wuyou devoted himself wholeheartedly to cultivation. By day, he studied the handwritten scriptures and medical arts given by Miao Shilin; by night, in the quietest hours, he painstakingly practiced the “Hundred Herbs Manual.” Although Miao Shilin had instructed him to spend all his time on the scriptures, the “Hundred Herbs Manual” was the first secret art he had ever learned, and now that he had reached the threshold of genuine understanding, he was loath to give it up.

Time turned, seasons hurried by, and another four years slipped away. Che Wuyou had now spent six years with the Miao family, growing from a child into an eleven-year-old youth. Originally, Huashan Sword Sect’s Young Master Wu Haotian and the Che and Miao families had agreed on a three-year arrangement. After those three years, the Sword Sect would no longer meddle in the feud between the Che and Miao clans.

Yet, for reasons unknown, three years had passed since that initial agreement, and the Che family showed no sign of reclaiming Che Wuyou. Not only the Miao family, but Che Wuyou himself could not understand this. Perhaps the Che family truly had abandoned him—what other explanation could there be for six years of utter silence? Che Wuyou seldom thought of them now; he had fully integrated into life with the Miao family and naturally considered himself one of their own.

Over those four years, Che Wuyou applied himself single-mindedly to his cultivation. His progress in medicine and alchemy grew ever more rapid and profound, especially in the art of refining pills—he was beginning to outshine his teachers. Owing to the high quality of his pills, many senior brothers sought his help, and Che Wuyou never refused, forging many friendships. By extension, these new friends became part of Liu Lanzhi’s faction, to which Che Wuyou was fiercely loyal.

Seeing so many seek out Che Wuyou for pill refinement, Liu Lanzhi grew curious. One day she watched him work. Though there was still a gap between them, she was nonetheless surprised by his skill. She herself had inherited her master’s true teachings, yet Che Wuyou was not as far behind as she had imagined—at most, she was only a level or so above him. Was the Miao family about to see another prodigy rise up, this one in the path of alchemy?

In the world of cultivation, mastery of a secret art is generally divided into five realms: Glimpsing the Gateway, Entering the Path, Minor Achievement, Major Achievement, and Perfection. Despite four years’ effort, Che Wuyou’s “Hundred Herbs Manual” remained at the first level, limited by his innate talent.

However, his powerful spirit allowed him to multitask uniquely; even though he lingered at the first level, his speed in absorbing spiritual energy often surpassed that of peers whose techniques had reached the second realm. This was partly due to his ability to focus on several things at once, and partly because the “Hundred Herbs Manual,” while not a first-rate technique, was still among the best of the second tier.

As for the nameless handwritten scripture, he made remarkable progress on it over those four years. While other techniques were exceedingly difficult for him to master, this book seemed tailor-made for Che Wuyou. Although his progress was not especially rapid, by his usual standards it was impressive. As Miao Shilin remarked, “This boy has already broken through the flesh and blood stage and entered the meridian stage”—equivalent to the Purple Mansion realm in cultivation.

In the Miao family’s martial hall, a beautiful twelve-year-old girl in a violet dress, with features like a painting and skin like creamy jade, slowly finished a sword form, then clasped her right hand behind her back and sighed, “The northern desert moves like the wind, the east follows the cold lord, the central plains soar with flying swans, Tianshan gives rise to phantom shadows.”

A nearby youth was momentarily taken aback by this sigh. “What does that mean? Is it a verse or a riddle?”

At that moment, an elderly man with white hair and beard entered at the doorway. Hearing the question, he replied serenely, “Indeed, it is a verse. These four lines refer to the four greatest masters who shook the cultivation world a century ago. They became famous in a single grand event, and ever since, these lines have been passed down. As for their true level of mastery, none can say. Perhaps they reached the legendary pinnacle of Dao Ruins or even the realm of the Immortal Seeker. Only the true masters of the greatest sects or those rare immortals who wander the mortal world might rival them.” He shook his head, as if uncertain.

The youth’s eyes lit up and, after a brief hesitation, he couldn’t help but ask, “Master, have you ever met any of them?”

The elderly man was Miao Shilin, and the youth was Che Wuyou. Miao Shilin, seeing Che Wuyou’s rare interest, glanced at him and finally replied, “A hundred years ago, a certain member of the Ye family went mad and challenged the thirty-six strongholds of the southern border’s most notorious demonic sect. The carnage was unimaginable. I was swept up in the chaos, pursued by several demonic cultivators. Just as I was about to perish, a man descended from the heavens like a celestial.”

“I didn’t know who he was at the time, only that sword shadows filled the sky, majestic and beautiful beyond compare. Later, I learned he was one of the four great masters—the Phantom Sword, Bai Wanqian of Tianshan.” At this, he closed his eyes, lost in memory.

After a long pause, he sighed, “Every sword cultivator aspires to be like Bai Wanqian. If in this life I could achieve even a fraction of his skill, I would go to my grave with a smile.”

Che and Liu, listening intently, could almost see the divine figure of Bai Wanqian descending from the heavens, sword in hand. Both felt their hearts soar with longing—this was the true cultivation path, to roam the world with sword in hand. If only they could achieve even a tenth of his skill…

Liu Lanzhi had heard her master tell stories of Bai Wanqian, but knew nothing of the other three. Her curiosity piqued, she asked, “And what of the other three? What were their legends?”