Chapter 24: Qian Dahai

When he heard the words “Slumbering Dragon Tide,” Lu Chenyuan’s heart jolted. Instantly, his master’s intoxicatingly beautiful face, poised between sobriety and drunkenness, floated before his eyes.

“Once this Slumbering Dragon Tide has passed, I will give you a solution.”

He remembered it clearly—his master had indeed mentioned these three words. Yet, at the time, he had been too concerned about her condition to pay them any mind. Now, recalling the strange occurrences since arriving at Zhenhai River, he couldn’t help but speculate. His master… truly knew something after all. Bringing him here was no mere whim; but as for what remedy she had in mind, and why she asked for more time—those remained mysteries.

As these thoughts churned, he heard Shangguan Chuci continue, “It is said that at the bottom of the Eastern Sea, there slumbers an ancient Illusion Dragon whose age no one can fathom.”

“This dragon awakens once every ten years, and as it stirs and breathes, it draws the essence of heaven and earth, creating a rare spectacle for cultivation. As for the ‘Dragon King’ worshipped by the folk of Zhenhai River, it’s likely none other than that old dragon.”

She paused, her bright eyes appraising Lu Chenyuan, a half-serious, half-mocking smile on her lips. “Lu, if I said you were the chosen protagonist of those storyteller’s tales, would you believe me?”

“See, whether it’s ancient beasts or mysterious events, it’s as though they all await their cue, lining up to cross your path…”

“If this Illusion Dragon is real, and it calls to you, perhaps it too is a link in your so-called destiny.”

Hearing this, Lu Chenyuan thought of the curse he bore and forced a bitter smile. “If that’s so, then I want no part of this so-called destiny. You see only part of the picture, Chuci.”

Shangguan Chuci’s gaze sharpened, curiosity piqued. “Then tell me the rest, Lu.”

Lu Chenyuan was about to voice his years of pain and struggle, but just then his expression shifted. His gaze drifted past Shangguan Chuci’s shoulder to the distance. He raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.

Shangguan Chuci, quick as ever, followed his gaze and saw that the middle-aged scholar atop the seaside rocks had risen, brushing sand from his robes, evidently preparing to leave.

A spark of understanding flashed in her eyes, and she lowered her voice, breath soft as orchid, “Are you tailing him? Do you suspect he’s the next target?”

Lu Chenyuan marveled inwardly, “She’s truly perceptive—she’s guessed nearly all of it from a single glance.”

He nodded, no longer concealing his intent.

With a single exchange of glances, they spoke no further. Shangguan Chuci slipped her delicate feet into the soft boots she’d left by a rock, her figure merging with the shadows of a neighboring boulder. Lu Chenyuan, equally silent, followed suit. Both moved with such swiftness and lightness that not a sound betrayed their flight.

By now the third watch had passed. Under the moonlit sky, the long street lay deserted, broken only by the distant, unsettling clack of the night watchman’s wooden clappers.

The scholar hurried along, glancing nervously over his shoulder as if pursued, adding to his suspicious air.

Lu Chenyuan and Shangguan Chuci followed at a distance, slipping from shadow to shadow beneath eaves and pillars.

Before long, the clatter of armor sounded from ahead—a squad of Demon Suppression Guards emerged, long halberds in hand, compasses at their waists. From the compasses came intermittent flashes of light, clearly attuned to anomalies nearby.

Lu Chenyuan’s heart sank. Meeting Shangguan Chuci’s eyes, they dropped to crouch against the wall, concealed in a nook stacked with old fishing nets.

The scholar, startled by the patrol, hunched his shoulders and hurried by, desperate to avoid scrutiny.

Only when the guards had passed out of sight did the two resume their pursuit.

The remainder of the journey unfolded without incident. They watched as the scholar, unmolested, staggered to the entrance of the Tidewatch Inn and disappeared inside.

From his vantage in the shadows, Lu Chenyuan frowned, pondering, “Have I been overly suspicious? Or perhaps those evil cultivators had other plans tonight, letting such easy prey slip by?”

Shangguan Chuci read his thoughts from his expression and said softly, “Let’s return and see for ourselves.”

Once the scholar had entered and all fell silent, the two made their way back to the main hall.

Inside, the inn was dimly lit, the day’s bustle replaced with a hush that felt almost oppressive. Qian Dahai sat alone behind the counter, not yet asleep, fiddling with his abacus by the light of a single lamp. There was no trace of the usual shrewdness on his face—only worry, his brow deeply furrowed.

He started at the sound of footsteps, looking up. On seeing Lu Chenyuan, his worry flashed first to surprise, then relief and lingering fear.

Shangguan Chuci observed all this, her bright eyes flickering, but said nothing. With a polite gesture to Lu Chenyuan, she took her leave and ascended the stairs.

Lu Chenyuan approached the counter, about to speak, when Qian Dahai slammed the abacus down and glared at him. “You brat! You finally know to come back?”

…

Midnight had passed; the sea wind now carried a biting chill, sweeping the sound of the tides ceaselessly from the Eastern Sea. A lone lamp still burned in the Tidewatch Inn, making the shadows in the distant alleys seem even deeper.

In a corner untouched by light, a solitary figure leaned against the wall.

Draped in faded yellow-gray robes, thin as a reed, he stood motionless in the wind—like a paper effigy left forgotten in a country shrine, devoid of soul.

His eyes rested quietly on the youth and the white-robed noble who had just entered.

For a long while, his throat worked, and he muttered under his breath, the sound dry and scratchy as if made of paper:

“That young man… must be the ‘Dao Source Vessel’ my master spoke of. Truly, a fine specimen…”

To him, the white-robed noble was nothing but ornamental silk—beautiful, but not what he sought.

A sickly gleam rose in Wei Zhuo’s dead-water eyes.

Without moving his body, he slowly lifted his right hand, index and middle fingers together, poised as if gripping a brush in midair.

He stared after Lu Chenyuan, who had disappeared into the inn, and with a flick of his wrist, traced a single stroke in the void—no ink, no paper, yet each movement carried the weight of calligraphy, as if he would imprint the youth’s form and spirit upon the night itself.

When the stroke was done, he lowered his hand, a stiff smile twisting his lips.

The outline was complete.

All that remained was to choose a propitious day to add the finishing touches—and create a masterpiece for the ages.

…

Lu Chenyuan was taken aback by Qian Dahai’s abrupt question.

Qian Dahai let out a long sigh, as if expelling all his worries, and muttered irritably, “You know what it’s like out there these days.”

“Roaming about in the dead of night—what if you run into some crazed cultivator who decides to eat you alive? Where would I find another clever helper like you?”

Lu Chenyuan realized then that the innkeeper had stayed up out of concern for his safety, and a wave of warmth filled his heart. He smiled. “You worry too much, boss. See? I’m back safe and sound.”

But Qian Dahai’s plump face didn’t relax; instead, he scowled. “Ha! Still cheeky? Think you have nine lives?”

“It’s not safe out there now. Best stay inside unless you have to.”

He sighed again, adding, “Besides, you saw what happened today.”

“Those wandering cultivators from overseas have no idea how to keep a low profile. Now everyone in Zhenhai River knows there’s an outlander here at our inn with a priceless Canghai Moon-Pearl Jade.”

“If there’s ever a fight in the inn, don’t get involved. Ah, why is it so hard to make an honest living these days…”

As he spoke, his wry smile looked more like a grimace.

Lu Chenyuan’s eyes flickered, recalling the innkeeper’s anxious look earlier. Was he really only worried about his business?

Was that all?

Qian Dahai poured them both cups of rough tea from the stove, his usually sharp little eyes now showing rare exhaustion.

“Tell me honestly—besides drinking with that master of yours, did you ever learn any tricks to keep yourself alive?”

At first, Lu Chenyuan tensed at the question. But as he cupped the hot tea and felt its warmth, his guard melted, and he managed a bitter smile. “My master refused to teach me cultivation.”

“I knew it!”

Qian Dahai slapped his thigh, then quickly quieted, sighing and shaking his head. “Your master is a person of immortality—her thoughts are not like ours. But this world isn’t one you can survive on passion alone.”

He took a long draught of tea, smacking his lips, his gaze falling on Lu Chenyuan’s still-youthful face with a complicated look.

“You’re a good seedling.”

He went on, “Sharp eyes, courage, a straight heart. If you died here in Zhenhai River for nothing, Heaven itself would be blind.”

Lu Chenyuan was moved, uncertain how to respond.

But Qian Dahai, as if a dam had broken, stared past the silent vase behind the counter, his gaze distant as though seeing far beyond it.

“I’ve run this inn for years, seen countless young men like you. Some want glory, some want to return home in splendor…”

“But in the end, the waves wash all clean. To live to my age intact—if one in ten manages it, that’s luck.”

“I’m tired, too.”

He rubbed the corners of his sore eyes. “When this Watching the Sea festival ends and the crowd disperses, I’ll sell the inn and return to the countryside—to watch my frail granddaughter grow up.”

“She’s been sickly since the womb—at six, she can’t run as fast as other three-year-olds. Other kids climb trees and catch fish—she sits in the yard all afternoon on a little stool.”

He paused, seeing her small figure through the vase.

“Sometimes I ask her, doesn’t she get bored just watching?”

“She says: ‘Not at all, Grandpa. Look, the ants are moving house. They’re so strong—they can carry things heavier than themselves.’”

Qian Dahai’s voice dropped, thick with emotion. “Then she covers her mouth, coughs for ages, and finally says, ‘I want to be a little ant too, so I can help you build a house.’”

By now his eyes were red. Not wanting Lu Chenyuan to see his weakness, he gulped down his tea, but nothing could quell the ache in his chest.

Lu Chenyuan listened quietly, thinking of the two steamed buns in the kitchen, a melancholy rising in his heart. He blurted out, “How is your granddaughter now?”

“She’ll get better. I’ve spent over ten years preparing for it… she’ll get better, she must,” Qian Dahai said with a shaky smile, glancing at Lu Chenyuan as if he knew what the boy was thinking. “I’m not so old yet. And don’t you go thinking you need to look after my old age.”

He paused, then looked at Lu Chenyuan with a fierce light in his eyes. “Since you call me boss, I can’t just ignore you. I may not have great cultivation, but I’ve figured out how to survive in a world that eats people alive.”

“When all this is over, if you don’t mind, before I leave Zhenhai River, I’ll teach you a few real skills—enough to light your way through the dark roads ahead.”

With that, he drained his cup.

“All right, it’s late. Go to bed! There’s work to do in the morning!”

…

“Uncle Shen, you’re sure someone was following us just now?”

Back in her room, Shangguan Chuci tapped her folding fan thoughtfully.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Shen Guizhou replied from the corner. “But they hid themselves well. I didn’t want to alert them, so I let them be.”

“Interesting… Could they be from the Turbid Current cult?”

“It’s possible. Or perhaps they’re after the supposed Canghai Moon-Pearl Jade.”

Shangguan Chuci’s lips curled as another thought struck her. “Uncle Shen, did you get a chance to check that vase?”

Shen Guizhou nodded, but his expression turned odd. “Your Highness, I did. Strangely, there was nothing inside—it’s just an ordinary vase.”