The Path Toward Heaven

Chapter 4


Chapter 4: The Youth Who Once Again Waded in the River

Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio  Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

Zhao Layue held Yin San’s body and walked away from the town, treading over the green grass with light and brisk steps.

The light from the sky stretched out the shadow of her petite frame as it faded out in the ever-brightening light.

The most important event on the entire continent was unfolding, but she didn’t turn around to look. She only stared at the change occurring in her shadow, as if it was more interesting than all phenomenon of the world.

No one paid attention to her, so no one noticed her expression finally change.

The corners of her mouth were tilted upwards, she was smiling.

There was faint cheering between the mountain peaks.

Cheering also seemed to be coming from the town.

As the day became brighter, the cheering became louder, and her smile became brighter, until her cute dimples were revealed.

She was truly happy, but also sad.

How great would have been to live in the same era as geniuses like the masters?

Be it to gain knowledge, or something else altogether.

The cheering from the mountain peaks suddenly stopped.

It was nothing out of the ordinary.

The silence represented best wishes.

Just like the rays which illuminated this world.

Of course, there was still a sense of loss.

Elder Jing Yang had ascended.

Zhao Layue finally turned around and looked towards the sky.

She watched the rift as it slowly disappeared, as well as the light from the sword which, had disappeared gone completely. For some reason, her eyebrows raised slightly.

She then looked at the body she was holding. Her smile slowly faded; there was something suspicious…and uncertain.

Eternal moisture found their home within the clouds and mist, And were always accompanied by the stream.

Not far from the town of Yunji was one such stream, which was accompanied by light mist. It meandered from the high plains down to the low hills, flowing several kilometers before heading into the face of a mountain.

As the stream flowing through the mountain face for an unknown distance, it gradually widened while the surroundings became brighter. There was a chamber in the mountain, and on the wall was an extremely rare piece of bright jade.

The chamber was simple; there was only a stone bed joined into the mountain face. In front of the stone bed were two cushions that had rotted away.

A young man was watching the stone bed with his hands behind his back while tilting his head. Occasionally a breeze blew in, stirring up his white clothes.

On the stone bed was a bloody person covered in wounds of various sizes. It was impossible to determine what weapon was used. His clothes were in tatters, the fabric made from wild silk unrecognizable. His belt was still complete and emitted a faint spirit from time to time. It was made from the tendon of a hornless dragon. There was a plaque that seemed to be made from ebony wood.

The person wasn’t breathing; he had passed long ago. But strangely, a film of mist always covered his face, obscuring his features from view.

The young man stood before the stone bed and simply watched the body silently.

A long time passed before he suddenly spoke.

“So… boring.”

His voice was clean but bitter. He spoke very slowly, as if he rarely talked at all.

Light shone from his eyes.

His eyes were like the vast seas; calm on the surface, they contained an unimaginable depth and countless storms and waves.

There was puzzlement, anger, sadness, fatigue, and wisdom, completely unsuited for someone his age.

Moments later, all the emotions disappeared from his eyes, little by little, until only tranquility remained.

It was like mist disappearing from the nine peaks, like light from the sky disappearing into the nothingness.

“I envy you a bit; you get to relax a bit.. I still have to be busy for some years.”

The youth in white was speaking to the body.

The belt on the body moved slightly, and the wooden plaque disappeared.

A stream of cold light left the stone bed and surrounded him at an extreme speed. The entire room became dazzled with light.

It was a flying sword, about two feet in length, with a width of about two fingers. The blade was a smooth as a mirror. Nothing else about it appeared out of the ordinary, but gave people an odd feeling.

The youth in white raised his right hand, and the flying sword fell on command. With a gentle slap, it wrapped itself around his wrist and became dim, looking like an ordinary bracelet.

He turned and walked to side of the stream, suddenly remembering what that person had told him years ago.

“… It’s impossible to wade in the same river twice.”

Was that really true?

Pondering the question, he waded into the stream.

The stream flowed within the mountain for an unknown distance before coming out from the other side, falling down the face of the mountain in a thin waterfall over dozens of feet high. It was quite pretty.

The youth in white fell between the cliff walls with the water. He was ready to tread water, but his feet had already broken the surface, and he fell into the lake below.

He floated to the deeper parts, and with his feet touching the ground, he realized the gist of what was happening.

But he didn’t know how to express what was happening, and so he kept a blank expression on his face.

The slightly cold water had no effect on him. With his eyes opened wide, he stared around him and saw a rock on the lake bottom.

He picked up that rock from the bottom and walked forwards. The surface of the water was getting closer. He walked until he was out of the water onto the shore.

There was a dull sound as the ground shook. Ripples formed on the water near the shore. He had put down the rock, and its weight showed.

Being completely drenched was not a pleasant feeling, he wanted to use sword flame to dry his body. But nothing happened.

His hair dripping with water and his wet clothes clinging to his skin reminded him to make a bonfire. He then remembered he had never started a fire before.

Tilting his head, he remembered all those books he read years ago. With his dry voice, he said, “Need dry grass and kindling.”

After making sure he got all the water out of his left ear, he tilted his head to the right. He rummaged through his memory and said, “If there’s no flint, then I need crystal, or wood drill.”

A forest was next to him, and he walked to the edge of it and reached out. Soon he had a pile of kindling.

Picking up the smoothest plank he could find, he placed it on top of some tinder. His bracelet once again turned into a short sword and floated vertically above the plank.

The sharp tip of the sword began to rotate with unbelievable speed against the plank through the tinder. Soon there were sparks, followed by smoke, and finally, flames.

His clothes were hung from a branch, steaming.

Seeing the denseness of the steam and the speed at which the steam rose, the youth easily calculated it would take three counts of time to dry his clothes.

What to do during this time was not something he needed to think about.

All the time in the world had only one use to him.

He sat down, closed his eyes, and started to meditate, as if it were the natural course of action.

But moments later he opened his eyes and bluntly said, “What is that short incantation for initiating the practice?”

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