I attained sainthood through alchemy on the cliff.

Chapter 14 Old Grudges and Fangs

The so-called "market" in Heishan'ao is just a few scattered stalls selling mountain products and medicinal herbs on a flat area at the entrance to the mountain.

At this time, the search of the mountain by the Sun family caused widespread panic, making the place even more deserted.

In the corner, a crooked, low-ceilinged blacksmith shop with its furnace long since extinguished is the most inconspicuous corner of this desolate place.

In front of the shop, Zhao Kun stood with his hands behind his back. His dark blue outfit made him look like a pine tree, which seemed out of place in the dilapidated environment.

His hawk-like gaze fell on the gaunt figure huddled in the tattered rattan chair in the shop.

"Uncle Chen, how have you been?"

Zhao Kun spoke, his voice flat and emotionless, revealing neither joy nor anger.

The old man in the rattan chair was none other than Chen Shan, the former brilliant disciple of the Iron Bone Martial Arts School and the school master's fellow disciple.

Now, his beard and hair are like tangled, withered grass, his face is sallow, his eyes are sunken, and his patched gray cloth clothes are covered with dust and rust. He wears a pair of worn-out, open-toed shoes. Only when he occasionally raises his eyelids can one vaguely see a glimpse of his former glory in the murky light that flashes deep in his eyes.

"Heh... It's Junior Nephew Zhao." Chen Shan let out a low, bellows-like laugh, his eyelids drooping, not even glancing at Zhao Kun. "What wind blew you, the most favored person under the master, to this remote mountain valley? I don't have the 'good iron' you're looking for here."

Zhao Kun seemed not to hear the distant and mocking "nephew," his gaze sweeping over the dusty anvil and rusted hammer and pliers in the shop, finally settling on an open old wooden box at Chen Shan's feet.

Several equally worn-out booklets were scattered haphazardly inside the box.

He took two steps forward, bent down, and picked up the top book with two fingers; it was the "Mountain-Splitting Style".

The booklet's edges are worn and the paper is yellowed.

"Yellow-grade Yellow Rank, 'Mountain Splitting Style'." Zhao Kun shook the booklet, a barely perceptible sneer curling at the corner of his mouth. "I never imagined that Master Chen, who was the first among the younger generation of the martial arts school to touch the threshold of 'momentum' and was praised by my grandmaster as having 'the ambition to establish a new school,' would now be reduced to selling these... 'rags' that even the outer disciples find too crude to eat? What a cruel twist of fate."

He emphasized the word "broken" a little more.

Chen Shan's withered fingers twitched almost imperceptibly, then relaxed again, as if all the bones in his body had fallen apart. He sneered, "Even a cripple has to eat. These 'trash' can be exchanged for two fox pelts, enough for this old man to eat thin porridge for a few days. Isn't that better than lying in the martial arts school, relying on people to give me scraps? If Junior Nephew Zhao doesn't like them, just put them down. Don't get your hands dirty."

Zhao Kun stared at Chen Shan for a moment, as if trying to determine whether this former genius had truly become a complete failure, reduced to a pathetic wretch who could only spout sour words.

He casually tossed the "Mountain Splitting Style" back into the wooden box, making a soft "snap" sound.

"Senior Uncle is too kind. I have come here for two reasons: first, I am ordered to investigate the 'corpse transformation' at Black Mountain Pass; secondly..."

He paused, his tone becoming flat, yet carrying an even colder sense of detachment. "I was also sent by my master to visit you, my senior uncle. My master said that life in the mountains is tough, and told you... 'Take care of yourself.' Also, my master's wife... oh, now I should call her the curator's wife, she often talks about you lately, saying that you were once very proud and arrogant. I wonder if you are doing well now, working as a blacksmith and selling books in these mountains? She told you... 'Take care of yourself.'"

A subtle ripple seemed to spread across Chen Shan's cloudy eyes, but it was instantly covered by a deeper weariness and numbness.

He chuckled twice, a self-deprecating and desolate sound: "Thank you for your concern, Master and Madam. I'm eating well and sleeping soundly now, doing blacksmithing and selling scraps, living a peaceful and carefree life. It's nothing like the luxurious beds and soft pillows, the backstabbing and infighting in the martial arts school. Please thank them for their 'concern' when you get back."

Zhao Kun said no more.

He had achieved his goal in coming here—to confirm that Chen Shan was indeed a useless person, posing almost no threat, and was wallowing in old grievances, decadent and dejected.

As for those few humiliating "greetings" from the headmaster and his wife (his former junior sister), they were merely a convenient gesture, serving as both a warning and a way to completely sever any remaining possibility between Chen Shan and the martial arts school.

As for whether Chen Shan sold the booklet to whom, and who he sold it to, he didn't really care.

A low-grade book like "Splitting the Mountain" won't change anything.

What lies beneath the Black Mountain Passage is the focus of his trip.

"In that case, take care, Master. I will take my leave."

Zhao Kun stopped looking at Chen Shan, turned around, and strode away from the corner filled with the smell of rust and defeat.

Only after Zhao Kun's figure completely disappeared at the end of the market did Chen Shan slowly sit up from the rattan chair.

He gazed in the direction Zhao Kun had left, then looked down at the book "Splitting the Mountain" in the wooden box, his withered fingers gently tracing the rough cover of the book.

"The ambition to pioneer..."

He murmured those four words, his eyes clearing slightly to reveal a complex and indescribable expression—a mixture of reminiscence, pain, and a deeply buried, undying ember.

"Power...does it depend on rank? Exchanging fox fur for books, whose destiny is this? Can this Black Mountain...crack a path to survival?"

He muttered to himself, his voice so low that only he could hear it, before reverting to his lazy and dejected state, shrinking back into the wicker chair as if that moment of clarity had never happened.

……

Zhao Kun left the market and went straight to the Sun family mansion.

The process of meeting with the Sun family father and son, listening to their side of the story, and summoning Ma Liu for questioning was roughly the same as in the previous version.

But Zhao Kun's attention was more focused on the three keywords: "stone-hardened", "cellar", and "abandoned mine".

Especially when Ma Liu mentioned the "empty" cellar of Shi Jian's house, Zhao Kun's martial arts intuition told him that it might not really be "empty".

"Take me to Shi Jian's house. Then, go to the entrance of that abandoned mine."

Zhao Kun's command was concise and forceful.

He was almost certain that the boy named Yang Jin was probably not dead, and was very likely hiding in the cellar!

As for the abandoned mine tunnels... if he had been hiding in them, he would probably be dead by now.

He was so certain because a seriously injured boy could only have escaped the villagers' search of the mountain underground.

As for why it was hidden?

Naturally, it's because they have a guilty conscience, or... there's more to this than meets the eye, and it's not the case of the ginseng-stealing incident that the Sun family claimed.

However, none of this concerns Zhao Kun; it's just crushing an ant.

He was more concerned about the task the curator had given him... what lay beneath the abandoned mine tunnels... A glint of light flashed in Zhao Kun's eyes.

Helping the Sun family "settle things" was just a side job; the mine was the key to his trip.

Zhao Kun was going to check on Shi Jian's old house, and the Sun family father and son, along with Ma Liu, naturally obeyed his orders.

The group left the Sun family mansion and headed towards Shi Jian's lonely old house.

The sky grew increasingly gloomy, and the mountain wind, carrying withered leaves and dampness, howled and made people's clothes flutter.

The rain is coming and the wind is all over the building.