Chapter Twenty-One: The Shadow of a Young Man

From this point onward, the two continued forward. The road was winding and long, and as he listened to Hangri’s explanations, he suddenly realized how many dreamlike years he had wasted in his previous life.

In his past life, he had not cultivated diligently at Zhuoding Academy, thus missing many precious opportunities.

Now, during the years of calamity in Great Shu, it was ironically a good era for cultivators across the land. If you worked hard enough and possessed sufficient talent, countless people would vie to recruit you.

Everything was determined by strength; your cultivation level decided whether you were worthy of being courted.

Once spiritual energy fused with the body, one entered the Qi Refining stage, beginning to sense the various acupoints and meridians within, invigorating bones and muscles, developing the body. At this stage, one could already muster the strength of a thousand pounds, becoming a standard laborer.

By refining the vital blood within and purging impurities, the acupoints and meridians would be elevated—this became the foundation for entering the Foundation Establishment stage.

Now, Xu Xing could be considered somewhat well-off. By a stroke of luck, his vital blood became refined and pure, gathering into a concentrated essence.

He was just a step away from the Foundation Establishment realm, only needing to clear his meridians and attune himself to the spiritual energy of heaven and earth.

Perhaps it was due to drinking that potent Daoist wine upon his arrival in this world, or perhaps it was the mimosa from the willow tree and his sister-in-law, or the mysterious noodles and ingredients gifted by the old man, that allowed him to skip this step.

In any case, Xu Xing seemed to be chosen by fate, his luck absurdly good.

Now, only the legendary breakthrough of the Ren and Du meridians separated him from the Foundation Establishment stage.

As for cultivation, aptitudes were also divided into many types, just like in Great Shu today. Though people were fundamentally the same, they were still classified into various ranks.

Cultivation was no exception. Spiritual roots were categorized into many kinds, with the traditional five major roots as the foundation.

All were derived from the laws of heaven and earth; as the saying goes, the Dao produces One, One produces Two... the five elements and eight trigrams, and so on—this was how things evolved in Great Shu.

Testing spiritual roots became the evaluation standard for a cultivator’s talent.

The longer the root, the farther you could go; the thicker the root, the more sensitive you were to spiritual energy; the straighter the root, the more naturally attuned to the laws you were.

In short, the longer, thicker, and straighter your root appeared during testing, the more likely you were to leave others far behind.

Testing spiritual roots wasn’t done arbitrarily; specialized instruments were required, infused with the vast spiritual energy of heaven and earth and the mighty power of great figures—only such devices were authoritative.

Hangri explained much to him: before entering Foundation Establishment, it was best to preserve one’s virginity and not lose the vital blood within, for once it was lost, accidents could occur, and one’s cultivation might collapse.

After understanding, Xu Xing grinned. In his past life, he had done well in this regard. Though he possessed that perverse divine soul secret art, he hadn’t acted recklessly.

Arriving outside the village, the area was separated by lush, abundant reeds and wild herbs, forming a natural barrier.

Within was a world apart.

Smoke curled gently into the sky, the air tinged with blue from the mist. The village had few inhabitants, most of them elderly, hair white as frost, thin and gaunt.

When the villagers saw the two, their faces showed no expression. They went about their lives as if nothing had happened, yet you could sense their yearning for the outside world.

Looking at the lonely village, the old trees flanking the road, the cawing crows, Xu Xing’s heart tightened, a sense of pity rising within him.

“They look so pitiful, living here alone. Don’t they have children?” Xu Xing sighed.

Hangri, hearing this, frowned, quickly covered Xu Xing’s mouth, and made a shushing gesture.

After Hangri’s explanation, Xu Xing realized how ignorant his words had been.

The villagers here bore a nickname: the Silent Guests, each possessing extraordinary powers—they could move mountains and fill seas. They were the original inhabitants beneath these high mountains.

Though they appeared frail, they were unimaginably powerful, each one born brilliant and mighty.

It was said that long ago, a creature like the Kunpeng once passed high above the sky, accidentally scattering mysterious substances below.

Those mysterious substances spread beneath the mountains, awakening all things and bringing prosperity. Over time, the villagers became immensely strong, yet they all shared a curious fate...

Their mission was to guard this place from strange intrusions.

Though unmatched in strength, they faced a hardship: they could not leave the village, trapped here by an unbreakable enchantment.

The stronger a cultivator, the lower their chances of conceiving. Gradually, the once vibrant and laughter-filled village became a place of twilight and decline.

Countless mighty figures had perished here; the hundred-family tomb at the village entrance was nearly full...

Now, it was said that the head of the North Sea Academy was the only one to have broken the curse and left—ironically, the weakest among them.

Though the head was considered weak among the villagers, he had broken the curse and left against the current. Yet outside, he alone held sway over these lands.

The curse that kept the villagers confined was said to have been laid by a demon hunter from Great Shu, for unknown reasons, with the village itself as the core of the formation.

The formation required active control, and some powerful figures lived in seclusion here, standing guard.

The smoke rising from the village slowly faded away; they seemed weary of worldly life, vanishing from the sight of the two travelers. Someone looked back at Xu Xing.

That old man’s eyes seemed to shine with starlight.

Perhaps those outside wished to enter, while those inside longed to leave.

From the village entrance to the outskirts, it seemed only a few miles, yet to their surprise, it took them several hours to reach the village’s edge.

Looking back, the road behind was muddy, and the footprints imprinted on the distant path were slowly fading away.

Ahead, a withered tree blocked their way. Yet it wasn’t quite dead—more like diseased.

Its branches hung heavy—not with fruit, but simply bowed under their own weight.

The entire tree showed not a trace of green, yet on its trunk was a deep scar from a blade.

The wound emanated an inexplicable pressure from within, and as Xu Xing gazed at the scar, his very soul trembled, his mind roared, his blood boiled.

For reasons unknown, he kept thinking of the old man by the sea—their auras were somewhat alike.

“This is the Relic Tree of Shu,” Hangri slowly explained. “Once the sacred tree that guarded this place, but later it experienced a great battle...”

After hearing this, Xu Xing looked up in disbelief, watching the birds call to each other as they returned to their nests.

Long ago, a one-armed youth, because his beloved had lost her way here, ventured alone into the North Sea Academy, slaughtering all in his path until heaven and earth were thrown into turmoil, the earth wailed, birds scattered, myriad clans bowed in awe. He fought until none dared challenge him, all just to wait for her.

His sole purpose was to let this place be quiet, to sit alone atop the mountain, sky as his blanket, earth as his bed.

He waited for her at the place where she disappeared, hoping for her return.

His actions offended the sacred tree, and the two waged a great battle.

It was said that all who witnessed that battle perished and ascended; those who survived carved his story onto a stone tablet before dying.

The youth lost his cultivation, and the sacred tree before them became diseased.

Xu Xing was shaken. Just how deep was his love, to fight his way in, defeat all comers, just to wait quietly for his beloved—how profound must such love be? Xu Xing couldn’t help but look at the old scar on the tree.

Though the wound was hideous, within it faint green buds were stirring. It was autumn, yet there was fresh green—astonishing indeed.

Beside the sacred tree was a stump, likely chopped down by that blade-wielding youth.

The long, twisted rings of age were tinged with ancient flavor by the passage of time.

On those rings, the shadow of that youth seemed to flicker and fade.