Chapter 19: Xiao Zhu Luo Yu Pan

In the heart of Maple Forest City, where the winds of fortune blew, discerning pleasure-seekers knew only one true sanctuary of earthly delights: the Three Points Fragrance Tower. More than a mere house of painted faces, this establishment, though but a branch, possessed a fragrance so profound it claimed three parts of the city's allure for itself.

Since its grand unveiling, it had swept through the languid flower-and-willow market like a lightning strike, a tempest of exquisite charm. Now, any young master seeking true romantic dalliance found himself indebted to the Three Points Fragrance Tower, for it had elevated the entire profession, much like how the fifth-rank master Dong A had refined the educational standards of the Maple Forest City Taoist Academy – though this comparison was a whispered secret, shared only between confidantes like Zhao Rucheng.

At present, the crown jewel, the most coveted courtesan of the Three Points Fragrance Tower, was a woman named Miaoyu. Countless men yearned for the sanctuary of her boudoir, willing to abase themselves at her feet and crawl beneath the hem of her robe. Yet, those blessed with the privilege of a fleeting embrace were but a rare few.

Upon a lavishly adorned Bu Yao bed, a middle-aged man, stripped bare, writhed in a frenzy of simulated ecstasy. His body heaved with fervor, yet beneath him lay only a mound of silken bedding.

A simple bead curtain separated him from a low, soft couch opposite the bed. Upon it reclined Miaoyu, her posture languid, her chin propped upon her hand. Her form was a masterpiece of delicate curves, her eyes half-lidded and hazy. It was impossible to discern whether the man's solitary pantomime truly registered in her gaze.

Kneeling before the soft couch was a man clad in black, his head bowed, reporting in hushed tones.

"So, this individual named Jiang Wang… he possesses a remarkably subtle sword technique, one he has never displayed before?" Her voice was a slow, languid drawl, like a cat stretching after slumber, subtly stirring the desires of the heart.

The man in black remained on his knees, his head never rising. "Precisely so. This subordinate's abilities are lacking; I have been unable to ascertain its origins."

Miaoyu mused for a moment, then raised a single finger. "Descend."

At her word, the man in black bowed until his forehead touched the floor. His ring finger and little finger were closed, his thumb, index finger, and middle finger forming a triangle over his heart. He intoned softly, "Bottom of the Forgotten River, Abyss of the Yellow Springs. The Venerable returns to the world, illuminating the human realm."

Then, as if the floor were water, he sank downward, vanishing from sight.

"A sword technique never before seen within the Maple Forest City Taoist Academy? Is it a legacy of some great martial sage who walked the world testing blades? Or…" Miaoyu's eyes grew distant, lost in thought.

"The Son of the Tao…"

Her thoughts drifted further, reaching for the ethereal.

"Bottom of the Forgotten River, Abyss of the Yellow Springs. The Venerable returns to the world, illuminating the human realm."

She echoed the gesture and the soft incantation.

Meanwhile, the naked middle-aged man on the Bu Yao bed continued his solitary undulations, lost in a blissful fantasy, seemingly content to forever drown in its embrace.

…

…

At this very moment, in a remote village in Yong State, a bald man with a savage countenance gnawed ferociously on something, blood dripping from his mouth and staining his hands. Judging by the gaping wound in the chest of the villager lying lifeless beside him… it was undeniably a human heart he consumed.

He was in the midst of his gruesome meal when a flash of light descended, striking him directly. Alas, this was no righteous intervention from the heavens, no flying sword of justice meant to smite evil.

The bald man reached out, catching the stream of light in his hand. It resolved into a simple, ancient longsword.

"Damn it! I'll swallow your heart sooner or later!" The bald man was clearly annoyed at being interrupted from his repast.

"Old man, what era is this, and you're still sending letters by flying sword!" He grumbled, opening the missive attached to the sword with his bloodstained hand.

In these times, the Mohist school's Thousand Mile Sound Transmission Boxes had been widely adopted and sold remarkably well. Yet, certain powers remained unwilling to utilize them, for who could truly be certain that the mechanically inclined Mohists hadn't embedded some hidden mechanisms within the transmission boxes? Even if the Mohist disciples swore oaths to the heavens – the most stringent Heart Demon Oaths had long been circumvented with dozens of methods; what use were oaths then?

"Zhuang State, Qinghe Prefecture, Sanshan City?" He read the words aloud, spitting in disgust. "What a backwater!"

The longsword in his hand quivered, as if urging him to action. The bald man's irritation grew, but the sender of the letter was clearly an existence he could not, at this moment, defy.

He dipped his bloodied fingers and drew five crooked strokes upon the paper – a crude sketch of a horse, signifying: depart immediately. He carelessly reattached the letter to the sword body, and the sword departed as swiftly as it had arrived.

Only after the flying sword had vanished into the distance did the bald man recall something. "The boss won't be able to understand this, will he?" He pondered for a moment, then cast the trivial annoyance aside.

"If he can't even understand this, what good is he as a boss!"

…

…

As he approached the entrance to his dormitory, Jiang Wang heard the murmur of voices within.

Having entered the inner sect, he still shared quarters with Ling He and Du Yehuo, allowing them convenient discourse on the pursuit of the Tao. Zhao Rucheng would visit occasionally for an overnight stay but rarely lingered long. While their current accommodations were far superior to their previous ones, for Zhao Rucheng, the difference was negligible.

Hearing Jiang Wang's footsteps, Ling He emerged quickly. "You're finally back! Your family has been waiting for a while!"

Family…

Jiang Wang's heart skipped a beat. He hurried into the room and saw, seated at the window beside the yellow rosewood table and chairs, a woman who still possessed a considerable charm. The table and chairs, of course, were another of Zhao Rucheng's insistent additions.

Du Yehuo sat beside her, his hands and feet awkwardly still, appearing honest and well-behaved as he answered her questions – a question posed, an answer given. He was simply a wild child reining in his untamed nature before the parent of a friend. It was just that this "child" possessed an abundance of beard, making him appear aged beyond his years. In comparison, he seemed even older than the well-preserved woman beside him.

Seeing Jiang Wang enter, the woman had already risen, her eyes alight with surprise. "Xiao Wang, long time no see! You've grown so tall and strong!"

Jiang Wang nodded and greeted her. "Aunt Song."

His birth mother had departed long ago, and this woman was his father's second wife. He had never been able to bring himself to call her "Mother," always referring to her as "Aunt."

This aunt was not a malevolent person, and she had never treated him poorly. Yet, in the few years after his father remarried, Jiang Wang had already entered the outer sect of the Taoist Academy. Cultivation demanded arduous effort, and save for the New Year, he rarely returned home. While they had never clashed, their relationship could not be described as particularly close.

Aunt Song greeted him warmly, gently drawing the small girl who was hiding behind her forward. "Quickly, say hello!"

The little girl was timid, and urged by her mother, she parted her small lips and whispered softly, "Brother."

Aunt Song's silken garments were bright and beautiful, lending her an extra measure of allure. The little girl was also exquisitely dressed, her delicate features naturally captivating and endearing. Yet, no sooner had she spoken than she retreated behind her mother, peeking out with only half her little head, observing her long-unseen brother.

Of course, he loved his sister; blood ran thicker than water, a truth that could not be altered by anyone. It was simply that his focus had been solely on cultivation, and his visits home had always been fleeting. It had been a long time since he had heard the sound of "Brother."

That voice, though soft and small, was like pearls tumbling upon a jade plate, indescribably crisp and pleasing.

Having weathered many battles, witnessed bloodshed and darkness, Jiang Wang's heart, which he believed had hardened, suddenly felt a strange melting sensation.

Since his return from Tang She Town, Jiang Wang had rarely displayed a genuine smile. "An'an!"