Chapter 30: The Clear and the Turbid

Chapter 30: The Clear and the Turbid

The desert sands gleam like snow, the moon over Yanshan a curved hook.

Beneath the blazing sun, a blind old man with a face like coarse stone leads a caravan of camels. On the beasts behind him ride four youths wrapped in headscarves. The youngest and tallest gazes wistfully at the endless dunes, his mind adrift in memories of a distant homeland.

Yes, only deserts and oceans stir Li Chaofeng’s longing for home—landscapes unchanged since ancient times.

Noticing his faraway look, Hu Tiehua quirks a brow.

“Snake Brat, you said you’d never been to a desert. Why do you stare like you’ve seen one before?”

In ancient times, southerners rarely glimpsed deserts, knowing them only through poetry. Yet Li Chaofeng’s eyes held nostalgia, not awe—a distinction Hu Tiehua didn’t miss.

The nickname “Snake Brat” was Hu’s attempt to bond. He’d dubbed the group with affectionate jabs: “Old Pest,” “Dead Rooster,” and now this. Snake to dragon, small yet cunning—snake brat fit.

Li Chaofeng didn’t mind. Only Hu used it.

He hadn’t lied about never entering the desert. But he’d seen videos online—truth he couldn’t share.

“Books hold golden halls, books hold jade-like beauties,” he quipped. “Read desert verses, and you’ll dream of its sands.”

“Hmph!” Hu scoffed, recognizing the dodge. Literate but book-averse, he hated recitations.

Chu Liuxiang chuckled at their banter, while Ji Bingyan stared at distant dunes, voice grave.

“Master Li, you mentioned the Wheat Grass Sand Stabilization Technique from ancient texts. Recite it, if you will.”

Ji’s tone hinted desperation. The desert had nearly killed him once.

Li sighed. “It’s no miracle. Grass grids might shield a village from dunes, but not erase the desert itself.”

Ji pressed on, needing hope. Li relented, weaving a tale:

“Winds are clear or turbid. Clear winds are jade-pure; turbid ones, mud-stained. Desert winds are chaos—neither, both. Their sands, dust-fine, sting like jade but smother like mud.”

He paused, gesturing to the horizon. “To cleave chaos, plant grass as compass, earth as rule. Like Pangu’s creation, clear and turbid part.”

Ji frowned, grasping at straws. “You mean… grass grids separate sand from wind?”

“Exactly,” Li said. “I’m a cook. My skill? Separation. Clear wine comes from filtering dregs. Grass grids filter wind, keeping sand, releasing air.”

Hu blinked. “You can ‘remove’ wind?”

Li laughed. “Remove turbidity, and clarity remains. Remove clarity, and only turbidity stays. Either way—clear and turbid part.”

Ji’s eyes widened. “So the grids redirect wind, leaving sand behind?”

“Clever lad,” Li grinned. “Wind bends to grass. Sand does not.”

His explanation was half-truth, but Ji clung to it like scripture.

Suddenly, Li stiffened. “One li west… Blood-Sealing Throat Poison.”

The name hung heavy. Three years ago, he’d studied toxins in Ouyang Ting’s Poison Vault. He knew this stench.

Hu snorted. “You sure you’re not yanking chains?”

“A cook who can’t smell spoilage is no cook at all,” Li retorted.

Chu and Ji exchanged glances. Shi Tuo veered the caravan abruptly, guided by Ji’s pebble signal.

“Change course?” Chu asked.

Ji nodded. “Test if they hunt us.”

Li closed his eyes. Moments later: “No escape. They’ve doubled back, lying in wait a li ahead.”

Above, eagles circled. Desert spies.

Hu scowled. “How many?”

Li grimaced. “No telling. Their scent trails scatter like a single line—small group, stealthy.”

Chu relaxed. “Three or fewer?”

“Enough,” Ji muttered.

Hu spat. “Fools. Dare they ambush us?”

Chu studied Li, mind racing. No wonder the Mad Blossom owed him a debt. This ‘Demon Dragon’ truly walks between worlds.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end