Behind and to the side of the courtyard where Li Yan lived, a narrow path wound toward some unknown place on the mountain peak. It was only wide enough for two people to walk abreast, paved with fine gravel. Ink bamboo swayed on both sides. Small Bamboo Peak was a sea of ink bamboo, and it was everywhere.
The ink bamboo along this path was unlike the thick, sturdy bamboo near the mountainside and Li Yan's courtyard. Each stalk was only as thick as a finger and slightly taller than a person, like tender bamboo and slender willows. When the breeze passed, the branches and stalks gently swayed with a rustling sound. This was already halfway up Small Bamboo Peak, which soared straight into the clouds. From time to time, a few white clouds would slowly drift out from among the thin bamboo groves, then float away in the next moment.
As Li Yan walked along the path, the drifting clouds occasionally brushed past his waist or lightly swept over his head before disappearing into the thin bamboo grove on the other side of the path. It felt as though he were strolling through clouds and mist.
As he walked, Li Yan pondered his problems. Recently, he had come here once every few days. His destination was a platform roughly twenty li uphill from the small ink-bamboo courtyard where he lived. He had found it some time ago and considered it a rather good place to practice.
The clock turned back to more than half a year ago. When Li Yan had first begun cultivating, his progress in both cultivation techniques and immortal arts had been fairly normal. Yet after cultivating for around ten days, a string of incomprehensible—even bizarre—events had occurred.
First, his spiritual power had begun to improve