Supreme Swordsman of the Nine Heavens

An Atypical Sect

It seemed nobody wanted to explain Mu Yu’s second senior brother’s situation, and he knew better than to ask after Lan Ling’er lashed out. In the end, Uncle An broke the silence. “Patriarch, I have prepared a meal. Let us head up.”

Xiang Nan, who looked terrified, glanced over to his shifu. “You already finished?”

Kongkong: “Shifu is back, so I believe it is time we improve our diet. Senior Brother Xiang Nan, you went to catch chickens, did you not? Hand them over to Shifu to prepare.”

“On it,” responded Xiang Nan, nodding and taking off running.

“I already prepared it,” interjected Uncle An, killing the thought.

“Let’s head up, then.” Feng Haochen patted Mu Yu on the shoulder, then ascended first.

Xiang Nan and Kongkong wore miserable expressions. Cheng Yan hopelessly gestured to Mu Yu and followed Feng Haochen. Concern started to creep into Mu Yu’s mind. Besides that, he was curious how the sect operated if they all treated eating as the equivalent of torture when the patriarch wasn’t there to cook for them. It was the first time he heard a patriarch personally cooking.

Everyone on the mountain was granted their own room, but, as a whole, the mountain was plain; there was no grandeur palace to feast eyes on as made popular among common folks. Calling it a village in a secluded village wouldn’t be an exaggerated description.

Nobody wanted to enter the hall and ignored Mu Yu’s thoughts. Feng Haochen and Uncle An were the only ones who calmly entered the main hall. Lan Ling’er was already sitting there, frowning at the sight of the dishes on the long table capable of accommodating ten people. Mu Yu found a spare spot to sit after everyone went to their seats.

Uncle An’s cooking wasn’t bad. He was a food terrorist who needed to be kept away from the kitchen. Mu Yu experienced it first hand and understood why the others picked up their chopsticks as if they were being sentenced to death. One would require the courage of multiple men to eat the food.

Xiang Nan picked up a juicy-looking chicken. When he ripped it open, blood trickled down. As an avid fan of chicken, Mu Yu would gladly remove chicken from his meals for two months after the visual nightmare.

“It’s good.” As it was his first time there, Mu Yu wanted to be polite to set a good impression; however, he hated himself for telling the blatant fib. He had an urge to shed tears whether that was due to him choking on the food – if it could be defined as so – or the psychological trauma.

Kongkong smirked and put a chicken drumstick in Mu Yu’s bowl.“Eat up, then.”

Mu Yu responded, “You’re in your growth period, so you need to eat more” and returned the drumstick to Kongkong’s bowl.

Miaomiao swiftly passed Mu Yu her chicken. “Senior Brother Mu Yu, have this drumstick. We are all family now.”

Mu Yu passed the drumstick to Feng Haochen. “Shifu, you must be tired. Have this.”

Witnessing the heart-warming scene of his disciples sharing and caring, Feng Haochen had a taste of the chicken, then stated, “You know what? I’ll go cook! Stop messing around and carry the dishes back to the kitchen. Xiang Nan, start the fire.”

“Yeah!” Kongkong and Miaomiao high fived and danced.

Though Mu Yu wanted in on the celebration, he stopped himself when he caught a glimpse of Uncle An’s stoic look and remarked, “It is not bad.”

Miaomiao and Kongkong scoffed. Lan Ling’er curled her lips.

Mu Yu was astonished Feng Haochen’s cooking was leagues above Uncle An’s. They finished every grain and cleared the table. Indeed, everyone cleaned up after themselves and was trained to be self-sustaining individuals. They went about their chores laughing and chattering similarly to a family.

Everyone was gone at noon. Feng Haochen told Mu Yu to familiarise himself with the mountain and to prepare to train with the others from tomorrow onwards. Kongkong and Miaomiao ran about causing mischief wherever they went.

Not sure where to go, Mu Yu wandered to the rear of the straw house they ate at, where he espied a spring catching water cascading down. As it streamed further down, it formed a pool. Next to the pool was a field of fresh herbs. Accompanying them were celestial herbs. Their touch was different to ordinary herbs. Unfortunately, he couldn’t control them.

“If you want to control celestial herbs, you need to develop spiritual energy,” explicated Feng Haochen, head down whilst scarifying the land. “If you want to wash up, wash yourself in the pool. The water from the spring above is for drinking, so don’t contaminate it. Dustfallen Precipice is to the rear. Go check it out if you want to behold some nice scenery.”

“Shifu, how about I help you scarify the land?”

Feng Haochen shook his head. “If I wanted to do this quickly, I could just use my sword to finish the job with a click of my fingers, but that’s pointless. I don’t farm merely for food but also as a hobby.”

Given Feng Haochen vanquished all of the plants in the surroundings that night, he certainly could complete the job in a flash. Mu Yu mocked himself with a grin, then headed to the rear of the mountain.

The cliff at the rear of the mountain was named Dustfallen Precipice. The massive tree there had grown for a long time. Its green bounty and earthy browns were plentiful. Two swings dangled from the high and wide tree – likely for Kongkong and Miaomiao to play on. The stone slab underneath the tree could easily fit five to six people if they fancied a nap there. The bark pattern instilled a state of tranquillity.

Mu Yu peered into the distance. At the end of the forest below, where hums of life were audible, was a small village. In said village was a well-arranged field. Dozens of kilometres beyond it was the vague contour of a city.

Dustfallen Sect was a tranquil world away from the bustling world, perfect for cultivation, where an empty mind and spiritual energy were necessities.

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