The Young Man’s Return Chapter Nine: A Long Night of Cultivation

Evening had fallen.

The wind had ceased, but the snow continued to fall, and the warmth of human life seemed all the more vivid.

County Magistrate Li had prepared a sumptuous dinner for Yiheng, a feast to welcome him back and help him wash away the dust of his journey. On the table, delicious dishes steamed invitingly, and the fragrant aroma of wine filled the air.

After a long and arduous trip, Yiheng naturally ate heartily without restraint. Although some urged him to drink, he steadfastly refused to take even a drop, for he had always detested alcohol.

Having polished off more than a dozen large bowls of rice, he rose from the table amid surprised glances, leaving the deputy county magistrate, the head constable, and others to continue drinking.

Strolling along the snow-covered path in the courtyard, Yiheng approached the lotus pond, now frozen solid. He seated himself in the stone pavilion, retrieving from his bosom the dossier given to him by Captain Zhao.

Holding his breath, Yiheng studied the documents word by word:

The deputy county magistrate was a trusted confidant of Magistrate Li; years ago, the magistrate had saved him, so there was no reason for him to steal the official seal. Aunt Liu claimed she had been asleep in her room all night, with a maid sharing the room to vouch for her. Clerk Wu and Archivist Zhang had been drinking in his home, only waking at noon. Clerk Li, having caught a slight chill seven days prior, had remained bedridden at home, a fact his wife could confirm.

Yiheng frowned deeply. “The official seal was stolen seven days ago, yet Clerk Li just happened to catch a chill at that exact time? Could he have feigned illness as a cover to steal the seal in secret?”

Previously, Magistrate Li suspected Clerk Li had stolen the seal out of spite after being scolded by Archivist Zhang, deliberately leaving dice and footprints to frame him—an explanation that seemed far-fetched.

Now, learning that Clerk Li fell ill seven days ago and stayed home, Yiheng’s suspicions deepened.

As twilight approached, he resolved to visit Clerk Li the next day to verify whether he truly was confined to bed. Rising, he made his way toward the back courtyard, where lanterns had already been lit.

“Young Master Yiheng, I’ve tidied your guest room. It’s late; you should rest early,” Aunt Liu said, pushing open the door and standing aside.

“Thank you, Aunt Liu,” Yiheng entered the room.

“If you need anything, just call me. I live next door,” she added.

“You may go now,” Yiheng waved her off, watching her retreating figure silently through the crack in the door.

Moments later, Yiheng removed the long sword from his shoulder, leaning it against the wall. He gently took down his bow and arrows, placing them beside the sword. Then he shed his soft armor and sat cross-legged at the bedside.

Straightening his back, he let his hands rest naturally on his knees, closed his eyes, pressed his tongue to his palate, and began to regulate his breath.

Instantly, the surrounding air seemed stirred. Though invisible to the naked eye, the spiritual energy of heaven and earth surged toward Yiheng like converging rivers.

A faint whistle echoed in the air, like the low moan of rushing spiritual energy.

With steady breaths, the energy flowed continuously into his body, causing a faint, ethereal glow to shimmer around him.

Immersed in cultivation, his spiritual core was clear and serene. The runes of the Nine Mysterious Demon Art flickered faintly, radiating an enigmatic light.

This Nine Mysterious Demon Art was a demonic technique painstakingly obtained for him by his master.

It was a unique method that ordinary humans could not cultivate, but Yiheng’s half-demon bloodline made him perfectly suited.

According to his master, only by mastering this art could Yiheng completely conceal the demonic aura within him from others.

He recalled beginning his training in the Nine Mysterious Demon Art at the tender age of seven. Seasons passed as he diligently studied the secret manual without pause.

Under the scorching sun, he sweated profusely in the courtyard, repeatedly attempting to guide his internal energy; beneath the cool moonlight, he pondered the text, sparing no detail.

Yet no matter what he tried, he could not grasp the essence, unable to cross the crucial threshold of cultivation.

Fortunately, his master had always cared for him, encouraging his persistence.

But three years ago, fate mercilessly shattered Yiheng’s world.

That day, returning to the valley as usual, he froze at the sight before him—his master lay in a pool of blood, lifeless, a gruesome demonic claw mark emblazoned across his chest.

That claw mark burned deep into Yiheng’s heart, an unending hatred.

From that moment, he vowed to find the demon who had slain his master, to exact vengeance with his own hands and offer blood sacrifice.

That night, rain poured heavily, large drops striking the ground, mingling with the flowing blood.

Kneeling beside his master, tears blurred his eyes, mixing with rain. Perhaps it was grief and hatred converging into a force that shattered the long-standing barriers blocking his cultivation.

Or perhaps the heavens took pity. The once obscure and forbidding technique suddenly shone like a light into his heart at that moment of despair.

On that stormy night, Yiheng took his first true step in cultivation.

After burying his master, he knelt and bowed thrice before the fresh grave, then rose resolutely and left the valley.

From then on, he wandered across mountains, rivers, and lakes. Every step was self-discipline; every sword drawn was to slay demons.

He knew only by becoming strong could he unmask the demon who had destroyed his master and avenge him.

Later, by chance, he joined the Demon-Slaying Bureau as a demon hunter.

Soon after, the Demonlands invaded the borders of Great Wei, threatening Lin’an. Yiheng set out for Lin’an...

Inside the room, Yiheng closed his eyes and observed himself inwardly.

Compared to cultivators of the same realm, his energy sea was like a mighty, rushing river—majestic and vast.

True qi circulated in accordance with the unique methods of the Nine Mysterious Demon Art, flowing along specific meridians, ultimately converging at the dantian.

Yet recently, no matter how he exerted himself, the qi surged wildly through his meridians but could not shake the stubborn restraints. The hope of breakthrough was as elusive as the moon’s reflection on water or a flower in a mirror—beautiful yet unreachable.

This predicament weighed heavily on his heart like a great stone, making his mood ever more oppressive, as if shrouded by dark clouds impossible to dispel.

At dawn the next day, the eastern sky faintly brightened, gentle light spilling over the earth.

Yiheng pushed open the door to the courtyard, greeted by a silver-white snowy landscape. Layers of pure snow piled up like a serene painting.

The pristine beauty stirred a quiet joy within his heavy heart.

In the distance, Li Shuyao flitted like a cheerful bird, clad in a soft pink silk dress, the hem swaying with her steps.

Upon seeing Yiheng, she hurried over, her voice bright and clear: “Brother, you’re up so early today! Did you sleep well last night?”

A gentle smile curved Yiheng’s lips. “I slept soundly, without dreams.”

“That’s wonderful!” Li Shuyao clapped excitedly, then suggested, “Brother, let’s go have breakfast. My stomach is growling already.” With that, she turned and walked briskly toward the kitchen.

Yiheng smiled softly and followed at a leisurely pace.

Just as they reached the kitchen door, a heated argument erupted from within.

“Don’t keep running off to that place of fireworks! Those women are no good; their words cannot be trusted!” Aunt Liu’s voice was sharp and urgent, filled with worry.

Then came the annoyed retort of Wu, the chief clerk: “Mind your own business! Don’t meddle where you’re not wanted!”

Suddenly, the kitchen door burst open with a bang. Wu stormed out, face flushed with anger, radiating fury. Hastily, he barreled toward Li Shuyao, oblivious to her presence.

At the last moment, Yiheng’s quick reflexes pulled Li Shuyao aside.

“My apologies, miss!” Wu stopped abruptly, his face crimson, voice flustered yet apologetic. “I was anxious and didn’t watch where I was going. Are you alright?”

Li Shuyao instinctively stepped back, then smiled gently. “It’s nothing.”

Wu hastily tidied his disheveled clothes, glancing swiftly at Yiheng and Li Shuyao. “Are you two preparing breakfast? By custom, you should dine in the main hall. Magistrate Li is waiting for you to join him.”

Li Shuyao paused, looking at Yiheng with a questioning gaze.

She then turned to Wu and said, “I don’t want to eat in the hall. I want Aunt Liu’s red date and barley porridge.”

“Ah, I see.” Wu nodded. “I have urgent matters to attend to, so I’ll be going now.” With that, he strode toward the courtyard gate.

Yiheng bent to pick up a key. “Chief Clerk Wu, you dropped your key.”

Wu turned, retrieved the key from Yiheng’s hand, and said, “Thank you, young master.”

“Just a small favor.” Yiheng looked up to find Wu already hurrying away.

“Aunt Liu, do you still have porridge? My brother would like some,” Li Shuyao said as she stepped into the kitchen.

Aunt Liu was wiping away tears but forced a smile. “Miss, there’s plenty left. I’ll bring you some right away.”

Soon, Aunt Liu returned carrying two steaming bowls of red date and barley porridge.

Yiheng and Li Shuyao took their bowls and each grabbed a fried dough stick. Squatting outside the threshold, they comfortably ate and drank.

The morning breeze blew gently, carrying a slight chill.

“Miss, take your time eating. I have some matters to attend to. When finished, just leave the dishes on the table,” Aunt Liu said, then turned and left.

Yiheng watched her go, thoughtful. “Why have Aunt Liu and Chief Clerk Wu been arguing?”

Li Shuyao bit into her dough stick and nodded. “Brother, Aunt Liu is usually kind to everyone, but for some reason, she’s been quarreling with Chief Clerk Wu nonstop these past few days. I heard she’s been telling him not to go back to the Drunken Red Pavilion, but Wu won’t listen. I think Aunt Liu is meddling too much.”

“This Chief Clerk Wu—I didn’t see him three years ago. Who is he?”

“You should know, the old chief clerk retired to his hometown due to old age. This Wu came afterward. I heard Aunt Liu helped recommend him.”

“I see. No wonder I didn’t recognize him before.”

After hearing this, Yiheng slowly stood, dusting off his clothes. “Shuyao, I’m full. Let’s go back.”