Chen Zhuo appeared beside an official road.
Underfoot was a surface of tamped loess, deeply rutted by cart tracks. The leaves of the old locust tree by the roadside had mostly fallen, its bare branches pointing towards the pale gray sky. An autumn wind swept dust and withered grass, spinning them low to the ground, carrying the characteristically dry, cold bite of a northern late autumn.
He stood quietly, his moonlight-colored old robe stirring slightly in the wind, spotlessly clean, starkly out of place in this rough environment.
Not far away, the creaking sound of wheels approached.
It was a merchant convoy: seven or eight mule-drawn carts laden with bulging hemp sacks, winding their way forward. The draft animals snorted plumes of white breath; the drivers, bundled in thick padded jackets, had faces reddened by the wind. A dozen or so mounted guards with swords at their hips flanked the convoy, their eyes scanning the road warily.
A perfectly ordinary convoy of mortal men.
Chen Zhuo's gaze fell on the only covered cart in the middle of the convoy. The curtain was ordinary blue coarse cloth, but from the gaps between the wooden planks of the cart's body, an extremely faint fluctuation of spiritual energy seeped out. It was so faint it was almost undetectable; had his perception of "spirit" not reached its zenith, he would never have noticed it.
This fluctuation felt somewhat familiar.
The convoy drew nearer. The lead guard had also spotted Chen Zhuo standing by the road. One urged his horse forward a few steps, hand resting on his sword hilt, and called out, "You there, scholar! Make way!"
Chen Zhuo did not move, merely looking at the covered cart.
The guard frowned, about to shout again, when the cloth curtain of the covered cart was pulled aside by a gnarled hand. An old man's face appeared, sallow and gaunt, with deep-set eyes, perhaps in his sixties or seventies, dressed in a worn gray cotton robe like an accountant. The old man also saw Chen Zhuo. He froze momentarily, then a flicker of faint suspicion crossed his murky eyes.
He raised a hand, signaling the convoy to halt.
Though puzzled, the guards reined in their animals. The convoy stopped several zhang away from Chen Zhuo.
The old man alighted from the cart, his steps somewhat unsteady, and walked to stand before Chen Zhuo, maintaining a distance of three or four paces. He scrutinized Chen Zhuo carefully, his gaze lingering particularly on the overly clean and thin moonlight-colored old robe, then dropping to Chen Zhuo's spotless cloth shoes.
The autumn wind gusted again, blowing loess dust into the old man's face, yet he saw not a single speck of dust settle upon the young man opposite him.
The old man's expression grew even more grave. He clasped his fists in a salute, his voice dry. "This... young master, alone in such desolate wilderness, where might you be headed?"
Chen Zhuo glanced at him but did not answer. Instead, he asked, "Who is in the cart?"
The old man's face changed slightly. He instinctively shifted half a step, positioning himself between Chen Zhuo and the covered cart, his tone hardening. "It is this old man's family member, afflicted by a cold wind illness, unfit to face the wind. If the young master has no business here, please do us the courtesy of letting the convoy pass."
Chen Zhuo shook his head.
"It is not a cold wind illness," he said, his voice calm. "It is 'Yin evil invading the meridians,' and it has been some time. Spiritual energy is sealing the heart meridian, forcibly sustaining a last breath. Ordinary physicians cannot treat it."
The old man, Zhao Changshan, felt as if struck by lightning. He stiffened on the spot, the gnarled hand at his waist trembling slightly. He stared fixedly at Chen Zhuo, his lips quivering for a moment before he lowered his voice, enunciating each word slowly, "You... who exactly are you?"
The guards sensed something amiss. Several had already dismounted, hands on sword hilts, moving to surround them, their eyes hostile.
Chen Zhuo still did not look at the guards, speaking only to the old man. "Let me see."
Zhao Changshan's expression shifted uncertainly, struggle evident in his eyes. In that cart was his granddaughter's life. This young man had named the affliction with a single phrase; he was clearly no ordinary person. But his origins were unknown, friend or foe unclear...
"If you can offer aid, this old man, Zhao Changshan, will spare nothing in repayment!" Zhao Changshan finally gritted his teeth, stepping aside, and said in a low voice, "But... the evil afflicting my young granddaughter is no ordinary thing. Common methods..."
"I know," Chen Zhuo cut him off, walking directly toward the covered cart.
The guards moved to block him but were stopped by a sharp look from Zhao Changshan. Taking a deep breath, Zhao followed Chen Zhuo and personally lifted the cart's curtain.
The interior was small, padded with bedding. A girl of about twelve or thirteen was curled within, her face pale with a bluish tint, eyes tightly shut, a thread of black energy invisible to ordinary sight condensed between her brows. Though covered by two thick quilts, she still shivered slightly, her lips purple. Beside her lay a palm-sized, warm-hued green jade pendant, emitting an exceedingly weak warmth that barely protected the last flicker of life at her heart.
Chen Zhuo only glanced once.
It was indeed Yin evil invading the meridians, and the evil energy had congealed without dispersing, already penetrating the marrow. Common pills to dispel evil would be useless. Forcibly extracting it with spiritual energy would certainly kill the girl, given her frail meridians.
"Three days," Chen Zhuo said.
Zhao Changshan was taken aback. "What?"
"She has three days left to live," Chen Zhuo stated flatly, as if mentioning a trivial matter.
Zhao Changshan swayed, his face instantly deathly pale. How could he not know? But hearing it stated so bluntly by another still felt like a heavy hammer to his heart.
"Young master..." Zhao Changshan's voice trembled. "Can she be saved?"
Chen Zhuo did not answer, merely extending a finger and gently pointing it towards the space between the girl's eyebrows.
There was no light, no fluctuation of spiritual energy.
But the thread of black energy between the girl's brows seemed erased by an invisible force, vanishing instantly. A trace of faint color returned to her pallid face, her tightly furrowed brow relaxed slightly, and her breathing seemed to grow a bit steadier.
Zhao Changshan saw it clearly. Wild joy surged in his heart. His legs went weak, and he was about to kneel. "Many thanks, Immortal Master! Many tha—"
"It is merely temporarily suppressed. It treats the symptom, not the root," Chen Zhuo withdrew his hand. "If the source of the evil is not removed, it will flare up again in three days."
Zhao Changshan froze, asking in a trembling voice, "May I ask, Immortal Master, where is the source of this evil? How can it be removed?"
Only then did Chen Zhuo turn his head, looking directly at Zhao Changshan for the first time.
"This evil energy was not contracted from an external pathogen," he said slowly. "It was planted by someone. The planter's method is an old one, the 'Mother-Child Yin Evil Seed' commonly used by outer disciples of the 'Profound Yin Sect' at least seven hundred years ago. The mother evil resides with the planter, who can activate the child evil at any time to claim a life, and can also sense the location of the afflicted."
Zhao Changshan felt as if plunged into an icy abyss, his hands and feet turning cold.
Seven hundred years ago? The Profound Yin Sect? He had never heard of it!
"As for why they would use such poison against your granddaughter," Chen Zhuo's gaze swept over a black iron token hanging at Zhao Changshan's waist. The token's style was ancient, its edges worn. The front was carved with a blurred character for "Escort," while the back bore a shallow mark resembling a claw.
"It likely has some connection to your Zhao family ancestors, and also to this escort mission of yours."
Zhao Changshan instinctively covered the token at his waist, cold sweat pouring down.
This token was a family heirloom, said to be an "escort proof" gifted to an ancestor by a mysterious client during an escort mission long ago. And the goods they were escorting this time... He abruptly looked at the bulging hemp sacks on the mule carts. A terrifying thought surged in his mind.
Could those things not be ordinary medicinal herbs?
"Immortal Master!" Zhao Changshan hesitated no longer. His knees bent, about to kneel.
An invisible force supported him.
"Lead the way," Chen Zhuo turned, looking in the direction the official road extended. On the horizon, the outline of a city was faintly visible. "To your destination on this journey. The one who planted the evil should be waiting for you there."
Zhao Changshan steadied himself, took a deep breath, suppressed the storm raging in his heart, and nodded emphatically. "Yes! The destination of this journey is 'Linshan City,' a hundred li ahead! This old man will guide the Immortal Master at once!"
He turned and barked at the guards, "Pack up, set off immediately! Pick up the pace! We must reach Linshan City before dark!"
Though still unclear about the situation, the guards, seeing the old man's grave and urgent expression, dared not ask questions and sprang into action.
Zhao Changshan personally led over a spare packhorse for Chen Zhuo, fully saddled. Chen Zhuo said nothing, swinging onto the horse with a natural, fluid motion, as if riding were an instinct etched in his bones.
The convoy set off again, moving considerably faster than before.
Chen Zhuo rode alongside Zhao Changshan, his gaze calm as he looked ahead. The autumn wind brushed his face, bringing the scent of dust and withered grass, and the distant, faint clamor of the mortal city.
Nine thousand seven hundred years.
The cities of the mortal world, how many times had they changed? Those old acquaintances, those enemies, those players hidden in the shadows of time—did anyone still remember the figure they had jointly buried within the Nine Netherworld Spirit-Suppressing Grand Formation all those years ago?
And the Profound Yin Sect.
He remembered this sect. Back then, it was merely a minor faction hiding in the southern wilds amidst miasmic swamps, practicing some vile unorthodox methods. The strongest in the sect had barely brushed the threshold of "Transformation Spirit." Now, even the venomous techniques left behind by its outer disciples could circulate in the mortal world?
It seemed these past ten millennia had indeed changed many things.
Just as well.
If nothing changed, how would the significance of his "return" be made manifest?
Chen Zhuo gave the reins a light shake. The packhorse beneath him quickened its pace slightly.
On the loess official road, the convoy kicked up a cloud of dust, hastening toward the distant Linshan City.
The daylight gradually faded, dusk enveloping the land.
The city's silhouette on the horizon, bathed in the afterglow of the setting sun, grew clearer, like a slumbering beast lying in wait.