The Noble Consort today left the city to admire the countryside, and the Crown Prince of Jing’an, Zhao Xun, personally accompanied her to the city gate of Xiangfan, watching her departure atop the Fishing Pavilion until she vanished from sight. Then, with only one attendant, he meandered through winding paths toward a secluded residence known as “the Hall of Gold and Jade, where Beauty Hides.” Within this manor, besides the caged songbird, there were only a maid and two elderly nannies, no other idle persons, and not a single male soul. As Zhao Xun pushed open the door, he felt his heart instantly uplifted. Though far smaller and far less grand than the Jing’an Palace, this modest courtyard mansion with merely two inner courtyards was regarded by the Crown Prince as a rare paradise found with much difficulty.
The palace, with its strict discipline, and the Buddhist hall housing the statue of Ksitigarbha, every flower, every grass, every brick and tile exuded a suffocating chill that grew more unbearable as Zhao Xun grew older. The most important man in his life—his father—was unfathomably scheming, so much so that even as his son, Zhao Xun dared not attempt to understand him. He both resented the man for hesitating to seize the throne, and feared the silent, meditative figure that sat chanting beads while feigning piety. Yet, what troubled the Crown Prince most deeply was why the man had married *her*, only to later show her no care. Their married life was like ice, even at times like daggers, a bitter irony indeed.
Zhao Xun took a deep breath, drawing in the unique freshness of this small courtyard, where orchids—her favorite—filled the air. This woman, though bearing the title of Lady of the Realm, was treated no better than a courtesan from the Zhongxiang brothels. She was only permitted to leave the city twice a year, both times to admire the sea of reeds—one in spring, where tender green shoots sprouted in joyous clusters; the other in autumn, where the reeds danced on the wind like snowflakes.
“Is it merely because her name contains *’wei’*—reed—that she must gaze upon the most dull, fragile, and drifting things?”
The woman, kept in this courtyard like a pet cat or dog, had been stripped of her name since the day she arrived. Of course, Zhao Xun enjoyed holding her warm, smooth body, as soft and pleasant as jade, but what truly consumed his heart and made him lose all restraint was her demeanor.
As now, when Zhao Xun, with utmost respect, said, “Xun’er pays his respects,” she merely raised her nose slightly and gave a delicate cold snort. At once, his bones felt lighter. She was *so* like *her*. A sinister smile crossed his face.
“You damn bitch—Pei Nanwei! Think you can play the aloof and noble lady with me?!” Without another word, he lunged forward, tearing off her clothes identical to those once worn by *Pei Nanwei*, and then carried her to the grand bed in the inner chambers, where he ravished her body.
After the storm of passion had passed, Zhao Xun returned to his composed self, lying on the bed with his eyes half-closed, relaxing as the false Noble Consort massaged his shoulders.
“Still not quite the same,” he murmured in disappointment. “Though her voice and form imitate the real one almost perfectly, in intimacy, she’s still wanting. Next time, be more careful. If you fail again on the day of my visit—”
The woman in the bed let out a soft, nasal hum in response. Zhao Xun glanced at her, suddenly grabbed her smooth, silken hair, and pressed her head to his crotch.
“My sweet little reed,” he said with cruel tenderness, “this Crown Prince is going mad just thinking about your mouth.”
After two entanglements of sweaty limbs, Zhao Xun threw on a robe and lay barechested on the sandalwood floor outside the chamber, staring silently at a string of wind chimes that swayed without wind. Now, the Crown Prince of Jing’an looked like a gentle young man at peace with the world, harmless and refined. The false Noble Consort crouched beside him, watching the chimes with the madman. When Zhao Xun fell into silence, he became strangely approachable. She took the opportunity to study his handsome face—so often said to resemble his father’s by 90 percent.
Zhao Xun gazed at the elegant wind chimes made from broken jade tiles and smiled softly. “Do you find it beautiful? She will never look at me like this. She looks down on my father, let alone someone like me, the Crown Prince who doesn’t even have a hereditary title yet.”
Closing his eyes, the Crown Prince murmured, “How envious I am of the common folk.”
Zhao Xun left, and before he departed, he slapped her across the face. The reason? She had dared to glance at him under the eaves. The false Noble Consort, her cheek swollen, carefully lay down on the floor where the Crown Prince had rested. No hatred filled her heart—only the same upward gaze toward the wind chimes they both shared. As he had lain in silence, he had seemed almost endearingly approachable.
She was startled from her trance by the sudden appearance of an elderly man sitting on the balustrade across from her. A deep, instinctive fear rose from her very soul.
She had been shocked into admiration by the Prince of Jing’an. When she first entered this courtyard, she had been whipped more than once, slapped for the slightest mistake, and shamefully degraded in bed. Yet she was unafraid. At times, as she held him at night while he wept quietly, there was even sorrow. But only before this old man—who had never raised a single hand against her—did she feel true terror.
The old man, who had rarely appeared though often rumored of, now spoke softly.
“Do you finally have feelings for this poor worm born into royalty?”
The false Noble Consort knelt before him, trembling.
The old man chuckled faintly. “It’s of no matter. Zhao Xun is no fool. If you give nothing of your true heart, he’ll sooner or later tire of you.”
The woman finally caught her breath, raising her eyes to look upon this being who was half an immortal, half a demon, in her mind.
If he was a god, it was because he calculated without error. Almost every step Zhao took had been foreseen by him. Yet the more precise he was, the more she feared him.
She had once imitated the Noble Consort too perfectly, but the old man had forbidden it. He’d told her only to become slightly more adept each time. Thinking back now, she finally understood: if she had been flawless from the start, this Prince of Jing’an would not have returned here so often. Was this man’s skill in manipulating hearts truly peerless? What kind of man would scheme so deeply against a prince?
The old man looked at that string of broken jade wind chimes. It was he who had told the false Noble Consort to hang them—and indeed, Zhao Xun loved them more than imagined.
The old man chuckled softly and recited:
“Empty within from top to bottom,
Impervious to winds from every quadrant,
I chant the Dharma with every chime,
Dingdingdong! Dingdingdong!”
The false Noble Consort dared not speak.
Rising to his feet, the old man said, “The fortune of you two poor souls depends on today. Pity you cannot see it.”
Before he departed, he left behind a cryptic prophecy:
“When the Prince of Jing’an becomes thunderously enraged, speak only in defense of Zhao Xun. Perhaps, just perhaps, that will spare your life.”
The false Noble Consort stared blankly.
Wind stirred once more, and the chimes sang.
Dingdingdong! Dingdingdong!
But this time, the sound held no sacred air—only killing intent.
※※※
Wudang Mountain was lively, because a bastard had arrived.
The nuisance hailed from Longhu Mountain, which was bad enough, but he even dared to duel the young Junior Master who had become the head of the sect by popular demand.
Well, what happened?
Didn’t he get his ass kicked?
The dozens of Taoist temples across the mountain were abuzz with chatter. The older ones were more anxious—after all, that man was Xiao Lüzu (Young Immortal Lü), ranked among the Top Ten Martial Artists, one of the Three Junior Immortals of Longhu, Qi Xianxia (Qi the Immortal), whose sword cultivation was no mere rumor. The younger apprentices, however, couldn’t stop cursing and stamping their feet, ready to roll up their sleeves and challenge the “Xiao Lüzu” who temporarily resided in the bamboo hut on Great Lotus Peak. These young Taoist boys simply hadn’t seen Qi Xianxia’s divine sword arts—how he wielded his flywhisk like a sword, cleaving through purple bamboo stalks.
In truth, only the ox-riding Junior Master had witnessed the fight, intending to offer help out of courtesy. Alas, the Junior Immortal didn’t accept.
At the time of the battle outside the temple, the young Junior Master had snatched the flywhisk from him—then Qi Xianxia’s sword aura had shaken the statue of the Great Deity Zhenwu for quite a while, uprooting an ancient thousand-year-old cypress tree entirely. If not for the young Junior Master grabbing a thousand-pound incense burner to block a few blows, his newly made Taoist robes would’ve been reduced to tatters.
Several of the Junior Master’s senior brothers had rushed over upon hearing the commotion, watching from the doorway with eager enthusiasm. No one cared about the cypress tree or the incense burner—only the martial skill, the clash of sword techniques, animated their talk.
Outside the bamboo hut, Qi Xianxia sat cross-legged on a green mat, cultivating.
Not far off, a young Taoist monk was feeding his ox with hay, somewhat apologetically saying, “To be honest, my senior brothers have little decorum. Their demeanor pales beside that of your Longhu Celestial Sect. They’re just used to seeing me make a fool of myself. Please accept my apology.”
Qi Xianxia simply ignored the persistent nuisance.
The ox-raised young Taoist chuckled, “You really plan to stay on Wudang Mountain, huh? That ancient sword of Immortal Lü hanging beneath the Tai Xu Palace’s eaves—it’s yours if you want it. Pretend I never saw it; I always thought the sword looked pitiful, so it’s best it finds a user.”
Qi Xianxia opened his eyes, glared, and snapped, “How dare you speak so lightly of Master Lü’s relic!”
The young junior master patted the ox and muttered, “Your heart isn’t even as large as Xu Fengnian’s.”
Qi Xianxia’s snowy flywhisk sharply twitched upward.
Hong Xixiang ( Hong Xixiang) grumbled, “Fine, fine. You Longhu folks indeed don’t seem like true cultivators. So much desire for superiority!”
Qi Xianxia sneered, “And you Wudang types have none? Then why build the archway below the mountain with the words ‘Xuanwu Prosper Wudang’?”
Hong Xixiang grinned, “Looks impressive, that’s all. It bears Master Lü’s handwriting. How rare!”
Qi Xianxia huffed, speaking reason to this man was like playing the zither to a cow.
Hong Xixiang whispered: “Cultivation demands absolute poverty, my purse holds but a few coins. That’s a famous saying by Master Lü. Yet your Longhu Mountain, with Huang Sanjia’s mockery, was said to have ‘purses filled with millions’ instead.”
This time, rather than anger, Qi Xianxia merely smiled faintly.
From time to time, the Jianghu and the imperial court share amusing little sayings—often crude phrases from scholars and overly refined ones from commoners, all quite lively. Huang Longshi’s jest about Longhu neglecting true cultivation was one such. When General Xu Fengnian of Northern Liang entered the capital to meet the Emperor, he beat a third-rank official senseless and roared, “If that fool didn’t have an extra bird in his trousers and lacked two sacks of meat on his chest, he’d be a real woman!” And then there was the current Grand Chancellor of the Shangyin Academy’s famous line from his youth teasing a senior Confucian scholar from Southern Wu, “Nothing tastes better than dumplings, and nothing is more fun than a sister-in-law.” There was also the story of a swordsman from Kunzhong Sect who, when surrounded by other martial heroes to fight a demon, suddenly fled with a flimsy excuse, claiming, “I just heard my wife’s pregnant—I must return first.” Everyone laughed until their bellies ached.
Hong Xixiang, holding the ox’s reins, said before departing, “You may stay if you wish. Perhaps one day we can descend the mountain together. With a companion, my courage will be greater.”
He walked a few steps, then turned, shamelessly grinning.
“Hey hey, don’t be stingy. Tell me about what happened at the lakeside pavilion.”
Qi Xianxia raised his hand, reaching for his flywhisk.
Hong Xixiang leapt upon the ox and fled.
The stern-faced Qi Xianxia even let a small grin slip.
The tension vanished in an instant.
Such is Wudang Mountain.
Whoever may come, harmony abides.
Harmony brings the aura of immortality.
※※※
Lingchan Temple.
Two women ascended the mountain, and all the monks greeted them. Younger monks with less restraint stole glances behind the backs of their abbots, smiling secretly.
The little girl, however, paid no mind.
“Baldies! Baldies everywhere! Who wants to see!”
“Mother, let me go back down. Always seeing Dad and that dumb Northern idiot with their big bald heads—it’s so boring.”
“My dear daughter, bald is great. You don’t even need candles at night!”
“Mother, don’t make me laugh! It’s unbecoming of a lady!”
“I’m not joking. I’m teaching you the profoundest truths of life. Otherwise, how would someone as fair as me end up with your father?”
“Mother, the girls from the village are way prettier than you. I don’t get why Dad even married you.”
“Brat! Without me, there’d be no you! And go ahead, feel that chest and speak the truth—how could your mother be anything but beautiful?”
“…”
“Sigh… My daughter, as you grow older, you’ll understand. As long as you are beautiful in a man’s heart, you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“But… Xu Fengnian said I’m just average-looking. I’m doomed!”
“My daughter’s growing up—I’m so proud! My daughter… is your mother really that ugly? No! I must go back down the mountain again and buy more face powder. Slather it on thick and all will be well.”
“Mother, you waste money again. Dad and that stupid Northern monk will be squatting by the wall, gossiping, and that noise will never end.”
“Let them gossip. If they ever stop, that would truly be bad.”
Mother and daughter seemed rather ordinary.
A pity then that all those bald monks who adored them exuded nothing but the air of sanctity.
※※※
Thirty miles outside Xiangfan City, where the boundless sea of reeds stretched, filled with life and vitality—why today, it had lost all spirit?
In the central clearing, a wealthy young master sat atop an arch labeled *‘Sky Mirrors Unveiled’*, with four *Fujiang Red Armor* figures beneath him.
To the northeast, a burly man resembling a common farmer stood silently, a golden soft-sword coiled around his waist.
Rumored to be the 11th-ranked martial expert in the world for two consecutive rankings, a master of all eighteen weapons from blades to spears, skilled in every school from Confucianism to Buddhism to Daoism. His brilliance was too broad and chaotic, so he ended up wielding a flexible sword. When infused with Qi, it could act as blade, spear, or arrow.
To the southwest, a man in green robes strolled forward, carrying a staff across both shoulders.
Suddenly, hoofbeats rang out.
Ten thousand birds burst from the reeds.
The old man who had personally molded the false Noble Consort and *Li Shuangjia* had borrowed a pot of coarse rice wine from a fisherman at the edge of the reeds. Sipping gently as he listened to the sound of rice being husked, he muttered to himself as he drank:
“What a fine place to bury the dead.”
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