Chapter Two: The All-Knowing Scholar

After a day’s journey, Shi Qi arrived at Nanhai City.

Nanhai City was the place Shi Qi had lived since he could remember. Though it could not compare to the bustling metropolises of other provinces, it was still the liveliest city in the Southern Province.

Shi Qi walked to "The Tavern with a Story." By now, the servants and waiters had all been replaced several times over. No one recognized the young cultivator before them, who looked as if he came from some sect to gain worldly experience. Even less could they imagine that this very youth had once toiled here for several years as a menial laborer.

"Waiter, one room and a bowl of plain noodles," Shi Qi tossed a piece of silver.

"Of course, sir. Please have a seat and wait a moment," the waiter replied, bringing tea and accepting the silver.

Shi Qi took a sip of hot tea and turned to look at the Bai Xiaosheng in the main hall, who was holding forth with great enthusiasm.

The term "Bai Xiaosheng" did not refer to a single person, but rather an organization. Unlike sects, they had no fixed mountain stronghold, nor did they join the Cultivation Alliance. They operated throughout the Twelve Provinces. Although members of Bai Xiaosheng did not necessarily possess high cultivation, each wielded a lightning-fast flying sword. Their main tasks were gathering, disseminating, and delivering information, as well as accepting commissions.

"As everyone knows, the Cultivation Market will open in ten days," declared the Bai Xiaosheng, who appeared no more than twenty, dressed in white robes and holding a black folding fan. His features were handsome and fair, his demeanor gracious.

"He doesn’t look like a Bai Xiaosheng, more like the son of a wealthy family," Shi Qi mused.

"I’ve long heard of the Cultivation Market, but what exactly is it?" someone in the inn echoed.

"Nanhai City is far from the Central Province, and this is a matter of ten thousand years past, so perhaps many of you are hearing of the Cultivation Market for the first time. Allow me to recount its origins," the young man said, opening his fan and sipping his tea.

Shi Qi, too, grew interested. Having never left the Southern Province, the world beyond held a certain allure for him. This time, his journey away from the island was also a plan to leave Nanhai City and head north.

"Legend has it that ten thousand years ago, an evil being appeared in the Eastern Sea. He was a demonic cultivator suppressed by the Heavenly Court in the mortal realm, now revived, descending upon the Twelve Provinces with demonic energy. Had he ascended as a demon, leaving behind demonic miasma, the Twelve Provinces would have become devoid of spiritual energy. Without it, one cannot form a foundation, nor advance in cultivation, and thus the line of cultivators would be severed."

"Ah..."

"This..."

The youth glanced around at the astonished faces, then continued, "At this moment of life and death, the righteous, demonic, and heretical paths set aside their feuds, choosing the eighteen strongest in the Twelve Provinces. They gathered at Beiyun Mountain in the Central Province, joined forces, slew the demon, and dispelled the evil miasma!"

"Well done!" someone in the crowd echoed.

*

The eighteen heroes each displayed their unique skills, but the demon was too powerful. Though ultimately slain, nearly half the heroes perished as well. Later, on the highest peak of Beiyun Mountain, eighteen giant stone statues were erected. Many new disciples would be led there by their elders, who would tell them in detail the stories of these eighteen.

Every ten years, Beiyun Mountain is sealed for three days—a celebration for the surrounding region. People flock there, initially to honor the heroes. Over time, a Cultivation Market was established, turning those three days into a grand festival for all cultivators under heaven.

This tradition has continued for ten thousand years. Yet with time, the Cultivation Market’s fame has gradually eclipsed the deeds of the eighteen heroes, for the calamity of demonic miasma has long passed. Some even claim the tale was fabricated for the sake of the market. Thousands of years ago, it was said the summit of Beiyun Mountain was blocked by a barrier, preventing anyone from reaching the statues. Because of this, many doubted the existence of the statues themselves. But whether they exist is no longer important—all attention is now on the Cultivation Market.

"So that’s how it is," Shi Qi thought.

"Who were these eighteen heroes, exactly?"

"An excellent question," the youth responded loudly. "Though the legend is ten thousand years old and some doubt its authenticity, the history of these eighteen heroes is something we Bai Xiaosheng know thoroughly. Listen, and I shall tell you from the beginning."

"The first, it is said, was a master of fire arts, his body wreathed in inextinguishable flames that could burn all things. His title was... Xie... Oh my heavens!"

Shi Qi thought, "Xie Oh My Heavens? What kind of name is that?"

Just as Shi Qi was about to speak, a white arrow suddenly flew through the window, hurtling toward the youth in white with lightning speed.

The youth’s cry had not even faded before he leapt from his stool, twisting in midair to dodge the arrow. The shaft grazed his robe—had he been even a moment slower, it would have pierced him through.

Barely catching his breath, the youth exclaimed, "Not good!"

The white arrow shot forward, and a few meters ahead stood the waiter, just emerging from the kitchen with a bowl of plain noodles.

The youth dared not hesitate and began forming a hand seal to intercept the arrow.

But there was no time. The arrow shot toward the waiter’s throat in an instant.

The waiter barely had time to register what was happening before a curtain of water suddenly appeared before him. The white arrow spun furiously within the watery veil, emitting a sizzling sound, stopping mere inches from his throat.

"Good heavens!" The belatedly terrified waiter’s legs gave out, and he collapsed, though the tray in his hands remained steady, and the bowl of noodles was unscathed.

"What impressive professionalism."

*

It was Shi Qi, standing beside the waiter, who had spoken. The watery curtain was his own water-based technique—not an ordinary one, but infused with true energy, making it resilient and unbreakable.

The arrow, striking the water curtain, was softened and fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

Shi Qi dispelled the water screen, bent down to retrieve the bowl of noodles from the waiter’s tray, and returned to his seat, adding a spoonful of chili to the bowl.

The crowd had not yet reacted when, with a swoosh, another white arrow flew through the door, aimed at the youth.

Frowning, the youth reached into his robe and drew a green sword.

"Ha!" he cried, and with an upward flick, caught the arrow mid-flight on the tip of his sword. The arrow spun upward, whirling rapidly in the air.

With a flourish, the youth spun the sword into a flowery pattern, slinging it behind his right hand, and with a flick of his white robe, struck a dramatic pose.

"Well done!" The crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause.

The arrow, spinning, suddenly landed with a heavy thud, embedding itself in the table before Shi Qi. Shi Qi, chopsticks in hand, watched as the plain noodles he was about to eat scattered everywhere.

He glanced at the youth in white.

The youth glanced back at Shi Qi.

And held his pose...