Chapter Forty-One: As Graceful as an Immortal

After thoroughly reading the Herb King Sutra, he wasn’t as adept at distinguishing medicinal plants as the seasoned gatherers who had spent years roaming the mountains, but the basics were not difficult for him. Still, the Herb King Sutra had been written during the Former Zhao, almost two centuries ago; there might be errors or omissions in the text, so he couldn’t put absolute faith in it.

Chen Yu shifted his stance, darting nimbly between the sheer cliffs. He couldn’t leap across the ten-zhang gap ahead, but the ravine here was only a zhang or two wide from bank to bank—a manageable distance. Using the difference in elevation, he could easily bound back and forth. Landing safely required care: the cliffs were slick and easy to slip from, and a misstep could mean a twisted or broken foot. This was a true test of his ability to absorb and redirect force.

Fortunately, his mastery of the Cloud Crane Steps was becoming increasingly profound. Coupled with his sharpened spirit in recent days, his understanding of footwork had surpassed his other martial skills and was on the verge of perfection. With each leap and twist, he channeled all his strength down through his feet into the earth.

It was extremely useful—though hard on his shoes.

Up!

Drawing a deep breath, Chen Yu sprang into another jump. Bounding along the cliff face like a nimble monkey, he moved with remarkable agility, eyes scanning ceaselessly for his quarry.

He had already collected several fine specimens in his bamboo basket, but still hadn’t found the reed ginseng. He suspected he would have to venture deeper in, perhaps closer to the stream.

Suddenly—splash!—his foot slipped. Chen Yu remained calm, grabbing his basket with one hand and slapping his palm against the rock with the other.

Thud! A deep, drum-like sound echoed. Power surged through his palm and fingers, the skin vibrating from the force. The sound lingered in the secluded ravine. Using the recoil, he kicked off the rock, launching himself to cling to a large, gray boulder on the other side.

Below, the creek flowed clearly several zhang down.

He didn’t descend, but instead rested a moment before climbing upward, heading toward the mist-shrouded depths.

The ravine had its upper and lower, inner and outer levels. From below, the valley looked shrouded in clouds and fog, silent and mysterious as a legendary paradise. Yet, it was quite the opposite: such places usually held fewer medicinal plants. Higher up, where the mist was thin and sunlight reached the rocks, the plants thrived. The crevices above were covered in green vines and tangled weeds, providing shelter for herbs.

The creek at the bottom, thick with damp air and rarely touched by sunlight, fostered only sparse, stunted ferns—except for a few unusual species, almost nothing survived there.

In fact, it was more suited to poisonous snakes and venomous insects than herbs.

That’s why seasoned gatherers, when encountering such gorges, would bring ropes and climb the cliffs rather than risk the more level but dangerous valley floor.

The old Daoist was a veteran gatherer and knew these truths by heart.

…

Meanwhile, at the mouth of the ravine, another old gatherer was instructing his apprentice.

Beside him, a young boy clutching a pickaxe stood respectfully, his face still childish, his eyes bright with anticipation. It was his first time following his master up the mountain. Herb gatherers couldn’t venture into the wilds without a few tricks up their sleeves, but more than anything, the boy was eager to try his own hand at gathering.

Who knew—perhaps his martial skills would let him reach places even his master couldn’t.

“The mountains rise high and the ravine runs deep—down there, it’s crawling with snakes and insects, and herbs are scarce. So you have to start from above,” the old man explained, pointing around. He could see the boy’s ambitions clearly; every first-timer was the same, himself included.

He went on, “The Silkworm Ravine stretches for nine li, thirty zhang at its widest, barely a zhang at its narrowest. Don’t think that just because you learned a few farming moves from Old Wu you’re safe. When it comes to gathering herbs, you must do exactly as I say. Don’t believe me? Take a look below.”

Under his master’s stern gaze, the boy, who had some martial training, pouted but leaned out to look down the cliff.

At first, he was bold enough. But as the clouds below swirled, revealing bottomless darkness, dizziness swept over him and he dared not look again—let alone entertain any more wild ideas.

He turned back to his master, his eyes full of newfound respect. Only someone as skilled as his master could traverse such perilous cliffs. Just a glance had nearly scattered his very soul.

Too high, too deep—it seemed to hide monsters. He was lucky he’d trained in boxing and had some courage; an ordinary person would have collapsed on the spot.

But his master could climb and roam these heights with ease—wait, what was that?

The boy rubbed his eyes in disbelief at the figure flitting across the cliff: swift as a wild duck, ethereal as a spirit.

Darting across the mountains, free as an immortal!

“Remember this feeling—always respect the mountains and rivers, never forget it. Most reckless gatherers end up buried in the wild, fed to wolves!” the old man said, pausing. His apprentice was usually obedient, but a little martial training had made him overconfident compared to the grizzled gatherers who often flirted with death. Today’s lesson would remind him of his limits.

He looped a rope and handed the spiked end to the boy. “Drive the spike in at a slant, two inches deep. Make sure it’s secure.”

He continued giving practical advice, but when his apprentice didn’t respond, he looked up to see the boy staring, wide-eyed, into the distance.

The old man followed his gaze—and his eyes bulged, his mouth falling open as if he could swallow an egg.

By the Great Spirit of the Pi River! Today, I have truly seen an immortal!

…

Elsewhere, the man mistaken for a hermit-immortal was laughing with delight, clutching a root the size of his palm, shaped like mountain ginseng.

Reed ginseng—at last, he’d found it.

After examining it, he tossed it into his basket, thinking how deeply it had been hidden. Looking back, he estimated he was already four li from where he’d started down the cliff. Even with spiritual elixir to replenish his strength, the climbing had worn him out.

Fortunately, the deeper he went, the more fractured rocks there were—more places to step.

Tightening his basket straps, Chen Yu prepared to return. He’d gathered a fine haul, mostly blood-replenishing and vitality herbs. Without a proper formula, he planned to boil them in his cauldron and drink the decoction.

Eating them raw was out of the question—who really believed you could just bite off a chunk and absorb all the medicinal power?

He considered himself a normal person, without some monstrous stomach.

Of course, not all herbs were unfit to eat raw; a few in his basket could be sampled. Still, as always, a proper prescription was best.

In fact, he had an idea this time.

If spiritual energy could catalyze, what about the spiritual elixir?

And spirit itself—he’d only used it on dead things before, which he couldn’t touch, while creatures like earthworms exploded on contact.

Now, with these freshly picked herbs, he wondered if he might see something new.

He didn’t expect much—it was just an experiment.

“Hm? There are others here?”

Just as he was about to leave, he glanced down and spotted, in a wind-blown cave across the cliff, an old man and a youth looking up at him.

Judging by their gear, they were gatherers.

Chen Yu didn’t think much of it, waved to them amiably, and floated away.

…

“Master, was that… another herb gatherer?” the boy asked, pointing at the receding figure, especially at the bamboo basket slung over his back. He suddenly realized that wasn’t some hidden immortal, but someone just like his master—a gatherer.

The old man was silent, raising his hands to look at his pickaxe, small hammer, and the rope cinched tight at his waist.

He recalled all his careful climbs, always fearing a single misstep would send him tumbling—yet that man moved with effortless grace!

“Probably,” he said at last. He could tell the stranger’s skills came from extraordinary lightness arts—but that was his ability and nothing to envy.

Could martial arts really accomplish such feats?

Forgive the old man for wondering; not even in town or the county seat had he ever heard of such mastery.

Then he glanced at the boy beside him.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to start learning from Old Wu himself?