Qi Xianxia, a solemn Daoist from Longhu Mountain, found himself quite altered after a long stay on Wudang Mountain, influenced by Hong Xixiang. He was constantly pressed into service, either patching up temples, chopping firewood, making charcoal, or constructing bamboo houses. During this time, he inevitably encountered Daoists from various Wudang generations. Initially, the younger Daoist novices weren't friendly, but they soon realized that despite his perpetually stern face, as if he were owed tens of thousands of coins, this visitor from Longhu Mountain had a good heart. Moreover, the young grand-uncle and abbot treated him with respect, and the novices heard that his swordsmanship was on par with their Sixth Grand-Uncle. The bolder ones mustered the courage to ask him about flying sword techniques. The man named Qi was generous, showed no sectarian bias, and answered every question. Soon, a large crowd of novices, captivated by the allure of sword immortals and the martial world, chattered incessantly at his heels. Qi Xianxia's secluded bamboo hut became noticeably livelier. Unlike Longhu Mountain, with its countless strict rules and regulations, Wudang Mountain was less rigid. Qi Xianxia had expected to struggle with the adjustment, but to his surprise, not only did the mischievous yet pure-hearted novices interact with him, but even the senior Daoists who rode oxen, such as Chen You, Song Zhiming, and Yu Xingrui, maintained a cordial relationship.
Unconsciously, Qi Xianxia's initial desire to compete with the oxen-riding Daoists diminished. He calmed his mind and focused on practicing sword arts and cultivating the Dao on Wudang Mountain.
Occasionally, he would visit Taixu Palace on the main peak to watch the sunrise and sunset. From there, the seventy-two peaks, sprawling to the east, west, north, and south, appeared like lotus petals guarding the main peak, bowing in homage. Each time he finished his breathing exercises and withdrew his gaze, Qi Xianxia couldn't help but look at the authentic immortal sword, a true relic of Lu Zu, hanging under the eaves of Dageng. Qi Xianxia had revered Lu Zu, who appeared once every five hundred years, since childhood; otherwise, he wouldn't have dedicated himself to swordsmanship, seeking the ultimate mastery of flying swords to take heads from a thousand miles away. In Daoism, swordsmanship is divided into Daoist Sword and 法Sword (Fa Jian). Since ancient times, Daoist Sword has been more respected than Fa Jian. Simply put, Daoist Sword cuts through desires, while Fa Jian slays demons, dispels evil, and rights wrongs. The former brings countless benefits for cultivation and ascension, while the latter inevitably accrues karma. A Celestial Master from Longhu Mountain once encountered a rare heavenly tribulation due to Fa Jian, almost disintegrating on the spot. Had Longhu Mountain not promptly sacrificed several qi-fortune lotuses from the Dragon Pond, the consequences would have been unimaginable. Longhu Mountain had expressed reservations and regrets about Qi Xianxia choosing the path of Fa Jian.
Today was the birthday of Zhenwu Emperor, the revered deity of the Jade Capital, and pilgrims flocked to the mountain in an endless stream. It was strange; ever since the oxen-riding Daoist took over as abbot, despite not performing divine feats like the previous abbot, Wang Chonglou, who could sever a river with a single finger, and despite never having left the mountain even once, the incense offerings at Wudang Mountain had steadily increased. Qi Xianxia often heard his fellow disciple Bai Yu explain the concept of "qi yun" (fortune or destiny), and he understood a little. From the main peak, observing the clouds and mists, he knew that Wudang stood in the northwest of the continent, and the world's fortune traditionally flowed from west to east, like a river rushing to the sea. Yet, for some time now, even Qi Xianxia, an amateur at observing qi, could vaguely see the vast sea of clouds surging and gathering in layers around the seventy-two peaks, though he didn't know when or if they would finally erupt. Fortunately, Qi Xianxia was never one to worry needlessly. Whether Xuanwu would flourish, whether Longhu would prosper, who was the true ancestral Daoist temple, or who was granted royal favor by the court – none of this mattered to him. Suddenly, Qi Xianxia's heart skipped a beat. He widened his eyes and looked up at the immortal sword, which had remained unsheathed for five hundred years.
This ancient sword, silent for half a millennium since Lu Zu's ascension, now trembled and hummed like a dragon.
The sea of clouds over the seventy-two peaks boiled, finally resembling seventy-two white dragons swimming towards the main peak.
Hundreds of yellow cranes soared and circled.
The vast throngs of pilgrims who had surged into the mountain for Zhenwu Emperor's birthday simultaneously looked up to witness this phenomenon. Someone shouted, "Zhenwu Emperor has manifested!" and tens of thousands of awe-struck pilgrims knelt in unison. To ordinary people, speaking of classical sages, profound morality, or abstruse Buddhist teachings often yields little benefit. They are more likely to be captivated or frightened by tangible, obvious things, just as common folk are by thugs with weapons or officials in splendid robes and eight-bearer palanquins. Thus, Buddhism depicts eighteen hells to inspire dread, while Daoism offers various true immortals and sages who save the world and aid the populace. Such matters, often disdained by scholars and high-minded individuals, are precisely what resonate most powerfully with the common people in the streets and alleys. The Big Dipper governs death, and Zhenwu Emperor presides over Wudang, commanding the north. At its peak, countless pilgrims from the south would come to Wudang to offer incense and pray for blessings. Though Wudang's prestige had waned, most people in the northern regions still held it in deep reverence and trust, especially now, with the rolling cloud sea overhead and the harmonious cries of yellow cranes. Who would not revere it as a divine manifestation?
Chen You, who had been searching for a text in the scripture hall, stumbled to the window, trembling as he pushed it open. Tears streamed down his face, and his lips quivered as he said, "Senior Brother Wang, our Junior Brother has succeeded!"
Song Zhiming, who was refining elixirs in the mountain, neglected a cauldron of pills that mortals would consider immortal elixirs. He fell to his knees with a thud and kowtowed, proclaiming, "Song Zhiming, thirty-sixth disciple of Wudang, respectfully welcomes the Patriarch!"
Yu Xingrui, who had found a gifted reclusive disciple in the East Sea and was currently teaching him internal cultivation techniques on a meditation cushion, clapped his hands and laughed, tears streaming down his face. He exclaimed excitedly, "Li Yufu, your Abbot-Uncle is finally descending the mountain!"
The seventy-two peaks faced the main peak, and twenty-four streams flowed ceaselessly. The longest of these, a straight-falling waterfall, seemed divinely aided as its lower end was lifted and straightened, forming a bridge to the nearby Lesser Lotus Peak, where only one young Daoist practiced the Heavenly Dao. The waterfall, like a white ribbon, spanned the sky. Thousands of pilgrims, witnessing this sight, felt as if they were in an immortal realm, falling into an even deeper silence. The vast Wudang Mountain was so quiet that a needle drop could almost be heard. For whom does the water rise to form a bridge? Qi Xianxia personally saw the ancient sword, sheath and all, fly out of Taixu Palace, following the water-bridge suspended between the two peaks towards Lesser Lotus Peak. There, he saw the oxen-riding Daoist leaning dazedly against the tortoise-borne stele, muttering, "Today's divination sign indicates it's auspicious to head to Jiangnan."
The ancient immortal sword circled the young abbot, as joyful and exuberant as if it were reuniting with an old friend.
With his heart pounding, Qi Xianxia called out, "Hong Xixiang, who are you?! Why does Lu Zu's personal sword resonate with you so perfectly?!"
The young oxen-riding grand-uncle ignored him, his expression distant. He made another calculation with his fingers, exhaled a long breath after a while, and then smiled slightly at Qi Xianxia. Slowly rising, he reached out and caressed the ancient sword suspended in mid-air. With a swipe of his finger, the three-foot-long azure blade gleamed like water as it separated from its scabbard. He murmured softly, "You go to Jiangnan, you go to Longhu. I will follow soon."
The scabbard flew towards Longhu Mountain, and the blade soared towards Jiangnan.
The ancient sword descended the mountain first.
Hong Xixiang, dressed in a simple Daoist robe, dusted himself off and mounted a colossal yellow crane, gazing towards Jiangnan.
Jiangnan is beautiful; the most beautiful thing there is a woman in red.
Qi Xianxia looked up, watching the yellow crane fly away, and exclaimed in shock, "Lu Zu?!"
Qi Xianxia, utterly dumbfounded, then saw the yellow crane return. The fellow, no longer riding an ox but a crane, hastily dismounted, a sheepish smile on his face. "I should say goodbye to my senior brothers before leaving the mountain. Oh, by the way, Brother Qi, I'll have to trouble you with the novices' studies for the time being."
Even the usually rigid Qi Xianxia couldn't help but want to curse. What kind of immortal was this?!
The new abbot, who had never left the Xuanwu Dangxing archway since ascending the mountain as a child—the young Daoist whom the Crown Prince had called a coward—finally found the courage to descend the mountain. A natural wonder, the Daoist rode a yellow crane into the distance.
The yellow crane soared through the clouds, sweeping over the mighty northwestern city of Yulong Pass. The pass exuded a formidable aura, locking down the northern frontier with its extended, overlapping defensive structures and formidable battlements, serving as one of the empire's vital choke points in the northern desert. Soldiers on the ramparts gazed into the distance. Someone, it's unknown who first spotted it, exclaimed upon seeing the yellow crane. Was there someone riding on its back? Someone? Indeed, there was! The news spread like wildfire, and border guards swarmed the city's high points. They truly saw a Daoist-like immortal riding a crane eastward. The mighty northwestern pass erupted in excitement. As the yellow crane whistled overhead, everyone stared up, speechless, afraid to disturb the heavenly immortal's celestial freedom.
In the prosperous heartland, the Yellow Crane Tower stood majestically by the great river, its sharp eaves and corners exuding a heroic spirit. A renowned poet immortal had left behind the timeless verse, "The man of old has ridden on the yellow crane away; All that is left is the Yellow Crane Tower empty today." Legend had it that five hundred years ago, Lu Dongxuan, a reclusive immortal from Guanzhong, after two centuries of cultivation, finally achieved immortality. He vowed not to ascend to heaven as long as there was injustice in the world, choosing instead to wander among mortals with poetry, sword, and wine. He once rode a crane past this tower, drawing purple qi from the east. Inside the tower, walls were adorned with over three hundred famous poems from various dynasties, with the Yellow Crane poem holding the most prominent position. Today, a grand poetry gathering was held on the tower. The scholars of the Central Plains were brimming with drink and poetic inspiration when they suddenly heard of a miraculous yellow crane flying from west to east. They rushed to the outer corridor to watch. As it drew closer, they were struck by the realization that an immortal was seated upon it, his bearing no less magnificent than Lu Zu's of old! The literati and poets exchanged bewildered glances, unable to believe it. Were there truly terrestrial immortals in this world?
Five hundred years ago, he rode the crane away; five hundred years later, he returns on a crane.
Amidst the vast, misty expanse, the yellow crane swept over the Yellow Crane Tower. An old scholar murmured dazedly, "To witness this sight in our lifetime, we have not lived in vain."
Jiangnan.
Old faces, old scenes, so familiar.
Autumn wind rises, autumn leaves fall; lives gather and scatter, autumn crows perch and are startled again. When will longing meet its object? This moment, this scene, is hard to bear.
The vibrant peonies of Baoguo Temple withered one after another. In the crisp autumn, however, some century-old osmanthus trees remained, their ancient branches lush and evergreen, their fragrance intoxicating. The Lu family of Huting Commandery had recently eclipsed the other three prominent clans, much like the old osmanthus tree standing before the two women, thriving alone among the woods. After the Lu patriarch resigned as the Right Libationer of the Imperial Academy, an unfortunate event that turned into a blessing, he assumed a powerful role in the Ministry of Rites, a second-rank official position. And Lu Baixie, the free-spirited Sword Immortal of Tangxi, after leaving the Retreat Garden, went to the capital and was immediately appointed Vice Minister of War, just a step away from becoming a Grand Secretary. With the two brothers echoing each other, the Jiangnan Lu family suddenly gained immense influence in court and throughout the realm overnight, forcing others to re-evaluate this in-law family of the Prince of Beiliang. As the family's prestige soared, the notorious, most beautiful widow of Jiangnan, however, found her home utterly deserted. The scholar Liu Liting had been dragged to death by horses, so who in Huting Commandery dared to approach her? It was said that the widow had caught a cold and her once robust body had withered away, reportedly losing a great deal of weight. Men in Jiangnan harbored complex thoughts, while women, united by common hatred, rushed to temples and Daoist monasteries to offer incense, praying to the Bodhisattvas for the "fox spirit" to die soon. Noblewomen who usually maintained friendly relations would secretly speak ill of her to their hearts' content. Now that the Lu family's center of power had shifted to the capital court, especially after the Tangxi Sword Immortal entered officialdom and left Jiangnan, the Huting Commandery Lu family inevitably lost their advantage in trivial matters. The rumors and criticisms that had been suppressed resurfaced with renewed fervor, and the condemnation of the "depraved widow" reignited, stirring up a storm of controversy.
Before the ancient osmanthus tree, where golden osmanthus blossoms lay scattered on the ground, the maid Er Qiao said indignantly, "Miss, how can those harridans not learn their lesson? They're slandering you again! I truly wish I could slap them!"
The lady, indeed much thinner than before, reached out and poked her personal maid's nose, smiling alluringly. "You criticize others, but aren't you a little harridan yourself?"
The bright-eyed and pretty little maid giggled, "Young Master said Miss used to love wearing red skirts and red clothes the most. Why has Er Qiao never seen you wear them?"
The lady looked distracted and said softly, "You're still young; you wouldn't understand if I told you."
Er Qiao mumbled, "I'm not little anymore."
The lady bent down and picked up a handful of golden osmanthus blossoms, filling her hands with their fragrance. She looked up at the osmanthus tree's branches and leaves, remaining silent.
The maid asked concernedly, "Miss, it's getting cold. Shall we go back?"
The lady, her face slightly pale and no longer rosy, shook her head. "Let's stay a little longer."
The little maid timidly said, "Miss, please don't get angry if I tell you something."
The lady smiled faintly. "Tell me."
The maid lowered her head. "Young Master once chatted with Er Qiao and said there's a coward on Wudang Mountain who has secretly liked Miss all these years."
The lady looked at the sky, opened her fingers, and the osmanthus blossoms fell one by one. She sighed, "My brother lied to you."
Er Qiao cautiously asked, "Actually, Miss is waiting too, aren't you?"
The lady turned and playfully flicked her maid's smooth forehead. "You shameless little girl."
Er Qiao's small face flushed, and she puffed out her cheeks in a sulk.
"Are you Xu Zihua?"
A gloomy voice entered their ears.
Er Qiao angrily looked up, following the sound, and saw a young man squatting on the wall of Baoguo Temple, a long saber on his back.
Xu Zihua pulled the maid, who was oblivious to the dangers of the world, behind her, and calmly asked, "What do you want with me?"
The swordsman grinned hideously. "I am Yuan Tingshan, and I don't change my name when I walk or sit. I have some grievances with your Crown Prince's younger brother. Besides, I'm doing a favor for someone who paid me. Otherwise, I wouldn't bother coming all the way to Jiangnan just to trouble a widow like you."
Xu Zihua's face hardened, but she showed no panic.
Yuan Tingshan, who had rushed all the way from Huishan to Jiangnan, laughed heartily. "I've cut down all the Lu family guards outside, and a few bald monks at Baoguo Temple who didn't know their place have also been chopped down to meet the Buddha in the West. Frankly, only the Tangxi Sword Immortal in Jiangnan could fight me, but unfortunately, he's gone to the capital. Xu Zihua, don't tell me you're in Baoguo Temple. Even if you were in the Lu mansion, I could kill my way from the main gate right to you!"
Xu Zihua sneered, "If you want to kill me, then kill me. Why are you babbling like a woman?"
Yuan Tingshan showed no anger, staring at the enchanting widow with curiosity. He tutted, "In the past, I never wasted a single word on those about to die. But you're different; your background is intriguing. It would truly be a pity to simply kill you with one slash."
Xu Zihua asked, "What do you mean?"
Yuan Tingshan tilted his head, extended a blood-dripping arm, and smiled. "You're not afraid of death? If you're relying on that secret bodyguard from your Beiliang family, then let me tell you, that brother is also dead. He probably hasn't done a big job in a few years, so he was a bit rusty. Otherwise, I might have been delayed in entering Baoguo Temple. Xu Zihua, are you afraid of death now?"
Xu Zihua gave a mournful smile and asked, "What will you do with this little girl behind me?"
Yuan Tingshan stated bluntly, "Naturally, it's a matter of one slash. I have no such penchant for cherishing beauty."
Xu Zihua turned her head to look. The maid Er Qiao smiled innocently. "Miss, Er Qiao is afraid of pain, but not of death."
Xu Zihua closed her eyes and said, "Do it."
Yuan Tingshan stood up, poised on the wall, his face grim, and slowly drew his saber.
"How dare you?!"
A voice, accompanied by the clear ringing of an ancient sword, whistled through the air.
A sword, arrived from Wudang Mountain, a thousand miles away.
[1 minute ago] Chapter 229: Good?
[1 minute ago] Chapter 114: Decree to "Slay the Demon"
[3 minutes ago] Chapter 1074: Da Kong Zhenjun
[4 minutes ago] Chapter 251: Disaster (8)
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