Chapter Seven: Pingcheng

A power both illusory and dreamlike drifted in the chaos.

Chen Yu sat cross-legged at the base of the wall, cultivating in meditation. Using the Spirit Summoning Technique, he continually refined his control. The world, which appeared calm and ordinary to most, was rendered sharper and more vibrant through the perspective of his overflowing spiritual sense—as if a veil of mist had been lifted, and all was now clear.

Invisible winds whispered by, as pale moonlight spilled down. Threads of silver light, unseen by the naked eye, flickered like tiny worms beside him, swimming freely through the void. With eyes tightly shut, he tried to manipulate them further, aiming for more than simply letting them dissipate after a few brief moments.

Nearby, Brother Liu—having dealt with the thief—returned to the City God Temple. His tiger-like eyes were still clouded with anger, his temper clearly unspent. His gaze swept over to Chen Yu, and in a fleeting moment, he seemed to see the young man shrouded in a gauzy silver veil, ethereal as an immortal. When he blinked again, it was gone.

A hallucination?

Brother Liu stared for a moment, then shook his head and dismissed the thought. He only became more convinced that this young Daoist was no simple figure—likely a disciple from some reclusive sect hidden deep within the mountains.

Wasn’t that always how the stories went? In troubled times, hidden masters would appear, walking among mortals. Even if this one wasn’t a master himself, he was probably a descendant of such a hermit.

Traveling together was, at the very least, a chance to forge a good connection.

In his experience, traversing the world required more than brute strength. Relying on a single great blade was the thinking of the old guard. In these times, influence and connections mattered more—where there were connections, there was business, and everything became easier.

With that in mind, he returned to his spot, rested his broadsword across his knees, and, leaning against the corner, closed his eyes to rest.

The night passed uneventfully.

At dawn, the dew was cold.

Chen Yu woke early; he had spent much of the night refining his spirit, and a slight weariness showed on his face. Yet the gains were substantial. His spiritual power was smoother and more unified—when woven into his sonic attacks, combined with the resonance of his organs and the interplay of inner strength, he could now produce a force as fierce as thunder.

It was remarkable.

Most crucially, Chen Yu had found a way to conceal the initial thunderous sound of his technique, making the process much less detectable. There had been too many people around last night to try it, but once they parted ways in Ping City, he intended to test the results.

Moreover, with the recent progress in his spiritual strength, Chen Yu had sensed a subtle, unfamiliar change about three inches below his navel—a sensation he hadn’t noticed before. His spiritual power often drifted toward that spot, not by his own direction, but as if drawn by some invisible force.

Yet the distance was too great, and his power dissipated before reaching it—so he couldn’t see what, if anything, had changed there.

“Perhaps this anomaly has existed for a long time, only coming to my attention now that my spiritual strength has grown,” he thought.

Now, with his spirit fully condensed, Chen Yu could probe and observe his head, neck, shoulders, and upper arms with a clarity akin to the legendary inner vision of the Daoist arts.

But only those four regions. His organs, legs, and feet remained inaccessible. Ultimately, his spiritual power was still too limited, and his command over it not yet refined.

“Little Daoist!”

Not far off, the caravan was making ready. Brother Liu called out to him, and Chen Yu gathered his thoughts and hurried over.

The crack in the light cluster within his mind was widening, and more spiritual power was spilling out by the day. So, his most pressing need was to improve his control.

He remembered the Spirit Summoning Technique. Now that he had a chance to participate in the ritual, he was determined not to waste it. He resolved to seek out as many scriptures and techniques on spirit invocation and enlightenment as possible—not for their profundity, but for their variety and abundance.

These were like firewood, allowing him to learn from the footsteps of those who came before, to spark new ideas and further perfect his Spirit Summoning Technique.

Such opportunities were rare—there might not be another chance to discuss the mysteries of the Dao with all the fellow cultivators of Guangyong Prefecture.

In his days traveling down the mountain, it had become clear to him: no matter the outcome of this grand gathering, it was unlikely to be held again for many years—three to five at the very least.

And once these last peaceful days passed, who could say what the future would hold?

With these thoughts swirling, Chen Yu moved to the front of the group. Brother Liu, grinning, pointed to the winding road through the mountains.

“Ping City isn’t far now.”

Chen Yu followed his gesture and saw that the road ahead was growing busier—more carts and riders appeared. At the end of the mountain path, half-obscured by peaks, the faint outline of an ancient city came into view.

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Ping City was the prefectural seat of Guangyong, nestled at the mountain’s foot. Great roads radiated in all directions, broad enough to allow two carts to pass with room to spare.

Yet this spaciousness lasted only five or six miles outside the city, where the official road narrowed once more. Weeds grew thick along the sides, branches drooping low enough to snag at clothing and hair.

They encountered no further trouble over the next ten miles or so.

After paying the head tax, the group entered the city without incident. Brother Liu tried to pay for everyone, but Chen Yu stopped him with a smile and paid his own way.

Passing through the city gates, a low hum filled their ears.

It was the hour of the dragon, and the packed earth streets were already lined with vendors—serving tea, preserved fruits, buns, and thin porridge. Scents wafted thick and inviting through the air.

A servant boy hawked candied hawthorns in a hoarse shout, while a young master paraded with his birdcage, head held high and flanked by servants.

Scholars in white faces, graceful ladies, laughter and playful banter filled the bustling crowd. The city was even livelier than Shiya had been.

Chen Yu looked around with curiosity. The architecture of Ping City was more distinctive—orderly and elegant, unlike the chaos of Shiya. Tall towers stood out among the tiled rooftops, their carved beams and painted rafters resplendent.

Eaves curled like clouds, swallows and sparrows etched into the wood, silk banners fluttered atop hanging wooden bells.

As he walked, a few young women glanced back, their features half-hidden behind fans, eyes lowered with shy glances.

He paid them no mind, and after a few steps, turned to bid farewell to the caravan.

“Little Daoist, there’s no need for thanks! On this journey, your words and demeanor have been like those of a true cultivator. If I didn’t know you came from a great house, I’d have tried to invite you to join our trading company! Ha!”

Chen Yu expressed his gratitude once more, then parted ways with Brother Liu and his group. They headed east to sell their goods, eager to hurry on to the next market.

As Brother Liu had put it—when you’re a merchant, there’s no time to idle.

Alone, Chen Yu wandered further. He had to admit, this city with its ancient charm had a unique flavor.

Before long, he left the main street. His invitation bore the address where the Daoist friends from Shiya County were to be lodged, arranged by Haiyun Temple—a large compound named Chengyu.

He stopped a shopkeeper to ask directions and learned it was in the western part of the city, near the Zhengyuan Temple.

He made his way through, weaving out of seven or eight narrow alleys. In the western district, the buildings were sparser, no longer so crowded.

The view opened up, and he spotted the large compound not far off.

At the gate, a few Daoists in blue robes were laughing and chatting.