Chapter Twenty-One: The Village of Graves

Jiang Pingchuan and Furball were transported to another continent by Hongwu's spatial magic. At this moment, only Furball could clearly sense that they had been sent away. Furball thought that if Jiang Pingchuan could calm down, he too would realize they had arrived in a foreign land, but in his current frenzied state, Jiang Pingchuan was incapable of focusing on his surroundings.

A sharp hiss and a thunderous boom echoed as the space conjured by Hongwu suddenly shuddered violently. Jiang Pingchuan lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the trembling space. Furball no longer lounged idly; instead, he crouched, bracing himself for whatever was about to unfold, fully aware they had reached another continent.

"Jiang, let me tell you—wait... what's happening..." Just as Furball was about to inform Jiang Pingchuan of their arrival, the space they occupied abruptly collapsed. Furball watched as Jiang Pingchuan vanished before his eyes, anxiety flooding his heart.

In Jiang Pingchuan’s current state, landing in a new continent was certain to spell trouble. Yet Furball could no longer see him and could only stew in frustration, waiting for himself to reach the ground.

A loud crash resounded. Furball, upon touching down, was about to curse in fury, only to find, to his surprise, that he felt no pain at all. He distinctly remembered that whenever he traversed between continents, the landing always left his body numb, but this time, nothing happened.

Yet blessings often come mixed with misfortune. Furball soon discovered his strength had been suppressed—he could not speak, and his cultivation was forcibly reduced from the peak of the Middle Nascent Soul stage to the early Foundation Establishment stage. Furball cursed his luck, hurriedly opened his eyes, and surveyed his surroundings.

He was in a woman’s boudoir, adorned in pink. Underneath him lay a luxurious silk quilt atop a sandalwood and white jade bed, draped in pink gauze. Furball jumped off the bed and scanned the room, which gleamed with golden light and exuded a faint fragrance. He hopped onto the vanity, gazed into the bronze mirror, and saw his own unchanged appearance—except now, he couldn’t speak. With resignation, Furball sprawled atop the vanity, belly up, and drifted into sleep.

“Where did this chubby cat come from? So cute... looks like it’s really enjoying itself...”

“Yes, this little creature does seem to know how to enjoy life...”

As Furball rested, contemplating the events that had brought him here, voices reached his ears. Hearing himself referred to as a "little creature," Furball grumpily rolled over, leaned against the mirror, crossed his arms, and eyed the pair before him.

The girl looked to be about fifteen or sixteen, with fair skin, a delicate nose, bright eyes, slender brown brows, and soft pink lips parted in surprise as she gazed at Furball. She wore a pink gauze dress, her waist-length hair adorned with a golden hairpin, and her slender wrist encircled by a jade bracelet glowing green. Furball glanced at the man beside her.

The man wore a blue brocade robe, his face fair and handsome, with sharp features, sword-like brows, and clear eyes—a presence full of vigor. Yet the sly smile at his lips made Furball suspect he was not what he appeared.

After observing the pair, Furball noticed they shared a common feature: both wore a jade token set in gold at their waists. Furball surmised he had landed in a bustling, prosperous region.

“Brother, look, it even mimics human gestures. What a clever thing.” The girl smiled at Furball perched on her vanity.

“Indeed, Ling’er, this little fellow is quite remarkable. I wonder how it arrived here—all the doors and windows are shut. It’s baffling, really.” The man reached out to pet Furball, but Furball slapped his paw and knocked away the hand. The girl giggled, covering her mouth.

She extended a hand, patting Furball gently. Furball’s eyes lit up as he saw the proud curves on the girl’s chest, leaping into her arms and rubbing his chubby head against her bosom with sheer delight.

“This creature is rather lecherous,” the man remarked awkwardly. The girl shot him a glare, and he shrugged, sighing as he glanced at Furball in her embrace.

“Well, I meant to comfort you, but with this little thing here, you seem fine. Looks like heaven sent you a gift. Ha! I’ll be off then.” The man patted her shoulder, laughing.

“Go on, you chatterbox,” the girl said, shoving him out of the room. She then carried Furball to the window, set him on the sill, and stroked his fur with a smile.

“Little one, I’m Lan Ling’er. That nagging fellow just now was my brother, Lan Dao. What should I call you?” Ling’er propped her chin, considering a name for Furball.

Just then, Furball jumped from the sill to the table, dipped a paw in water, and scribbled the characters for “Furball” across the surface.

Ling’er stared in shock at the writing, amazed that the cat who had invaded her room possessed intelligence.

“Your name is Furball?” Ling’er asked, puzzled. When Furball nodded, Ling’er was left speechless, realizing she had encountered a legendary spirit beast.

Jiang Pingchuan lay on the ground, rubbing his head, feeling sore all over. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Many of his spells seemed blocked, unable to be cast. Standing, he surveyed the area—all he saw were wild grasses taller than himself.

“Furball, Furball...”

He called out several times, but received no answer. Massaging his aching head, he tried to piece together the sequence of events. He remembered the moment the ancestral master’s true qi space shattered, and how Furball vanished before his eyes. Frustrated, Jiang Pingchuan realized he had no idea where he was, and Furball was separated from him.

As the sky darkened, Jiang Pingchuan parted the tall grasses and wandered aimlessly. He could see nothing but grasses towering above him.

Night deepened, and Jiang Pingchuan looked up at the crescent moon, stars scattered across the sky. By moonlight, he hurried in one direction, his anxiety growing with each step.

He constantly felt someone following behind, as if every step he took opened a path for another. The wild grassland before him seemed like an endless sea—he could not cross it.

Just as despair threatened to overwhelm him, he heard footsteps nearby. Though only wild grass was visible, the sound was close.

Following the noise, Jiang Pingchuan soon found a narrow dirt path. Yet, when he looked around, he saw no one, and the footsteps faded.

He recited a calming mantra to steady his nerves, then proceeded slowly along the road into the darkness, guided by the faint moonlight. After some distance, he again heard footsteps, and quickened his pace. Soon, he spotted an old man in black robes sitting on a field embankment, tapping the ground gently with a bamboo pole.

The tapping was the very sound Jiang Pingchuan had heard. As a cold breeze swept by, Jiang Pingchuan shivered.

“Young man, why aren’t you home at this hour?” The old man spoke as Jiang Pingchuan approached, his voice gentle, like a kindly elder greeting a stranger.

Jiang Pingchuan halted, observing the old man, whose features were obscured but whose bearing suggested advanced age.

“Senior, I’m new here, with no place to stay, and I’ve lost my way. I hope you might guide me,” Jiang Pingchuan said, bowing respectfully.

To his alarm, the old man was suddenly standing before him, face wrinkled, eyes deeply sunken, thin lips smiling amiably.

Jiang Pingchuan instinctively stepped back, and by moonlight, saw the old man dressed in a dark gray long robe, leaning on a jade cane, his back stooped and face benevolent.

Jiang Pingchuan relaxed, realizing he had been overly cautious—the old man meant him no harm.

“Young man, being lost here is no good. If you don’t mind, spend the night at my humble abode,” the old man said, glancing around and sighing.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Jiang Pingchuan replied. There were no lights nearby, and he was a stranger in this place. Since someone was willing to take him in, he saw no reason to refuse and nodded, bowing again.

“Come then,” the old man chuckled as Jiang Pingchuan agreed, turning and walking slowly. Jiang Pingchuan followed in silence.

After a while, Jiang Pingchuan noticed there were still no lights. Something seemed amiss—the old man’s footsteps made no sound, and Jiang Pingchuan felt as though the old man's feet never touched the ground.

He rubbed his eyes, but now saw the old man’s feet did reach the earth, though still silent. Just as Jiang Pingchuan was about to ask, he saw many lights ahead, resembling a large village.

Every house in the village was lit, and Jiang Pingchuan felt relieved. He could not use his special vision, but with true qi in his body, he feared no mishap.

He followed the old man toward the village, passing a stone monument at the entrance. He tried to read its inscription but the words were faded, likely worn away by years of neglect.

As Jiang Pingchuan entered the village, a chilling wind swept over him, making his body feel icy, as if he had entered a place forever devoid of sunlight.

The moonlight grew brighter, and Jiang Pingchuan surveyed the village. He found its layout peculiar—according to Maoshan geomancy, such an arrangement was called a "Dragon Formation."

Just like imperial families, whose palaces were built according to their status, it was strange to see a village beside wild grass constructed with such feng shui.

Following the old man, Jiang Pingchuan stopped before a house as the old man opened the door. At that moment, the village seemed to receive an order, and all the lights went out instantly.

Seeing the old man enter, Jiang Pingchuan hesitated briefly, then ducked his head and stooped to enter. Under dim candlelight, he examined the house.

The house was narrow at the front and widened toward the back, and oddly, it was rectangular—a rare layout in feng shui, for such rooms often required special care. If not done right, the building became a massive coffin, and prolonged residence would invite a heavy aura of death.

“Senior, do all the houses in your village use a rectangular layout?” Jiang Pingchuan asked as the old man tidied the bedding, still holding his jade cane.

“Yes, do you know feng shui?” the old man replied with a smile, turning to Jiang Pingchuan. Jiang Pingchuan answered with a shy smile.