Chapter 14
Zhilan Village
Jon, still sprawled on the ground with the dog, continued his theatrics unabated. “I am an unfortunate collateral victim of the storm that happened not long ago, and am in dire need of assistance!” he cried out.
The red haired man quickly stood up. "Heavens, are you another survivor of that battle?" He turned to Yulian. "Brother Yulian, could you tend to him while I bring the cart?"
Receiving no response, he turned around, a puzzled look crossing his face. "Yuli- huh? What's with that face?"
Yulian, caught in her facade of disgust towards Jon’s antics, quickly masked her expression. Jon, not missing a beat, gave her a few cheeky winks, adding to her irritation.
With a resigned sigh, she muttered, "Ugh, nothing, I understand. You can go, brother Qingshan."
The man, named Qingshan, looked at her strangely, sensing the tension but not pressing further. "I'll be back shortly," he said before turning and walking away to fetch the cart.
Once Qingshan was out of earshot, Yulian turned to Jon, her expression softening slightly from disgust to mild irritation. "You really are quite the actor, aren't you?" she remarked.
Jon, deciding it was time to ease off the theatrics, sat up straighter, rubbing his neck as if easing out a cramp. "Well, you know what they say: desperate times call for desperate measures," he replied with a grin.
Then, Jon and Yulian shared a glance at the dog, who was still committed to its role as a wounded animal, even though it genuinely had a broken limb. "He's... invested," Yulian commented dryly.
"Yeah, he's a weird dog," Jon admitted, scratching his cheek. He leaned down to the dog and whispered under his breath, "Hey, stop now, you're embarrassing me in front of the lady."
"I told you. I am not a lady," Yulian corrected sharply, her fists clenching, her voice dropping to a menacing, albeit ambiguously deep pitch. Jon noted the oddity; her voice was not exactly masculine but certainly deeper than most women's.
"You really are good at this hiding game. You're not an assassin, are you?" Jon joked, his tone light but his curiosity piqued.
"What if I am?" Yulian responded, her tone flat, cutting through Jon's laughter abruptly.
His smile faltered as he stared at her, half-expecting her to laugh it off. "Say 'sike' right now,"
"What?" Yulian looked genuinely confused. "What does that even mean?"
"Nevermind." Jon’s smile waned as he pondered her capabilities and intentions. "But... you're really not an assassin or something like that, right?" In his mind, he rationalized that if she had malicious intentions, especially now that he had seen through her disguise, she would have already acted on them. Yet here she was, annoyed but tolerating his teasing. No way she's an assassin, he reassured himself, though part of him couldn't dismiss the thought entirely.
Yulian stood, brushing off her clothes, her expression unreadable. "Who knows? I just hope you'll enjoy the tea," she said, her smile innocent but her tone suggesting otherwise.
"What do you mean by that?" Jon asked, a hint of anxiety threading through his words.
She remained silent for a beat, then her smile broadened. "Me? A healer who knows of all sorts of herbs and elixirs? I mean I will make you a good tea, good enough to die for." Her playful tone didn't entirely mask the underlying threat, leaving Jon uncertain how seriously to take her words.
Qingshan returned promptly with the horse and the cart, his demeanor warm and inviting. "Please, get in," he urged Jon, gesturing towards the wooden structure that seemed barely able to hold its own weight, let alone an additional passenger.
Jon thanked him but felt a twinge of guilt seeing the frail man prepare to push the cart himself. He admired the strength and kindness radiating from Qingshan, but he couldn’t bear to watch him strain under the load. “Yulian has eased my pain enough for me to walk now. Please don't trouble yourself,” Jon said, hoping to alleviate any burden from the old man.
Qingshan insisted, his voice firm yet cheerful. "Nonsense! You're not troubling me at all!"
As Jon laughed, grateful for the kindness but still reluctant, he turned to see the dog already comfortably nestled in the cart, lying down as if it had claimed the space as its own luxurious conveyance.
"He's... comfortable," Qingshan observed with a chuckle.
"He’s special, haha," Jon replied awkwardly, feeling embarrassed at his canine companion’s audacity.
Qingshan laughed heartily, reaching over to pat the dog on the head, which elicited a pleased response from the animal. "I like animals with personality! What is his name?" he inquired, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest.
"Ah, actually, he doesn't have a name yet," Jon confessed. "He was caught in the storm with me, and we protected each other."
"Ah, I see!" Qingshan exclaimed. "He has a personality and is loyal. Quite the companion you got there!"
Qingshan’s warm gaze then shifted back to Jon, his curiosity not yet sated. “And what, may I ask, is the name of his valiant protector?”
“Oh, it’s Jon. Jon Lee,” Jon responded, extending a cautious hand due to his tender clavicle.
“A strong name for a strong man. I am Qiu Qingshan, and I'm honored to meet you, Jon Li,” Qingshan said with a gentle smile, performing a formal gongshu, which involved a respectful bow and the presentation of a closed fist covered by the other hand.
Caught slightly off guard by the formal gesture, Jon managed to mirror the motion awkwardly, his movements hindered by the throbbing pain in his clavicle. “The honor is mine, Qiu Qingshan. Glad to meet you too.”
Ultimately, they agreed to let Jon walk alongside while the dog enjoyed the ride in the cart. As they prepared to set off, Jon suddenly realized he had lost his sword. Frantically scanning the area, his heart raced—not just for the weapon but for the personal items that meant survival in this world. The sword could sell at a good price, if he ever needed more money for whatever reason.
To his relief, he spotted the sword still sheathed, buried in the dirt near where he had previously lain. Miraculously, his other possessions—gold, books, elixirs, and various essentials—remained intact, having somehow not been lost when he lost consciousness.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
As he gripped the handle and pulled it free, the weight of his actions—the confrontation, the storm born from it, the brief yet intense skirmish that led to the old man's death—washed over him. God bless his soul, he thought somberly as he cleaned the blade with the edge of his sleeve, the memory casting a shadow across his mind.
Returning to where Yulian and Qingshan waited, Jon noticed Qingshan's eyes light up at the sight of the sword. "Ooh, is this a sword? Are you perhaps a warrior?" the man asked, his curiosity piqued.
Jon was taken aback by the question. "Oh, no. This was a gift from my grandfather," he replied quickly, the lie slipping out smoothly.
"Was your grandfather a warrior then?" Qingshan probed further, his interest evident.
Jon hesitated, feeling the sting of his fabricated backstory. "Yes, but he never wanted to talk about it, so I know very little about that part of his life," he said, hoping to deflect further inquiries.
Qingshan seemed to sense Jon's discomfort, as he straightened his back and coughed slightly. "Ah, apologies, it seems I have been too excited and lacked manners," the man said, his voice respectful.
"Not at all! I really just don't know much about my grandfather's warrior life, haha," Jon replied, relieved by the change in direction. He was touched by Qingshan's sensitivity and respect.
If only there could be more people like that, Jon mused inwardly, his gaze inadvertently meeting Yulian's. Unlike Qingshan's warm curiosity, Yulian's gaze was piercing and calculating.
Her eyes were not playful as before but carried a sharpness that seemed to weigh and measure him. It was clear she was assessing the sword—and him—carefully, perhaps doubting the veracity of his claims or considering the implications of a newcomer with a weapon.
As they meandered through the path leading to the village, Jon’s thoughts kept circling back to one unsettling detail—had he truly been unconscious for two whole days? The notion was disquieting, and the fate of Huo Zheng, the monk who had facilitated his escape, lingered heavily on his mind. While his acquaintance with him had been brief, the gravity of the man’s sacrifice wasn't lost on him.
With the village slowly coming into view, Jon decided to probe further into the events that had transpired while he was out. Feigning ignorance due to his supposed loss of consciousness during the storm, he turned to Qingshan, adopting a tone of casual inquiry. “Erm, Qingshan, you mentioned a fight back there,” he started, watching the man's face for any signs of reaction.
Qingshan nodded solemnly, his face hardening at the memory. “Aye, it was those cursed demons. Turns out there was a hidden base of the demonic cult nearby, and they had held Shaolin’s venerable Third Elder, Huo Zheng, captive. All these years, we thought he had died during the alliance's attack on the demonic cult.”
Jon paused, absorbing the weight of the revelation. Huo Zheng was an elder of Shaolin? The surprise was evident on his face. Given Huo Zheng’s youthful appearance, Jon hadn't suspected the depth of his history. Perhaps a body reconstruction thing, he mused silently, a common enough practice in the tales of cultivators he had read about to restore youth and vitality.
After letting the information settle for a moment, Jon’s curiosity about the monk's final moments compelled him to ask further. “...How did he die?” he ventured cautiously.
“Hmm?” Qingshan, momentarily confused by the sudden shift in the conversation, looked towards jon.
Yulian, who had been quietly listening, was the one to answer, “They beheaded him. After he killed their Seventh Young Master and heavily wounded the Fourth, who joined the fray a moment after the fight started. Or so it is said.”
"...I see..." Jon murmured, his thoughts clouded not so much by sadness for Huo Zheng's brutal demise, but by a sense of indebtedness. The monk had not only saved him but also provided crucial guidance on whom to trust and what steps to take next. If not for Huo Zheng, Jon might have been the one to meet such a grim fate. He gazed skyward, a rueful smile touching his lips. Another guy who thought playing hero was the right way....Thank you. Wherever you are.
As they continued on, Qingshan mentioned the empire had already sent investigators to look into the incident. He also shared that Shaolin was planning a second funeral ceremony to properly honor Huo Zheng's sacrifice now that the truth had come to light.
"I feel for his disciple Wei Long the most," Qingshan sighed heavily. "Having to learn of his master's death a second time after all these years...that cannot be easy."
Wei Long? The name rang a bell. Jon was certain Huo Zheng had mentioned him - so that was his own disciple? The monk did ask me to find him...and tell him how he died.
But Huo Zheng's other warning gave Jon pause. Trust no one, not even the Shaolin people he, as an elder, had once called brothers. If this demonic cult had infiltrated the monastery so deeply...who could be considered a true ally?
As Qingshan lamented the tragedy for Wei Long, Jon nodded tersely. Inwardly though, he recognized all the signs. Demonic cults, corrupt institutions, secret agendas - this reeked of one of those overly complex cultivator novel plots.
Jon suppressed a sigh. Great, just great.
He'd somehow stumbled into a narrative straight out of those campy martial world stories. The kind of tangled, messy intrigue he loved to read, but would despise being a part of.
No thanks, not getting roped into this nonsense. He was just a regular guy from...well, somewhere definitely not here. He wanted no part of whatever convoluted conspiracy was brewing.
Jon let out a soft exhale as his gaze drifted away, the corners of his mouth turning down ever so subtly as he uttered in a toneless murmur, "I can imagine it's...a lot to take in all at once."
Yulian's voice snapped Jon out of his thoughts. "You seem...melancholic at the mention of Elder Huo Zheng. Was he connected to you somehow?"
Qingshan, catching the drift of the conversation, echoed her inquiry, his face etched with curiosity. "Yes, was he?"
Jon chuckled lightly, deflecting the depth of his feelings. "Well, the man fought hundreds of people you qualify as demons, and gave his life in that fight. He ought to have some recognition, don't you think?"
Qingshan nodded vigorously, clearly moved by the notion of honoring such bravery. "Indeed, indeed! Such valor deserves our respect," he agreed enthusiastically.
Yulian, however, seemed less convinced by Jon's nonchalance, her gaze sharp and calculating as she studied him. Jon noticed her intense scrutiny and quipped, "What? Do I have something on my authentic manly face?"
Yulian scoffed at his comment and quickened her pace, clearly unamused and perhaps a bit irritated by his deflection.
Qingshan, observing the exchange with a bemused expression, murmured, "He’s been a bit strange today, I wonder what’s with him."
Jon shrugged innocently. "Your guess is as good as mine."
Up ahead, Yulian turned her head slightly, shooting Jon a piercing glare that screamed One more word about my secret and you're dead, rogue. Her eyes promised severe retribution if he dared reveal her male disguise.
As the oblivious Qingshan looked on, Jon couldn't help his internal sarcasm. Well, well, if it isn't the tsundere* glare of death. How charming. He almost expected her to follow it up with "B-Baka! It's not like I want you keeping my secret or anything!"
As they approached the village nestled amidst towering mountains, it was bustling with life: children darting between wooden huts, farmers returning from rice fields with tools slung over their shoulders, and animals roaming freely.
Jon took in the sights with an appreciative eye, the dog by his side sniffing curiously at the new environment. The children, noticing the new arrivals, rushed towards them with gleeful shouts, eager to pet the dog.
The dog, probably unaccustomed to such enthusiastic attention, growled softly, prompting Jon to chide gently, "Be nice."
The children, undeterred by the growl, bombarded Jon with questions. "Is he your dog? What's his name? Can he do tricks?" Their voices were a lively, overlapping chorus of curiosity and excitement.
Jon chuckled, amused by their energy. "He's still deciding on a name," he replied, keeping his answers light and playful. In his mind, he mused, Maybe I should just call him 'Trouble.'
Qingshan, noticing Jon's fatigue and the children's unabated enthusiasm, gently shooed them away. "Alright, let him breathe, children. Our friend here needs some rest," he said, his voice kind but firm.
The children, somewhat reluctantly, backed off, still casting curious glances at Jon and the dog. As they dispersed, Jon breathed a sigh of relief.
Then as he surveyed the lively village center, he noticed Yulian had slipped away. Before he could comment on her disappearance, Qingshan, catching his glance, chimed in with an explanation. "Brother Yulian probably went to fetch the necessary things to treat you," he said.
"We have a little empty house over there," Qingshan continued, pointing towards a modest structure in the middle of the village. "It used to be where we kept our rice reserve, but we have a bigger one now," he chuckled heartily. "You can take that for now and rest for today. Tomorrow, I'll show you around the place, introduce you to the chief, and the other survivors of the battle we took in recently. Perhaps you may know some of them."
Jon inclined his head respectfully. "You have my gratitude."
Qingshan laughed out loud, a robust and hearty sound that seemed to echo around the square. He clapped Jon on the shoulder, his touch firm and friendly. "This much is nothing!" he exclaimed.