novelraw Chapter 6 : Chapter 6
Chapter 6 : Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Suizhou’s terrain was rugged and ever-changing, filled with mountains, valleys, rivers, and marshes.
Because of this, it had always been home to many hidden demons and malevolent spirits.
Yet in the past, Suizhou had not been called “Little Demon Prefecture.”
Though many lone cultivators and small factions dwelled here, most had once been righteous cultivators.
No one could say exactly when it began—perhaps three hundred years ago, perhaps six hundred—but the number of Demonic Cultivators in Suizhou steadily increased.
Many independent cultivators who had long resided here were not truly Demonic Cultivators, yet their conduct gradually grew extreme and depraved under the influence.
Thus, on the vast lands of the Central Continent, a region widely known as “Little Demon Prefecture” came into being.
For Shuang Wenlü, Suizhou could be considered an old haunt.
After thousands of years, with seas turned to mulberry fields, it had become a strange and unfamiliar land to him.
The mountains had shifted, the rivers had changed course—yet Suizhou remained rugged.
And rugged lands often possessed wondrous, magnificent scenery.
Shuang Wenlü walked along a narrow path without forks. On either side, pear blossoms flourished.
The trees had yet to sprout leaves and instead bloomed with delicate, translucent white petals that swayed gently in the soft spring breeze.
But that soft breeze suddenly turned cold and harsh, like the dry, cutting wind of a northern winter.
It sliced through the air, shearing countless pear blossoms, which fell and whirled like frost.
No—not only pear blossoms like frost.
Shuang Wenlü raised his hand and caught a patch of white from the flurry of petals.
A delicate, icy hexagonal crystal melted swiftly at his fingertips—it was a snowflake.
In this warm spring month, it had suddenly begun to snow.
Behind him, beyond several rows of pear trees, a young man carrying a bamboo basket halted as well.
He had bright, clear eyes and a pleasing appearance.
Looking up at the sky, he pulled out a padded jacket from his basket and quickly put it on.
This road was rather remote, and few people travelled it.
Thus, not many knew that the climate here had been abnormal recently.
Lang Qingyun had come prepared because he walked this path frequently.
It was the road home.
He tightened his collar and quickened his pace.
The strange weather was confined to this small stretch of land.
Once past the pear grove, everything would return to normal.
Pear petals mixed with snowflakes as the wind howled, making it nearly impossible to keep one’s eyes open.
Lang Qingyun instinctively wished to form a hand seal, but he forced his fingers to curl back, lowering his head slightly as he silently endured the cold wind.
With the snow and blossoms obscuring his vision, he only saw the figure ahead when he was quite close.
The man seemed startled by the sudden storm, standing still and gazing up at the sky.
Lang Qingyun thought to himself that this must be someone unfamiliar with the road, unaware of the recent climate disturbances.
The area was not large.
With a brisk pace, one could pass through in an hour.
But if the snowstorm did not stop, an hour would be enough to freeze someone thoroughly.
Lang Qingyun took a cloth bundle from his basket.
Inside was a cloak meant for his family.
He could lend it to this man.
He approached and called out, “Brother.”
The man ahead turned around.
With the wind and snow no longer blocking his sight, Lang Qingyun finally saw his face clearly.
It was difficult to judge his age.
He could be twenty-four or twenty-five, yet he might also be in his thirties or forties.
He was tall, with sharp, resolute features, and at his waist hung a sword in a bamboo scabbard.
Though he was dressed simply, the fabric was fine, and he did not appear particularly cold.
This must be an excellent swordsman, Lang Qingyun thought instinctively.
And perhaps not the easiest to approach.
He had assumed such a man would not need his coarse cloak, yet the swordsman accepted it.
Watching him drape it over his shoulders, Lang Qingyun smiled brightly and asked, “May I ask how I should address you?”
“My surname is Shuang,” the swordsman replied.
Seeing that he gave only his surname and not his given name, Lang Qingyun understood.
Those who wandered the world with blades at their waists often had reasons to conceal their identities.
Giving only a surname rather than a false name meant he did not wish to fabricate one.
That pleased Lang Qingyun more than hearing an alias would have.
The wind and snow were too fierce for conversation.
Curious about this newly acquainted swordsman, yet unable to speak, Lang Qingyun began inventing stories in his mind.
By the time he had imagined an eighth version of tragic love, hatred, and hidden identity, Shuang Wenlü flicked his finger subtly.
The storm ceased.
Lang Qingyun did not notice the small movement.
Thinking only that the sudden change had passed, he turned happily and said, “The snow has stopped.”
“Yes,” Shuang Wenlü replied, a faint smile curving his lips.
That glance made Lang Qingyun feel inexplicably guilty.
He quickly changed the subject.
“Once we leave this pear grove, the weather will no longer be so chaotic.”
“When did the weather begin to change?” Shuang Wenlü asked.
“About a month ago,” Lang Qingyun answered. Now that his mouth was free from the wind, he proved quite talkative.
“I have heard that the major sects have been making moves recently. I wonder if it is related.”
Ning Xianmian had only informed righteous cultivators at the eighth Tianxuan Realm and above of the upheaval in heaven and earth.
However, the movements of the major sects could not be concealed.
Gossip was human nature. News spread from cultivators to ordinary people.
And as it spread, it inevitably changed.
“I heard that even the Sword Sovereign has emerged from seclusion because of this!” Lang Qingyun said excitedly.
“They say that when he left seclusion, ten thousand swords cried in unison, and colorful clouds stretched three thousand li across the sky.”
Shuang Wenlü chuckled.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Before, sword lights were constantly streaking across the land. Those were disciples of the Sword Pavilion returning. How could they not celebrate the Sword Sovereign’s emergence?” Lang Qingyun said.
“I see,” Shuang Wenlü replied.
“I heard their flying swords gathered in the clouds like a dragon and circled within the rosy glow for three days.”
Shuang Wenlü paused.
“Quite the spectacle.”
If those brats truly had that much leisure, Luo Pinglan would likely drag them off to work day and night.
Lang Qingyun chatted enthusiastically all the way.
He always seemed cheerful.
Soon, they passed through the pear grove and saw a stall ahead in the distance.
A new banner fluttered from a bamboo pole, bearing three bold characters: Hot Soup Noodles.
“When did a new stall open here?” Lang Qingyun wondered aloud, then his eyes brightened.
After being battered by wind and snow, nothing would be better than a bowl of hot noodle soup.
“I would like a bowl. Brother Shuang, would you like one as well? It is my treat.”
He turned after asking and saw Shuang Wenlü glance at the stall with a smile that carried an unusual meaning.
“Very well,” Shuang Wenlü said.
Following the guidance of the Divination Slip, he had come to this pear grove and encountered Lang Qingyun.
The moment he saw the young man, he felt a stirring within.
This was an old acquaintance from the lifetime when he first entered the Dao.
When Shuang Wenlü entered the Dao, the world of Qiankun had only recently advanced to a Middle Thousand World, and the path to transcendence had just appeared.
His opportunity had been “severing the mortal self.”
After the Dao of Qiankun gradually perfected itself, that path had closed.
The past could not be altered, and so that lifetime of his entry into the Dao had been left behind within Qiankun.
Lang Qingyun also carried another secret—upon him was a fragment of a special rule.
At a glance, it resembled the Dao of Qiankun. Shuang Wenlü did not believe this to be coincidence.
In the operation of that rule fragment, he sensed the shadow of another world.
And the hot noodle stall ahead seemed interesting as well.
Inside the stall, a large iron pot bubbled on the stove, steam rising thick and fragrant.
The stall owner was a well-built young woman named Cai Suhong.
She sat beside the pot, one foot propped firmly on a chair, as steady as if rooted.
The broth boiled away unattended.
She added neither noodles nor vegetables, even though three customers were already inside.
Those three had arrived half an hour ago, a quarter of an hour ago, and one cup of tea ago, respectively.
When they first arrived, Cai Suhong had greeted them warmly, asking what kind of noodle soup they would like.
She offered preserved mustard with shredded pork, braised beef, or vegetables with winter mushrooms.
But now she showed none of that enthusiasm.
She stared blankly ahead, as though the three customers were wooden figures.
Half an hour ago, the first customer had made an unreasonable order.
“I do not want noodle soup. I want dishes,” he had said.
“Four large bowls, each large enough to hold a head. One bowl of braised venison from the Western Hills. One bowl of stir-fried spring shoots picked at the third quarter of the Yin hour. One bowl of fresh fish soup made from fish caught in a fully frozen lake. One bowl of white rice cooked from Three Autumn rice.”
In response, Cai Suhong had fought him.
After the fight, he sat down and began waiting for his noodles.
A quarter of an hour ago, the second customer had made the same request.
They fought, and he too sat silently on a bench.
One cup of tea ago, the third customer followed the same process and took a seat.
None of them had won, but neither had they lost. They showed no dissatisfaction at Cai Suhong’s neglect.
They sat as if waiting for someone.
Cai Suhong was also waiting—for the last person who could recite that troublesome order.
She had waited the longest. Though she did not seem impatient, she could not help drifting into a daze.
But she was not truly daydreaming.
She was chatting idly with the System—the Golden Fingers that had fallen into her hands, and the reason for today’s spectacle.
“Do you really have to make this so awkward?” the System complained.
“You are already considered an immortal by ordinary people. Why do you still want to play the hero?”
“You would not understand,” Cai Suhong replied wistfully.
“Youth may pass, but chuunibyou endures.”
As a child, she had hidden behind houses, listening to stories of wandering heroes told beneath trees.
In Qiankun, tales of immortals were far more popular than tales of knights.
After all, flying through the skies was more exciting to hear about.
But Cai Suhong preferred stories of mortal heroes upholding justice.
What was so interesting about immortal tales? They were always the same—someone formed a connection with an immortal, encountered trouble, and the immortal waved a hand to solve it.
Dull.
The System scoffed.
“Ask those martial heroes whether they would choose to remain heroes or become immortals if given the chance.”
“Why can I not be both?” Cai Suhong retorted.
“If you do not withdraw from the world, what kind of immortal are you?” the System argued.
“What immortal meddles freely in mortal affairs?”
As they bickered, new customers finally arrived at this remote stall.
Lang Qingyun and Shuang Wenlü stepped inside.
Cai Suhong immediately greeted them warmly.
“What kind of noodle soup would you like? I have preserved mustard with shredded pork, braised beef, or vegetables with winter mushrooms.”
She was tall and well-proportioned, neither thin nor fat.
Her exposed arms were firm and strong.
Her cheeks were plump and rosy, and when she smiled, she radiated the contentment of someone who had always eaten well.
Such a smile and physique on a cook inspired trust.
Not to mention the rich fragrance of broth in the air.
Lang Qingyun’s appetite surged.
He smiled back brightly.
“It smells wonderful! I will have the preserved mustard with shredded pork.”
He turned to Shuang Wenlü. “Brother Shuang?”
“Vegetables and winter mushrooms,” Shuang Wenlü said.
Cai Suhong froze.
They had not spoken the code. Were they not contacts from Fude Pavilion?
“You only want noodle soup? Nothing else?” she probed.
Lang Qingyun assumed she wanted a larger order.
“Then bring a small dish as well—perhaps some blanched greens or pickled vegetables. Anything is fine.”
So they truly were accidental customers.
Cai Suhong thought. On another day, she would gladly cook, but today was inconvenient.
Driving customers away was far easier than keeping them.
She was about to drop her smile when the swordsman with the bamboo-scabbarded sword glanced at her.
It was an ordinary glance, yet she faltered.
“I suggest you do not,” the System warned in her consciousness.
“Why?” she asked.
“I cannot see through them,” the System replied.
Cai Suhong felt a chill.
Over the past month, she had witnessed the System’s capabilities. If even it could not perceive them clearly, she should not provoke them.
Her fallen smile instantly returned.
“Of course, please sit! I will prepare it at once!”
Lang Qingyun thought her earlier expression strange.
After sitting, he whispered, “Is the owner tired?”
“Perhaps,” Shuang Wenlü said with a smile.
Whether Cai Suhong was tired or nervous, her cooking remained steady.
Good food must not be betrayed. That was her creed.
She kneaded the dough swiftly, stretching it into thin sheets before dropping it into the broth.
With a long chopstick stir, she lifted it out at precisely the right moment—soft yet resilient.
A ladle of broth, preserved mustard and shredded pork, and the bowl was complete.
She even had time to signal the three suspicious customers.
While serving, she examined the two newcomers and secretly asked the System, “Who are they? Did you see anything? Why are they here? Are they after us?”
“They do not seem to be,” the System replied vaguely.
“Probably just coincidence.”
It dared not reveal more.
The one with the basket carried an unusual rule fragment.
But the one with the bamboo sword was truly terrifying.
That glance had been overwhelming, directed solely at it.
Cai Suhong had sensed nothing.
“Then they will leave after eating,” she said optimistically.
The System mocked her. “You seem very happy being a cook.”
“Of course,” she boasted within her consciousness.
“Food is the greatest thing under heaven! If not for you, my dream would be to open the finest inn in the world! I am not exaggerating—if the Sword Sovereign tasted my cooking, he would have come out of seclusion long ago!”
Shuang Wenlü smiled faintly at her.
She felt a chill under his gaze, forced an awkward grin, and hurried back to blanch vegetables.
“I am starting to feel embarrassed,” she muttered.
The three cultivators sat stiffly at separate tables. While they had all been sitting idly before, the arrival of someone eagerly slurping noodles made them appear foolish by comparison.
Yet none acted.
They had been contacted through Fude Pavilion, a long-established organization known for fairness and reliability.
Trusting it, they were willing to wait.
At another table, Lang Qingyun drank his soup with rapt attention, savouring each bite.
His focused enjoyment was contagious.
Cai Suhong sighed inwardly.
“The guest appreciates it too much.”
“Then why sigh?” the System asked.
“I am afraid they will eat too slowly, and the last person will arrive while they are still eating.”
As if misfortune came in clusters, while Lang Qingyun was eating happily, new arrivals entered.
Not one, not two—but six.
They differed in height and build, each distinctive.
The leader had delicate features and was the most normal-looking among them.
Before Cai Suhong could greet them, he spoke.
“We do not want noodles. We want dishes. Four large bowls, each large enough to hold a head. One bowl of braised venison from the Western Hills. One bowl of spring shoots picked at the third quarter of the Yin hour. One bowl of fish soup from a frozen lake. One bowl of Three Autumn rice.”
Cai Suhong’s expression shifted before she forced a smile.
“Are you joking? This is a noodle stall.”
The man smiled faintly. “Are you afraid you cannot handle our order?”
She cursed inwardly.
She realized the last contact from Fude Pavilion had gone wrong.
She had arranged for four reliable individuals, yet this final one had brought five more to seize control.
Either Fude Pavilion had erred, or information had leaked.
Lang Qingyun was the first to react.
Setting down his bowl, he sighed at the unfinished, fragrant broth.
“The owner’s noodles are delicious. Why not try them instead of ordering dishes no one has ever eaten?”
He thought they were troublemakers.
Though he disliked fighting, he was the type to meddle in injustice.
The man glanced over and laughed lightly.
“So there are ignorant outsiders here. No wonder the owner dares not accept our order. No matter. Since she is soft-hearted, we will help her resolve this minor trouble.”
Cai Suhong cursed him inwardly and hurried forward.
“Sir, please continue eating. I will handle this.”
At that moment, one of the earlier customers spoke.
“The Six Brothers of Bima Mountain?”
“You recognize us?” asked the smallest man, his long arms hanging like a thin monkey’s.
He was Ma Chengqi, their leader. The delicate-featured man was Bai Yi, ranked third.
“If it is you, then I withdraw from this deal. Farewell.”
The Six Brothers of Bima Mountain were better known as the Six Bandits of Bima Mountain—infamous villains.
They were not blood brothers, yet moved with perfect coordination, their combined formation elevating their strength to the sixth Tianquan Realm.
But Ma Chengqi would not let the man leave.
“Do not hurry,” he said lazily, tapping his pipe.
“We merely wish to share the profit. That is not unreasonable.”
Though his words sounded fair, everyone knew they left nothing for others.
Cai Suhong’s face darkened.
“Why involve innocent people? Let them leave.”
Bai Yi sneered, drawing his flying sword.
“How is that our fault? Western Hills, frozen lake, third quarter of the Yin hour. If you let such important information slip, do not blame us for cleaning up.”
As his words fell, a soft laugh sounded.
It came from the swordsman beside Lang Qingyun.
Cai Suhong shouted at the same time, “What nonsense are you spouting? How stupid do you have to be to take a code as literal?”
Bai Yi’s expression darkened. With a flash, his flying sword shot toward Shuang Wenlü.