Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 71: The Inscription

Fragrance filled the air, warmth enveloped them. Wang Chuan realized that Xu Wei had awakened some time ago, nestled gently in his arms, her lashes trembling ever so slightly.

He lovingly smoothed her hair, noticing her head lowering further and further, her delicate hands gently kneading the quilt. A flush crept across her cheeks, spreading wider and wider, until her swan-like neck was tinged a tender red beneath the moonlight, making her appear breathtakingly beautiful.

“Are you thinking naughty thoughts, Wei’er?” Wang Chuan asked.

“No, I’m not! You mustn’t say that,” Xu Wei retorted, wrapping her arms around his waist, her body feverish. Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Then save it for next time,” Wang Chuan chuckled, his touch light as water, caressing her snow-soft skin. “We should get up now.”

“Mm-hmm,” Xu Wei nodded, her cheeks growing even redder. “You go out first.”

“Alright,” Wang Chuan relented, letting her be.

Standing upon the mountain breeze, Wang Chuan gazed at his hands as emotions surged within him like a tide, threatening to drown him.

It seemed he was about to sink into it again.

The three tribulations of heaven, earth, and man—he could contend with heaven and earth, but the tribulation of man was the hardest.

He had yet to take that step.

It was simply too difficult.

Could he really pursue the Way through love?

“Brother Chuan…” Xu Wei came out, embracing him gently from behind. “Last night, you told me about the general and the princess—what happened to them in the end?”

The girl’s clear, melodious voice reached his ears, making his body melt.

Wang Chuan turned, seeing a slender figure standing still upon the stage, clad in white with pink embroidery, her hair swept up in a cloud-like knot. Her delicate, gentle face radiated a hint of sacred intellect and an aura of serene purity. That instinctive stirring within him was now impossible to suppress.

Her brows were like painted lines, her skin glimmered like carved white jade, so fair that it rivaled her own robe. Aside from a silver hair ribbon, she wore no adornment, utterly unblemished. Her glossy black hair and bright eyes stood out starkly, with not a trace of color besides black and white. Her beautiful, expressive eyes seemed to pierce directly into one’s heart, and anyone meeting her gaze felt a subtle tenderness envelop them.

Her exquisite, delicate presence was like a sweet spring in a secluded valley.

“Oh, that story from last night? I’ll tell you the rest another time,” Wang Chuan replied after a moment. “But let me tell you two other stories.”

“Alright,” Xu Wei nodded with gentle understanding.

“Long ago, an elder sought to break through his realm, and so he needed to temper himself in the mortal world, to comprehend his path—a process we call ‘becoming ordinary.’ He dispersed all his cultivation and settled in the capital of a country, renting a shop to live in seclusion. He opened a wood carving shop to honor his father, and every day he carved, creating images of the demon beasts he had encountered. Yet each wooden figure was unique; they were less wood carvings than magical treasures, each lifelike and imbued with spiritual power.

His neighbors were all good people, caring for him, arranging matches, preparing meals. Decades passed, the carvings multiplied, and wrinkles deepened on both the elder and his neighbors. Once a fierce star who dominated countless worlds, he did not kill a single soul in those years, his aura now tinged with the weariness of time. When he witnessed his neighbors pass away, and grasped the shifting cycle of life and death, his first ‘becoming ordinary’ came to an end.” Wang Chuan spoke calmly, his words flowing gently.

Yet the story struck deeply, touching the soul.

“The second story is about his second ‘becoming ordinary.’ He later had a son whom he managed to save after much hardship. To make up for his neglect, he decided to accompany his child through a lifetime, ensuring the boy’s happiness. Although the son often asked his father, with plaintive longing, if he could cultivate, the elder could only reply painfully and despairingly: ‘No.’

So the elder took his son to see mountains and rivers, to weather life’s storms. But what was truly shocking was that, in the end, the truth was revealed: his son had died long ago! The elder had preserved the boy’s remnant soul with his boundless powers, even simulating his physical changes throughout life. If the boy cultivated, his soul would instantly dissipate, which is why the elder always sorrowfully refused his request.”

Xu Wei seemed to have heard something dreadful; her face grew increasingly pale.

Her delicate features were now marked by unprecedented gravity and fear, utterly terrified.

The overwhelming blow and suffocating pressure made her feel unable to breathe, her trembling body too frightened to move.

She struggled to suppress the surging emotions within, her lips moving soundlessly, unable to speak.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Wei’er, it’s alright, it’s just a story,” Wang Chuan sighed, gently stroking her slender, fragile form to ease her pain.

A steady stream of spiritual energy seeped into her.

His heart was flooded by complex emotions mixed with pain, leaving Xu Wei unsettled, clutching her chest tightly.

After hearing his words, she relaxed a bit, slowly regaining composure.

“Brother Chuan, I’m scared…” the girl whispered in terror.

“Don’t be afraid, I’ll always protect you, not just in this lifetime,” Wang Chuan said earnestly. “I’ve made up my mind—I don’t want to let you down. I hope you’ll always be like this.”

“Just now, I was thinking about how many children we might have in the future, playing together in the wheat fields, and you joining their games. I’d stand by the edge of the cliff, watching quietly. If any child ran toward the cliff, I’d catch them… I mean, they’d be running wildly, not knowing where they’re going, and I’d appear from somewhere to stop them. That’s all I want to do—to be a guardian in the wheat fields.”

“Are we really going to have children?” Xu Wei mused, blushing furiously.

“Yes, don’t worry, don’t be afraid,” Wang Chuan gently stroked her hair, his eyes brimming with tenderness.

Xu Wei thought for a moment, then asked seriously, “Can I cultivate?”

“Of course, you don’t need to worry,” Wang Chuan laughed, lightly tapping her nose.

At last, she seemed to relax, smiling sweetly.

“Let’s go, let’s wait for them ahead. After last night, I feel I’ve gained some new insight—a leap to the heavens! Now I roam freely between heaven and earth,” Wang Chuan cried out toward the sky, as if freeing himself from years of burdens, sweeping away all his worries.

“But did Sky Star predict I’d reach this step? With my current realm, my vision has broadened. My opponents are the ancient giants, the so-called Demon Emperors. I’ll go meet them someday. As for others, none are worthy of my hand. Not qualified at all! I regard the world as ants—life and death in the palm of my hand.”

A powerful divine consciousness swept out arrogantly.

Wang Chuan’s long robe fluttered, his brows exuding unparalleled confidence, dominating heaven and earth, traversing all realms.

“Brother Chuan is the most amazing!” Xu Wei praised.

Wang Chuan blushed at her words, a hint of shyness creeping in.

Ahead, the grass and trees remained lush, the distant stream shimmered, and the people were immersed in the gentle twilight, a scene of peace and harmony.

Wang Chuan, with Xu Wei, leapt down.

Upon landing, his divine sense spread like morning sunlight, first checking the state of all the Wei soldiers and Duan Changfeng’s group.

“Brother Chuan…” Xu Wei suddenly cried out, tugging at his sleeve.

Wang Chuan jumped in surprise, having noticed nothing amiss himself.

Following her gaze, he saw a wild goose plummet from the sky, already dead.

A hunter went over and picked it up.

“Brother Chuan, what happened to it?” Xu Wei asked, feeling pity and curiosity.

“Let’s go ask,” Wang Chuan said, taking her hand and hurrying over.

The hunter was a short, dark-skinned middle-aged man, his eyes sharp and shrewd.

Hearing Wang Chuan call out, he looked up and saw the pair approaching, startled.

A handsome couple, both like jade, celestial companions stepping out of a painting.

The stunning girl, clad in a white embroidered gown of light gauze, moved with the grace of a lotus, her figure slender and elegant, soft as water. Every gesture tugged at the heartstrings.

Beneath her fluttering lashes were bright, lively eyes, sparkling with vivacity, an unrivaled beauty.

“Why isn’t this goose one you shot?” Wang Chuan asked curiously.

The hunter had shot one before, the long arrow piercing it.

Now he picked up another.

The morning sun slanted, scattering golden light across the trees, the branches gleaming with rosy brilliance.

“This goose was too foolish. It was the mate of the one I shot. After seeing its companion captured, it threw itself to its death,” the hunter explained with a laugh.

Xu Wei gripped Wang Chuan’s arm, unable to look at the two dead geese, her heart aching.

“Never mind, sell them to us. Uncle, you’re just earning a living,” Wang Chuan said.

“What do you want them for?” The hunter blinked in surprise, sizing up the pair. “Are you newlyweds? The young lady’s so slender—is it to nourish her? If you ask me, you’d be better off with an old hen.”

“Don’t worry about it, my wife just wants them,” Wang Chuan said, not wishing to argue.

I’m not, I haven’t, don’t say such things…

Xu Wei stood beside him, blushing but not refuting.

Leaves fell, carried by the morning breeze, drifting before them.

The old hunter finally agreed.

But as Wang Chuan reached for money, he froze, embarrassed.

He had none.

He’d separated from Uncle Zhong and the army, forgetting to bring any money.

Xu Wei, too, seemed to have none.

By the deserted stream, the scene grew more forlorn.

Wang Chuan considered other options.

The hunter grew wary, eyeing them up and down—so finely dressed, and claiming to have no money? “Are you trying to fool me? Forget it, I won’t sell.”

He turned to leave, unwilling to become entangled.

“Wait!” Wang Chuan called out. “I’ll write you a poem—you can sell it in the city for at least ten taels.”

If he found a connoisseur, Wang Chuan’s handwritten poem would fetch a fortune.

“What? A poem?” The hunter stared, perplexed. “What use is that? Can you eat it?”

Wang Chuan was at a loss. “You can exchange it for silver.”

The hunter wore a ‘don’t try to trick me’ expression. Since when was a poem worth so much? He should have pawned everything to study at the academy.

“I only want silver,” the hunter insisted.

Don’t think you can fool me.

He was really about to walk away.

“Wait, you won’t get much for the geese anyway. Try my poem—you might earn more,” Wang Chuan urged sincerely.

“Are you a scholar?” the hunter asked.

“Sort of,” Wang Chuan replied.

“Do you have any official titles?” the hunter pressed.

Well…

We’re a crown prince and a princess, and you’re asking about titles?

If Wang Chuan said no, the hunter would surely walk away.

It was impossible for a stranger in the wilderness to believe a poem was worth anything.

There were few whose works and calligraphy were worth a fortune.

As luck would have it, Wang Chuan was one.

But if he claimed to be the crown prince now, he’d seem deranged.

“Never mind. If you succeed someday, remember old me and bring some money,” the hunter relented at last, handing over the geese.

Xu Wei received them carefully, her heart filled with compassion.

“Do you have ink and brush? I’ll write you a poem—it really will fetch money. If it’s not enough, don’t sell,” Wang Chuan offered.

“We rough men don’t have such things,” the hunter shook his head.

Wang Chuan thought a moment, tore a piece of cloth from his collar, and grabbed a dry twig, rubbing it until a wisp of white smoke rose from his fingers. After burning, he had charcoal.

He wrote:

“Mou Yu’er (Tune: Mou Yu’er)

In the year of Yi Chou, passing through Qingzhou, I met a goose hunter who said, ‘This morning I caught a goose and killed it. The one that escaped the net cried mournfully and would not leave, but threw itself to the ground and died.’ I composed this poem to buy it, burying it by the Fen River, marking the spot with stones, and naming it ‘Goose Mound.’ Many companions wrote verses; I, too, have a ‘Goose Mound Song.’ The original lacked musicality; now I have revised it.

Ask the world, what is love, that makes life and death a promise?

South and north, two flying companions, old wings enduring countless cold and heat.

Joy and delight, bitter parting, amid all, there are foolish lovers.

You must have words:

Vast clouds stretch ten thousand miles, snowy mountains at dusk, whose shadow flies alone?

On the Fen Road, lonely were the flutes and drums of years past, wild smoke still shrouds the plain.

Summoning souls, lamentations are futile, mountain spirits weep in wind and rain.

Even heaven is jealous, unwilling to see, that warblers and swallows are buried in yellow earth.

Through the ages, left for poets to sing wildly, to drink deeply, to visit Goose Mound.”