Chapter 121: Peach Blossom Creek at Twilight
The twilight was enchanting, with cool breezes stirring the air, carrying the delicate fragrance of peach blossoms that nearly intoxicated the senses.
No sooner had the village chief been mentioned than he truly appeared, his steps noticeably heavier than before, burdened by some unseen weight.
Su Fan smiled gently at the elder and asked, “Elder, what brings you here this time?”
The village chief’s expression grew grave. He glanced at Han Xiaoyue and signaled for her to leave.
Obediently, Han Xiaoyue cast a brief look at Su Fan before turning back the way the chief had come.
Only after her figure vanished did the village chief speak. “What exactly are you doing here?”
Su Fan gave a wry smile. “I’ve already explained—I was being pursued and came here by chance.”
The chief lowered his head, lost in heavy thoughts that unsettled him deeply.
“The Sacred Spring is drying up,” he said after a long pause, as if steeling himself to speak the truth.
Su Fan’s heart stirred. Though he had yet to see the Sacred Spring, the conversation between the chief and Han Xiaoyue made it clear: the spring was the lifeblood of everyone in Peach Blossom Creek. Its impending depletion meant the end for the entire village.
“When did this happen?” Su Fan asked in astonishment.
The chief’s shoulders sank under the weight of the blow. “Just a few days ago.”
Relief washed over Su Fan. “Good thing I just arrived.”
The chief shot back, “And when do you think you arrived?”
Suddenly, Su Fan recalled he had been unconscious and had no idea when he appeared here. Perhaps he had been in this place for years.
The chief continued, “A few days ago, someone came.”
“I know,” Su Fan replied.
The chief’s pupils contracted sharply. He seemed about to say more but changed his mind. “You were the one I saved then.”
Su Fan asked, “Wasn’t it the Peach Blossom Saintess?”
The chief trembled. “I shouldn’t have let Xiaoyue watch you. She told you everything.”
The first half of the sentence carried anger, but the latter half softened into resignation—a complex helplessness.
He went on: “The Peach Blossom Saintess only told me to save you. And indeed, I found you. Those men—seems you killed them.”
Su Fan casually inquired, “Who were they?”
The chief suddenly flared up. “Bandits. They came to seize our Sacred Spring.”
Su Fan was stunned. The chief’s words mirrored Han Xiaoyue’s almost exactly. Could it be that any villager would give the same answer?
Su Fan pressed on, “What exactly is the Sacred Spring?”
The chief’s face shifted to deep reverence. “The Sacred Spring is the lifeline of every soul in Peach Blossom Creek.”
Su Fan decided not to press further—no matter how many questions he asked, the answers were always vague and unhelpful.
The chief sighed. “The spring has already run dry. Will you come with me to see the last glimmer?”
Su Fan did not immediately answer but instead asked, “Who is the Peach Blossom Saintess?”
The chief pondered long, as if searching for a lost memory or recalling stories passed down from ancestors.
“She is the guardian of Peach Blossom Creek.”
Such a simple declaration revealed the sacredness of the Saintess in the villagers’ hearts.
Suddenly, the chief added, “But they say the Saintess had not spoken for a thousand years. Until a few days ago... she spoke about you.”
Curiosity piqued, Su Fan asked, “About me?”
The chief hesitated, clearly unwilling to reveal more.
Su Fan smiled lightly. “Let’s go see the Sacred Spring.” Though he spoke casually, the sorrow within was immense. The drying of the spring was not only the villagers’ suffering but his own.
It meant he would never regain his cultivation, as his meridians would be ruined—worse than before, when he was merely mediocre.
To abandon centuries of painstaking cultivation was unthinkable.
…
Night deepened.
The two walked through a peach grove where blossoms carpeted the ground, while the trees stood nearly bare.
Su Fan felt the chief’s trembling frame, radiating anxiety and tension.
After several dozen steps, they reached a small pool, bathed in moonlight.
The water level had clearly diminished—once it had been waist-high.
The pool bore no fragrance of peach blossom wine, nor a hint of spiritual energy.
Su Fan suddenly asked, “What is the spring’s purpose?”
The chief replied, “Generations have drunk from the Sacred Spring and never fallen ill. It grants longevity.”
Su Fan thought silently: the spring’s water, which drained spiritual energy, naturally had such effects. But that alone wouldn’t explain why cultivators would fight over it. He judged those attackers must have been cultivators, as ordinary folk rarely came here.
Still, he could not pinpoint the spring’s true nature.
He continued, “Is there a connection between the Sacred Spring and the peach trees?”
The chief mused briefly. “Where the Sacred Spring exists, the peach trees grow.”
Su Fan considered this, then dipped his hand into the spring. A bone-chilling cold surged from the water into his heart.
The chief shouted, “Don’t! Be careful!”
He hurriedly pulled Su Fan aside, trembling with concern. “Are you alright?”
Su Fan’s face paled. If not for years of cultivation altering his constitution, the cold would have pierced to his very bones.
He waved his hand. “It’s nothing.”
The chief stared at him in amazement, as if beholding a venerable elder from countless generations past.
He whispered, “You...”
Su Fan smiled. “I trained for a few years in my sect, so I can withstand this cold.”
His words were carefully chosen—neither revealing whether it was a cultivation or martial sect, thus neither deceiving his benefactor nor exposing his true identity.
The chief nodded in understanding. “No wonder this water, which kills on contact, cannot harm you.”
Su Fan smiled faintly and asked, “How is the peach blossom wine brewed?”
The chief chuckled. “With the Sacred Spring water and peach blossoms left to steep for a few days.”
Su Fan sighed inwardly. No wonder even the creek’s water carried the aroma of wine.
He then asked, “After all this, has the Saintess given any instructions?”
The chief was taken aback and smiled bitterly. “The Saintess’s only instruction for a thousand years has been regarding you.”
Su Fan glanced at him with a strange smile, then suddenly leapt into the Sacred Spring.
The chief cried out, “What are you doing? You—”
Moments later, only ripples remained; the figure had disappeared.
The chief swept away his surprise and sighed. “The Saintess said only you can save Peach Blossom Creek. I have no choice but to trust you.”
Suddenly, a harsh voice pierced the night: “They’re coming... They’re coming! Village chief, run!”
The chief’s face turned pale as he dashed toward the edge of the peach grove.