Chapter 14: The Road Through the World of Men

Leaving the Si Clan's Blessed Land behind, Si Chen picked a direction at random and set off, riding the wind.

A cultivator at the Foundation Establishment Stage could already soar through the skies on their own Spiritual Energy, though the speed was not particularly fast, and flying for extended periods consumed a considerable amount of it.

Below him, there was nothing but mountains — layer upon layer of them, stretching endlessly to the horizon.

The clan's walls had vanished. The boisterous voice of Third Uncle had faded away. Even his mother's gentle gaze had grown distant.

Heaven and earth suddenly felt vast beyond measure, and he was nothing more than a solitary young man in plain blue-grey cloth robes, wandering alone through this boundless world.

He felt no sense of loss or confusion. On the contrary, there was a kind of ease in it — the freedom of open skies and wide earth, his to roam as he pleased.

When he grew tired of flying, he would find a mountaintop or a clearing in the forest to land, regulating his breath while continuing to cultivate the Yimu Everspring Art.

Once rested, he would set off again.

As for his cultivation, he remained at the Mid Foundation Establishment Stage.

His body, having been tempered by the Tribulation of Yin Thunder, was far tougher and more resilient than before. He estimated that at his current physical strength, his flesh could sustain him all the way through a Breakthrough to the Core Formation Stage.

If he wished to push further after that, he would either need to find the Yang Thunder within a Cultivation Technique to complete the second tribulation of Body Tempering, or rely on the slow, patient work of the Yimu Everspring Art — waiting for it to nurture a foundation of one hundred years, a thousand years of depth.

The former required a Fortuitous Encounter. The latter required time.

Neither could be rushed, and so he accepted both with equanimity.

After flying for roughly half a month, the scenery before him finally began to change.

The mountains gradually flattened. Scattered terraced fields began to appear below, crisscrossed with paths and furrows. Occasionally, wisps of cooking smoke curled lazily upward — the villages of Mortals.

Si Chen descended on a deserted hillside, dismissed his wind-riding technique, and continued on foot.

The further he walked, the denser the signs of human life became.

The main road grew wider. Teahouses and roadside pavilions for weary travelers began to appear along the way. Merchants leading pack horses laden with goods, farmers carrying shoulder poles, students with book-boxes strapped to their backs — all manner of people filled the road.

In his clean plain blue-grey cloth robes, with his refined features and uncommon bearing, he naturally drew a few extra glances as he moved through the crowd.

But that was all. No one trembled at a single look from him, and no one whispered admiring words behind his back.

It was a strange and novel feeling.

He slowed his pace, observing everything around him like a true traveler.

Farmers bent over their labor in the fields. Idle chatter drifted from inside the teahouses. At a roadside stall, the fragrance of freshly steamed buns wafted through the air.

This was the first time he had ever truly stood in the world of men, free from the halo of the Si Clan.

These Mortals — their lives were no more than a fleeting few decades. Even Foundation Establishment or Core Formation cultivators lived only three to five hundred years. Longer than Mortals, yes, but measured against the scale of stars being born and dying, still nothing more than a blink.

And yet, even stars seemed unable to escape the fate of eventual extinction.

So then — what was the meaning behind the striving of these Mortals before him, toiling and bustling for a meal, for a livelihood, for the simple act of staying alive?

He had once pondered why he had been able to conjure a Spiritual Root from nothing. When he had pored through the clan's records, he had come across two words —

Heavenly Dao.

What was the Heavenly Dao? Was it the will of a planet? Or some grander, more encompassing set of rules?

If so, had he — once the consciousness of a star — once been a part of the Heavenly Dao?

The fact that he had conjured a Spiritual Root from nothing... did it mean that even after reincarnation, he still carried something that transcended the ordinary?

A kind of... "authority"?

Lost in thought, Si Chen suddenly sensed an unusual fluctuation.

The aura was the polar opposite of the Yimu Everspring Art's vibrant vitality — it was something hidden, something that was quietly devouring life force. The aura was faint, and its source was the small market town not far ahead, from which cooking smoke still curled into the sky.

Puzzled, he followed that thread of aura and walked into the market town, which bore the name "Qingsang."

The town was reasonably lively, but near the source of that strange aura, a crowd had gathered, the atmosphere heavy with tension and anxiety.

At the center of the crowd stood a middle-aged man in a grey Daoist robe, his expression appearing quite kindly. He had one palm pressed against the chest of a child whose face had turned an ashen grey.

That dark, life-devouring aura was emanating from this child — and from several other children nearby, who all looked equally listless and drained.

Si Chen could sense that this grey-robed Daoist's cultivation was comparable to his own — also at the Mid Foundation Establishment Stage.

Just as a faint glow flickered in the Daoist's palm, as though he was about to take some further action, he seemed to suddenly notice something. He snapped his head up, and his gaze landed with uncanny precision on Si Chen, who had just stepped into the outer edge of the crowd.

A flash of surprise crossed the Daoist's eyes — he clearly had not expected to encounter such a young Foundation Establishment cultivator here. The hand pressed against the child's chest imperceptibly eased its pressure, and that faint, devouring sensation ceased abruptly.

Immediately after, a layer of warm white light bloomed from the Daoist's palm. The child's complexion began to flush with color, and his breathing steadied considerably.

"Thank you, Immortal Master! Thank you, Immortal Master!"

A pair of farmers nearby — apparently the child's parents — kowtowed repeatedly, weeping with gratitude.

The Daoist then repeated the same process for the other children, "treating" them one by one. Each child's color improved noticeably, drawing waves of heartfelt thanks from the surrounding townsfolk.

When it was all done, the grey-robed Daoist turned toward Si Chen, a warm smile on his face, and gave a slight nod in greeting.

He said nothing more. His gaze lingered briefly on Si Chen — particularly on the seemingly plain Storage Ring on his finger — before he turned and parted the crowd, walking away at an unhurried pace, as though unwilling to linger a moment longer.

Si Chen watched his retreating figure, a faint furrow forming between his brows.

He had clearly sensed it — this Daoist had initially intended to draw something from the children. So why had he immediately changed his behavior the moment he spotted Si Chen, and left in such haste?

He did not expose it, nor did he intend to intervene. The affairs of the mortal world were tangled with cause and effect, and he had not yet come to understand them.

His mother had also told him: when traveling outside, if you encounter something you cannot make sense of and it has nothing to do with you, there is no need to dig deeper.

And so he withdrew his gaze, turned, and left the small town, heading in the direction of the nearest city he had asked about.

* * *

He took to the wind once more, leaving Qingsang Town far behind.

Si Chen flew for roughly thirty minutes, passing over rolling hills and dense woodland where few people ventured.

Suddenly, a flash of light appeared ahead of him. The grey-robed Daoist had returned, materializing out of thin air to block his path.

"Fellow Daoist, please hold a moment."

The Daoist's face still wore that warm, genial smile, and his tone was perfectly courteous.

"I am Zhang Quan. Back in the town, things were rushed and I had no chance to exchange words with you. Seeing that you are so young yet already possess such cultivation, I wonder — which master's disciple are you, and are you out on a journey?"

His words sounded like ordinary pleasantries, but his gaze drifted — seemingly without intent — once more over the Storage Ring on Si Chen's finger.

Si Chen stopped as asked, hovering in midair. He thought of how he had set out precisely to shed the identity of his clan.

And so, following the story he had prepared in advance, he answered calmly: "A Rogue Cultivator. I have no sect."

"A Rogue Cultivator?" Zhang Quan's surprise deepened visibly, and his smile grew a shade warmer. "Fellow Daoist, you are truly a rare genius. A Rogue Cultivator reaching Foundation Establishment at your age — remarkable, truly remarkable."

He exchanged a few more pleasantries, each sentence laced with probing questions about Si Chen's background and where he had come from.

Si Chen's answers remained simple and direct: he had cultivated on his own.

Zhang Quan studied Si Chen's expression carefully. Seeing that his gaze was clear and his tone unhurried, with no sign of deception, the suspicion in his heart eased somewhat.

Come to think of it — a Mid Foundation Establishment cultivator of twelve or thirteen years of age, if he truly were the scion of some ancient clan, would he really be traveling without a guardian?

Most likely, this was just a talented young Rogue Cultivator who had stumbled upon some Fortuitous Encounter.

Zhang Quan shifted his approach: "I wonder where Fellow Daoist is headed? If we happen to be going the same way, perhaps we could travel together and look out for one another."

"No need." Si Chen refused outright.

The aura on this man unsettled him, and the deliberate warmth felt hollow and false.

Zhang Quan's smile stiffened for just a moment at the blunt refusal, then smoothed back into place.

He let out a light chuckle. "Very well then, I won't disturb your peace any further. The mountains are high and the rivers are long — until we meet again."

With that, he clasped his hands in farewell, his figure flickered, and he transformed into a streak of light, shooting off in another direction and vanishing into the distance — as though it truly had been nothing more than a chance encounter.

Si Chen watched the direction in which Zhang Quan had disappeared and did not move immediately.

He recalled something Third Uncle Si Shuo had said once, in one of his joking asides: "Kid, remember this — when a weasel pays a New Year's call to a chicken, it's not there to make friends!"

At the time, he hadn't understood the meaning, only finding Third Uncle's expression amusing. Now, however, he felt that the man from just now fit the description of "weasel" rather well.

He continued on his way, the small seed of suspicion in his heart not taking deep root — he treated it as nothing more than a minor episode along the journey.

However, before he had flown even five kilometers, three sharp killing intents suddenly erupted from the mountain forest below!

A fierce streak of sword light, a crimson fire talisman, and several silver needles glowing with an eerie blue — all launched from different angles, sealing off every avenue of retreat. The strikes were vicious and aimed straight for vital points, clearly intent on taking his life.

Si Chen's eyes darkened. His figure shifted slightly in midair, and with an almost casual ease, he evaded every attack.

The Artifacts flew past him, the wind they stirred ruffling his hair.

He hovered in midair and looked down.

There were three ambushers in total, all at the Foundation Establishment Stage. Their strikes were ruthless and their coordination seamless — clearly, they were well-practiced in this sort of killing and plundering.

"You — are you trying to kill me?" Si Chen spoke, his voice calm, betraying neither anger nor alarm.

The three said nothing. Their eyes met briefly, and they launched another ferocious assault.

Si Chen's figure wove through the attacks like a leaf in the wind — seemingly on the edge of disaster, yet always slipping free at the last possible moment.

He was observing. He was learning. The way these people fought was entirely unlike the sparring and guidance he had received from Second Uncle and Third Uncle back at the clan — it was saturated with naked, unrestrained malice.

Just as he was preparing to strike back —

"Stop! What villains dare commit violence in broad daylight!"

A righteous, indignant shout rang out.

Zhang Quan, who had only just departed, came rushing back with a face full of moral outrage — the very picture of a hero who could not stand by while injustice was done.

Yet the instant Zhang Quan appeared, Si Chen's footwork shifted quietly. Rather than drawing closer, he instantly put several meters of distance between them.

He was not foolish. On the contrary, he was quite sharp. He simply lacked experience in the scheming and maneuvering of people — but that was different from being unable to read a situation and analyze it.

Looking at this "perfectly timed" rescue before him, recalling how Zhang Quan had repeatedly glanced at his Storage Ring, and remembering Third Uncle's quip about the weasel...

His gaze swept across the figures before him, finally settling on Zhang Quan's face — that mask of "righteousness" — and he asked a question that left everyone present momentarily stunned:

"Are you here to kill me and take my treasures?"