Chapter Twenty-One: Someone on the Black Stone

The horse leaped forward, scattering the purple mist around the deep pit and faintly revealing the true ground beneath. After the horse’s hooves passed, wisps of yellow sand swirled through the fading lavender haze. No one knew exactly when the distant flute music had ceased, nor where Qian Mubai had gone.

“Miss Qin, what should we do now?” Leng Mian asked from outside the carriage.

“Keep going. If we don’t change direction, we shouldn’t go wrong,” Qin Xiaomo replied, though she was far from certain, forcing herself to sound confident.

No sooner had she spoken than a green dart shot through the curtains, embedding itself into the doorframe. Looking closer, she saw it was a pine branch, its broken end driven forcefully into the wood.

Qin Xiaomo’s hair bristled in the breeze. In this forest full of pine branches, was there any hope of survival? Despair washed over her.

Outside, Leng Mian used his short dagger to fend off and dodge some of the flying branches, but they came so thick and fast that he was wounded and forced to stop again.

“Miss Qin, whatever happens, hold on to the rabbit and don’t come out,” said Red Birthmark, grabbing the white bundle and diving out of the carriage.

The white bundle, thinking Red Birthmark meant to snatch its treasure, puffed itself up, baring its teeth and hugging its precious cargo tighter. Qin Xiaomo, distracted by her nerves, didn’t notice, and strained her ears to listen for sounds outside.

It seemed several people had arrived, and a fierce fight broke out. Even the torches were extinguished. Somehow, as the fighting went on, the sounds drifted farther and farther away, until they faded altogether, leaving everything in pitch-black silence.

Qin Xiaomo was on the verge of tears. Holding the white bundle, she was at a loss—should she stay or go? She fished out a tinderbox from her bag and lit it for some light. After much inner struggle, she decided to venture out and see for herself. If the attackers were still nearby, they would have burst in already. Besides, there was still a horse outside, and she had the white bundle; if things went badly, she could always escape in the carriage, cowardly as that might seem.

She dared not lift the curtain with her hands, so she picked up a broken branch at her feet and used it to slowly raise the curtain. To her astonishment, she was no longer in the purple mist forest. Darkness surrounded her, absolute and silent; even the horse had vanished without a trace.

Qin Xiaomo listened intently and scanned her surroundings. The tinderbox’s glow reached barely a meter, swallowed up by the darkness. She could hear nothing but her own and the white bundle’s breathing. She clutched the rabbit tighter, making it kick its legs in protest. “What sort of place is this? There’s not a single ray of light!” she muttered. As soon as she finished speaking, the white bundle’s paw slipped, and something fell from its arms, hitting the ground with a soft “thud.”

Any sound in that moment was enough to make her jump. Startled, she looked down: a pine cone had dropped onto the ground. Its crystalline sap oozed out but wasn’t absorbed, instead glinting like a blue crystal rolling on the floor. Blue? Qin Xiaomo reached out to touch it, expecting liquid, but found it hard as stone. Was this crystalline sap somehow related to the ground beneath her?

She picked it up, curiosity piqued, and bent down to examine the ground more closely. In the tinderbox’s light, she saw the surface was uneven, crisscrossed with irregular red and green patterns. It didn’t look like dirt, brick, or sand—suddenly, a strange thought struck her: why did the texture and feel remind her of a turtle shell?

As she pondered, she looked up and spotted two ghostly green lights swaying in the darkness not far away. Eyes, perhaps, but set too far apart. Suddenly, a strange rustling echoed from the depths, and the green lights drew nearer. A dreadful suspicion seized Qin Xiaomo: this was a giant serpent, and it seemed to be opening its mouth and gliding straight toward her.

She drew her Xuanli Blade, tossed the white bundle to the ground, flexed her limbs, and prepared for a desperate fight.

In the pitch-dark cavern, the Xuanli Blade gleamed brilliantly. The giant serpent halted at the sight, its emerald eyes fixed on the blade for a long moment. Then, as if nodding to Qin Xiaomo, it slowly turned away and retreated.

Her blood had just been roused for battle—why had it suddenly left? Qin Xiaomo looked down at her dagger. Did the serpent recognize this weapon?

Emboldened, she pressed on. The ground ahead was no longer even; scattered stones of all shapes and colors were embedded in the floor. After walking a dozen meters, she came upon a vast black stone bed, upon which someone appeared to be meditating.

She approached with her tinderbox and saw an elderly man in white robes, face ruddy and dignified, with snowy brows, hair, and beard. She watched his mustache quiver gently with his calm, even breathing.

Qin Xiaomo was overjoyed—at least she was not alone here. She waved the tinderbox before the old immortal’s eyes, hoping he would awaken.

Suddenly she remembered: in deep cultivation, one loses track of time and needs someone to keep vigil, lest they be disturbed. She stopped and quietly sat on the black stone, expecting it to be icy cold, only to find it warm and smooth as jade. Was this not black stone, but Ink-warm Jade? She had heard of black jade, but never this.

The white bundle was delighted as soon as it touched the black stone, rolling about as if basking on sunlit grass, even letting its other pine cone roll onto the stone.

Qin Xiaomo fixed her eyes on the crystalline sap, curious to see what color would emerge this time. To her surprise, as soon as the sap touched the black stone, it seeped in. The stone seemed to have veins; the sap turned into a dark green light, flowing along the veins into the old immortal’s body.

Suddenly, the old immortal’s eyes snapped open. “Who’s there?!” With a wave of his arm, Qin Xiaomo and the white bundle were hurled against the wall.

Strangely, it didn’t hurt—the wall was warm, soft, and springy. She scrambled to her feet; the white bundle, however, was so dazed it staggered as if drunk.

“Hmm?” The old immortal seemed to recover, looking at Qin Xiaomo in confusion. “How did you get here?”

“I don’t know. I was in a carriage, and after getting out, I ended up here.”

“Did someone bring you?” The old immortal narrowed his eyes, stroking his beard in thought.

“I was traveling with a few companions to West Bridge Lake, but we encountered the purple mist forest, where the fog grew thick. We were attacked along the way, and in the chaos, we got separated.”

Suddenly, the old immortal coughed violently. “Did you feed me pine cone crystal sap?”

“I didn’t mean to…” Qin Xiaomo began, searching for an excuse, but the old immortal cleared his throat and said, “I don’t like owing favors. In my residence, you may choose any treasure you like.”

But it was pitch black—what treasures could there be? Even as she thought this, the old immortal waved his arm, and the entire cave lit up. Jewels of every color and size were embedded in the floor, walls, and ceiling, glittering brilliantly. The cave seemed bottomless, the path ahead a corridor of shining gems. Before her, several golden nanmu wood chests had appeared, their lids open, revealing all manner of rare treasures—divine weapons, cultivation manuals, exquisite elixirs…

“Choose one,” he said.

Qin Xiaomo wandered among the chests before turning back. “Immortal, I’m not very skilled in the spiritual arts, nor do I know martial arts. I can’t see what use these treasures might be to me. I’d rather not take anything.”

“How curious you are. Others who come here always ask if they can take more. Very well—since these don’t suit you, I’ll give you something else.”

“There’s no need to trouble yourself!” Qin Xiaomo waved her hands.

“Come here,” the old immortal beckoned, pointing to the black stone. “Sit down.”

“I see you have spiritual power, but you don’t know how to use it. Let me teach you.”

He gathered his energy, raised his right hand, and an aura of immortal energy radiated throughout the cave. He paused, yawned, and Qin Xiaomo stared in surprise—was yawning some kind of mystical art?

The old immortal looked a little embarrassed. “…I just woke up. Let’s try again!”

He raised his hand once more, and a golden light appeared. “Close your eyes. Imagine a golden python coursing through your meridians, traveling from the crown of your head to the base of your spine and back again, over and over. If you meet any blockages, let me know, and I will help you clear them.” He pressed his middle and index fingers to Qin Xiaomo’s forehead. Strands of golden light rushed into her body, endlessly absorbed and vanishing as quickly as they entered.

Suddenly, the old immortal stopped, his brow furrowed. “Who are you, really?”