The twin waterfalls of Huishan cascaded in layers, and by the time the final cascade plunged downward, the rushing waters fell with a thunderous roar that could be heard half a mile away. Yet beneath it all sat a young man, his upper body bare, bracing against the torrent with his back, his skin beaten from red to purple. Amidst the mist, a rainbow shimmered above his head. The area around the large pool was lush with moss and verdant trees, a scene of breathtaking beauty.
An enigmatic middle-aged Daoist priest appeared as if from nowhere, slipping past every hidden sentinel of Huishan without a whisper of disturbance, until he stood near the falls and gazed at the young man. Seeing the youth swaying unsteadily, clearly on the verge of collapse, the obscure hermit waved his sleeve and yanked the young man from the waterfall’s grasp.
It was none other than Yuan Tingshan, a swordsman who had been using the waterfall’s force to counteract poison in his body. His cultivation had been interrupted. His eyes, sharp and menacing, betrayed a ruthless nature. A broadsword, bound to his wrist by a rope, leapt from beneath the water like a green dragon rising from the deep. With blade in hand, he was ready to strike at a moment’s notice, revealing his ever-vigilant nature.
Yet upon recognizing the Daoist, Yuan, famous even in Huishan for his cold-heartedness, immediately knelt on a large stone by the pool and declared, “Yuan Tingshan of Julu pays homage to the Immortal Elder. I shall never forget the great kindness of the Fairyfruit bestowed by the Immortal Elder of Yunjin Mountain.”
The middle-aged Daoist, a man who had fished once every decade at Longhu Mountain, waved a hand and said, “This humble Daoist has come only to bid farewell to Xuan Yuan Jingcheng at the Great Snow Slope of Huishan. I saw that your cultivation had veered off course, and your internal injuries worsening from overexertion, so I took the liberty to intervene. Pray, do not fault me for meddling.”
Yuan Tingshan smiled, revealing a row of pearly white teeth, and replied, “How dare I!”
The Daoist noticed the young man’s respectful tone, yet his right hand remained tightly gripped on the hilt of his sword. He merely smiled and said, “Julu is a place where all roads converge. If Kunlun is the dragon’s head and the Eastern Sea City its tail, then Julu is the dragon’s horn. Its people are either great villains or great sages—rarely are they ordinary.”
Kneeling on the rock, Yuan Tingshan looked straight into the Daoist’s eyes and said slowly, “I am but a man of limited vision, unfamiliar with such grand truths. I simply could not remain in Julu, so I left to seek my fortune elsewhere. I have heard that the Celestial Masters of Longhu Mountain are all experts in prophecy and physiognomy. Could the Immortal Elder be one of the venerable elders of the Celestial Mansion?”
The Daoist shook his head, speaking plainly without pretense, “Though my surname is Zhao, I am not of the Celestial Mansion. I merely dwell in a hermitage on the sacred grounds of Longhu Mountain, seeking no worldly affairs, hoping only to earn blessings for my descendants. My Daoist heart is impure, and thus I have accomplished little in recent years.”
Though Yuan was coarse and illiterate, he was sharp-witted. He quickly masked his disappointment at learning the Daoist was not of the Celestial Mansion and said with respectful reverence, “The Immortal Elder is clearly a celestial being, a terrestrial immortal beyond our humble comprehension.”
The unremarkable Daoist drew a yellowed book from his sleeve and tossed it to Yuan Tingshan. His voice was soft, unlike Yuan’s forceful tone, yet it cut clearly through the roar of the waterfall, “Xuan Yuan Jingcheng sought heavenly tribulation upon himself. Yet even after the final bolt of lightning, thick as a mountain ridge, he left behind a soul and a spirit. Hence, I spoke of seeing him off. Calculating it out, our meeting at Yunjin Mountain was one fated encounter—your murderous aura frightened away the dragon eel in the pool. Another was your willingness to eat the wild fruit from the basket named ‘Soul-Killing.’ The Dao I cultivate is the most mundane—solitary and hidden, nearly indistinguishable from the false teachings of the Buddhist hermits. When fate binds, it must be resolved. Today, I have obtained this book from Xuan Yuan Jingcheng. It contains the martial insights of Xuan Yuan Dapan, cultivated over a century. It is not limited to sword techniques; you may follow its guidance step by step.”
Yuan Tingshan caught the tome, its first pages yellowed with age, growing newer toward the end. The last dozen pages still bore the scent of fresh ink. His body trembled involuntarily. Yuan was no naive novice chasing after fame. Having lived among schemers on Huishan, he had learned the ways of the world. He knew well that in the martial world, excluding the rare terrestrial immortals of past dynasties, each generation grew stronger than the last. Age did not guarantee strength. Take Wudang, which vied with Longhu for dominance—its young patriarch had reached the Heavenly Phenomenon realm. Yet the 150-year-old alchemist Song Zhi Ming had never even reached the Diamond Realm.
Thus, martial secrets were like chess manuals—the older, the less valuable. Xuan Yuan Dapan was a genuine Heavenly Phenomenon expert of this age. His life’s work could not be measured in gold or silver. Not even ten Xuan Yuan Qingfeng could match its worth!
Yet Yuan, known for his coldness, was visibly shaken. He carefully tucked the book into his robe, rose, bowed deeply, and asked, “What must I do for the Immortal Elder? I’ll go through fire and brimstone! Though I may be a penniless wretch, my word, given willingly, is worth more than silver.”
The Daoist spoke plainly, “To give a tiger wings is to invite chaos. You have met the young prince of Beiliang. I do not ask you to kill him—only to sever his wings. You may treat this as martial cultivation while reading Xuan Yuan Dapan’s insights.”
Yuan Tingshan burst into laughter, “This deal, Immortal Elder, is a losing one for you! With my temper, I’d cut down the prince, be he king or emperor, if he so much as angers me!”
The Daoist’s expression turned rare and distant. He gazed at the scarred Great Snow Slope and murmured, “Among the eight thousand characters of this world, only one can truly kill—*qing* ( emotion, emotion).”
*Qing* misleads.
*Qing* kills.
Thus, Master Lü once left a sword hanging from the eaves of Danggan Corner, teaching the Dao of using wisdom to sever tangled emotions.
Even this Daoist, long transcendent, sighed, “Xuan Yuan Jingcheng, if you knew she could never be yours, why did you sacrifice so much? Your talent is unparalleled in my life. If you had used it beyond Huishan, what in this world could have bound you? Why did you stake everything for a woman, just to glimpse her from afar? To struggle is worse than to yield. And you, woman, so passionate yet so blind to love—ignoring propriety and morality is one thing, but how could you ignore who truly loved you? You claim not to care for Xuan Yuan Jingcheng, yet if you truly did not, why do you act so as to wound him?”
Yuan, barely hearing, asked tentatively, “May I ask, Immortal Elder, did Xuan Yuan Jingcheng truly reach the realm of a terrestrial immortal?”
The Daoist nodded, “Indeed, he attained the Great Immortality.”
Yuan Tingshan looked awestruck and murmured, “A true man should be like that!”
Then he spat into the pool and spat, “But being a terrestrial immortal is not worth it! For twenty years, he let his wife become a dual-cultivation furnace, hiding like a coward. There’s nothing more suffocating in this world!”
The Daoist said calmly, “Put yourself in Xuan Yuan Jingcheng’s place—what would you do?”
Yuan showed utter disdain, replying without hesitation, “If I were him, I’d kill that old hag first, no matter if I could kill Xuan Yuan Dapan or not. Chop her up and feed her to the dogs! Xuan Yuan Jingcheng wasn’t a real man. He treated that whore like a goddess. Just thinking about it makes me furious!”
The Daoist smiled and shook his head, “You’ll understand one day—some women, though you know they are no good, you just can’t let go.”
“Heh, I hope I never meet such a woman.”
Yuan hesitated, then asked nervously, “Immortal Elder, have you ever met such a woman?”
The Daoist did not answer directly but smiled, “We cultivators have countless scriptures, all illusions. Say a thousand words, yet it all comes down to seeking truth. And truth is often tied to emotion. True emotion—remember, even in Daoism, forgetting emotion is not the same as having none.”
Yuan, ever fierce, felt his aura dim before the mysterious Daoist and asked, “Are you scolding me, Immortal Elder?”
The Daoist gave a cryptic smile, “I cannot entangle with you further in fate. The threads of destiny are already in chaos. Do not give this humble Daoist more puzzles.”
Yuan, curious, asked, “I can sense the flow of energy, and I’ve heard of the Daoist practices of listening to breath, internal vision, and guarding the aperture. I’ve even tested them on myself. But the concept of ‘fate’s flow’—I don’t believe in it.”
The Daoist smiled, “You only believe in the sword in your hand?”
Yuan showed no shame, nodding firmly, “Of course! I never believed in parents, nor will I believe in a wife, let alone anyone else. I only believe in this sword!”
A single yellow autumn leaf drifted through the air. The Daoist flicked his finger, and the leaf sliced through the air like a blade, cleaving a gray butterfly in two. The halves fell into the water, swallowed by a fish.
The Daoist murmured, “Do you believe this is fate? Do you believe my action just now cost me several days of peaceful cultivation? The heavens and earth unfold in their own order. Human life follows its own rules. These are the Daoist teachings, often obscure, yet the worldly truth is simpler: every heart has a scale, every home has its troubles. A life lived, whether in virtue or vice, is like doing business with Heaven itself, always teetering between profit and loss. Those who follow the current accumulate small fortunes, like shrewd merchants. This is the true root of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—the reason only these three schools remain dominant. Other schools, like Mohism, though noble in intent, failed to profit.”
Yuan listened, wide-eyed.
The Daoist chuckled self-deprecatingly and sat cross-legged, “Two lifetimes with a staff, three cycles of cultivation. Once I strayed, cultivating only solitude, and now I cannot stop speaking. Well then, let me speak my fill today.”
He continued, “The Longhu Mountain has a Dragon Pond, where they raise rare creatures like the dragon eel, nurturing lotuses with spiritual energy. This lotus is called the Eternal Fortune Lotus. The lowest one has bloomed for 1,600 years. Now, Longhu’s fortune is at its peak, with eighteen lotuses. Five hundred years ago, when Wudang rose, there were only six. In the last century, when Qi Xuanzhen ascended and a Celestial Master altered the emperor’s fate, more lotuses bloomed. Do you think Zhao Danping’s descent from the mountain to the capital was merely a quarrel with his brother Zhao Danxia? That year, three lotuses withered without reason—a phenomenon not seen even when Xu Xiao’s army threatened Longhu. Later, when Wudang’s new patriarch connected with the heavens, three more lotuses withered. Yuan Tingshan, now do you understand how hard those Celestial Mansion elders must have worked? As for Xuan Yuan Jingcheng, whom you despise, he understood fate’s patterns as well as I, perhaps even better. Why I hold him in such high esteem, I shall not tell you. One must not touch Heaven’s secrets without reaching the Heavenly Phenomenon realm.”
Yuan was left speechless.
The Daoist chuckled, “I’ve lived two dynasties with a staff, cultivated for 180 years. Once I strayed, cultivating only solitude, and now I cannot stop speaking. Well, let me speak my fill today.”
He went on, “The Wujia Sword Tomb has a Sword Mountain, filled with over a hundred thousand swords—ancient, famous, broken. When a commoner’s child turns one, they choose objects for the child. When a Wujia child learns to walk, elders lead them to the Sword Mountain to find their ‘fate sword’ before descending. Do you believe some children climb the mountain at five, yet die there without ever finding a sword?”
Yuan sat closer, puzzled, “Don’t they starve?”
The Daoist replied calmly, “Before age ten, the mountain guardians bring food. After ten, it’s up to Heaven.”
Yuan, no longer cautious, let go of his sword and placed it aside. Hearing this, he sneered, “The Wujia Sword Tomb’s glory was only when the Nine Swords left the Northern Wilderness a century ago. Since then, no new sword gods have emerged from their ranks.”
The Daoist asked, “Do you know Deng Tai’a?”
Yuan laughed proudly, “Of course! He’s the most ethereal swordsman alive. One day, I’ll use him as my whetstone!”
The Daoist gazed at the misty pool and said, “The world knows Deng Tai’a rose suddenly, battling Wang Xianzhi of the Martial Emperor City to a draw. Few know he trained in the Sword Mountain of Wujia. He was a bastard son of the Wujia, discovered at six and cast to the mountain. Yet from that discard came a genius who could enter the Sword Immortal Realm at will. Wang Xianzhi refused to be the world’s strongest, and Deng Tai’a is no lesser.”
Yuan hesitated, swallowing a question—an unusual act.
The Daoist, seeing through him, smiled, “You want to ask how my cultivation compares to Wang Xianzhi and Deng Tai’a?”
Yuan, unashamed, grinned, “I’ll ask boldly.”
The Daoist humbly replied, “If it’s a matter of brute strength, I cannot match Wang Xianzhi. That fellow was called by a stubborn old man of Longhu Mountain as one who could rival even the reincarnation of Master Lü.”
Yuan, familiar with the Daoist’s grandiose speech, was unsurprised to hear the Martial Emperor City’s ruler called a “youngster.” Yuan believed only in strength. If this Immortal Elder was a hidden master, he would even cheer if the man claimed to be the Dao Ancestor or the Three Pure Ones themselves. More than anything, Yuan was awestruck by the old monster’s might, muttering, “That old man is invincible.”
The Daoist chuckled softly, “A king’s word decides life and death.”
“Know that the sages of the Three Teachings can borrow heaven and earth, ghosts and gods, with a single word becoming prophecy. In the last century, only a handful of terrestrial immortals have emerged from the myriad schools. But in your generation, perhaps a dozen may rise, thanks to that one man who, out of boredom, shifted the remaining fortune of eight fallen nations onto another chessboard. Whether Yuan Tingshan can claim a place, even this humble Daoist does not know.”
Yuan exclaimed, “Me?!”
The Daoist said calmly, “Yuan Tingshan, let me tell you plainly. Your attempt to kill the young prince of Beiliang, though premature, cost you much fortune.”
Yuan nearly drew his sword in rage but held back.
The Daoist continued, “But in this moment we share, I have returned some fortune to you.”
Yuan’s eyes gleamed like blades, “Immortal Elder, who exactly are you? Why do you favor me so? I’ve never believed in free gifts from heaven, and even if one fell, it wouldn’t hit Yuan Tingshan!”
The Daoist gazed at the rainbow and murmured, “Once, I betrayed both country and lover, choosing the mountain path. Why? I’ve pondered for years, yet never understood. Some things, in the end, have no reason. Why did Xuan Yuan Jingcheng love that woman so? Why did she still leap from the cliff after seeing his lingering soul? Why did the Green Robe of Fengdu fall for Li Chungan at first sight, never forgetting him? The world’s wonders lie in people. What is Heaven’s Secret? Perhaps it is the human heart.”
He added, “Once I watched Qi Xuanzhen and Li Chungan duel. Li left in sorrow. Later, I asked Qi why he never left Longhu Mountain in his life.”
Yuan asked eagerly, “Why?!”
The Daoist exhaled slowly, “Qi said he awakened at twelve, knowing he was Lü Dongbin, and waited for a red-robed woman. When he knew he could not wait in that life, he reincarnated, still waiting.”
Yuan was stunned, “So Qi the Immortal did not ascend—he was Lü’s reincarnation? Is reincarnation real? Can one remember past lives?”
The Daoist sighed, “I do not know who Qi reincarnated as, or if he found her in this life. Roughly, since Lü’s time over five hundred years ago, counting by the sexagenary cycle, he should have been reborn ten times by now.”
Yuan, as if possessed, laughed maniacally, “Heh, whether Lü’s reincarnation or Qi’s rebirth, if I meet that red-robed woman, I’ll kill her first. Let that immortal wait another five hundred years. This journey through life will not have been in vain!”
The Daoist narrowed his eyes, silent.
Mysteries abounded.
But Yuan sensed none of them.
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