Li Yan was now walking along a narrow path densely bordered by slender bamboo, with drifting clouds occasionally lacing the air. As he moved, memories of the bitter helplessness brought on by the Shattered Poison Body months ago, as well as the agony he had suffered during the separation of his meridians, stirred a faint shiver along his spine. Yet he seemed determined to put all those unpleasant recollections behind him.
Lifting his head to take in his surroundings, he noticed that the path he trod would sometimes branch off sharply into another trail. The sight of these intersecting roads recalled to him the day, about a month ago, when he had set out to search for a place suitable for practicing immortal techniques. That very day, after deciding to seek a proper training location outside his courtyard, he roamed around the vicinity. Although the area between the various courtyards featured open spaces stretching for over a mile—places where one might practice without hindrance—Li Yan had no intention of settling for such a mundane choice. Eventually, when he reached the back of his courtyard to the west, he discovered a small path winding upward toward the mountain's peak. Without hesitation, he turned and began to follow this trail.
This path, tucked amid closely clustered bamboo, was adorned with gentle, wandering clouds that brushed slowly along the leafy branches. Above, the clear blue sky was intermittently punctured by the flight of birds. As Li Yan walked, he sought a secluded training spot while also savoring the nearly ethereal serenity of the place. After a short while, he encountered a fork in the road. With a casual step and a light-hearted stride, he veered toward the diverging trail, which wound its way sinuous through the bamboo forest. Walking in this intermittent, leisurely manner for the duration of roughly half a cup of tea's time, Li Yan eventually found himself at a dead end.
Before him lay a section of the forest where the bamboo grew even more densely. The gaps between each stalk were so narrow that only something as small as a household mouse could squeeze through. Glancing around, he realized the open area nearby was far too confined for proper cultivation. In a spontaneous gesture, Li Yan reached out and shook a few slender bamboo poles—an act he meant only as a casual, insignificant motion, with no deeper meaning—and prepared to retrace his steps and search elsewhere.
Yet when he placed his hand against what he presumed to be a bamboo shoot, he found only empty air. His hand met nothing but a void—as if it were pressing against nothingness at all. Startled, he froze in place and withdrew his hand. After a short moment of hesitation, he tried again, this time pressing his hand against a bamboo stalk at his side—and this time, he indeed found a solid support. Emboldened, he extended his hand once more toward the dense bamboo at the far end of the trail. To his bewilderment, his hand again passed into emptiness.
Perplexity mounting, Li Yan carefully extended his spiritual sense into the area of the dense bamboo. Almost immediately, he detected a familiar sensation—the same resistance he had once felt when probing the protective formation around his courtyard with his spirit. In an instant, his spiritual energy was rebounded outward, leaving him startled.
"What is this? A phantom formation?" he murmured to himself. Though his time in the immortal arts had not been long, during the past half-year he had read many classical texts on cultivation. He was well aware of the various types of formation arrays. Now, confronted with inexplicable phenomena, he realized that a false array had been set up here.
Before he could further intensify his spiritual probing, a cold, emotionless voice rang out: "What are you doing here?"
The abruptness of that sound startled Li Yan immensely. His journey had been accompanied only by the occasional flight of a bird among the bamboo and the tranquil hush of a secluded valley, when suddenly this serenity was shattered as though the very balance of nature had been upset.
He swiftly stepped back and scanned his surroundings. Yet, to his surprise, there was no one in sight. In that moment of hesitancy, the dense bamboo in front of him began to ripple and twist—as if disturbed by invisible currents—until, emerging from within the shifting mass, appeared the graceful figure of a young woman.
The figure stepped forth and halted with composure. Her gaze was as cool as ice, fixed unyieldingly on Li Yan. As he looked carefully, he recognized her; it was Gong Chen-Ying, the sixth senior sister—known for her short hair and athletic build. Dressed in a form-fitting suit that accentuated her well-sculpted curves, her ample chest still subtly rising and falling in the aftermath of an exertion, her sun-kissed skin glistened with droplets of perspiration, as if she had just concluded a training session.
Staring at the refined and somewhat aloof maiden who towered slightly above him, Li Yan's eyes widened for a moment. Hastily, he clasped his hands in a bow and said, "Greetings, Sixth Senior Sister. I merely set out this morning to search for a spot on the back mountain to practice. I happened upon a small path and inadvertently wandered in here. It appears I have taken a wrong turn. Forgive me for disturbing you—I shall leave immediately."
Questions swirled in his mind. Where exactly was this place? Could it be that this cold, unyielding senior sister's living quarters were not within the usual bamboo courtyard? Yet, in spite of these queries, Li Yan knew better than to speak them aloud.
Gong Chen-Ying listened in silence, her expression remaining impassive as she glared coolly at him. Seeing no sign of warmth in her demeanor, Li Yan managed a rueful smile as he turned to retrace his steps.
Then, as he was about to depart, a cold and indifferent voice echoed from behind him: "Leave the stone tablet alone at the mountain's entrance. If there is a stone plaque displayed, do not enter—the area within is reserved solely for the elite of Xiaozhu Peak, or even restricted altogether. Moreover, you can only journey upward for a maximum of fifty li; beyond that, all the way to the summit, the area is strictly forbidden to anyone except the master and the senior elder. Though, I suppose you would never manage to breach it anyway."
At that, while Li Yan turned back to follow his original path, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. At that moment, aside from the lingering echo of the disembodied voice, no figure could be seen among the bamboo. A slight smile crept onto his lips—he suspected that the senior sister's harsh, cutting words masked a hidden kindness. Perhaps, after all, she hadn't been entirely unfeeling; it was merely her manner of speaking that struck him as overly severe.
He mulled over the matter for a while. Just before entering the small path earlier, he had not noticed any stone tablets or inscriptions. Could it be that he had overlooked something? Half a cup of tea later, Li Yan found himself once again at the mountain's main ascent. Staring at a small stone, roughly less than a foot tall, planted by the entrance of one of the small branching paths, he couldn't help but chuckle ruefully. He recalled that upon arriving at this fork, he had searched for the "stone tablet" mentioned by Sixth Senior Sister but found nothing more than a lone, nondescript stone and scattered rubble. With no characters or carvings on the stone, it might as well have been a naturally formed rock.
"Would that Sixth Senior Sister not have said 'stone stele' rather than 'stone plaque'? If she hadn't specified, surely any newcomer would remain ignorant of its true nature."
Li Yan shook his head once more. He could not fathom why Xiao Zhu Peak seemed always to favor the simplest of measures—so much so that some matters were rendered so elementary as to be utterly baffling.
Continuing his ascent, he soon encountered several more forks. By the side of three of the small paths, he saw stone markers about a foot tall. He also noticed a number of individuals coming and going through these side trails. They were strangers to him. Strangely, he recognized that among those passing through the small paths were not only disciples from his own peak; upon closer inspection of their sleeve insignias, he realized that some belonged to the Bu Li Peak, some to Lao Jun Peak, and even some from Si Xiang Peak or Ling Chong Peak. This diversity intrigued him, though he quickly dismissed any urge to investigate further. At this moment, his sole focus was on honing his own cultivation.
Those passing by also noticed Li Yan. Seeing that he bore an unfamiliar face and emanated only a faint trace of Qi—and noting that he was clearly attired in the robes of an inner-disciple rather than a mere servant—their curious glances softened once they recognized the golden bamboo insignia embroidered on his sleeve. With expressions shifting from surprise to mild suspicion, they soon moved on silently, without engaging him.
Noting how orderly these people were—appearing strictly to use only the stone-marked entryways while completely avoiding any other area—Li Yan suspected that these side paths, with their stone plaques, were strictly regulated. After emerging from those entry points, they would quickly take flight, seldom lingering on Xiao Zhu Peak for long.
Musing over the comings and goings, Li Yan then resolved to continue his climb. He had no desire to seek a place to practice immortal techniques in a crowded area. So, he pressed on upward.
After winding his way up for another seven or eight li, he found that the stone plaques marking the small paths had disappeared altogether. No one was visible anywhere—a stark contrast to the bustling passageways he had observed earlier, which made him wonder about the final destination of those mysterious trails.
At length, Li Yan began a more earnest search for a suitable place to practice his immortal techniques. After roughly fifteen minutes of wandering, he discovered several promising spots. Yet, he refrained from beginning practice immediately, mindful of that Sixth Senior Sister's earlier admonition—"you can only go upward for fifty li." Even so, with no one around and a curiosity that refused to be extinguished, he decided to venture a little further upward.
Thus, twisting and turning along the trail, he came upon two or three particularly fine locations. One, in particular, caught his eye—a terrace spanning perhaps ten to fifteen zhang in area, reachable via a narrow path cutting through the bamboo grove. Three sides of the terrace were embraced by the delicate bamboo, while on the fourth side the mountain jutted forth, suspended over an endless sea of clouds. Far off, a handful of peaks rose in succession, though most appeared merely as tips emerging from the cloud cover. Above, the sky bore shifting patterns of clouds, offering a view that was both clear and invigorating—a vista in which all surrounding mountains seemed diminutive in comparison. Li Yan fell in love with the scene immediately and resolved that it might be the perfect place to practice.
Even so, Li Yan had already come down from that terrace and continued to ascend higher. Yet as he looked down at the winding path beneath his feet, he was struck by an odd impression—the back mountain's trails, whether the main route or the side roads, were so narrow that barely two or three persons could walk them side by side. Everywhere he looked, there were endless swathes of bamboo, creating an impression of infinite expanse, a path with no definite end. He wondered whether such narrowness was deliberate. Walking along these routes, it felt as though he were utterly alone in the world, accompanied only by the howling wind and the rustle of bamboo leaves—a profound solitude indeed.
About an hour later, as he rounded yet another curve on the path which then disappeared into the multilayered, dense bamboo, Li Yan felt no irritation. Rather, he experienced a gentle fondness for the quiet of this long journey. By nature, he was not a man given to many words—his temperament even bordered on reclusiveness.
As he pondered the distance ahead, estimating that he was roughly fifty li from the area overseen by Sixth Senior Sister, he sensed no obvious barriers. Taking a careful look around, he resolved to make a detour around the bamboo grove. If the path beyond proved just as confining, he would be forced to turn back. In that moment, a nervous flutter gripped him. The thought that he might unwittingly intrude into some potent formation or forbidden zone made him anxious. His curiosity, however, still smoldered beneath a layer of burgeoning caution—a remnant of youthful daring that had driven him this far, even as logic urged him to heed restraint.
With that internal debate, he turned off the main path and worked his way past the bamboo grove. When he lifted his eyes, he froze in surprise. The landscape before him was completely dominated by an endless expanse of bamboo—a sight he had always assumed, subjectively, would simply give way to another similar trail. Instead, his gaze fell upon a vast, open plaza. Here, not a single stalk of bamboo was to be seen. In the very center of this clearing stood a tall stone stele.
This was no ordinary stone plaque—it was a true stele. Approximately three or four zhang wide and over twenty zhang tall, it bore no inscriptions or carvings, yet it exuded an overwhelming presence—as if an otherworldly deity were scrutinizing all of creation from atop it. Li Yan's eyes locked onto the stele, and in that instant, a force like a thunderclap surged through his mind. His heart pounded vigorously, and it seemed his very blood might burst from within him. Terrified, he staggered backward. In his retreat, his throat suddenly tightened and blood spurted forth; he coughed up several mouthfuls of fresh blood until he finally put enough distance between himself and the vast open plaza that the oppressive pressure subsided.
With trembling hands gripping his knees, Li Yan gasped for breath. Blood still trickled from the corner of his mouth, and the image of that enormous stele burned in his mind—its towering, unyielding form occupying his every thought. He knew not what exact force had been unleashed, only that within the depths of his memory there remained the faint impression of a small path concealed behind the stele, leading further into the mountain.
After catching his breath for a long moment, he struggled to upright himself. Wiping away the blood from his mouth, he could not help but wear an expression mingled with both terror and ironic amusement. "I nearly—almost committed suicide," he thought bitterly. "Cultivation… cultivating the immortal path… the might of immortals is truly beyond mortal ken, while I am still but a novice who has just glimpsed this path. How absurd that even Sixth Senior Sister warned me—indeed, I came here almost to seek my own death."
At that moment, Li Yan's perception of cultivation—and of what it truly meant to walk the immortal path—transformed. He now understood that the path of cultivation was not merely a process of self-improvement; it was an embodiment of a vast, awe-inspiring doctrine—a majesty and an ineffable power that bordered on the divine.
Without a backward glance, Li Yan turned and hurried down the mountain. Deep within him, he recognized his own insignificance, a mere ant capable of dying in an instant. Yet in that very weakness, his yearning for something greater was born. He longed, with fierce urgency, to grasp that immense power.
In that moment, it became clear: the young man had truly begun to mature.