Chapter Fifty-Eight: Zola’s Endless Journey

Peace does not always reign so undisturbed. At night, even the slightest noise can shatter such tranquillity, and clearly, at this moment, something had. Though the wind still whispered outside, the faint, unusual sounds of chewing and shifting did not escape Sha Wan’er’s keen ears. With a swift leap, she dropped from the roof of the boat, her steps unhesitating as she entered the cabin. The room appeared unchanged, exactly as it had been before, untouched by any visible alteration. Her longsword lay across the table, and in the dim lamplight, it shone with a striking brilliance.

“Could I have been mistaken? There’s clearly no one here, so why do I hear something odd?” Qiu Wan’er mused in confusion, her gaze sweeping the four corners of the room, seeking any trace to confirm her suspicion. Yet it was futile—nothing was amiss beyond what should have been present. Her movements were unhurried, and the table and chairs were not far off; in but a brief moment, she was seated before the table, her hand reaching out to grasp the teapot, preparing to pour herself some tea. But just then, her expression sharpened with tension, her voice gaining a stern edge as she demanded, “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

Her spiritual power surged with her command, so much so that the distant curtains trembled from the force. And almost simultaneously, a figure leapt down from the railing atop the boat’s canopy. The pale hue of his hair caught the girl’s eye at once—striking and unmistakable, the man was clearly elderly. Even compared to the Daoist of Destiny, he seemed older still. One would expect a man of such age to be frail, struggling even with daily movement, yet his agile leap just now surpassed even what Qiu Wan’er herself could achieve.

“Who are you?” She barely uttered half the question before falling silent, her gaze fixed intently on the old man’s face. Wrinkles were deeply etched across his features, but his complexion was ruddy, his vigor evident. In a single glance, the young woman discerned that he was a martial master, his skill vastly exceeding her own. On this basis alone, she could not afford to let down her guard. And yet—a flicker of familiarity crossed her mind. She had seen this old man somewhere before, but for the moment, the memory eluded her, leaving her awkward and speechless, her stare unwavering.

“Well, well, little miss, it seems we meet again. Where’s your young man this time? Why isn’t he with you?” The old man’s face broke into a broad grin, as if he knew her well. The situation was somewhat awkward, but he acted with the ease of an old friend, striding directly to Qiu Wan’er’s side. Instinctively, she stepped back, uncertain of his intentions, and watched as he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot on the table. The steam rising blurred his face, but after he drank, he seemed all the more at ease, his smile deepening. He spoke plainly, in the tone of casual conversation between old acquaintances.

“What young man? What nonsense are you speaking? Who are you, and what do you intend by coming here uninvited?” Whether from embarrassment at his words or the mention of a “man” in particular, her cheeks, already tinged pink from the night breeze, flushed even deeper. Her question, though meant to be stern, wound down to a bashful murmur, barely audible even at close distance. The old man, sensing he’d struck a nerve, looked all the more pleased, dragging over a stool and sitting down. He continued, “There’s no need to be embarrassed, little miss. Your young man’s not bad—good looks, decent skills, and, most importantly, a good heart. This is my second time passing through the Xiang River, and both times I’ve run into you two. He’s truly not with you this time?”

Even the most confused person would now recognize the old man. The cliff-dweller, whose stone-shattering palm had left so deep an impression, had been unforgettable, though it had now been a month or two. Her initial tension faded at once, though her embarrassment only grew more palpable. “Sir, so it’s you! Truly, that’s not my man—he’s my senior brother!”

“Yes, your senior brother, of course. No need to explain further. I may be old, but I’ve seen a thing or two!” The old man replied, following her words as if to tease her further. Qiu Wan’er, flustered by his banter, couldn’t meet his gaze and turned her head aside to hide her embarrassment. She hurried to clarify, “Please, don’t jest with me, sir. He truly is my senior brother. We are both disciples of Mount Qilian. My name is Qiu Wan’er, and his is Han Tanyi. May I ask your name, sir, and why you were hiding in my room?”

That was a fair question, and whatever the previous misunderstanding, it brought the conversation back to solid ground. The old man grew momentarily silent, lost in thought. The teacup was now empty, so he poured another, but as he lifted it to his lips, he hesitated, then set it down upside-down on the tabletop. The cup was full, yet he managed the maneuver so deftly that not a drop spilled, and the surface of the tea remained utterly still, not even a ripple breaking its calm.

Such skill would earn the envy of many in the martial world, Qiu Wan’er among them. She wondered to herself, just what manner of man was this? Clearly, he was capable and burdened with cares. Skill could perhaps be learned, but burdens were one’s own. Best not to pry, she thought, lest she invite trouble. This old man had surely lived through much, and anything that could render him so silent must weigh heavily indeed. Yet her curiosity gnawed at her.

It was a tangled web of thoughts, enough to torment even Qiu Wan’er herself. She longed to ask, to understand, but the words of the Daoist of Destiny echoed in her mind: In the martial world, skill is but one thread; to truly endure and achieve, one must learn restraint of heart. Too much curiosity brings only trouble. Even the most capable provoke enmity, and sooner or later, one is caught in others’ webs. Life could be simple, if only one did not step willingly into the maelstrom.

“Little miss—Wan’er, is it? I am Zhuo Laweiyang, from Western Kunlun, seeking my junior brother and sister. When I reached their lodgings, I learned they had already left. With no money on hand, I had no choice but to do as you found me. I hope you won’t take offense.” Whether from the weight of his thoughts or the changed subject, even his previously teasing tone grew more measured and formal. Qiu Wan’er, for her part, was puzzled. The martial world was vast, but her knowledge of the Qilian sect was mostly of the central plains, with names typically two or three characters; this four-character name was peculiar and unfamiliar. Still, the world was wide, and such things were not unheard of.

“Elder Zhuo, your name is quite unusual—I must confess I don’t quite understand it!” She smiled slightly, her embarrassment tinged with a hint of guilt. Casually, she reached into her pouch and drew out a piece of silver, neither too large nor too small, and handed it to him. “Traveling the martial world is not always convenient. Here—twenty taels of silver, take it as travel expenses.”

The gesture was generous. To an ordinary person, twenty taels was a fortune, enough to live comfortably for years, but Qiu Wan’er handed it over without a trace of regret; it likely was not her own money. Yet Zhuo Laweiyang did not take it, only looked at her with gratitude, which left her confused. Hastily, she added, “What is it, sir, is it not enough?”

“Far from it! As you people of the Central Plains say, ‘no merit, no reward.’ I don’t quite understand the phrase, but how could I accept your gift for nothing? I see you’re headed for Yingyang—why not let me accompany you? My junior brother and sister are likely bound there as well. If I find them, whatever expenses I incur, I’ll return to you in full. That way, I won’t be taking advantage of you, Miss Qiu. What do you say?” To Qiu Wan’er, the old man’s manner seemed a touch contrived, lacking the straightforwardness she admired. Still, his words were reasonable; to insist would only breed discord. So she nodded lightly, agreeing to his proposal. “Very well, it will be nice to have company. Are you hungry, sir? I’ll ask the boatman to prepare something to eat.”

With that, she strode away toward the bow, not waiting for his reply, leaving the old man to watch her retreating figure with a trace of wistfulness. In his eyes flickered the shadow of a familiar face. He sighed softly, murmuring to himself, “This girl truly does resemble my old junior sister. I wonder how the two of them have fared all these years.”