Chapter 306: Chapter 130: First Arrival at Fushan Island, Sun Yong’s Past
Sun Yong and Yang An remained where they stood, gazing in the direction the two had vanished, not moving for a long, long time.
...
The late December wind carried a biting chill as it swept across the open fields, swirling up the dead leaves on the ground.
Yang Jing and Sun Ningxiang rode side by side, their two black horses trotting over the thin frost on the main road. The crisp sound of their hooves was exceptionally clear in the quiet morning light.
They followed the winding Yuhe River north.
The river had frozen over with a thin layer of ice. Sunlight spilled onto its surface, refracting into fine slivers of silver light, as if the path ahead were strewn with crushed diamonds.
The weeping willows on the bank had shed all their leaves, their bare branches swaying gently in the wind. A few water birds would occasionally skim across the river’s surface, leaving faint, fleeting shadows in their wake.
"The Xuanzhen Sect isn’t far from the Prefecture City. It’s on Fushan Island in Hidden Dragon Lake. You could also say the Prefecture City itself is on the western shore of the lake." Sun Ningxiang turned her head to look at Yang Jing. The cold wind brushed the bangs from her face, revealing a smooth forehead. "I went with my father a few times. You get to the shore of Hidden Dragon Lake first, then take a boat across."
Yang Jing gazed at the Yuhe River winding ahead like a ribbon. "Does this river connect to Hidden Dragon Lake?" he asked.
"Mhm," Sun Ningxiang nodded, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. "The Yuhe River is a tributary of Hidden Dragon Lake. It winds all the way to Yuhe County. If we follow the river north and make good time, we should be able to reach the lake before tomorrow evening."
They made small talk, but most of the time, they rode on in silence.
The black horses had excellent stamina and a steady gait, carrying them through villages and across open country.
Winter days were short. As the sun sank in the west, the horizon was painted a brilliant orange-red, dyeing the river’s surface and the withered grass on the banks in its warm glow.
...
The next day, as dusk gathered, a vast expanse of water finally appeared in the distance, shrouded in mist. It was Hidden Dragon Lake.
The lake was vast, with no end in sight. The evening wind swept across its surface, carrying a damp chill.
An island was faintly visible on the far shore, its undulating silhouette hazy in the twilight. This was Fushan Island, home of the Xuanzhen Sect.
"There’s a town up ahead. Let’s stop there for the night. It’s getting late," Sun Ningxiang said, pointing to the lights not far from the lakeshore. Wisps of cooking smoke curled into the air, indicating it was a sizable market town.
Yang Jing nodded. "Alright. We can go to the island tomorrow."
The two spurred their horses into town. The main street was lined mostly with inns and restaurants. Lanterns hung before their doors, swaying in the wind and brightly illuminating names like "Welcome Inn" and "Scholar’s Abode" on the lintels.
The town catered to those traveling to and from the Xuanzhen Sect, having first sprung up when the sect was recruiting disciples. Martial artists with travel packs on their backs and composed demeanors were a common sight.
Yang Jing was secretly alarmed. In just a few moments in this small market town, he had already seen three or four Huajin Martial Artists.
This put Yang Jing on high alert.
This was nothing like Yuhe County. Even Huajin Martial Artists couldn’t act with impunity here. And since the town was so close to the Xuanzhen Sect, there was a good chance its experts were around.
They chose an inn that looked clean and well-kept, booking two adjacent, high-quality rooms.
An attendant enthusiastically led their horses away to be fed and brought them a steaming hot meal.
Having traveled all day, they were both famished. After a quick dinner, they retired to their respective rooms.
Outside his window, the faint sound of waves from Hidden Dragon Lake drifted in, mingled with the distant clamor of other inns.
Yang Jing sat by the window, gazing at Fushan Island shrouded in darkness. He tightened his grip on the letter of recommendation tucked inside his robes.
Tomorrow, he would set foot in that legendary sect. The path ahead was like the lake at night—mysterious and unknown, yet it held a thrilling sense of anticipation.
After staring into space for a moment, Yang Jing took a deep breath, closed the window, and turned to walk to the square table. He took a lustrous white jade bottle from his bag; it felt smooth and cool to the touch.
He pulled out the stopper, and a crisp medicinal fragrance instantly filled the room. He tipped out a Qi Storage Pill the size of a pigeon’s egg. The elixir was pale green, its surface shimmering with a soft luster and covered in faint, intricate patterns.
Yang Jing tilted his head back and swallowed the pill. It melted the moment it touched his tongue, transforming into a rich, warm current that slid down his throat and into his belly. The warmth then spread through his limbs and torso. Wherever it flowed, his meridians felt as if they were steeped in warm water—an incredibly pleasant sensation.
The room was small. With just a bed and a table, there was no space left to practice the evasive maneuvers of the Raging Wave Kicks or the explosive force of the Mountain-Shattering Fist.
So, Yang Jing decided to focus on practicing the Indestructible True Skill instead.
He began to move through a sequence of specific stances. First was the Bear Squat: legs shoulder-width apart, he sank into a low crouch, his hands held in loose fists at his waist. His back arched slightly, like a black bear gathering its strength, muscles taut yet projecting an air of heavy stability.
He then transitioned to the Eagle Soar. His body rose, arms spreading like wings with fingertips upturned, his gaze as sharp as a hawk’s. His qi and blood surged upward in concert, creating a sense of nimble speed.
Next came the Tiger Pounce. He leaned forward with clenched fists, like a fierce tiger descending a mountain, his aura suddenly turning savage and sharp...
Bear Squat, Eagle Soar, Tiger Pounce, Ape Climb, Crane Stand... He flowed through dozens of movements. Though they appeared slow, each posture was executed with absolute precision, guiding the qi, blood, and Inner Strength in his body to circulate along specific pathways.
Guided by the Cultivation Technique, the elixir’s medicinal power was thoroughly refined and absorbed into his sinews, bones, and flesh, making his already-healed body even more resilient.
In the adjacent room, Sun Ningxiang had just untied the sash of her traveling clothes and was preparing to rest when she heard faint sounds from next door. They were the soft scrapes of shifting bones and the muted strain of tightening muscles—subtle, yet clearly discernible.
