For fifteen years, the winds and sands of the Western Desert wore young Gu Yan down until he was as steady and reserved as the datewood shaft of the spear in his hands, solid and without a hint of sharpness.
An old iron spear with no edge, half of an old waist token carved with the words "Cangwu," and a cryptic warning, "Don't become like me." That was all his grandfather left him.
The people of the jianghu say his grandfather was a once-in-a-century genius, and a once-in-a-century traitor.
He guarded a dilapidated post station and kept out of sight for fifteen years. Only when the station burned to ash and the sandstorm struck did he understand that the spear held no bloodlust. It held the truth his ancestors had never spoken aloud, and the path he was meant to walk.
So he took up his spear and headed east, into the mortal world, through the immortal sects, and across the myriad realms.
Those who walked alongside him each had their own debts and obsessions. Every corner of the world held its share of hardship and injustice.
Some taught him that a spear had to be fast and ruthless, made to kill. Others taught him that the Dao meant going with the flow, enduring, and obeying the rules.
But he trusted only the spear in his hands and the scales in his heart.
Right and wrong in this world should not be decided by sects or the powerful. They should be decided by every ordinary person who tends their hearth and goes about their daily life.
Later, after traveling countless worlds and witnessing rivers of stars flow upside down and boundary steles crumble, he finally returned to the sandstorms of Longtou Post Station.
A spear, a post station, a group of old friends, and a hot meal.
All his life, what he had guarded was never some priceless spear embryo. It was the warmth of everyday life, and the little bit of truth in his heart.
My first book. Keep up the good work. Do you have any suggestions? 🥺