Chapter 24: Moving Mountains

Xu Fengnian couldn’t be bothered to stare back at Jiang Ni. He left her there on the ground and went inside to open his satchel. Aside from a large luminous pearl and a few Gwandong Liaowei brushes with awl-sharp tips, he tossed the rest of the books onto the table, piling them high. Among them were the *Whale-Slaying Sword* from the Forbidden Mountain Villa, a copy of the *Vajra Subduing Demonic Fist* from the Two Zen Temples, and the *Guanyin Enlightenment Finger* from the largest nunnery in the South China Sea. This was a diverse collection of over fifty martial arts manuals. They all shared one characteristic: they were high-level techniques from various sects and schools. While perhaps not the absolute pinnacle, even mastering one of them completely would be a remarkable feat for Xu Fengnian. He had brought them all from the Listening Tide Pavilion, not with the intention of mastering all fifty martial arts, but rather to glean insights, selecting one or two applicable techniques from each manual. Ideally, those that could be adapted for his saber techniques. Even if it came to the worst, having encountered various scenarios, in the future, when venturing into the martial world, even if he were to witness something extraordinary, like a pig floating on water or flying through the air, he wouldn't be surprised. Much like a game of chess, these books represented established patterns. When an opponent made a move, he would be able to anticipate the next three or even ten steps. Regardless of their myriad transformations and supernatural abilities, he could simply end the fight with an early saber strike.

Xu Fengnian picked up a manual, skimmed through a few pages, then set it down and picked up his saber, intending to return to White Elephant Pond for another six hundred cleaving and six hundred sweeping strikes. Stepping outside, he saw Jiang Ni still hadn’t descended the mountain. She was sitting on a bamboo chair, meticulously wiping the dirt from her face with her sleeve. Her delicate movements suggested she was putting every ounce of effort into each wipe. After all, what woman doesn’t care about her appearance?

Xu Fengnian chuckled. “Little Mud Doll,” he teased, “it’ll be a dark and windy night soon. Are you scared to go down alone? I’m a kind soul; shall I find a handsome young Taoist priest with rosy lips and pearly whites to accompany you down?”

Jiang Ni scoffed, “The Grand Marshal ordered me to stay on Mount Wudang. And I heard someone recently had their capping ceremony—how amusing.”

Xu Fengnian felt a headache coming on. Ignoring the jibes of this “rootless little plant,” he merely frowned and muttered, “Did Xu Xiao take the wrong medicine?”

Jiang Ni remained stone-faced and silent. She slowly used two fingers, slender as spring onions, to comb away the dirt and dust clinging to her long, dark hair.

Xu Fengnian went into the mountain forest, gathered some herbs, and dropped them in front of the hut. “You stay here,” he said. “I’ll go somewhere else.”

Jiang Ni remained impassive, as still as a clay Buddha statue. Head tilted, she didn’t spare the Crown Prince a glance, meticulously tidying her surroundings. She showed no inclination to touch the large pile of herbs. Xu Fengnian took the luminous pearl and the wild rabbit’s stiff-bristled brush into the cave on Suspended Immortal Peak. He carved a niche in the stone wall and embedded the luminous pearl, instantly illuminating the space. Xu Fengnian, blood seeping through the cloth strips wrapped around his hands, continued to wield his saber, though he refrained from striking the waterfall. Late at night, utterly exhausted, he sat cross-legged at the farthest point from the waterfall, resting against the stone wall, his saber still in hand. At dawn, he awoke precisely on time to see Hong Xixiang squatting by the waterfall, splashing water on his face.

Xu Fengnian preferred to keep this fellow out of sight. He rose and practiced cleaving and thrusting in the open space. While he diligently practiced his saber techniques, the man who had spent over a decade riding and tending cattle on the mountain was studying the priceless Orb of Heavy Thorns near the stone wall. The perfectly round orb glowed brightly, appearing entirely green and crystalline, and by night, it shone as clearly as a full moon. The one before Hong Xixiang wasn’t remarkable for its size, but its brilliant iridescence was exceptional. The world’s largest luminous pearl remained in the imperial palace, so massive that it required four sixteen-year-old beauties to encircle it with clasped hands. It was kept in the study of Princess Sui Zhu. This daughter, most favored by His Majesty the Emperor, was named Princess Sui Zhu because, at her birth, the Sui Kingdom had presented this enormous luminous pearl, unearthed at the foot of Mount Tai, as tribute.

Xu Fengnian seemed to have once had the opportunity to possess two “Sui Pearls” if he had been willing to travel to the capital and become a royal son-in-law.

Xu Fengnian had no way of knowing if such a prize was too hot to handle. Such a minor misstep wouldn’t occur in the Northern Liang King’s residence, as the maids in Wutong Garden were exceptionally gentle and thoughtful. However, he was certain, more than anyone else, that a roasted sweet potato was undeniably scalding hot—to the mouth, the hands, and even the heart.

The cave was thick with moisture, and Xu Fengnian, again covered in sweat, knew the combination was detrimental to his health. Unwilling to stay longer, Xu Fengnian slung his Embroidery Winter saber over his shoulder and picked up a renowned Gwandong Liaowei brush. This was a stiff-bristled brush made from the finest purple rabbit fur. Rabbit bristles were naturally stiff, and those from the northern lands were even more robust. Gwandong purple rabbit hair was unequivocally the finest for stiff bristles. This type of brush was ideal for writing powerful, squared characters, its tip as sharp as an awl, as keen as a knife—a brush-knife, a true knife among brushes.

Since childhood, Li Yishan had insisted Xu Fengnian use only stiff-bristled brushes for calligraphy. Soft, dull goat-hair brushes were absolutely forbidden. The Prince’s Residence’s foremost aesthete always disdained characters that lacked backbone. However, Xu Fengnian knew that one day he would need to write large characters in grand regular script for plaques, and for that, he would have to pick up a soft-bristled brush.

Although Xu Fengnian was often called a “gilded mediocrity,” and was known for engaging in practices like paying impoverished scholars handsomely for their poetry and essays, he had a grasp of zither, chess, calligraphy, painting, tea, and wine, though he wasn’t necessarily a master of any.

Saber practice was strenuous, while calligraphy was a lighter pursuit. However, practicing calligraphy immediately after saber training was particularly challenging.

Using the Gwandong Liaowei brush dipped in water, Xu Fengnian wrote the incantations for the *Whale-Slaying Sword* on the bluestone. The characters, born from his heart, appeared menacing in the flowing script etched on the ground.

Hong Xixiang squatted nearby, observing intently. “Excellent calligraphy!” he exclaimed, clicking his tongue in wonder. “A hundred times better than Master Chen’s wormy script. He always has to ask me to write his letters to his junior brothers or people outside the mountain.”

Xu Fengnian paid no mind to the man’s compliments, biting on the shaft of the Gwandong Liaowei brush. Though his saber practice before coming to the mountain had been arduous, it hadn’t been so strenuous as to strip away the calluses he’d developed over three years of travel. Now, his hands were covered in fresh blood daily. When not practicing, Xu Fengnian would simply let Embroidery Winter hang over his shoulder. Carrying Embroidery Winter on his shoulder appeared quite poetic and serene, but inwardly, Xu Fengnian felt like murdering someone.

Walking towards the thatched hut, he saw the herbs he had left there yesterday were still untouched. Xu Fengnian smiled, pushed the door open, and initially didn’t see Jiang Ni on the bed. Had she gone to admire the scenery? Upon a second glance, the “Little Mud Doll,” now clean, was sitting against the wall, fast asleep. She hadn’t touched the bed; Xu Fengnian perfectly understood why—she found his sleeping place too dirty. The fact that she wasn’t leaning against the wall was clearly because her delicate back, strained from carrying the satchel up the mountain, could no longer tolerate any pressure.

Xu Fengnian opened his mouth, spitting the rabbit-hair brush onto the table. He then nudged with his foot the princess who had fallen from the most revered imperial city in the world, to the “cage” of the Northern Liang King’s Mansion, and now, even more pitiably, to this small mountain hut. She was likely exhausted, as she didn’t react at all. She mumbled a few words in her sleep; Xu Fengnian knew without listening that she was cursing him. Xu Fengnian watched her for a moment. She was a budding beauty; though not yet comparable to White Fox Face, she was certainly no less attractive than Hong Shu or Qing Niao, and would undoubtedly become even more alluring in the future. Xu Fengnian found her appearance from yesterday, sitting on the ground covered in mud, quite amusing.

In her sleep, Jiang Ni’s body tilted, nearly toppling over. Xu Fengnian twitched his shoulder, and Embroidery Winter slid down. He gently propped her up with the scabbard, slowly straightening her body. Only then did he stop disturbing her. Stepping outside, he saw the cow-riding fellow had already shrewdly begun cooking porridge. Inside the hut, there were several small jars of refreshing pickled vegetables. During this period, unless the Granduncle-Master was preoccupied with annotating and interpreting ancient bamboo slips in small seal script or rare manuscripts, he would usually come to cook for the Crown Prince, always willing to work and finding joy in it.

As Hong Xixiang cooked the porridge, watching the fire, he moistened his finger with saliva and flipped through a copy of the *Winter Sacrifice Ritual Records*.

Xu Fengnian truly couldn’t fathom how this timid fellow would become the Revivalist of the Black Tortoise, shouldering both martial arts and the Heavenly Dao.

Leaving two portions of rice porridge for Jiang Ni on the table inside, Xu Fengnian carried his saber to the summit of Suspended Immortal Peak. The *Jiazi Sword Practice Record* contained insights on sword practice, occasionally offering comprehensive outlines of the vast martial arts world. It strongly advocated activities like climbing high to observe the stars or standing by the sea to gaze at the ocean—practices useless for sword techniques but beneficial for the broader Way of the Sword. Nevertheless, Xu Fengnian spent a long time observing, yet failed to grasp any profound connection to the Way of the Sword.

The cow-riding fellow remained silent, standing aside and watching with great relish. Feeling a sense of imbalance, Xu Fengnian asked, “You’ve been watching for over twenty years; aren’t you tired of it?” The young Granduncle-Master chuckled ingenuously, “Every day presents a different scene; how could I ever grow weary?”

Xu Fengnian asked curiously, “Do you actually know any martial arts?”

Hong Xixiang replied with a sincere expression, “Most likely not.”

Xu Fengnian aimed a kick, and the Granduncle-Master, who was squatting, swayed from side to side but remained upright, returning precisely to his original posture without the slightest tremor.

Xu Fengnian let out a surprised “Huh?” and asked, “What was that?”

The Granduncle-Master, who had genuinely not read a single manual or practiced a single martial art in over two decades on the mountain, scratched the shoulder Xu Fengnian had kicked. With an innocent expression, he said, “There’s a large bell in Xuanwu Palace. When others strike it, I just observe how it stops.”

Xu Fengnian probed, “So you just kept watching until you figured out the trick?”

The cow-riding man shook his head. “No trick at all,” he said.

Feeling somewhat defeated, Xu Fengnian asked, “If I told you to take a saber and chop the waterfall, could you cut it in two?”

The Granduncle-Master shook his head. “Of course not,” he replied.

Xu Fengnian finally felt a little relieved.

But the man squatting on the ground immediately added, “You can’t cut it, but your weapon probably won’t slip from your grasp.”

Full of suspicion, Xu Fengnian ordered, “Then go find any sword and try it. If you can’t, you’ll be fish food!”

Hong Xixiang looked troubled. “How about Your Highness lends me that saber on your shoulder?”

Xu Fengnian lifted his foot to kick, but the cow-riding Granduncle-Master had already darted away.

Xu Fengnian descended from the peak and waited about an hour for Hong Xixiang, who arrived drenched in sweat, indeed carrying a peach wood Seven-Star Sword. His grip on the sword was awkward. Xu Fengnian gestured with his eyes for him to make a strike. Hong Xixiang, as if confronting a formidable foe, took several deep breaths, then approached the waterfall as if walking to his execution. He raised his arm and swung the sword with a light motion.

A mysterious, downward-sloping arc appeared, as elusive as an antelope’s hanging horn. It sliced through the powerfully cascading waterfall.

Retrieving the peach wood sword, Hong Xixiang turned to Xu Fengnian, showing no hint of triumph, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Xu Fengnian paused, then smiled faintly. “I understand,” he said. “This is your Way of Heaven.”

Hong Xixiang, who had treated the feat as trivial as eating, drinking, or sleeping, let out a sound of understanding and scurried towards the Crown Prince with a hint of sycophancy. “Tell me, what kind of Way? Master Chen says I’m ‘in the mountain but don’t know the mountain,’ and that I’ll never comprehend the Dao in this life.”

Xu Fengnian replied slyly, “If you just go down the mountain and stand far enough away, won’t you see the mountain clearly?”

Hong Xixiang sighed, performing a quick calculation with his fingers. “Just as I thought,” he said resignedly, “today is not a good day to descend the mountain.”

Xu Fengnian wished he could kick the cowardly man, who hid in his turtle shell and refused to show his head, to death.

Jiang Ni, whose specialty was obstinacy and nitpicking, finally squared off against Xu Fengnian. She settled into the thatched hut, remaining from the snowy winter until the warmth of spring. While the Crown Prince was exhausted daily, like a stray dog, she led a leisurely life. She never performed any of the duties expected of a maidservant, instead spending her days wandering Mount Wudang. Her small feet, shod in hemp sandals, explored over half of the eighty-one peaks, their temples and blessed grottoes. She even had the leisure to request some seeds from the nearby Ziyang Temple and planted vegetables and fruits outside the green bamboo fence. She had cultivated a small vegetable patch, a world unto itself. If Xu Fengnian so much as glanced at it too long, she would warn him, like a small white wildcat whose tail had been stepped on.

Aside from practicing his saber and calligraphy, Xu Fengnian continually moved books from the Listening Tide Pavilion to the mountain.

Book by book, satchel by satchel.

It was like moving a mountain.