25: The Sword Hero Zhuge Liuyun

A few days later, a rumor began circulating through the Sword Lodge about a certain “bottomless pit.” This “bottomless pit” ate several times more than the average person, dining four or five times a day, as if his stomach was a bottomless abyss, leaving everyone astonished.

The so-called “bottomless pit” was none other than Yi Fan. After several days of ravenous eating and drinking, his hunger had finally eased a little, but he still felt his body was greatly depleted, requiring long-term nourishment and rare medicinal herbs to recover fully.

However, the Sword Lodge was bound by its own rules. Ordinary disciples were not permitted to use precious medicinal ingredients at will, much less a guest like Yi Fan. He was also reluctant to make any requests.

Thus, he could only pause his martial training. After informing Fu Xin, he temporarily stopped practicing swordsmanship, deciding to wait until his body had recovered before resuming.

That night, as he sat in meditation, he heard a commotion outside. Opening his door, he saw a striking young man perched atop the courtyard wall, holding a wine jar and drinking. On seeing Yi Fan emerge, the young man called out, “Hey, you’re the bottomless pit everyone’s been talking about, aren’t you?”

Yi Fan frowned, declining to answer directly. With his arms folded, he replied, “May I ask what brings you, friend, to visit at midnight?”

Over the past few days, he’d heard the nickname “bottomless pit” tossed around the Sword Lodge, but had chosen not to react. Still, coming to provoke him in the middle of the night was a bit much—even a clay figurine has its limits, and Yi Fan was not made of clay.

Yet the handsome youth seemed oblivious to Yi Fan’s displeasure. He leapt down from the wall and introduced himself, “I am Zhuge Liuyun, fourth-generation disciple of the Shu Mountain Sword Sect. I came down from the mountain to seek Uncle Yan Chixia. The lodge master said you might know where he is?”

Yi Fan suddenly understood. No wonder their manners were so similar—Yan Chixia was unrestrained, and Zhuge Liuyun seemed to take after him. He smiled and said, “If you’re looking for Senior Yan Chixia, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong man. After we parted ways at Lanruo Temple, I haven’t seen him since. I only know he went off in pursuit of some demon.”

Zhuge Liuyun looked disappointed, glancing at Yi Fan thoughtfully before saying, “Since my uncle asked you to deliver the brocade pouch and even allowed you to study martial arts here for three months, he clearly considers you a friend. If you’re Uncle Yan’s friend, then you’re my friend too.”

With that, he tossed the wine jar to Yi Fan. “Come, finish this wine and we’ll be friends. Your business is my business—and mine is yours.”

Yi Fan was taken aback by this logic, but he could see there was no malice—just a candid nature. He didn’t mind and took a swig from the wine jar.

“Well done—bold and forthright,” Zhuge Liuyun laughed. “With good wine, how could there be no merriment? Allow me to give you a sword dance for your entertainment.”

With a roll of his shoulders, the sword on his back leapt into his hand, and he performed a sword dance in the courtyard. The blade flashed coldly, displaying exquisite skill; at the height of his speed, wisps of sword energy left marks on the ground wherever they landed.

Reaching the climax, Zhuge Liuyun shouted, “Bring the wine!”

Yi Fan responded by tossing the wine jar over. Zhuge Liuyun caught it, drank deeply, and exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!”

After finishing, he handed the wine jar back to Yi Fan. “Your name is Yi Fan, right? Good—starting today, you’re the first brother I, Zhuge Liuyun, have ever had.”

Such swift brotherhood—did he have none before? Yi Fan was speechless. Still, seeing Zhuge Liuyun’s forthrightness and strength, he felt a kinship. Smiling, he said, “Then it would be rude to refuse. Since Brother Zhuge has performed for me, how could I not reciprocate?”

With that, he went inside and returned carrying a guqin. Who knew which guest had left it behind? He brushed off the dust, placed his hands on the strings, and played. The lovely notes rose and fell, quick and slow, urgent and gentle. Under the cold moon, it sounded like the music of immortals, enchanting to the ear.

When the melody ended, Zhuge Liuyun stared in a daze, swallowed, and said, “Superb, truly superb.” Yet he couldn’t explain why—smiling awkwardly.

Yi Fan laughed, realizing Zhuge Liuyun knew nothing of music—a martial arts fanatic, but genuine and unpretentious. Such a friend was worth having.

Late into the night, the two drank their fill. Zhuge Liuyun, not planning to leave, simply slept in the neighboring guest room.

At dawn, Yi Fan was roused by shouts. Before the sun had risen, he opened the door to find Zhuge Liuyun practicing swordsmanship in the courtyard.

“You’re up? It’s still early, get some more sleep,” Zhuge Liuyun said, pausing to wipe his brow.

Yi Fan shook his head—who could sleep with such a ruckus? Still, he smiled, “It’s not that early. After morning lessons, there’s still training to do.”

Having rested a few days and eaten heartily, his body had mostly recovered—enough to resume swordplay and agility exercises.

“Training? With your body, you may not be up for it. You’re still very depleted—strong on the outside, hollow within. If you’re not careful, you’ll develop lasting injuries.”

Zhuge Liuyun glanced him over. “I have no idea what martial arts you practice to leave you so drained, your vital energy exhausted with nothing to replenish it. If you keep this up, something terrible will happen eventually. But don’t worry—the Sword Lodge has ‘Essence Cultivation Pills’ especially for disciples. I’ll fetch some for you.”

With that, he slung his sword over his shoulder and strode away.

Yi Fan could only smile wryly—such decisiveness, truly another incarnation of Yan Chixia.

The sun was high before Zhuge Liuyun returned, trailed by an elderly Taoist whose expression was a mix of resignation and frustration. He muttered, “Brother Zhuge, you took so many Essence Cultivation Pills—how am I supposed to explain this to the lodge master? He’ll have my hide.”

“Too many? I think it’s not enough. Stop your fussing, it’s just two jars of pills—keep whining and I’ll empty your whole storeroom,” Zhuge Liuyun threatened, glaring.

The old Taoist sighed, glanced at Yi Fan, shook his head, and left in defeat.

Yi Fan approached. “Brother Zhuge, what’s all this?”

“Oh, nothing. I just took two jars of Essence Cultivation Pills. No big deal,” Zhuge Liuyun replied, handing Yi Fan a bundle.

Upon opening it, Yi Fan found seven or eight jade bottles inside. He smiled wryly, “Isn’t this too much? Maybe we should return some?”

“Don’t nag—just take them. If you return them now, where’s my face? No returns, no returns.” Stretching, Zhuge Liuyun headed to the guest room. “I’ll catch another nap—call me at lunch.”

Yi Fan shook his head and put the bundle away. Since Zhuge Liuyun had dared to take them, he must have his reasons—the old Taoist seemed helpless anyway.

Back in his room, Yi Fan uncorked one of the jade bottles. Fragrance filled the air and his spirits lifted—it was indeed a miraculous elixir. He tipped the bottle and a small, milky-white pill rolled out.

This was the Essence Cultivation Pill.

He swallowed it; it melted instantly, sending a warm current through his body like soaking in a hot spring. The hunger deep in his bones faded noticeably.

Feeling the effects, he didn’t hesitate to take three or four more. His body rapidly recovered; even his internal magic refined and strengthened, his meridians growing robust.

Next, he could begin practicing the agility skill “Nine Leaps in a Row”—but there was no rush. With three months ahead of him, there was plenty of time.