It's nothing, really.

Li Miao watched in silence, a tremor stirring in his heart, yet he found it reasonable enough. For one capable of imprisoning space, conjuring a void vortex would be a trivial matter.

“Let’s drink,” the Butcher said.

The cabin’s space returned to normal, save for the table where Sun Lie had once sat, now shattered into dust—a silent testament to the battle that had just transpired.

Li Miao wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, casually tossed aside the chopsticks that had been whittled down to mere toothpicks, and took his seat once more.

“Senior, I shall punish myself with three bowls of wine as an apology.”

He poured a full bowl, raised it to his lips, and drained it in a single gulp. The Butcher watched him, his expression unreadable.

The second bowl.

The third.

Li Miao’s hand did not falter. Three bowls of strong liquor burned down his throat, the sting sharp and fiery. Thankfully, his genetic energy was vigorous, quickly soothing the sensation.

The Butcher’s expression finally eased a little. “Each has his own path—I understand. Though your cultivation is meager, you already possess the will to seek the Way. That is rare and precious.”

“You flatter me, Senior,” Li Miao replied. He understood little of ‘seeking the Way’—he simply followed his heart. What suited him was best; no matter how great another’s skills, if they didn’t fit, learning them would be pointless.

The two styles of blade technique the Butcher had taught him were enlightening, but Li Miao would not follow them slavishly. Instead, he would replace the ‘butcher’s’ habits within the technique with those of a ‘warrior.’

The two sat across from each other, drinking, silence settling over the cabin.

After some time, the Butcher hefted the wine jar, finding it empty—the ten pounds of Western Wind Spirit were all gone.

He frowned. “The wine tonight brings me no joy. Young man, since fate does not favor us, let us part ways here. I have no desire to visit the county city.”

With that, he stood, donned his bamboo hat, and strode toward the door.

“Senior—” Li Miao hurried after him.

He had never imagined the Butcher would depart so abruptly, without a hint of warning.

Outside, the boat owner was instructing his men to move the last few crates. Seeing the Butcher disembark, he called out, “Hey, friend, the boat’s about to depart. Where are you headed?”

The Butcher didn’t look back. “There are three thousand paths to the Way. If this path does not suit me, I’ll take another.” He stepped off the boat and walked straight toward the riverbank.

Li Miao intended to follow and persuade him, but upon hearing those words, he paused.

The Butcher’s goodwill toward him had dissipated the moment Li Miao refused to learn the third blade technique. As the saying goes, when paths diverge, there is no point in scheming together. Since fate was lacking, sitting on the same boat would only breed awkwardness. Better, then, to part ways.

Such decisiveness was the mark of one at ease with himself.

Watching the Butcher go, Li Miao shook his head and sighed inwardly.

The chance to befriend a master, the opportunity to inherit a peerless blade technique—both slipped away before his eyes.

And it was he himself who let them go.

He felt a flicker of regret, but what was done could not be undone.

Li Miao walked to the rail, gazing out over the river, his feelings mixed.

Beside him, the boat owner muttered, “If he won’t go, so be it. Cursing our road, what kind of fellow is that? Never mind him. Brothers, the hour has come—let’s set sail!”

“Yes,” came the response.

The crew set about untying the thick ropes that secured the boat, pushing at the great oars, guiding the vessel slowly out from the dock.

The hull rocked gently upon the river’s surface.

They were underway.

Li Miao pressed down his distracting thoughts, turned his gaze, and looked toward the nearby large ship.

That was Ji Lingyu’s boat.

Across four or five hundred yards, he could see the fluttering curtain at the ship’s uppermost deck, behind which a graceful silhouette was faintly visible.

Yet he could not see Guo’er’s figure. Perhaps she was meditating, or practicing the secret skills Ji Lingyu had taught her in another chamber.

“I wonder what that girl will be like after three months,” he murmured.

Truth be told, he and Guo’er had only known each other for barely a month.

Now three months would pass before they met again—who could say whether she would still treat him with the same affection?

The boat drifted away from the dock, soon entering the main channel, carried downstream by the current.

Li Miao stood at the stern, letting the river wind brush his face, watching as the distance between himself and the luxurious immortal ship widened, until it faded from sight.

As Li Miao gradually receded, Ji Lingyu, dressed in white, watched him from afar atop her grand vessel.

Behind the curtain, Ji Lingyu lightly shook her feather fan, gazing into the distance, a faint smile gracing her lips.

“That boy is truly a wonder. In this stretch of Longling, only a handful of masters have passed through, and he’s managed to encounter them all.”

“That Butcher has quite the background—even my master regards him with caution. I wonder if the rascal gained anything from their meeting.”

“If it’s swordsmanship or magical arts, that’s fine. But if he learned the blade technique, I’ll have to keep a close eye on Guo’er, and not let them mingle freely.”

“Let’s hope not. Such a good seedling—it would be a pity for her to become a sacrifice.”

The river breeze stirred the curtains, caressing her jade-like face.

Just then, footsteps sounded from the direction of the stairs.

Guo’er, petite as ever, bounded up to the third deck, declaring, “Sister, I’ve mastered it!”

The waters of Cangyun River rolled westward, several boats drifting in the central channel, their pace neither fast nor slow.

Li Miao sat cross-legged in the cabin of “Geng Twelve,” practicing the Cosmic Heart Guidance technique, steadily strengthening his own power.

The cabin was small—barely enough for a narrow wooden bed, with no room for a table.

Yet this did not impede the flow of cosmic energy; his cultivation proceeded smoothly, absorption rapid.

After a long time, Li Miao sensed his cells had reached temporary saturation, so he ceased the guidance technique and opened his eyes.

“Five days.”

“Five days of secluded cultivation, plus the month before—I’m getting closer and closer to the mid-tier Mountain-River level. It won’t be long before I break through this minor realm.”

“But most important is my state of mind.”

He murmured softly.

His encounter with the Butcher, and his decision to abandon the blade technique halfway, had left a mark on him. His thoughts lingered over the “Sever the Neck, Let Blood Flow” and “Flay the Flesh, Strip the Bone” techniques, his emotions unsettled.

After days of focused practice, the turbulence in his heart was finally suppressed, restoring his peace.

“A bit of rest, then I’ll resume cultivation and break through the realm.”

He pushed open the door and walked toward the main cabin.

Even Mountain-River level cultivators felt hunger; after days of training, his stomach was sending urgent signals.

In the main cabin, there were few people—just the boat owner Liang Jun and three other passengers, chatting and drinking.

This boat was meant to carry only thirty people; with Sun Lie and a dozen other True Condensation cultivators wiped out by the Butcher, the number had halved, leaving the vessel much quieter.

Li Miao arrived as the conversation was lively.

Liang Jun spotted him and invited, “Brother Li, care to join us for a drink?”

Liang Jun was straightforward and hospitable, acquainted with everyone aboard.

Li Miao nodded, “Gladly. I’m famished—bring me a couple of dishes to go with the wine.”

“Of course. Xiao Xu, cook up a fresh fish and some spiced beans and peanuts,” Liang Jun ordered.

“Right away—just a moment!” the servant replied, heading to the kitchen.

Liang Jun continued, “You probably don’t know each other yet. Let me introduce you. This young hero is Li Miao—don’t let his youth fool you; his skills are formidable. These three are the Luo brothers: Luo Dacai, Luo Erfu, and Luo Sanshou—renowned spice merchants of Longling, wealthy beyond measure.”

The eldest wore a scholar’s cap, resembling a middle-aged literatus; the second was stout and prosperous-looking; the third had earlobes like pearls, reminiscent of the god of longevity.

Their appearances matched their names—a glance sufficed to remember them.

Li Miao took the empty seat beside Liang Jun, poured himself a bowl of wine, and asked casually, “What were you chatting about?”

“Random idle talk—nothing of consequence,” replied Luo Dacai, sitting opposite.

Luo Erfu chuckled, “Just now, Brother Liang was telling us about the bandits of Tianmen Gorge—both river and mountain types.”

“Bandits?” Li Miao’s brows rose, intrigued.

Liang Jun explained, “Indeed. The Tianmen Gorge area has always had river bandits preying on merchant ships, making life hard for us traders and boatmen.”

“Recently, for some reason, a band of mountain brigands appeared on the other side of the gorge, establishing a stronghold to rob travelers passing by land.”

“Though an official road runs through Tianmen Gorge, the area is remote, and merchants are scarce. The mountain bandits, finding little profit, turned their attention to the river bandits—built boats, crossed the river by night, and raided the bandits’ camp.”

Li Miao couldn’t help but laugh.

Both groups were highway robbers, and now they were robbing each other.

“Interesting. What happened next?” he asked.

Liang Jun continued, “They’re all bandits, none afraid of the other. The mountain brigands provoked first, but the river bandits weren’t to be trifled with—they struck back the next day, wrecked the mountain bandits’ new boats, and injured many.”

“The mountain brigands, seeing how tough the river bandits were, laid low for a few days.”

“But the land route just doesn’t offer much profit. Soon enough, they built new boats and began competing with the river bandits for business.”

Li Miao remarked, “Both groups want to rob ships—doesn’t that make things much harder for you boatmen?”

Liang Jun shook his head with a smile, waving dismissively. “Not really. Though both want our money, their rivalry is fierce—whichever robs more, the other resents it.”

“Whenever a big ship passes, both groups come out to intercept, but they always end up fighting each other first. Once they’ve settled their differences, we merchants pay a small toll and leave unharmed.”

“Sometimes, when their brawl is especially heated, we even slip away unnoticed. Ha!”

Li Miao found it amusing.

These bandits were truly a pair of clowns, stubbornly refusing to join forces for greater profit.

Luo Sanshou said, “In another ten days or so, we’ll be passing through Tianmen Gorge ourselves. I wonder what the situation will be then.”

His tone held no hint of worry—rather, a touch of anticipation that made one sweat.

As they spoke, the servant returned with the dishes, bringing a steaming braised fish.

It was freshly caught from the river, prepared by an experienced chef—the sauce thick, the aroma rich, the flavor tempting.

Li Miao, hunger gnawing, wasted no time, picking up his chopsticks and digging in.

Between bites, he asked, “Who are these mountain and river bandits? Are there any cultivators among them?”

Liang Jun replied, “There are, supposedly. But those with real skill tend to rise above it all—those who turn bandit are mostly failed disciples, their strength unimpressive.”

In this world, the divide between ordinary folk and cultivators was not so wide; they often mingled.

Places like the Sun Manor and other small clans in Longling County were mixed with commoners.

Many townspeople and villagers even possessed ancestral fragments of cultivation methods; with diligent practice, they could develop some abilities.

Liang Jun and the Luo brothers were worldly men, somewhat familiar with cultivators and not easily daunted.

Luo Dacai watched Li Miao enjoy his meal and asked, “Brother Li, you look strong and distinguished—are you a cultivator as well?”

The others all looked at him expectantly.

Li Miao spat out two fish bones and nodded, “I suppose so.”

There was nothing to hide—yes meant yes, no meant no.

Hearing his affirmation, the four men smiled with relief.

Having a cultivator on their journey meant greater safety when passing through Tianmen Gorge, should the bandits attack.

Though they didn’t fear being robbed, saving money was always welcome.

Liang Jun said, “Then we must trouble Brother Li to look after us on this trip.”

“Gladly,” Li Miao replied.

As long as the bandits did not have an abundance of True Condensation cultivators, or a master at the Origin level, he could easily drive them off.

The conversation continued.

Li Miao finished the entire braised fish, drank a good deal of wine, and finally his hunger eased.

Unnoticed, night had fallen; lanterns were lit aboard, Liang Jun attended to his duties, and the Luo brothers retired to their cabins.

Li Miao stepped outside—the world was pitch black.

The river wind carried a chill; early autumn was bringing colder nights.

Tonight the moon was absent, only scattered stars flickering overhead. In the distant sky, streaks like shooting stars occasionally appeared—light from cultivators traversing the heavens.

The river flowed endlessly, the boat sailing steadily onward.

Li Miao stood at the prow, listening to the sound of water, his heart tranquil.

“The blade technique…”

Unconsciously, he recalled the two moves the Butcher had imparted.

“Sever the Neck, Let Blood Flow—a killing strike. It demands extraordinary reflexes and judgment, finding the enemy’s weakness in the briefest moment, then striking to kill.”