Chapter Ninety-One: Someone in the Tree [Please Add to Your Favorites!!!]

The grove lay in cool shade, almost chilly.

Among the lush green trees, thick vines wound everywhere, and within them leaned a man covered in blood.

At a glance, Qing Yuan knew him to be a cultivator of the third heavenly layer, one who had already condensed a law intent. His law intent belonged to the wood element.

He was gravely wounded, and had resorted to a secret art to hide himself within the tree, drawing vitality from the earth through the roots for his own use.

Qing Yuan had heard of such a method before; even by his standards, it was a remarkable secret technique.

He frowned.

The man had used the secret art to save himself, yet some unforeseen change had occurred. Rather than recovering, his injuries had worsened, until he was as good as a spent lamp with dry oil.

Had he not been sustained by the tree, drawing life through its roots, he would long since have died.

But the tree itself, though it still looked green and flourishing, had been tainted by the aura seeping from his body, its vitality corroded away. In a short while, it too would wither.

"Save..."

The man was still muttering faintly, his voice barely audible.

Qing Yuan sighed.

This man’s will to live was exceedingly strong, and it was one of the reasons he had lasted this long. But in his present condition, without an expert’s intervention and without miraculous medicine, death was inevitable.

"Bag..."

His eyes had dimmed, and he could scarcely move. He could only turn his gaze toward the pouch at his left hip.

Only then did Qing Yuan notice that vines had covered his shoulder, making it impossible to see clearly.

Beneath the vines, however, the shoulder was shattered, and the arm was already gone.

Qing Yuan did not act rashly. He hooked the pouch out with his iron staff, opened it, and found only a few items inside.

There was, however, a bottle of medicine.

He pulled out the stopper and tipped out the pills. There were five in all. Their quality was decent, enough to promote vitality, though not at the level of a true miracle elixir.

Qing Yuan poured the other four back into the bottle, pinched one pill between his fingers, and used the iron staff to press under the man's jaw, forcing his mouth open.

With a flick of his finger, the pill fell into the man's mouth.

It melted at once.

"Th...ank..." The man in the tree spoke faintly, still weak, and his injuries had not healed, but he was at least far more conscious. He had cried for help only because he had no other choice, never truly expecting much.

If it had been someone else, they might have taken the pouch and left. Even if they had once intended to save him, upon seeing that he was beyond help, they would likely not have wasted a pill.

Qing Yuan waved his hand, and the iron staff snapped the vines hanging down from above. He said slowly, "It seems you’ve run into quite a bit of trouble."

"Quite a bit," the man said, panting twice before managing, "I took a dao art head-on. By relying on my own vigorous vitality, I did not perish on the spot. But I never expected the technique to be so overbearing. Its lingering force still remains, endlessly eroding my flesh, and it has even corrupted much of this tree."

Qing Yuan said calmly, "Then it was wise of me not to touch you."

"Forgive me," the man said with a sigh. "I did not mean to harm you. I merely refused to die like this."

Qing Yuan did not answer. He clasped his hands behind his back and remained silent.

The man drew a deep breath, as if trying to circulate his cultivation method. After a while, he gave up helplessly and said, "Those pills were made from an exotic herb I obtained in my younger years and had refined by another. In all, there were twelve. At the time, the alchemist and I each took six. They can increase vitality and have life-saving effects. There are four left now, and I give them to you, fellow daoist. Within the pouch there is also a cultivation manual and a secret art. My grandfather obtained them by chance, and they are now the cultivation methods of my family. Since fellow daoist and I are fated to meet, I can give them to you as well... but I have one request."

Hearing the first part, Qing Yuan had already guessed the rest. His expression did not change. He said, "No need. I have no time to do things for you. Besides, what you have just said now has already fallen into my hands; if I want to take it, you cannot take it back. Still..."

As he spoke, Qing Yuan tossed the pouch back and said coolly, "Take it."

Blood covered the man's face, and only the twitching at the corner of his eye could be seen, while his breathing grew slightly weaker. He said with difficulty, "Do not misunderstand, fellow daoist. This is a request, not an insistence. I only thought that if fate allows, you might, if convenient, fulfill one wish for me. If destiny does not permit it and we do not cross paths, I will not make things difficult for you."

Qing Yuan asked, "What matter?"

"In my family, beginning with my grandfather’s generation, we once went to sea by chance and acquired methods, obtaining the arts of cultivation. We devoted ourselves to practice, and only when our lifespan was nearly exhausted did we barely condense true qi and step over the threshold. My father was gifted; relying on my grandfather’s insights and years of connections, and at great cost, he obtained guidance, yet he still only reached the second heavenly layer. By my generation, after three generations of accumulation, we finally achieved some result, with me as the one cultivator who condensed law intent."

As Qing Yuan listened to him speak slowly, he could not help but sigh inwardly. He had always known that itinerant cultivators groping their way along the path of cultivation, however steadfast their temperaments and however patient and resolute they might be, were often limited by inferior methods or poor talent or some other misfortune... Many went to their deaths without ever finding a road to go further. And many others sought immortality and the Dao, yet found no path, and though their hearts were wholly devoted and their talent exceptional, they still lived out a single mortal lifetime.

He had long known that cultivation was not easy, yet he had not expected that this man before him, after three generations of a family’s accumulation, had only reached such a point.

In truth, it was already fortunate that three generations had managed to build this much. It meant the younger generation had been rather outstanding, able to stand on the shoulders of those before them and move one step farther. If the descendants had been mediocre, it would perhaps have been even more lamentable.

Qing Yuan thought to himself, "On the road of cultivation, people like Hong Song, and like this man before me, all have their own hardships..."

"I have seven brothers. Of them, only I succeeded in cultivation. I have a wife and a son; after I die, they will be left alone and helpless, with no cultivation methods to rely on."

There was also much self-reproach and regret in the man's eyes as he said, "I am from the southern part of Great Liang, and my clan bears the surname Chen. My name is Chen Xing. I do have some reputation..."

He paused to catch his breath, then slowly recited the names of his wife and others, one by one.

"I do not ask you to personally look after them. Only if fellow daoist should travel through the southern region of Great Liang, please make a little inquiry and pass this cultivation method back to them..."

"If there is no fate between us... then so be it..."

By the end of these words, his breathing had suddenly become rapid.

Seeing this, Qing Yuan suddenly pressed the iron staff to the center of his chest. Red lightning flickered over the staff, and a thread of thunder immediately flowed into him.

The man’s previously feeble pulse suddenly trembled.

Thunder symbolized both destruction and life; there was even a form of Azure Wood Lightning from the Eastern Region Yi Wood, an exceedingly formidable dao art.

Qing Yuan said, "I agree. If fate brings me across your path, I will take this cultivation method back for you."

Chen Xing thanked him, and a stubborn obsession in his heart dispersed. His eyes gradually darkened.

Qing Yuan suddenly asked, "How were you wounded?"

At those words, the dimness in Chen Xing’s eyes was suddenly pierced by a strange light, full of venom and hatred. In a low voice he said, "Han... Yu..."

Qing Yuan was startled and asked, "One of the upper experts among the three major itinerant cultivators?"

Chen Xing gave a slight nod, but his vitality was slipping away. His lips moved, making an extremely faint sound, which grew weaker and weaker.

Seeing this, Qing Yuan immediately pulled out the stopper and once again tipped out a pill.

Heavenly Layer Three, an upper expert among the three great itinerant cultivators, among the family system of three generations, his family surname, Great Liang's southern region, Chen Xing, Han Yu.