Returning Home!

Wang Sheng turned a page in his book, then suddenly looked up and asked, "Boss, hasn't that Grandmaster of yours come to see you lately?"

Tang San shook his head. "No."

"That's strange,"

Wang Sheng scratched his head,

"I thought he'd cling to you and refuse to let go. He used to be so eager about students with even a little talent, practically following them around every day. You've got Innate Full Soul Power, yet he's stopped coming?"

Tang San didn't answer.

Because he was wondering the same thing himself—why had Yu Xiaogang been so quiet lately?

He'd even given away Twenty-Four Moonlit Bridges, a top-grade Storage Soul Tool so valuable that money couldn't buy it. He'd just handed it over.

By normal logic, after giving someone such a huge benefit, shouldn't he have been showing up every day to make his presence felt?

Unless he was waiting for something.

Tang San couldn't figure it out, so he simply stopped thinking about it.

He picked up Advanced Plant-Type Martial Souls from beside the bed, opened it to where he'd left off, and continued reading.

From Huang Fei's bed came the steady sound of breathing.

He wasn't pretending. He was really asleep.

Outside the window, the north wind howled, tearing the last few ginkgo leaves from the branches, sending them swirling through the air before they drifted gently down.

Winter came earlier in Nuoding City than in Holy Soul Village, and night fell quickly. It was only evening, but the sky was already mostly dark.

Wang Sheng lit the oil lamp in Dorm Seven, and its orange glow spread across the large shared bed.

A few work-study students huddled together, talking in low voices, while several others had already burrowed under their blankets.

Tang San read for a while, then felt his eyes growing tired. He closed the book and rubbed his brow.

He turned to look out the window.

A few stars had appeared in the pitch-black sky at some point.

They weren't big, but they were bright, twinkling in the darkness.

Tang San gazed at them for a while, and a thought suddenly came to him—once vacation began and he returned to Holy Soul Village, he would organize everything he'd learned during this time.

The circulation of the Mysterious Heaven Skill, the footwork of Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track, his techniques for controlling Blue Silver Grass, and the uses of his First Soul Ring.

He felt that these things were scattered in his mind, not yet linked together.

He needed to find some time to sit quietly and sort them out.

As for Huang Fei—

Tang San glanced at the bed beside him.

At some point, Huang Fei had rolled over. One arm stuck out from under his blanket, revealing the red knot tied around his wrist—the Peace Knot Old Jack had made for each of them before they left. He'd said it was a bit of good luck for them while they studied away from home.

Tang San tucked Huang Fei's arm back under the blanket, then blew out the oil lamp beside his bed.

Dorm Seven sank into darkness and silence.

Only Wang Sheng's snores continued, one after another, as steady as the swing of a pendulum.

The carriage bumped along the dirt road for an entire day. At last, in the evening, the outline of Holy Soul Village appeared in the distance.

Old Jack had received word ahead of time and was waiting at the village entrance. He wore a cotton-padded jacket washed so often its color had faded, his hands tucked into his sleeves, his back hunched like an old tree bent by the wind. When he saw the carriage stop, his eyes lit up, and the wrinkles on his face gathered into a smile.

"You're back? You're back, that's wonderful. You're back, that's wonderful," he repeated, his voice trembling and his eyes reddening.

Huang Fei jumped down from the carriage. The first thing he did wasn't exchange greetings with Old Jack, but turn and pull a large bundle from the carriage. It was sewn from coarse cloth, bulging and clearly heavy. He shoved it into Old Jack's arms and brushed the dust off it.

"Grandpa Jack, this is for you."

Old Jack froze, his hands trembling around the bundle. "Th-this is what?"

"Money and some things," Huang Fei said casually, as if he were saying, "Nice weather today." "There's a bag of Gold Soul Coins—enough for you to live comfortably in the village for a few years. There are also several bolts of cloth, for making padded jackets for winter. And some tonics. You're getting old; you ought to build yourself up."

Old Jack's hands trembled even harder. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but it was as if something had lodged in his throat. For a long while, no sound came out.

Seeing him like this, Huang Fei felt a pang in his heart, but didn't let it show on his face. He patted Old Jack on the shoulder and said, like a little adult, "Don't get all emotional yet. This is just the first batch. There'll be more later."

Old Jack finally couldn't hold back. Tears streamed down the wrinkles of his face. He didn't refuse, because he knew this was the child's heartfelt gift. Clutching the heavy bundle, he stood in the twilight at the village entrance and wept like a child.

Tang San watched from nearby, his own nose stinging. He remembered how Old Jack had borrowed a work-study student spot from the neighboring village, how he'd driven them to Nuoding City in his carriage, and how he'd waved goodbye to them at the village entrance with red eyes.

He and Huang Fei both remembered this kindness.

"Grandpa Jack, we'll head in first," Tang San said with a smile, composing himself. "I'll take Xiao Wu to see my home."

Only then did Old Jack notice the little girl standing beside Tang San. She wore pink clothes and had a ponytail, with big, bright eyes as she tilted her head and studied him curiously. Old Jack froze, then broke into a smile through his tears. "Good, good. What a pretty girl. Go on, your home's been cleaned regularly by Grandma Jack and me. It's not dirty."

Xiao Wu greeted him cheerfully, "Hello, Grandpa Jack," then followed Tang San away.

Huang Fei watched Tang San and Xiao Wu's backs disappear at the end of the village road, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

The show was about to begin.

He didn't follow them. Instead, he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Behind Holy Soul Village was a small hillside covered in wildflowers. From there, you could see the whole village and the fields beyond. If you stood behind the large tree on the slope, you could also see the path at the foot of the hill that led to Tang San's home—as well as the little woods behind the hill.

Huang Fei chose a perfect spot and sat down in the grass behind the tree, leaning against its trunk, stretching out his legs, and settling into the most comfortable position he could find.

From here, he had a clear view of Tang San's backyard and the little woods behind the hill.

He waited.

When Tang San pushed open the gate to his home, he suddenly had a bad feeling.

The courtyard was too quiet.

Every time he'd come back before, he'd seen his father, Tang Hao, sitting on the threshold drinking, or hammering away in the smithy at the back of the yard. Even when he wasn't outside, there'd always been some sound in the house—the rustle of things being moved, footsteps, or simply snoring.

But now, there was nothing.

The courtyard was as silent as an empty tomb.

Tang San hurried inside and looked through the main room, kitchen, and bedroom—no one was there. The stove was cold, the water jar was dry, and even the hammer his father never left behind was gone.

Then he saw the letter on the table.

There were no words on the envelope, but Tang San recognized the rough paper. It was the cheapest kind of straw paper, the sort his father bought from the general store. He opened the envelope and took out a sheet of paper folded twice. It bore only a few terse lines, the handwriting so hurried and messy it looked as if his father had written it on the road.