37: Chapter 37 The Direction of the Line

The White Thread was glowing.

Lu Chen stood in the third-floor corridor of the inn, looking down at his left wrist. The White Thread was glowing beneath his skin—not the cold light of a night-luminescent pearl, but a warm glow, like the heat of blood. Six loops, seven knots, every knot pulsing slightly. It wasn't a pulse—it was resonance. It had sensed another thread.

He pulled down his sleeve to cover his wrist. The thread was hidden, but the heat remained. It felt like a warm stone pressed against his skin.

He went downstairs. The old man was still dozing behind the counter.

"Is there someone named Qin Wu in the Loose Cultivators Alliance?"

The old man lifted his eyelids slightly. "Don't know him. Dozens of new faces come through here every day."

Lu Chen walked out of the inn.

The thread was burning hot. He tried walking east—the heat decreased. West—it increased. South—no change. North—the heat increased again.

He walked north.

The market of the Loose Cultivators Alliance didn't distinguish between day and night. As soon as it turned dark, lanterns were hung at the stalls on both sides of the road. The red and yellow lights mingled together, making people's faces look surreal. There were those selling medicine, those selling talismans, those selling weapons—and even those selling their lives. An arena was set up at the widest intersection of the market, where two people were fighting on stage, surrounded by a circle of people whose cheers and boos mingled together.

Lu Chen pushed through the crowd. The thread was getting hotter and hotter.

Reaching the edge of the market, the houses became fewer and the road narrower. A blacksmith shop stood at the end of an alley, its furnace fire burning brightly, the clanging of ironwork echoing from within.

The thread had become extremely hot.

It wasn't pain—he couldn't feel pain. But the heat penetrated his wrist, and his entire hand was radiating warmth. The light from the White Thread could be seen even through his sleeve.

There was only one person in the blacksmith shop.

A young man, shirtless, his back covered in sweat. He was swinging a heavy hammer to strike a piece of glowing red iron. With every strike, muscles rippled beneath his skin—his body was no longer the skeletal frame it once was. His shoulders had widened, his arms had thickened, and the outline of his ribs had faded.

He put down the hammer, gripped the iron with tongs, and plunged it into the water. The steam exploded with a sharp hiss.

Then he turned around.

Qin Wu's face hadn't changed. It was still the same features—a nose neither high nor low, eyes neither large nor small, and slightly thick lips. But there was more flesh on his face, his eye sockets were no longer sunken, and his skin had turned from pale to bronze.

He also had a White Thread on his wrist. Six loops, seven knots.

It was also glowing.

The two of them stood facing each other. Between them sat an anvil, a pile of coal, and a bucket of quenching water. The fire in the furnace flickered, casting their shadows long across the room.

Qin Wu spoke first.

"Who are you?"

He didn't remember Lu Chen. Just like three months ago—the Restriction was lifted, their friendship had been stripped away, and all memories of Lu Chen were gone.

"Lu Chen."

"I don't know you."

"I know. I don't remember you either."

Qin Wu looked down at the White Thread on his wrist. The thread was glowing, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Then he looked at Lu Chen's wrist—the same light was shining through from beneath the sleeve.

"But the thread is there," Qin Wu said.

"The thread is there. So the person is there."

Qin Wu was silent for a moment. Then he smiled—not his usual bitter smile, but a smile of recognition.

"You said those words. I remember the words—but I don't remember the person who said them."

Lu Chen didn't respond. He found a wooden box to sit on, leaning his back against the wall.

"How long have you been in the Loose Cultivators Alliance?"

"Three months."

"Blacksmithing here?"

"Blacksmithing is just incidental." Qin Wu pulled over a bench and sat down, taking a swig from a water jug. "I came to the Loose Cultivators Alliance because the Sect Head said there was a path here—the path of a Loose Cultivator. Not joining a Sect, but making a living based on one's own abilities."

"What abilities?"

Qin Wu raised his right hand. He clenched his fist, and a surge of Qi flowed from his arm into his fist—a faint gold, very similar to the color in Lu Chen's Dantian, but lighter.

Qi Refining Level 3.

Three months ago, when Qin Wu left the Danding Sect, he was at Level 1 Qi Refining. Three months later, he had reached Qi Refining Level 3.

"There is a person in the Loose Cultivators Alliance who specifically teaches Loose Cultivators how to Cultivate. He doesn't accept Spirit Stones or any Cultivation Technique—he only takes one thing." Qin Wu looked at Lu Chen. "Information."

"What information?"

"Information regarding the Xuantian Sect. All Loose Cultivators who Cultivate in the Loose Cultivators Alliance must regularly provide that person with any Sect information they know—no matter which Sect it is, as long as it's valuable. That person used an intelligence network to maintain an entire team of Loose Cultivators."

Lu Chen tapped his finger on his knee. "What is this person's name?"

"He doesn't give a name. Everyone in the Loose Cultivators Alliance calls him the 'Instructor'. He is very old, and his cultivation—it's unfathomable."

"Is he also a Loose Cultivator?"

"No. He said he used to belong to a Sect." Qin Wu took another drink of water. "He said his Sect disappeared many years ago. After the Ancestral Master died, the Sect disbanded, and the Disciples went their separate ways."

Lu Chen's hand stopped on his knee.

The Ancestral Master died. The Disciples went their separate ways. The Loose Cultivators Alliance, the Hehuan Sect, the Xuantian Sect, and Qingniu Ridge—Li Xuanyi's Disciples had gone in four directions.

"Where is he?"

"Who?"

"The Instructor."

Qin Wu stared at Lu Chen for a few seconds. "You're looking for him too?"

"I'm looking for a section of Finger Bone. The sixth one."

"A Finger Bone?"

"It's black. There is a deep golden light inside the core of the bone."

Qin Wu set the water jug on the ground. The fire in the furnace flickered, and his shadow swayed.

"I've seen it."

"Where?"

"It hangs around the Instructor's neck. A small section of black bone, strung on a leather cord. I thought it was just a decoration." Qin Wu's voice dropped lower. "He said it was a memento from his Master."

Lu Chen stood up.

"Take me to see him."

"Now?"

"Now."

Qin Wu looked up at him. The firelight split Lu Chen's face into light and shadow, with his eyes in the dark half. It was impossible to tell what was inside them—there was nothing at all.

"You're just like him," Qin Wu said.

"Like who?"

"The Instructor. His eyes are the same—nothing in them." Qin Wu stood up, pulled a robe from the wall, and threw it on. "Let's go."

The two of them walked out of the blacksmith shop. The alley was very narrow, too narrow for two people to walk side-by-side, so Qin Wu walked in front while Lu Chen followed behind.

The White Thread beneath the sleeve was still glowing.

Two threads, the same kind of light, the same rhythm.

The people no longer recognized each other. But the thread—it remembered everything.

tianxuan calendar, taiping 19th Year, Spring.

Lu Chen, Qi Refining Level 5 Peak.

Qin Wu, Qi Refining Level 3.

Two White Threads. Six loops, seven knots.

The direction of the thread—it pointed toward a Disciple of the old Ancestral Master.

A person wearing the sixth Finger Bone.