Chapter 112: The Exquisite Little Town

Three days later, He Changan and Zhang Xiaoyan left Blue Stone Town, continuing their journey southward toward Mount Longhu.

The Black Flag Mountain had scattered like birds and beasts, and Grinding Stone Mountain had also fallen into disarray. He Changan, having been inexplicably drawn into a fight, had ended up with a pile of useless gold and silver, which he promptly gifted to A-Jiu. Along with the treasure, he had handed over the management of both mountains to her. He could never quite fathom why that dark-skinned yet delicate A-Jiu was so obsessed with wealth; upon hearing that both mountains were hers to oversee, she had laughed in her sleep. He Changan actually missed the boy who used to glare at steamed buns back in Yellow Mud Lane.

As they headed south, the weather grew warmer, and the biting chill of the North faded away. Everywhere they looked, there were verdant peaks and blooming flowers. The population also gradually increased; villages and small towns appeared at regular intervals. Yet, the two remained accustomed to camping in the wild, preferring it to staying at inns. Zhang Xiaoyan did not mind; after all, He Changan’s culinary skills were better than those of the head chefs in the small towns.

He Changan’s mood gradually lightened, while Zhang Xiaoyan began to sigh and complain incessantly, accusing He Changan of being eager to get rid of him by rushing him back to Mount Longhu. He Changan ignored these remarks entirely. In truth, he had been reluctant about this trip to Mount Longhu from the start, and having this "handsome man" around, who was far too flashy, always left him feeling uneasy. The battle in Blue Stone Town had been grueling, yet the victory had been bizarre, leaving him suspicious of this Grand Master of Mount Longhu. He had personally experienced the strength of Black Big, which was unprecedentedly formidable. Presumably, White Second’s abilities were not far behind, and as for that Mr. Mo from Grinding Stone Mountain who had hoped to profit from the chaos, it remained a mystery how he had met his end. Zhang Xiaoyan had brushed it off with a casual "they are all dead," and He Changan had not pressed the matter. Involving oneself in another sect’s secret arts was a taboo in the world of martial arts, and asking would likely only yield vague answers.

A month later, the two arrived at a small town named "Linglong." It was a place of clear waters and lush hills, quiet and elegant. The only thing that puzzled He Changan was that while they were walking through a mountain valley, a momentary trance had come over them, and in a single step, they had entered the town. At first, he suspected Zhang Xiaoyan of using some kind of sorcery, but he soon realized that was not the case. The town was indeed peculiar.

Linglong Town had only about a hundred households. The people rose with the sun to farm and retired at dusk. Along the narrow blue-stone alleyway, there were three or five shops that seemed to have little business. What surprised He Changan was that almost everyone in the town possessed refined features and an air of gentle elegance. This held true for the youths, and even the elderly working in the fields were spirited and well-spoken. It truly lived up to the saying "a place of beauty breeds talented people," leaving He Changan marveling and unable to stop himself from looking twice.

Later, he realized it was the scent of books that permeated the place.

Zhang Xiaoyan seemed familiar with the town, leading He Changan through winding alleys until they found an inn. The inn was small and looked quite dilapidated. Before entering, He Changan glanced up and saw a wooden sign hanging over the door that read "Mountain Dweller Inn." It appeared to be quite old, covered in a thin layer of light green moss.

The innkeeper was an elderly woman with a kind face, and the place was kept immaculately clean. Upon seeing them enter, she paused briefly, then smiled broadly. "Travelers, are you staying the night or just stopping for a meal?"

"Both will do. First, bring some hot water. Oh, my, my feet have blistered from all this walking; I need to soak them well tonight," Zhang Xiaoyan said, swaying his waist as he led the way into a guest room. "Oh, and just put him in one of the side rooms," he added, turning back to point at He Changan, laughing, "This guy has thick skin; he’d be fine sleeping in the stables."

The old woman chuckled, "A guest is a guest; how could I neglect you?" After calling to the backyard to have water heated, she led He Changan to a side courtyard and into a clean, well-kept room.

"Young master, if you need anything, just ask," the old woman said as she opened the windows to let in the air. "Our town is too remote; we barely see a guest every few months. It's a rare treat to have two at once today."

He Changan looked around the room and felt quite satisfied. What surprised him most was a bookshelf by the window, neatly arranged with dozens of books, which brought him a sense of calm. The old scholar had once said that He Changan was no great reader, but he had a certain affinity for books and always felt a sense of closeness to them. He walked over and pulled out a volume titled *Unofficial History of the Human World*. He was taken aback; he had never heard of this book, and the title felt both vast and strangely helpless. Could there really be an "unofficial history" of the human world?

"Young master, dinner will be sent up later. Once the water is ready, do wash up," the old woman said with a smile before slowly exiting the room.

He Changan stood by the window and looked out. The inn’s architecture was interesting; even within the town, one could gaze upon distant green mountains from the window. Furthermore, he was delighted to see a cluster of bamboo and several unfamiliar, fragrant flowers outside. After more than a month of trekking through the wild, staying in such an elegant room filled him with emotion. However, driven by a deep-rooted habit, he rested briefly before quietly slipping out to survey the town, leaving behind several small safeguards before returning to the inn. Some good habits were worth keeping. He sometimes wondered, if he ever became a sword cultivator capable of riding a sword to strike from a thousand miles away, would he still need to keep these habits? The answer was a definitive yes.

He Changan had a bold hypothesis: those high-level experts must have even more profound methods, ones that were more subtle and far more powerful. He had heard Zhang Xiaoyan mention that those "people of the mountains" could toss out a palm-sized formation disc that would transform into a grand protective barrier, shielding an entire mountain within a hundred-mile radius. It was said that many immortal cultivation sects possessed such treasures.

In He Changan’s world, however, the so-called "immortal sects" were nothing more than White Cloud Temple or Cool Mountain. The only one he knew of was the divine sect of Mount Longhu. Strictly speaking, his knowledge of Mount Longhu was limited. He had only heard it said that centuries ago, the Grand Master of Mount Longhu required an edict from the human Emperor. That had been the peak era for Mount Longhu, a time when a mere stomp of their feet would shake the heavens and earth. Later, for reasons unknown, the Daoists of Mount Longhu rarely appeared in public and were gradually forgotten. Information about them existed only in scattered fragments in obscure books and lore, shrouded in mist and mystery. He Changan guessed it might have to do with the Great Tang’s emphasis on martial power, but he had no proof—it was merely the wild speculation of a low-ranking Yellow-tier demon slayer.

Half an hour later, a burly old man carried in a massive barrel of hot water. Through the door, he said in a muffled, booming voice, "Traveler, the old woman told me to bring you hot water."

He Changan opened the door and was stunned. This old man’s strength was immense! The bucket was half as tall as a person and over five feet in diameter—this wasn't a water bucket, it was a bathtub! The water alone must have weighed several hundred pounds. Even with his current strength, He Changan could lift it, but he could never handle it with the effortless ease of this burly man, who carried it as if it were a small teapot.

"Will you wash yourself, or shall I scrub your back?" the burly man asked with a smile. He stepped into the room and set the tub down without making a single sound.

He Changan’s eye twitched. Suspicious, he nonetheless bowed calmly and said, "I will manage on my own."

The old man seemed disappointed. As he turned to leave, he looked back and said, "Young master, my back-scrubbing is quite famous. Many people beg for it, but I’m usually too lazy to bother. If you need it, just come to the backyard and ask—no extra charge."

He Changan smiled and bowed again, "If I have need of it, I will certainly call for you, senior."

The burly man shook his head and sighed, "Some opportunities, once missed, are lost forever."