Chapter Seven: Returning Home

The old veteran’s move, the “Reverse Backpack,” if successful, would have sent Ye Feng’s hundred-pound body flipping a full three hundred sixty degrees, slamming him down headfirst with enough force to shatter bones and tear muscles. Fortunately, Ye Feng had learned the Demon-Slaying Technique. At the critical moment, as his body flew through the air, he stretched out both arms, palms striking the ground first to break his fall and lessen the impact considerably.

He was just about to roll and spring to his feet when a gust of wind sounded behind him—a foot was kicking straight at his back. Ye Feng’s mind flashed: his body moved faster than thought, and with a move called “Retreat Into the Shadows,” he dropped his body three feet lower and retreated two steps, narrowly dodging that deadly blow.

“Well done, lad! You’ve got some skills!” his opponent praised, but his fists and feet only grew faster. With a step forward, he unleashed the “Iron Fist of the Vajra,” his massive fist shooting straight for Ye Feng’s face.

Ye Feng cursed silently, “Old scoundrel, how ruthless you are!” In a flash, his left palm shot out and with a crisp smack, deflected the fist as big as a clay pot. Though he managed to turn aside the attack, the force behind it was so great that Ye Feng was forced back two steps.

His opponent was overjoyed, throwing his head back in laughter. “Boy, isn’t your grandpa’s fist hard enough for you?” He spread his arms wide and lunged at Ye Feng, trying to envelop him in a bear hug. As the man’s fan-sized palms swept in with a rush of wind, Ye Feng realized he couldn’t match him in raw strength and resolved to dodge. Following his intent, he ducked low and slipped between the man’s arms in a flash, then kicked backward, landing a solid blow right on his opponent’s rear.

A loud, crisp smack echoed. The old veteran, already charging forward, lost his footing from the kick and toppled to the ground with a thud.

The onlookers burst into laughter. The old soldier took a long moment before he managed to scramble up, his face now covered in dirt and bruises, his earlier ferocity completely gone.

“Well struck!” A thunderous cheer rang out. Ye Feng looked up and saw Murong Bao in the distance, applauding enthusiastically. Ye Feng, proud of himself, clasped his fists and raised them high, bowing to the crowd and Murong Bao. “Forgive my display!” he called.

But joy turned to misfortune. Though the old soldier had lost, he was far from resigned. Seeing Ye Feng bask in his triumph, the man crept up quietly while everyone was laughing. As Ye Feng relaxed, the old veteran suddenly swung his leg and kicked Ye Feng viciously from behind.

Caught off guard, Ye Feng felt a searing, tearing pain in his backside. With a cry, his body flew through the air and crashed heavily to the ground, his head striking hard enough to black out his vision. He fainted on the spot.

“You vile dog! How dare you strike so viciously?” Murong Bao, seeing what happened, rushed over and knelt at Ye Feng’s side, attempting to revive him. After a long while, Ye Feng finally came to, the first thing he saw was the old veteran, and he cursed furiously, “You…you… despicable, unruly brute!”

He struggled to stand, but suddenly a piercing pain shot through his rear, forcing him to roll over and lie flat, gritting his teeth and hissing in agony.

Murong Bao, seeing the old soldier still standing dumbly by, could hardly contain his rage. “Tie him up!” he bellowed.

Several soldiers immediately tied the old veteran up tightly. “Damn you! If you can’t win, you play dirty. You’ve shamed us all!” Murong Bao cursed, raising his whip to strike.

“Wait!” A sharp, clear voice called out. A woman in blue leapt down from the watchtower—it was Murong Yan. She strode forward and commanded, “Release him.”

“Little sister, that man is too cunning! He ambushed Ye Feng and knocked him out!” Murong Bao, honest to a fault, hated such underhanded tactics, and argued his point.

“I said release him. I saw everything,” Murong Yan replied firmly, leaving no room for debate. The soldiers dared not disobey and quickly untied the old veteran.

“You—! Ah!” Murong Bao pointed at Murong Yan, frustrated but unable to defy his sister’s order. Fuming, he threw down his whip and turned away with a long sigh.

“Miss, is this how you lead men? You—you—you’re unfair!” Ye Feng, furious at Murong Yan’s actions, protested indignantly, his words tripping over themselves.

“What’s unfair? You only have yourself to blame for not being on your guard. On the battlefield, do you think you’ll get a second chance?” Murong Yan retorted. Ye Feng had no answer; her words left him speechless. Still unwilling to yield, he said, “Miss, but his actions were too vicious. How could he strike so harshly against his own people?”

Murong Yan snorted coldly, “War is deception! On the battlefield, who fights you face to face with sword and spear? Who holds back from striking hard? You’re a scholar—haven’t you read enough history? How many times has this happened? Are you arguing with me because your books have made you foolish?”

“You, you—” Ye Feng, angered by her reply, could only struggle to his feet, limping away in resentment.

Back in the barracks, Ye Feng’s anger only grew. He couldn’t eat; by nightfall, hunger gnawed at his belly. Frustration and homesickness overwhelmed him. He recalled that at home, though his mother had died early and his father was strict, he’d always excelled in his studies, and his father had never made him suffer like this, nor had he ever been so badly hurt. Whenever he was slightly injured, the whole family fussed over him; but here, he couldn’t eat or sleep well, and the soldiers bullied him constantly.

Though Murong Yan had saved his life and taught him martial arts, her odd and prickly temperament made her nothing like the leader he had hoped for. Moreover, the Demon-Slaying Technique she’d taught him hadn’t even helped him in real combat.

After half a year on this mountain, the Murong siblings’ vigilance toward him had lessened, and likely, many in Black Earth City had forgotten him. He decided that as soon as his injuries healed, he would sneak off the mountain, return to see his father, and then join the righteous army at Menglian Mountain to find his true place in the world.

With this thought, he was secretly pleased. He scrounged up some food, ate and drank his fill, and went to bed early. Over the next few days as he recovered, he quietly gathered supplies and prepared for his escape.

One deep night, seeing that the mountain guards and the Murong siblings were all asleep, Ye Feng took the clothing, food, and silver he’d set aside, slipped past several sentries, and headed straight for Black Earth City.

He traveled for a day and a night, reaching the city gates by midday the next day. Seeing nothing amiss and the gates orderly as ever, he swapped his clothes for a farmer’s garb, smeared his face with yellow earth, and pretended to be deaf and mute to slip into the city.

Once inside, Ye Feng headed straight for his family home. He dared not enter by day, and only after midnight did he climb over the wall into the courtyard. The Ye family mansion was vast, with many rooms, but Ye Feng’s familiarity quickly led him to the window of his father’s bedchamber.

Inside, the lamp still burned. Peering through a hole in the window paper, he saw his father, an elderly man with three streaks of graying beard, a kind but haggard face, clutching a portrait of a departed older woman, his eyes blurred with tears.

He heard his father speaking softly to himself, “Su’e, you left too soon—why couldn’t you have waited for me? Too heartless, leaving Feng’er to me alone, not caring for him. Now something’s happened to our boy; he’s out there on his own, on the run. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. If something really happens, how can I ever face you in the afterlife?”

He wiped his tears and continued, “If I’d known this day would come, how I regret the past! If I’d known Feng’er would end up like this, I’d have found him a demon-slaying master years ago, so he could protect himself! Then I wouldn’t be worried sick about his life.”

Hearing these words from outside the window, Ye Feng was heartbroken. He had always thought his father was too strict and caring little for him, but now realized how deeply his father worried. In just half a year, the old man had aged so much.

He wanted to rush in and embrace his father, but knew that if he did, they’d have endless things to say, and if he lingered too long, he might be discovered and bring trouble to his family. Yet not going in would only leave his father more anxious.

As he hesitated, a sudden shout rang out, “Who goes there?” Dozens of people rushed in from all sides, brandishing sticks, swords, and torches, surrounding Ye Feng.

“Don’t shout—it’s me, Ye Feng!” he called, trying to calm them.

When the crowd saw him by torchlight, they were overjoyed. “Young Master Ye, it’s really you—you’re back!”

“Shh! Not so loud!” Ye Feng, terrified by their noise, quickly signaled them to be quiet. Realizing their mistake, they covered their mouths, glancing around to make sure no one else was near.

The commotion had already woken Ye Xiaotian. Overjoyed, he rushed out, crying, “Feng’er! Feng’er!” The instant he saw his son, tears poured down his face.

After a while, wiping his tears, he took Ye Feng’s hand, “Come inside, son, your father has words for you.”

Ye Feng followed his father into the bedroom. Ye Xiaotian circled him, looking him up and down, then laughed and punched him lightly in the chest, “Well, boy! Half a year and you’ve grown taller and stronger!”

Ye Feng couldn’t help but grin, calling out, “Father!”

Ye Xiaotian, delighted, asked after every detail of his son’s life. When he heard about the arduous training and how Ye Feng had been injured in a recent contest, he asked anxiously, “Are you alright, son?”

“Don’t worry, Father, I’ve recovered fully! Look!” Ye Feng swung his arms and fists, demonstrating strength and vigor.

Ye Xiaotian smiled and nodded, then suddenly remembered something and stopped him. “Feng’er, I have something good for you. Come, take a look.” He lifted a painting from the wall, revealing a hidden safe. Opening it, he took out an exquisite, luxurious box, which he opened to reveal a small, dragon-shaped red succulent plant. Despite being stored for who knew how long, it was still fresh, its thick leaves glowing faintly with red light.

“Do you know what this is, son? Let me tell you—this is the Immortal Herb of Strengthening Muscles and Renewing Power, bought at great expense overseas.” Ye Xiaotian beamed with pride. “It works wonders! If taken, it strengthens muscles and bones, greatly increases strength, and transforms the body. But its power is too great for the weak, so I didn’t give it to you before. Now you’ve turned from scholar to warrior and trained in demon-slaying arts—your body is strong enough. I can give it to you with peace of mind.”

He handed the box to Ye Feng, who took it with both hands, deeply moved, tears welling in his eyes. “Father!”

Ye Xiaotian continued, “Remember, son, the best time to take it is on the night of the full moon. Hmm…” He counted on his fingers, “That’s five days from now—you can take it then.”

Ye Feng nodded, carefully tucking the box into his shirt.

Just then, relatives poured into the room—uncles, aunts, cousins—filling the house with noise and joy.

“Boy, you’ve grown taller in half a year!”

“Not bad! You’re sturdier, haven’t lost weight.”

“Feng, did you kill any demon soldiers in the righteous army? How many?”

“Brother, take me with you next time! I want to slay demons too!”

Questions came from all sides, everyone talking at once, their happiness overflowing. Ye Feng could barely answer, and in a blink, the night was passing.

“Enough, enough, let’s not wake the whole city,” Ye Xiaotian finally called, worried that the longer Ye Feng stayed, the greater the danger. “Feng’er has to go. If he stays, he’ll bring trouble to us all.” He helped tidy Ye Feng’s clothes, saying, “Let me see you off, son.”

Ye Feng, tears in his eyes, nodded and led the way out. Everyone followed closely behind. Soon they reached the main gate.

Ye Xiaotian, reluctant to part, spoke with deep feeling, “Feng’er, you said you’re leaving the Murong siblings to join the righteous army at Menglian Mountain—I won’t interfere. Just remember, wherever you go, join only those who truly fight the demon soldiers and love the people.”

“I will, Father!” Ye Feng nodded earnestly.

“Good. I won’t see you off any farther. Go, and come back as soon as you’ve driven the demons away.” Ye Xiaotian instructed the servants, “Open the gate for the young master!”

The servants hurried to open the gates. Ye Feng stepped out, turning for one last look at his father, heart aching: who knew when they would meet again? Caring for the old man would likely be a regret of this life—loyalty and filial piety cannot both be fulfilled. “Forgive me, Father!” he thought.

Unable to hold back, he rushed back, dropped to his knees, and kowtowed three times, weeping, “Father, your unfilial son cannot care for you. Please take good care of yourself!”

Ye Xiaotian, overwhelmed with grief, turned away, his sleeve wiping his face. “Go, just go! I’ll be fine. You need only take care of yourself.”

Everyone around wept silently at the parting scene.

Ye Feng’s uncles and aunts helped him up, comforting him, “Don’t worry, we’ll look after your father. You just go and fight the demon soldiers.”

“Go now! It’s getting late!” they urged.

Ye Feng nodded, covered his face, and stood, taking one last look at his father before steeling himself and running out.

He had barely crossed the gate when something tightened around his feet and he crashed to the ground. Before he could get up, two blades were at his throat.

A fierce voice growled in his ear, “Don’t move, or you’re dead!”