Chapter 940: Interpretation of the Oracle

From the expansive summit of Dalianhua Peak, where the view is most commanding, the two bustling pilgrim paths, north and south, wind like majestic twin dragons coiling around Wudang Mountain.

Xi Xiang Chi (Elephant Washing Pool), a renowned scenic spot on Wudang Mountain, was bustling with tourists and pilgrims lingering with their families. A loud, boisterous ruffian stood on a bluestone by the pool, regaling the crowd with various strange tales and anecdotes about Xi Xiang Chi. He spoke of how the Wudang elder, Wang Xiaoping, the Sword Obsessive, once meditated there to comprehend the sword, which eventually led to his magnificent battle against Wang Xianzhi of Wudi City. He also claimed that the current King of Liang had practiced his blade there for several years, and before descending the mountain, could force a waterfall to flow backward with a single strike, creating a thunderous roar audible from ten li away. Younger devotees were captivated, and aspiring young martial artists, still dreaming of the jianghu, felt their hearts surge as if they had personally witnessed the extraordinary prowess of that young martial grandmaster. Near Xi Xiang Chi, there was a pavilion, and between the pool and the pavilion, numerous stalls were set up. They sold incense for offerings, offered fortune-telling and divination services, and displayed various ingenious trinkets. Some vendors even set up makeshift stoves on the spot, offering a full range of local delicacies such as Wudang Spring pancakes, Taoist vegetarian stir-fries, and Calming Soup.

A young man, carrying water buckets on a shoulder pole, stood dumbfounded at the edge of the dense crowd. He realized that to fetch two buckets of water, he’d have to fight his way through. Instead, he turned back along the secluded bluestone path, returning to the humble cottage whose mistress was temporarily absent. He set down the pole and buckets, took a gourd ladle, bent down to scoop water from the bottom of the vat, and slowly made his way to the vegetable patch, leisurely watering the plants. With autumn setting in, the greenery in the patch was not as vibrant as in spring and summer, giving it a somewhat desolate appearance. He eventually found himself squatting by the edge of the vegetable patch, ladle in hand, lost in thought. Sensing a deliberately hinted familiar presence, he stood up and walked towards the cottage. There, he saw Deng Tai'a, leading a donkey, standing outside the low purple bamboo fence. Upon seeing his host, the Peach Blossom Sword God gently pushed open the gate, tethered the donkey, and settled onto the small bamboo chair the young man offered, feeling a cool sensation on his backside.

Xu Fengnian, who had flown over Wudang Mountain carrying Li Dongxi, arrived earlier than Deng Tai'a, who had ascended step by step. He commented, “If it weren't for that tablet, I truly wouldn't have recognized this place.”

Xu Fengnian then inquired, “How is the calligraphy?”

Deng Tai'a replied indifferently, “Unimpressive.”

Xu Fengnian replied with a clear conscience, “It’s natural. Before I descended the mountain back then, I hadn't even reached the First Grade realm, so my calligraphy lacked spirit.”

The humble Lüzu Pavilion, it turned out, was built seven hundred years ago. According to local gazettes, before the young Lüzu chose Wudang Mountain as his place of cultivation, he ascended it alone, sword at his side. Halfway up, as he surveyed the landscape, an old man appeared, leaning on a locust root staff. He asked the then-unrenowned Lüzu about the path to immortality, and Lüzu gifted him a prophecy, aiding him in his enlightenment. Eventually, a poem attributed to Lüzu became widely circulated: "Alone I walk, alone I sit, unknown to the world. Only the ancient locust spirit knows where immortals tread." This poem was carved onto an old stone tablet by Wudang Taoists, but over the long years, the characters had nearly weathered away. Before Xu Fengnian descended the mountain after his blade training, a young martial grand-uncle, known for riding an ox, was urged by his senior brother to request Xu Fengnian’s re-transcribed version of the inscription, written in the running script.

Deng Tai'a surveyed his surroundings, perfectly at ease.

Xu Fengnian remarked playfully, “At this rate, martial grandmasters are practically a common sight on Wudang Mountain. Just in the Southern Border region, we have the blade master Mao Shulang, Cheng Baishuang who seeks to become a Confucian sage, and the sword grandmaster Ji Liu'an. And in Shu and Zhao, there are also Wei Miao and Xue Songguan.”

Deng Tai'a, ever one to speak startling truths, announced, “Just now, as I ascended the mountain, I saw Gu Jiantang. And then, I saw Xuanyuan Qingfeng inside Lüzu Pavilion.”

Xu Fengnian frowned. “It's not surprising that I didn't detect Gu Jiantang ascending the mountain, but Xuanyuan Qingfeng being so close…”

Deng Tai'a revealed the truth with a single sentence: “During the battle outside Tai'an City, Cao Changqing seemed to take a particular liking to that woman who stood in his way. Xuanyuan Qingfeng benefited immensely from this encounter, and now she is likely just a hair's breadth away from mastery.”

Xu Fengnian exclaimed, “So that’s it. The fortuitous encounters of this woman, the mistress of Daxueping, can never be explained by ordinary logic. Liu Songtao, Zhao Huangchao, Wang Xianzhi, and Cao Changqing, one after another, either fully imparted their knowledge or offered crucial insights, and she ultimately became one of the few true masters of this era.”

Deng Tai'a remarked with a hint of sarcasm, “You’ve overlooked the most important person, haven’t you?”

Xu Fengnian's face immediately flushed with embarrassment.

Deng Tai'a suddenly asked, “Do you need me to intercept Gu Jiantang, whose intentions are unclear?”

Xu Fengnian was utterly bewildered, wondering why this detached Peach Blossom Sword God was suddenly so benevolent. Wang Xianzhi had long ago given his definitive assessment of Deng Tai'a’s character, essentially stating that Deng Tai'a, being utterly devoted to the sword and thus most ruthless, was also the most in tune with the Way of Heaven. Furthermore, Gu Jiantang, currently at the heart of the Liyang imperial court’s political storm, had left his jurisdiction without authorization, choosing to visit Wudang Mountain incognito. This was essentially venturing deep into Northern Liang territory alone, clearly not intending to stir up trouble on Wudang Mountain. Even if Xu Fengnian were not at the peak of his power, he would still have a strong chance against Gu Jiantang, who had concealed his true abilities for many years.

Just as Xu Fengnian was racking his brain, Deng Tai'a gave a soft cough and instantly vanished. Xu Fengnian instinctively glanced towards the purple bamboo fence, only to find that even the old donkey had disappeared along with him.

Xu Fengnian, his face ashen, stiffly turned his head and looked. Sure enough, in the vegetable patch at the northeast corner of the cottage, some of the previously flourishing greenery had been completely gnawed away, leaving it bare—like a landscape painting by a master artist, defaced by an ignorant child who had punched a hole through it!

Just as a white-robed monk had once spun around and entered the cottage to retrieve a cleaver, Xu Fengnian now did the same. Gritting his teeth, he dashed back inside, quickly unhooked the Liangdao (cold blade) hanging on the wall, and stormed out, seething with anger. “Deng Tai'a!” he roared. “If you've got the guts, don't run! Tonight, I'm serving you donkey meat pancakes!”

As fellow martial grandmasters, once Deng Tai'a deliberately concealed his aura, even Xu Fengnian couldn't detect a single trace.

Xu Fengnian squatted on the ground, sighing deeply. “What an undeserved calamity, damn it!”

Sometimes, when fate delivers one blow, it doesn't follow with a sweet treat, but rather another punch square in the face.

When Xu Fengnian caught sight of a dress slowly approaching in the distance out of the corner of his eye, he felt as if struck by lightning—it was a case of misfortunes never coming singly!

Xu Fengnian, true to his titles of King and Grand Pillar State, made a swift decision. He didn't care about the adage “you can escape the first day, but not the fifteenth”; to him, every day he evaded was another day lived.

As Xu Fengnian swiftly darted away, Jiang Ni's furious voice echoed from behind him: “Xu! You're dead today!”

Jiang Ni, carrying the large red sandalwood casket on her back, suddenly rose into the sky on her sword, her presence as vibrant as a rainbow. Standing on the blade of the Daliang Longque sword, which abruptly hovered, she, with reddened eyes, gazed down upon the entirety of Dalianhua Peak, her murderous intent astonishingly palpable.

It was truly baffling that a mere small vegetable patch could successively be regarded as forbidden territory by two martial grandmasters.

To Jiang Ni’s surprise, Xu Fengnian did not simply flee down the mountain, nor did he even retreat very far. Instead, he cunningly concealed himself within the bustling crowd near Xi Xiang Chi, squatting behind a crowded stall. He bought two Wudang Spring pancakes from the charming proprietress, chewing slowly and deliberately, eating at an incredibly leisurely pace as if savoring his last meal. The woman herself was curious why this handsome young man was squatting by her feet instead of sitting. Her pretty face flushed slightly; could he be harboring *such* intentions? She didn’t entertain many romantic thoughts, merely musing that had she known, she would have charged him two more copper coins.

Next to this stall, an old Taoist with a goatee was interpreting marriage fortunes. He wore a heavily patched old Taoist robe, whose style clearly indicated he was not a Wudang Mountain Taoist. On his small table sat a large, well-polished bamboo fortune stick cylinder, from which guests could draw a stick for him to interpret for a fee.

Xu Fengnian looked up, somewhat surprised by the stall’s thriving business; no fewer than thirty or forty devotees were waiting their turn to draw a fortune stick. The old Taoist sat serenely behind his table, eyes narrowed, stroking his beard. Opposite him, the current client, shaking the fortune stick cylinder, was a graceful young woman. She was likely a pilgrim who had traveled a thousand li from the Jiangnan region to burn incense at Wudang Mountain. Though not tall and with a somewhat youthful face, she was quite well-endowed. The old Taoist subtly shifted, lifting himself slightly to discreetly glance at her waist. "Tsk, tsk," he thought, "what a slender waist! He worried a strong gust of wind might even snap it."

Xu Fengnian couldn't help but scoff inwardly. Back when he was down and out, he had also tried his hand at such a no-capital business, but he had never encountered such good fortune. More often than not, after a bustling temple fair concluded, he wouldn't even have had a single customer.

Noticing Xu Fengnian's expression, the proprietress chuckled softly during a quiet moment. “Young master,” she said, “although Old Immortal Wu isn't a Wudang Taoist, everyone within a hundred li now says his marriage fortunes are remarkably accurate. I’ve personally witnessed many young ladies from Liangzhou travel specifically to draw a stick from him. Some even returned to give Old Immortal Wu silver after their wishes came true; one person gave as much as ten taels! It truly proves that sincerity yields results.”

Xu Fengnian took a hearty bite of his Wudang Spring pancake and retorted dismissively, “If I were to set up a fortune-telling stall here to make money, I'd also be willing to invest in hiring some women to put on a performance. After a while, even if it's not truly effective, it would become perceived as such.”

The proprietress was torn between laughter and exasperation. As a widowed woman, she had once, out of curiosity rather than hope, visited the neighboring stall to draw a stick herself. After hearing such grand claims from this young customer, she couldn't bring herself to say anything harsh. Instead, she merely said, “Young master, you truly are... quite a joker.”

Xu Fengnian merely chuckled.

The young woman with the slender waist and ample bosom shook out a fortune stick, gripping it tightly. She timidly looked down, a bit bewildered, then extended the stick and softly asked, “Taoist priest, what is the meaning of this fortune?”

She was likely from a well-to-do family; when she handed over the stick, her fingers delicately pinched only its very end. The old Taoist, regretting his missed opportunity to brush her hand while taking the stick, first lowered his gaze to the stick in his hand, then solemnly looked up at her. Only then did he pick up his teapot, take a sip to clear his throat, and slowly intone: "‘Again, then it will be achieved.’ This is the twenty-eighth fortune stick."

The young woman waited nervously for further explanation.

The old Taoist offered a slight smile. “Young lady, rest assured. While this is not the most auspicious fortune, it is a very good ‘upper average’ one. It means that if the person you desire cannot be won on the first attempt, you must not lose heart; there will always come a day when things turn for the better.”

The young woman, whose forehead was already beaded with sweat, visibly relaxed, her face breaking into a radiant smile. Her gentle charm, rarely seen in Northern Liang, almost captivated the old Taoist.

The young woman instructed her maid to pay an extra hundred copper coins, then happily turned and left.

The next customer was a robust young man. He grabbed the fortune stick cylinder and shook it vigorously. After a stick fell out, he snatched it up and slapped it heavily onto the table. “See what fortune this is!” he demanded.

The old Taoist's eyelids twitched. With a stern expression, he picked up the bamboo stick and stated concisely: “‘Fei Changfang could not shrink the land of lovesickness.’ This is the sixteenth fortune, a lower fortune.”

The young man paused, then exploded in anger. “Even that little girl's twenty-eighth fortune was ‘upper average,’ so why is my sixteenth fortune a damn ‘lower’ one, you old scoundrel! Are you looking for a fight?!”

The old Taoist, ignoring him completely, subtly shifted his gaze. “Next.”

The young man snapped, “I'm not paying you!”

The old Taoist, proving himself worthy of his reputation as an otherworldly immortal, calmly stated, “This humble Taoist has a rule for interpreting fortunes: whether the fortune is good or bad, if you believe, it is one hundred coins. If you do not believe, simply depart; this humble Taoist will not trouble you further.”

The young man was clearly stunned, his aggressive demeanor rapidly diminishing. He asked, “What is this Fei Changfang all about?”

The old Taoist sneered, “He was a renowned Taoist Immortal of the Great Feng Dynasty!”

The old man paused, his face solemn. He then stated gravely, “This Master Fei was also a close friend of my sect's founder. In the end, they even vowed to ascend together. There has truly been no greater spectacle on earth, no greater spectacle.”

The young man looked utterly dumbfounded. In the end, he obediently pulled out a hundred copper coins, placed them gently on the table, and then departed, looking dejected and deeply troubled.

Following this minor incident, the old Taoist fully displayed the demeanor of an enlightened master, so much so that even his tattered Taoist robe seemed to exude a sense of ancient wisdom and the passage of time.

Xu Fengnian watched the entire process, quite impressed. The old charlatan indeed possessed some skill. He became increasingly absorbed in the spectacle. The fortunes drawn by subsequent customers were rather unremarkable, neither exceptionally bad nor particularly auspicious. What was interesting, however, was that many phrases were derived from Wang Chudong’s work, *First Snow*. For example, a young martial artist drew a fortune that read, “Light spring knife like soil,” and another, “Cannot bear to see your green temples again, but encounter guest in yellow shirt”—both popular, beautiful lines taken directly from *First Snow*. It was rumored that in earlier years, several highly esteemed imperial concubines in the Liyang Imperial Palace were particularly fond of *First Snow*. Not only that, but even three *ci-poetry* tune names from Beimang’s Qi Jian Yuefu adopted some of the innovative new tune names first introduced in *First Snow*. It was easy to imagine that if Wang Chudong were to appear in the Central Plains literary circles, she would undoubtedly be a guest of the highest esteem.

Each time he heard a familiar phrase, Xu Fengnian would squint and smile, his expression eventually becoming somewhat wistful. He remembered a woman who had married off a thousand li away, and who had once been utterly devoted to this book.

Xu Fengnian sighed, and just as he was about to stand up, he suddenly squatted back down with speed.