Chapter 62

Following the Yushui River upstream, all the way to Fangcheng, and then to Owl Beach, brought one very close to the end of the mountain range. The source of the Yushui River began at Liangyu Mountain. Its headwaters flowed down Liangyu Mountain, with the western branch converging into the Yushui River, while the eastern branch surged onward into the sea, never to return.

Owl Beach was right at the foot of Liangyu Mountain. Following the ridge northward for a few kilometers, one reached another slope of Liangyu Mountain in the opposite direction. Because it was always bathed in sunlight, people called it Mijiang Slope.

Being near the sea, this area was much more humid than Yingqiu City. Even in the afternoon, dew droplets that had formed in the roadside weeds had yet to dry, hanging precariously on blades of tall grass. Occasionally, a breeze would blow, rippling across their crystal-clear surfaces.

Then, with a “splash,” it finally fell into the earth. Before the sound of the droplet shattering could spread, the dew was entirely absorbed by the mud.

A footprint trod on the spot where the dew had just fallen, then quickly stepped forward.

This was another rarely-traveled path. Unlike the mountain trail near Yingqiu City, the area to the left of Liangyu Mountain, namely around Fangcheng, was mostly a rare plain among the mountain ridges. Not only was the terrain gentle, but lush grasses and dense forests flourished, painting a scene of rich greenery.

Precisely because it was so deserted, walking along this small path meant that the once-cleared trail was now half-obscured by overgrown weeds. Stepping on them, one not only knocked off scattered dew droplets but also produced rustling sounds with each step, every one distinct.

This sound only ceased once he tread back into the mud.

And it was upon stepping into the mud that faint, faded footprints became barely visible on the ground, gradually obscured by fresh mud and rain marks, growing increasingly messy and deeper.

No one maintained this place, so naturally, layers of footprints overlapped. In summer, with abundant rain, those messy shoe prints would all have been washed away into the plants by the next day. But it just so happened that since the heavy rain a couple of days earlier, not a drop had fallen for several days. Thus, the ground appeared disorderly, the grass was dirty, and the foggy weather blurred the scene. In the distance, Mijiang Slope’s small-town silhouette was dimly visible, so faint it resembled dried ink blurred by water, making it impossible to distinguish where the distant mountains ended and the settlement’s buildings began.

Yet that traveler moved toward Mijiang Slope without hesitation, as if guided by an inner sense of direction. Soon, likely nearing the town, the sunlight truly broke through the high, distant sky and landed on his gray outer robe, also illuminating a few dilapidated thatched cottages at the town’s edge. Clearly, this place had long been devoid of inhabitants. To reach the town, one had to cross two forks in the road to spot a hanging sign-board—the first hint of human life in Mijiang Slope.

The man entered the tavern with the dangling sign-board and sat down.

The empty tavern seemed utterly deserted until he rapped on the table. Only then did someone wander out lazily from the courtyard, asking, “Just a meal or staying the night?”

“That depends,” the man in gray said. “Why are there so few people in this town now?”

“Didn’t you hear about it before coming?” the Innkeeper asked, pausing briefly. He then found a chair to sit on and began speaking freely. “Did no one tell you on the way? To deprive the officials’ troops of any local foothold, those mountain bandits from the Valley of Villains have been driving everyone to Fangcheng for months. Those still here in this town are mostly old fools who refuse to move or the disabled—aside from my inn and its remnants.”

The visitor tapped the wooden table again with his finger and said, “But isn’t this where the sage passed away? Aren’t the Valley of Villains afraid of divine punishment?”

“Oh?” The Innkeeper genuinely took interest now. Smiling, he moved his chair closer and asked, “So you know something about the history of Mijiang Slope too?”

“Just some local legends,” Yun Shen said.

“Quite true,” the Innkeeper said with a laugh. “You could hardly call it history; legends are more apt. Most of these stories are far-fetched and rarely shared anymore. They speak of times before the Yushui River existed—millennia ago, or even tens of thousands of years—when all the waters from Liangyu Mountain surged down its eastern flank into the sea. It’s said that a deity split Liangyu Mountain and then cleaved a path all the way south to Diancang to create the Yushui River. This river became the lifeblood for the people, nourishing all life and sprouting villages and towns along its banks.”

The sunlight angled just a fraction more, reaching the feet of the man in gray.

He chuckled softly and said, “Matches what I’ve heard. They say that deity was buried here in Mijiang Slope. That’s why I came to see for myself. I’d already heard the town was sparsely populated, but I never imagined Mijiang Slope—the resting place of a god, bathing in radiant sunlight, so warm—could feel so bleak.”

“Whether a deity or not, it’s just a tale from folklore. It could be made up, or exaggerated and missing key truths,” the Innkeeper said. He glanced back at the sign-board by the street and added, “So, guest, will it be a meal or lodging?”

“First, I’d like a cup of tea,” Yun Shen said. As the Innkeeper stood up, Yun Shen seemed intent on continuing and pressed further, “Based on what you said, did this sage leave behind any… memorial, former residence?”

“There is something,” the Innkeeper turned, speaking with slight effort due to his contorted posture. “But it’s no gravestone or former home. Since he was a deity, it’s not what ordinary people would leave behind. If you’re curious, after this tea, I’ll show you!”

“Fine, thank you,” Yun Shen said.

The Innkeeper waved off the thanks with a smile and went to boil some tea. Just as he was about to enter the backyard, he paused as if suddenly remembering something. “By the way, where are you from? How do you know the ancient tales of Mijiang Slope?”

“My family name is Yun, given name Shen,” he hesitated slightly, but replied steadily.

“…I’ve come from Tianyu Mountain.”

Mijiang Slope was indeed nearly deserted. Lonely sunlight spilled across the ground, growing steadily thinner as it stretched across the slope. The evening breeze arrived earlier than dusk, tousling Yun Shen’s hair and revealing his smiling profile—a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

After walking scarcely ten paces, they encountered only one old man lazily sunbathing in a chair on the street. He paid no attention to them, aloof and indifferent. Before Yun Shen could turn back for a closer look, they had arrived at the “thing” left behind by the one the Innkeeper called “not human”—a stone carving towering twice a man’s height. Half of it basked in the sunlight, the stark line between light and shadow sharply defining its subject:

Wearing a high crown and wide sleeves, with long, flowing hair, it stood with a sword in one hand, pointing towards the Yushui River. Stances poised as though to cleave a mountain—exuding an unmistakable aura of heroism! It was the very likeness of the “Immortal who Cleaved the Mountain to Forge the River”!

Yun Shen stopped before it, a faint smile reappearing on his face. “This truly cannot be something he left behind.”

“Right?” The Innkeeper chuckled, crossing his arms as he stood before the long-neglected statue. “Merely a forced association fabricated by later generations—a made-up likeness erected as a stone idol. Exquisitely crafted, though. Judging by its condition, it’s likely less than a century old. Nothing but a token for heavenly blessings.”

“Indeed,” Yun Shen murmured, lifting his gaze to sweep over the carving. “This statue, meant to shelter all creation, still stands, yet the people of Mijiang Slope have all been forcibly driven from their homes. How tragically sorrowful.”

“The Valley of Villains likely showed unexpected mercy,” the Innkeeper remarked jokingly, pointing at the statue. “Otherwise, smashing this thing to bits would’ve been child’s play for their lot.”

At that, Yun Shen turned his head, giving the Innkeeper a look that held both amusement and something sharper. “And how do we know they ‘didn’t smash it’—not that they ‘couldn’t smash it’?”

“That… I wouldn’t know,” the Innkeeper responded with a dry laugh. “Say, traveler, did you come specifically to pay homage? You brought no fruits or incense, yet you seem deeply concerned?”

“Not homage,” Yun Shen replied, shifting his gaze back for a moment before looking at the Innkeeper again. “I come from Tianyu Mountain. Hearing that the branch river this venerable immortal ultimately cleaved flows north of the mountain toward Mengcheng… Gratitude pulled me here to glimpse it since I was passing. I know your Valley of Villains has its own ways. Rest easy; I harbour no hidden motives. I’m not of the Imperial Court, nor do I mean to oppose you.”

“You—traveler! That’s a vicious slander!” The Innkeeper’s expression instantly darkened. He retreated half a step, his eyes flicking towards the old man resting by the street. Silently, the old man had risen from his chair, a dagger now clutched in his hand as he took two steps closer.

Yun Shen remained utterly unperturbed. He didn’t even glance at the old man. Instead, he met the “Innkeeper” with unwavering directness and pressed on.

“—My purpose in coming is actually to propose a mutually beneficial discussion. I need something from you, you need something from me. I hope you’ll pass this message along to your… ‘Mountain King’?”

“…And if I refuse?”

“Then it’s your neck on the line, not mine,” Yun Shen stated calmly, smiling as he gestured lightly towards his own throat. “If you dare not take me directly into your stronghold, then simply relay this: ‘Your luck is poor. Shen Jie is headed to Yingqiu City. If she truly uncovers something and subsequently deliberates with the Liu Clan before reporting to the Imperial Court… guess whether His Majesty will relax policy and dispatch troops to attack?'”

He delivered the message in one breath, his tone mild and his words clear. Despite this, the man before him gritted his teeth, shot another glance at the old man behind them, and defiantly retorted, “I don’t understand your nonsense! I’ve no means to send word to the Valley of Villains!”

“Is that so?” Yun Shen asked. He scrutinized the Innkeeper, then truly ceased addressing him. Instead, he pivoted and called out towards the old man positioned not too far away:

“—Even if you know nothing of the floodwaters! You must have heard of the Mounted Bandits! I was the one who captured the Mounted Bandits of Zhanglin Village!”

His shout rang out, startlingly loud, echoing within the small clearing around the statue. For a long moment, only the fading sound filled the space. Then, finally, an indistinct response came from the old man:

“—Follow me.”

Wind blew fiercely along the coast, and Mijiang Slope, being near the sea, shared this trait. The gusts swelled and ebbed, catching Yun Shen’s robes as if animated with spirit. He lingered a moment longer, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, offered no further words, then turned to follow the Innkeeper as he departed.

Behind him, the lower half of the monumental statue – more accurately, the divine sword clutched by the immortal and piercing the earth – had suffered the erosion of centuries of rain. Its edge was dulled, no longer sharp. Yet, the small characters carved upon it were still faintly discernible.

A single character:

“Caution.”

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