Chapter Thirty-Six: Bai Yufei, the Saint of Thieves

The internal energy of the Divine Foot Scripture was originally without distinction between yin and yang. However, after passing through certain special meridians and acupoints, it could be transformed into extreme yin or extreme yang.

This was something Shen Lian had discovered through his own experimentation. His spirit was simply too powerful, and the amount of energy in his body was far from exceeding his control. He could manipulate the slightest threads of energy, attempting things within the limits of his endurance.

Of course, this was hardly an ideal method, especially without the guidance of any predecessors or established wisdom. His situation was akin to someone born in the modern age who, for lack of resources, was forced to derive secondary school mathematics on his own. While there was some effect, compared to peers in prestigious schools, he gained little advantage—mostly wasting time.

The problem was that, to this day, he had not encountered any of the true sects dedicated to cultivation or those reclusive immortals spoken of in legend.

Perhaps Ling Chongxiao might know a thing or two, but the bond between them was hardly deep, and Shen Lian had no idea where Ling Chongxiao was now.

If nothing unexpected occurred, within a year, whether or not Shen Lian managed to open his Ren and Du meridians, he would set out on the path of seeking immortals and the Dao, for he already possessed some means of self-preservation.

His medical skills, though not yet at the miraculous level of restoring the dead or regrowing flesh and bone, were more than enough to earn him the title of Divine Physician in this world. After all, he had received a modern medical education and practiced inner energy cultivation, granting him keen perception—far beyond what ordinary physicians could match.

It was only with his ability to manipulate inner energy at a subtle level that he could guide the transformed extreme yin energy into a patient's body, freezing the malignant energy within, and then swiftly expel it.

The man first regained consciousness, then promptly fainted again, for Shen Lian had pressed his sleep acupoint, ensuring he would rest well.

*****

Bai Yufei opened his eyes and found himself lying on an exceptionally comfortable bed; never in his life had he slept on anything so soft.

He recalled, after some effort, that he had arrived at the entrance to a certain inn, had been carried inside in a daze, and that someone had treated his injuries.

He tried to circulate his inner energy. Though there was still some sluggishness, the three acupoints—Tianchi, Qimen, and Juque—where golden needles had been inserted, were now unblocked.

His energy returned to his dantian. He touched those spots; the needles had already been removed.

From outside came the faint sound of a zither, drifting in on the wind and snow like a clear, cold spring, gentle and pure, yet carrying with it a sense of vitality.

Bai Yufei rose, left the room, and found the music lingering in the corridor, vague yet present.

His hearing was extraordinary, and he traced the melody to its source.

To be honest, while the zither's mood was lofty, the technique itself was not particularly remarkable. Once, in the capital's Drunken Fragrance Pavilion, Bai Yufei had heard one of the courtesans play a tune with far more finesse. Compared to her, this music was rather rough.

Yet, for reasons unknown, he found himself more willing to listen here—perhaps because there was a sense of ease in this melody, unburdened by the courtesan's sorrow.

He finally located the room from which the music came—a room set apart from the others, suggesting its unusual status.

The door was open, and there was no one nearby.

As Bai Yufei reached the threshold, the music stopped abruptly.

“New wine, green as ants, in a red-clay stove. Evening falls, snow is about to descend—care to share a cup?”

The poem's words were plain, yet Bai Yufei found them exquisite, as if someone had forged a peerless swordplay from the simplest moves.

Moreover, like the music, the poem bore an ineffable joy.

"Since you are here, why do you hesitate at the door?" came a youthful voice, even a bit boyish, not especially melodious, as if its owner was still in the throes of adolescence.

Hearing this, Bai Yufei saw no reason to linger. Inside the room was another, separated by a bamboo curtain.

He parted the curtain, expecting to find elegant furnishings, but the room was bare but for freshly painted walls, a tea table in the middle, and a guqin resting not far away.

Before the table sat a refined youth, cross-legged, appearing about fifteen—like a figure from a painting.

On the table was not tea, but wine. The surface of the wine was flecked with floating lees, like green ants.

A single wine pot, two cups.

With the words "care to share a cup," how could Bai Yufei not understand the unspoken invitation?

He sat opposite the youth, imitating his posture, and noticed that he was not much taller than the other. Yet the youth bore an air of nobility that made Bai Yufei feel diminished by comparison—and reminded him, with a jolt, of the one who had wounded him!

"I am Bai Yufei. Thank you for saving my life, Young Master Jade," he said.

“You’re an honest man, it seems. You must have known I could save you, so you fled here on purpose,” Shen Lian replied with a gentle laugh, as snow began to fall again outside.

He had left the window open, so despite the small stove in the room, a chill lingered.

Yet Shen Lian seemed unaffected by the cold, his clothing not especially thick.

Bai Yufei was not usually bothered by cold, but his injuries had not fully healed, and days of travel had worn him down; now, a gust of cold wind made him shiver and cough.

Shen Lian shook his head, waved his hand, and the window closed with a palm technique.

Bai Yufei secretly marveled. There were those in the martial world who could unleash forceful palm strikes; if not injured, he could manage it himself. But to close a window two zhang away with such casual ease—few could do so.

Moreover, for one so young to possess such cultivation, he was truly a prodigy in the martial arts. No wonder even the proud King of the Golden Blade had yielded to him.

"Forgive me for causing you trouble by fleeing here, young master," Bai Yufei said with a cupped fist. "If you mind, I will leave at once. Should I survive, I will certainly return to repay your kindness."

“From your accent, you must be from Yan Prefecture, thousands of miles away. How did you end up fleeing to Qingzhou in the dead of winter?”

“Perhaps you do not know much of the martial world, young master. I have some renown there. When money is tight, I sometimes borrow a few valuables from households like yours to tide me over. Out of courtesy, I always notify the owners in advance, and I have never failed. Because of this, my peers have dubbed me the ‘Saint of Thieves,’ though I am unworthy of the title,” Bai Yufei explained.

“So the famed ‘Saint of Thieves’ stands before me. Your real name is Bai Yufei? I did not know that. If I am not mistaken, not only is your lightness skill superb, but your blade work is also first rate. May I ask, who was it that drove you to such desperation?”

Shen Lian was indeed not well versed in the affairs of the martial world, but in recent years he had heard of the Saint of Thieves—a chivalrous figure famed across the land.

He had imagined a graceful young noble, like Chu Liuxiang from the tales. He was surprised to find instead a country youth of ordinary appearance—though the name Bai Yufei did suit the image of the Saint of Thieves.

In truth, such master thieves were usually plain in appearance, so as not to attract attention; the gallant gentlemen of popular fiction were almost nonexistent in reality.

ps: Thanks to Qian Xuzi, Drunken Solitude, and Fly Higher for their support.