Chapter 103: The Bluestone Town

The sense of crisis came without warning and vanished just as quickly, leaving the night uneventful.

He Chang’an vaguely felt that, somewhere beyond his sight, a pair of eyes were coldly watching him, a sensation that made him deeply uncomfortable.

Zhang Xiaoyan seemed indifferent, eating meat, drinking wine, joking with He Chang’an, chattering endlessly without any sign of going to sleep, which gave He Chang’an quite a headache.

Yet, this Great Celestial Master of Longhu Mountain was truly knowledgeable and worldly. In conversation, he casually mentioned secrets of the martial world and marvelous cultivation techniques, often enlightening He Chang’an, the simple rustic, to sudden clarity and understanding.

Unconsciously, He Chang’an’s gaze toward Zhang Xiaoyan softened, no longer filled with disdain. He even asked him a few questions about cultivation matters.

It was also from Zhang Xiaoyan that He Chang’an finally learned how vast this world truly was—practically boundless.

At the same time, it was suffocatingly small.

Apart from the Central Continent, where the Tang Dynasty resided, and the Buddhist lands of the Western Pusa Continent—both inhabited by humans—the northern Han Continent, Eastern Sea Continent, and southern frontier lands were occupied respectively by the Ghost Clan, Sea Clan, and Demon Clan.

In the southern frontier, besides the Demon Clan, there was also the Witch Clan, reportedly sharing close blood ties with humans, yet no one had ever visited them. Even ancient texts were vague and cryptic about the Witch Clan.

The Ghost Clan was the Tang Dynasty’s mortal enemy, and the Demon Clan was at eternal odds with the Buddhist lands.

Relations between the Demon Clan and humans were complicated; Zhang Xiaoyan himself could not fully explain it and merely advised, “Try not to provoke the peerless great demons,” leaving He Chang’an thoroughly puzzled.

Beyond these were unknown territories, places even terrestrial immortals dared not venture lightly...

...

As the moon set and crows cried, the vast wilderness stretched endlessly.

Approaching midnight, Zhang Xiaoyan finally yawned and entered the tent to rest, while He Chang’an sat by the fire, wide awake.

He was calm now, carefully organizing and pondering his cultivation.

Confucian righteousness, the Qi-eating technique, the Heaven-supporting Demon-subduing Skill, ancient fist methods, and a small black stick suspected to be a ‘sword type’—each had its merits. If he could integrate them all, there might be some benefit.

Ah, and there was also a text called ‘Sword Qi Distance,’ which sounded inspiring but was actually a scripture he couldn’t comprehend at all.

It spoke not of sword intent or sword technique, but of the state of the world.

Thousands of words poured forth, yet He Chang’an only remembered the phrase “Heaven and earth are unkind”...

Human strength was limited. These assorted techniques seemed powerful but were almost poison to someone like He Chang’an, just stepping into cultivation.

Af Fei, who called himself a sword cultivator, was also a fine teacher.

...

That unremarkable middle-aged man never taught him a single move but pressed He Chang’an beneath the Longmen Waterfall, forcing him to temper himself, struggle fiercely, and discover on his own what the path of cultivation truly was.

It was that ‘fish leaping over the dragon gate’ moment that brought a wondrous change from within He Chang’an, even his mood, temperament, and heart seemed thoroughly tempered.

The ancient fist method he had accidentally obtained was indeed excellent, at least suitable for the current He Chang’an.

He decided to keep practicing fists.

He set a small goal: to perform the entire ‘ancient fist method’ one hundred thousand times.

If possible, he would continue to five hundred thousand, one million times, until he found something more fitting.

As for sword techniques, He Chang’an dared not even dream.

Sword cultivators, who fly with their swords instantly traveling a thousand miles—those were skills of terrestrial immortals. For now, he could only regard it as a distant dream.

Beneath the vast, dark, high dome of the sky, on the wilderness below, the youth struck a punch far and wide.

In Chang’an City, an old scholar in worn cotton robes wrote the character "Speech," then paused and added "Action," smiling shyly, raising a bowl of cheap wine.

His handwriting was neat and upright, but he was drunk, staggering and swaying.

On the western Pusa Continent near the northwest border, Af Fei, the self-proclaimed sword cultivator, swung his sword and beheaded a demon the size of a fighting bull.

...

In the following days, the two continued southward, eating and camping without encountering any dangers.

Whenever he had time, He Chang’an practiced his fists; Zhang Xiaoyan, bored, chattered endlessly, regardless of whether He Chang’an listened.

He simply assumed He Chang’an heard him.

In the wilds, their relationship was fairly harmonious—they worked and talked separately without interfering with each other.

However, upon entering a small town called Qing Shi, He Chang’an’s face quickly darkened.

The Great Celestial Master of Longhu Mountain’s appearance was stunningly striking. Dressed in a goose-yellow, waist-hugging skirt made of some soft, silky material, it outlined a graceful, alluring figure with perfect curves.

From behind, He Chang’an suddenly thought of a poem: “I once offered my heart to the bright moon, yet the bright moon shines on the gutter...”

He had always wondered how Zhang Xiaoyan managed to project such a heavy, trembling, astonishing aura, even with well-developed chest muscles.

It truly was somewhat uncanny.

...

Upon entering the town, the Great Celestial Master lowered his brow and followed obediently behind He Chang’an like a meek, bullied daughter-in-law, so gentle it was almost unbearable.

Wherever He Chang’an sped up, he sped up; when He Chang’an slowed down pretending to look at goods in a mountain produce shop, he stood three to four feet behind, hands folded lightly on his abdomen.

“Master Zhang, can you be a bit normal?” He Chang’an finally asked, unable to resist.

There was a bitter retort he refrained from saying, for some words were too hurtful.

“Humbly at your command, young master,” Zhang Xiaoyan said with a slight kowtow, making He Chang’an nearly snort with anger.

This Qing Shi town was small, just five or six hundred households, but its location was special—a bustling market for mountain folk to sell herbs and mountain goods from hundreds of miles around. Thus, many people passed through.

As the two walked by, the mountain folk pointed and whispered, occasionally bursting into strange laughter, making He Chang’an feel as if thorns were stabbing his back.

Though his mind was now tempered and peaceful, walking the martial world with a ‘male beauty’ was still unsettling under so many watchful eyes.

What comforted him slightly was that the mountain folk apparently had not noticed Zhang Xiaoyan was a man disguised as a woman...

After replenishing water, dry food, oil, and salt, He Chang’an prepared to leave but was forcibly dragged by Zhang Xiaoyan to the town’s best tavern, who insisted on a proper reward.

He wanted to refuse, but the Great Celestial Master, dressed in women’s clothes, tugged at him in front of so many people like a lump of clay, frustrating and infuriating him, yet he could do nothing.

So, he quickly said, “Alright, alright, as you wish.”

Upon entering the tavern, they immediately attracted the attention of the owner, as well as nosy waiters and patrons, who whispered and pointed at their backs.

He Chang’an, a martial warrior of ninth rank, was only a third-rate expert in the martial world, but with keen ears and eyes, he caught every word of their idle gossip.

Many cursed him, He Chang’an, but defended the radiant, delicate Zhang Xiaoyan, believing it was a heaven-sent tragedy—a fresh flower trampled by dogs.

Seeing He Chang’an’s iron-blue face, Zhang Xiaoyan remained nonchalant, poised his fingers elegantly, and casually ordered seventeen or eighteen meat dishes, all specialties from the Qing Shi region.

That alone earned Zhang Xiaoyan He Chang’an’s genuine respect.

If not for his fondness for women's attire, He Chang’an would even be willing to make a good friend of this well-born ‘male beauty.’

Alas, he was a man after all...