Chapter 26: The Meaning of Friendship

Chapter 26: The Meaning of Friendship

At the edge of an endless desert, a massive black carriage rumbled toward a border town.

At the front sat the driver, a granite-faced man who was deaf, mute, and blind, alongside a burly, dark-skinned companion. The driver, of course, was Shi Tuo. The other man was Xiao Pan, forty-three years old, though he’d carried the nickname “Little Pan” all his life.

Inside the lavish carriage, Ji Bingyan and Hu Tiehua exchanged uneasy glances. Ji had no desire to enter the desert, but the moment he’d heard Hu had brought Chu Liuxiang to find him, he’d known their intent. Their friendship had long since frayed—not from hatred, but from diverging paths. Ji, methodical and cautious, clashed with Chu’s insatiable curiosity, while Hu, though less nosy than Chu, still meddled far too often.

Ji had refused outright, feigning a limp to warn them of the desert’s dangers and offering to prepare supplies. He and Chu had never owed each other favors—they were simply friends.

But Hu had taken two of Ji’s concubines hostage, forcing Ji to abandon his ruse. Lies could linger unspoken, but once exposed, friendship demanded action.

The carriage was spacious, stocked with wine and delicacies. Li Chaofeng, wrapped in a blue fur cloak, lounged with his hair loose, chewing dried fruit as he listened to the bickering.

“Even a brat understands loyalty,” Ji scoffed. “You’re worse than a child.”

At this, Li turned to the tallest figure in the carriage—a youth barely nineteen, though his towering frame belied his age. Unbothered by his disheveled look and casual demeanor, he’d even shrugged off Hu calling him “little brat.” Ji found this odd; most youths craved recognition as adults. But Li, ranked tenth on the Weapons Chart as wielder of the Demon Sword Dragon Fang, had little interest in such formalities.

The Weapons Chart, compiled by Baixiaosheng, ranked only male martial artists outside the Evil Sects, its legitimacy upheld by the constant challenges to dethrone its incumbents. Li had held his spot for three years, untouched by rumors of defeat. Many assumed he’d perished with his cursed blade in some forgotten corner of the Jianghu.

Ji wondered how Hu had found this “Yao Long.” Yet Li, who’d built his fortune in the desert before retiring to Lanzhou, had his own reasons for joining. He’d once tried to buy the famed Misty Waters Pavilion, only to be rebuffed by its owner, Li Shaoxia—a name Ji recognized but hadn’t yet connected to Li Chaofeng.

Now, Li cared little for adult burdens. Freshly mastering the Five Supreme Arts, he preferred freedom to responsibility. When Ji questioned why they’d brought him, Chu simply said, “He finds people. If he sees you once, he’ll never lose your trail.”

Ji frowned. Tracking required expertise in signs, societal patterns, or intimate knowledge of the target. Li had never entered the desert, nor heard of the elusive “Black Pearl.”

“So how?” Ji pressed.

“Because there’s wind,” Li said, grinning. “And I follow it.”

Ji’s eyes widened. The implication was clear—Li’s senses were extraordinary. In the desert, such a gift could mean survival itself.

Ji exhaled, leaning back. If Chu and Hu trusted him, that was enough.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end