Chapter 22: The Seventeen-Year Cicada Welcomes Guests

Wu Yue reclined on a grand armchair, leisurely flipping through a book with an air of complete relaxation. Xue Xiaoyu dashed over, brimming with excitement, and shouted, “Hey, let me tell you, the Spirit of Mount Li appeared! It gave me a cultivation technique!”

“I know. What if I told you it was me who asked Mount Li to give it to you—would you believe it?” Wu Yue replied lazily.

Xue Xiaoyu rolled his eyes dramatically, obviously not believing a word. Yet, it was true; after that moment of enlightenment, Wu Yue had become bound to Mount Li. He was keenly aware of every change, every blade of grass and shift of the mountain. For instance, he had caught a glimpse of Jiang Ruhai’s cold, indifferent gaze at a certain moment, though he didn’t understand the reason. Still, as someone plagued by suspicion, Wu Yue had already placed Jiang Ruhai under close observation. The greatest pity was that Wu Yue dared not use the true power of Mount Li on a large scale, for he sensed with chilling certainty that once he did, a terrifying presence would notice—and disaster would inevitably follow.

“By the way, I heard you’ve become Jiang Ruhai’s junior brother? What happened there?” Xue Xiaoyu asked.

“That’s right. Haven’t you also joined Mount Li? What should you call me now? Grand-uncle? Something like that? Ah, from now on, we can no longer call ourselves brothers. Mixing up generations is a grave mistake.” Wu Yue put on a look of benevolent seniority.

“Get lost, you old rascal. As for little Yu Fu, if he dares to call me his disciple even once, I’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget,” Xue Xiaoyu said with an air of defiance.

Wu Yue glanced at Xue Xiaoyu. “You’re really bent on defying your elders, aren’t you? But tell me, why did you choose to join Mount Li?”

Xue Xiaoyu hesitated, then said quietly, “I’m not afraid of you mocking me. I want to struggle—yes, struggle. Mount Li truly gave me a cultivation method. I want to give it a try; I have to. If the day comes when that person tries to kill me, at least I can fight back. Even if I lose, I’ll make sure to take a piece of flesh with me.” After speaking, Xue Xiaoyu’s gaze became resolute.

Isn’t all life a struggle? Because of injustice, because of desire, we begin to fight—like fish leaping or birds soaring. And now, Xue Xiaoyu joined their ranks.

Wu Yue glanced at the ring on Xue Xiaoyu’s thumb and said nothing. Everyone has their own fate, their own choices.

A long silence passed.

Suddenly, Xue Xiaoyu grinned and changed the subject. “What are you reading? Why aren’t you cultivating?”

“It’s a simple book, just something to hone my spiritual sense. As for the main thing, I’ve created a new spell—a divine ability, you might say. It’s my own signature technique.” Wu Yue spoke lightly, though inwardly he thought, Soon, very soon, I’ll witness something truly astonishing!

But Xue Xiaoyu burst out laughing, a mixture of genuine amusement and mockery. “You’ve created a divine spell? Come on, tell me about it. Let me tell you, nowadays, at least half of all cultivators can claim to have invented some technique or other, but I’ve never heard of one that’s any good.

A few years back I met a cultivator at the Core Formation stage who’d also created a spell—can’t remember the name. It looked impressive enough, made him seem extraordinary in a duel. But in practice, it was useless—just a waste of energy and spiritual power. In a real fight, who cares if you’re hiding your true strength?

Only truly powerful figures can create divine abilities. Without deep understanding of the Dao and the accumulation of years, it’s impossible to make a real one.”

Wu Yue was left a little stunned. He hadn’t realized it was so difficult to create such a technique. Then what exactly was the art he had invented? It was something Wu Yue had grasped in his search for the Dao, something that manifested his own path—not so much a spell as a declaration of self, a realization made manifest.

“All right, all right,” Xue Xiaoyu said, unwilling to dampen Wu Yue’s spirits further. “Show me then. Let’s see what you’ve come up with—maybe I can give you a score.”

“Do you hear anything?” Wu Yue closed his book and looked at Xue Xiaoyu with a rare seriousness.

“Anything?” Xue Xiaoyu listened intently. “Cicadas?” He froze as soon as the words escaped his mouth. Cicadas, in early spring?

“Yes, cicadas,” Wu Yue replied.

There is a cicada in this world that lies buried underground for seventeen years, only to enjoy a single summer. It knows not joy or sorrow, not happiness or delight, not whether it cries or sings… Suddenly, a sound rang out, like the weeping of a soul in the depths.

“This cicada is like me, like all living things, each with something they long for…” Wu Yue’s voice was low, confessional, almost like a prayer or a soliloquy.

The sound of cicadas swelled, fierce and piercing.

“It’s just a bit noisy, isn’t it?” Xue Xiaoyu blurted out.

Wu Yue did not reply.

At the great stone gate before Mount Li, a clear voice rang out:

“I am Zhou Qilin. Is there no one here to greet your guests?”

There were two of them. One was dressed in white, elegant as jade. The other wore yellow and black, standing beside the first with a proud demeanor.

“Qilin, we came in such haste, and I still don’t know why,” the youth in yellow said, baffled.

Zhou Qilin smiled wryly. “It’s because of my cousin. She pestered the First Emperor for days, insisting that Mount Li be included in the Jade Bowl Banquet. It’s rather amusing—across the Qin Empire, which sect wouldn’t want to attend? Yet here we are, forcing them. If word gets out, Mount Li will soon be famous.”

“Princess Jinping is young and wild. How could she make such a decision?” The youth in yellow looked disgusted, recalling something.

Zhou Qilin said, “From what I heard, when they were returning, they encountered several people from Mount Li. One of them was remarkable—about our age, yet already at a breathtaking level of cultivation, perhaps even a match for the Four Young Lords of the Zhao family. Both Honggu and Miss Lin were present, so I doubt they were mistaken.”

The youth in yellow sneered, “Do you really believe that? The Four Young Lords of the Zhao family—the youngest, Zhao Chengfeng, barely over thirty, is already at the peak of Core Formation. When did such prodigies become commonplace, especially in some backwater sect?”

No wonder he was skeptical—Zhou Qilin had been cryptic all the way, dragging him thousands of miles on little more than curiosity. Now he claimed someone here rivaled the top geniuses of Qin, yet the spiritual energy here was thinner than the average mountain. The youth could hold back no longer.

“Honggu has always been blunt, and Miss Lin is sharp-eyed. Even if there’s some exaggeration, it can’t be too far off. I was just hoping to draw someone out. If there’s a true prodigy here, it’s a blessing. If not, it’s just a wasted effort.”

“Honglian is just a maid, and Lin Wutong…” The youth’s voice faltered, then continued, “This place is barren of spiritual energy and luck. If a genius could emerge here, wouldn’t that be absurd?”

A flash of disgust crossed Zhou Qilin’s eyes, though his tone remained calm. “It is, after all, a thousand-year sect—there must be some mystery to it.”

“If you don’t believe in such things, let me try.” The youth’s voice grew cold. “You have ten breaths to come and greet us. Otherwise, your cultivation will be crippled and your sect’s name erased from Qin’s lands!” His voice thundered forth, shaking loose countless stones from Mount Li.

Disgust flickered deeper in Zhou Qilin’s eyes, but he kept his composure. If this fool wanted to court disaster, so be it. Consider it interest for the trouble along the way.

Suddenly, the cicada’s cry erupted.

The arrogant youth in yellow’s face went ashen. He staggered back a hundred steps, coughing up blood again and again.

Zhou Qilin took a deep breath, confirming his suspicions. He bowed slightly. “I am Zhou Qilin, here to invite Mount Li to the Jade Bowl Banquet in August.”

Wu Yue sighed. The people of Mount Li truly had good temperaments—insulted at their gates, yet utterly unmoved.

Yu Fu had long since run off to the back mountain, as if cultivation meant nothing to him. Deaf Forty-Nine still chopped wood every day—well, he couldn’t hear anything anyway. The plump uncle hid in the kitchen, stealing buns. Chen Shujiang seemed oblivious, playing chess against himself. As for Jiang Ruhai? He watered the vegetable patch with a smile, as if the world had nothing to do with him. And then there was Xue Xiaoyu, still in shock—had Wu Yue really created a divine ability? Was it truly such a thing?

Wu Yue finally said, “Very well. The cicada’s song welcomed the guests; now, with the cicadas silent and no tea or food offered, it is time for unwelcome guests to depart.” Wu Yue felt a secret thrill—because of that youth in yellow. So proud, clearly from wealth or nobility, yet his cultivation was only at the Meridian Opening stage! Like discovering, in a game you thought was on nightmare mode, that every opponent you’d met was a boss.

By the standard of that youth’s cultivation, Wu Yue must already be quite extraordinary. He was pleased—a quiet satisfaction in being ahead.

Zhou Qilin smiled. “The unwelcome are gone; let those of elegance and goodwill remain.”

The youth in yellow, now meditating, was pale as death, his eyes full of venom. Whether directed at Wu Yue or Zhou Qilin was anyone’s guess.