Chapter Forty-Seven: Ye Kui

Beneath the archway, four or five figures gathered around a wooden table, devising ways to enter the ancient village of Peach Blossom Spring.

Chen Xuan approached from the foot of the mountain, standing behind the crowd to observe the situation.

“This is the token,” a young cultivator said, pulling a family token from his bosom and respectfully handing it to an ancient scholar.

The young man appeared to be in his twenties, exuding a dignified aura. He hailed from a Qi-training family in Red Crow City. Chen Xuan caught just one glance and discerned that the youth’s vital energy was quite remarkable—he was a cultivator at the second stage of transcendence.

“My father met your ancestor twenty years ago and received the phrase ‘Dao藏之姿’,” the young man said, pointing to a book on the table with a proud expression. “This volume should contain his name.”

“Oh, impressive,” the ancient scholar replied perfunctorily, taking the token and examining it with a snort of derision. He then flipped through the book quickly, locating a name, and asked, “Lin Fang, right? Such a person does exist. Twenty years have passed—has he now reached the great Dao藏 cultivation?”

“Not yet, but he’s about sixty percent certain,” the young man answered.

“Oh, so he’s a failure,” the ancient scholar scoffed, marking a large cross beside Lin Fang’s name. He then turned to a nearby ancient guard and commanded, “Later, go to the storage and throw Lin Kui’s belongings from twenty years ago to those hermits living beyond the mountain… just swap out some things casually.”

Chen Xuan was momentarily stunned. He thought to himself, could his own fish spear and fishing net have likewise fallen into the hands of those ancient hermits outside the mountain? That would truly make them worthless junk.

Yet, he felt the fish spear’s materials were extraordinary, icy cold to the touch—its origin should not be so humble.

The young man’s expression darkened, and he whispered in rebuttal, “My father is not a failure…”

“You are even more so,” the ancient scholar sneered, then waved his hand impatiently and continued, “Enter the village. Tomorrow, we will tell the ancestor about your father’s affairs. Ha, the ancestor probably won’t be interested… Your descendants will not have such an opportunity again.”

Having finished speaking, the ancient scholar suddenly turned his gaze to Chen Xuan, who stood silently behind the group.

“Hmm, you…” The scholar scrutinized Chen Xuan, murmuring, “Your innate bone constitution bears a trace of the ancient appearance…”

Being an ancient himself, the scholar’s eyes were sharp and discerning, able to gauge the weight of a cultivator’s bone constitution at a glance. For instance, the youth he had just called a failure had a constitution weight under five thousand jin, far from comparable to an ancient.

But Chen Xuan was different; his bone constitution weighed over eight thousand jin. Though slightly inferior to the ancients after his third transcendence, he was very close. Some weaker ancients might not even surpass him.

Having the ancient appearance always signified a superior bone constitution.

“Do I also have the ancient appearance?” Chen Xuan smiled inwardly, knowing that Yan Yushu was considered to have it, but never expected to be described the same way himself.

Other ancient warriors holding weapons also cast surprised glances at Chen Xuan, amazed at such a rare individual who might one day, through Qi training, strengthen his body to a comparable level.

The ancient scholar nodded thoughtfully, then sighed, “Among those I have seen today, your bone constitution currently ranks second.”

He flipped the book toward Chen Xuan and said, “Please write down your name and your token… In the future, no matter the aptitude of your descendants, they can present this token to see the ancestor once and recount your story.”

The previous young man was not afforded such treatment.

“All right,” Chen Xuan nodded and glanced down at the book, noting many names already inscribed.

“…”

“Yan Yushu, token: forget it.”

“Ye Kui, token: there are too many grudges in the world; who dares to have descendants? I’ll pass, too.”

“Xie Cheng, token: Xie family token of Red Crow City.”

“Wang…”

“…”

Chen Xuan picked up the brush, pondered briefly, then wrote directly:

“Chen Xuan.”

“Token: Everyone else passes; I’ll pass too.”

The ancient scholar took it and was dumbfounded. “Pass? You future people are really interesting. You don’t consider your descendants, huh?”

The future was uncertain, a place unknown. How could one afford to create ties in such a dark age? Bonds would be weaknesses—not even worth thinking about.

Soon, Chen Xuan passed through the archway and headed up the mountain.

Behind him, the fiery red fox tiptoed, hands gripping the table, poking out its adorably dumbfounded face, and chattered incessantly, “A token? This little fox’s face is the token…”

The ancient scholar withdrew a volume from beneath the stack, apparently finding a name, and then ascended the mountain with it.

…

The mountain road was shrouded by peach trees. At the midpoint of the mountain, the ancient village lay hidden among swaths of mulberry and bamboo, radiating verdant life.

Children, lotus-root-like in their slenderness, chased chickens and dogs along the path, leaping several meters with each step, causing a ruckus. Women and children in the courtyard pulled on a millstone, their strength like oxen, rumbling loudly…

Chen Xuan entered the ancient village, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

By now, many cultivators and southern wilderness spirits had arrived here, descending closer to the Peach Blossom Spring village than Chen Xuan, thus arriving ahead.

In the distance, a large group of young talents surrounded a woman with cascading black hair, touring the village’s customs.

Yan Yushu wore a striking black dress, but her exquisitely flawless face was bare of makeup, pure and ethereal—a stunning contrast, like a lotus blooming unstained from the mud, cleansed by clear waters yet untouched by worldly charms.

She stood among the young talents, her figure slender and supple as a willow branch, like a brilliant pearl surrounded by the dim stars of night. The group was loud as they passed by Chen Xuan.

“Make way, fellow Daoists, please step aside,” a scion of a noble family shouted down the narrow country path.

Chen Xuan was mindful and had already stepped aside in advance, leaning against the courtyard wall as he brushed past the crowd.

These cultivators from Red Crow City were either youthful geniuses relying on their own talent or scions of powerful families with deep heritage—figures even wandering mountain cultivators dared not provoke.

Not only Chen Xuan, but others also made way.

“Heh!” Nearby, a young man with a sword and dagger at his waist, chewing on a dogtail grass, watched Yan Yushu and company leave with a disdainful expression and remarked, “A pack of rural dogs being toyed with by a beautiful woman.”

Chen Xuan noticed that among the crowd were several scions of noble families, including the young prodigy Xie Cheng from the Dao藏 family, deliberately acting clumsy and humorous beside Yan Yushu, hoping to attract the beauty’s attention.

Yan Yushu, however, remained poised and elegant, wearing a faint, seemingly warm but actually perfunctory smile throughout—she treated everyone this way, yet everyone felt they were the special one.

News of Yan Yushu becoming Lu Zhan’s disciple had spread, rapidly elevating her status, far surpassing these scions. The disparity in status made them all the more eager and infatuated, yet unattainable.

A blue-purple talisman in Chen Xuan’s sleeve trembled softly, and a woman’s clear, wind-chime-like joyful voice came through: “You’re here! Where will you stay tonight? I’m coming to find you soon!”

Chen Xuan heard it but did not reply; he even deliberately ignored it in his mind.

Because something more important was happening.

Chen Xuan fixed his gaze on the mocking young man by the roadside.

The youth was about twenty years old, handsome and spirited, with narrow eyes, a lean face, a slim waist, and limbs like mantis legs—well-proportioned and strong, obviously a martial arts practitioner.

Now, the young man raised his chin, crossed his arms, and stood casually with one foot forward, staring at Yan Yushu’s departing figure with a strange gleam in his eyes.

Chen Xuan glanced at him casually, then turned his head away for a moment, only to look back and stare at the young man intently.

“This person’s martial skill is very strong—no, incredibly strong. Stronger than anyone I have ever seen,” the thought flashed through Chen Xuan’s mind with startling clarity.