Late Song on the Lake

Night lay over the heart of the lake.

Chen Qing had been awakened by the cold.

He abruptly opened his eyes. Above him was a low roof thatched with straw, with specks of starlight peeking through the gaps. The air was thick with the smell of fish, herbs, and... a faint trace of blood.

He struggled to sit up. In the moonlight filtering through the broken window, he saw the tattered hemp cloth covering him. It seemed the household had given him their only blanket to keep out the cold.

Just as he tried to stand, his ears suddenly began to ring, and the world spun around him.

Fragments of memory slowly pieced themselves together: towering waves, churning lake water, dazzling blue light tearing open the sky, and meteors crashing down like rain...

For a moment, Chen Qing could not tell whether he had been reborn or reincarnated.

"Creak—"

The wooden door swung open, and a hunched figure came in carrying a pottery bowl. It was the old fisherman who had saved him. Everyone in the village called him Uncle Po. He limped as he walked, dragging his right leg along the ground.

"You're awake?" He held out the bowl. "Drink this. The King of Hell wouldn't take you, and even the lake demon couldn't drag you away. You've got a hard life."

The bowl held a murky medicinal brew, with a few blue petals Chen Qing had never seen floating in it. They gave off a strangely bitter fragrance.

Chen Qing took it. His fingertips felt the warmth of the bowl, but his gaze drifted to his open left palm.

A burn mark stood out clearly in the center of his palm.

Its strange shape resembled a Star Mark.

The previous night, as he sank into the icy depths of the lake, he had clutched a fragment radiating scorching blue light in his final moments of consciousness.

The fragment had been searing hot to the touch, as though it would melt through his very soul. Then came a tearing pain, followed by darkness. Now the fragment was gone, leaving behind only this bizarre brand.

He instinctively touched the Star Mark, but felt nothing.

"Uncle... where is this?" Chen Qing asked, his voice hoarse and uncertain.

Uncle Po sat down beside the earthen stove and fed a handful of dried grass into its firebox. The flames leaped, illuminating his aged face.

"Something wicked's going on! A Star Rain like this comes once in a hundred years. It hit Falling Star Lake so hard it was boiling! Thunder rumbled like the sky was collapsing, and the waves rose several yards high. They even smashed down several of the old willows on the shore! Everyone in the village says the demon dragon at the bottom of the lake turned over in its sleep."

His cloudy eyes flicked toward Chen Qing. "You were lucky, boy. The waves swept you onto the beach, covered in blood, still clutching half a broken fishing net. There, it's hanging over there."

Chen Qing followed his gaze. A tattered fishing net hung on the wall.

"Thank you for saving my life, Uncle." Chen Qing lowered his voice and drank the bitter medicine in one go. A warm current slid down his throat, driving back some of the chill in his body.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't just watch you become fish food." Uncle Po waved his hand. "Take it easy and recover. Those wounds look frightening, but they haven't touched your bones. It's just..." He paused, his cloudy gaze sweeping over Chen Qing's face. "You don't look like an ordinary farm lad. With what happened last night, an ordinary person would've been feeding the Dragon King by now."

Chen Qing's heart tightened, but he managed a weak smile. "I'm too lowly for Heaven to bother taking me."

Over the next few days, Chen Qing stayed in Uncle Po's ramshackle hut by the lake.

With a fragrant blue herb Uncle Po had gathered applied to his shoulder, the wound healed at an astonishing speed. Even the scar faded until it was barely visible.

Uncle Po clicked his tongue in amazement, saying only that the family remedy was especially potent.

Only Chen Qing knew that whenever he tried to regulate his breathing according to some hazy recollection in his mind late at night, the Star Mark in his palm would grow warm. A pure, gentle current would then flow toward the wound, speeding its recovery.

The discovery left him unsettled.

He also began observing this unfamiliar world.

Most of the villagers were fishermen. They wore coarse cloth jackets and trousers, and spoke with thick accents.

They feared Falling Star Lake and called it "Demon Lake." Especially after the Star Rain, panic spread through the village.

The water in the old well at the eastern end of the village had somehow taken on a faint blue tinge. The Widow Wang's chickens and ducks had grown agitated overnight and pecked several of their own to death. Some even swore they had heard a muffled "heartbeat" coming from the bottom of the lake at night.

This was nothing like the world he knew. It seemed something like the martial arts world of a novel—or perhaps a world of immortal cultivation.

He had once "accidentally" seen a traveler, a burly man said to have practiced a few days of boxing. The man punched a boulder as big as a millstone, and a crack appeared in it with a sharp snap! The onlookers cried out, "Such powerful inner force!" Chen Qing saw clearly that a faint layer of flowing energy seemed to cover the man's fist as he struck. The man himself said only that he was a Westflow Martial Artist.

Above his level were second-rate and first-rate experts, and even those who had reached the pseudo-grandmaster realm.

This earth-shattering revelation made him realize that something was amiss with this world.

To repay Uncle Po, Chen Qing went out fishing with him once his wounds had healed somewhat.

Falling Star Lake was vast, its waters deep and dark. Especially after the Star Rain, specks of blue light occasionally flashed in its depths, vanishing in an instant.

Chen Qing was a clumsy fisherman, yet he possessed an odd sort of perception.

He could "feel" the direction of schools of fish beneath the water, and could even vaguely "see" strange energy fluctuations in certain areas of the lakebed. There was no doubt that this, too, was a change brought about by the Star Mark in his palm.

One morning, a thin mist shrouded the lake as Chen Qing and Uncle Po rowed their old boat into the shallows to set their net.

Chen Qing focused his mind and tried to channel a wisp of the faint energy drawn from the Star Mark through his fingertips and silently into the lake. He wanted to see if he could drive the fish into their net.

The result was beyond his expectations.

It was as if a pebble had been tossed into the still lake. Nearly invisible ripples spread outward from his fingertip.

The next moment, several silver-scaled carp seemed to have been startled by something. Panicked, they shot straight into the fishing net!

"Hey! That's incredible!" Uncle Po swiftly hauled up the net. At the flopping catch inside, especially the strange fish with blue-tinged scales, he grinned from ear to ear. "Chen, you really are a lucky star! Haven't seen a Star-Spotted Carp with blue scales in years! They say fish touched by starlight can ward off evil!"

Chen Qing managed a smile, though beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead.

That seemingly simple trick had drained nearly all the energy he had built up over the past month.

At noon, they brought their catch to the humble fish market on the shore. The fishy smell mingled with sweat and voices, filling the place with the clamor of everyday life.

Chen Qing's Star-Spotted Carp attracted plenty of curious stares.

While Uncle Po haggled with a customer, three men with open jackets and roguish faces shoved their way over. The leader, a scar-faced man, kicked over a fish basket belonging to a nearby vendor.

"Old cripple, looks like you had a good catch today." The scar-faced man glanced sidelong at him, greedily eyeing the blue-scaled fish that stood out from the rest. "That 'demon fish' looks mighty cursed. Selling it here, aren't you afraid of bringing disaster on yourself? I'll take it off your hands. Call it a good deed!" As he spoke, he reached for it.

Uncle Po's expression changed. He instinctively shielded the fish basket. "Scar, this... this is supposed to pay for my medicine..."

"Get lost!" the scar-faced man snapped, shoving him impatiently. Uncle Po's leg was already bad, and he stumbled backward.

Chen Qing's pupils contracted. A nameless fury mingled with the strange energy in his body, surging through him in an instant.

He instinctively stepped forward. Just as the scar-faced man's hand was about to touch the basket, Chen Qing's right middle finger shot out like lightning, aiming not at the man, but at the rusty cleaver hanging from his waist!

Clink!

A faint metallic ring was drowned out by the market's hubbub.

The scar-faced man felt immense force strike him at the waist, sending him stumbling backward several steps.

He looked down in shock. The tip of his broad-backed cleaver had simply vanished! The break was as smooth as a mirror, as if some divine weapon had sliced it off in an instant!

"You... what the hell did you do?!" the scar-faced man shouted, shocked and furious, glaring at Chen Qing. Chen Qing said nothing, only helping Uncle Po to his feet.

Someone nearby had sharp eyes. Pointing at the scrap of metal on the ground, they cried, "Oh! Scar, that knife of yours is brittle as anything! It just broke on its own, didn't it?"

"Exactly! It's just a scrap of pig iron. Worthless!" The onlookers burst into laughter.

No one had seen Chen Qing move, and no one believed that the slender young man could have done it.

The scar-faced man flushed red amid the laughter. He glanced suspiciously at his broken knife tip, then at Chen Qing's calm expression. In the end, he put it down to bad luck and cursed as he shoved his way out of the crowd with his men.

"Chen... you..." Uncle Po looked at him, his expression complicated.

"Just a coincidence. Scar's knife was probably cracked already." Chen Qing brushed it off as he bent to pick up the broken tip. It was cold and heavy in his hand.

Only he knew that in that instant, what had gathered at his fingertip wasn't any inner force, but a wisp of energy from the Star Mark, carrying a cold, tearing sensation.

The energy was incredibly powerful. That single wisp had nearly drained all the strength he had just recovered.

Power. Strange and dangerous power. In this bizarre world, where it seemed everyone possessed "inner force," was this power a shield—or a death warrant?

At dusk, the setting sun dyed Falling Star Lake blood-red. Suddenly, a heart-rending wail and a child's scream rang out from the village entrance!

"Little Stone! Little Stone fell in the lake!"

Chen Qing and Uncle Po rushed to the lakeshore. Several women stood there, pointing at the churning water ten yards from shore and crying out.

A child's head bobbed above the surface for an instant, then vanished beneath a wave! Several strong young men on the shore jumped about in panic, but not one dared enter the deep water. The lake had just been struck by the Star Rain, and legend said a demon dragon lurked there.

There was no time to think! Chen Qing's gaze sharpened as he forcefully roused the faint energy in his body once more. He stamped on the ground and shot forward like an arrow loosed from its string—not into the water, but onto a broad, yellowed reed leaf drifting on the shore!

"Has he gone mad?!" someone on the bank cried out.

Chen Qing's foot touched down on the soft reed leaf, yet it sank only slightly without turning over! His feet moved in swift succession, each step landing precisely on a floating leaf or broken branch!

His figure made several bounds across the blood-red lake, like a swallow skimming over the water.

"Swallow... Swallow Gate! Is that Swallow Gate's peerless lightness skill, Treading Waves Flying Swallow?!" an old boatman cried out, his eyes wide with shock.

Chen Qing had no time to pay attention. Every push-off consumed tremendous focus and that strange power.

He reached the spot where the child had sunk and plunged headfirst into the lake without hesitation. The water was dark, but guided by his strange perception, he quickly located the sinking figure, grabbed hold, and kicked hard toward the surface.

When he returned to shore, drenched and holding the choking, unconscious child, he was met with deathly silence. Then the crowd erupted in joyous cheers, grateful to have escaped a tragedy.

The child's mother rushed over and embraced the child, bowing to Chen Qing again and again. Countless gazes fixed on him—awed, grateful, curious, disbelieving...

Chen Qing panted as water dripped from his hair.

He quietly clenched his left fist. He had overused the energy in his body, and now he felt weak.

Chen Qing avoided those complicated looks and gazed toward the depths of Falling Star Lake. The sun's last rays sank beneath the surface, leaving it dark as ink and bottomless.

Night fell once more. From this night on, the legends of Falling Star Lake would likely have a new protagonist—a mysterious young man who knew the peerless Swallow Gate lightness skill.

Chen Qing knew that the peaceful life of this fishing village was about to change.

Yet in the distance, beneath the shadow of an old locust tree outside the village, a small figure crouched, her clear black-and-white eyes fixed unblinkingly on Chen Qing in the middle of the crowd.