Chapter Sixty-Five: The Cloud-Listening Horse

Jiang Pingchuan pulled himself free from Lan Dao’s embrace, casting a look of deep disdain at Lan Dao’s awkward expression. The five men in black, however, seemed to sense that something was amiss. The young man before them was clearly repulsed by their presence, yet he displayed no outrage at Lan Dao’s rude behavior—a detail that did not escape the leader of the black-clad men and left him uneasy.

On the vast Changfeng Continent, cultivators at the Foundation Establishment stage were few and far between, and never before had they seen one so young. Even his own master had only barely touched upon that threshold, unable to break the shackles and take the next step.

Jiang Pingchuan glanced at Lan Dao, who stood blushing in embarrassment. He had come to seek protection, and though his pride was wounded, he dared not leave Jiang Pingchuan’s side—doing so would surely mean death today. Jiang Pingchuan bent slightly and drew closer to Lan Dao, who, already flustered, furrowed his brow and shut his eyes tight.

“Brother, I’m not into men, but if you like I can—”

“Step aside,” Jiang Pingchuan interrupted, taking the small palm-sized knife from Lan Dao’s hand and striding toward the five men in black.

Lan Dao let out a long sigh of relief as he watched Jiang Pingchuan, then looked down at the large dagger in his own hand. He had half a mind to call after Jiang Pingchuan and offer him the larger blade, but when he saw the five men in black already retreating timidly, his face reddened. It was a blatant slap in the face, but fortunately his skin was thick enough to endure it.

“Young man—no, senior—we meant no offense. You may leave as you please,” said the leader of the black-clad men, eyeing the small knife in Jiang Pingchuan’s hand as he approached. The issue was not the size of the blade, but the vast gulf in power between them; there was no need to fight, as doing so would only hasten their deaths.

“Go,” Jiang Pingchuan said to the five. He needed to understand the situation here, not invite more trouble upon himself. Letting these men go would, at most, be seen as a failure on their part. If fate should throw them together again, they would not be mortal enemies—especially since he had discovered that, though Foundation Establishment cultivators were rare in Changfeng, the closer one drew to the imperial capital, the more cultivators there were. Even a lion avoids a swarm of flies; newly arrived in this land, it would not do to make enemies so soon.

“Uh…” The leader hesitated. They had come to assassinate Lan Dao, but who could have predicted the sudden appearance of a Foundation Establishment cultivator? After weighing the risks, he reversed his blade, saluted Jiang Pingchuan, and with a wave, the five mounted their horses.

“May I know your esteemed name, senior?” the leader called, turning his horse, his eyes darting between Jiang Pingchuan and the infuriating Lan Dao standing behind him. Yet, in the presence of Jiang Pingchuan, they dared not act rashly, uncertain of the young man’s relationship to Lan Dao and whether he might intervene if they attacked again.

“I am General Grassblade, courtesy name Pingchuan,” Jiang Pingchuan replied softly. The men saluted once more, then galloped off, their horses kicking up a cloud of dust that slowly settled as their figures vanished into the distance.

Jiang Pingchuan turned and looked at Lan Dao, who gazed back with wide, worshipful eyes, lips trembling in awe.

“So impressive—just like my master,” Lan Dao murmured. Jiang Pingchuan paid him no heed, instead walking over to Lan Dao’s horse and stroking its mane. The steed lowered its head obediently, nuzzling his hand, which soured Lan Dao’s mood at once.

“That beast! It took me ages to get on its back, and if it hadn’t run off, causing me to lose the hunting party, I wouldn’t have been chased down like this.” Lan Dao grumbled as he stepped up to the horse, cursing under his breath. The horse cast him a sidelong glance, its nostrils flaring as if in derision.

Jiang Pingchuan examined the horse with curiosity. When Lan Dao had rushed past him earlier, he had felt a strong aura—not from Lan Dao, as he now realized, but from the horse itself. Proud in bearing, full of vitality, its coat glowed with a subtle red sheen as if forged in fire, flawless and lustrous, its frame over a zhang in length from head to tail, nine feet tall at the withers, with clear, bright eyes.

“This is no mere beast. It is a divine steed of the highest grade, called ‘Listening Cloud,’” Jiang Pingchuan said in a low voice, gazing at the horse’s head. At his words, Listening Cloud reared up, letting out a mighty whinny—a majestic presence, as if ready to soar to the heavens or plunge into the sea.

Lan Dao took two steps back, shock roiling within him. Who would have guessed that the “beast” he’d derided possessed such spirit? Why had he never noticed?

His admiration for Jiang Pingchuan grew further. With a man like this at his side, uniting the Lan clan’s domain would be assured.

“A steed of such caliber deserves a hero. Allow me to present Listening Cloud to you, brother, in gratitude for saving my life,” Lan Dao declared boldly, pointing to the horse. When Jiang Pingchuan shook his head, Lan Dao rejoiced inwardly, convinced that Jiang Pingchuan understood him perfectly.

“Heh, I admit that to compare my own life with this horse is to belittle myself…”

“How could your life compare to its worth?” Jiang Pingchuan interjected coolly before Lan Dao could finish. Lan Dao was stifled, his words caught in his throat, and felt disgruntled. Surely it was only because he had not revealed his true identity—once Jiang Pingchuan knew who he was, his attitude would change entirely.

“You may not know, brother, but I am actually—”

“Do you know Hairball?” Jiang Pingchuan interrupted again, this time causing Lan Dao to bristle with anger. Yet as the meaning of Jiang Pingchuan’s words sank in, he was momentarily stunned. Jiang Pingchuan waved a hand before his face, and Lan Dao swallowed and nodded.

“How do you know the name of my ancestral master? He said there was only one person on Changfeng Continent who knew his name. Could it be that you are…” Lan Dao’s voice trembled between joy and disbelief as he looked at Jiang Pingchuan.

“Who knows?” Jiang Pingchuan interrupted once more, but this time Lan Dao was too distracted by his discovery to be annoyed.

“My master—my teacher is the only one who knows his name,” Lan Dao said, his eyes sparkling.

“Your teacher? Who is he?” Jiang Pingchuan was puzzled by this. How had Hairball come to be Lan Dao’s ancestral master, and how could his teacher know Hairball’s real name? After all, “Hairball” was a name he himself had given to that fat cat—no one else could possibly know it.

Thud—

“You are my master! Master, please accept your disciple’s bow!” Lan Dao dropped to his knees, bowing before Jiang Pingchuan. Startled, Jiang Pingchuan hurriedly helped him up, finally understanding what had happened—apparently, Hairball had not been idle since arriving in Changfeng.

“I am not your master,” Jiang Pingchuan replied as he smoothed Listening Cloud’s mane. Lan Dao was beside himself with anxiety.

“Aren’t you Jiang Pingchuan? General Grassblade, courtesy name Pingchuan—that’s you! You must be my master!” Lan Dao recalled Jiang Pingchuan’s earlier words to the men in black; there was no doubt that this young man before him was indeed Jiang Pingchuan.

Jiang Pingchuan nodded but continued to ignore him. Lan Dao, frustrated, pointed at him.

“Jiang Pingchuan is my master. You are Jiang Pingchuan. Therefore, you are my master—this is my ancestral master’s will, so please don’t make things difficult for me!” Lan Dao circled around to stand directly in front of Jiang Pingchuan, speaking rapidly. Just then, Listening Cloud sneezed in his face, splattering him with saliva. Disgusted, Lan Dao wiped his face but could find no words.

“I am not your master. I saved you merely in passing. You cannot tame Listening Cloud, so I shall take him,” Jiang Pingchuan said as he leapt onto the horse’s back. Listening Cloud reared excitedly with a jubilant whinny. Lan Dao climbed up behind him without another word. He realized that nothing he said would convince Jiang Pingchuan now, but once they met his ancestral master, all would become clear.

“Where is Hairball? Take me to him,” Jiang Pingchuan said, gripping Listening Cloud’s mane and patting its head. The steed snorted softly and strode toward the depths of the forest.

“Ancestral master is in the royal capital. We should first reunite with the hunting party,” Lan Dao said, seated behind Jiang Pingchuan. He was surprised by how calm the horse had become; when he had tried to mount it earlier, it had almost thrown him off.

“Your hunting party is beyond reach now,” Jiang Pingchuan said quietly. Lan Dao’s heart sank at the words, sensing the strangeness in it all.