He Yu sat with Chen Fei just inside the cave she’d carved for herself into the side of her mountain. They’d set the topic of their trip aside while they took care of other concerns. Now, after nightfall and next to a crackling fire, they returned to their next foray into the larger world once more.

  “You’ll need a new weapon, won’t you?” she asked, turning over a slab of sizzling meat.

  “That’s what Yongnian said. I’m just not sure where I’d be able to get a new one.”

  “Your dad’s a blacksmith, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know if he’d be able to help,” He Yu admitted. It wasn’t as if he’d not thought about asking his father. It had been nearly twenty years since he’d seen him, and he was long overdue for a visit. His father was a cultivator, too. If a modest one. Would a First Realm cultivator even be able to create a weapon capable of standing up to the rigors a Nascent Soul level expert would subject it to?

  He asked Chen Fei about it.

  “Not as important as you think,” she said. “The formation work will be what gives the weapon most of its strength.”

  “Would you be able to do the formations, then?” he asked, tapping a finger on his knee as he thought.

  In their time away, Chen Fei had progressed her family art, the Seventy-Two Blessed Symbols, significantly. The instruction she’d gotten back at the sect from Ren Huang had built a solid foundation for her. Since coming to the shrine, Yongnian had provided her with manuals that allowed her to continue her practice.

  “Of course. Which is another point in favor of returning to Shulin. Both your father and I are connected to you. We’ll add significance to anything we create for you, specifically.”

  That gave him an idea. “What if we used my current guandao? Like, if we used the metal from it to create a new one? Would that help?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I think between using your old weapon, having your father reforge it, and me do the formation work, we should be able to craft a truly significant treasure for you.”

  It was a plan, and a good one, too. There was just one last thing that gave him a tiny itch of worry about it. “You’ll be meeting my father, then.”

  She leaned into him. “It’s about time I met your family, isn’t it?”

  He Yu put his arm around her. “I suppose. What I’ve got left of it, that is.” He didn’t mention anything about meeting hers. For whatever reason, it was a subject she still didn’t like bringing up, and one that she was clearly uncomfortable with. His offer from all those years ago to return to her village with her still stood. They both knew that, and she only had but to ask. That she hadn’t yet was good enough for him.

  “I’ve never been that far south,” she said, pushing off him and taking their meal off the fire. “What’s it like?”

  “A wasteland,” he said with a laugh. “For qi, at least. I think the people back at the sect called it a qi-starved backwater, or something similar. They weren’t wrong.”

  As much as a part of him resented that characterization of his home, he couldn’t deny the truth. Shulin, and the surrounding area, was practically devoid of natural qi. What little qi there was naturally spread out across the vast expanse of the southern forest. The area was spiritually sparse, and low in both quality and density.

  For those reasons, cultivators tended to avoid the area. There was no real reason to go there. Any medicinal plants that grew would be far weaker than those that grew in more potent areas. Even the rare ones that could be found in the woods often weren’t worth the trouble. Spirits would be of low advancement, and the same held true of any awakened beasts. It made for poor hunting.

  Of course, the upside was that the area around Shulin was relatively safe. Even a poorly made formation could keep out the strongest spirits the southern forest had to offer. With little in the area to interest experts, rogue cultivators and bandits left the residents alone. No point in trying to extort people who had nothing of value, after all. Richer pickings were a quick trip north, and the entire region was already out of the way to begin with.

  This also meant that anyone who tried to become a cultivator there had basically no chance. The only reason He Yu had come as far as he had was because he’d left. It was, in all honesty, most of the reason he’d not yet gone back.

  It would be nice to see his father, though.

  With their destination set, they spent the night in each other’s company and comfort, then headed out from Chen Fei’s cave with first light. Although she didn’t have anything as impressive as actual flight, she still got down the mountain in a manner fitting a Golden Core. She jumped.

  Launching herself off the side of the mountain with an explosion of strength and power, she leaped into the yawning void above the jagged rocky ground below. When the law of earth finally took hold of her again, she created a platform using her family art. A shimmering circle edged by silver formation characters appeared beneath her. Again she jumped, and again she caught herself with her art.

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  He Yu took the opportunity to explore his newfound flight. The trip took longer than it had the previous day—Chen Fei wasn’t nearly as fast as he was. Still, they were faster than any mortal would have been, and they soon arrived at the Thunder God’s Shrine to bid farewell to Yongnian. The spirit manifested before them, framed by the massive stone entryway carved into the mountain itself. The likeness of the Lord of Thunder towered to either side of the spirit, Leigong’s fierce gaze glaring out over the plains to the east of the mountain.

  “Regent of the Heavenly Palace, Daughter of the Mountain. This humble steward greets the both of you,” Yongnian said over a salute. “I trust this is goodbye, then?”

  “We’ll be back eventually, I’m certain,” Chen Fei said. She’d always been far more comfortable acting casually around the spirit than He Yu had, quickly striking up an easy friendship with him shortly after arriving.

  “See that you do,” Yongnian said, with something approaching humor in his voice.

  “You’ve done far more for us than we can ever repay,” He Yu added. “Thank you.”

  With a wave of his clouded hand, Yongnian dismissed He Yu’s words. “I serve the Lord of Thunder in my way. You serve in yours. I have done what is required. If I could provide refuge in addition, it has been my pleasure. Have you decided where you’ll go?”

  They told him. Although they’d formed no plans beyond visiting Shulin and upgrading He Yu’s weapon, Yongnian nodded his approval.

  “That is a good idea, I think. Daughter of the Mountain is correct. The spiritual significance will create a treasure worthy of you. Go, and may good fortune follow.”

  As they took their leave, He Yu couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. Whether for his home, or the shrine, he wasn’t sure. The shrine had come to represent something of a second home for him. He’d certainly been here longer than he had the Shrouded Peaks Sect before its destruction. The only place he’d ever spent more time was Shulin itself—the place he now returned to.

  He supposed it didn’t matter in the end. Nothing in his life had gone the way he’d imagined. After spending his childhood dreaming of becoming a cultivator of legend, he now stood firmly in the Fifth Realm of cultivation. More powerful than anyone who’d ever come from, or to, his childhood home. He’d joined a sect, and he’d learned the world of cultivation wasn’t anything like the stories at all. He’d spent the past fifteen years cultivating in a forgotten ruin of a temple, taking pointers from a spirit of storms. He had a mentor—he hoped—somewhere out in the world, but he didn’t know where she was, or if she lived. And now, he was about to set to wandering himself.

  A rogue cultivator following an ideal. Pursue justice and defeat an ancient expert with a full three realms’ advancement over him.

  Simple.

  As night drew near, He Yu caught sight of a wayside inn off in the distance. Before Jin Xifeng’s release, a rest stop like this would have been maintained by the sect. That lamps glowed in the windows, and horses stood in the stables was evidence enough the inn was maintained. But by whom, he couldn’t have said.

  He relayed his findings with Chen Fei and they decided to approach cautiously, keeping their spirits as restrained as possible. They wouldn’t be able to pass as mortals, especially if anyone inside was awakened, but they could hopefully pass for lower-realm cultivators if nobody used any perception arts on them. Neither of them knew what had transpired in the outside world since they’d taken refuge in the shrine and the mountains. Aside from each other and Yongnian, they’d had precious little contact with the outside world these past fifteen years.

  Entering the building, a fairly sedate scene greeted them. A handful of people—soldiers, by the look of them—gathered around a table at the far end of the shared dining room that dominated the building’s first floor. A mortal man of about sixty years greeted He Yu and Chen Fei when they entered, and set about to preparing bowls of noodles and vegetables for them.

  As they ate, He Yu caught several of the soldiers eying them. He’d seen similar looks enough times back at the sect, and hoped he was wrong about what was coming next.

  “Trouble,” he said between bites of steaming food.

  “Not surprised,” Chen Fei said. “Should we be worried?”

  They both knew the answer, but He Yu activated the Cloud Emperor’s Peerless Judgment, anyway. The captain of the soldiers was at early Body Refining. The rest were all somewhere in the Foundation stage. He told Chen Fei as much.

  When the group all got up as one and swaggered over to them, He Yu thought they really should have known better. The Body Refining captain should have been able to tell that He Yu and Chen Fei were both cultivators themselves. Neither were as good at hiding their presences as someone like Zhang Lifen or Yan Shirong were, so it should have been obvious they wouldn’t be pushovers, either. Maybe they thought their advantage in numbers would be enough.

  As the captain approached, he sneered down and He Yu and practically oozed arrogance. “There’s a toll for traveling these roads,” he said. “I’ll collect it now.”

  The proprietor of the inn had vanished into the kitchen at some point, likely in anticipation of whatever came next.

  “I’ve seen no signs proclaiming such, Elder Brother,” He Yu said. There wasn’t any harm in being polite—at least for now.

  “Maybe you just can’t read,” the captain said with a laugh.

  He Yu had kept his good robes tucked away in his storage treasure, and hardly looked the part of an immortal in his current, simpler outfit. Chen Fei hardly ever looked like a lady of the Way, either.

  “Maybe not,” He Yu said. “But I’ve still not seen any signs on the road. Besides, under whose authority is this toll collected? I’m a wanderer, you see, and I don’t know who administers this land.”

  “Does it matter? I say there’s a toll, so there’s a toll.” The group of guards gathered behind the captain all chuckled at that.

  “Ah,” He Yu said. “So it’s extortion, then. Take some advice from this humble wanderer, Elder Brother. Don’t give yourself over to vice and corruption. The will of heaven demands that officials act for the benefit of society, not themselves.”

  “Insolence. I’ll have you whipped like a dog for talking back to me!” The captain drew back his hand to strike at He Yu.

  The strike never landed. To a Third Realm like the captain, it would have seemed like He Yu hadn’t even moved. He caught the captain by the wrist. The other man tried to pull away from He Yu’s grip, but the anger in his features turned to fear as He Yu stood.

  “No,” He Yu said. “I don’t think you will.” He Yu released his grip on the captain’s wrist. At the same time, he released his grip on his spirit. A storm broke over them all.