LRAB Chapter 27 Descending the Mountain, Searching for Answers
Chapter 27 Descending the Mountain, Searching for Answers
Zhuge Duan's fingers, which were resting on the clan affairs book, tightened slightly.
His expression didn't change much, but the tip of his finger gently traced a circle on the paper.
"Where to?"
"Wander around."
Zhuge Yan replied.
"I have now mastered all the four magical arts of our Wuhou School, namely Heaven, Earth, Man and God. There is not much left of the inheritance to go further."
"I can't ignite the Samadhi Fire yet. It's not that the heat isn't enough, it's that something here hasn't been unraveled."
He raised his hand and gently tapped his chest with his knuckles.
"This knot cannot be untied by continuing to stay in seclusion at the Wuhou Sect for cultivation."
Zhuge Duan remained silent for a long time.
The old plum tree outside the window gently tapped against the windowpane in the wind, making a very faint, crisp sound.
"The question you asked me two months ago..."
Zhuge Duan lowered his voice.
"What makes a warlock so certain that the outside world is real? I've been thinking about this question for the past two months."
I have no answer, nor have the sages of the Wuhou School throughout history left any answer.
He looked up at his son.
"So, you came down the mountain this time to find the answer?"
Zhuge Yan did not deny it.
"Well, if I go down the mountain for a walk, meet more people, and see more things, perhaps my questions will naturally be answered."
Zhuge Duan remained silent.
He leaned back in his chair, looking at his son.
"When do you plan to leave?"
"tomorrow."
"Is your luggage all packed?"
"It's ready."
Zhuge Duan nodded, then stood up from behind his desk and walked to Zhuge Yan.
He looked at Zhuge Yan for a long time, then reached out and pressed on his son's shoulder.
The force wasn't strong, but the palm stayed on the shoulder for a longer time than usual.
"Go ahead. Once you're outside, the name of the Wuhou Sect can help you avoid some trouble, but it can't protect you from everything."
Three months from now is the Lu family patriarch's birthday. I will be going to the Lu family home then, and I hope to see you there, someone who has gone even further.
Zhuge Yan bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Father."
He straightened up and turned to walk towards the study door. As he reached the door, Zhuge Duan's voice came from behind him.
"Yan'er".
Zhuge Yan stopped in his tracks without turning around.
Zhuge Duan stood still, his face half-hidden in the shadows of the room, his expression unreadable, but his voice was slightly hoarse than usual.
"Be careful, and get home early..."
"Okay, I understand."
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After bidding farewell to his relatives and friends and descending the mountain, Zhuge Yan truly understood what "the road to Shu is difficult" meant.
The Wuhou School's mountain gate is hidden in the folds of the mountains in Sichuan, shrouded in clouds and mist all year round, and access is only possible via a stone path carved along the mountain wall.
Since this was his first time descending the mountain since arriving in this world, Zhuge Yan himself didn't know where to go next.
After a brief moment of thought, he finally decided to visit Zhuge Yun at the Sanyi Gate first.
He should also consult the Great Master of Great Harmony; perhaps he can answer the questions in his heart.
Zhuge Yan set off before dawn, and only when the sun was setting in the west could he see the town at the foot of the mountain.
Looking back, the mountain where the Wuhou Sect was located had been swallowed up by layers of green mountains, and even its outline could not be distinguished.
The town is called Qixia Town, and it's an unspoken transit point among the extraordinary people of Sichuan.
Strange people from all directions often stopped here to rest. The innkeepers in the town were used to guests carrying swords, making hand seals, and talking nonsense. They never asked anything and just collected money.
When Zhuge Yan arrived in town, it was evening. The setting sun shone obliquely from the archway at the end of the street, dyeing the bluestone pavement a lukewarm orange-red.
There were even more people on the street than during the day, and the sides were lined with stalls selling sugar paintings, bamboo crafts, medicinal herbs, and noodles, with shouts of vendors rising and falling.
Several teenagers, holding paper windmills, weaved through the crowd, the windmills spinning into blurry, colorful halos.
Lanterns were hung in the taverns along the street, and dim yellow light leaked out from the gaps in the bamboo curtains, carrying the aroma of wine lees and Sichuan peppercorns.
Zhuge Yan stood at the street corner, momentarily overwhelmed by the bustling activity.
Having lived in the mountains for over a decade, he had almost forgotten what the smell of cooking was like.
Thinking of this, Zhuge Yan also slung his baggage over his shoulder and walked into the crowd like an ordinary child.
A little girl with pigtails was squatting in front of the sugar painting stall, her eyes fixed on the copper spoon in the owner's hand.
With a flick of his wrist, the shopkeeper created a phoenix with outstretched wings on the bluestone slab with syrup. The little girl clapped her hands and shouted, her voice so clear it seemed to brighten up all the lanterns in the street.
A man wearing a melon-shaped hat was haggling with the medicine seller, clutching a handful of angelica root in his hand, his spittle flying higher than the medicine seller's scale.
Zhuge Yan walked past the sugar painting stall and then stopped for a while in front of a bamboo weaving stall.
The stall owner was a middle-aged woman with short, stubby fingers, who was weaving a praying mantis with bamboo strips. Her fingers flew so fast that it was impossible to see her movements.
He was used to seeing the finger gestures of Qimen Dunjia divination performed at home, but the woman's movements were not from cultivation; they were purely muscle memory developed from decades of bamboo weaving.
As he walked past the noodle stall, he was drawn in by the aroma of the chili oil.
The stall wasn't big, just two low tables, and several shirtless porters were engrossed in eating noodles, making loud slurping noises.
Zhuge Yan ordered a bowl of Dan Dan noodles. The proprietress quickly scalded the noodles, ladled out the sauce, sprinkled on some scallions, and finally poured a spoonful of boiling red oil over the noodles. With a sizzle, the aroma exploded.
He sat down on the long bench with his noodles, sharing a table with the porters, and no one gave him a second glance.
In the Wuhou School, he was the genius who could eat fifteen bowls of rice; here, he was just a passing-by.
Although some people might wonder why a twelve-year-old child would run out by himself, no one went up to ask.
In this world, it's good enough to keep your own life, so who has time to care about the life or death of others?
The noodles were so spicy that Zhuge Yan was sweating from the tip of his nose.
When he finished eating the noodles and was paying, he naturally took out the cloth bag that his father, Zhuge Duan, had given him before he left.
The edges of the cloth bag were worn and frayed, and the blue cloth had faded from washing, but the loose silver and copper coins inside were heavy, exuding a reassuring weight.
As the saying goes, when you're traveling, money is your source of confidence.
Therefore, Zhuge Duan was very generous to his son on this trip.
After paying, Zhuge Yan put the cloth bag back into his pocket and gently pressed his hand against the outside of his clothes to confirm that the bulging outline was still there.
A simple wooden platform was erected at the end of the street, near the archway.
On stage, someone was performing a shadow puppet show. Behind a white cloth, two oil lamps were lit. The shadows of warriors danced with spears and clubs on the white cloth. The sound of horses' hooves was made by striking two pieces of wood together, clattering and clattering, fine and rapid.