Chapter 310: Ten Slippery Years

The Feng family had always been a single, unbroken line. Throughout history, times were rarely peaceful, and carrying on the family bloodline was no easy feat.

The head of the Feng family, Feng Heqi, was once a Martial Artist of the Jianghu. He traveled the Southern Barbarian routes for years, working as a caravan guard. Later, during the chaos of the Divine Domain, he went to help. Though he survived, he ended up with a crippled leg. His martial skills naturally got much worse. So, he started thinking about having a son to continue the family line and married a young lady from a decent home.

Husband and wife worked hard together. They opened a blacksmith shop in a nearby District-Town, and business was fairly good. Soon after, the wife became pregnant. After ten months, she gave birth to a son named Feng Feiyu.

Feng Feiyu often fell sick from the age of two. His parents worried endlessly and nursed him with great care. The year he was about to turn three, a serious illness struck. He lay in bed for many days.

The doctors nearby were helpless. His parents were so worried they hopped with anxiety.

Then one day, a certain Mr. Chen showed up at their door. The couple held little hope, but after just one night, Feng Feiyu was completely cured.

That Mr. Chen left behind a Jade Pendant for the boy, instructing him: “From birth, you possess a Violet Breath and Great Light. It’s an auspicious sign, but all kinds of worldly energies will gather towards you, especially Baleful Aura. This Jade Pendant will protect you. Never take it off, not even when you sleep.”

At that time, Feng Feiyu was too young to understand what Mr. Chen meant. Still, he obeyed and wore the Jade Pendant close to his skin from then on.

After that, he never got sick again, not even a small cold.

Somehow, this Mr. Chen who cured him decided to stay. Feng Feiyu’s dad told him that Mr. Chen would be his teacher.

Mr. Chen taught him to study seriously. They started with counting on fingers, then moved to writing and reading. Within a few years, Feng Feiyu grasped the basics.

By age five, he could read through texts smoothly, though his handwriting still looked like a dog’s scratch.

When he was nearly six, his dad started teaching him martial arts.

It was just the right age for training the body and bones.

After learning martial arts, Feng Feiyu often showed off to Mr. Chen. He much preferred martial arts to dry, boring texts.

Seeing him practice well, Chen Changsheng asked: “Chen here has even more powerful martial arts. Do you want to learn them?”

“Sir, you know martial arts? Are you good? Better than my dad?”

“Probably just a little bit better.”

“Then I’ll learn!”

Chen Changsheng taught him several forms of Taiji Sword. The boy had surprisingly sharp understanding for martial arts. In less than half a month, he made real progress.

Later, Feng Feiyu’s dad found out about this.

It was then that Feng Heqi realized this Mr. Chen was actually a master. So, he urged his son to formally take Mr. Chen as his master.

But Mr. Chen didn’t agree. He only said he was willing to teach the boy some things.

In the end, Mr. Chen remained Mr. Chen, not Master.

For years afterward, Feng Feiyu studied books in the morning and martial arts in the afternoon.

He always looked forward to the afternoons.

Mr. Chen had an unusual understanding of martial arts. What he taught seemed scattered, but every bit was extremely valuable.

The one downside? Mr. Chen loved his wine. Sometimes he drank all afternoon, ending up completely and messily drunk.

Feng Feiyu faintly remembered one time after a big night of drinking, Mr. Chen used his finger as a sword and slashed out a blade-light.

He saw it with his own eyes, but later, it seemed more like a dream.

After Mr. Chen sobered up, Feng Feiyu asked: “Mr. Chen, are you… an Immortal?”

Drinking wine, Chen Changsheng waved a hand: “What do you think?”

Feng Feiyu looked at Mr. Chen, slumped carelessly beneath the tree. Not very Immortal-like indeed.

By age eight, Feng Feiyu’s physique had grown strong enough to truly wield a weapon.

That day, Mr. Chen gave him a sword.

“Sir, does this sword have a name?”

Chen Changsheng said: “Maybe it did, but I wouldn’t know.”

“Then I’ll give it a name!”

“What’s good….”

“Hmm…”

“I’ll call it Wushuang! How about Wushuang? Master?”

“It’s Mr. Chen.”

“Oh, right. Mr. Chen.”

Chen Changsheng simply waved: “Call it whatever you like.”

After saying that, he turned away to drink his wine.

Feng Feiyu stayed where he was, hugging the sword lovingly, reluctant to put it down.

Mr. Chen also taught him three sword techniques.

One was called Guanyin’s Sigh, another was called The Joy of Freedom, and the last was called Like a Dream.

But Feng Feiyu felt disappointed. These three moves didn’t seem special to him.

“They don’t look very powerful.”

Chen Changsheng simply told him: “You can’t see it now. You might later. Just remember them for now.”

In the end, Feng Feiyu never saw anything different about those three moves.

Their names sounded impressive though.

Later, he turned twelve.

Ten years passed. In those ten years, Mr. Chen stayed by his side, teaching him both books and martial arts. From initially calling him “Sir,” to later instinctively calling him “Master,” Feng Feiyu had long come to see him as his most cherished person.

But on that very day, Master left.

“If you ever meet anyone in the future, don’t tell them Chen was your Master. Understand?”

After saying these words and leaving behind a Taiqing Sword and a Wine Gourd, Mr. Chen turned into flakes of sand and drifted away.

Feng Feiyu cried for hours on that mountain cliff.

He held two swords in his arms — Wushuang and Taiqing.

Late into the night, his parents climbed the mountain and brought him home.

His grand, stormy life journey began right there.

…

Xinglong Year Eleven.

Nineteenth of May.

Gentle breezes blew through the Mountain Stream. At the entrance of the Taoist Temple, a man in black robes sat dozing.

MoYuan smacked his lips. In his dream, he seemed to see countless treasures and mounds of Merit. He sat atop the treasure mountain, laughing heartily. In the waking world, drool dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Only when Zhang Xiaoliu, sweeping the temple steps, reached the doorway did Moyuan slowly wake.

He yawned and asked, “Old Man Zhang, done sweeping?”

Zhang Xiaoliu smiled and nodded. “Today’s weather is good. Swept faster.”

Moyuan lifted his head, glanced around, and grinned. “Very true.”

Zhang Xiaoliu suddenly said, “Speaking of which, Young Master Mo, won’t Mr. Chen be returning soon?”

Moyuan counted the days mentally. “Seems like it’s about time.”

“Lately, no one’s reminded me.”

“Scared me!” Moyuan exclaimed, “Remember the past years? That girl used to come with the Preserved Fruit or lotus flowers. But she hasn’t come much these last two years.”

“You mean Miss Yun?”

“Yes, her.”

Zhang Xiaoliu said, “I saw her a few times before. Indeed hasn’t come lately.”

“She’s a Mortal. It’s better for her not to get tangled here.” Moyuan waved aside the thought and stood up. “Anyway, I must go down the mountain for some wine. That Red Fish two years ago drank up Mr. Chen’s whole stash. Must have some ready when he gets back!”