Chapter Thirty-One: A Visitor Arrives

He distinctly remembered falling asleep at the Drunken Flower Pavilion last night, so how was it that, upon waking, he found himself back in his own home?

Suddenly, Chen Qingwen recalled Wan’er’s unusual behavior the previous day.

A foreboding sense of unease surged within him. Frozen in confusion for a moment, Chen Qingwen hurriedly rushed out of his room. If he didn’t get to the bottom of things, he felt as though he might suffocate.

“Qingwen, don’t do anything foolish!” Master Chen, seeing his son’s distress, quickly blocked his path, speaking with anxious urgency.

“Father, please let me go.” Chen Qingwen struggled to break free, but his efforts were futile, which only made him more desperate.

“Look at yourself now—what a miserable sight! You’re hardly recognizable as a person anymore!”

“I have no wish to see a parent bury his child.”

“If you insist on going, why not kill me first? Then you may do as you please.” Master Chen remained unmoved, hoping against hope that his son might return to his senses, though such hope seemed fanciful.

“Father, I beg you, don’t force me… I cannot live without her…” Chen Qingwen pleaded bitterly.

“Let me be frank with you: abandon this obsession. That young lady Wan’er has already left Hangzhou. Last night, she was the one who brought you home,” Master Chen said coldly.

Truth be told, it was thanks to Yi An that things had come to this; when the opportunity arose, he would certainly express his gratitude. He wasn’t clear on the exact events, but as long as the girl left willingly, it was a blessing.

“No… Impossible, you must be lying to me, right? Wan’er would never abandon me,” Chen Qingwen stood numb and dazed, as if possessed.

He told himself frantically that his father must be deceiving him, employing some temporary ruse. But he could not fool himself; he knew his father would never resort to such a feeble lie.

Master Chen shook his head, sighed deeply, and said nothing more.

After a long silence, a glimmer of life returned to Chen Qingwen’s eyes. He pleaded, “Father, I know I’ve troubled you greatly these days, but I must confirm this for myself. Otherwise, even if my body remains here, my heart will not.”

“Very well, I’ll let you see for yourself. Lu Sheng, go with him. Remember, once you have your answer, return at once. Do not disappoint me again.” Master Chen nodded slightly, instructed the steward, and ceased his obstruction.

…

Chen Qingwen hurried to the Drunken Flower Pavilion with all haste, yet the answer he sought eluded him.

He was told that Wan’er had redeemed herself the previous night and departed in haste, her whereabouts unknown.

In that moment, it felt as though the sky itself had collapsed around Chen Qingwen.

Were it not for the steward’s care, he could not even recall how he made it home.

Seeing his son’s vacant, dazed state, Master Chen sighed helplessly.

He could only pray that with time, the memory of this ill-fated romance might fade and Chen Qingwen would emerge from its shadow.

Compared to what had come before, was this not the best possible outcome?

---

The following day, Yi An received a gift from Master Chen. Upon opening it, he found a notebook.

According to the steward, the notebook belonged to Wan Songling, this year’s chief examiner.

Master Chen had spent considerable effort to acquire it, originally intending it for Chen Qingwen’s preparation for the provincial exam—but, alas…

Yet for Yi An, this notebook was a timely boon.

He accepted it without hesitation; after all, since Wan’er had willingly left Chen Qingwen, he had played no small part in it.

Wan Songling’s notes were utterly different from Wei Liang’s. Though both concerned the classics, they offered distinct insights and were of great reference value.

Moreover, since Wan Songling was the chief examiner, traces of his thinking in setting exam questions could be gleaned from these notes.

Yi An first skimmed through it; Wan Songling’s writing was often critical, unlike Wei Liang’s more philosophical approach.

Looking at both notebooks, Yi An was filled with emotion.

These two notebooks were not easily seen—Wei Liang’s was unique, likely seen by no one else in the world; as for Wan Songling’s, Master Chen must have paid dearly to obtain it.

They were treasures coveted by countless scholars.

Wan Songling’s notes were somewhat simpler than Wei Liang’s and easier to comprehend. Yi An spent a night reading them and grasped the main ideas.

Wan Songling believed that morality was the most important quality in a person, reflecting how scholars ought to cultivate clarity of mind and avoid evil thoughts. He also held that the law should be above sentiment, emphasizing strict legal standards: only under rigorous laws could evil in the world be reduced and eliminated.

Yi An pondered this, finding merit in Wan Songling’s philosophy, though he saw its shortcomings as well.

…

Early the next morning, Yi An rose. He had promised Li Zhihe days earlier to spare some time to guide his cultivation, but had been preoccupied with exam preparations.

Though he did not practice martial arts, he had studied them to some extent. The warriors of old were not as weak as those today; in ancient times, martial cultivation at its peak could transcend mortal limits and sanctify the body.

But in this era, the essence of heaven and earth, and rare treasures, no longer shone with their ancient glory. Rare herbs and precious items were hard to come by. Martial cultivation demanded great resources, and, truthfully, all paths of cultivation—whether martial or spiritual—required absorbing energy from external sources to nourish oneself.

The difference lay in their methods.

When Li Zhihe saw Yi An emerge, he eagerly greeted him. “Brother Yi, ever since I followed your advice, my cultivation speed has increased tremendously.”

He finally understood why Yi An had achieved such mastery at a young age. While the method mattered, technique was equally crucial.

Not long ago, Yi An casually pointed out several areas, adjusted the flow in a few minor meridians, and Li Zhihe’s cultivation speed more than tripled.

He had thought he would never attain innate mastery in this lifetime. Yet Yi An’s guidance rekindled his hopes.

Even casual instruction from Yi An brought immense benefit; if he received dedicated guidance, wouldn’t he achieve his aspirations immediately?

At this thought, Li Zhihe recalled the three great obstacles his teacher had mentioned—the hardest to overcome being the lack of a master.

His martial teacher had died soon after accepting him, killed in a vendetta. Aside from teaching the cultivation method, he left nothing useful. Li Zhihe’s progress owed as much to his own perseverance as to luck.

Had he a teacher like Yi An, he would have reached innate mastery long ago.

Yi An said, “Your foundation is solid; it’s simply a case of accumulated potential bursting forth.”

He then asked Li Zhihe to demonstrate his technique. There were no major flaws, only minor issues. Martial methods were inherently limited; forcibly altering the meridian routes could easily damage them.

Thus, it all came back to the method itself.

---

But even these small corrections brought Li Zhihe immense benefit.

Before long, the morning had passed.

Just then, a few knocks sounded at the door.

Li Zhihe went to answer.

A Taoist, looking quite ethereal and dignified, greeted Li Zhihe with a bow. “Boundless Heaven’s blessings, Mr. Li, I trust you’ve been well.”

“Ah, it’s Master Xuanyang! You’ve come to see the teacher, I presume? Please, come in!” Li Zhihe replied warmly.

“Indeed,” Xuanyangzi responded, his gaze drifting to Yi An, revealing a hint of puzzlement and curiosity.

At the same time, Yi An was observing him.

Though over sixty, the man’s bearing was transcendent, his energy restrained and untouched by worldly dust—a man of genuine ability.

Wei Liang’s acquaintance with such a master surprised Yi An as well.

“Brother Yi, this is Master Xuanyang, the abbot of Jade Void Temple outside the city,” Li Zhihe introduced.

In truth, Li Zhihe did not know Xuanyangzi well, having met him only a few times.

Yet Wei Liang treated this old Taoist with great respect, which convinced Li Zhihe that he must possess extraordinary qualities—otherwise, how could he be acquainted with Wei Liang?

Li Zhihe subscribed to the saying, “Like attracts like; people gather by their kind.”

Yi An found the name Jade Void Temple familiar, as if he’d heard it somewhere before.

Upon reflection, he realized it was from Shen Baiyu.

“Young friend, you are quite remarkable. May I ask who your teacher is? Perhaps I know them,” Xuanyangzi asked with curiosity.

With his discerning eye, he saw through Yi An’s cultivation at a glance. Naturally, he was intrigued by a fellow cultivator. Yet, upon closer inspection, he could not discern Yi An’s background, which struck him as odd.

His divination rarely failed—except when dealing with taboo matters or someone whose cultivation surpassed his own. But Yi An was clearly not his equal; how, then, could he find nothing?

However, recalling another matter, he wondered…

“I have no teacher. My inheritance came by chance,” Yi An explained.

He felt somewhat puzzled—did everyone outside care so much about another’s lineage? Shen Baiyu had asked before, and now Xuanyangzi as well.

In Hangzhou, indeed all of Jiangnan, the community of cultivators was small; most knew each other and gathered to discuss the Dao, forming circles much like those of martial artists, though more discreet.

A new cultivator appearing unknown to all naturally drew questions from Xuanyangzi.

“I see. It seems you are truly blessed with fortune,” Xuanyangzi nodded, showing no doubt. Everyone has their own destiny—there’s no forcing it.