Chapter Thirty-Seven: Westward Bound, A First Glimpse of the Vast World
We did not choose to travel by plane or high-speed rail.
I spent an entire day at the car market and bought an off-road vehicle that looked utterly ordinary. Its unremarkable appearance was more than enough to fulfill their needs.
On the day we set out, Qin Muyao and Lin Qinghan both came to see us off.
Qin Muyao’s eyes were red as she handed me a large travel bag stuffed with snacks, medicines, and daily necessities, murmuring countless reminders and precautions, as if I were the child in need of care.
Lin Chuxue, meanwhile, hung a peace charm she had woven herself onto Yi Yi’s backpack, speaking gently, “Yi Yi, I wish you and Mr. Jiang a safe journey.”
I nodded in gratitude to them, said little, and started the car.
In the rearview mirror, their figures grew smaller and smaller, vanishing finally at the corner of the street.
“Daddy, I think Sister Muyao was crying,” Yi Yi said quietly from her child’s seat in the back.
“Mm,” I replied.
“Is she sad to see us go?”
“Yes.”
“Will we come back?”
“We will.” I gazed at the road stretching ahead and answered softly, “There’s no feast that never ends, but if fate allows, we’ll meet again.”
Yi Yi nodded, half understanding.
Ling Qingzhu sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed in quiet repose. After boarding, she withdrew her presence to its utmost, so that unless one paid close attention, she appeared merely a cool, elegant beauty, nothing more.
Our first destination was westward.
We went to see that plateau hailed as the “Roof of the World,” to experience its vastness and desolation.
As the car left the bustling city of Haishi, the scenery outside the window transformed from towering skyscrapers to plains, then rolling hills, and finally undulating mountains.
Yi Yi was excited at first, but the monotony of the journey soon wore her down.
I did not go out of my way to entertain her, but guided her to observe the world outside.
“Yi Yi, look at that mountain—does it look like an old man lying down?”
“See that cloud—it’s like a little rabbit running across the sky.”
“Listen, the sound of wind through the woods—isn’t it like a song?”
Under my guidance, Yi Yi gradually learned to discover extraordinary joy amid ordinary sights. The smile returned to her small face.
Ling Qingzhu had her own way of experiencing it all.
Sometimes she would open her eyes to gaze at a mountain or a river, staring for a long time. A peculiar rhythm emanated from her, as if she were communicating silently with the landscape.
One evening, we stopped to rest in a deserted mountain valley.
The sunset painted the sky in magnificent gold, and distant snow-capped peaks gleamed with sacred light in the afterglow. All was silent except for the wind and our own breathing.
Yi Yi was already asleep in the back seat.
I built a campfire, its flames leaping and illuminating our faces.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“It’s very different,” Ling Qingzhu said, gazing at the distant snowy mountains in genuine awe. “In the sect, we contemplate the landscape to forge our sword intent, always thinking of ‘conquest’ and ‘surpassing.’ But here, I truly feel how small we are in the face of heaven and earth.”
Gone from her eyes was the pride of a favored child of heaven; instead, there was a heartfelt humility.
“To recognize your own insignificance is the first step to seeing the world clearly.” I added another log to the fire. “This is the beginning of your ‘way of the sword.’”
Ling Qingzhu fell into thoughtful silence.
Just then, the rumble of engines, discordant and growing louder, shattered the valley’s peace.
Several modified off-road vehicles approached aggressively. They seemed to be thrill-seeking outdoor adventurers.
Evidently, they had their eyes on our campsite as well.
It seemed that even far from the dust and din of the world, ‘people’ of the mortal realm would still come unbidden.
The headlights pierced the dusk like swords, finally stopping not far from our campfire. Doors slammed open, and five or six burly men in outdoor gear jumped out, cigarettes dangling from their mouths, voices loud and brash with the slick arrogance of city dwellers.
Their leader, a man with a buzz cut and a thick gold chain around his neck, glanced at our vehicle, then let his gaze linger on us. When he saw Ling Qingzhu, a flash of astonishment and greed flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by a patronizing scrutiny.
“Hey, pal,” he jerked his chin at me, tone rude and blunt, “This is a nice spot. We want it. Pack up and find yourself another place.”
The others laughed along, boldly sizing up Ling Qingzhu, as if we were prey trespassing in their territory.
I didn’t answer immediately; instead, I calmly stirred the fire with the tongs, making the flames burn brighter. The flickering light stretched the valley’s shadows longer.
My silence, to them, seemed weakness.
“Hey, I’m talking to you—are you deaf?” An impatient blond youth strode forward, reaching out to shove my shoulder. “We found this valley first. Be smart and get lost—”
His hand froze in midair, never touching my clothes.
Ling Qingzhu had already stood up, though no one saw when. She did not draw her sword, nor did she look at the blond. She simply stood quietly, her gaze still fixed on the distant snowy peaks. Yet around her, a formless aura began to spread.
It was an extreme, absolute cold.
Not a drop in temperature, but a chill that struck at the soul. Like a peerless sword sheathed, its edge already cutting through the void, causing the surrounding air to thicken with tension. Even the wind in the valley seemed to still.
The blond’s expression froze, his extended hand trembling, beads of cold sweat forming on his brow. He felt as though he faced not a woman, but an eternal glacier, an abyss capable of devouring all. The terror that welled from the depths of his soul left him unable to even retreat.
The leader and others stopped laughing. Though they could not sense Ling Qingzhu’s subtle aura, a beast-like instinct made their hair stand on end. The world before their eyes seemed suddenly unreal. The campfire still burned, but none of its warmth reached them.
“Sword intent is not only for conquest, but also for protection,” I spoke quietly, my voice clear to every ear. “To guard a moment of peace, to shield a sleeping child. See? Without blades drawn, you can still make the vicious dogs retreat. This, too, is part of the ‘way of the sword.’”
My words were for Ling Qingzhu.
She trembled imperceptibly, the ice in her eyes melting into understanding. The suffocating sword intent receded like the tide, vanishing as though it had never been.
The wind in the valley began to move once more.
The men felt the pressure lift, gasping for breath, their gaze toward Ling Qingzhu shifting from greed to utter fear. They did not know what had just happened, but they understood that these two were not to be trifled with.
“S-sorry! Sorry for disturbing you! We—we’ll leave right now!” the leader stammered, no longer daring to meet our eyes, grabbing the frozen blond and scrambling back to their vehicles.
The off-road cars started up in panic, turned around, and fled the valley in frantic haste, their engines still echoing long after they vanished.
The valley returned to silence, save for the crackling of the campfire.
“I understand now.” Ling Qingzhu sat down again, looking at me, her eyes shining with newfound clarity. “My master once taught me: a swordsman’s edge must always press forward, cutting down all obstacles. Today, you showed me that the sword can also be sheathed. True strength is not in flaunting one’s edge, but in mastering its restraint.”
“To grasp this is to make your journey worthwhile.” I smiled, pulling a roasted sweet potato from the fire and handing it to her. “Try it—the flavor of earthly smoke and fire is not so bad.”
Ling Qingzhu accepted the hot sweet potato, carefully peeling the charred skin as I did, revealing the golden, steaming flesh within. She took a small bite, and the sweet, tender taste melted on her tongue.
It was a warmth she had never known before—simple, pure, and genuine.