Chapter 22: The Old Taoist on the Mountain

Before Xu Fengnian could ask, Xu Xiao spilled everything in one go.

“In its heyday, the Shangyin Academy was a magnificent sight, boasting three thousand scholars from the Hundred Schools of Thought. But in truth, only nine factions held real power—Daoism, Confucianism, Legalism, Military Strategy, Yin-Yang, and the like. Our dynasty favors Legalism, while the other eight kingdoms each had their own allegiances.

You could say the real battles were fought within the Shangyin Academy. Take Western Shu, for example—they believed in the Huang-Lao philosophy of non-contention, nestled behind natural barriers, devoid of ambition. The academy had already reached a consensus that Western Shu could remain isolated in its corner. But then I led an army and crushed them.

For a time, the people’s resentment surged, and the title ‘Butcher of Men’ was firmly pinned on me. Alongside the palace’s infamous eunuch Han Diaozi and the reclusive scholar Huang Longshi, I became one of the ‘Three Fiends,’ reviled by all. My relationship with the academy has always been terrible—except for that Master Wang from earlier, whose chess skills were atrocious but who dared to speak words in my defense that defied the world’s scorn.

At the time, Master Wang had just triumphed in the great debate on ‘Name and Reality,’ his reputation at its zenith. Had nothing gone awry, he would have won the next debate on ‘Heaven and Man,’ becoming the next Grand Sacrificer, planting a tree of virtue in the Forest of Morality. A pity. That’s why I sent your second sister to the Shangyin Academy.”

Within the dynasty, there were several infamous forbidden lands and sacred sites—aside from the imperial palace, there was Longhu Mountain, which usurped Wudang’s orthodox Daoist position; the Listening Tide Armory of the Northern Liang Palace; the Relic Pagoda of Liangchan Temple; the Wu Family’s Sword Vault; and finally, the Shangyin Academy’s Forest of Morality, revered by scholars across the land. The Forest of Morality symbolized the idea that ‘it takes ten years to grow a tree, but a thousand to cultivate virtue.’

As for the ‘Three Fiends,’ the eunuch surnamed Han was reviled as the ‘Human Cat,’ his reputation even worse than Xu Xiao’s within the dynasty.

But the most controversial was Huang Longshi, clad in white. His hands were stained with little blood—far less than many so-called righteous martial heroes. Yet his tongue was deadly. Most of the chaos during the Nine Kingdoms’ war was stirred by him. Ironically, he was once the Shangyin Academy’s most brilliant disciple, calling himself ‘Huang the Third Sage.’

This wasn’t mere bragging. Huang Longshi was universally acknowledged as the best in Go, cursive calligraphy, and Yin-Yang divination, renowned across the world. Yet, in the end, scholars whispered that the academy nearly erected a stone tablet forbidding Huang Longshi from ever setting foot there again.

And now, Xu Fengnian’s second sister, Xu Weixiong, is secretly called ‘Huang Longshi the Second’ by many scholars at the academy—a testament to her brilliance.

Xu Xiao said softly, “Master Wang came today to ask for a favor. I refused.”

Xu Fengnian sighed. “You really don’t give the Shangyin Academy any face.”

The hunchbacked, limping Pillar of the Nation tucked his hands into his sleeves like an old farmer, but his words were utterly brazen: “Those scholars have been cursing me from thousands of miles away for years—enough to fill several vats with their spit. It doesn’t bother me.

Your second sister slaps them in the face every single day—loud and crisp. In debates, they can’t match her. In chess, even less so. As for fighting? Her sword could chop down a hundred of those feeble scholars without a single nick.

The folks at Shangyin Academy? They’re only good at talking. When it comes to fighting? Utterly pathetic.”

Xu Fengnian rubbed his temples. “Don’t hit a man when he’s down. Leave some room for decency. But you—”

Xu Xiao grinned. “Your father never read much. Where would I learn such grand principles?”

Xu Fengnian scoffed. “That’s just pretentious.”

Xu Xiao glanced at the embroidered winter saber in his son’s hand and chuckled. “Not pretentious at all. Speaking with a blade is the most effective.”

Xu Fengnian murmured, “Is that how you spoke to the one in the capital too?”

Xu Xiao, never one to mince words with his son, replied bluntly, “Of course. The 300,000 Northern Liang cavalry—even their farts shake the heavens. Whether they like it or not, they’ll smell it.”

Xu Fengnian prepared to head to the lake’s depths to train with his saber. What else could he say? “The emperor’s throne changes hands—tomorrow it might be mine”?

Xu Xiao asked, “Are you really going to keep training like this?”

Xu Fengnian frowned. “What else?”

Xu Xiao exhaled slowly, then deliberately teased, “Then go to Wudang. Someone’s waiting for you.”

Xu Fengnian was startled. “Don’t tell me you want me to learn the Jade Pillar Heart Method from Hong Xixiang? That’s too humiliating. The Glazed World’s scenery is nice, but training there would be miserable. If he won’t come down the mountain, I have to go up? It’s like the mountain won’t come to me, so I go to the mountain. Honestly, I’ve no taste for such elegance. I’d rather endure the old monster’s curses, even if he spits in my face, than live under Wudang’s roof.”

The Pillar of the Nation smiled faintly. “That little Daoist Hong isn’t capable of such things. The one you’re meeting is Wudang’s sect master, Wang Chonglou.”

Xu Fengnian gasped. “That old Daoist who secluded himself to cultivate the Great Yellow Court? Did he really split the Canglan River with a single finger? That’s godlike power—unbelievable!”

The Pillar of the Nation mused, “I never saw it myself, but Wang Chonglou single-handedly rivaled Longhu Mountain’s Four Heavenly Masters. He’s no fraud. Besides, Li Yishan once evaluated the world’s talents, ranking generals, ministers, and beauties. He specifically mentioned this Daoist master, saying he had the potential to reach the profound. Back then, Wang Chonglou was just an obscure middle-aged Daoist. As for whether he truly split the river with a finger—go to Wudang and see for yourself.”

Xu Fengnian was baffled. “Wang Chonglou will teach me saber techniques? Impossible. Is he passing on Wudang’s most advanced, rapid-cultivation heart method?”

Xu Xiao grinned. “Go and find out.”

Xu Fengnian didn’t refuse. Wang Chonglou was a legendary figure, one of the world’s top masters. Gaining some insight into Daoist mysteries couldn’t hurt.

He just hoped this wouldn’t turn out like that Master Wang from Shangyin Academy—another lofty recluse. Mostly, though, Xu Fengnian wanted to train in Wudang’s bottomless White Elephant Pool, formed by a waterfall’s relentless erosion over centuries.

That year, as dusk fell, Xu Fengnian entered Wudang alone.

Beneath the “Xuanwu Rising” archway stood only two Daoists, their ages vastly different.

One was naturally the radiantly youthful grandmaster Hong Xixiang. The other was an elderly Daoist with crane-like hair and a child’s face, his towering frame no less imposing than the old monster beneath the lake—a rare physique among Daoists.

Seeing Xu Fengnian with his saber, neither Daoist bothered with pleasantries. Silently, they led the young master up the mountain.

Climbing was strenuous. In the past, Xu Fengnian would’ve needed multiple breaks. After half a year of training, he’d improved, but still couldn’t summit in one go. Yet whenever he grew weary, the towering old Daoist would pause, and Hong Xixiang followed suit.

Xu Fengnian smirked inwardly. This act was far more calculated than hundreds of Daoists lining up to greet him.

The three stopped near the White Elephant Pool at a place called the Hanging Immortal Coffin—just a small thatched hut surrounded by a bamboo fence, clearly the young master’s quarters. A table and chairs stood outside.

Once seated, Hong Xixiang fetched a simple tea set and began brewing tea.

The elderly Daoist, whose identity needed no guessing, smiled kindly. “The world’s sword techniques are divided into standing, walking, and seated forms—each increasing in difficulty, though their ultimate heights are unpredictable. Wudang has never advocated the seated form—it contradicts the Dao. But we have some insights into standing and walking. Would the young master prefer standing or walking swordplay?”

Xu Fengnian replied flatly, “I’m here to train with the saber.”

Hong Xixiang, brewing tea, rolled his eyes.

The old Daoist remained amiable. “Sword and saber share the same goal—the art of one against a hundred. Take Deng Tai’a—he wields a peach branch. Call it sword or saber, it matters little.”

Xu Fengnian, uninterested in debating Daoist philosophy, cut to the chase. “What’s the difference between standing and walking swordplay?”

The old Daoist chuckled. “Standing sword emphasizes sudden strikes and pauses, like winter thunder—silent until it roars. Walking sword focuses on continuous motion, like summer rain—torrential, unbroken. If the young master prefers standing, Wudang has several renowned sword techniques paired with our unique ‘Plucking the Origin’ heart method. If walking appeals more, the Jade Pearl Peak holds the ‘Green Pavilion’s Sixty-Year Sword Record,’ a profound text on swordplay’s essence.”

Xu Fengnian pondered, then asked, “And seated swordplay?”

The old Daoist hesitated. “That’s the Wu Family Sword Vault’s secret. Outsiders know nothing.”

Hong Xixiang handed them tea—wild leaves brewed with mountain spring water.

Xu Fengnian took a sip and smiled. “I forgot to congratulate Sect Master Wang on leaving seclusion.”

The old Daoist nodded.

Hong Xixiang sighed quietly.

Xu Fengnian hesitated, then whispered, “Did Sect Master Wang really split the Canglan River with a finger?”

The old Daoist shook his head. “No.”

Xu Fengnian exhaled in relief. If this towering Daoist, ranked below Wang Xianzhi, had weaker abilities, that was for the best.

Hong Xixiang muttered, “It was two fingers.”