Chapter 418: Zhenwu Sees Me

Xu Fengnian smiled and asked, “Then when will you go to the imperial palace to meet the Son of Heaven?”

Li Yufu shook his head, “Since I have already slain the evil dragon at Difei Mountain, the statue of Zhenwu the Great Emperor along the central axis should no longer exude any malevolence. This humble Daoist has no intention of going to the palace city to diminish my spiritual cultivation. My master’s younger brother once told me that those who cultivate the Dao suffer seven injuries, one of which is failing to adhere to the sacred rites and revealing the natural order. Breaking this taboo means that even if one possesses extraordinary signs, one cannot ascend to the ranks of immortals. Though I do not covet a place among the celestial ranks beyond the heavenly gates, I am cautious by nature. I fear going to the place where the dragon’s aura is strongest and the yin energy most oppressive. This time entering the capital, I merely wished to see the Your Highness and hear more stories about the two Grand Masters. After leaving the capital, I will wander the four corners of the land, not rushing back to Wudang Mountain. I plan to travel ten thousand miles in ten years, facing and resolving one hardship after another.”

Wudang Mountain, when it does not act, remains still; when it acts, it sends forth immortals.

First was Wang Chonglou, who traveled incognito through the jianghu, aiding the distressed and upholding justice with a single finger that halted the surging waves of the Canglang River. Then came Hong Xixiang, whose flying sword subdued the dragons and tigers of Longhu Mountain, earning the reverence of cultivators across the land as a figure capable of rivaling the martial immortal Wang Xianzhi.

Xu Fengnian joked, “What if you meet a woman you fancy on the jianghu, form a celestial bond with her, and even abandon the Daoist path altogether, never returning to Wudang Mountain? Wouldn’t your masters and seniors be furious enough to spit blood?”

Li Yufu’s face flushed red, “Never, Your Highness.”

Xu Fengnian seized on the slip in his words, “Not ‘wouldn’t,’ but ‘couldn’t’?”

Li Yufu replied earnestly, “This humble Daoist pales in comparison to my master’s younger brother. I am not skilled in divination or understanding the mysteries of fate, so I dare not presume to speak of what may come. Though I may not know many things about the world, I am clear on how I should act. Even if I were to meet a woman I truly loved, I would only dare to forget her amidst the jianghu.”

Xu Fengnian fell silent.

Li Yufu, unskilled in social graces and unsure how to lighten the mood, simply stood up and bowed in farewell. Xu Fengnian snapped out of his thoughts, stood up as well, and walked him to the door. Li Yufu, carrying a simple peachwood sword, hesitated for a moment, then pointed toward an old locust tree and softly asked, “Does the Your Highness know that a cultivator has tampered with that dragon-claw locust tree?”

Xu Fengnian shook his head, his eyes darkening.

Li Yufu, relieved that he hadn’t asked in vain, exhaled and took seven ritual steps forward. His peachwood sword, devoid of killing intent, slid smoothly from its sheath and was plunged into the roots of the dragon-claw locust. The current Grand Master of Wudang extended his fingers in a mystical gesture and intoned softly, “Banish ghosts and subdue evil.”

Liu Wenbao was startled and hastily retreated from the tree. The old scholar, well-versed in a wide array of subjects including yin-yang, prophecy, and Daoist sorcery, regarded such matters with cautious skepticism. He widened his eyes, expecting a grand display, but saw only the young Daoist demonstrate a fine sword-handling technique before everything fell still. The thunderous build-up yielded little result, leaving Liu Wenbao deeply disappointed.

Li Yufu furrowed his brow, approached the tree, and bent his thumb, slicing it across his index finger until blood flowed. He drew a talisman on the trunk with his blood, then lightly pressed his palm against it. The talisman vanished, but instead of easing his expression, Li Yufu grew even more solemn. After a moment’s contemplation, he interlocked his hands, curling his left thumb inward while leaving the other nine fingers exposed.

Xu Fengnian, unfamiliar with Daoist talismans, found an unexpected voice of insight behind him—Yuan Qingfeng, who spoke in a calm tone: “This Daoist is employing the Taiyi Lion Seal. Legend has it that Taiyi Tianzun’s mount is a nine-headed lion, hence this technique. Earlier, he used a ghost-exorcising spell, but now he invokes the lion method to summon divine power. Even a true Daoist adept from Longhu Mountain would require an entire incense stick’s worth of time to perform such a feat, which shows this Daoist’s considerable skill. Yet why does he appear so deferential before you? Is he truly the current Grand Master of Wudang?”

Xu Fengnian did not respond. Li Yufu, whose temperament was unusually mild, seemed to sense something after his attempt. He discerned the truth and, for the first time, showed a flicker of anger. “Such a pure lineage, yet it strays into forbidden paths!”

Li Yufu swept his sleeve and summoned his peachwood sword, which shot toward the imperial palace. He interlocked his hands in a complex mudra that even Yuan Qingfeng could not recognize, his expression grave as he intoned, “Li Yufu, the thirty-sixth Grand Master of Wudang, humbly invokes the arrival of Zhenwu!”

Behind the three main halls of the imperial palace stood a statue of Zhenwu.

The colossal statue, towering three stories high, depicted Zhenwu the Great Emperor guarding the north, commanding the Black Warrior, and subduing all evil spirits. Since Li Yufu’s battle against the dragon at Difei Mountain, the statue had ceased its trembling. The once ever-vigilant Qingci Chancellor Zhao Danping was finally free to take a break, no longer needing to remain by the statue day and night, fearing its collapse. Now, Zhao Danping accompanied the emperor to the site of the Zhenwu statue to admire its majesty. Alongside this Grand Master were Bai Yu, the “White Lotus Sage” granted by imperial decree, and Zhao Ningshen, a rising star among the Qing generation. This young Daoist of the Zhao clan was known for wandering Longhu Mountain so often that he would lose himself in thought and become lost. He was the one who had once blocked a strike from the sword immortal Tao Ta’a as he ascended the mountain, and he was also the author of the controversial “Laozi’s Transformation of the Barbarians,” which criticized Buddhism and paved the way for the imperial suppression of the religion.

The procession was not ostentatious, yet its presence was overwhelming. The Zhao emperor, three senior Daoist masters from Longhu Mountain, and the Grand Eunuch Sun Tanglu, who now held the dual posts of Director of the Ceremonial Office and Director of the Inner Court Office, were all present. Several young courtiers in their thirties, including the newly appointed Crown Prince Zhao Zhuan, were also there, seeking guidance from the White Lotus Sage on the Daoist path. A debate between Buddhism and Daoism had just concluded. The emperor remained impartial, merely listening in silence. Though called a debate, the monk Yichan seemed more like he was chatting idly with Bai Yu. Had it not been for Zhao Ningshen’s decisive intervention, Zhao Zhuan, who had been listening for nearly two hours, would have dozed off several times, yawning and turning his head away, only to be sharply scolded by Empress Zhao Zhi, who caught him in the act.

Zhao Danping and Zhao Ningshen turned their gazes toward the southern part of the city at the same time.

Bai Yu, whose eyes had been weakened by years of study, squinted and sensed an urgent situation unfolding. He glanced at Zhao Ningshen, the young Daoist he had taken under his wing, who subtly extended a hand and began to calculate silently. Zhao Danping, showing no restraint, wore a look of righteous indignation, which to outsiders appeared as the wrath of a celestial immortal. The seemingly indifferent Crown Prince Zhao Zhuan finally showed some interest, glancing left and right. Such a “frivolous” heir apparent would surely raise concerns among the common folk about the future stability of the realm. The previously motionless statue of Zhenwu began to tremble again, its swaying growing more violent than ever before. Many hidden talisman arrays on the ground around the statue were torn loose and destroyed. Sun Tanglu, disregarding etiquette, rushed to stand before the emperor, fearing the statue might collapse. Zhao Danping swept his white Dust tail aside and leaped forward, stepping onto a key point of the formation, attempting to stabilize the carefully arranged secret array. Unfortunately, this time he finally reached his limit. The statue of Zhenwu the Great, uprooted from its base, began to slowly slide southward. Zhao Danping’s face turned pale as he looked up and saw a peachwood sword flying toward him. The sword turned its tip southward, as if following Zhenwu in his journey south.

The emperor’s expression remained unchanged as he softly said, “Liu Haoshi, destroy that sword.”

The Xiantian-level expert, who had played a major role in the “White Robe Incident,” quietly appeared behind the emperor. Zhao Danping, struggling to contain the unstable formation, turned with a worried expression and said, “Your Majesty, do not act rashly against that peachwood sword already embedded in the formation, or the statue may collapse entirely.”

The emperor’s face remained expressionless as he fixed his gaze on Zhao Danping, the “Qingci Chancellor” known for his elegant calligraphy. Zhao Danping’s forehead broke out in sweat, especially when the Crown Prince Zhao Zhi let out a mocking laugh, which rang particularly harsh in his ears.

Zhao Ningshen, who had always given the impression of being a carefree and simple-minded fool, slowly stepped forward, blocking the statue’s path. Gazing up at the highest deity enshrined by the court, he asked a seemingly absurd and childish question, “Who are you going to meet?”

The statue of Zhenwu continued its slow southern drift, and Zhao Danping was dragged along with it.

The emperor asked softly, “Master Bai, can you tell me who Zhenwu truly is? Is it not the second son of the Xu family, born with the strength of dragons and elephants?”

Bai Yu, dressed in plain white hemp robes and shoes, shook his head apologetically, “The venerable Grand Master Zhao Xitou always believed so, but I suspect it is a malevolent river dragon instead. As to who exactly it is, I lack the ability to foresee the future and cannot say for certain.”

The emperor murmured, “I see,” showing no sign of anger, and continued, “Then who could possibly cause such a phenomenon?”

Bai Yu smiled, “That, I do know. Judging by the style of the peachwood sword, it must belong to a Wudang Daoist, passed down through generations as the sword of Master Lü. When I was young, I greatly admired the sword immortal Lü Zu and even carved a replica myself, though my talent was insufficient to wield a real sword. This Wudang cultivator, without a doubt, must be Li Yufu, the new Grand Master who recently slew a dragon at Difei Mountain.”

The emperor’s expression darkened, “This Daoist enters the capital without even seeking an audience with me. Well, Wudang has always had the ancestral rule of not entering the palace city, so I can let that slide. But Hong Xixiang forcibly entered the city before, and now this young man repeats the offense. Do they think my Tai’an City is some pleasure house where they can come and go as they please, relying on their own strength and resources?”

Bai Yu merely smiled and did not elaborate further. Though half-blind, he was a true “clear-sighted man” in the world. He understood the hidden machinations of his seniors in the Tian Master lineage—Zhao Danping and others had secretly collaborated with the Imperial Astronomical Bureau’s cultivators, using the dragon-claw locust tree in Xiama Wei as bait and the statue of Zhenwu as a catalyst. During the brief stay of the Prince of Beiliang at the inn, they sought not only to suppress him but to drain his fortune, as if placing a millstone on his head to grind him down. Bai Yu did not particularly oppose such imperial strategies, but neither did he admire them. He preferred to remain neutral. Military strategy favors the balance of the unexpected and the expected. This was the unexpected, subtle and concealed. The other, the expected, was clear and direct: to create a rift between Wudang and Beiliang. If Wudang showed deference to the court, then Beiliang, already leaning toward Buddhism, would lose all support from the Daoist sects, becoming increasingly isolated. The court’s aggressive promotion of those who had defected from Beiliang was meant to leave the Xu family alone, with no allies. Once Xu Xiao passed away, Xu Fengnian, the hereditary Prince of Beiliang, would be left with no choice but to use the thirty thousand iron cavalry to plug the gaps in the northwest border, with no room for further maneuver.

Bai Yu sighed. Unfortunately, Wudang still clung stubbornly to its rigid ways, unwilling to even put on a show. No wonder it had declined and fallen behind the rising Longhu Mountain.

First came the rivalry between the Two Chan Temples and Longhu Mountain—the struggle between Buddhism and Daoism.

Then came the duel between Wudang and Longhu.

This was a contest for the supremacy of Daoist sects.

Even if Wudang won this battle, it would lose the entire court, gaining little while losing much.

Bai Yu called out to Zhao Ningshen, “Ningshen, come back.”

Zhao Ningshen hesitated briefly before stepping aside from the path of Zhenwu’s southern movement.

As he spoke, Bai Yu subtly waved his hand. Most others were watching Zhao Ningshen, but only Zhao Danping noticed the gesture. With a grimace, he withdrew his suppression of the formation.

Outside the Xiama Wei inn, Xu Fengnian asked with a smile, “Someone tampered with the dragon-claw locust tree. Was it an attempt to harm me?”

Li Yufu nodded solemnly.

Xu Fengnian asked, “Does it involve fortune and fate?”

Li Yufu nodded again.

Xu Fengnian, whose fortune was as blank as white paper, nearly burst into laughter but managed to suppress it and said, “Enough. Don’t provoke the Zhao family any further. Continue your ten-thousand-mile journey. Leave these sordid matters to me. Retrieve your peachwood sword and leave the capital quickly.”

Li Yufu looked embarrassed, “The peachwood sword has entered the formation. It will be hard to retrieve.”

At the far end of the street outside the inn appeared a middle-aged swordsman in green robes.

Shentu, the sword on his back.

He walked slowly, his face ancient and solemn like a sage of old. He bowed respectfully to the new Grand Master of Wudang.

Li Yufu hurriedly returned the bow, showing the utmost respect, “Greetings, Master Xiaowang.”

Wang Xiaoping, who had remained silent for twenty years nurturing his sword.

Wang Xiaoping looked displeased, clearly unhappy with the young Grand Master’s involvement in the court’s struggles. Li Yufu, though simple-hearted, was not truly foolish and felt immediate embarrassment.

Xu Fengnian had never expected Wang Xiaoping, the greatest swordsman of Wudang, to appear at Xiama Wei. Li Yufu, realizing his mistake, quickly explained, “My Master left a final message: when the Your Highness enters the capital, my senior brother Wang Xiaoping shall return to the world.”

Wang Xiaoping removed the sword Shentu from his back and tossed it to Xu Fengnian, speaking in a hoarse voice, “Both my senior and junior Grand Masters said, ‘When you meet the Your Highness in the capital, return Shentu to him.'”

Xu Fengnian caught the legendary sword of the realm, momentarily forgetting to wonder why Wang Xiaoping had chosen to speak, and asked in astonishment, “What am I supposed to do with Shentu?”

Wang Xiaoping had spoken—did that mean his sword cultivation had reached its peak? But this “mute” genius of the jianghu, known for his silence, said nothing more.

Li Yufu scratched his head and said, “My master once said that I could see Zhenwu with one glance, and Zhenwu would see me in return.”

Xu Fengnian was even more puzzled.

Suddenly, Shentu trembled in his hand, as if responding to a divine decree from Zhenwu.

Instinctively, Xu Fengnian turned his gaze northward and softly whispered, “Sword, come.”

Li Yufu’s peachwood sword flew southward in an instant and returned to its sheath.

Xu Fengnian silently intoned, “Sword, go.”

Shentu flew northward, returning to the hand of the statue of Zhenwu the Great Emperor.

Wang Xiaoping, a genius of sword cultivation who had always held himself aloof, bowed deeply to the white-haired young man.

Even Li Yufu, with his extraordinary talent, was moved to tears at that moment.

For eight hundred years, Wudang had not seen Zhenwu.

Today, Zhenwu sees me at last.