The day after Chen Fan left, another heavy rain poured over Fenglai Town.
In the farthest corner of the town, an old, dilapidated temple collapsed amidst the downpour.
The dust that rose was quickly washed away by the rain.
When the rain stopped, the townsfolk discovered the ruins of the temple and noticed Chen Fan's departure.
They merely sighed.
Perhaps it was the lingering divine aura of the temple or the vitality Chen Fan brought while he stayed there that had kept the temple standing until now.
There was much discussion, but no one truly cared about Chen Fan's departure.
Just a cripple, after all—merely a topic for idle gossip over meals.
If it wasn't Chen Fan, it would've been someone else.
However, soon after, someone discovered the corpse of the yellow-robed old man in front of the tavern,
as well as the lifeless, dazed expressions of Er Biao and his group.
The immortal master had been killed—and in Fenglai Town, no less. This was an earth-shattering event for the townsfolk.
The matter quickly reached the local authorities.
The yamen officers brought the surviving members of Er Biao's group back, trying to glean some clues.
But Er Biao merely laughed foolishly and, in a fit of madness, started running around the yamen.
In his frantic movements, he accidentally kicked the door threshold, fell headfirst onto the stone floor, and bled out.
Er Biao was dead.
The remaining disciples in Taoist robes recounted everything that had happened the previous night.
Soon, Chen Fan's likeness spread like wildfire in all directions.
Yet it didn't garner much attention.
In a world where mortals and immortals coexisted, the lines of right and wrong were blurred.
The dead were simply dead.
Chen Fan's wanted poster hung on the boards for a while before being weathered away by wind and rain, replaced by other notices.
It was as if none of it had ever happened.
...
With a reed hat and the slanting sun, I return alone to the distant green hills.
On the main road, with the sun setting in the west, the scenery was serene and beautiful.
Chen Fan, feeling tired, stopped in his tracks and looked up at the horizon.
He admired the sunset.
A few birds occasionally flew by, their silhouettes against the slanting sun adding to the picturesque view.
If his gourd still had wine, Chen Fan would've considered spending the night here.
But that wasn't an option—he had to make his way to the city to buy wine.
The scenery was beautiful, but a glance was enough.
To Chen Fan, it couldn't compare to a pot of wine among the flowers.
He got back on his feet, propping himself up with his crutch, and wobbled onward.
In this time of wandering and resting, he had managed to leave Fenglai Town's boundaries.
How far the nearest city was, though, he didn't know.
Suddenly, the rapid sound of hoofbeats came from behind, followed by a loud shout:
"Hey, cripple! Hobbling in the middle of the road—do you have a death wish?"
Before Chen Fan could move aside, several black-and-brown stallions sped past him, grazing his side.
Chen Fan watched the dust-covered figures disappear into the distance, his face coated in dirt.
"Ptui! Ptui!"
Having a horse must be nice...
Chen Fan couldn't help but marvel, though he didn't envy them.
After all, he had walked this far by himself.
As a cripple, the one thing Chen Fan wasn't short of was time and patience.
The road through the martial world was long, but it only required more effort.
However, it wasn't long before the same horses doubled back.
Leading the group was a grinning, dark-faced man.
Sizing up Chen Fan's attire, he smirked and said,
"Brother, with bandits rampant these days, aren't you afraid of being robbed walking alone on the road?"
Chen Fan shook his head, patting his pockets, which were even emptier than his face.
"Afraid? Not really."
"Heh, how about this: We're headed to the city, and seeing as you're struggling to walk, why not travel with us?"
"I can't afford to pay."
"It's just lending a hand. No talk of money."
The dark-faced man laughed heartily and extended his hand to Chen Fan.
"In that case, thank you."
Chen Fan raised his crutch, allowing the man to grab it.
With a bit of effort, Chen Fan was hoisted onto the horse's back.
"Hyah!"
With a loud shout, the dark-faced man spurred his horse forward, galloping at full speed.
The rest of the group quickly followed suit.
"How far is the city?" Chen Fan asked.
"Not far—half an hour's walk, or about fifteen minutes on horseback," the man replied against the wind.
"May I ask your name, good sir?"
"The name's Zhang, Zhang Mazi. Those fellows back there are my sworn brothers—we're the kind who do good deeds without leaving our names!"
"Really? Brother Zhang Mazi!"
"Of course!"
Chen Fan fell silent.
A warmth welled up inside him. Whatever else could be said, a journey that would've taken him half a day to hobble through on foot had been reduced to just fifteen minutes on horseback.
There were still kind-hearted people in this world.
But as they traveled further, Chen Fan began to sense that something was off.
The official road was becoming increasingly narrow.
Occasionally, discarded sacks and torn clothing could be seen in the roadside underbrush.
Chen Fan froze in realization.
"This isn't the road to the city!"
"Hahahaha!"
The men behind him burst into laughter, including Zhang Mazi.
"Brother, looks like we've got ourselves a greenhorn!"
"This one's perfect. Old Third, weren't you looking for a servant to do odd jobs?"
"Heh, this kid may be crippled, but he's got a decent face. Not bad to look at."
Listening to their conversation, Chen Fan was dumbfounded.
"Wait a minute. Weren't you guys the kind who do good deeds without leaving your names?"
Zhang Mazi grinned.
"That's right. We do good deeds—and don't leave lives behind!"
"Listen up: There aren't any other bandits in these hills. I'm the bandit!"
...
Qingfeng Stronghold.
Calling it a "stronghold" was an insult to the name.
In reality, it was just a small gang of seven or eight men led by Zhang Mazi.
They hid in the vast forest, robbing passersby.
When the authorities searched the mountains, they'd hide like rats, playing a game of cat and mouse to survive.
A few wooden shacks in the woods made up this so-called bandit stronghold.
Inside one of the rooms, Chen Fan was set down without any restraints.
The bandits weren't worried about him escaping—after all, he was a cripple. How far could he run?
Chen Fan adapted quickly.
He hadn't even warmed his seat before noticing some leftover pancakes and a jug of strong, murky wine on the table.
Without hesitation, he grabbed them and started eating.
Zhang Mazi noticed and was furious. He raised his foot to kick Chen Fan.
"Hey! We brought you here to work, and you're already enjoying yourself?"
The kick was intercepted by Chen Fan's crutch.
"Work? What kind of work?"
"Guard duty, odd jobs, chopping wood, feeding horses..."
As Zhang Mazi rattled off a list of chores, Chen Fan shook his head.
"Too much work. How about I play you a tune on the suona instead?"
It was only then that Zhang Mazi and the others noticed the suona hanging from Chen Fan's waist.
A cripple playing the suona—now that was something new.
Zhang Mazi grinned, intrigued by this unexpected find.
He nodded, signaling Chen Fan to go ahead.
Chen Fan raised the suona...