Chapter Thirty-Five: The Spiked-Scale Fish

The days spent in Sanjiang County marked a new chapter in Jiang Pingchuan’s life. Since his arrival in this unfamiliar world, some time had already passed. Aside from helping the people of Sanjiang with various peculiar and sinister matters, more often than not, he found himself being dragged all over town by Zhou Ninger, who clung to him relentlessly. During his stay, Jiang Pingchuan had yet to meet the county magistrate or his infamous son, Gao Yao.

“Pingchuan, hurry up! It wasn’t easy getting my father to agree to let me come to the riverbank, and you’re dawdling again.”

Zhou Ninger clung to Jiang Pingchuan’s arm, tugging and muttering impatiently. Jiang Pingchuan responded with a yawn, his voice buzzing with sleepiness, for Zhou Ninger had burst into his room at dawn and yanked him straight out of bed.

“Ninger, do sharp-horned scaled fish really live in the Poshui River?” he asked, prying Zhou Ninger’s hands off his arm and hastily straightening his clothing. When he left the house, his belt still hung around his neck—thankfully, it was so early that few were about.

As he tightened his belt, he noticed Zhou Ninger standing before him, her face full of wounded grievance, unwilling to answer his question. Jiang Pingchuan cleared his throat and shook his arm. Instantly, Zhou Ninger’s sorrow transformed into delight, and she wrapped her arms around his once more, swaying gently as they walked.

“Of course! There are countless fish clans in the middle reaches of the Poshui River. Every morning, when the first rays of the eastern sun scatter over the water, the sharp-horned scaled fish leap from the river in shining schools, dancing in the sunlight,” Zhou Ninger replied, her head tilted up and a mischievous smile on her lips.

Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes shone with longing. The county was called Sanjiang, or Three Rivers, because it sat at the heart of a convergence where three rivers wound through six directions, encircling the town. Now, Zhou Ninger was taking him to the Poshui, one of these three rivers, while the other two each had their own legends, stories that had been passed down since Sanjiang was but a tiny mountain village.

Ever since learning of Sanjiang’s wonders, Jiang Pingchuan had wanted to see them for himself. He had only casually mentioned his curiosity about the sharp-horned scaled fish of Poshui in front of Zhou Ninger the day before, and now, at daybreak, she had already dragged him out to hunt for them.

“Ninger, have you ever seen one of these sharp-horned scaled fish?” Jiang Pingchuan asked, noticing that Zhou Ninger merely followed him, gazing up with a silly expression. He rapped her gently on the brow. She pouted and glared at him, shaking her head.

“I haven’t seen one myself. Anyone who has must be old as the hills! I brought you out today just to try our luck. Whether we see them or not isn’t up to me,” she replied with a laugh.

Jiang Pingchuan nodded. He doubted Zhou Ninger had seen them. In the lower section of the “Compendium of Divine Beasts,” there was a brief entry on the sharp-horned scaled fish.

These fish were said to be born from riverbed rocks that had absorbed the essence of all living things in the water—a type of spirit beast that defied the natural order and was not bound by the laws of heaven and earth. However, in this era of depleted spiritual energy, they had not been seen for many, many years.

As Jiang Pingchuan pondered the golden script from the “Compendium of Divine Beasts” that had appeared in his mind the night before, he realized that, although the sharp-horned scaled fish were ranked among the lowest of spirit beasts, they possessed abilities far beyond those of ordinary creatures.

Born of stone, undying and indestructible, their end was not death. When gathered in great numbers, they could unlock their hidden power—a power capable of opening the gates of time and space, allowing the destined to glimpse the past or the future.

“Pingchuan, if we really do find sharp-horned scaled fish, what would you most like to see?” Zhou Ninger asked, shaking her head so that her hair danced, her bright eyes fixed on him, the curve of her smile concealing new secrets.

This question had rooted itself in her heart that day she watched Jiang Pingchuan eat the noodles she had made. Even many years later, she would often, by force of habit, prepare a bowl of noodles and set it on the table, gazing at it in silence—though the one who was meant to eat them was long gone.

“I… I want to see the past, to see those who may no longer be…” Jiang Pingchuan replied after a pause, confessing his deepest wish. There were many things he wanted to see, but if the sharp-horned scaled fish truly opened the gates of time, what he most wanted was not to see his parents or the mysterious woman from his memories, but Maoshan—the mountain of his youth, his senior brothers, his grandfather, his elder brother, his venerable grandmaster.

“Pingchuan, where did you really come from? I always feel as though you carry a sorrow too heavy to bear,” Zhou Ninger said, stopping in front of him, her eyes seeking his.

After he had awakened, she saw him again on a clear morning after rain, walking with empty eyes into her family’s noodle shop, eating the bowl of spring noodles she had made, while she hid behind the curtain in the back, watching him eat with a troubled expression.

“I come from a very ancient and beautiful land. I don’t belong to this world. Here, I am an outsider. Everyone has burdens to bear. We can’t hope to live without cares, only do our best to live as we wish,” Jiang Pingchuan murmured, gazing east, where the sky glimmered with the pale light of dawn.

Only now did he understand: his grandmaster had sent him here, to this strange land. Perhaps his grandmaster never intended for him to return. To traverse a thousand continents and find his way back to Yuanwu Continent, he would need to reach the Supreme Realm, a power he could not yet hope to possess.

Here, in a world where his strength was suppressed to the very beginning of the Foundation Establishment stage, if he did not break through and venture out, he might spend his entire life trapped, until death or oblivion claimed him.

“Oh… Actually, what I most wish for…” Zhou Ninger began.

“Hurry!” Jiang Pingchuan suddenly shouted, cutting off her words as he seized her hand and dashed toward the riverbank.

Zhou Ninger felt herself being yanked sideways and, to her astonishment, her feet lifted from the ground as she was pulled along. She stared down in disbelief.

“Pingchuan, what are you doing—”

“Look!” he interrupted.

She glared at him, ready to scold, but his exclamation startled her, and she turned her gaze toward the Poshui River.

The water gleamed with golden light. Within the radiance, a school of fish with pointed horns leaped in formation from the river, splashing back down and scattering golden sprays. Zhou Ninger rubbed her eyes in disbelief.

As she saw Jiang Pingchuan running close to the water’s edge, she realized that she was witnessing the legendary sharp-horned scaled fish. She was about to run after him when her vision went black and she fainted.

When Jiang Pingchuan turned around, Zhou Ninger was gone. Only a stretch of lush green grass remained, with himself and a jubilant school of sharp-horned scaled fish leaping behind him.

“Young friend, I have awaited you here for quite some time,” a deep voice sounded behind him.

Jiang Pingchuan whirled around. All he saw were the leaping fish. He scanned his surroundings, then stepped forward toward the river, advancing into the unknown.