Chapter Six: The Miserable Fate of the Turtle Dove

Chapter Six: The Hapless Turtle Bird

Under the scorching summer sun, the boundless sea stretched endlessly, shimmering with countless blue waves.

A solitary, shabby boat rocked upon the vast ocean. From its appearance, it seemed to be nothing more than the simplest of fishing boats—about seventy or eighty feet long, with a small covered cabin amidships, a single sail, and two oars.

Compared to the surging sea now growing increasingly turbulent, the little boat looked as though it would capsize at any moment, yet it stubbornly stayed afloat, a fact worthy of wonder.

In the sail’s shadow, a man in white robes leaned against the rail, gazing toward the distant sky.

He appeared to be about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with handsome eyebrows; this was none other than Fang Junmei, who had descended the mountain. Yet the once jade-like fair face was now tanned, his hair much longer and loose, his body lean and sturdy, lips parched and cracked, as if he hadn’t drunk water for days.

…

It had been two years since Fang Junmei left the mountain.

The Sword Elder, who had traveled far and wide in his life, once told Fang Junmei he had journeyed across every corner of the continent where the Pan Kingdom lay. Beyond the kingdom, there were only remote wildlands, not particularly vast, with no hidden valleys or high mountains worth mentioning.

Thus, after descending, Fang Junmei chose the nearest direction and headed straight for the sea. He sold his fine horse, bought a fishing boat, stocked up on dry rations and fresh water, and set out across the waves in search of immortals beyond the sea.

Now, after nearly a year, he had yet to see a hint of land. His food and water had long since been exhausted. Were he not a martial artist with a constitution far surpassing ordinary men, and had it not rained occasionally and fish been easy to catch, Fang Junmei would have perished already.

…

For the past five or six days, Fang Junmei hadn’t had a drop of water. Though his body still held up, it felt as though a fire blazed within his belly, tormenting him.

His gaze fell upon a strange eagle in the sky not far away, his expression tinged with curiosity.

This eagle was unlike any he had seen before. Its wings, when spread, measured seven or eight feet across, and most peculiarly, the blue feathers bore silver patterns like a turtle’s shell. If it tucked its head beneath its wings, it would look just like a turtle withdrawing into its shell.

“Truly the sky and sea are vast and full of wonders. Even the birds here are unlike those in the Pan Kingdom. Had I stayed there all my life, I’d never have seen such a turtle bird.”

Fang Junmei spoke to himself, greatly amused. He was an optimistic soul, his gaze free of any hint of gloom, his face bright and sunlit.

The strange eagle, for its part, had already set its sights on Fang Junmei, awaiting an opportunity. Hearing itself called a turtle bird, it seemed almost to understand, its eyes flashing with a vexed and embarrassed look—not cold or menacing, but more like a child’s petulant anger.

Fang Junmei’s sharp eyes caught the almost human expression, and he burst out laughing.

His laughter only deepened the eagle’s embarrassment. With a fierce screech, it beat its wings and swooped closer.

Fang Junmei, nearly at the pinnacle of martial arts, was not concerned by a mere bird. Lounging carelessly against the mast, he let the sea breeze blow through his hair.

Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh—

Suddenly, a sharp sound split the air.

Fang Junmei’s eyes flashed with a keen light. He saw the turtle bird, now within thirty or forty feet, open its beak and spit out several transparent, arrow-like jets of water directly at him.

Splash—

Fang Junmei’s eyes widened in astonishment. So, the turtle bird had tricks like this? What sort of creature was it?

He did not know that this bird was called a Xuanwu Vulture, a formidable kind among the beast clans, whose intelligence far surpassed that of wild animals. However, the one attacking him was still a fledgling, not yet matured, and could only unleash the most basic water arrow technique.

Experienced in combat, Fang Junmei could tell from the sound that being hit would surely rend flesh and break skin. With a flash, he snatched up his Acacia Sword and struck out.

Silver light flickered, and blossoms of sword aura burst forth.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

With deft flicks, Fang Junmei shattered each water arrow, sending fine droplets spraying everywhere.

Some landed on his lips. After a moment’s hesitation—seeing that the water on the deck produced no strange mist or foam—he stretched out his tongue and tasted it. Cool, fresh water washed over his mouth, with nothing unusual about it.

A spark of delight appeared in his eyes. Parched as he was, the heavens had sent him a bird that sprayed water.

In a flash of inspiration, Fang Junmei, moving with elegant skill even in battle, shed his robe and spread it across the deck. As he shattered each water arrow, he guided the droplets onto the robe, which soon grew damp.

The young Xuanwu Vulture, though angry, was not stupid. Realizing Fang Junmei’s intent, it screeched and ceased spitting water, diving down with a speed rivaling that of a martial master at the innate level.

Just what I wanted!

Fang Junmei smiled faintly, his white teeth gleaming in the sun. Channeling his inner energy, he infused it into the Soulstone at his hand.

In that instant, the vulture’s movements slowed in his eyes, as if time itself had stretched. Watching intently, Fang Junmei’s pupils narrowed, his focus so deep it was as though he had become detached from the world.

Man and bird drew ever closer.

When only a dozen yards remained, the Xuanwu Vulture lashed out with sharp talons at Fang Junmei’s head, its long beak stabbing like a spear. A blow from that would be fatal.

But Fang Junmei’s expression remained serene. He tracked every movement, calculating the distance, and after half a breath, sprang into action.

Dodge!

Shift!

Strike!

The blade of the Acacia Sword pressed down hard upon the vulture’s skull with a thud. The bird shuddered violently, knocked unconscious by the blow, and crashed lifelessly onto the deck.

The sequence of moves flowed seamlessly, so swift it left one breathless with awe.

“Well, now I needn’t pray for rain every day. You, bird, shall accompany me until I find land.”

Chuckling to himself, Fang Junmei entered the cabin, fetched some ropes, and bound the unconscious vulture’s feet, wings, and beak together.

Clang, clang—

He tapped its wings with his sword, producing a strange metallic ring, as if the turtle-patterned wings were made of iron.

“I knew there was something odd about your wings, so I deliberately avoided striking them.”

After his initial surprise, Fang Junmei laughed heartily, then lay down, using the damp robe as a pillow, and drank deeply with satisfaction.

Ever optimistic, cheerful, and open-hearted—this was Fang Junmei.

…

While Fang Junmei drank contentedly, far to the northeast on a pitch-black island, someone gazed in his direction with a cold, distant look.

The island was a hundred miles in circumference, its mountains high and forests dense, exuding an eerie air. Especially the central peak, dark as ink, soaring three or four thousand feet, sheer cliffs and precipices everywhere, impossible for ordinary folk to climb. Among these cliffs, flocks of Xuanwu Vultures—kin to the one that had attacked Fang Junmei—circled and soared.

At the summit stood a crude stone hall, within which sat a bald old man in meditation.

He was thin and small, clad in a voluminous gray robe that trailed on the ground as if stolen, his drooping brows, hooked nose, and round eyes set in a sallow face, making him look most peculiar.

It was this old man who looked in Fang Junmei’s direction.

His gaze was sharp and penetrating, as if spanning a thousand miles of ocean.

After a moment, the old man rolled his eyes and muttered, “Can’t even handle a mere mortal—what a disgrace to the Xuanwu Vulture clan. Very well, let him suffer a little for now.”