Chapter 7: The Language of Dragons

“No matter what trouble you’re in, you can go to the owner of the Forget Worries General Store—as long as you can pay the price.”

“Dad, I have an idea,” Yun Ketian blurted out impulsively.

“What idea?” his mother, Mu Weizhen, asked excitedly.

“I just heard some news. They say there’s a proprietor of the Forget Worries General Store who can help people solve any problem. I could go find him—maybe he’ll have a way.”

Mu Weizhen’s joyful expression quickly faded, and she scolded Yun Ketian sternly: “You’re already in your twenties—how can you still be so naive, believing the words of some charlatan? There is no such person in this world.”

“That’s right, Tian’er, you’re still too inexperienced. Even the ruler of a country wouldn’t dare make such claims. I sent you out to learn about life, but don’t be fooled by any of those street tricksters.”

Both his parents were highly educated intellectuals and staunch materialists, especially Mu Weizhen, who came from a family of scholars and was very opinionated—she loathed all that folk magic nonsense and never let Yun Ketian associate with anyone from that world.

Hearing his suggestion, Yun Shenguo and Mu Weizhen were deeply disappointed.

Seeing the expression on his parents’ faces, Yun Ketian dared not say another word, but he had made up his mind.

His father was in the late stages of cancer, and both parents were in low spirits—this was not the time to contradict them.

“Dad, Mom, I was wrong. I was just anxious about Dad’s illness and blurted out what I’d just heard without thinking it through. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

Looking at their son, who lowered his head in apology, Yun Shenguo’s stern demeanor softened, and he comforted him: “It just shows you care about me—it’s not a big mistake, don’t take it to heart.”

“I’ve already called in a renowned physician from the capital to treat your father. I hope there’s still a chance. But don’t breathe a word of this to anyone—do you understand?” Mu Weizhen said sternly.

“Yes,” Yun Ketian replied, lowering his head even further. Clearly, he was more afraid of his mother at home.

“All right. Tonight, your father and I are going to your grandfather’s house. You’ll have to eat dinner on your own.”

With that, Mu Weizhen helped Yun Shenguo up, and the two of them left.

Yun Ketian knew that his grandfather was a retired high-ranking official in the capital, seasoned in the ways of the bureaucracy—they must have gone to seek his advice.

His father’s illness affected not just him, but the entire Yun family, even the fate of the Mu family on his mother’s side. This was not a matter to be taken lightly.

Still, their absence gave him the perfect opportunity.

After sending away the housekeeper who wanted to prepare his dinner, Yun Ketian slipped into his father’s study.

Relying on memory, he managed to open his father’s safe and took out a finely crafted wooden box less than two feet long.

The box was only four fingers wide and about a foot and a half long, so old that its wood was unrecognizable, with exquisite, unknown floral patterns carved on its surface. It was clearly an antique, and the box alone was worth a fortune.

Carefully lifting the lid, he saw a jade sword about a foot long resting quietly inside, its body translucent. Within the gleaming blade, a single drop of blood-red liquid rolled back and forth, as if alive—utterly mysterious.

Holding the jade sword, Yun Ketian hesitated.

This heirloom had been passed down for generations. According to his grandfather, the sword was a relic of an ancestor said to be an immortal cultivator.

His parents always dismissed the story as nonsense, considering it nothing more than an antique. Only Yun Ketian was half-convinced, because the sword itself was just too extraordinary.

In fact, he didn’t know that Yun Shenguo had his doubts too, but his position did not allow him to believe in such fanciful things. For them, there was only one faith.

At last, Yun Ketian gritted his teeth, wrapped the box up, and hurried out the door.

No matter how precious an item, it was still a lifeless thing—how could it compare to his father’s life?

A short while later, following the address given by Huo Yutong, Yun Ketian arrived at the entrance of the Forget Worries General Store.

He took a deep breath, pushed open the two aged wooden doors, and went inside.

He knocked, watching as Lu Ming slept, drooling on the counter. “Boss Lu, napping so early?”

Lu Ming opened his bleary eyes, saw who it was, stretched, and stood up. “Young Master Yun, what an honor. Forgive me for not greeting you properly.”

Though his words were polite, his body betrayed a laziness; he slouched, looking as though he might fall asleep again at any moment. He fumbled for a cigarette, lit it, took two deep drags, and finally seemed a bit more alert.

“Take a seat,” Lu Ming said.

Yun Ketian glanced around, found a spot to sit amidst piles of cigarette boxes, instant noodle cups, waste paper, and all manner of trash.

“What brings you here, Mr. Yun?” Lu Ming asked, exhaling smoke.

Yun Ketian swallowed hard, considered his words, and said, “I heard you can solve any problem for others—is that true?”

“Yes.”

“I have a friend who has cancer. Is there any hope?”

“There is,” Lu Ming replied without hesitation.

Yun Ketian was astonished—was this man a messenger of the gods? The thought seemed absurd, but cancer was a disease that stumped the entire world. He hadn’t come expecting a miracle.

But now, hearing such a certain answer, he was elated.

As for whether Lu Ming was a fraud, Yun Ketian wasn’t worried. In the entire northwest, no one dared to deceive the Yun family. Even if he was cheated, Yun Ketian had every confidence that the swindler would pay dearly.

“Since you’re so confident, Boss Lu, I’ll trouble you then. A friend of mine has late-stage stomach cancer—I hope you’ll try to help.”

“Not a problem. We’ll follow the usual rules,” Lu Ming replied without hesitation.

Yun Ketian nodded, took out his phone, made a call, said a few words, and hung up.

A moment later, a sharp-looking man in his thirties walked in carrying Yun Ketian’s bag.

Yun Ketian beckoned him over, took the bag, and with a shake of his head, signaled him to leave.

Yun Ketian carefully took out the wooden box and handed it over.

Lu Ming opened it nonchalantly, studied the contents, and said, “This is a fine piece. Your father should be saved.”

“How did you know it was my father?” Yun Ketian asked in surprise.

Lu Ming smiled. “Just a lucky guess—don’t be alarmed.”

Relieved, Yun Ketian let out a slow breath, but then his brow furrowed.

“Boss Lu, I hope you’ll keep this matter confidential.”

“Of course. I always treat my clients with the utmost discretion.”

“That’s good. When will I hear back? I don’t have much time.”

“Tomorrow. Leave your contact information—I’ll find you then.”

“Good, good.” Yun Ketian quickly left his business card. He hadn’t expected things to progress so quickly.

“That’s all, then. It’s getting late—I won’t keep you, Mr. Yun.”

Hearing Lu Ming’s gentle dismissal, Yun Ketian had no choice but to take his leave.

It was just past eight in the evening; night had only just fallen.

After Yun Ketian left, Lu Ming locked the door and went upstairs.

He took out the jade sword from the box, admired it for a while, and a smile crept onto his face.

This jade sword was brimming with tremendous energy—perfect for offering as a sacrifice. Not only could it be traded for a cure for cancer, it would likely bring him other benefits as well.

“So the Yun family still has treasures worth having,” Lu Ming remarked as he studied the crimson drop of blood within the sword.

Ordinary people would never sense the energy in this sword, but by channeling his own cultivated magic power into it, Lu Ming could feel it clearly.

All the sword’s energy was sealed within that drop of blood—presumably the essence of a cultivator ancestor, left for future generations.

Alas, cultivators had all but vanished; such treasures now went unrecognized.

Setting the sword aside, Lu Ming picked up the jade pendant Huo Yutong had brought him. Shaped like a phoenix, it contained a trace of spiritual energy from heaven and earth, but compared to the sword, it was nothing.

He put the pendant aside and began to summon the Dragon God Altar, preparing for the ritual.

He cupped his hands before his chest, uttering several heavy, guttural syllables—completely unintelligible to the ordinary ear.

Dragon speech.

He had acquired it from his memories, and it had taken him months to barely master a few syllables. Human anatomy was different from that of dragons, and the sounds were difficult to produce.

But if he became fluent in the dragon tongue, there were many powerful spells in his mind waiting to be cast—his strength would soar.

As the final syllables left his lips, a surge of power radiated from him, instantly enveloping the room.

The force spread, forming a barrier that separated the room from the rest of the world. Lu Ming held the jade sword, glanced at the jade pendant on the table, hesitated, but left it untouched.

He uttered another guttural syllable—like the roar of a dragon.

In a blink, Lu Ming found himself in another world.

Atop a towering mountain, a giant dragon bore a massive palace on its back, gazing silently toward the horizon.