Chapter Eighty-Three: The Westward Journey to Chang'an

Li Mi finally emerged from the ninth floor of the Library Pavilion, achieving a new feat of clearing the Pavilion of the Moon-Washing Academy in just ten days. Though it seemed only ten days had passed, it was as if he had spent a year, for he had used his personal artifact, “Youth Preserver,” to slow the flow of time for himself. As Instructor He had said, the tomes from the fifth floor upward were revolutionary for Li Mi, nearly contradicting all his previous understanding of the world. He had expended enormous mental effort to accept those bizarre axioms and to comprehend and extrapolate from them, struggling every step of the way.

Even though he had depleted two-tenths of his cultivation and inflicted irreversible damage to his “Youth Preserver,” Li Mi still felt it was worthwhile; there was too much brilliance hidden in this inconspicuous library. Surely, given the talents within the Moon-Washing Academy, no one else could have made it to the ninth floor. Li Mi suddenly felt a bit lonely; if only there were someone who had also read through the tomes of all nine floors, it would be good to exchange thoughts.

“You’re not the first,” the elderly guardian of the ninth floor remarked offhandedly, flipping through an ancient book in his hands.

The guardians of the Library Pavilion were all deeply cultivated; the guardian on the sixth floor had reached the initial stage of Formless Realm, and the one on the ninth floor was so profound that even Li Mi could not discern his depth. Presumably, these guardians did not answer to Chen Wuning; otherwise, with the strength of just these nine, the Moon-Washing Academy would be famed throughout the world.

Li Mi asked curiously, “Who else? Chen Wuning?”

The old man pointed to a wooden plaque hanging from the beam.

Li Mi looked up, and saw six bold characters—“Yu Lang Was Here.”

“In the twenty-ninth year of the Kaiyuan era, he spent three months climbing from the first to the ninth floor,” the old man added.

The ordinary sentence struck Li Mi like thunder, and his heart was shaken; he hurriedly left the Library.

When Li Mi had gone far, the old man sighed again, “You’re not even the second.”

On the reverse side of Yu Lang’s plaque was engraved the name Li Dahu.

Li Mi flew all the way out of the Moon-Washing Academy to the Yu residence in Gathering Worth Lane.

The Yu residence was deserted, with only the youth Lin Shuisheng alone, swinging a flashy but impractical sword with great gusto.

“Where’s Yu Lang?”

“They went to Chang’an. He told me to wait for you here, and when you come out, to go with you to Mount Myriad Form.”

Li Mi felt somewhat lost. The courtyard seemed emptier than usual. Focusing, he realized a boxwood tree was missing.

He asked, “Where’s the boxwood tree in the courtyard? Didn’t Yu Lang always treasure it like a lover? Why was it cut down?”

Lin Shuisheng replied, “Oh, he’s going to Chang’an. He said that tree grew up under his and Sister Qingqing’s watch, so he cut it and made it into a wooden sword, said he’d carry it with him everywhere, so he’d always remember home.”

“Oh,” Li Mi answered, a sense of loss settling in his heart.

Perhaps it was because Qingqing was still on Yu Lang’s mind, or perhaps it was Yu Lang’s departure.

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The convoy was sparse: six horses, three vehicles, seven people.

Four carriages: one for luggage, one shared by Yang Yuhuan and Hong Chou, another by Yu Lang, Xue Wenyan, Xie Zhiqian, and Obaba, plus a driver.

The driver, Old Guo, was past forty, looked sharp, and had extensive experience traveling around. He was handpicked by Chen Wuning, so he should be trustworthy.

Yang Yuhuan was cautious by nature and had survived multiple assassination attempts. She had no trusted maids or attendants, so she traveled light, alone. As for the mysterious shadow guard “Eagle,” he had his own ways of blending in; Yang Yuhuan summoned him at will.

The three exuberant youths rode ahead, finding everything along the way novel. The last time they left Yangzhou, the Wolf Camp moved in formation, leaving no time to appreciate the scenery. This time, escorting a noble, they enjoyed a bit more leisure and play.

The journey from Yangzhou to Chang’an was long; even sticking to the broad official roads, it was a daunting two thousand li. At their pace, it would take at least half a month to reach Chang’an.

The first three days went smoothly. Along the way, old friends and associates of the Xue and Xie families welcomed and hosted them warmly. The Xue family had practiced medicine for generations, earning them many friends; the Xie family was once illustrious and remained wealthy, so friends were not lacking.

Heading west, after crossing Huainan Circuit and arriving at Bozhou, these two young gentlemen were at a loss; the letters and name cards from their families were no longer useful, and from here on, they had to rely on themselves. At this point, Old Guo, who had kept a low profile, began to show his prowess. He truly had friends everywhere—drivers, performers, merchants, people from all walks of life.

Though Xie Zhiqian and Xue Wenyan looked down on Old Guo’s friends, having local acquaintances made travel much easier, so they had no choice but to flatter Old Guo.

That day, tired from their journey, they stayed at the home of Zhang Heng, one of Old Guo’s friends.

Though it was still early, Yu Lang wanted to press on, knowing the road would not remain peaceful for long; the sooner they reached Chang’an, the less risk. Old Guo scolded the youth for their impatience, explaining that ahead lay desolate wilderness, where sleeping outdoors would be dangerous, whereas staying in town was far safer. Yu Lang found Old Guo’s reasoning sound and followed his arrangements.

Yang Yuhuan had no objections; she felt like a freed songbird, more lively and curious than the others. It was no wonder; in Chang’an she had been confined to the prince’s mansion, and during her three years at the Moon-Washing Academy, she rarely ventured out. She hadn’t breathed such fresh, free air in a long time. She almost wished the carriage would never reach Chang’an, that she could just drift on the road forever.

Among Old Guo’s friends, Zhang Heng was relatively well-off. He not only had his own business but also served as a neighborhood chief, and had a decent house in Bozhou that could barely accommodate six people. Barely, though; aside from the two women, the four men had to squeeze into a large shared room.

At dinner, Zhang Heng’s wife, Madam Liu, was rather unfriendly to the guests, likely disliking Old Guo’s poverty and envying Yang Yuhuan’s beauty. She scarcely glanced at them during the meal. Zhang Heng, on the other hand, was a genial host, always smiling, attentive to the guests, and sharing stories from his own travels.

After dinner, Yang Yuhuan refused to retire early, insisting on dragging Hong Chou to the night market. Bozhou’s night market was quite famous, possibly due to the local officials’ leniency—after all, the Tang dynasty had curfews. Yu Lang and the others had to follow as dutiful escorts. Old Guo, unconcerned, went to bed alone, as he had only promised Chen Wuning to drive and guide the way, not to be a constant attendant for the two girls.

On a windless, moonless night, the lanterns shone all the brighter, drawing every eye.