However, as for the empty temple by the roadside...

Brian Carter glanced at the two tables of jianghu people nearby.

It should be their first choice, right?

After thanking the shopkeeper, Brian Carter continued on his way.

As the day gradually passed noon, the weather today was as fine as yesterday, and the Emerald Cloud Corridor under the sunlight was breathtakingly beautiful.

If one had the leisure, walking here would truly be an enjoyment.

Brian Carter followed behind a few porters for a while, matching their pace exactly. With someone leading the way, walking saved a lot of mental effort.

Sometimes, following them, he found small streams and mountain springs beside the ancient road. Seeing them scoop water with their hands to drink, he did the same. Sometimes, when they stopped to rest, relying on his Daoist robe, he would chat with them for a bit, ask about the length of the road, listen to stories of other places and their dialects—all counted as gains.

In the afternoon, the sun continued to scorch, cicadas chirped noisily, and there was no sign at all of yesterday’s heavy rain and thick fog, nor of the ghosts that had appeared in the mist.

When Brian Carter stopped to rest, he couldn’t help but doze off for a while.

When he woke, the group of dark, thin porters had long since disappeared, leaving only the empty ancient stone road, dappled sunlight under the trees, and a string of small pits in the middle of the stone slabs, stretching deep into the shaded ancient path—the direction the porters had gone, with no end in sight.

Brian Carter had no choice but to shoulder his pack and, following these small pits, walk on alone once more.

He had just seen it—

Those porters, leaning on bamboo and wooden staffs, as if by tradition, would precisely plant them in these pits every time. It seemed that not only did they walk the same road as their porter ancestors from centuries past, but even their strides were the same length.

Centuries of water wearing away stone had created these indelible marks on the road—wasn’t this a kind of inheritance, too?

Walking like this, he felt that every stone slab and ancient cypress beneath his feet was a witness to time. As Brian Carter’s gaze flickered, he recalled his master’s words from the other day:

“Do you think that sitting in meditation, breathing exercises, reading, and practicing in these mountains is what cultivation means?”

Brian Carter knew at once—she wanted him to go down the mountain.

That old Daoist had also traveled the great rivers and roamed the world in her youth, which was why she had such solid cultivation. She never believed that sitting idly was the same as cultivation. Besides, as Brian Carter already knew, every generation at Fulong Temple had to go down the mountain to travel—some for longer, some for shorter, but never an exception.

Sure enough, he soon heard her say:

“You should go down the mountain—travel across mountains, rivers, and lakes, see the world and human life. Seek out famous mountains and immortal masters if you wish, or have chance encounters with demons and ghosts if you must. Go see the real world you can’t see on the mountain. In those thousands of miles, you’ll find your cultivation, and perhaps something that interests you.”

So she knew all along...

Well, down the mountain it is. Brian Carter also wanted to see what other interesting things this world had besides monsters and spirits.

Unknowingly, dusk approached.

Brian Carter stopped in front of a temple by the roadside, shook out his pack, and looked up at the couplets on either side of the temple gate, unconsciously reciting them softly:

“Who hasn’t walked this road?

“That matter—I advise you not to do!”

This was a village temple built by a nearby village, a single room, with all sorts of gods enshrined inside—Buddhist and Daoist deities, as well as local gods, mostly people of virtue and reputation who had become deities after death. Behind each statue was a name, and some even had their life stories written.

The village temple wasn’t far from the Emerald Cloud Corridor, and travelers often spent the night here.

Brian Carter had already decided to stay here for the night.

Stepping through the gate, he saw incense still burning. Brian Carter first bowed to the statues, apologized for the disturbance, then found a corner far from the door, bent down to blow away the dust on the ground, and sat cross-legged against the wall.

The ground was icy cold at first, gradually warming up under him.

Later, seven or eight more people arrived, just as Brian Carter had guessed—almost all were jianghu people, carrying knives and swords.

They had no choice but to stay here as well.

Throughout the dynasties, to restrict population movement, commoners were usually not allowed to travel freely. But these rules only worked on honest folk; merchants, jianghu people, and Daoists like Brian Carter all had their own ways.

Traveling merchants with legitimate business had travel permits and used official routes.

Some jianghu people had permits, some didn’t, but all had their own methods. However, it was hard for them to stay at inns along the way, so they had to find their own solutions.

Fortunately, there were many temples in Dayan. Whether staffed or deserted, most could be used for lodging—just avoid the licentious or heretical shrines. There was no shortage of bold and skilled jianghu warriors who would even dare to sleep in haunted, ruined temples.

This temple by the official road was, of course, a proper one.

Perhaps because they were all disliked by the authorities, or perhaps because they valued social connections, these jianghu people, whether they knew each other or not, would greet one another and soon be chatting together. Even the more reserved ones, when greeted, would immediately return the courtesy, not daring to be negligent for fear of ruining their reputation.

These people were noisy, chatting late into the night.

Some even came to bother Brian Carter, but after realizing he wasn’t one of them, they left him alone.

Brian Carter was not afraid.

Though these jianghu people looked fierce, they actually followed their own code. In this world, even mountain bandits, when meeting monks or Daoists, would usually not cause trouble.