Unlike what Qin Sang had imagined, the white-robed figure was remarkably young, appearing only fifteen or sixteen years old. With a face like polished jade, sword-shaped brows, and eyes like stars, his bearing was undiminished even with grass clippings clinging to his cheeks. He was the most handsome, elegant youth Qin Sang had ever seen across both of his lifetimes.
The youth's eyes were wide open, as though interrogating the heavens.
Qin Sang gently closed the white-robed youth's eyes. Hesitating for a moment, he began searching his body as well.
The youth had even less on him than the devil did; Qin Sang searched down to his undergarments, finding only a seven-colored brocade pouch.
The pouch was the size of a palm, adorned with exquisite cloud patterns. Crafted from superior material, it felt softer and finer than the best silks of his past life. A finely embroidered ribbon drew the opening shut, cinching it where it hung at the youth's waist. At first, Qin Sang had thought it was a scented sachet, but soon realized it was not; it seemed completely empty.
Qin Sang tried to untie it, but failed to open the pouch. The ribbon was unimaginably tough.
Qin Sang felt a wave of disappointment. Let alone legendary treasures, there wasn't even any gold or silver.
Where was the flying sword?
At the thought of the flying sword, heat surged through Qin Sang's chest. In both his past and present lives, legends of sword immortals had never been in short supply—each tale thrilling, each firing the imagination.
Yet no matter where Qin Sang looked, left or right, there was no sign of the flying sword.
Lifting the white-robed youth's hands, Qin Sang frowned. He discovered the hands clenched tight, as though gripping something. Hurriedly prying them open with all his might, he found some pale stone fragments in the left palm, while a tiny wooden sword tumbled out of the right.
Qin Sang picked up the sword. A faint dark sheen coated its surface, making it look like an ebony sword. The carving on the blade was remarkably fine, etched with grain that was likely the wood's natural pattern, though unfortunately there were no inscriptions.
The ebony sword was only as long as a pinky finger, yet surprisingly heavy in hand. It lacked sharp edges, however, and its tip could not even prick a finger. It resembled a toy.
Frowning, Qin Sang recalled the sight of the flying sword earlier, realizing that the flying sword and this ebony sword looked identical—only the flying sword was far larger, the size of a normal blade.
Could those terrifying ravines have been carved out by this tiny sword?
Qin Sang wrapped everything in the sheepskin, tucking it inside his shirt against his chest just like the black-robed man had done. Suddenly, a continuous crackling caught his ear. Propping himself up, he looked over to find that the fire on the tree had leaped to the grassy shoal. A steady breeze swept across the riverbank, and the withered yellow grass caught fire instantly. The blaze was spreading rapidly.
*Careless!*
Qin Sang cursed under his breath. There was no time to bury the dead. He bowed to the white-robed youth and said softly, "Benefactor, I know not your name or origin. I will keep this pouch as a token. Should fortune allow me to find your family in the future, I will return it to them!"
With that, Qin Sang studied the youth's face for a moment to commit it to memory, then used the knife to test the clothes of both men. Though finely made, the fabrics were ordinary materials that tore easily under the blade. Giving up any further scavenging, Qin Sang crawled adeptly toward the riverbank.
Seeing the fire rushing toward him at visible speed, Qin Sang grew frantic. Hurriedly snatching two coin pouches from the fallen bandits, he scrambled to lash the raft tight, shoved it into the river, and clambered aboard holding a knife. The very next moment, flames engulfed the riverbank.
*Whoosh...*
Flames raged, and thick smoke billowed into the air.
The raft drifted down with the current. Feeling the gentle flow of the water, Qin Sang finally relaxed and turned to gaze back at the sea of flames.
In the blink of an eye, dozens of lives had been extinguished without a trace of bone or ash left behind, including two mysterious Immortal Masters. Yet Qin Sang felt little turmoil in his heart, only an overwhelming, bone-deep exhaustion.
Mustering his strength, he grabbed a few dry flatbreads he had looted from the bandits, washed them down with river water, and wolfed them down. Then, thinking of the possessions he had risked his life to obtain, he hurriedly brought them all out to take stock.
The two pouches contained mostly gold, worth nearly a hundred taels of silver—enough for him to live comfortably for quite a while. Still, Qin Sang merely counted it roughly before stashing it away.
Wrapping the book and the brocade pouch inside the sheepskin, he tucked them securely against his chest. Then he pulled a few cotton threads from his clothes to bind the tiny sword, hung it around his neck, and hid it beneath his collar.
The little sword looked unremarkable. Even if an outsider saw it, they would only take it for a wooden amulet, never guessing it was an immortal's flying sword.
He had intended to head ashore for help the moment he saw a village or town, but after drifting for a long time, there was still no sign of civilization. Qin Sang cut a branch to splint his lower leg, then lay back on the raft, toying with the little sword between his fingers as he gazed back the way he had come. His eyes shifted with complex emotions. On the distant horizon, wisps of smoke and ash were still faintly visible.
...
Another car crash!
That terrifying dark vortex appeared again and again. This time it lingered especially long, spinning faster and faster.
Qin Sang turned ice-cold all over, feeling as though he were suffocating. He bolted upright in fright, only to find himself still on the raft—it had just been a nightmare. Once clear of danger, his mind had eased, and sheer exhaustion had lulled him into a deep sleep on the raft.
He did not know how long he had slept, but night had already fallen. A moonless, starry night stretched overhead, with sparse starlight scattered across the water, shattered into glittering fragments by the ripples.
*Crash!*
A wave surged over him without warning. Shivering, Qin Sang snapped fully awake, only to find himself soaked to the skin. The river here was rushing swiftly, swelling with constant waves, nowhere near as calm as it had been during the day.
The raft pitched up and down in the waves. Qin Sang looked ahead, and a cold sweat instantly broke out across his body. A massive whirlpool churned on the water before him, and the raft was drifting straight toward its center! No wonder he had kept dreaming of that scene.
Knowing full well the terrors of a river whirlpool, Qin Sang turned pale with fright. Only now did he realize that the raft had drifted into a vast, sprawling river. The waters surged violently beneath fierce winds and treacherous waves.
A lone boy on a solitary raft drifting in the middle of the river, helpless and stranded, he could only paddle frantically with his knife, though it accomplished next to nothing.
Just then, a loud shout rang out from behind him.
"Lad on the raft, stop paddling! Grab the rope!"
Qin Sang turned his head. A large ship was anchored upon the river, its dark silhouette and scattered lanterns faintly visible against the night. A lantern dangled outward from the ship, then traced an arc as it descended toward the river. Only then did Qin Sang see clearly that it was held in a man's hand.
Holding the lantern in one hand and clutching a rope in the other, the man tapped the water's surface with the tip of his toe the moment he came down, leaping back into the air. In this manner, without sinking into the water, he treaded upon the waves as if walking on flat ground.
Another Immortal Master?
Qin Sang stared wide-eyed.
"Eyes sharp!"
Halfway across, the man shouted again, violently whipping his arm forward to hurl the rope into midair. With a sharp whistle, it flew straight toward Qin Sang. Swift as it seemed, much of its force was bled away just before it reached him. Hurriedly tossing the knife aside, Qin Sang scrambled up, caught the end of the rope, looped it once around his waist without a second's hesitation, and held on for dear life.
Seeing how quick-witted Qin Sang was, the man gave a word of praise. He swung the lantern and shouted back toward the ship, "Haul the rope!"
At a bellow from the ship, the rope snapped taut in an instant. A tremendous force yanked Qin Sang straight into the air. Seeing that he was about to smash headfirst into the hull, Qin Sang squeezed his eyes shut in terror.
With a powerful kick against the water, the man bounded into the air, caught Qin Sang by the collar, and stepped along the ship's gunwale, leaping onto the deck in just a few strides.
Chapter 3