Chapter Thirty-Three: Willow Town

All around was nothing but desolation, with withered yellow grass rising as high as a man’s waist. Lin Feng, anxious and fearful, had lain hidden here for over half an hour, yet the white-clad maiden who had promised to rescue him never arrived.

“What should I do? Am I just waiting to die?” He watched as the sky gradually darkened, his heart filled with terror. Even if a lone wolf appeared now, he could only await his doom.

“Take a chance! Break through the restriction!” A fierce light flashed in Lin Feng’s eyes.

Most of the meridians throughout his body were occupied by a gray vortex, dividing his spiritual energy into countless fragments, unable to flow freely. He tried to move the energy in his dantian, but it too was tightly encased in gray fog, like an iron barrel.

Charge! He had no other option. Without forcing out a trace of spiritual power, he could not break the web-like restriction within his body. Only by getting his spiritual energy circulating could he pierce through those vortices.

Within his dantian, he gathered his energy into a single thread, repeatedly striking at the same point in the gray vortex. Gradually a fissure opened; spiritual energy rushed to fill the gap, and he pressed on, again and again, tunneling through the gray fog. Inside that vortex, his spiritual energy drilled forward bit by bit, carving out a passage.

After another hour, his relentless effort finally broke through the layers encasing his dantian. Vitality surged through him; his meridians were freed one by one. In less than the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, he could move freely. By then, darkness had fully descended.

“That was close!” He flexed his stiff arms, tucked the golden leaf into his breast, and reflected on the day’s events with the old demon. He sighed, “Enough. The dead deserve respect. I’ll do a good deed and dig you a grave.”

In that nameless wilderness, Lin Feng hastily buried Yin Zhaozong, then found a wind-sheltered slope to sit and examine his wounds. His body was battered and bruised everywhere. Had he been an ordinary man, he would have died long ago—especially the wound just beneath his heart, which had nearly pierced it. He spent the night beneath that slope, and when morning came, he set out in a chosen direction, hoping to find someone who could tell him how to reach Mount Qiyun.

He studied the golden leaf left by the old demon for a long time but could discern no secrets, so he set it aside for now. On his journey, he ate and slept in the wild: roasting rabbits by day, sheltering under trees or in dirt hollows at night. After three days, his wounds gradually healed, and he found a main road. Travelers grew more frequent as he walked, and upon asking, he learned Mount Qiyun was still a thousand miles away. Ahead, however, lay a small town, bustling with distant figures.

Since ascending Heaven’s Gate Peak ten years ago, Lin Feng had not set foot in a mundane town. Wandering through the antique border settlement, his spirits lifted. The broad stone-paved avenue was lined with houses tall and short, built of blue bricks and black tiles, with shops clustered together. Vendors hawked their wares along the street, and crowds bustled by. People from all walks of life mingled: rustic villagers, merchant caravans, scholars, travelers, and martial folk—a lively tableau of city life.

He strolled to an old well, where a stone stele stood bearing the words “Willow Town”—presumably the town’s name.

Most passersby hurried along, but Lin Feng followed the ancient road, taking in the unfamiliar sights. He even thought of spending a few copper coins to buy a date cake, but when he checked his purse, he found not a single coin. He could only shake his head and savor the sights instead.

“Move aside, move aside!” Suddenly, harsh voices rang out ahead. People scattered to make way. Lin Feng stepped to the roadside and saw a group of burly men approaching, all clutching long knives. Their leaders were two men, one tall, one short. The short one had an ordinary face and looked like a streetwise rogue; the tall one, past forty, wore tight-fitting clothes—clearly the leader.

After they passed, murmurs rose among the crowd. “Are they off to explore the Ice Cavern again?”

“If so, they’re just courting death. People die for money—some just can’t let go.”

“Ice Cavern…” Lin Feng quietly memorized the name.

In the town center, beneath a leafless old willow tree—its girth suggesting centuries of age—a handful of people craned their necks to read a notice posted on the trunk. Driven by curiosity, Lin Feng approached.

Black characters on white paper read: Thirty miles west of Willow Town lies a deep ice cave, where monsters occasionally appear to menace the people. We seek righteous heroes to investigate and vanquish the evil, upholding justice. Every man has a duty. A reward of one thousand taels of silver is offered to express our gratitude. — Song Wanyuan, Town Chief of Willow Town.

So that’s it! Lin Feng calculated in his heart: one thousand taels was no small sum. To vanquish evil and uphold justice—wasn’t that the proper way for a gentleman to earn a living? Yet he thought again: he had no weapon. If the monsters in the Ice Cavern were truly fierce, he might lose his life instead. That would hardly be worthwhile.

As he pondered, a deep, gentle voice intoned beside him, “Amitabha! With monsters rampant, we ought to do more good for the people, to vanquish evil and protect the world!”

Lin Feng turned and saw a young monk behind him, with delicate features and fair skin, clothed in a green robe, holding a wooden alms bowl in his left hand, his right pressed in prayer. He looked gentle and quiet, yet there was something about him Lin Feng couldn’t quite name.

“Are you here to vanquish monsters as well?” The young monk smiled kindly and nodded to Lin Feng.

“Ah, no, not really…” Lin Feng shook his head hurriedly, sizing up the monk. He seemed frail, unlikely to harm even a chicken, and would surely be killed if he ventured forth. So Lin Feng advised kindly, “Master, the monsters are vicious; don’t throw your life away.”

The monk smiled faintly. “Your words are not quite right. If monsters are vicious, should we let them run wild? As monks, we do not care for mere flesh and bone. Don’t you think so?”

“Well…” Lin Feng was taken aback, about to reply, but the monk had already walked away.

“Another one with no regard for his life,” townsfolk nearby shook their heads.

Lin Feng glanced again at the notice, gritted his teeth, and caught up, thinking: “If even a pale-faced monk isn’t afraid, why should I be?”

Soon he caught up with the monk; they exchanged smiles and walked together.

“Master, what are you using to subdue monsters?” Lin Feng noticed the monk carried no weapon, and he himself was empty-handed, which struck him as amusing.

The monk smiled. “I am Mingxin of Futu Temple. No need for formality. As for vanquishing evil, this rosewood bowl is my ritual tool.”

“Ah, so you’re a master from Futu Temple. My apologies. I am Lin Feng of the Hundred Flowers Sect.” Surprised, Lin Feng quickly introduced himself.

Mingxin was mildly surprised as well, and smiled, “So we are both of the righteous path; we should not be strangers. I am eighteen, a few years your senior, so let me call you Brother Lin.”

Lin Feng replied quickly, “Of course, Senior Mingxin. What brings you here?”

Mingxin explained, “Before entering the inner halls of Futu Temple, monks must travel the world, seeking virtuous deeds and karmic ties to lay a foundation for future cultivation.”

Lin Feng nodded, though he only half understood. Mingxin begged three hot buns from a noodle stall, and the two chatted as they journeyed west.

At dusk, they reached a wild village where every house was shut tight, silent except for the barking of dogs. The two exchanged glances and found an empty house to rest.

“Brother Lin, another half day’s walk and we’ll reach the Ice Cavern. Let’s rest tonight; tomorrow we may face a great battle.” Mingxin shared a bun; after a simple meal, they lay down fully clothed.

The night owl’s cry echoed. In the darkness, a thin mist seemed to rise, and all was silent. Lin Feng glanced over; Mingxin was sitting cross-legged in meditation, which eased Lin Feng’s mind.

Not long after, he heard faint footsteps and his expression changed. He grabbed a stick beside him—at this hour, in a deserted village, who could it be? Likely monsters or beasts. Mingxin remained sitting, calm and composed.

As Lin Feng fretted, three men in black strode through the door. Two carried knives, one a sword. Seeing the house occupied, they paused in surprise, then sat against the mud wall and laid out wine and meat, eating and drinking heartily.

Lin Feng relaxed, closed his eyes, and lay in the grass pretending to sleep, though he found it impossible to rest. He quietly listened to their conversation.

“Fourth, are your sources reliable? We trekked thousands of miles to this godforsaken place—if your info’s wrong, the boss will skin you alive,” a gruff voice whispered.

“Second Brother, when have I ever messed up? Don’t worry! Tomorrow morning, the treasure is ours!” replied a sharp, thin voice.

“Second, Fourth—does that thing really work wonders? If so, it’s worth our trip from northern E.”

“Of course. Drink up!” Second Brother snorted. The three fell silent, finished eating, and soon snored against the wall, thunderous in sleep.

Through the latter half of the night, Lin Feng couldn’t sleep, nor dared make a sound to avoid provoking these ruffians. He lay quietly until dawn. At the first crow of the rooster, the three woke in turn and slipped away, and Lin Feng finally slept.

“Brother Lin, time to go,” Mingxin nudged him. Lin Feng opened his eyes; daylight had broken, and the young monk smiled at him.

“Alright.”

With morning, villagers emerged to work the fields. The pair explained their purpose and got directions, then headed for the Ice Cavern.

A few miles from the village, they reached a pine forest, where frost clung to the branches like a palace of jade, filling the heart with serenity. The withered grass was coated in white, like silver threads everywhere; a breeze stirred the treetops, making the frost sparkle—a world of white, a fairyland forgotten by the mortal realm.

“Brother Mingxin, look at this scenery—hardly a place for monsters,” Lin Feng said, laughing as he plucked a pine branch, blowing on it so the frost scattered.

The monk smiled, seemingly enchanted by the view. His green robe fluttered in the wind as he strode confidently into the forest.

A thunderous boom erupted in the distance, lighting up the sky—the brightness like a giant mirror, vanishing as suddenly as it appeared.

“What was that!” The two broke into a run, racing toward the light.

As they hurried, the air grew colder and breath more difficult. The trees no longer bore frost, but thick icicles—the cold here was extreme.

Let’s tidy up any unfinished business.