Chapter 125: Han Li

Lin Yang’s life had become remarkably orderly. Every morning, he taught dozens of disciples how to read and write. At home, he prepared a simple midday meal, and after eating, he would spend the afternoon leisurely wandering about. In the evenings, he retreated to the basement, dedicating himself to rigorous cultivation.

Thus, he had lived in this private academy for five years. Even Old Man Sun had worn out and passed away, buried just outside the academy grounds. Old Man Sun had died three years prior, having worked alongside Lin Yang for only two years. Yet those two years were filled with camaraderie and lively conversation—they truly found each other’s company pleasant.

Lin Yang had once considered helping Old Man Sun recuperate, but after some thought, he decided against meddling with matters related to the Seven Profound Sect, wary of causing unnecessary complications. Besides, Old Man Sun was already in his seventies, and ultimately succumbed to the hidden injuries borne from his youthful mistakes.

Old Man Sun had once dreamt of becoming a chivalrous hero, wandering the land upholding justice. He had even joined a sect, but the constant strain on his body left him with chronic injuries. His constitution was weak, and after several years of training, he managed only to strengthen his physique slightly. Neither literary nor martial accomplishments came to fruition, so he settled into the role of a humble teacher.

With no close family or friends, Lin Yang had buried him hastily outside the academy. Yet every year, Lin Yang would offer a bowl of tea in his memory.

Today, Lin Yang unexpectedly received a letter delivered by Han the Fatty—a disciple who had once brought Lin Yang into the Seven Profound Sect. Lin Yang took the envelope and opened it, recognizing Han’s unmistakable handwriting, so fluid it seemed to stretch like strands of hand-pulled noodles.

“Brother, this year I am sending my nephew to the Seven Profound Sect. My nephew’s surname is Han, given name Li, nickname Er Lengzi,” the letter read.

“I hope you can look after him; I would be deeply grateful.”

“Han Sanpang.”

Lin Yang gazed at the words, realizing it was Han Li arriving. The letter had traveled faster than the person, so Han Li would likely arrive in two days.

Reflecting on this, Lin Yang murmured, “The grand curtain rises.”

With that, he summoned his mountain-walking technique and soared above the Seven Profound Sect.

Over the past five years, he had long discovered Mo Juren’s whereabouts, but without causing alarm, he continued to play his role as a mere teacher.

Soon, Lin Yang arrived above the verdant valley of the Seven Profound Sect. The valley was lush and dripping with green vitality. On the left side lay a cluster of a dozen or so buildings, all redolent with the scent of medicinal herbs. In the center of the valley’s clearing grew numerous herbs, where an emaciated old man watered them carefully.

This was the fabled Divine Hand Valley—the place where Old Han the Demon had acquired his golden finger.

Long ago, Lin Yang had searched this valley thoroughly but found nothing of note. It appeared to be an ordinary valley, with no trace of the little jade bottle he sought.

At this moment, disciples came and went through the valley—those injured for various reasons within the Seven Profound Sect. Watching the comings and goings, and the thick, herb-scented smoke rising from the buildings, Lin Yang remained for a while, then departed for his study. There, he resumed reading the mortal biographies he had collected.

***

Early the next day, a knock came at Lin Yang’s door. It was time for a new batch of disciples to arrive at the valley. Each group had to spend one or two years learning literacy from him before being granted cultivation techniques to train in.

Since Old Man Sun’s passing, Lin Yang had managed the entire academy. He had long since abolished the early morning running drills. Now, the academy’s sole purpose was literacy education; physical training like horse stance and running was left to the disciples themselves.

“Mr. Lin, the recruitment of disciples is about to begin,” came the summons. “Please come with me to the Bone-Tempering Cliff.”

Lin Yang closed his book and emerged from the secret chamber. A refreshing breeze greeted him at the door, invigorating his spirit.

“Alright,” he said, taking nothing with him, simply following the disciple with a casual wave of his hand. After a long walk, they arrived at Bone-Tempering Cliff.

Beneath the bamboo forest that blanketed the cliff were many young men, each accompanied by outer sect disciples.

Among them, Lin Yang spotted the Hall Master Yue, who was surrounded by a crowd as he strode before the prospective disciples.

The Bone-Tempering Cliff was a bamboo forest leading up a steep cliff—a training ground named for the endurance it forged in disciples.

Lin Yang scanned the bustling crowd below but still could not find Han Li. He had no idea what Han Li looked like, and there were simply too many youths who all looked alike.

He decided to wait atop the cliff.

After a while, when everyone had gathered, Hall Master Yue stepped forward. He embodied the perfect image of a chivalrous man—his voice was bold and resonant.

“Listen carefully,” he announced. “Follow the path through the bamboo forest. After completing the bamboo trail, you will enter a rocky area, and finally, you will reach the cliff known as the Bone-Tempering Cliff.”

“Those who can climb to the top of the cliff before noon will be admitted as full disciples of the Seven Profound Sect.”

“If you fail to reach the top by noon, you cannot become full disciples, but those who show promise may be accepted as registered disciples.”

Upon hearing this, the children burst into excited chatter. Many came from impoverished families, accustomed to tending cattle and birds on the mountains. They believed this path would be easy.

Yet, realizing that some would surely be eliminated, nervous glances were exchanged—they did not wish to be the ones to return defeated.

As the sun rose higher, Hall Master Yue declared, “It’s time to begin the climb. Those who reach the summit before noon will be considered full disciples.”

“Do not fear. Your senior brothers and sisters will watch your backs. Climb with all your might.”

With that, the children began their ascent. Behind them followed many older disciples.

Among the dozens of children, a few eager to make a show of themselves surged ahead, led by a young man dressed in fine clothes.