Chapter 45: That Hawthorn on the Mountain, That Lotus in the Lake (Part 1)

Playing with Beacon Fires to Amuse the Vassals

Daoism recognizes thirty-six Grotto-Heavens and seventy-two Auspicious Lands. In the past, the "Cloud Gathering Palace Diagrams" by Ma Cheng-zhen, an old immortal from the Nine-Rice-Dou Sect of the previous dynasty, was particularly influential. At that time, Mount Longhu was merely the twenty-sixth Auspicious Land and contained no Grotto-Heavens, appearing significantly less prestigious than Wudang Mountain. However, since its elevation to the ancestral court of Daoism, the Zhao family Heavenly Masters have governed the Tianshi Mansion, spreading their teachings. This hereditary lineage has now endured for forty generations. Each Heavenly Master receives an imperial edict, granting them the title of Heavenly Master and an official rank of the first or second grade. They are summoned to the capital to meet the emperor and impart techniques for health preservation and disease prevention.

The current Great Heavenly Master, Zhao Dan-xia, was appointed National Preceptor alongside the Grand Libationer of Shangyin Academy. While the previous Heavenly Master only managed Daoist affairs in the Jiangnan region, Zhao Dan-xia now oversees all Daoist matters across the realm. His rank is equivalent to a first-grade official, and his power rivals that of a prince, earning him the esteemed reputation of the 'Feather-Robed Prime Minister'.

Xiaoyao Temple, a small temple on Mount Longhu, was sparsely populated and received little incense. Perhaps the Tianshi Mansion, unwilling to see the mountain's oldest Daoist temple run out of provisions, provided monthly silver subsidies. Xiaoyao Temple was not originally part of the Mount Longhu Daoist court; it was only transferred to the Tianshi Mansion's jurisdiction two generations ago. Since then, Mount Longhu has been devoid of Buddhist temples. Even old, minor Daoist temples like Xiaoyao struggled to survive, and Daoists not aligned with the Zhengyi sect gradually relocated from the mountain—a stark contrast to the inclusive nature of Wudang Mountain.

Currently, an elderly Daoist priest named Zhao Xituo resides at Xiaoyao Temple. An outsider hearing his name for the first time might dismiss him as an unsuccessful old man who simply retired to Mount Longhu. While three Heavenly Masters named Zhao live in the Tianshi Mansion, one should not assume that bearing the surname Zhao on the mountain automatically confers importance. Only the Longhu Mountain Daoists from the Tianshi Mansion are the true leaders of this 'Daoist Capital.' The current generation of Longhu leaders belongs to the 'Dan' character generation, followed by 'Jing,' 'Ning,' 'Ling,' 'Jing,' and 'Guan.'

Inside the temple, the old Daoist priest Zhao Xituo gazed at the hawthorn fruits scattered across the courtyard. Withered and shriveled from exposure to wind, sun, snow, and rain, they were long past edible.

A sallow-faced young man squatted in the courtyard, looking somewhat troubled.

The old Daoist priest stood beside him. "Today is a bright, warm day, perfect for a hero to recall past glories," he mused contentedly to Longxiang. "When I was young, I loved to enjoy nature. Even as a child, I grasped the essence of the Bagua, read every book, and lived a life unburdened by worldly concerns. The old patriarchs on this mountain were incredibly fond of me back then. But I, your master, never cared for the empty title of 'Feather-Robed Prime Minister.' I wandered for about thirty years before finally returning to the mountain. Heh, while I was away, I did manage to transmit scriptures, teach talismans, heal the sick, and avert disasters. I was even almost invited by the old emperor into the palace to lecture on Huang-Lao techniques. Don't be mistaken, many from the Tianshi Mansion have indeed visited the capital and entered the forbidden palace, but that's because they share the surname Zhao. Unlike them, I don't rely on my surname for my standing; my reputation alone can reach the heavens."

"Longxiang, stop looking at the hawthorns," the old Daoist urged. "Talk to your master for a bit, let's chat. It's not right that master and disciple barely exchange a few words each day; outsiders might think I don't care about you."

"My disciple, why don't I teach you the 'Great Dream of Spring and Autumn'?" the old Daoist suggested. "This is a Daoist immortal art that the old patriarch passed down to me alone, one that even my proud nephew hasn't fully comprehended. It's thanks to this 'Dream of Spring and Autumn' that I've been able to preserve Xiaoyao Temple. This cultivation method is as good as, if not better than, Wudang's 'Great Yellow Court.' I can now sleep for three years at a time, but the old patriarch was even more formidable; it's said he could easily sleep for sixty years. I often wonder if the old patriarch's ascension back then was..."

Seeing the young man's expressionless face, the old Daoist priest found his monologue somewhat dull. He yawned, feeling drowsy. He sat with his left leg bent and foot on the ground, his right foot resting on his left thigh, one hand supporting his cheek, and his head tilted, fast asleep. Though there was no chair or stool beneath him, his body swayed gently without ever toppling over.

The old Daoist priest of the 'Xi' generation from Mount Longhu, his hand supporting his cheek, seemed to be forming a sword incantation. His left hand, with fingers curled like hooks, performed the Chongyang Ziwu incantation. The old man's murmurs could be heard: "Sleep, spring and autumn, sleep, spring and autumn, lying high on stone roots, forgetting the years. The essence world transforms into the world of rebirth: no felt mat, no blanket, heaven and earth as my bed, draped in bright moonlight. Thunder rolls, lightning flashes, Mount Tai crumbles; ten thousand fathoms of seawater fall into the void; black dragons roar, startling ghosts and gods; at that very moment, I am deeply asleep..."

Outside the courtyard stood a young Daoist priest, clad in a noble, bright yellow robe. He stood still with closed eyes, silently reciting: "Eyes facing nose, nose facing the gate of life, with inner observation of the heart and mind. Continuous breathing, practiced in silence, utterly empty and profoundly tranquil. True Qi floats in the elixir field, divine water surrounds the five viscera. Calling out Jia-Ding, summoning a hundred spirits, my spirit emerges from the nine palaces, freely roaming the azure depths. In dreams, I observe the vast sea, in mist, I grasp Yin and Yang, unaware that five hundred years have passed beyond spring and autumn..."

Seeing the old Daoist priest beside him half-asleep and stubbornly unwilling to move, Xu Longxiang rose and left the courtyard. Xiaoyao Temple was not high on the mountain but situated at its foot, a stark contrast to the lofty Tianshi Mansion. However, just outside, one could see the Green Dragon Stream, winding around the mountains like a jade belt. Xu Longxiang walked to the stream bank, staring blankly at the two bamboo rafts tied there. Being afraid of water, the young man naturally dared not board a raft to travel downstream.

The young Daoist priest in the yellow robe stood proudly by the stream, sneering, "You fool surnamed Xu, it's a waste that Master Xi taught you 'Sleep Spring and Autumn.' Do you even understand it? If not, then get back to Beiliang as soon as possible. Mount Longhu is no place for idiots like you."

Xu Longxiang paid him no heed, merely staring blankly at the stream.

Despite his mocking words, the young Daoist priest with the unusual countenance maintained some distance from the 'yellow savage.' The last time he visited Xiaoyao Temple to see the old patriarch, he had nearly been chased by that fool from the foot of the mountain to the summit, an utterly humiliating experience that had many of the Daoist nuns on the mountain laughing for a long time.

He had, however, discerned that the fool was afraid of water.

When Xu Longxiang finally turned his head, the young Daoist priest floated towards a bamboo raft. With a light tap of his toe, the raft slowly glided towards the opposite bank. It seemed the young Daoist had performed a trick, as the raft came to a standstill in the middle of the stream.

On one of the rafts stood five or six literati who had come to Mount Longhu to explore secluded spots and seek immortals. Witnessing this mystical display, they all gasped in astonishment.

The Daoist priest laughed loudly, "Yellow savage, come if you dare! I heard you have two—one who acts dissolutely, and another who seeks fame and flattery."

Xu Longxiang remained unmoved.

The Daoist priest continued to mock, "You also have a brother, don't you? Is it true the princess consort died because of that incompetent heir apparent?"

Xu Longxiang suddenly lifted his head.

The Daoist priest chuckled, "Come on, I'm waiting."

The squatting Xu Longxiang did not fully stand; instead, like a leopard, he crouched and darted forward. In an instant, he was at the stream bank. But instead of leaping into the water, he stomped his foot on the front end of the bamboo raft, immediately prying the broad, sturdy raft clear out of the water, making it stand upright!

With one hand like a blade, he severed the thick ropes securing the raft. Then, with both hands, he tore the bamboo raft to shreds.

Xu Longxiang quickly gathered segments of the raft's wreckage and hurled them.

The sound alone was ear-splitting, like a tiger's roar.

The immense power was immediately evident.

A volley of bamboo pieces rained down.

The yellow-robed Daoist priest's face contorted in panic. No matter how he dodged and weaved like a monkey, he could not escape the barrage of bamboo spears. Even with all his strength, he could only deflect a few pieces, and each one exploded upon hitting the stream.

The stream water around the Daoist priest erupted in splashes, like fountains.

As the final bamboo piece came hurtling towards his face, the young Daoist priest had all but resigned himself.

A middle-aged Daoist priest, also in a yellow robe, suddenly appeared. He floated to the bamboo raft, his left hand behind his back, and his right hand deftly caught the bamboo piece. Though outwardly calm, the raft rapidly recoiled. By the time it came to a halt, the middle-aged Daoist had already shot the bamboo piece back towards Xu Longxiang, renowned for his unparalleled strength.