The Feihe Mountain dragon vein did not like winter.
In the freezing cold, the mountains suddenly became much lonelier.
These were days best suited to sleep; venturing out was fraught with danger—for a bird as fat as itself, it normally didn’t show, as there was always food and comfort here, but the moment scarcity came, its plumpness became a badge of excellence.
The chittering crowd of other finches gathered around, some probing for news of food, some wanting to stick with it through the winter, some even hoping to pair up come spring and raise eggs together…
Hold it, it was a dragon vein, not an egg-layer!
Couldn’t lay one if it tried!
Sure, it enjoyed mingling among the flocks of little birds, zipping here and there. Feihe Mountain was home to all sorts of birds, blending in was safest, and it helped keep the hawks at bay.
…Whoosh!
Just as it was thinking, a mighty gust howled at its ears, ruffling the smart, pot-lid black feathers atop its head.
Feihe Mountain’s dragon vein calmly shook its spindly legs, looked at the ground falling away below and at the powerful talons behind it, and sighed: that was how it went—winter raptors never let a fat bird escape.
Fat among the flock, an eagle always takes notice.
Was being fat a crime? It was the fault of the abundant spiritual energy.
Sighing finished, the dragon vein started to struggle.
The raptor was delighted with its hefty lunch, but immediately sensed this was no ordinary meal. Its sharp talons sank not into flesh, but a mass like cotton. Flapping hard, the bird of prey decided to just haul this weird catch home and deal with it at leisure.
Prepared for this, the dragon-bird was swaddled in spiritual energy: “…”
Such minimal precautions, plus fluffy plumage, could only blunt the first attack—sustained struggle would still draw blood.
A dragon vein’s body was flesh, after all, not immune to damage.
Last time, Ayanpuka had hurt its wing—a long recovery.
—In an instant, its round body dissipated into mist, vanishing without a trace.
The hawk’s talons found nothing, and, confused, it circled three times, not understanding how its tasty prize had simply disappeared.
It didn’t linger long; spotting new prey, it dived after it without hesitation.
The dragon vein reappeared silently on a branch, inching along carefully while watching the raptor’s retreating form. Its little beak clicked, and it slowly preened its feathers.
What was so good about turning human, or travelling far from home? So long as it stayed above Feihe Mountain’s earth vein, it was undefeated.
The “lord of the mountain” lingered alone on the branch, head drooping.
What about that little one it’d gained unexpectedly? The child it fed spiritual energy to that survived years ago?
Why, after it healed and went looking for the swordsman in the reed marsh, was Su Li gone again?
Certainly, it was those two dragon veins who’d taken Su Li away!
The sparrow sat gloomily, calculating with effort: today would be the third month since the kid vanished.
Watching and waiting—leaves fell in autumn, the north wind brought snow, and now it was on the verge of becoming a “watching-for-the-whelp” sparrow.
To get news, Feihe’s dragon vein made daily visits to villages at the mountain’s base.
All the usual trifles abounded, but not a word of Su Li.
—Heard there was some “Tianshou King” rebel, who killed many ordinary folk?
No wonder refugees had started appearing in the woods. The sparrow was not distressed, feeling only smug: sooner or later, Su Li would realize the finest place was always a deep forest like Feihe, never the outside world—dangerous and troublesome out there.
—King Jing was dead, Jingzhou was lost, and King Ning too; it was said the new heir was lucky to have gained a competent general?
The sparrow shook its head—this king, that king, it never kept track.
Humans’ lives were so short—just yesterday it heard about the Chen dynasty, blink and it’s Chu, now even Chu’s gone! Who could keep those emperors and lords straight!
The more the sparrow listened, the more anxious it grew.
With the world in such chaos, was its whelp all right?
Winter passed, spring came, and the hills turned green.
It stopped looking for news, curled atop the mountain’s spiritual vein, watching the forest grow lively again, not even bothering to open its eyes. Let the outside change dynasties, let chaos flare—its kid… hmph, what kid? Dragon veins don’t have children!
“Senior!”
A commotion from the bluff above the stream.
The Feihe Mountain dragon vein was half-dozing, not even fully in sparrow form, just a floating patch of cloud beside the stream. With the right vantage and the right eyes, the elegant silhouette of a green dragon might be revealed.
But, as the saying goes—dragons are seen at the head, not at the tail.
No martial artist had x-ray vision; no one could spot the dragon hidden in the glen.
Su Li only felt, upon arrival, that the mountain wind and currents here were odd, pressing on his heart. He tensed. Sure enough, what Meng Qi and Doctor Mo had said was true: a great senior was in seclusion atop this mountain.
Meng Qi refused to say more; Doctor Mo had looked as if he wanted to, but Meng Qi dragged him away.
That had been when the three parted in Jingzhou, after Su Li awkwardly eavesdropped; the other two had acted as if nothing was amiss.
Even if they’d realized, they only looked more at ease—Meng Qi, whatever; even Mo Li maintained “what need not be said, a gentleman does not speak of.” The swordsman fumed inside, wishing they’d get their comeuppance, something so humiliating neither could show their faces!
Though in truth, the swordsman couldn’t imagine what could ever embarrass Meng Qi or Mo Li. National Advisor Meng was arrogant beyond compare; Doctor Mo was odd, always chasing after people to treat them. Both far from normal—together, they were utterly invincible and afraid of none.
But so what? It felt good to grumble; he didn’t expect it to do any good.
Would he make a plan for it? How? Su Li doubted he had the brains, and if he did… why waste them on that?
Convalescence dragged.
But with Tianshou King dead and the Holy Lotus cult scattered, Jingzhou’s situation improved daily, and Su Li healed under Fengxing Pavilion’s care. Only when true spring came did the patient get his hands on a blade again—until then, under doctors’ orders, they wouldn’t let him out.
No self-defence, and you want to go home?
This wasn’t the city—he couldn’t just slip through a few alleys.
Jingzhou, wracked by war, was crawling with bandits and refugees; time was needed to recover.
Hooded and masked, the swordsman didn’t want stories of his failure to assassinate the Tianshou King spreading (“Didn’t even succeed—where’s my pride as an assassin?”). And besides, if he ran into misunderstandings with righteous sects or the like, stubborn Su Li would be helpless.
Mo Li had handed him over with Fengxing Pavilion’s solemn guarantee of safety: nothing could go wrong.
All this took until spring was warm and flowers bloomed before Su Li made it home to Feihe Mountain.
Remembering the senior Meng Qi had mentioned, Su Li thought to test his luck on a pass, but didn’t dare delve too deeply. Hearing the absolute silence in the valley, he turned to leave.
Half-awake, the green dragon: “…”
Wait, was that the whelp’s voice just now?
A long roar shifted the spiritual energy above—thick clouds gathered, and heavy rain poured.
Su Li glanced up, deciding to find a cave to wait it out.
Normally, as a man of the jianghu, he wouldn’t care about wind or rain. But Doctor Mo had insisted that to truly master martial arts, he needed good health, and after years of hardship, Su Li’s constitution was poor. So the swordsman missed the sight of battered trees, whipped by wild wind, and the shock of a green dragon soaring skyward through the deluge.
Hugging his arms, Su Li waited out the rain in the cave.
Above, a green dragon darted through the clouds, surveying the land.
—Strange, why couldn’t it find him?
The dragon grew frantic; its ephemeral form crumbling in an instant. It turned into a sparrow, wings beating in the rain as it searched in distress.
Su Li polished his blade—the mountain rains rarely lasted more than half an hour, and the clouds sped along at a terrific pace. He wasn’t worried.
When the storm at last began to clear, and the sun brightened the world, Su Li shook out his robe, ready to leave—when, suddenly, through the thin rain, a round object tumbled in, crashing to the ground.
Soaked to the bone, the black crown feathers atop its head blown wild, sporting a look as messy as could be.
A smack of wings—water drops sprayed, almost hitting Su Li in the face.
The plump bird cocked its head and stared at Su Li.
Dragon veins weren’t good at recognizing faces; the sparrow had forgotten Su Li’s looks. But it would never mistake the whelp’s aura—like a piece of its own territory, the spiritual energy given years ago to save a dying woman now lived in Su Li’s body.
“Cheeep!”
The sparrow was ecstatic, hopping up and down on the spot.
Su Li, back at the reed marsh, had failed to find the odd little bird Mo Li had once said was “fated” with him. He hadn’t thought much of it; after all, it wasn’t some pet.
That remarkably clever and unusual bird had always liked circling him, but it didn’t stick right by his side, and was always vanishing to eat, chase mates, or build nests. He’d been gone so long, through all of autumn and winter; who’d expect the bird to still “visit” him every day?
Regret, maybe—but it was just a bird. Humans couldn’t stay with each other forever; why expect a wild thing to?
Yet here was a drenched, unrecognizable sparrow before him, unafraid, calling in clear, winding notes, wings pumping as it bounced in place. The swordsman caught his breath.
“Is…that you?”
Su Li tentatively reached out, and the sparrow nimbly dove straight under his palm, using his sleeve to towel off.
“Cheep, cheep!” the sparrow squeaked in indignant complaint—it knew Su Li hadn’t recognized it at all.
The swordsman was innocent; these birds were everywhere, especially around the reed marsh—all little black-capped, slim-legged, plump-bellied bundles!
Well, except this one; this one was the fattest.
Even soaked to the skin, feathers plastered flat, it was still unmistakably a round ball.
The sparrow kept complaining about the whelp’s ingratitude—ran off and never came back.
Su Li half understood, half not, carefully drying the bird’s feathers. Once the rain stopped, he set the ball on his shoulder.
Alone in the hills and no need for a bamboo hat; the scarred face creased in a smile even he didn’t feel, and his steps grew lighter.
“All right. Let’s go home?”
“Cheep!”
The Feihe Mountain dragon vein slapped its wings in protest.
