Sailing the Great River

Unlike what Qin Sang had imagined, the white-robed youth looked very young, only about fifteen or sixteen years old, with a face like jade, sword-like brows and starry eyes. Though his face was smeared with many blades of grass, it did not diminish his elegance. He was the most handsome youth Qin Sang had seen in two lifetimes.

The young boy's eyes were wide open, as if questioning the heavens.

Qin Sang gently closed the white-robed youth's eyes, hesitated for a moment, and then began searching his body as well.

The young boy was even cleaner than the Demon Lord. Qin Sang searched everything, even his undergarments, and only found a Seven-Colored Brocade Pouch.

The pouch was the size of a palm, adorned with exquisite cloud patterns, made of excellent material, feeling even smoother than the finest silk from his previous life. The top was tied with a beautiful silk ribbon and hung at the youth's waist. At first, Qin Sang thought it was a sachet, but later realized it wasn't; it seemed to contain nothing inside.

Qin Sang tried but couldn't open the pouch. That ribbon was unbelievably strong.

What about that flying sword?

Thinking of the flying sword, Qin Sang's heart burned with excitement. In both his past and present lives, legends of sword immortals were everywhere, each one incredibly captivating and inspiring.

But Qin Sang looked left and right—where was the shadow of a flying sword?

He picked up the white-robed youth's hands and frowned, finding them tightly clenched, as if holding something. He hurriedly pried them open. In the left hand were some pale gravel fragments; from the right hand fell a small wooden sword.

Qin Sang picked up the sword. Its surface seemed to have a dark luster, like an Ebony Sword. The carving was very fine, with some patterns on the blade, probably the natural wood grain of the material. Unfortunately, there were no inscriptions.

This Ebony Sword was only as long as a little finger, quite heavy in the hand, but had no blade. The tip couldn't even pierce a finger; it was like a toy.

Qin Sang frowned, recalling the scene when he saw the flying sword, and realized the flying sword looked exactly like the Ebony Sword, but much larger, the size of a normal sword.

Were these terrifying ravines caused by this little sword?

Qin Sang wrapped everything in sheepskin and tucked it into his chest like the black-clad man had done. Suddenly, he heard crackling sounds coming continuously. Lifting himself up, he saw that the flames from the tree had somehow spread to the grassy bank. The wind was gentle here, and the riverbank was covered in yellow grass that caught fire easily. The blaze was about to take off.

Careless!

Qin Sang cursed under his breath. There was no time to collect the bodies, so he bowed to the white-robed youth and said softly, "I do not know your name or origins, sir. I will keep this pouch as a token. If I ever have the chance to find your family, I will return it to its rightful owner!"

With that, Qin Sang stared at the youth for a moment, memorized his face, and crawled skillfully toward the river.

Seeing the fire rushing toward him at an alarming speed, Qin Sang grew anxious. He hastily grabbed two money pouches from the bandits, frantically tied the raft together, pushed it into the river, grabbed a knife, and climbed aboard. The next moment, the flames engulfed the riverbank.

'Whoosh...'

The fierce fire blazed, thick smoke billowing.

The raft drifted with the current. Qin Sang assessed the situation; the water was indeed gentle, so he relaxed and turned to stare at the sea of flames.

In the blink of an eye, dozens of lives were gone, their bones turned to ash, including two mysterious immortal masters. Yet Qin Sang felt no great turmoil in his heart, only exhaustion to the extreme.

He forced himself to stay alert, took a few dry flatbreads he had taken from the bandits, wolfed them down with river water, then remembered the belongings he had risked his life for. He quickly took them out and sorted through them.

The two money pouches mostly contained gold, worth nearly a hundred taels of silver, enough for him to squander for a while. But Qin Sang casually counted them and put them away.

He wrapped the book and the pouch in sheepskin and tucked them close to his chest. Then he pulled a few cotton threads from his clothes, tied the small sword, hung it around his neck, and hid it under his collar.

The small sword was unremarkable. Even if an outsider saw it, they would only think it was a wooden amulet, never suspecting it was an immortal's flying sword.

He had planned to go ashore for help as soon as he saw a village or town, but after drifting for a long time, there was no sign of human habitation. Qin Sang cut a branch to splint his calf, lay down on the raft, fiddled with the small sword in his fingers, and stared back at the sky, where faint traces of drifting smoke could still be seen.

Another car accident!

That terrifying dark vortex appeared again and again, this time lasting especially long and spinning faster and faster.

Qin Sang's whole body went cold, and he felt like he was suffocating. He suddenly sat up in shock, only to find himself still on the raft. It had just been a nightmare. After escaping danger, his mind had relaxed, and in his exhaustion, he had fallen asleep on the raft.

He didn't know how long he had slept, but it was already night. The starry sky had no moon, and a few specks of starlight scattered on the water, shattered into fragments by the layers of waves.

'Splash!'

Suddenly a wave crashed over him. Qin Sang shivered, fully awake, and realized he was soaked through. The river here was turbulent, with constant waves, far from the calm of the day.

The raft rose and fell among the waves. Qin Sang looked down and broke out in a cold sweat. Ahead on the water was a huge whirlpool, and the raft was drifting toward its center. No wonder he had been dreaming of that scene.

Knowing the terror of whirlpools in water, Qin Sang was horrified. He then noticed that the raft had somehow drifted into a wide, great river, with surging waters and fierce winds and waves.

He was alone on a single raft in the middle of the river, with nothing to rely on. He could only paddle desperately with his knife, but it had little effect.

Just then, a shout came from behind.

"Hey, kid on the raft! Stop paddling! Grab the rope!"

Qin Sang turned his head and saw a large ship stopped on the river. In the darkness, he could only make out a dark silhouette and a few points of light. A lantern was lowered from the ship, and then it traced an arc into the river. Only then did Qin Sang see clearly that it was held in someone's hand.

This person held a lantern in one hand and a rope in the other. The moment his foot touched the water, he tapped it lightly and leaped up again. Thus, he walked on the water without sinking, treading the waves as if on flat ground.

Another immortal master?

Qin Sang stared wide-eyed.

"Watch closely!"

Halfway there, the man shouted again, swung his arm fiercely, and hurled the rope into the air. It shot toward Qin Sang with a 'whoosh,' fast at first, but by the time it was about to reach him, much of its force had dissipated. Qin Sang quickly threw away his knife, struggled to his feet, grabbed the rope end, wrapped it around his waist without a moment's delay, and held on for dear life.

Seeing Qin Sang's quick thinking, the man praised him, swung the lantern, and shouted back, "Pull the rope!"

A shout came from the ship, the rope snapped taut, and a tremendous force lifted Qin Sang straight into the air. As he was about to crash headfirst into the ship's railing, Qin Sang shut his eyes in terror.

The man kicked hard against the water, leaped into the air, grabbed Qin Sang by the collar, stepped on the ship's side, and in a few bounds, landed on the deck.