Xu Fengnian, Xu Yanbing, Huyan Daguang, Tantai Jingjing, and Temur.
Five riders headed south towards Linzhou.
Among them, three were among the Fourteen Martial Experts. Tantai Jingjing was now the greatest master of Qi cultivation in the world. Another was a young genius from the Northern Liang, the most promising swordsman to ever emerge from the north, whose inclusion in the martial rankings was merely a matter of time. This formidable assembly, unparalleled in history, even surpassed the famed Nine Swords of the Wu Clan who once defeated ten thousand cavalry of the Northern Liang. Temur did not know why he had to make this journey south. Deep inside, he strongly resented that young prince, but since Huyan Daguang had asked him to accompany, he had no choice but to follow obediently. In the Northern Liang, rumors said that Xu Fengnian had inherited Li Chungan’s Azure Dragon of the Two Sleeves, and had also received the art of flying swords from Deng Ta’a. Although Xu Fengnian always wore a saber, Temur never doubted that if Xu were to ever wield a sword, he would stand no chance at all.
Temur remained mostly silent throughout the journey. He had wanted to ask Huyan Daguang—whom he had always refused to acknowledge as his master—whether he, Temur, had any hope of surpassing Xu Fengnian in swordsmanship. He hadn’t even realized that since he first picked up the sword, he had rarely felt such a fierce desire to win.
The five riders galloped along the post road of Linzhou, a place known as the Jiangnan of the Northern Frontier. All the while, Temur carefully observed Xu Fengnian’s every action and word. He noticed subtle clues—such as how Xu Fengnian wore his saber on his left waist, yet was clearly left-handed. Whether he fought with his right or left hand would make a world of difference. Moreover, although Xu Fengnian’s flow of internal energy appeared sluggish and shallow, like a riverbed during drought season, Temur knew that if his own energy was like a surging river during flood season—powerful but obvious—then Xu Fengnian’s was like the vast Guangling River of the Liyang Kingdom, whose true depth and power only became evident when the waters were low, revealing its immense breadth and hidden might.
The five riders halted at the northernmost part of Linzhou, veering off the main road and following a narrow path into a mountain range. Along the trail, strong men from the cool northern lands, guarded by Northern Liang soldiers, were hauling stone blocks, slabs, and bricks out of the mountains.
Their guide was a middle-aged man from the Fushui Bureau, unremarkable in appearance, lacking the sharpness one might expect from a spy. Instead, he exuded the rough, earthy aura of a mountain dweller. His surname was Liu, a minor leader among the second-tier agents of the Fushui Society. He only knew he was to meet someone at the mountain entrance, though he had not been told who. When he encountered the five riders, whose accents varied widely, he couldn’t quite determine their identities. But since the high-ranking official of the Jiazi Bureau, who oversaw intelligence in Linzhou, had given rare and stern instructions, Liu cautiously led the five riders into the mountains.
As they rode, Liu carefully explained the history of the quarry. He said the locals called it Jianyu Mountain, while the scholars of Linzhou preferred to call it Dayu Grotto Heaven. Since the establishment of the Western Protectorate by the Great Feng Dynasty further west in the Northern Liang, the stone used to build the military strongholds of Qingcang and Linrao had mostly been quarried here. Later, the same stone had been used in constructing the Qingliang Mountain Mansion, and even more so in the six-year construction of the formidable city of Hutou further west along the border.
Eventually, the five had to dismount and lead their horses, arriving at the mountaintop to overlook the peaks. In early spring, the landscape was lush and green. Yet, as far as the eye could see, including the peak they stood upon—Yizhi Peak—the mountain had long been hollowed out. Since the Great Feng Dynasty, nearly five hundred years of quarrying had transformed Dayu Grotto Heaven, one of the thirty-six sacred Taoist sites, into a true grotto paradise, composed of sixteen major cave clusters and nearly a thousand smaller caves. From the side peak of Yizhi, narrow paths and wooden walkways clung to the mountainside. On the main peak, the occasional Daoist temple peeked through the greenery. Year after year, tens of thousands of stonemasons toiled here in the Northern Liang, laboring for their livelihoods, while seekers of immortality cultivated within the caves.
Xu Fengnian stood at the summit, lost in thought. Dayu Grotto Heaven had been lit day and night since the beginning of the year, reaching its peak in stone extraction. Even the reclusive Daoist masters of several temples had been stirred from their retreats, fearing that this young prince truly intended to hollow out the entire mountain range. Where would they find another grotto paradise then? Just before Qingming, three elderly Daoist masters had visited the governor of Linzhou, Xu Beizhi, to voice their concerns in veiled language, even resorting to the argument that such actions might harm the very foundation of the Northern Liang’s fortune. Xu Beizhi received them with courtesy, but the government continued its quarrying schedule as planned.
Xu Fengnian, of course, knew the secret behind it all. He had declared that after the third line of heavily fortified defenses, another Hutou City would be built—this time in just three years, under the supervision of the strategist Li Gongde and a master of the Mohist school. Xu Fengnian himself would serve as deputy overseer. This new city, yet unnamed, would face the Song Mountains and rest beside the Heng River, surpassing even Hutou in scale, and would become the greatest fortress in the northwest. Would the city be built? Of course it would. Xu Fengnian wanted to send a clear message to the Northern Liang court, especially to Dong Zhuo, the Grand Commander of the Southern Court: even if they managed to destroy Hutou, Liuya, Fuling, and the third line of defenses, they would still have to breach yet another city to enter the Northern Liang domain.
Would the already strained finances of the Northern Liang collapse under this burden? Most likely. But Xu Fengnian was gambling everything. Across all of Liangzhou, aside from the border troops and garrisons, every able-bodied person would be sent to the Heng River and Song Mountains to build the new city. All of this was a cover for the decisive battle at the Hulu Pass, one year hence. Xu Fengnian had to force the Northern Liang to focus their attention entirely on the western front. To this end, he had even discussed with Chu Lushan a brutal strategy: a victory in Liangzhou and a loss in Liuzhou. Because only with a decisive victory or defeat in Liuzhou would there be strategic depth. A stalemate would render Liuzhou useless. Even if Liuzhou were to fall, it had to be a Pyrrhic victory for the Northern Liang and Liu Gui. This was where Kou Jianghuai became a crucial piece. It was his arrival that had prompted Chu Lushan to devise this ruthless plan—cruel to the enemy, even crueler to their own side. And Xu Fengnian had agreed.
This meant that the three thousand Lixiang cavalry, the three towns of Qingcang in Liuzhou, and the ten thousand refugees yet to be resettled into the old three provinces of the Northern Liang would all be placed in grave danger.
And his younger brother, Xu Longxiang, would be the first to bear the brunt.
Thus, when Xu Fengnian agreed, Chu Lushan’s expression grew complex. Later, in the Wutong Courtyard of Qingliang Mountain, Xu Weixiong had shown Xu Fengnian no warmth, perhaps because deep down, she too resented his decision.
Xu Fengnian pointed to a distant cave and turned to Tantai Jingjing with a smile. “Ever since I heard about the stone quarrying in Dayu Grotto Heaven, I’ve been puzzled. Why are the caves so grand, yet their entrances so narrow? Back then, my master once told me that quarrying inside the caves wasn’t as hard as outsiders imagined. The stonecutters, who passed their craft from father to son, said it was like slicing soft tofu. Only when the stones were hauled outside did they harden like iron. Master Tantai, do you know the secret behind this?”
Tantai Jingjing replied softly, “Many ancient tombs and relics, preserved for centuries, vanish into smoke the moment they see the light of day. The stone hardening when taken out of the mountain is likely a similar phenomenon, a result of the interaction between the stone’s essence and the external air.”
Xu Fengnian hesitated, trying to suppress a grin, but finally burst out laughing. “When I was young, I was mischievous and spoke without restraint. I thought about it for a long time and came up with an explanation: I thought the stones softened inside and hardened outside just like a young boy in a pleasure house—soft until he takes off his pants. I told my master this once, and he made me copy tens of thousands of characters of the sages’ classics as punishment. I nearly died of shame.”
Tantai Jingjing, dressed in white like a celestial being, took a deep breath.
Huyan Daguang chuckled and whispered the meaning to the wide-eyed Temur, who rolled his eyes in response.
Xu Fengnian turned again. “Master Tantai, may I ask one more question?”
The grand master of Qi cultivation replied coldly, “Do I have a choice?”
Xu Fengnian, undeterred, asked, “Is it possible for a person to survive underwater in a lake, without eating or drinking, for ten or twenty years? Can the highest Daoist techniques of breatharianism or Buddhist meditation achieve this? Do the Qi cultivators have similar arts?”
Tantai Jingjing remained silent.
It was Huyan Daguang who answered, “As long as it’s not at the bottom of a lake, it’s possible.”
Xu Fengnian fell into thought. How had the sword-wielding madman with a chain through his clavicle managed it? This had puzzled him since he first began training on Wudang Mountain. At first, he had thought it was because he hadn’t reached the level of a first-tier martial cultivator. But even after attaining the Diamond, Fingers-in-the-Sky, and Heaven’s Will realms, he still couldn’t find an answer. Later, after his battle with Gaoshulu and becoming a Heavenly Being, he realized that only a terrestrial immortal skilled in Qi cultivation could possibly endure such a feat. Yet, in Xu Fengnian’s eyes, the madman’s martial cultivation level was not that high—only first-tier, certainly not reaching the Heaven’s Will realm. This contradiction had left him bewildered for years.
Back then, when they had subdued the dual-bladed old man from the Northern Liang’s Princess Tomb—just like the chieftain Helian Wwei of Hexi—Master Huang had done the actual fighting, but the true strategy had come from his teacher in the hidden upper chamber of the Listening Tide Pavilion. Yet, even in death, his teacher had never revealed the secret.
Xu Fengnian suddenly sighed, “The wise give their plans, the brave give their strength, the benevolent spread their kindness, and the faithful give their loyalty. When warriors and scholars serve together, the ruler and ministers live in peace, and governance becomes effortless. Effortless governance—how easy it sounds. Yet throughout history, aside from those lucky emperors who ruled in times of peace, rulers in prosperous times still had to expand their borders, while those in chaotic times had to defend their ancestral lands. Even if one truly achieved a balance between martial and scholarly pursuits, for whom did the wise give their plans? For the emperor, or for the people? Wasn’t Zhang Julu’s death the price of the people being more valuable than the ruler? When the brave give their strength, do they not grow greedy? Do they not desire more than they deserve? Do they not dream of sitting on the dragon throne? When the benevolent cultivate virtue, among them, are there not those who seek only fame? Like the old scholar Master Song, who secretly kept copies of his memorials to ensure his name would live on? When the faithful give their loyalty, do they not sometimes bring ruin to the state through blind devotion?”
Xu Fengnian chuckled bitterly. “Who doesn’t want to be emperor? When I was young, I often dreamed of it. After my childhood dream of being a great hero faded, my next dream was to be emperor—seize power, kill all who annoyed me, and have every woman in the land as mine. What bliss! But as time passed, I realized that being emperor is no easy task. Zhao Zhuan’s grandfather wanted to kill Xu Xiao. Zhao Zhuan’s father killed the Han family of Jizhou. On his deathbed, he had to kill Zhang Julu before he could close his eyes in peace. Zhao Dun and Liyang refused to adopt the new calendar from the Li Dangxin of Liangchan Temple, choosing instead to grant a few more years of rule to their descendants rather than sixty years of peace for the realm. It was at that moment that Zhao Dun and Zhang Julu, once destined to be remembered as a wise ruler and loyal minister, truly parted ways. Only then could Zhang Julu resolve to die, and only then did Zhao Dun force Bi Yanye to die instead. If I ever became emperor, would I, faced with so many choices, grow increasingly burdened with guilt? Would I kill Xu Beizhi and Chen Xiliang? Would I kill Chu Lushan and Yuan Zuozong? Would I dismantle the Northern Liang border armies, forcing those old soldiers who longed to die on horseback in the frontier to instead perish on soft beds in the misty rains of the Central Plains? And what of my descendants? Would the sons fight each other for a throne, breaking their childhood vows of brotherhood, turning smiles into daggers? Would the daughters be forced to marry men they did not love?”
He turned to Xu Yanbing, smiling. “Uncle Xu, is this what people call soft-heartedness?”
Xu Yanbing nodded. “There’s an old saying: a kind heart is no place for a general. But that doesn’t mean a general must be heartless at all times. Among the Four Great Generals of the Spring and Autumn Period, both Ye Baikui and Gu Jiantang were known for their gentle leadership. They nurtured their soldiers in peacetime and only showed their ruthless side when war demanded it. Chu Lushan does this very well.”
Xu Fengnian gazed southward. There was someone who did it even better.
The five led their horses down the mountain. Liu, the spy, still walked ahead in the distance. At the foot of the mountain, they coincidentally met a large group of stonemasons emerging from the deep woods. The stony path allowed only three or four men to walk abreast. Small stones were stacked tightly on hand carts, while large blocks were loaded onto donkey and ox carts. Many stonemasons carried heavy slabs on their backs, marching in formation.
Compared to the precious zitan and nanmu woods of Nanzhao, which were transported by river and worth their weight in gold, the transportation of stone was far more cumbersome.
As Xu Fengnian was about to mount his horse to leave the mountain, he saw an elderly stonemason, white-haired but tall, collapse from exhaustion. The long slab on his back tilted suddenly, and he fell off the gravel path. Fortunately, the old man was still strong and suffered no serious injury. He sat on the ground, embarrassed and smiling bitterly.
A young stonemason, dark-skinned and quick to act, quietly handed the old man a flask of strong wine. A nearby officer, clad in armor and carrying a saber, pretended not to see. Unlike the arrogant enforcers of the Liyang bureaucracy, he did not raise his whip. A junior officer among the Northern Liang soldiers wanted to intervene, but a sub-lieutenant overseeing the quarry gave a slight shake of his head and stopped his men with a glance.
As Xu Fengnian approached, seven or eight soldiers simultaneously placed their hands on their swords, watching him with wary eyes. This quarry was no longer open to the public; outsiders allowed in were only those with close ties to the authorities and whose family backgrounds had been verified by the Fushui Bureau as reputable. After all, the small and large Daoist temples in Dayu Grotto-Heaven still needed incense offerings to sustain themselves. With the war between Liang and Mang already underway, more and more people came seeking blessings. Lingzhou, being the most prosperous region, enjoyed a thriving incense trade. Whether rich or poor, everyone wanted to purchase a charm for safety. Xu Beizhi had established an informal rule for Daoist temples and Buddhist monasteries across Lingzhou: previously, incense money didn’t need to be submitted to the government, but now a tax of twenty to thirty percent was levied, depending on the location. For temples like Dayu Grotto-Heaven, located in restricted areas, the government allowed their operation with leniency, so they were taxed at forty percent. Thus, after being nicknamed “Rice-buying Governor,” Xu Beizhi gained further epithets like “Incense-eating Governor” or “Skin-peeling Governor.” It was only after an Liu Surname spy intervened that the soldiers responsible for quarrying and transporting stone retreated, though their gazes remained watchful.
The elderly stonecutter, who had just taken a swig of strong wine, raised his head and looked at the young nobleman clad in a fur coat. He didn’t seem particularly intimidated, likely due to his naturally sociable nature. Smiling, he said, “Young master, are you headed to Chongshan Temple to burn incense? Not that I’m trying to flatter Chongshan, but their love divination sticks are really effective. I’ve seen many young gentlemen and ladies come here to pray and later return to give thanks. Even my own unruly grandson received a medium-high fortune at the temple and indeed found a fine granddaughter-in-law for me. Now everyone in Lingzhou says that aside from Wudang Mountain’s divination, Chongshan Temple’s love divination is the most accurate.”
Getting more animated, the hospitable old man instinctively raised his hand as if to offer the young nobleman a drink, but quickly withdrew it, obviously realizing that this green-ant wine, costing twenty coins per jin, might be a luxury for the stonemasons, but surely not something a nobleman like this could stomach.
Xu Fengnian had already begun reaching for the wine flask, but seeing the old man withdraw his hand, he simply gave up and smiled. He squatted down, and soon Xu Yanbing threw over a wine flask from his horse. Xu Fengnian caught it and handed it to the old man, saying, “Old sir, drink mine. If you don’t mind, you can keep it all.”
The old man didn’t hesitate. He took the flask, unscrewed the lid, and sniffed it deeply, then laughed heartily, “It’s all Green Ant wine, the same name, but your wine smells more expensive just from the scent. I’ve loved drinking all my life, and I won’t refuse a gift of wine. But I’ll just pour a few sips into my grandson’s flask—no need to take more than that.”
True to his word, the old man poured a few ounces of wine into his own crude flask, shook it, and then returned the elegant flask to Xu Fengnian. He added, “Let me say one more thing, young master, don’t take offense. Although you clearly come from a wealthy family, when it comes to managing a household, you can’t be so extravagant. Even the biggest fortune needs careful management. If you don’t like what I say, just pretend I let out a fart, but don’t take the wine back.”
The dark-skinned young man was visibly nervous. Compared to his grandfather, who had spent his entire life working with stone in the mountains and spoke freely, he had seen more of Lingzhou’s cities and towns. He knew the weight of things better and had seen many arrogant young nobles and heard tales of the haughty sons of noble families. Although everyone in Lingzhou now knew that the Jin Yi You Qi had arrested many rich young men, this young stonemason still felt quite nervous when facing someone of such high status up close.
Xu Fengnian smiled, “A household manager does need to manage properly. By the way, old sir, I heard that each person in Dayu Quarry is required to cut eighty jin of stone per day, making two trips in and out of the mountain. Although the twenty-five-mile mountain path isn’t too strenuous, why are you carrying over a hundred jin of stone at once?”
The young stonemason didn’t want his grandfather to say too much to a stranger, so he reminded him, “Grandfather, it’s time we got going.”
With his grandson’s help, the old man squatted down again to retie the ox-hide rope around the stone, then slowly stood up and turned to Xu Fengnian with a broad smile, “Governor Xu did set that rule, but you might not know, the quarry also said that for every ten jin of extra stone carried after completing the 120-jin quota, we get one coin as a bonus. My grandson and I, along with my two older sons, make four people in total. We make two trips a day, so altogether we can carry an extra four or five hundred jin, which means forty or fifty coins. That’s a big deal for us. I still have some strength left, and my sons and grandson are filial—they only let me carry one trip. So I try to carry twenty or thirty jin extra each time, even if it means walking slower. If I can earn two or three extra coins, that’s good enough. The government pays us promptly, so we work with enthusiasm.”
Xu Fengnian nodded with a smile.
Perhaps the old man had drunk a bit of good wine and was feeling more talkative. With a sincere smile, he added, “But for an old man like me, earning a couple of extra coins isn’t that important anymore. I heard that the Prince plans to build a big city north of Liangzhou to fight off the Meng barbarians. I thought, although I may never get to go north in my lifetime, while I still have some strength left, I might as well carry twenty or thirty jin extra each trip. That way, I can earn a couple of copper coins and feel like my extra stones might help the city withstand a few more arrows from the northern barbarians. Just thinking about that makes me feel good. Many young people in the village no longer work with their fathers in the quarry—they’ve seen the city life in Lingzhou and their ambitions have grown. They think quarrying and mining has no future, so they’ve joined the border army. We old folks carrying a few more ten thousand jin of stone might help build the city faster, and maybe a few more of them will come back home for the New Year.”
The old man suddenly paused, gazing into the distant sky, murmuring softly, “I heard from the officials and soldiers at the quarry that half of the thirty thousand stone tablets behind the Prince’s mansion will be made from stones from Dayu Mountain. The old folks whose sons have joined the army say that if one day their sons don’t come back, they hope their names can be engraved on those tablets. If those tablets are made from stones from our hometown, that would be good too.”
The old man had already started walking when he suddenly heard the young nobleman from the wealthy family call out from behind, “Old sir, wait a moment!”
Then the young stonemason was astonished to see the man take off his fur coat and hand it to a tall, white-robed woman who looked like a fairy. The man walked to his grandfather’s side, without hesitation untied the rope, and took the stone on his back. He didn’t look like someone who did rough labor, yet he carried over a hundred jin of stone with perfect calmness. The four people behind him, each exuding an extraordinary aura, leisurely led the horses, making the man seem even more… a bit strange? What was going on? The dark-skinned young stonemason was momentarily stunned. Could it be that the young noblemen of Beiliang were now this easygoing? In contrast, the old stonemason was more “at ease” than his grandson. Having lived over seventy years and spent his life working with silent stones, perhaps the longer he dealt with inanimate objects, the better he could see the truth of people’s hearts. The old man didn’t know whether the nobleman who gave him wine was a good person, but he was sure he wasn’t a bad one. As for why the young nobleman helped carry the stone out of the mountain, the old man didn’t try to figure it out—he simply didn’t care. Just like the generations of stonemasons in Dayu Mountain, there were caves in the mountains, pools hidden in the caves, and within those pools, there were mystical creatures resembling both fish and snakes, waiting for the day they would transform into dragons. No one had ever seen it with their own eyes, and the younger generation, with their broader horizons, no longer believed in such tales. But the older generation still preferred to believe.
After carrying the stone out of the mountain with the group, the old man, who had chatted with the strange young nobleman the whole way, had already promised to introduce the most beautiful girl in the village to him. With an old man like him, who still had some influence in the village, matchmaking would surely be successful! Unfortunately, the young nobleman said he already had a wife, which made the old man feel quite disappointed. In the end, the young man said something incomprehensible to the old man after Cast off the stone, saying he would do his best. The old man didn’t understand what he meant, so he just smiled and nodded.
Tiemudier originally thought this was just Xu Fengnian, the Prince of Beiliang, idly trying to win the hearts of the stonemasons, with the inevitable “accidental” revelation of identity by the spy from Lingzhou. But to his surprise, after putting his fur coat back on, Xu Fengnian simply left the mountain directly, and the spy remained completely unaware of their true identities from beginning to end. In the end, Tiemudier could only think that this young feudal lord was truly bored; otherwise, there was no logical explanation.
Five riders arrived at Dayu Grotto-Heaven, but four of them left the mountain first. The tall woman who had previously teamed up with Xu Yanbing to cause serious trouble for Tiemudier’s group suddenly said she needed to return to the mountain.
DanTai Jingping rode alone into the mountain and finally led her horse to a mid-slope on a side peak of Dayu Grotto-Heaven. However, she did not enter the cave but stood at the entrance waiting. Through dusk, night, and dawn, she finally waited for two Daoist priests from afar.
One was a young Daoist and the other a young novice, their Daoist robes clearly different from the stonemasons’ usual attire in Dayu Mountain.
The young Daoist politely greeted DanTai Jingping, saying, “This humble Daoist, Li Yufu of Wudang, pays respects to Senior DanTai.”
The little novice followed his master’s example and bowed respectfully, saying, “This junior Daoist, Yu Fu of Wudang, pays respects to Senior DanTai.”
DanTai Jingping looked at this master and apprentice who had come from Wudang and entered Dayu Grotto-Heaven, saying indifferently, “Master Li also sees this great opportunity?”
Li Yufu smiled, “This humble Daoist thanks Senior for waiting.”
Although DanTai Jingping seemed to be standing at the cave entrance, she was actually blocking it. Her tone wasn’t particularly friendly, “This connection originally began with our master and apprentice. We saw the white snake transform into a dragon in the river and watched it swim upstream. Now it is again us… it is he who has set off this omen.”
The young novice, speaking with the seriousness of a sage, said, “The great path beneath our feet is open to all.”
DanTai Jingping looked at the child pretending to be wise and smiled.
The young novice, feeling her gaze, blushed slightly and quickly lost his earlier confidence, muttering, “It was what my master said.”
The young Daoist, current leader of Wudang, looked warmly at his apprentice and gently patted his head, “It was what you said.”
Watching the master and apprentice, a complex expression flickered in DanTai Jingping’s eyes before she concealed it, saying, “At Earth Lung Mountain, by the Guangling River, you also formed two connections along the path. However…”
Li Yufu gently shook his head and smiled, “Senior DanTai need not worry. We have come to Dayu Grotto-Heaven not to compete for anything. It is merely that this humble Daoist wishes to travel and see more with Yu Fu.”
DanTai Jingping shook her head, “If your Daoist sect does not compete, it is still a great competition.”
Looking at the calm and composed young leader of Wudang, DanTai Jingping slowly said, “Before the Qin Dynasty, the prevailing belief was that heaven and humanity were of the same kind. Your Daoist sages were the first to propose the idea that heaven is impartial. My master once commented, ‘The true meaning here is that heaven holds neither favor nor malice toward humanity,’ ‘enough to shake heaven and earth.’ Later generations, with shallow understanding and guided only by personal preference, misinterpreted this to mean that once one reaches the level of a sage, one sees all things in the world as mere straw dogs. At the end of the Qin Dynasty, Confucian sages promoted the idea of innate goodness and the Perception between heaven and humanity, which in essence marked a return to the concept of heaven and humanity being of the same kind. Huang Sanjia called this ‘dispelling clouds to see the moon,’ rather than ‘parting clouds to see the sun.’ As for Buddhism, being a foreign religion, we need not discuss it.”
DanTai Jingping’s gaze suddenly sharpened as she stared intently at the leader of Wudang, “Master Li, do you dare to claim that your decision to act on your own will for the sake of all people is without error?”
Li Yufu replied calmly, “Doing what one believes is right or wrong is more reasonable than letting others decide whether one should do good or evil.”
Li Yufu no longer looked at the leader of the Guanyin Sect but instead raised his head to gaze at the sky, as if speaking to heaven itself, “Heaven and earth give birth to people without sorrow or joy; heaven and earth take life without worry or sorrow. Between life and death, should this not be decided by those who live and die within heaven and earth, rather than by those who have already transcended life and death—the ‘superior beings’? Born in heaven and earth, dying in heaven and earth, one should not ask how to live forever, but rather ask why one was born, and how one can live more fully—according to Confucian rites, Daoist purity, or Buddhist compassion. In this lifetime of questioning and answering, some will gain, and some will lose. In the end, future generations will come to know themselves, respect themselves, strengthen themselves, stand on their own, and attain freedom. Though life is short and bitter, the righteous spirit remains eternal.”
DanTai Jingping gazed at this young Daoist who dared to “question heaven,” smiled helplessly, stepped aside from the cave entrance, and walked away.
Like something one treasures deeply, if one cannot possess it alone, she would rather not look at it at all.
The young novice politely bowed to her retreating figure and said, “Thank you, Senior.”
DanTai Jingping turned back for a moment, smiled, and asked, “Lü Dongxuan? Qi Xuanzhen? Hong Xixiang?”
The young Daoist was momentarily confused, “Senior, my name is Yu Fu.”
Li Yufu led the young novice into the cave, lit a torch that had been prepared in advance, and after walking through winding passages for half an hour, they arrived at the edge of a deep green pond. He placed the torch in the cave wall and then took out several oil flasks and an ancient oil lamp from his bag. Sitting cross-legged, he bent down to light the lamp, and Yu Fu followed suit, sitting beside him.
After waiting for a long time, the young novice saw no movement on the pond’s mirror-like surface and finally looked at the wick in confusion, asking, “Master, what exactly are we doing here?”
Li Yufu softly smiled and said, “If you get bored, recite the classics.”
The little Taoist boy murmured in acknowledgment and began reciting the “Zhunan Catalogue.” After nearly half a watch of recitation, his mouth became dry and parched, and he turned his head with a bitter expression.
Li Yufu gently said, “Rest if you’re tired.”
The little Taoist boy beamed with delight.
Later, Li Yufu added oil to the lamp. By then, Yu Fu, who had eaten some dried jujubes to fill his stomach, was already drowsy. Li Yufu let the child rest his head on her lap and slowly drifted to sleep.
Li Yufu also began to close her eyes and meditate.
Ripples gently stirred the surface of the deep pond.
Then leapt out a small fish, half of its body crimson red and the other half snow-white. Its shape faintly resembled a carp, with two extremely long barbels.
It swam to the edge of the pond, its twin barbels gently swaying with graceful agility. Its entire body shimmered with scales like dragon armor, radiating brilliant light.
Li Yufu opened her eyes and smiled, saying, “Since our parting by the Guangling River, we meet again.”
It wagged its barbels and white tail joyfully.
Li Yufu softly said, “I will protect you as you journey downstream into the sea, helping you transform into a dragon. If a great drought comes upon the world, will you promise to bring rain clouds for the people? If a king proves unrighteous, will you warn the heavens on behalf of the people? If you feel lonely, will you still refrain from stirring up trouble? If you no longer face opposition and suppression, will you live in peace with humanity?”
It remained motionless.
Li Yufu smiled and said, “Bei Liang, the place of your rise, has him watching over it. You need not worry. With the people’s hearts aligned, heaven and earth will unite in strength.”
It gently swished its tail, broke the water’s surface, and hovered above the pond.
Li Yufu lightly pinched her fingers in calculation: “Three days from now, we shall descend the mountain together, enter the river at the Guangling River estuary, and then bid our farewell.”
It seemed to nod slightly before slowly diving back into the deep pond.
Li Yufu softly sighed, looking down at the little Taoist boy drooling at the corner of his mouth, listening to the child’s incoherent murmurs, whispering, “Little Senior Uncle, when you awaken, before Li Yufu severs heaven and earth, I will invite her back. After that, there will be no next life.”
Li Yufu closed her eyes, a smile lingering on her lips: “Actually, if there were another life, to call you ‘Little Senior Uncle’ once more, how wonderful that would be. Unfortunately, there won’t be.”
In the second year of the Xiangfu era, spring. Two Daoist priests from Wudang Mountain left Bei Liang, beginning a journey eastward along the Guangling River on foot. Wherever they went, spring rains as precious as oil fell.
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When Xie Xie, the mistress of the Chuntie Thatched Hall in Western Shu, heard that the young feudal prince had made a trip to Lingzhou so timidly that he required several Grand Masters of martial arts to accompany him out of Liangzhou, she scoffed at him. Without even meeting him, she looked down upon that young man surnamed Xu, naturally growing increasingly resentful of the man beside her for his solitary horseback journey into Shu.
However, when she accompanied two of the most legendary men of their time and saw the five riders appear in the distance, without any reason, the woman recognized that man at first glance.
At that moment, she realized that this young man indeed had the qualifications for the current King of Shu to return to Lingzhou, and had the merit for Master Xie to specifically travel through Shu to capture a dragon and nurture it.
Of course, she grew to dislike that fellow named Xu Fengnian more and more.
But soon, Xie Xie, a great beauty who had twice ranked on the “Yanzhi List,” found her feelings evolving beyond mere hatred into a desire to kill.
Because the first words from that fellow after dismounting were: “You must be Auntie Xie, right? Why didn’t you bring the child along to Lingzhou? I’ve already prepared the red envelope.”
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