Chapter Nine: The Visitor on the Iceberg

With a sharp swish, a blade of sword energy shot out from the eastern mountain hollow, whistling through the air. It sliced across the sky and pierced the neck of a flying wild goose. The bird's head spattered blood, tumbling several times before it crashed into the snow. The blood fell hot and vivid upon the white ground, immediately staining it crimson. In just a few swift movements, a figure appeared before the fallen goose.

Zhou Yu bent down to pick it up and called back loudly, “Master, I hit it!”

An old man came trudging up from behind, cheeks flushed red—whether from the wine or the cold, it was hard to say.

“My boy, hurry and pluck its feathers, gut it, and give it a good roast. Your master is starving! I can scarcely muster a wisp of sword energy anymore,” the old man said, taking another swig from his flask.

“Alright! Just wait a moment, Master!” Zhou Yu replied, already setting to work.

These days, Zhou Yu and the old man had been steadily climbing toward the summit of Misty Mountain. In the beginning, they had half a tiger for company, the slopes were gentle, and wild rabbits or foxes could be found in the woods. Whether climbing or foraging, life was easy. But the higher they climbed, the steeper the mountain became. Soon, there was no path at all, only endless snow stretching before them. The demon fox’s spirit pill had protected them from the cold, but food had become scarce; sometimes not a scrap could be found for three days.

Earlier, Zhou Yu had spotted a lone wild goose flying overhead and quickly called for his master to shoot it down with sword energy. Though the old man had gone hungry for days, just the sight of the bird made him think of fragrant roast duck. Mustering all his strength, he sent out a blast of sword energy and felled the goose. At last, master and disciple could enjoy a proper meal.

Zhou Yu cleaned the bird thoroughly, managed to find some dry grass and firewood, and after several attempts finally coaxed a fire to life. Sheltered by a rock from the wind, he began to roast the goose. The old man squatted nearby, eyes fixed hungrily on the bird as it rotated slowly on a wooden spit.

Wild geese soar high in the sky, and beneath their thick feathers lies a layer of rich fat. Before long, the skin began to turn golden, and droplets of oil sizzled and dripped into the fire.

The flames crackled and popped, releasing an enticing aroma that drifted all around. The old man swallowed hard, his throat making a gurgling sound, and he licked his cracked, pale lips, feeling his mouth water with anticipation.

“Is it ready yet? Can we eat?” the old man asked after swallowing his saliva dozens of times.

“Just a little longer. Be patient, Master. It’s rare to catch a goose up here. We can’t let it go to waste,” Zhou Yu replied, still turning the bird so that it cooked evenly. He added, “We’re almost at the summit, and it’s been days since we saw a wild goose. Who knows if we’ll get another chance? How can we practice swordsmanship on empty stomachs?”

The old man looked at the goose, its skin now glistening gold, and said, “Don’t worry. Soon we’ll have goose to eat every day. I chose the timing to climb the mountain carefully—now is autumn, the wild geese are flying south, and many migratory birds will pass this way. Once I regain some strength, I’ll bring down several each day, and we’ll never go hungry.”

Zhou Yu took the goose off the fire, tore off a leg, and handed it to his master. “That sounds wonderful. Here, Master, eat.”

The old man took the golden, steaming leg with his left hand and, without waiting for it to cool, bit right in. He blew on the burning meat as he chewed, savoring the taste.

“Mmm! Delicious! So good!” he exclaimed, eating with the delight of a child.

Zhou Yu tore a chunk from the breast, popped it into his mouth, and found the meat tender and flavorful, the fat rich and succulent, the golden skin crisp. Not only was it juicy and smooth, but it also offered a satisfying chew.

The two of them feasted. The old man took out his wine flask, and they shared it between them. Before long, the goose and the wine were gone.

Zhou Yu watched as the old man drew a jade-green pill from his robe and dropped it into the empty flask. Then, channeling his inner energy, the old man melted snow into water and refilled the flask—fresh wine, ready to drink.

If I had the recipe for that green elixir back on Earth, I’d be rich in no time, Zhou Yu thought with a smile. Though he had been here for over a month, memories of Earth still crept in from time to time. Father, mother—are you well? Brothers, how are you all?

He remembered that now, he was living ten years in the past on the Path of Samsara, while somewhere on Earth, another version of himself was with his family. Yet he missed them deeply, especially that figure who had turned away without a trace of regret.

After a long while, Zhou Yu returned from his reverie. The snow was falling thickly, blown wild and slanting by the wind. A few flakes landed on his face and slid away.

In recent days, Zhou Yu had practiced chopping trees, felling thousands of giant trunks along the way. Now, when he swung his great sword, it began to emit a faint aura of sword energy. The old man praised him as a swordsmanship prodigy, while Baidu claimed his talent had regressed by thousands of miles. Regardless, Zhou Yu had grown stronger and continued to improve at a remarkable rate.

He had always been confident. He believed that, given time, he would become even stronger. What he did not know was that a man burdened with a great iron case was scouring the world in search of him.

This man had left the snowy mountains and grasslands behind, stepping now into the domain of the demon clans. He began his search from the northernmost tip of the Path of Samsara, heading steadily south. Along the way, he discovered some intriguing things and lingered for a while.

In a wild tribe on the northern snowfields, he encountered warriors of B-rank. He had only met two, but it piqued his curiosity—if there were such powerful beings here, would even greater ones await further south? The man with the iron case drew back his fist, a smile playing about his lips as he gazed southward. The second B-rank savage who had tried to seize his iron case now lay dead, his body riddled with round holes, the flesh charred and still smoking faintly.

Whether man or god, as long as life endures, loneliness is an insidious demon that spares no one. It torments all sentient beings. For a master who has been unbeaten for countless millennia, loneliness is a constant companion. Hades, may you not disappoint me this time. The man with the iron case strode into the demon lands.

Zhou Yu sneezed and rubbed his nose. “Master, it’s been days since I chopped a tree. Is there another way to practice swordsmanship?”

The old man, tipsy, gazed at the snowflakes swirling down from the sky. He burped, releasing a rich whiff of wine, then closed his eyes for a long moment. At last, he opened them and shook his head, as if only just recalling something. “What did you just ask me?”

Zhou Yu broke into a cold sweat. It seemed the old man, starved for days and now sated and drunk, was thoroughly in his cups. Zhou Yu scooped up a handful of snow, feeling its chill in his palm, and asked again, “I was asking, since there are no more trees to chop, shouldn’t we try another method of practice?”