One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Chapter 393 Li Muxuan

Zhang Chulan followed the path he had taken yesterday all the way to the seaside.

Dew still clung to the grass on both sides of the path, quickly soaking his trouser legs, which clung to his ankles, feeling cool. The air was filled with the fresh scent of earth and grass, occasionally mingled with the sweet fragrance of unknown wildflowers. A brown lizard lay sunbathing on a roadside stone; seeing someone approach, it tilted its head, glanced at him, and then lazily crawled away.

By the time we reached the beach, the fog had mostly dissipated.

The morning sea breeze carried a salty, fishy smell, and the waves gently lapped against the beach, making a rhythmic "whoosh-whoosh" sound, like a huge chest breathing. The sand on the beach was off-white, very fine, and soft underfoot, leaving a deep footprint.

The beach was deserted. Only a few seabirds foraged in the distance, their white forms moving about in the shallow water, occasionally dipping their long beaks into the sand.

He looked around but couldn't see the old man.

"Not here yet?" Zhang Chulan muttered to himself, and found a clean rock to sit on.

The rocks are black, with a rough, pitted surface covered with white marks left by shellfish. When you sit on them, you can feel the residual warmth from the sun shining on them for a while—not too hot, just right.

He put his hands in his pockets, faced the sea, and waited patiently.

On the sea, several fishing boats are moving slowly. Their small hulls appear particularly lonely on the vast ocean. The fishermen on board are hauling in their nets, their movements unhurried, as if they are doing something they have repeated a thousand times and no longer need to think about.

About ten minutes later.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

The footsteps were neither hurried nor slow, each step almost evenly spaced, as if measured with a metronome. The soles of the shoes made a soft "shh, shh, shh" sound on the sand, the rhythm as steady as a slow song.

Zhang Chulan turned around.

Then, an old man dressed in a blue robe slowly emerged from the woods.

He carried a dark red gourd in one hand, its smooth surface gleaming from being touched, clearly having been with him for many years. His other hand was behind his back, his back slightly hunched, but not in a hunchbacked way; it seemed more like he was deliberately bending over to make himself appear shorter than he actually was.

He walked and drank, taking a sip every few steps, then another sip after a few more. Some liquor spilled from the corners of his mouth, trickling down the wrinkles of his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and continued drinking. He appeared completely at ease, as if he were strolling in his own backyard, rather than on an island where enemies might come knocking at any moment.

"Grandpa, you've arrived." Zhang Chulan quickly stood up and greeted him respectfully.

He patted the sand off his bottom—there wasn't much sand, but he thought it would be polite to do so before standing up—and then walked up to the old man and bowed slightly.

"Hmm, the young man is punctual."

The old man walked up to him and looked him up and down several times. His gaze moved from Zhang Chulan's face to his shoulders, from his shoulders to his hands, and from his hands to his feet, as if he were weighing a piece of goods.

Then he nodded in satisfaction, the white stubble on his chin gleaming silver in the morning light.

"Not bad, you have the air of your grandfather back in the day. But you're fairer than him. He was about your height when he was young, but a shade darker. He was out and about every day, and got as tanned as a lump of coal."

Zhang Chulan was overjoyed and quickly said, "Grandpa, you said last night you could tell me some things about Wugensheng and my grandfather. Can you tell me now?"

Instead of answering directly, he walked to the beach and sat down on a rock.

The rock was larger than the one Zhang Chulan had just sat on, and its surface was flatter, like a natural chair. When the old man sat down, his movements were very slow. First, he supported himself on the rock with both hands, and then slowly lowered his body, like a person with rusty joints slowly folding himself up.

He patted the stone beside him and flicked his fingers twice on the black stone surface, making a "tap-tap" sound.

"Come, sit down and talk."

Zhang Chulan sat down as instructed, feeling both expectant and apprehensive.

He could hear his own heartbeat, "thump, thump, thump," a little faster than usual. The sun had already risen halfway, its rays shining on the sea, making it shimmer and sparkle like a vast expanse of shattered gold constantly churning.

The old man took a sip of wine.

He sipped the wine slowly, the gourd-shaped opening pressed against his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing rhythmically, as if he were savoring it, or perhaps he was hesitating.

Then, he slowly began to speak.

"Your grandfather, Zhang Huaiyi, was one of the Thirty-Six Thieves and the creator of 'Qi Body Source Flow,' one of the Eight Extraordinary Techniques. You should know all of this."

Zhang Chulan nodded. His fingers tapped unconsciously twice on his knee, the rhythm slower than his heartbeat.

"But what you don't know is that the relationship between your grandfather and Wugensheng is far more complicated than the rumors suggest."

The old man sighed. It was a long sigh, as if it had been drawn up from a very, very deep place.

"They were not just sworn brothers, but... brothers who would die for each other."

"A sworn brotherhood?" Zhang Chulan frowned. "But I heard that Wugensheng later betrayed the Thirty-Six Thieves, causing them to be hunted down by various sects..."

"betray?"

The old man gave a cold laugh. The laugh was short but deep, like a winter wind sneaking in through a crack in the door, carrying a chilling cold.

"Who said Wugensheng betrayed us?"

Zhang Chulan was taken aback: "Isn't that right?"

"Of course not." The old man shook his head, a complex light flashing in his clear eyes, like a memory, or like pain.

"Wugensheng has never betrayed anyone. On the contrary, he chose to bear everything alone in order to protect others."

He turned to look at Zhang Chulan, his eyes becoming deep and unfathomable, like two bottomless ancient wells. If you looked into them, you couldn't see the bottom; you could only see your own reflection.

Do you know why Wugensheng created the Thirty-Six Thieves?

Zhang Chulan shook his head.

"Because he discovered a secret—a secret about the nature of this world."

The old man's voice deepened, becoming so low it sounded like he was talking to himself. The sea breeze diffused some of his voice, but Zhang Chulan still heard every word clearly.

"This secret concerns the origin of the Extraordinary People, the true origin of the Eight Extraordinary Techniques, and even... the future of this world."

Zhang Chulan's heart raced.

He felt his palms sweating, not from fear, but from the tension of finally finding out. He had investigated for so long, pursued for so long, and thought for so long—the answer was right in front of him.

"What secret?"

He asked. His voice was calmer than he had expected.

The old man was about to speak—

Sudden.

A sharp whistling sound came from the woods!

That wasn't the sound of wind, nor the sound of birds; it was the sound of metal cutting through the air, a sharp "whoosh" as if a sharp awl were piercing your eardrums.

Zhang Chulan's expression changed, and he instinctively rolled to the side!

He rolled over in the sand—a rather awkward but effective move. Some sand got into his clothes, and the rough particles scraped against his skin, but he didn't care.

"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"

Three crossbow bolts grazed his body, their fletchings leaving three shallow trails in the air.

It struck the rock where he had just been sitting, with three sharp "thuds" as the arrow penetrated most of its length into the stone, its fletching still trembling slightly and emitting a lingering "hum."

"There's an ambush!"

Zhang Chulan let out a low shout, and golden light instantly shone from his body. A pale golden light surged from his body, covering his skin like a thin film of water, protecting his entire body.

His eyes darted quickly around him, his right hand already touching the hilt of the "Blood Cherry" sword at his waist. The hilt was cold, but holding it in his hand calmed his heartbeat somewhat.

Seven or eight figures slowly emerged from the woods.

The leader was a tall, bald man.

He wore a black tactical vest with several bulging pockets, the contents of which were unclear. His bare arms were covered with densely packed runes—not patterns, but real runes, like some kind of ancient script, extending from his shoulders to his wrists.

The runes were deep blue, gleaming faintly in the morning light. With the rise and fall of his arm muscles, the runes seemed to wriggle, as if they were alive.

His face was broad, with prominent cheekbones and a square jaw. There were several horizontal lines on his forehead, high brow bones, and very light eyebrows, almost invisible. His eyes were not large, but very bright, with pupils that shimmered with a yellowish light, like the eyes of some nocturnal animal.

His eyes were fierce, and a cold smile played on his lips.

Behind him followed several equally well-dressed men and women, carrying various weapons—bows and crossbows, swords, and even a modified rifle. The rifle barrel was wrapped with strips of cloth, and the scope was new, reflecting the sunlight.

Their movements were very synchronized. When they emerged from the woods, not a single person spoke or made any unnecessary movements, clearly indicating that this was not the first time they had done something like this.

"Li Muxuan, you really are here."

The bald man grinned, revealing a mouthful of gold teeth. The gold teeth gleamed in the sunlight, creating a stark contrast with his pale, cold skin.

"The boss guessed right, you old codger are still alive."

The old man, Li Muxuan, slowly stood up.

His movements remained slow and unhurried. First, he braced himself against the rocks with both hands, then slowly straightened up and patted the sand off his backside. His movements were as slow as when he had sat down, as if he were completely unconcerned about the armed men surrounding him.

His face still had a lazy expression, as if he had just been woken up from his afternoon nap and was not fully awake yet.