Chapter One: Spring's Southern Breeze and Rising Waves

Spring had already arrived. Along the road, peach blossoms bloomed in abundance, and everywhere was alive with the songs of orioles and the fluttering of swallows.

On the path leading to the Spirit Realm, three travelers made their way: an old man and two young men. Zhou Yu carried a massive sword on his back and idly played with a sprig of peach blossom in his hand. The tender pink petals glistened as if about to drip, their faint fragrance intoxicating and refreshing. Soft grass cushioned his steps, and the warm sun shone overhead, making everything feel wonderfully idyllic.

“Where is there a home without spring wine, where is there a place without spring birds? Spend the night in Peach Blossom Village, singing as the dawn breaks.” Zhou Yu recited, shaking his head in rhythm, uttering lines he had borrowed without a shred of shame.

“Not bad,” said Liu Yueming, “but it doesn’t quite suit the moment.”

“You’re such a block of ice,” Zhou Yu teased. “This beautiful spring scene, and you still keep that stern face.”

With a splash, the old man stepped into a puddle left by last night’s spring rain. He frowned and muttered, “So wet!”

Zhou Yu was delighted by this remark—his master always bested the disciple! But when he saw the old man bent over, wiping his shoes, Zhou Yu’s smug expression faded, and he grumbled, “All I wanted was a word of praise. Why are you both so stingy?”

“We’re almost at the Spirit Realm, and you still have leisure for poetry?” The old man straightened, gazing at a distant mountain peak. “The Medicine King said your body is full of toxins. When you reach the Spirit Realm, you’ll surely be treated as a demon.”

Zhou Yu shrugged, spreading his hands. “You don’t appreciate the deliciousness of gutter oil.”

“If the Medicine King is right, you’ll never advance in your lifetime,” Liu Yueming suddenly remarked.

Zhou Yu turned, replying, “All you care about is cultivation and strength. There are so many wonderful things in this world—women, power, wealth. Besides, water can drown even the strongest. Who says the weak can’t overcome the strong? Even the Sky Wolf Demon King was wounded by my blade.”

No sooner had Zhou Yu finished speaking than, at the fork in the road, another group appeared.

Six burly men walked at the front. Each was powerfully built, dressed in matching black uniforms, their steps in perfect unison, clearly trained and likely from the military.

Behind them, eight porters carried a magnificent sedan chair, its red canopy and pink drapes adorned with gems and pearls that tinkled melodically in the spring breeze.

Following were eight maids, all exquisitely dressed, moving with grace and vigor—clearly cultivators themselves.

For months, aside from the Medicine King, Zhou Yu and his companions had seen no other souls. After leaving the Misty Mountain and heading east, today they finally encountered people—and so many beautiful young women, though the hulking men and porters rather spoiled it for Zhou Yu.

If the maids were so stunning, what of the person inside the sedan?

The two groups met at the fork, barely ten meters apart, and the scent of rouge and powder drifted forth—faint yet penetrating, like the fragrance of orchids in a secluded valley.

The path was narrow, and Zhou Yu’s group stopped, intending to greet them and ask about the demon clan’s invasion. But the other party strode past without a pause—the six men leading showed no expression, not even glancing at Zhou Yu and his companions.

Liu Yueming eyed the white cloud insignia on the red sedan and frowned.

Perhaps wishing to enjoy the spring scenery, the curtains of the sedan were not drawn. As it passed, the occupant glanced out, sweeping her gaze across Zhou Yu’s group, finally lingering on Liu Yueming’s handsome, icy face.

Zhou Yu noticed her too and frowned. What was going on? Could it be her?

The woman inside wore a sheer pink gown, her chest partially exposed, skin smooth as porcelain, hair as soft as clouds, and her refined features were crowned by bewitching peach blossom eyes—one look was enough to unsettle any heart.

“Stop,” the beauty in the sedan spoke, her voice sweet and languid, melting the listener’s resolve.

“Young man, would you care to share my sedan?” She smiled at Liu Yueming, inviting him to join her.

The old man wiped his lips, dazedly stepping forward with a lewd grin.

One of the six men stepped out, blocking him. “The lady meant that gentleman,” he said, pointing to Liu Yueming.

Liu Yueming said nothing, his face expressionless, eyes fixed on the clouds and distant hills.

“Our lady invites you to join her in the sedan,” another burly man approached Liu Yueming, reaching out as if to forcibly pull him aboard.

Zhou Yu quickly intervened, standing between Liu Yueming and the man. “My junior here is mute, his hearing’s poor, and his mind sometimes muddled. I hope you’ll understand.”

The black-clad man frowned, peering at Liu Yueming’s handsome, impassive face. He half believed Zhou Yu—such looks, but perhaps a blockhead? Even a blockhead should blossom before the lady, yet he remained inert.

The man looked to the beauty in the sedan with uncertainty.

She glanced at Liu Yueming again, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, then ordered, “Let’s move on.”

The old man stared after the departing group, wiping his lips. “Damn, she’s something else! That little lady’s deadly alluring. Did you see her figure and those eyes? Tsk, tsk.” He spoke at length, then noticed the other two were unmoved. “Are you two even men?”

Liu Yueming replied coolly, “Women of the Wind family are indeed debauched.”

The old man recalled the white cloud emblem on the sedan and mused, “After so long in the mountains, I failed to recognize the South Wind family’s carriage. Is she the current head of the family?”

“She’s Nan Fenglang, not yet head, but the strongest contender for the next family leader,” Liu Yueming said, glancing at the distant red sedan.

“After all these years, women of the South Wind family are still so wanton, so seductive,” the old man reminisced.

“They love enticing men—Nan Fenglang especially. Rumor has it she’s mastered countless men, inviting every handsome youth she meets into her sedan,” Liu Yueming remarked.

The old man nodded. “Impressive restraint.”

Liu Yueming, unusually, shrugged in Zhou Yu’s manner. “Zhou Yu’s will is stronger than mine. I know what she is. Besides, I only care about killing—killing that man. Nothing else matters.”

“What about you? I saw you tangled with that demon fox in the woods, seemed pretty absorbed. This woman’s even more enticing—how do you resist?” the old man asked.

Zhou Yu crouched, picked a wild blade of grass, and chewed it. Once the taste spread in his mouth, he spoke. “If you see enough of that woman, you’ll realize she’s not that seductive.”

“You’ve seen her body? Are you kidding? You’ve never left my side—when did you see it?” The old man took a swig from his flask, alcohol on his breath.

“Well, I knew her before. She took up a whole gigabyte on my computer. Of course, it was someone who looked exactly like her—not actually her,” Zhou Yu replied.

“Someone else is coming,” Liu Yueming suddenly said.

In the distance approached a group clad in yellow, each riding a tall, bizarre beast—ones Zhou Yu had never seen before.

“What are those things?” Zhou Yu pointed at their mounts, curious.