Chapter 33: Mountain Is Not Defined by Its Height

Wudang's eighty-one peaks bowed towards the Grand Summit; the mountain range was exceptionally spiritual and graceful, yet the glazed Grand Summit itself showed an unusual phenomenon. On Little Lotus Peak, Song Zhiming noticed that his Second Senior Brother Chen Yao, the keeper of moral precepts, his Fourth Junior Brother Yu Xingrui, and Fifth Junior Brother Wang Xiaoping had all gathered behind him. They were accompanying their youngest junior brother, Hong Xixiang, as they looked towards the location of the Suspended Immortal Coffin. They saw the one riding an ox gallop to the Turtle-backed Stele, leap onto it, and stand on its summit, his fingers rapidly moving in a dazzling display. Though the youngest junior brother often forgot his own age, his mastery of numerology was profound. He had memorized and thoroughly understood all four classics of the I Ching, and in divination, he was far superior to his peers, outshining his senior brothers by a significant margin. Even the previous Sect Leader, who had once predicted Wudang's prosperity for five hundred years, admitted his own inferiority, saying that Hong Xixiang had far surpassed his master.

Sweat beaded on Hong Xixiang’s forehead, and he slumped onto the stele.

His senior brothers grew anxious. Yu Xingrui, standing below the Turtle-backed Stele, cautiously asked, “Has something changed?”

Hong Xixiang wiped away the sweat and chuckled mischievously, “The celestial prediction is accurate. It’s just that this thunderstorm is less powerful than I anticipated, not enough to truly frighten those stealthy individuals from Longhu Mountain.” Yu Xingrui and the others breathed a sigh of relief and exchanged smiles. Their Sect Leader Brother had achieved the Grand Yellow Court cultivation, and word had spread. Their archenemy, Longhu Mountain, naturally sent people to investigate, hoping Wudang’s announcement was just a desperate bluff. What the several Longhu Mountain disciples, who had quietly emerged from seclusion and concealed themselves on Yellow Court Peak, likely didn't realize was that they considered Wudang to be merely putting on a brave face, leading to rumors in the jianghu that Wang Chonglou's Grand Yellow Court cultivation was just a publicity stunt. Their youngest junior brother, indignant, specifically chose this day, which was Wudang’s True Martial Demonic Subjugation Day, an event that occurred once every few decades, always marked by roaring thunder and torrential rain.

The Grand Yellow Court stage, in simple terms, involves forming the Great Elixir within one's abode, guiding vital energy like a tortoise to the spiritual root, where its essence resonates with heaven and earth. Daoists achieving this are called True Men, a term drawn from the ancient saying in the "Grand Yellow Court Scripture": "Immortals and Daoists are not divine, but accumulate essence and energy to become true." Only upon cultivating the Grand Yellow Court does one truly become a True Man; this is vastly different from how people nowadays commonly refer to any Daoist as a True Man. Buddhism and Daoism had contended for centuries, yet they shared a common understanding: both were renunciants of the world, practicing transcendent methods, and did not emphasize martial prowess. Thus, when Longhu Mountain produced Qi Xuanzhen, who was widely recognized for his boundless mystical powers and whose fame was unparalleled, he merely subdued demons and monsters and never contended for fame with Wang Xianzhi. A few years prior, Wang Chonglou severed the Canglan River with a single finger, and busybodies listed him among the top ten masters. Longhu Mountain, in response, expressed extreme disdain and contempt, openly and semi-openly uttering many unpleasant remarks. Even the young, inexperienced Daoist novices of Longhu Mountain were reciting a ballad mocking Wudang's Sect Leader.

Wang Chonglou, however, neither contended, debated, nor spoke a word in response. After severing the river to save the people who had fallen into the water, he ascended the mountain to enter seclusion and cultivate the Yellow Court.

Yu Xingrui asked with a smile, “Junior Brother, how much of the Grand Yellow Court can this Young Master gain?”

Hong Xixiang sighed, “He should receive about fifty to sixty percent.”

Yu Xingrui was astonished, “Wouldn’t that mean this young man’s internal energy would be unparalleled in Wudang?”

Hong Xixiang shook his head, “That would still require a considerable amount of time to digest.”

Chen Yao said helplessly, “These past days, Wudang has painstakingly worked to expand Xu Fengnian’s meridians and acupoints, expending countless elixirs. It’s like digging a deep pool within his body, and our Sect Leader Brother’s internal energy is like the waterfall from Suspended Immortal Peak, rushing down. Once full, it will overflow. Absorbing half of it is already an immense blessing. This is good, too, as Senior Brother can still retain half of his Grand Yellow Court.”

Hong Xixiang still shook his head, “Not necessarily.”

Chen Yao asked, puzzled, “What do you mean by that?”

Hong Xixiang revealed a secret that Sect Leader Wang Chonglou had told him before entering seclusion: “Sect Leader Brother originally cultivated based on the Young Master’s internal energy points. So, no matter how much the Young Master can ultimately absorb, our Senior Brother’s entire Grand Yellow Court cultivation will completely dissipate, leaving not a single drop.”

Yu Xingrui’s face turned pale, and he murmured, “What are we to do? What are we to do?”

Chen Yao forced a wry smile, “Why would our Sect Leader Brother go to such lengths? Even if Wudang declines, we don’t need to fear the Grand Pillar State so much.”

Wang Xiaoping glanced at the sky, then turned and left.

Hong Xixiang didn't turn his head, but quietly said, “Little Wang Senior Brother, don’t go to Yellow Court Peak to trouble the Longhu Mountain Daoists. It will interfere with your pure sword heart. If you kill someone who should not be killed, once you break that rule, inner demons will entangle your Shen Tu sword, overshadowing its immortal sword intent. For the rest of your life, Little Wang Senior Brother, you will drift further and further from the path of the sword; the harder you try, the more you will stray.”

Wang Xiaoping paused, but after only a brief hesitation, he let go of his worries and continued to walk away, his Shen Tu sword still on his back, with a graceful air.

In the Elephant Washing Pond, the Young Master, who had plunged into the deep pool to collect pebbles for chess pieces, slowly bent down and groped around at the bottom. His speed was only slightly slower than walking on land, and there were no other signs of abnormality. The pond was a thousand feet deep and even colder than the bottom of the princely mansion’s lake. However, while practicing saber techniques with the white-haired old man, Xu Fengnian had unknowingly learned his breath-holding technique. Xu Fengnian thought he had only developed good swimming abilities. He didn't know that this peculiar breath-holding and the Daoist art of returning to the primordial breath were different paths leading to the same destination. Although Xu Fengnian's internal energy was still sparse, he had ultimately found a correct path, and the difference was immense. Someone observing a mountain from afar certainly couldn't compare to one climbing it, and one who climbed the mountain but couldn't find the path couldn't compare to one who found the way. As for the myriad paths up the mountain, which one to take and how far one gets depends on destiny, opportunity, and personal diligent cultivation.

Xu Fengnian picked up more than a dozen smooth pebbles and was not in a hurry to surface. It was also interesting to admire the view from the bottom of the pond; otherwise, the Young Master would not have frequently visited the white-haired old man at the bottom of the lake in the past. However, the pond water was deep and dark emerald, and the sights visible when looking up or down were all blurry.

Xu Fengnian was unaware of the lightning and thunder at Wudang Mountain’s summit; he only felt the waterfall’s current intensify slightly, and the bottom of the pond became increasingly cold and unbearable.

Reaching the edge of a massive rock rooted at the pond's bottom, Xu Fengnian pushed off with his feet and, holding his collection of pebbles, sprinted upwards towards the surface.

Above the Elephant Washing Pond, a cascade of white, like a ribbon, poured down like Guanyin tipping her vase.

Wudang Sect Leader Wang Chonglou swept onto the giant rock, bent his knees, sat down, and gazed into the depths of the pond with a faint smile.

He closed his eyes.

He gently exhaled, then gently inhaled.

Mist rose from the water surface and diffused into the air.

This old Daoist, the Sect Leader of one of the world's three great Daoist schools, had lived a life largely without significant ups and downs. Born into poverty and hardship, he was sent to the mountain by his parents at the age of twelve to avoid starvation. Besides the morning and evening lessons, he served duty at the Taiwu Palace, sweeping the floor, burning incense, and striking the chime daily, year after year. At that time, his master, Chen Yingning, had not yet become Wudang's Sect Leader but already had more than twenty disciples. Among them, Wang Chonglou's aptitude was mediocre. Yet, he diligently immersed himself in scriptures, always carrying an introductory text even while sweeping, and when he couldn't sleep at night, he would read by moonlight, earning him the reputation of a bookworm among his fellow disciples. He only qualified to shake divination sticks and tell fortunes for pilgrims at twenty-four. By forty, he had barely achieved minor mastery of Daoist arts. Therefore, when the previous Sect Leader Chen Yingning passed away and Wang Chonglou was chosen to take over Wudang, the world was in an uproar. At that time, even Longhu Mountain had barely heard of this middle-aged Daoist. Unexpectedly, while most of Wudang's True Men of that generation displayed astonishing cultivation in their youth but plateaued in old age, it was the inconspicuous Wang Chonglou who gradually comprehended the Great Dao, rising rapidly. Severing the river with a single finger was just a small example of Wang Chonglou's increasing power in his old age.

Wang Chonglou flicked his sleeves.

His Daoist robe billowed and swelled.

He actually pulled the mighty, descending waterfall towards him.

The waterfall inclined like a bridge.

The *Cantong Qi* surpassed the Daoist classic *Laozi's Commentary by Heshang Gong*, which mentioned "the five organs storing spirits," by being the first to speak of the three divisions, eight scenes, and twenty-four spirits.

They watched as this old immortal breathed from his dwelling into his Dantian, closed his eyes in contemplation, and submerged his spirit into a state of meditation. His vitality surged, and his entire being glowed brightly, just as Daoist immortals were described in ancient texts during their ascension.

They heard Wang Chonglou silently chant: "Five-colored clouds and mists fill the twilight, closing my eyes, I gaze within myself, only then do I realize my body is a grotto-heaven, and the Yellow Court is truly a blessed land..."

"Yellow robe, purple belt, dragon-tiger insignia, prolonged spirit and extended life rely on the Grand Mystery, three calls, two-four breaths, and the vital energy flows."

"The world craves grain and the five flavors, but I alone consume the vital energy of Grand Harmony Yin and Yang."

"Two water kings face the disciples, enabling one to live long and ascend to the ninth heaven..."

With each line he spoke, the old Daoist exhaled a golden-yellow aura that lingered in the air.

Ultimately, eighty-one streams of golden energy, nine times nine, wrapped around the main waterfall's water dragon, and together they plunged into the deep pool.

Xu Fengnian had risen halfway when he felt something amiss with the pond water. First, it became increasingly cold, then instantly scalding hot—a true mix of fire and water. He quickened his pace. Most terrifyingly, he vaguely saw a column of water hurtling directly towards him from the sky. Xu Fengnian gritted his teeth and struggled against the current, but he simply could not break through the water dragon and the eerily golden-yellow surface of the pond. No matter how desperately the Young Master struggled, it was futile. The water surface was like a thousand-catty lid, impossible for human strength to lift or remove. Xu Fengnian's consciousness gradually blurred, yet he still clutched the pebbles in his hand, intending to carve them into chess pieces using the Green Water Pavilion sword art. In his unconsciousness, he inexplicably recalled his Second Sister Xu Weixiong's words: "Heaven and Earth are a great furnace; who is not roasted within it?" He inexplicably remembered nearly drowning in the lake as a playful youth, and inexplicably recalled the bloody mess of his first kill with a blade...

Was he going to die?

Xu Fengnian fell unconscious. All the pebbles in his hand slipped away.

Wang Xiaoping went to Yellow Court Peak but did not kill anyone.

The three Longhu Mountain disciples, sensing discretion, descended the mountain. The Sword Fanatic’s sword art was indeed terrifying; it wasn't that the three of them couldn't fight back, but on Wudang Mountain, Wang Xiaoping held all the advantages of time, place, and people, making their chances of victory too slim.

Wang Xiaoping arrived at the bank of the Elephant Washing Pond, sat cross-legged with his eyes closed, while the peach wood Shen Tu sword on his lap vibrated continuously with a humming sound.

The Young Master was held aloft by golden energy, woven into a lotus-like seat, suspended on the water's surface, with the waterfall cascading onto his head.

Wang Xiaoping did not look.

With his temperament, he wished he could sever that waterfall with a single sword stroke, knowing that this waterfall represented his Sect Leader Brother's lifetime of cultivation.

A day and a night passed.

The thunderstorm ceased.

The mountain air was fresh and clear.

The Young Master, whose entire body was flushed red, was carried to a thatched hut by Hong Xixiang. Between his eyebrows, a red date-like mark stood vertically.

Wang Xiaoping descended the mountain with his sword on his back.

Hong Xixiang and Wang Chonglou came to the vicinity of the Turtle-backed Stele.

The old Sect Leader Daoist looked as healthy as usual, but Hong Xixiang knew full well that his Senior Brother was in his twilight years, experiencing a final burst of energy, and likely had no more than two or three years left.

The young Martial Uncle Ancestor said bitterly, “Does Wudang truly need to go to such lengths to rise?”

The old Sect Leader smiled calmly and warmly, “Not necessarily. But whether I cultivate the Grand Yellow Court or possess it, what good would it do for Wudang? I can’t just occupy the latrine without relieving myself, can I? Having me as Sect Leader is truly a waste of talent. You have a naturally laid-back temperament, so my doing this will also put a little pressure on you, which is always a good thing. Look, even your Little Wang Senior Brother has descended the mountain. Barring any surprises, with his talent and this journey, he will be able to surpass the Wu family's Sword Mound in the future. Then, you will be on the mountain, and he will be off it. Even if we don’t achieve our master’s prophecy of Wudang flourishing for five hundred years, at least we’ll get more incense money. Your Daoist robe has been worn for seven or eight years without you bothering to replace it; then you can finally get a new one.”

Hong Xixiang squatted on the ground, sighing repeatedly and resignedly said, “You only dare say such things to me. If the other senior brothers heard it, they’d be furious enough to die.”

The old Daoist laughed heartily, showing no sign of weariness or despondency.

Hong Xixiang remained silent, resting his chin in his hand, gazing blankly at the distant mountains.

Wang Chonglou said softly, “Though Xu Fengnian carries significant malevolence, he isn't entirely bad. I won’t say much about your interactions with him, but I fear that in the future, neither the martial world nor the imperial court will find peace.”

Hong Xixiang quietly replied, “I can’t control that.”

Wang Chonglou simply sat beside his youngest junior brother and said remorsefully, “Once I let go, you won’t be able to leave the mountain for a while. Do you resent your Senior Brother for this?”

Hong Xixiang chuckled, “Of course I resent it, but if you don’t make me Sect Leader, then I won’t resent it!”

Wang Chonglou scoffed, “Dream on. Resent all you want; by then, I won’t be able to hear or see you. Go ahead and resent.”

Hong Xixiang shook his head and said, “Senior Brother, could you please act a bit more like a Sect Leader?”

The old Daoist scoffed. He was not like those old fellows from Longhu Mountain. Below the immortals, everyone was human. Seniority and status were fleeting; if one couldn't establish virtue and reputation, everything else was external to the body and couldn't be taken to the grave. Why bother maintaining a stiff demeanor and a stern face for decades? Wasn’t it tiring?

Wang Chonglou suddenly said softly, “Little Junior Brother, how about we have a little contest? We haven’t competed in many years. Er, a contest of distance.”

Hong Xixiang became wary, nervously asking, “Is that appropriate?”

The old Sect Leader Daoist used a taunting tone, “Afraid?”

Hong Xixiang, with youthful exuberance, declared, “A contest it is!”

And so, the two highest-ranking Daoists of Wudang did something astonishing at the edge of Little Lotus Peak’s sheer cliff face.

They urinated!

The old Sect Leader sighed, “Back then, I could urinate thirty feet against the wind, but now, old as I am, I wet my shoes. I’m old, I’m old, I have to admit it.”

Hong Xixiang burst into laughter, “Well, how about it? Mine went further than yours, didn’t it?”

The old Sect Leader patted his youngest junior brother’s shoulder and said earnestly, “After Master lost to me in this very contest, he told me that the day I lost to my junior brother, I could finally lay down my burdens.”

Hong Xixiang’s face fell.

The old Daoist gazed into the distance and lamented, “The mountain isn’t about its height... It’s just a pity I won’t live to see the day Wudang truly flourishes.”

Hong Xixiang grunted, wanting to secretly pat his Senior Brother's shoulder.

His hand had gotten a little something on it just now; he needed to wipe it clean.

Why did his Senior Brother pat his shoulder? Hong Xixiang understood perfectly!

The old Sect Leader skillfully dodged and indignantly said, “Your Daoist robe is older than mine! The one Senior Brother is wearing is brand new!”

Hong Xixiang awkwardly withdrew his hand, indignantly exclaiming, “That’s so unfair!”

Wudang’s Sect Leader laughed heartily, then departed from Little Lotus Peak, a voice carrying from afar, “Little Junior Brother, if you truly go down the mountain someday, you must do so with more style, to bring honor to your Senior Brother.”