Chapter 500 – The Beat of Drums and Caws of Crows—Returning, Yet No Longer Young - Part 1

The year was drawing to a close, and snow was falling.

The winter chill was cold but colder still was the loneliness buried in the human heart. If there were joy and laughter in the air, a snowy day might be for building snowmen, throwing snowballs, and setting off firecrackers. But for those who wandered the mountains and rivers...joy was a rare thing. More often than not, such figures walked alone.

Fang Jianlong was alone too. He’d left Bloomtown in Swallowcloud Province months ago. Since then, he'd wandered aimlessly across this land, seeing nothing but war and death.

Suffering stirred something deep within him.

And in those months, he’d once reached out with those bloodstained hands to pull a little girl from the brink of death in some godforsaken wasteland.

For a time, he thought that moment had changed his life. In the hollow of his loneliness, a child’s presence had taken root. Children grew. And he believed that with her, his world might grow too. But soon enough, he learned the cruel truth: long before he ever found her, the little girl had already contracted a terminal illness.

Where did the sickness come from?

Fang Jianlong found out quickly. His eyes burned with fury.

“Dog bastard!” He clenched his fists and stormed off to the neighboring town. There, he strung up the culprit, Lord Zhao, on the town entrance gate. Then, slowly, methodically, he carved him to death cut by cut.

Blood dripped to the ground, blooming like red flowers on the snow.

He took the severed head, now stripped to bone, and placed it before the little girl. But instead of gratitude, she screamed. A scream filled with terror...and madness.

A few days later, she died too.

Fang Jianlong stood stunned, aching, unable to speak. He had forgotten something vital, that a wounded child needed warmth more than revenge. But it was too late now.

He buried her with his own hands.

And in the silence of the grave, he understood something else. A loneliness that once tasted warmth became colder than ever when that warmth was lost.

The world was vast, but now he had nowhere left to go.

Cultivation? He had no will for it anymore. His revenge was complete. And beyond that, he’d lost even the

right

to continue cultivating.

The Lotus Cult had collapsed. It was nothing but ashes now.

In times like these, if anyone found out he was a remnant of the Lotus Cult, they would hunt him to the ends of the earth. There would be no rest, no mercy.

So he dared not use any strength above the sixth rank. Even when killing Lord Zhao, he’d relied on nothing more than the tools and skills of an ordinary martial artist.

He also dared not cultivate. He was a fifth rank martial artist. To advance, he needed to get close to a fourth rank meat field. But where in this land did those fields not lie under the iron grip of powerful factions?

Where else

could

he go?

Then, from deep in his soul, a thought surfaced, quiet at first, then overwhelming.

Why not go home?

Why not return to the soil where he was born? At least there, the memories were kind. To be born there, and to die there; there was some peace in that.

“Then I’ll go back to Gemhill County,” he murmured to himself, “even if I live as nothing more than a simple martial artist, never again revealing power above sixth rank.”

The thought became a decision. And that decision lit a tiny spark of hope within him.

He turned south and walked. He didn’t know how long he walked, only that snow crunched endlessly beneath his boots. On those treacherous, snowbound paths, he suddenly heard a voice. A woman’s voice, faint in the distance but familiar.

He would never forget that voice, never forget the woman who once changed the course of his life.

Years ago, he would’ve turned and run the moment he heard it. But now? Now, he wanted to see her. Just once. Even if only from afar.

So he climbed over a mountain peak and stepped into the next valley.

In the canyon below, a horse-drawn carriage rolled forward, wheels cutting through snow and flinging up clouds of icy dust. But no amount of snow could muffle the sound inside the carriage, a boy’s ragged coughing and a woman’s anxious voice.

“Yun’er, just hold on a little longer. The next town’s almost here.”

“Mom... I’m cold. So cold...really cold...

Cough, cough, cough

...

!

”

“Yun’er...”

Up on the cliffside, Fang Jianlong stood with his eyes shut tight. He inhaled deeply. The cold air stabbed into his lungs like a blade, only deepening the chill in his heart. The loneliness inside him felt absolute.

But he had already figured out who was inside that carriage.

It was Zhu Qiao’er, his ex-wife. And the boy with her, now grown, was her son.

Judging by the boy’s state, something must’ve happened when he was young. Some trauma. Some deep wound that had left a sickness behind, one that still hadn't healed.

Fang Jianlong’s gaze slowly drifted to the driver’s seat of the carriage.

A burly man with a thick beard sat there, face marked with old scars. He looked tough, maybe even trustworthy.

So...this is the man you found after me?

Fang Jianlong let out a bitter, silent laugh. He turned to leave. But just as he spun around, something tugged at his memory, something off.

He knew that face. That bearded, scarred face...he

knew

it.

He frowned and looked again, only to find the man was already staring right back at him.

The fact that this man had noticed him at all meant only one thing. He was probably a fifth rank martial artist, too.

And with that single glance, Fang Jianlong suddenly remembered who he was.

The man seemed to sense something as well. Recognition flickered in his eyes, even though Fang Jianlong’s face was now scarred and half-ruined. Still, something about him felt familiar. The man pulled on the reins, brought the carriage to a halt, looked up, and cupped his fists with a polite nod.

“You there, brother! Greetings to you!”

Fang Jianlong opened his mouth, hesitated...then turned and bolted. He’d only taken two steps before a rough voice boomed out behind him.

“Fang Jianlong!!”

Fang Jianlong slowed to a stop, breathing heavily.

The voice rang out again.

“Hell, your woman said she got separated from you! I was just helping her out for a while. What, you expect me to keep looking after her forever?!”

Fang Jianlong stopped completely. He turned back and walked to the edge of the cliff, peering down at the man below.

The bearded driver sat casually in his seat, one leg propped up, staring back at him without the slightest hint of fear.

“Little shit, get your ass down here already!” the man bellowed.

Fang Jianlong replied coldly, “You and I have unfinished business.”

“Unfinished business?” The bearded man furrowed his brow, then burst into laughter. “That was between the Red Lotus Cult and the Sacred Fire Palace. What’s that got to do with

us

?

“I’m not with the Sacred Fire Palace anymore. And you...if you’re still a Red Lotus Cult elder, what the hell are you doing here? This is the road south. Another 50 kilometers and you’ll reach the Eternal Rest River. Cross that, and you’re home.”

Fang Jianlong fell silent. Then he let out a quiet sigh. “Sect Master Tie... Times have changed. People...change.”

The bearded man was none other than Tie Sha, once a cautious and capable sect master. He had barely escaped the massacre of the Sacred Fire Palace with his life. After fleeing, he crossed paths with Zhu Qiao’er and her son, survivors like him. Naturally, they stuck together. Now they were on their way south, but he hadn’t expected to run into Fang Jianlong here.

Tie Sha chuckled, loud and easy. “Spare me the poetry. Changed or not, get down here and have a drink!”

Seeing that Fang Jianlong still hadn’t moved, Tie Sha shifted over on the driver’s seat, patting the spot beside him like it was a prized seat in a tavern. Then he slapped the wine gourd on his hip with two loud smacks and shouted up.

“40-year-old Springdream Brew! Infused with burning heart flowers! You seriously telling me that’s not enough to get you down here?!”

“...” Fang Jianlong said nothing.

Tie Sha turned again, rummaging in the carriage before pulling out a second gourd. He held it high and hollered, “TWO gourds! Still not coming down? I’m not bragging, but this Springdream Brew? I smuggled it out

myself

the day the Sacred Fire Palace was destroyed. Could be these are the last two gourds of the stuff left in the whole damn world!”

It had been almost 40 years. Back then, they were still both in Gemhill County.

One was a sect master desperately trying to reconnect with the Sacred Fire Palace so he could break through to the sixth rank.

The other was an inner sect prodigy, full of youthful promise.

They had both thought the world beyond their little county would be magnificent. They spent half their lives chasing that dream, only to realize later...maybe the only real joy was back at the beginning.

Fang Jianlong finally let out a long sigh. His body drifted down in a blur of movement, and he landed softly beside Tie Sha on the driver’s bench. He took one of the gourds, pulled the stopper, and stared deep into Tie Sha’s eyes.

Tie Sha immediately reached for the gourd to get the first drink, but Fang Jianlong yanked it back just in time.

Without a word, face blank, Fang Jianlong raised the gourd to his lips and tilted it back, drinking deep.

Tie Sha burst out laughing and grabbed his own.

Fang Jianlong took a long swig, then suddenly stopped. He pulled the gourd from his lips and narrowed his eyes.

“This really 40-year-old Springdream Brew? You really hauled this out the day the Sacred Fire Palace fell?”

Tie Sha just grinned. He was crafty, pleased with himself, and absolutely unapologetic. He raised his own gourd, lifting it slightly as if to clink it.

The air between them seemed to freeze for a moment.

Then Fang Jianlong started laughing too.

They looked at each other and laughed, loudly, unreservedly...like two fools at the end of the world. It was the kind of laughter that shook off decades of weariness.

Fang Jianlong lifted his gourd and tapped it against Tie Sha’s.

They drank again.

This time, they emptied them to the last drop.

Fang Jianlong smacked his lips. “Good wine.”

𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

“Yeah...damn good wine,” Tie Sha agreed.

But the truth? There wasn’t a drop of wine in either gourd. It was just water. But in times like these, even the finest wine couldn’t hold a candle to an old friend willing to share a drink.