The greater half of Huang Qing’s swordplay, sixteen visions to behold the Buddha.
All the turbulence of the sword named Calm Amidst the Storm settled back into the scabbard, Huang Qing now gripping the sword in reverse.
The youth struck in the chest by the end of the scabbard bore a gaping wound, bleeding profusely. Though bone had not yet emerged, the sword’s energy had pierced through vital organs.
Even Huang Qing, whose internal energy flowed as ceaselessly as rivers, needed several cycles of breath to calm the chaotic qi within his body after unleashing such a technique. Martial arts techniques usually emphasized unbroken flow through open meridians, pursuing the Realm of unyielding intent and momentum. Yet Huang Qing’s Sixteen Visions were extremely peculiar—once the qi formed, it was forcibly “sealed off” at sixteen major meridian points, causing the torrent of energy to slam repeatedly against these sixteen barriers, thus creating a formidable force. Each vision paused momentarily, echoing the Buddhist imagery of one lotus blooming with each step.
Though the sword technique had succeeded, Huang Qing still felt a lingering sense of regret. It was said that the Prince of Beiliang had spared no effort in restoring a Red Armor of Talisman-Bearing to his younger brother Xu Longxiang. Huang Qing had hoped the youth would be wearing that armor, famed for its impregnable defense.
Unexpectedly, Huang Qing, known in the Beiman realm for his tranquil demeanor, let out an ill-timed laugh. The scene before him seemed utterly absurd.
The youth glanced down at his chest, then looked up at Huang Qing, opening his mouth. A stream of verdant energy swirled between his teeth—it was the residual sword qi Huang Qing had implanted in the youth’s heart and lungs. Rather than expelling it to ease his injuries, the youth swallowed it back. “Not full yet. Got more?”
Huang Qing gripped his famed sword tightly, smiling. “Nothing else, but sword qi I have plenty.”
Xu Longxiang, his eyes gleaming with gold, turned his head briefly—whether to gaze at Qing Cang or Liangzhou, no one knew.
After turning back, the youth twisted his neck. Every joint in his body cracked loudly, like popping soybeans. He raised both fists, then slammed one foot down!
Huang Qing, secretly gathering his strength, narrowed his eyes. He watched as streams of condensed qi erupted from the youth, only to shatter and dissipate.
Even Huang Qing, whose mastery of the sword path was rivaled only by Deng Tai’a, found this incomprehensible.
Self-dissipating qi?
The youth, once on the verge of the Fingers-Pointing-Heavenly-Mysteries realm, had plummeted all the way back to the Realm of the Indestructible!
Longhu Mountain’s venerable Taoist Master Zhao Xituan had once taught his disciple the Dream of Spring and Autumn, a secret not so hidden within the Celestial Master’s Mansion. The noble Taoist families in their feathered robes had mistakenly believed the old master had lost his mind and become a tiger’s Phantom, aiding the son of the Butcher of Men in his cultivation. Indeed, Zhao Xituan had acted out of affection for his beloved disciple Xu Longxiang, but the true meaning of the Dream of Spring and Autumn remained a mystery even to the most learned minds under heaven—it was not a method to enhance Xu Longxiang’s strength, but a Taoist suppression technique meant to bind and seal!
In the mortal world, a common man dies for possessing a precious jade—not out of his own fault, but due to the jealousy of others. If Zhao Xituan had not taken such painstaking care to craft a “casket” for his disciple, Xu Longxiang would have suffered the jealousy of Heaven itself!
Was this not the very reason Xu Fengnian forged talismanic armor for Xu Longxiang?
Earlier, when the youth seemed trapped in a desperate struggle against Huang Qing’s mighty swordplay,
it was actually the talismanic armor and the Dream of Spring and Autumn’s Taoist energy that had truly ensnared him like a caged beast!
Huang Qing, now treating the youth as a dire threat, glanced down at Calm Amidst the Storm.
At last, he could deliver a complete, unbroken strike.
Xu Longxiang, likewise lowering his head, grinned foolishly.
Brother, I’m going to fight now.
※※※
A gentle snowfall in the Jiangnan region.
Day after day, Huishan Mountain bustled with crowds. Small snow or heavy blizzards mattered little—there was no need for the Xuan family to clear the roads, for the masses had already trampled them clean. Travelers flocked to catch a glimpse of the Moonless Tower atop the Snowy Terrace. Though few could enter the sacred grounds of Niuniu Ridge, even a distant view was enough to satisfy them, allowing them to return home and boast endlessly to their village companions. Spotting a woman in a violet robe was enough for many to claim they had seen the Lady Grandmaster of the martial world. Nowadays, how could a wandering heroine not carry a set of violet robes in her satchel? Otherwise, how could she dare to call herself a fairy?
The recent grand martial arts assembly had only heightened the prestige of Huishan’s violet-robed sect. With the Chao Pavilion of Beiliang even sending trunks of martial manuals from afar, it was as if the world’s greatest cultivator had acknowledged Xuan Qingfeng’s position as Grandmaster. Who dared to question it now? Especially with the woman herself so magnanimous—distributing ancient manuals like loose coins, making many venerable elders beam with delight.
This liveliness of Huishan only made Longhu Mountain seem all the more desolate.
Especially with Wudang Mountain gaining increasing popularity and the Qingcheng King Wu diverting the authority of the Celestial Master’s Mansion over northern Daoist affairs, Longhu Mountain would have been left in a bitter winter indeed, had it not been for the White Lotus Gentleman still holding up appearances. The weather was not cold, but the hearts were.
Fortunately, for an old Taoist who preferred solitude at the foot of Longhu Mountain, this solitude was a blessing.
Master Zhao, a reclusive old Taoist, had always been an enigma. Born into the Celestial Master’s direct lineage, his talents were extraordinary—he could debate Daoism with Qi Xuanzhen, duel swords with Li Chungan, and even match strength with Xuan Dapán. His gifts clearly surpassed even those of the late Celestial Master Zhao Xi Yi, who had ascended to immortality. Yet, to avoid the honor of becoming a Feathered Minister, he had fled the mountain, hiding his identity and wandering the martial world for many years. Upon his return, he refused to reside in the Celestial Master’s Mansion, instead lingering in a dilapidated temple at the foot of the mountain, living aimlessly. A few years ago, he even took the Butcher’s younger son as a disciple—an act that defied all norms. Had Longhu Mountain’s status as the ancestral temple of Daoism not still been unshakable at the time, the criticism from both court and commoners would have drowned the muddle-headed old Taoist.
Zhao Xituan wandered around the temple he had painstakingly restored, then sat by the Green Dragon Creek, lost in thought. Remembering something, he went to tighten the ropes on the bamboo raft, then squatted to gaze at the water, looking rather forlorn. After rising and brushing off his robe, he returned to the temple and sat by the bed of his disciple’s room for a while. Finding nothing to do, he went to sit by a well, where he had once tricked his disciple into believing the well connected to Beiliang, linking directly to his home. Ever since, whenever hawthorns were ripe, the foolish boy would squat by the well and toss them in, never eating them himself—saving them all for his older brother. As for the master himself sneaking a few to taste, that was absolutely out of the question.
Sitting by the well, Zhao Xituan fell into a daze.
Of course, the old Taoist did not like the Butcher who had nearly trampled Longhu Mountain underfoot. Yet, this did not stop him from truly loving the Butcher’s two sons.
As for the apprentice Huang Man’er, well, he was like a late-life son—perhaps even more precious than a real son.
As for the young prince, his impression had always been decent. The first time he visited the Beiliang Prince’s Mansion, battling wits with that cunning little fox spirit had been quite amusing. But it was not until the young prince later visited Longhu Mountain and earnestly bowed to him that Zhao Xituan had truly grown fond.
In this world, where noble families abounded, it was not hard to find scions of privilege. The more smoothly a young prodigy’s life proceeded, the less he understood the need for remorse or gratitude. Few were willing to utter the words “I’m sorry” or “Thank you”—which were far more difficult than tossing away a fortune. Were not the younger generations of the Celestial Master’s Mansion exactly like this? Relying on the heights their ancestors had built, they had lived their entire lives atop the mountain, never knowing the hardships of life below. They failed to realize that every seat of power—even the Dragon Throne—had been carved by barefoot ancestors from the mud itself.
The old Taoist sighed, then suddenly his eyelids began to flutter violently, and his heart pounded fiercely.
His face paled as he quickly performed a divination technique, then he rose abruptly, only to collapse back down in despair.
In denial, Zhao Xituan roared at the well, “Xu Fengnian, if you can’t protect Huang Man’er this time, I’ll curse outside your gate for as many days as I have left to live!”
As he cursed, the old Taoist suddenly began to laugh.
In that laughter lay the sorrow of a man who had never scaled the peaks and thus disappointed his ancestors, yet also a strange sense of ease and detachment.
Zhao Xituan slowly rose and walked toward his room.
※※※
In a hidden pavilion of the Western Capital of the Southern Dynasty, where a large vat lay, rumored to contain a dormant dragon, the recluses who had long witnessed the world’s strangest phenomena were now in uproar.
Soon, the old woman and the Northern Emperor’s tutor arrived at the pavilion.
In the old woman’s gaze, the water within the vat—symbolizing the map of Beiliang—had been smooth as a mirror. But now, a sharp, lingering fissure had split its surface.
After her initial shock, the old woman’s lips curled into a cold sneer. “A single hook, reeling in two fish?”
Fixing her gaze on the water, she softly asked, “Besides Sword Qi and the Copper Monk, can we send more experts? Even if their martial prowess is slightly inferior?”
The Grand Strategist, Taiping Ling, shook his head regretfully. “Impossible. Hong Jingyan is too far away to arrive in time. As for those weaker, even a dozen or two would be useless. Moreover, the Southern Border has no reserves left—they are all stationed with the Southern Court’s Grand Minister.”
The old woman asked, “Is there a chance of losing more than we gain?”
Taiping Ling replied calmly, “It will be difficult for the Copper Monk to completely stop Xu Fengnian. But delaying him long enough for Huang Qing to force Xu Longxiang into heavenly retribution should not be too hard. All the Southern Dynasty’s spirit cultivators are prepared—they will add fuel to the fire.”
The old woman nodded.
That was enough.
She stepped back, then quickly advanced again.
From the vat, something broke the surface.
The dragon had lifted its head!
It fixed its gaze upon the line.
※※※
Once again, snow fell upon Jiangnan.
An old Taoist began his ascent toward the Celestial Master’s Mansion.
From the bottom of his chest, he retrieved a yellow-purple Taoist robe he had not worn in decades, tidying his hair and beard. His younger disciples in the Celestial Master’s Mansion stared at him as if seeing a ghost in broad daylight.
The old Taoist proceeded to the Ancestral Hall, bowing reverently before each portrait of the past masters hanging on the walls.
After exiting the Ancestral Hall, this last surviving elder of the Xi generation in Longhu Mountain reached the summit.
In the wind and snow, the old man sat cross-legged, smiling faintly. “They say a battlefield has its blade, and one need not fear dying on horseback. The martial world has its wine, and one need not fear dying drunk. I, however, have never dared to kill, nor could I ever drink to my heart’s content. I have never lived with true vigor. But this final journey…”
The old Taoist seemed to speak to the heavens themselves, shouting, “Let me indulge just once!”
He extended his finger, piercing his own eyes.
Then, with his bloodied right index finger trembling, he traced a mark across his forehead.
As if opening the Celestial Eye.
His arms dropped gently to his knees, each hand forming a mudra. He sat peacefully. “Huang Man’er, this old master has little to offer. I cannot open the Heavens, and even opening the Celestial Eye is this painful.”
“If I still cannot shield you from heavenly calamity, do not blame your master.”
The world envies immortality, while the Taoist cultivates tranquility.
In his final moments, the old man recalled the sound of his disciple snoring in the temple at the foot of the mountain.
It was not tranquil at all. Yet, it was the sound he cherished most.
※※※
At the end of winter in the Xiangfu Year One.
In the pond of the Celestial Master’s Mansion, the highest purple-gold lotus withered and died.
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