After having the servants of the Rang residence settle the carriages and horses of Wang Fumi’s group, Li Yibai and the other two led them through a side gate into the Sword Pond. However, before a massive boulder from Chun Shen Lake, as large as a small hill, the two parties parted ways. Li Yibai took Song Tinglu to the right.
The steward suddenly slapped his forehead, stopped, turned around, and clasped his hands with a smile. “Look at my memory—I forgot to introduce myself. My surname is Song. Here at the Sword Pond, whether family or outsiders, everyone calls me Song the Second. You can call me Uncle Song the Second, or if you feel it’s a bit of a loss, calling me Brother Song the Second is fine too.”
Wang Fumi and Liu Wanqing spoke in unison, “Uncle Song the Second.”
Meanwhile, Wei Gaowei and Ye Geng almost simultaneously called out, “Brother Song the Second.”
Ye Geng grinned mischievally, looking smug. “Brother Wang, Sister Wanqing, now you’re a generation below me!”
Ye Yan tugged at her loose-lipped brother’s sleeve. She didn’t glare or scold him—just gave a reserved, subtle smile.
Unexpectedly, the young man froze in fear and quickly bowed deeply to the man from the Sword Pond. “Ye Geng pays respects to Uncle Song the Second!”
Song the Second, now middle-aged with crow’s feet no longer concealable at the corners of his eyes, smiled warmly and waved his hand. The warmth radiating from his eyes was like autumn sunlight shimmering on the waters of the Sword Pond. Nine out of ten women in the world would likely find him a gentle and amiable man.
Just looking at the present company—Liu Wanqing, Ye Yan, and Wei Xiaoshuang, three young women of vastly different backgrounds—all found their goodwill toward this “humble” man from the Sword Pond growing steadily.
Heading north, they passed through corridors and buildings before entering a courtyard. Following a winding pebble path, they eventually rounded a screen wall, and their view suddenly opened up. Five hundred paces ahead lay an empty expanse, with only a pond faintly visible at the far end.
Song the Second slowed his pace and said softly with a smile, “Ahead lies the foundation of our Song family. No need to be nervous—simply put, it’s just a pond. Once you reach the shore, as long as you don’t climb those two stone cliffs, feel free to do as you please.”
Perhaps infected by Song the Second’s casual demeanor, Wei Gaowei and the others first exchanged glances, then smiled at each other, all sensing the same relief in one another.
The Sword Pond of Dongyue resembled a crescent moon, about a hundred paces long and several zhang deep, making its bottom invisible. Its most peculiar feature was how the color of its waters changed with the seasons.
At each end of the crescent stood towering stone cliffs, three zhang high, like two silver-armored guardians protecting a maiden in green. The cliffs bore inscriptions—on the left, the ancestral motto: “The learning of one family is the learning of swordsmanship under heaven.” Later generations dared not, nor was it appropriate, to add or question anything here, so despite the nine massive characters, they appeared lonely and isolated. The right cliff, however, was far from dull. Apart from the most eye-catching four archaic seal characters, “A World Apart,” there were over twenty other inscriptions, densely packed, mostly left by calligraphy masters of various dynasties who visited here on a whim. Among them, the most enigmatic were the two characters “Come and Go” by Li Changxing from the late Dafeng Dynasty. Li Changxing was not only a pillar of the state but also a master calligrapher renowned as “Li Lanky.” More importantly, he was an undisputed grandmaster of martial arts. While his calligraphy was typically lean and angular, these two characters were unusually lush and full, becoming an unsolved mystery in the calligraphy world for centuries. These inscriptions, combined with the natural weathering patterns on the cliffs, formed a chaotic yet elegant cursive script, exuding an ancient charm.
Song the Second recounted the legends of the Sword Pond with familiarity, as if listing treasures from his own home. Even the impatient young Ye Geng listened intently.
On the southern shore of the Sword Pond stood simple stone tables and stools. Clearly, whether for solitary meditation or hosting guests for tea or wine, this was a peerless spot in any season.
One stone table, with stools to the east, south, and west.
Song the Second first joked that their Song family had been established for centuries, and these tables and stools alone had a history of over three hundred years. Originally, there was a stool to the north, but it was said to have been shattered by the terrestrial immortal who established the four realms of the first rank. He added not to underestimate these crude-looking stools—they had hosted many martial grandmasters. Just during the Spring and Autumn period, there were Prince Consort Wang Sui of Dongyue, Grand Preceptor Li Mi of the Great Chu, and, of course, the Sword Saint Li Chungang. Later, there was also the Grand Official Cao Changqing, who stopped by on his way north to Tai’an City, and the former head of the Wu Family Sword Tomb, who visited before retiring.
Thus, when Song the Second smilingly invited them to sit and rest, these young martial artists hardly dared to place their backsides on the stools.
Ye Geng, his thoughts leaping like an antelope, muttered to himself, “If I could take one of these stools home, I’d be rich…”
Song the Second couldn’t help but laugh. “If you could actually steal one, that’d be a feat. But under my watch, best not try.”
Wei Gaowei sighed deeply. “The martial world says there are three places best for enlightenment—the Washing Elephant Pool on Wudang Mountain, the Snowy Plateau of Huishan, and here.”
Song the Second clasped his hands over his abdomen, tilting his head slightly with a hint of nostalgia. “Back when I traveled after coming of age, I visited those two places. But at the time, they were nothing special. Such is the unpredictability of life.”
Lowering his voice, his gaze grew obscure. “Face the unpredictable with an ordinary heart…”
He shook off his thoughts and smiled gently at the young women. “Ladies, your feet must be tired. Why not sit and rest?”
Liu Wanqing and Wei Xiaoshuang found it both absurd and heartwarming, while Ye Yan’s eyes sparkled with a subtle glow.
In the end, Ye Yan sat down slowly, Ye Geng plopped down eagerly to “absorb the immortal aura,” and Xu Baozao, seeing Liu Wanqing and Wei Xiaoshuang endlessly deferring, strode forward and took a seat to spare them the dilemma.
Song the Second, Wei Gaowei, and Wang Fumi stood side by side, gazing at the emerald-green Sword Pond, its waters exuding a chill. Song the Second laughed loudly. “People love to spread tall tales—they say the inscription ‘A World Apart’ hints at hidden mysteries at the bottom of our Sword Pond. If the waters dried up, revealing a stone gate, one could enter the true tomb of the Dafeng founding emperor. Some even claim the emperor’s body hasn’t decayed in centuries, waiting for his reincarnation to awaken and return, reuniting soul and body to become invincible and reclaim the throne…”
Wang Fumi, a man of principle who disdained superstitions, scoffed. “Nonsense from ignorant villagers.”
Wei Gaowei hesitated, then looked toward a line of cursive script on the northern cliff.
“High mountains, deep waters, sword…”
At present, the waters submerged the characters below, obscuring the words “enduring spirit.”
Song the Second’s reply was unexpected. “Truth be told, every Song family member has wondered about the pond’s depths since childhood. Sadly, our elders are just as clueless, so no one can say for sure what lies beneath.”
Following Wei Gaowei’s gaze, he pointed. “The water level fluctuates. At its shallowest, you can see the character ‘enduring,’ but still no sign of any tomb or gate.”
A loud, ill-timed voice boomed from above. “You Sword Pond folks are hopelessly rigid! If you want the truth, why not jump in? How deep can a tiny pond be? What’s so hard about taking a look?”
Wang Fumi and the others jerked their heads up, spotting a young man squatting atop a cliff, a sword resting across his knees, accompanied by an elderly man with snow-white hair and eyebrows, a sword slung across his back.
Instead of anger, Song the Second remained calm. “May I ask where our guests hail from?”
The young man sneered. “Why play dumb, Song the Second? Didn’t we send our challenge to Dongyue Sword Pond already?”
Song the Second kept his hands clasped, relaxed and unhurried. “Aside from that absurd Chun Shen Lake Vitality Tower, the Snow Hut Spear Saint also sent us a challenge. I thought you might be one of Li Houzhong’s disciples.”
The young swordsman scowled. “Are you blind? I’m carrying a sword—how could I be his disciple?”
Song the Second smiled approvingly. “Fair point.”
Like a kindly tutor praising a child’s recitation of the classics…
For some reason, the young swordsman felt stifled.
The women, including Ye Yan, nearly laughed, dispelling the tense atmosphere.
Xu Baozao stood and tiptoed to Xu Fengnian’s side. “I know the Snow Hut Spear Saint—one of the famed Four Saints, mocked as ‘greatest in power, least in virtue.’ But what’s this Chun Shen Lake Vitality Tower? How can a faction have such a… standout name?”
Xu Fengnian kept his hands tucked in his sleeves, silent.
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