Chapter 17: Autumn Immortal’s Words Stretch On and On

“Sister Oriole, I feel full of energy—I’m ready to set out! Let’s hurry, Anrui must be worried!”
On the third morning, Sumu was out of bed early, urging Jiang Oriole to depart, fearing she wouldn’t believe his vigor; he slammed his palm on the Eight Immortals table in the center of the room, making it thunder.
Jiang Oriole picked up the teacup, lest the boisterous boy spill it, and said with measured calm, “If you’re fine, the sooner we leave the better. Clean up today, bring plenty of money, and don’t tell your parents where we’re going.”
Sumu was stunned, uncertain why, and asked, “If I don’t tell my parents, how do I ask them for money? Besides, we’re going to save Anrui—they’ll surely agree.”
Jiang Oriole snorted, “If I say not to tell them, don’t. Don’t ask so many questions. If you won’t agree, I’ll go alone—your little sweetheart can wait there for death. Such a pity, so young, to fall into someone else’s hands.”
Sumu looked at her with displeasure and turned to leave. How he would secure the money was none of Jiang Oriole’s concern. She murmured, dimly, “If not for the lives of over a hundred in the Jiang family, I wouldn’t use a child—especially such a good child. If you survive, I’ll repay you.”
Before dawn the next day, with the rooster crowing thrice, the two slipped out under cover of night, heading northeast, soon leaving the town behind.
They walked until morning’s light, Sumu glancing back at Jiangnan Town—now barely visible. For reasons unknown, a heavy sense of loss welled up; it felt as if he might never return. He thought of the letter he left his parents, which eased him a little, then remembered Anrui’s danger and strode onward without looking back.
Jiang Oriole noticed his low spirits and said, “Well, after all this, you still aren’t tired? We cultivators of refined life force have many tricks. Now that we’re out of town and undisturbed, shall I teach you some other combat skills?”
Youthful as he was, Sumu cared deeply for cultivation. Hearing Jiang Oriole would teach him, he cast aside his sudden homesickness, charging after her with loud enthusiasm, their laughter echoing through the mountain paths.
They pressed northeast, Jiang Oriole occasionally climbing high points to scan the distance, searching for something. They chose deserted paths, stopping at villages for food as needed. Jiang Oriole was ever alert, ears and eyes attentive—at the slightest disturbance or when strangers appeared, she would hide. They rested little, but it hardly mattered to either.
“You’re hopeless! The Three Serpent Probes is all about two feints, one real attack—channeling power through your arm, striking from the heart, amplifying force with your life energy. The first two are to confuse, only the middle one counts! Don’t just swing three times like a fool—any old woman could dodge you!”
“What sort of dull brute are you? Don’t talk to me! When I say ‘like blazing sun melting snow,’ I mean the palm explodes with speed and force, invoking invisible energy to overwhelm the enemy, like winter snow under fierce sunlight—no resistance possible. Are you just sweeping dust from the ground with that palm?”
“Is ‘Fish Leaping to the Sky’ meant to make me laugh? The move uses minimal force, body seemingly still, but life energy floods the feet, legs, and waist, suddenly propelling you skyward. Waist—understand? Feet—understand? You stomp a pit in the ground, but your body doesn’t move!”
“Life energy must be used and released instantly, to sustain long combat. Infusing your whole body at all times just shows your stupidity.”
During their journey, Jiang Oriole taught Sumu basic combat skills, constantly scolding him as if it took immense effort, and Sumu seemed hopelessly dull. Yet, inside, Jiang Oriole was secretly astonished.
Directing life energy through the meridians, swiftly fortifying flesh and blood, is extremely difficult; most need years to master it, let alone use it in battle.
But this boy, though he appeared simple and slow, was actually wise, gifted beyond imagining. There’s a saying: “Three years for energy, five for spirit, ten for refined life force—only then does one begin.”

Refined life force cultivation seems simple, but the human body is as vast as the cosmos; thoroughly understanding it, mobilizing every part for combat, is as hard as ascending to the heavens. One must know the direction of every inch of meridian, and how best to channel life energy for fortification—it takes endless practice.
Ordinary people, when channeling life energy, must expand their veins and blood vessels painfully, adapting slowly over years. For Sumu, this was no obstacle, which made him seem miraculous in Jiang Oriole’s eyes.
Though scolded daily, Sumu was always happy—he felt himself improving, even if he was a bit slow. He believed that, if he kept training, one day he could stand before Anrui like Uncle Mu, protecting her with dignity. Whenever he imagined Anrui admiring his prowess, he scratched his head and grinned foolishly.
“Sister Oriole, how much farther is it to the place you mentioned? You never tell me where; maybe I know it. If we’re on the wrong road, Anrui will wait longer.”
After many days of travel, Sumu, though absorbed in training, never forgot their mission, repeatedly asking where they were headed. Jiang Oriole only replied, “You’ve never heard of it. Just follow me.”
She looked to the distance and suddenly said excitedly, “See that mountain ahead? That’s the Celestial Pillar, also called the Sky Peak. Once we cross it, we’re nearly there.”
Sumu gazed ahead, seeing nothing special—every peak looked the same. He gave a perfunctory reply and urged her onward.
Jiang Oriole continued, “After the Celestial Pillar, we must change direction. We’ll pass several towns, so we’ll need to disguise ourselves to avoid being spotted by thieves.”
Sumu said, “Sister Oriole, you’re tight-lipped. It’s hard to get anything from you. You never tell me who’s chasing you, or why your face is so scarred—it’s a shame, isn’t it?”
Jiang Oriole’s steps suddenly halted; she said coldly, “You really want to know?”
The question was abrupt; Sumu hesitated. “If it’s inconvenient, forget it. I’m curious, but I don’t need to know.”
Jiang Oriole crossed her arms and stared at Sumu, “I’ll say it once—ask again and I’ll leave you behind, understood?”
Sumu replied, “Then don’t say it.”
Jiang Oriole ignored him and continued, “Our Jiang family was the foremost clan in Qiliang, influential in all neighboring provinces. Seven in our family possessed Star Source, three were Celestial Children.”
“What’s a Celestial Child?”
“Silence. Listen.”
Sumu dared not speak, waiting for her to go on.
“When I was little, my father discovered I had Star Source and successfully awakened it. He was overjoyed—the house was like New Year’s. I was cherished by the whole clan, my father doted on me as his treasure. I was headstrong, defiant, even shouted at him. I regret it now.”

As she spoke, Jiang Oriole’s tone grew more somber.
“Three months ago, one day when the snow fell thick and white—now I think it was perfect for burying what happened in my home. That day, my father’s friend Wan Xudong arrived with a group, saying he wanted to propose marriage.”
She spat out Wan Xudong’s name with particular venom.
“My father, with key family members, welcomed them grandly. Who would have guessed they were demons. Wan Xudong’s group were all from the Wan family. They had allied with people from Pinglong Fortress, who lay in ambush outside. Wan Xudong caught my father off guard and attacked him, the rest rushed in and slaughtered everyone in the Jiang family in a day. Pathetic—at the time, I was shy and stayed in my room, not in the main hall. I heard shouting, came out to fight, but my mother hid me in a wardrobe. Still, Wan Xudong found me. I watched him murder my mother, blade by blade. You’ve met Zhou Chen and Du Feiyang—they were there.”
Jiang Oriole recounted the massacre calmly, then glanced at Sumu, who shivered at the horror.
“They believed my family hid some extraordinary secret technique—who spread such nonsense, I don’t know. If we had such power, would we have been so helpless? My father was tortured for answers, died from it. Several uncles were forced to death. Every few days, I had to watch loved ones die before me. I was the last. They cut my face with knives, let insects bite me—every scar I bear is their gift.”
Jiang Oriole’s voice grew colder and quieter. She showed no outward rage, but her bloodied, clenched hands betrayed her.
“I lied, saying my father hid the secret elsewhere. I escaped by jumping into a river. Luckily, I cultivated refined life force, so I could hold my breath. I knew water well since childhood. I stayed submerged for hours, barely surfacing, traveled several miles underwater. They didn’t catch me, but I was nearly spent. Then I met you.”
Sumu, angered by her tale of slaughter, shouted, then understood why Jiang Oriole emerged from the river that freezing day.
“Sister Oriole, don’t worry—when I’ve mastered cultivation, I’ll help you get revenge on those Pinglong Fortress villains.”
“Hmph, the grudge with Pinglong Fortress will be settled. As for the Wan family—I’ll kill them all, not leave one.”
Sumu reached for her arm, speaking softly, “Sister Oriole, you’re pitiful—much more than me.”
She shook him off, replying coldly, “Do I need pity from a child? Everything I said was a lie, made up because you’re too noisy. Let’s get moving.”
Sumu was momentarily confused—it didn’t seem fabricated. Yet seeing her stride ahead, he could only follow, and he was quiet for a while. Soon, though, he asked again,
“Sister Oriole, I won’t ask about your story anymore. But can you tell me what a Celestial Child is? Are there people stronger than those Pinglong Fortress men?”
Jiang Oriole scoffed, “Pinglong Fortress is nothing. Do you know the ally we’re seeking? If all of Pinglong Fortress came at once, he wouldn’t care. He’s been to the First Snow Palace, seen the Autumn Immortal’s relic.”